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

by Ginny Dye

  Eddie looked around the room. “We’re all here. I say we get started. Marcus, why don’t you begin?”

  Marcus put down his empty plate and stretched his long legs in front of him. He leaned back against the rungs of the wooden chair that was far too small for his muscular body. “There be something wrong at the factory,” he said bluntly.

  “Why do you say that?” Eddie asked, alerted by the tension in his friend’s eyes.

  Marcus hesitated, searching for words. “It’s more a feeling than anything,” he admitted.

  “I agree with his feeling,” Willard said. “Things haven’t been right since Jeremy left.”

  Eddie had a strong feeling there was something wrong as well, but more concrete information would certainly be helpful. He’d talked to several of the men who worked there. All of them were uneasy. “Anybody would have a tough time taking Jeremy’s place,” he argued. “Is it the Pierre fella you’re worried about?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “It’s nothing that jumps out at me, but everything in me says we got to be careful.”

  Eddie considered his words, but he was more affected by the look in his eyes. “We’ve learned to listen to our guts,” he said. “What do you suspect?”

  “I wish I knew,” Marcus growled.

  “I think he’s here to harm the factory,” Willard stated.

  Eddie swung his eyes to him. “Why?”

  Willard shrugged. “It’s more of a feeling, but I got reasons for feeling it.”

  “Why?” Eddie repeated. He respected what their feelings were telling them, but he needed more facts if they were supposed to do anything about it.

  “Pierre is not who he says he is,” Willard said slowly. “It’s not real obvious things that he does, but I don’t know a black person in the place who is comfortable with him. I think if it were up to him, there wouldn’t be one black person in the place.”

  “Have you told Mr. Cromwell how you feel?” Eddie asked sharply.

  “Not yet,” Willard admitted. “I meet with him every Thursday night, though. I’ve been watching until I could decide if my feelings seem justified.” He sighed. “I’ll meet with Thomas in two nights. I’m going to talk to him then.”

  “Why do you care?” Eddie demanded.

  Willard met his eyes evenly. “My wife is black,” he said, “and she’s pregnant. Having a mixed-race baby made Jeremy and Marietta leave Richmond. I don’t want to have to do the same thing, so if I want things to be different, I have to change them.” He paused. “Changing them means making things better for every race. The thing is, I understand how the white men feel. Most Southern white men are hurting as bad as black folks. They’re having a hard time getting jobs, and they feel like their whole life was destroyed.”

  Tension crackled in the room.

  Willard held up a hand before the others could respond. “I didn’t say I think they’re right. I’m just saying I understand. I’m trying to help the whites at the factory see a different way to handle things.” He pursed his lips. “I think Pierre is here to stir things up.”

  “Why?” Eddie demanded again, his mind whirling.

  “Because not many people like the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell have as many black people working in their factory as white people,” Willard said.

  “He’s right,” Marcus added. “There has been talk floating around that there is a plan to hurt the factory.”

  “How?” Eddie snapped. The Cromwells had been very good to his family. He was not going to let anything happen if he could help it.

  Both Marcus and Willard shrugged, frustration filling their faces.

  “All we know to do is watch,” Marcus said helplessly, his eyes flashing with anger.

  “And we set up guards,” Eddie snapped, a plan taking shape in his mind. “Every black man who works at that factory lives here in the quarters. They will all be willing to help.”

  “And start a fight if someone comes to hurt the factory?” Marcus demanded. “That could end up going very badly.”

  “If need be.” Eddie stayed firm. He knew none of them wanted that, because it would bring the wrath of the police down on them, but what choice did they have? If the factory was destroyed, the loss of income would hit the Black Quarters hard.

  “How can I help?” Carl asked.

  Eddie wanted to tell his son to stay out of it, but one black man’s fight was all their fight. “Listen. You know we hear a lot of things in the restaurant. Most white folks talk too much. It’s like they think we can’t hear or we’re too stupid to understand them.” He managed a chuckle. “So, we use it to our advantage. I’m going to have a group of men go down to the factory every night for a while, until we figure out what is going on. Willard, let us know what Thomas says after you talk to him. We’ll also talk to some of the other men who work there and see if they suspect anything.” He met each man’s gaze around the table. “If something is going on, we’ll figure it out.”

  Clark stood. “I’m meeting with some of the militia tonight. Many of them work at the factory. I’ll start setting up units to go down every night.”

  “Tell them to stay out of sight,” Eddie said sharply. “They should be close in case anything happens, but if they get spotted, it could bring a heap of trouble down on us.”

  The five men all nodded solemnly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Abby smiled with joy when Frances dashed out across the porch and down to the carriage.

  “Oma! Oma!”

  Abby felt tears choking her throat as Frances’ arms wrapped around her neck. She had dreamed of a granddaughter for so long. The pain of holding Bridget’s tiny, dead body in her arms after they pulled her from Carrie had haunted her for months. To have a living granddaughter was such an answer to her prayers. She hugged Frances hard, and then held her back. “You’ve already grown!” she exclaimed. “How is that possible?”

  Frances giggled. “Annie says she is gonna put more meat on my bones.”

  Abby felt her throat thicken again. She had never heard the little girl giggle before. “If Annie says she will, then she will,” she assured her.

  “I’ve never seen so much food before,” Frances confided, lowering her voice almost to a whisper.

  Abby knew that was true. “Do you have a favorite food yet?”

  Frances frowned. “A favorite food?” She scrunched up her face and thought deeply. “I suppose it would have to be fried chicken. I ain’t never had it before I come here.”

  Rose walked out onto the porch as she was talking. “Ain’t isn’t a word, Frances. It wasn’t a word yesterday, and it’s not a word today.”

  Frances sighed. “I had to start school, Oma. Felicia told me Miss Rose would start correcting everything I said. She was right.”

  Abby laughed. “You’ll survive, my dear,” she said teasingly. “Do you like school?”

  Frances brightened. “I do! All the other children are real nice,” she exclaimed, and then hesitated.

  “What is it?” Abby asked gently. She wondered if Frances was having trouble being in a school with black children.

  “It makes me sad that not all the children eat as well as I do,” Frances said. “I know some of them are hungry. Not all of them even bring a lunch.”

  Abby locked eyes with Rose over the little girl’s head. She knew they were both touched by her compassion. She also knew that Frances must have spent many days hungry in the past.

  “I have an idea to help them,” Frances continued.

  “You do?” Abby asked in amazement, wondering how many children were in the school. Frances had only been here for two weeks, and she was already looking for ways to make things better.

  “Yes,” Frances replied. “I talked to Miss Lillian about it. She’s going to have a lot of the parents come to plant a big garden outside the school. I know most of them have gardens at home, but there must not be enough for them to bring to school, so we are going to grow it ourselves.”

  “W
hat a wonderful idea! That will make a big difference,” Abby said warmly.

  “I hope so,” Frances said. “Carrie is gonna give me all the seeds to plant the garden. Parents are gonna help, but mostly it will be students who do everything.”

  Abby looked up when Rose cleared her throat.

  Frances grinned. “Miss Rose clears her throat when I say something wrong.” She thought intensely for a moment, and then her eyes cleared. “Going to,” she said triumphantly. “I said gonna. I should have said going to.”

  “Very good,” Rose congratulated her. “And I love your idea. Lillian told me she wanted to talk to me about something, but we haven’t had time yet.”

  “That’s only part of it,” Frances said, her voice a bit uncertain.

  “Oh?” Abby asked, leaning down to look into her eyes. “What is the rest of it?”

  “Well…” Frances murmured, “the garden is a good start, but we need more for everyone to eat. Miss Lillian and I decided cornbread would be a good thing, because it fills up stomachs.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Frances continued to gaze at her. “I think so, but it will take quite a lot of cornmeal to make that much cornbread, Oma.”

  Abby hid her smile as she continued to listen.

  “Miss Lillian said there are parents who will cook it all and bring it to the school, but…” Frances hesitated, seeming to suddenly be floundering.

  “You need money for the cornmeal,” Abby finished.

  “Yes!”

  Frances eyed her expectantly, but didn’t say anything else. Abby just looked at her. She was quite impressed with how the little girl had worked her way around to asking for money, but she needed to finish what she had started.

  “Oma…?”

  “Yes, Frances?” Abby smiled softly, trying to make it easier for her.

  “When I was at the orphanage, they had something they called patrons. From what I could tell, it meant they gave money so everyone could eat.”

  “Yes, that’s what it means,” Abby replied, once again catching Rose’s eyes. She could tell they both were fighting laughter, but Rose had the advantage of being behind Frances. She bit her lip harder.

  Frances took a deep breath. “Oma, would you be a patron for the school?” she blurted. “Will you give us money to buy cornmeal? Just for the kids who can’t eat?”

  Abby pretended to ponder the question, before she slowly nodded her head. “Why, yes. I believe that would be a very worthy cause.”

  Frances’ face split with a broad grin. “Really, Oma? Really?”

  Abby laughed now, and reached down to give Frances another hug. “I’m happy to do it. I do believe you’re going to be very good one day at asking for money.”

  Frances frowned. “Maybe, but I think it would probably be more fun if I was the one being asked. I’d rather make lots of money, and then give it away.”

  “That is certainly more fun,” Abby agreed solemnly. She slid her arm around Frances’ waist. “Where is Carrie?”

  “At the clinic,” Frances said. “She told me I could go with her when school is out for the summer.”

  Abby cocked her head. “You’re not in school today.”

  Frances sighed. “I’m not in the school building, but Miss Rose turned the house into a school,” she said dramatically. “She is helping me catch up.”

  “Good for her,” Abby said. “What are you learning?”

  “Arithmetic.” Frances sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “I thought you wanted to learn and go to school,” Abby reminded her.

  “I do,” Frances insisted, “but…”

  “But what?”

  “But Amber was going to take me riding today,” Frances blurted out, her eyes shining with pleasure. “Carrie has been teaching me how to ride.”

  Abby read the rest of the story in the little girl’s eyes. “And now it’s all you want to do.”

  “Exactly!” Frances said, a triumphant expression on her face as she glanced back at Rose with an impish grin. “I knew you would understand.”

  “Oh, I do,” Abby assured her. “I understand that the faster you learn your arithmetic, the faster you will get to go riding.” She laughed and waved her hand toward the house. “It’s time for you to go back to school, young lady.”

  Frances’ triumphant expression faded, but she chuckled. “Felicia told me it wouldn’t do any good to try and get out of it.”

  “You should listen to her,” Abby answered. She looked up at the porch. “Hello, Annie. How are you?”

  “I’m doin’ right good, Miss Abby,” Annie said. “I see Frances be tryin’ to work her charms on you, too.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be left out,” Abby said lightly. She eyed the tray Annie was holding. “Do I see molasses cookies?” she asked hopefully.

  “And lemonade,” Annie answered.

  Frances spun around, her eyes wide with delight. “Molasses cookies?”

  “Which ain’t for you, little lady, till you be done with your schoolwork,” Annie scolded. “Get on back into that house.”

  Frances scowled. “Ain’t is not a word, Annie,” she said primly.

  “Ain’t is my word,” Annie retorted, her eyes dancing with fun. “Ain’t no little girl who tells me how to talk is gonna eat my cookies.”

  “Gonna isn’t a w—” Frances snapped her lips closed. She looked to Rose for help.

  Rose grinned. “There are some battles that aren’t worth fighting. Especially with a woman who can cook like my mother-in-law. Unfortunately for you,” she continued, “you have nothing to trade for the right to speak incorrectly, so you have to learn to do it correctly.”

  “It ain’t…It’s not fair,” Frances protested.

  Abby hid her smile again, knowing it was this very spirit that had enabled Frances to endure all she had been through. She was quite certain Carrie had been just this way when she was a child. “Go on and finish your schoolwork,” she urged. “I would love to go riding with you later.”

  Frances brightened immediately. “Really? You know how to ride a horse?”

  “Certainly,” Abby retorted. “I can outride you, granddaughter of mine.”

  “We’ll see about that,’ Frances teased before she turned and raced into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. Rose grinned, following not far behind.

  Annie shook her head. “I declare. That little girl be somethin’, all right.”

  Abby allowed laughter to shake her body. “Carrie is going to have her hands full,” she agreed.

  “I don’t know ‘bout that. She gives the rest of us a hard time, but she done worships Miss Carrie.”

  Abby smiled softly. “Carrie saved her.”

  “I don’t think she’ll eber forget that,” Annie replied. “And besides, that little girl got a heart of gold. There ain’t a one of us that ain’t in love with her.” She laid down the tray, and turned toward the house. “You enjoy that, Miss Abby. I got to go in and finish cookin’ supper for everyone.”

  Abby relaxed into a rocker. It was not very often that she could sit on the porch with only her thoughts for company. She closed her eyes, allowing the soft spring air to wrap her in its comforting embrace. The raucous caws of blue jays mixed with the sound of buzzing bees and the playful whinnies of the foals in the fields. Wonderful aromas blew in from every direction. The smell of fresh cut hay, the first of the season, wrapped around her like a blanket. She sighed, so very glad she had agreed to Thomas’ insistence that she come to the plantation early. She could hardly wait, though, until he got here and could spend more time with Frances. She dreamed of the hours they would spend riding together.

  *****

  Abby was still resting on the porch when Carrie rode up on Granite.

  Carrie smiled and waved, handed off Granite to Amber, and then ran up on the porch. “What are you doing here?”

  “Is it too soon for me to be here?” Abby teased.

  “Hardly,”
Carrie retorted. “You and Father spend far too little time here. I keep hoping that will change, but I know you two are married to the factory.”

  “Not as much as you might think,” Abby replied.

  Carrie gazed at her for a minute and then sank down in one of the rockers. “What are you talking about? I can always tell there is more than you are saying when you use that tone of voice.”

  Abby smiled, and then explained briefly. “Your father and I are going to spend much more time here,” she finished. “We hope within six months to come home, making short trips to Richmond only when we need to.”

  Carrie’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Surprised?”

  “Shocked would be more appropriate,” Carrie finally replied. “Father is really coming home? Back to Cromwell Plantation?”

  “He’s never quit loving it, Carrie.”

  “I know,” Carrie said quickly, “but you remember how hard it was for Father to be here after my mother died. Ever since the war, he seemed so content to be in Richmond. I know he enjoyed his visits, but it felt like he was most comfortable in the city.”

  Abby nodded. “I suppose that was true for a while.” She paused. “I guess the same thing was true for me,” she said thoughtfully. “We were focused on building the factory, and on doing what we could to rebuild the South.”

  “What has changed?”

  “We have, I suppose,” Abby said. “We’re getting older…”

  “You’re not old!” Carrie protested.

  “I didn’t say we were old,” Abby laughed. “I said we’re getting older. There is a difference, my dear.”

  “I will concede that point,” Carrie replied. “But what has made you change?”

  Abby shrugged. “I told you on New Year’s Day that I wished we could slow down and spend more time on the plantation.”

  “And then you talked to me about your plans for expanding into a new building in Richmond,” Carrie said. “That didn’t sound like slowing down to me.”

  Abby chuckled. “I will concede that point.” She sobered. “I suppose it was two things. The thing that changed it for me was your adopting Frances. I have a granddaughter now. One I very much want to spend time with. Thinking about Frances made me realize how much I want to spend more time with all those I love. I don’t know how much time I have left,” she said.