Looking To The Future (#11 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series)

by Ginny Dye

  Alma grinned. “They both be sleeping, sure ‘nuff! Miss Carrie came by here about an hour ago with a new remedy. Robert be screamin’ his little lungs out until she done gave him some Chamomilla. It weren’t long before he stopped that hollering and drifted right off to sleep. Miss Janie was asleep just about as fast.”

  Matthew smiled. “So why this remedy?” he asked. “Hasn’t Carrie used other ones?”

  “Yep,” Alma agreed, “but she says you got to really know how a baby be having the colic before you know how to treat it. Little Robert seems to feel a mite better if you carry him around when he’s cryin’ and angry. She says that be a sign.”

  Matthew grimaced. He had not anticipated such an angry and irritable child. Robert looked peaceful and happy when he was sleeping, but as soon as his eyes opened, all the peace disappeared. “Do you think it’s because I named him after my best friend?” he asked ruefully. “Robert could definitely have his moments.”

  Alma chuckled. “That be pure nonsense. That tiny baby up there be too little to be having moments,” she chided. “He ain’t got nothin’ but the colic. He’s crying ‘cause he’s in pain.”

  Matthew ducked his head. “I know he’s in pain,” he said remorsefully. “I pray every day that he will get better.”

  Alma chuckled again. “You wouldn’t be normal if all that cryin’ didn’t bother you,” she said sympathetically. “Anyway, Miss Carrie had Miss Janie put a warm water bottle on little Robert’s stomach last night. That seemed to make him feel better for quite a while. Least, that’s what Miss Janie told me. When she told Miss Carrie about that, she knew to give him the Chamomilla. That homeopathic remedy sure ‘nuff seems to be workin’. Them two been asleep for a while.”

  Matthew nodded. “They both need it.”

  Alma eyed him critically. “Looks like they ain’t the only two. You don’t look so good, Mr. Matthew.”

  Matthew smiled. “It’s been a long day,” he said quietly.

  Alma glanced at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. “Ain’t yet two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed, “but it’s been more than long enough.”

  Alma shook her head. “I ‘magine it take a lot out of a man to do what you do. Miss Janie let me read some of the stuff you done wrote for the newspaper. It can’t be real easy to write news like that.”

  Matthew eyed her with surprise.

  Alma chuckled. “I bet you thought I couldn’t read, Mr. Matthew.”

  Matthew flushed. “I know better than to make assumptions. I’m sorry,” he apologized.

  Alma waved her hand. “Ain’t no need to apologize. I been learning the last few years, ever since I got set free from the plantation down in Virginia. I got me a ways to go, but I figure I can read pretty good,” she said proudly. “I like that book you wrote a whole heap better. It ain’t near so hard to read. I like them stories just fine.”

  Matthew smiled. “Glimmers of Change? I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Yep. The whole world needs to know that it ain’t just bad things that happen in this ole world. There be plenty of good out there.”

  Matthew, needing to hear something besides what he had spent all morning working on, looked at her closely. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I sure do,” Alma said. “I done learned a lot from some people since I got free.”

  “Like what?”

  Alma pursed her lips in thought. “I learned I got to work hard for what I want, because most things don’t come to you without a fight.” She thought for a moment. “I learned I got to be strong and brave. And that I got to know I can do anythin’ I set my mind to.” She turned away for a moment and then looked back at him with shining eyes. “And I learned there always gonna be folks who will put me down or criticize me. I just gots to keep believin’ in myself and turn it into somethin’ positive.”

  Matthew raised a brow. “I’m very impressed. Where did you learn all this?”

  Alma grinned. “Sarge told me about a school where I been going to learn to read. They don’t only teach me to read, though. They teachin’ me how to live life as a free woman.” She nodded her head decisively. “They told me that one ain’t more important than the other. I got to learn how to do both. I reckon they be right.”

  “I agree with them,” Matthew said warmly. “You are a remarkable woman, Alma. I’m so glad you’re here to help Janie.”

  “My help gonna mean a heap more when she can start sleepin’ while I be workin’,” Alma said. She looked at him more closely. “You need some food, or you want to sleep a while ‘fore you eat?”

  Matthew considered for a moment. “What’s in the kitchen?”

  Alma eyed him with amusement. “You such a man… I just finished up a pot of thick onion soup, and there be a whole mess of hot sweet potatoes to go with some ham I sliced.”

  Matthew was walking toward the kitchen before she finished speaking. “I’ll eat first,” he said cheerfully, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake anyone.

  A soft knock on the door made him spin and sprint to answer it before Janie and Robert could be awakened. He smiled when he saw Jeremy standing on the porch. “You’re just in time for something to eat,” he whispered, pointing at the stairs to indicate his family was asleep. He knew Jeremy would understand immediately.

  Jeremy grinned, stepped inside, and shrugged out of his coat. The temperatures were getting warmer, but a coat was still necessary. “Lead the way,” he whispered.

  Jeremy’s grin widened when he stepped into the warm kitchen. “This is more like it,” he said cheerfully, talking normally once the kitchen door closed. “The twins were sick last night so Marietta hasn’t done any cooking. Not that I’m complaining,” he said quickly. “I had some cold biscuits when I got home from the factory. I made Marietta go upstairs to sleep with the twins.”

  Matthew nodded. “Carrie brought over a remedy that finally worked magic with Robert. He’s sleeping soundly, which means Janie is also getting some rest.”

  “Good!” Jeremy said heartily. “That means we won’t have to share this wonderful food.”

  “Mr. Jeremy,” Alma scolded, “you know you best leave enough for Miss Janie!”

  Jeremy considered for a moment, and then shrugged. “Fine. She doesn’t eat much, anyway.”

  Alma’s lips twitched as she sniffed and turned away to load two plates with hot food.

  Matthew’s mouth was watering before she placed the dishes in front of them. He stared down at the sweet potatoes topped with a pool of melted butter, thick slices of Virginia ham, and hot biscuits slathered with strawberry preserves. When Alma added a bowl of hot soup to the feast, he almost swooned. “Thank you,” he moaned with delight.

  Alma nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face, and then eyed him. “You home for the rest of the day, Mr. Matthew?”

  “Yes,” Matthew answered, understanding instantly. “Why don’t you leave early today? You’ve been here for some long days. I’m sure you would enjoy some time at home.”

  Alma smiled with pleasure. “Yes’sir, I reckon I would.” She hung her apron on a hook and stuffed a few loose hairs back into her bun. “I’ll be back first thing in the mornin’.”

  “Have a good night,” Matthew said warmly. He waited until the door closed behind her, and then dug into the food. He could feel the muscles in his neck unraveling as he ate. By the time he finished, the headache that had hounded him for hours was gone.

  “Tough morning?” Jeremy asked.

  “How could you tell?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I know how to detect the signs of stress.”

  Matthew looked at him more closely. “I’m not the only one home early. What are you doing here at three o’clock in the afternoon?”

  “I was worried about Marietta and the twins. There’s no benefit of running a business if you can’t leave early once in a while. Since they are sleeping, I thought I would come down here to see why you are home early
.”

  “And you knew that how?”

  “I saw you get out of your carriage as I was going into the house.”

  Matthew nodded, knowing he was stalling.

  “So…are you going to tell me?” Jeremy asked.

  Matthew sighed. “I get so tired of people’s stupidity.” His eyes narrowed. “Just when I think things can’t get any more ridiculous, they do.”

  “Care to expound?” Jeremy asked as he soaked up the rest of his soup with a biscuit. “Nothing you can say would surprise me at this point.”

  “You might be wrong about that,” Matthew said darkly. He reached for another biscuit, buttering it slowly as he thought about what he could say. Jeremy was safe, but he still had to be careful. Even one careless word could reveal details of his investigation before he was ready.

  “Surprise me,” Jeremy invited, his eyes probing.

  “Have you ever heard of a book called The Masked Lady of the White House?”

  “No, but it sounds intriguing.”

  “Disturbing is a more apt description,” Matthew retorted. “You realize that many Americans have yet to realize the true danger of the Ku Klux Klan?”

  “I’m aware of their blindness,” Jeremy said grimly. “Those in the North want to pretend it isn’t true, because they might have to do something about it. Many Southerners continue to make it seem like a joke because they are involved.”

  “True,” Matthew said shortly. “Many newspapers, both Northern and Southern, are playing right into their hands. They seem to want people to believe that complaints of outrages by disguised bandits are simply an attempt to hide Radical rottenness behind a cloud of KKK,” he said dramatically.

  Jeremy stared at him. “I’m assuming that is a quote from a newspaper?”

  “It is.”

  “They believe the attacks happening in the South are being done by Republicans?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know that they actually believe it, but it sure is what they are determined to communicate. The end result is the same.” He paused. “The book I was telling you about, The Masked Lady of the White House, is written by someone who doesn’t even have the courage to identify himself. The author’s name is simply, Anonymous.”

  “You’re convinced it is a man?”

  “Let’s just say I feel it strongly in my gut.”

  Jeremy nodded. “So, what’s the book about?”

  Matthew sighed. “I read it this morning at the office. The author, whoever he is, has rather pronounced Democratic sympathies. The message of the book is that Southern atrocities by the KKK are the deliberate work of Radical Republicans.”

  “And the reason for the atrocities?” Jeremy asked.

  “Republicans plan to swell their political power through Northern indignation toward a nonexistent conspiracy,” Matthew said sarcastically.

  “A conspiracy? And people truly believe this nonsense?”

  “There are people who will believe anything written between the pages of a book, or within the folds of a newspaper. Believing in a conspiracy theory feeds their appetite for intrigue and mystery. It gives them something to talk about, instead of accepting a truth they may actually have to do something about.”

  “And so, blacks, mulattos and white Republicans will continue to be tortured and killed.”

  Matthew understood Jeremy’s bitterness. “Not if I can help it,” he said grimly.

  “What can you do?”

  “I can communicate truth,” Matthew replied. “I can challenge other journalists to discover the truth and then make sure people read it.”

  “And will they care?” Jeremy asked bluntly. “Marietta and I left Richmond for this very reason. As long as the KKK or the vigilantes aren’t hurting their family, they don’t care about anyone else. They just look the other way.”

  “I have to believe they will care at some point,” Matthew said. “People finally woke up to the realities of slavery.” He sighed heavily. “I only know silence is not an option. By remaining silent, I am giving unspoken approval of what is being said. Even if what I write does no good, at least I will know I tried. At the end of the day, I have to be able to live with myself.”

  Jeremy nodded, his eyes flashing. “I saw something in a store on my way home that made me want to be sick.”

  Matthew waited.

  “When I was checking out, the clerk offered to sell me a Ku Klux Knife.” Jeremy’s lips thinned with disgust. “She was surprised when I turned down the offer.”

  Matthew narrowed his eyes. “That’s one I haven’t heard of.”

  “There are more?” Jeremy demanded.

  “Many more,” Matthew said angrily. “Saloons are serving Ku Klux Kocktails. Musicians are writing Ku Klux polka dances. Bored postal workers here in Pennsylvania have carved KKK woodblocks, which they are using to cancel stamps.” His voice tightened as he thought about all he was learning. “Newspapers are writing stories that make the murders and torture sound like a raucous good time rather than racial tragedy.”

  Jeremy stared at him. “What’s wrong with people? How can they believe it?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Unlike newspapers, who are twisting the truth to sell papers and create fascination, but don’t really believe it, many people who read it believe it completely. America has become a society where people don’t take the time to learn the truth.” He paused. “In all fairness, the only source most of them have for information is newspapers. The responsibility falls on reporters and editors who are willing to feed untruths and lies to the public.” His eyes blazed.

  “What else did you learn this morning?” Jeremy asked.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “More than enough,” Jeremy replied, “but something tells me there’s more. You might as well let it all out. I know you’re going to write it, and I thank you for that, but carrying it around inside is never a good thing.”

  Matthew nodded shortly. “I suppose you’re right.” He reached inside his front pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I received a copy of this today. It’s a song written by E.C. Buell.”

  “The comedian and singer?”

  “Yes, but there is nothing funny about this. The nation seems to be holding its sides with laughter when they hear this song, if the reports are true, but I’m sickened by it. It’s called the Ku Klux KlanSongster.” He unfolded the paper and began to read.

  As I went for a walk the other night,

  T’other night and got tight,

  When I saw a most terrible sight,

  ‘Twas the horrible Ku-Klux-Klan.

  With Greeley’s white hat for a tub,

  There was one dripping blood,

  From a hole they had dug in the mud,

  To bury a big black-and-tan;

  While up at one end of the room,

  I saw very soon

  Ben Butler hung with a spoon,

  By the horrible Ku-Klux-Klan.

  What I saw, I’ll remember forever,

  The thought of it causes a shiver,

  The dreaded three Ks, the awful three Ks,

  The horrible Ku-Klux-Klan

  Jeremy sat quietly when Matthew finished, his blue eyes fixed on the kitchen window. “And this was supposed to be funny?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “His audience laughs through the whole song,” Matthew said bitterly. “And all the while, the KKK has continued to grow because no one with any authority to stop them is taking them seriously. The people who should be stopping them are doing nothing but throwing wood on a burning fire by turning their backs. Meanwhile, the KKK continues to grow like an infection through our country.”

  Jeremy turned to him after a long silence. “You’re going to tell the truth. You’re right that you must be a voice. Thank you.”

  Matthew sighed. “Sometimes I feel like an unheard voice in the wilderness, but I won’t quit trying. I can’t.”

  “You changed how the railroads operate,” Jeremy reminde
d him. “When other papers quit writing about the railroads after the Angola Horror train wreck, you kept hammering away. You wouldn’t let the public forget. You wouldn’t let them ignore they were in danger every single time they got on a train because the railroad companies were being reckless and irresponsible. They were finally forced to change.”

  Matthew nodded. “They still have a long way to go, but it’s better,” he admitted. He shook his head heavily. “There are so many things that need changing. It all seems rather pointless and hopeless.”

  “You’ve been here before,” Jeremy reminded him. “That’s why you wrote Glimmers of Change. You needed to focus on something different.” He gazed at Matthew. “You can walk away any time you want to, but you keep going back.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” Jeremy said. “You’ve decided to be a voice that refuses to be silenced. Sometimes you will see the impact you have. Other times, you may never know. But you’re right that there must be voices for truth. You can’t give up now.”

  Matthew remained silent for several minutes before he nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I could never live with myself if I don’t speak up.” A distant cry made him smile through his frustration. His son had woken from his nap. “Having Robert reminds me every single day that I can’t give up the fight. I want my son to have a different world to live in. He’s also my reminder that I have to change the world so there are no more senseless deaths.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carrie walked to her window and opened it wide. March had blown into Philadelphia with a fierce snowstorm that dumped almost twenty inches of snow on the city, but by the middle of the month, warm winds had melted the snow, except for the huge banks plowed from the roads that still looked like charcoal mounds dotting the city. Trees were bursting with buds, and the first crocus blooms dotted the ground. She tried not to imagine how beautiful the plantation would be right now, but it was impossible to block out the images of new foals dancing in the pastures.

  She focused, instead, on the telegram that had arrived two days earlier, telling her Alice had been freed from the insane asylum. The house had been full of wild celebration. Elizabeth and Florence had joined them for a victory dinner that night. Now, they were waiting for a longer letter to tell them the whole story. Carrie was happy beyond words that Alice was free, but her heart was unsettled.