by Ginny Dye
“I ain’t got time to explain,” Carl said, frantically looking around. Everything inside him told him there would be trouble tonight. He suspected that had been the real cause of his restlessness all day. “Where did Daddy go?”
Opal looked nervous now. “I don’t know, Carl. Can I do anything?”
Carl shook his head, not wanting to frighten her any more than she already was. “No.” He thought quickly. “If Daddy comes back, tell him I’ve gone over to the Cromwells’ house. He’ll know what it means.”
“The Cromwells’ house?” Opal gasped, genuinely alarmed now. “Why? You tell me what’s going on right this minute.”
Carl shook his head. “I can’t,” he insisted. “I got to get there. I’m going to send Leo to find Daddy and Uncle Clark.”
“What should I do?” Opal asked, fighting for control.
Carl hesitated. He hated to create more fear, but it wasn’t fair to leave her unprepared. Besides, Opal had been a spy during the war until she had to take him and his siblings out to the plantation. “I would go home, Opal,” he said. “Go home and stay inside. I would tell everyone you see to do the same thing.”
Opal opened her mouth to ask more questions and then snapped it shut. “Go,” she urged. “Be careful.”
Carl turned and ran out the back door again. Leo was waiting right where he left him. “Go to my house,” Carl ordered. “Find Daddy and Uncle Clark, or anyone else in the militia. Tell them what you told me. Let them know I’ve gone over to Mr. Cromwell’s house to make sure he’s all right.”
“By yourself?” Leo demanded. “That ain’t smart, Carl.”
“I’ll be fine,” Carl responded, knowing it was true. “They ain’t coming after him in his house. I just got to make sure he don’t go anywhere. Now go!”
He turned and disappeared into the shadows, running as fast as he could.
Chapter Thirty-One
Anthony paced the porch, staring into the darkness with every sound he heard.
“Where is he, Mr. Anthony?” May asked, wringing her hands as she stared out into the night with him.
“I don’t know,” Anthony replied, grinding his teeth with frustration.
“It’s not like Mr. Cromwell to miss dinner,” May insisted. “At least not without sending a message.”
Anthony knew she was right, but he felt the need to calm her. “We’re leaving for the plantation tomorrow. Perhaps he’s finishing up work before we leave.”
“Without sending a message?”
“Perhaps he couldn’t find someone to deliver it,” Anthony said lamely. Then he realized what was wrong with that statement. “Where is Spencer? Isn’t he Thomas’ driver?” Spencer would have come to let his wife know if Thomas was going to be late so she wouldn’t worry.
May sighed. “Mr. Cromwell gave him some time off since he drove out to the plantation this week. He’s over in the Black Quarters tonight. Somebody else be driving Mr. Cromwell.”
“Who?” Anthony demanded. He looked at May more closely. Her eyes were more frightened than he suspected they would be under normal circumstances. “You’re not telling me something, May.”
May shook her head. “I don’t know anything, except that I’m real worried about Mr. Cromwell.”
Anthony wasn’t convinced. “May, if you know something, you need to tell me.”
“I don’t know nothing,” she insisted, dropping her eyes. “I been feeling like something is wrong, but Spencer won’t tell me anything. I’ve been pestering him with questions all week, but he just shuts up like a clam and says things are being taken care of.”
Anthony’s alarm grew. He remembered what Norris had said about being careful, and his insistence that he keep Thomas away from the factory at night. Well, it was night, and he had no idea where Thomas was. He tried to tamp down images of him injured or dead, but they wouldn’t be controlled. He clenched his fists and stared once more into the night, trying to decide how he was going to get to the factory. He couldn’t just stand on Thomas’ porch and not do something.
A sudden movement in the shadows put him on alert. He turned quickly, and pushed May through the door. “Stay inside,” he hissed. He turned to meet whatever danger lurked just beyond the range of his vision. He took deep breaths, wishing he had grabbed one of Thomas’ guns earlier in the night. What good would he be unarmed?
“Who’s there?” he called sharply.
A figure slowly emerged from the darkness beneath the magnolia tree. “Is that you, Mr. Wallington?”
Anthony frowned. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “It is. Who’s out there?”
The figure moved close enough for him to recognize the teenager who had served him at Opal’s Kitchen when he had lunch there with Carrie. He searched his brain to come up with a name. “Is that you, Carl?”
“Yes.” Carl stepped onto the porch, the outline of his body showing how tense he was. “Is Mr. Cromwell here?”
“No.” Anthony ground his teeth harder. He had hoped Carl was here to deliver a message from Thomas. “Why? Are you looking for him?”
Carl looked around nervously. “Can we go inside?”
Anthony opened the door, waited for Carl to enter, and then joined him in the foyer. “Why are you looking for Thomas?”
Carl sagged. “He really ain’t here? I came to tell him to make sure not to go anywhere tonight.”
“Why?” Anthony was aware May was listening from just inside the dining room.
“There’s going to be trouble tonight.”
“At the factory?” Anthony snapped.
Carl stared at him. “How did you know that?”
“Norris told me,” Anthony said.
“Norris Bass?”
Anthony nodded his head impatiently. How he knew didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was what they were going to do about it. “How long will it take to get to the factory?”
“I ain’t got no wagon,” Carl responded.
“I know that,” Anthony snapped again. He took a deep breath to control his frustration. “We’ll have to go by foot. How far is it?”
Carl took a deep breath. “It’s a couple miles, I reckon. I know all the backways, though. I guess it’ll take about thirty minutes.”
“Not if we run.” Anthony dashed into the parlor and chose two revolvers from Thomas’ gun case. He checked to make sure they were loaded, stuck them into his waistband, and then headed to the door. “Lead the way,” he said. “We’ve got to get to the factory.”
He and Carl were running before they hit the road.
*****
Thomas finished signing the last papers and slowly straightened. Only then did he look at the clock. “What in the world?” he muttered when he realized how late it was. A quick glance out the window told him it was already dark. He knew May would be worried, and Anthony was probably wondering why he had left him on his own for dinner, but it couldn’t be helped. Leaving for the plantation so soon after returning from Philadelphia had meant a tremendous amount of work must be done. He had just finished creating orders and finalizing shipping reports.
He turned to file the papers, acknowledging what was really bothering him. Pierre’s paperwork had been done shoddily, which was bad enough, but the bigger issue was that many of the numbers simply didn’t add up. It had been so long since he had done the bookkeeping, that it had taken him longer than usual to go through everything. He had left all of this to Jeremy for over a year, counting on him to give reports on a monthly basis. For the past hour, he had been cursing himself because he had assumed he could expect the same capability and integrity from Pierre.
He blamed Pierre, but he also blamed himself and Abby for allowing this to happen. They had not been paying close enough attention to what was going on.
He extinguished the lanterns and looked out his office window, frustrated when he didn’t see a carriage waiting for him. Granted, the hour was late, but his driver was well paid to adhere to his schedul
e. He sighed, wishing he had not given Spencer the night off.
With no other choice but to walk home, he grabbed his briefcase. As he reached for his office door to pull it closed behind him, a loud noise down on the factory floor made him freeze. He held his breath, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The one thing he was certain about was that no one should be in the factory this late at night.
He stood silently, pondering his best course of action. He didn’t know if the sound had been caused by one person or a group, but he had to assume there was more than one. His thoughts spun as he considered his options. Leaning over, he set his briefcase against the wall and removed his shoes, leaving him in just his stocking feet. He intended to find out who was in his factory, but if they didn’t already know he was there, he certainly did not want to alert them. Evidently, he had extinguished his office light before whoever it was had entered the building. He prayed that would give him an advantage.
Thinking quickly, he spun back to his desk. Easing open the top drawer, he sighed in relief when it pulled out silently. He felt for his revolver in the almost total darkness. When his hand hit cold metal, he pulled it out carefully. It would be unwise to encounter an intruder when he was unarmed.
Grateful he knew the layout of the factory so well, Thomas eased soundlessly to his office door and stood in the opening, listening as hard as he could. Nothing but silence met his ears for several minutes, but he had learned to trust his instincts.
Every instinct said someone was in the factory.
He crept out onto the office landing and looked down into the blackness of the factory floor. Something was down there. Thomas was content to wait until whoever it was revealed themselves.
Nothing moved.
Just when he had decided to walk down the steps to the floor below to inspect things more closely, he heard a scuffling noise below him. He stiffened, craning his head out further to detect any movement, but the darkness continued to conceal whoever was down there.
Another sound, this one to his left, made him move behind the large square column reaching to the roof. Someone was on the landing with him, but he couldn’t see a thing. He could only hope they were having the same problem. He had a sudden realization that only someone very familiar with the factory could be moving around so quietly. Whoever was in the factory must also work there.
Thomas held his breath, not wanting to make a sound that would give him away. When a match flared in his office, he gripped his revolver and forced himself further back into the narrow opening between the column and the wall. He peered around the column, his insides clenching with fury when he recognized the face illuminated by the match. Pierre!
Something made him stand quietly as Pierre rifled through some of the files, obviously searching for something. Thomas thought of all the files he had removed tonight, intending to take them home with him for closer inspection during his time at the plantation. He was quite sure they were what Pierre was searching for. He smiled grimly at the frustration on Pierre’s face as he lit match after match, searching through the papers. Finally, the man used one of the matches to light a lantern. Warm light filled the room.
Thomas was preparing to step out of hiding to confront his manager when he heard several loud noises from below. He shrank back as Pierre stalked out onto the landing.
“I said to keep it quiet down there!”
“Sorry, boss,” one man muttered.
Thomas heard a hissing sound as another match ignited below him. Knowing he was risking detection, he shifted to allow himself a better view. He wasn’t afraid, but he did want to figure out what was going on. His alarm grew as he counted ten shadowy figures on the factory floor, each of them clothed in black.
“What the…”
Thomas swiveled his head back toward his office when he heard Pierre’s muffled exclamation. Pierre picked up his briefcase from where Thomas had left it against the wall. As soon as he opened it, his manager would be aware Thomas was in the building. He quickly decided being on the offensive was preferable to the defensive.
Thomas raised his revolver and stepped over to the open door. “Looking for something?”
Pierre cursed and swung toward him, reaching for his gun as he did so.
“I don’t suggest touching that gun,” Thomas said in a steely voice, realizing the sound of their voices would have alerted everyone below. He couldn’t know if they would run or attack, so he had to assume the worst. Whatever he was going to do, he must do it quickly.
Pierre’s eyes widened. “Mr. Cromwell! What are you doing here?” His tone switched to one of surprised innocence. “You startled me. I…I forgot some paperwork that I need to finish tonight.”
“And you need all the men down there to help you carry it?” Thomas asked sarcastically.
Pierre flushed with fury and dropped all pretense. “You’re not supposed to be here tonight,” he said coldly, his eyes calculating as they scanned the office.
“I can see that,” Thomas said calmly, thinking through his options. He realized he didn’t have many. “What are you really doing in the factory, Pierre?”
Pierre narrowed his eyes as he considered his response. “I’m your manager. I can be here anytime I want,” he said defensively. “I called these men in to do some needed work.”
“In the dark?” Thomas demanded, almost amused that Pierre couldn’t come up with anything to say that remotely made sense. “And, let’s be clear. You were my manager,” Thomas corrected. “After going through the reports tonight, I am quite aware you either have no idea what you’re doing, or you came here to deliberately sabotage the factory.” He was suddenly very confident that had been Pierre’s plan all along. “Who are you really?” He raised the gun and put his finger on the trigger. “I would prefer the truth.”
“What’s going on up there?” a man called.
“Pierre has been captured,” Thomas called back, careful to keep his eyes trained on the man in front of him. “I suggest you leave before I discover who you are.” He smiled tightly as curses rang through the building. “Pierre and I are just going to talk for a while.”
Pierre stiffened as his eyes searched the room for a means of escape.
“Only one way out,” Thomas said calmly. “You’ll have to get past me and a bullet.” He cocked his head. “Who are you Pierre? Why are you in my factory?”
Pierre’s only response was to curl his lips back into a snarl.
Thomas stared, hardly able to believe the man had hidden such intense hatred for so long.
“I was sent here to do a job,” Pierre snapped. “One I aim to finish. You were warned, Mr. Cromwell. You were told if you kept hiring niggers that we were going to set things right.”
Thomas nodded, surprisingly unbothered by the revelation. “By destroying my factory?”
“That’s right,” Pierre retorted.
Thomas smiled, and then raised his voice enough to be heard by everyone in the building. “I’m going to assume the men on the floor also work here. I wonder if they realize that by following your directions, they are also destroying their own lives. Jobs are hard to come by in Richmond. There are none that will pay as well as Cromwell Factory. I wonder if they’ve thought about how they will feed their family when they don’t have a job.”
All noise on the floor had ceased. The men had either left, were listening, or were creeping upstairs to kill him. Thomas chose to go with the second option. He could only hope they would listen to reason.
Pierre looked desperate now. “What does it matter?” he growled. “People like you have to be stopped. We can’t let you destroy the South.”
“Destroy the South by giving good-paying jobs to two hundred white men?” Thomas asked coldly.
“And two hundred niggers,” Pierre shot back.
“You’re stupid, Pierre,” Thomas said derisively. “Destroying the factory won’t make it possible for me to hire more white people. All it will do is make sure the two hundred white
people who work here won’t have a job at all.” He paused. “Of course, I know you don’t really care about that. You’re just going to crawl back into the hole you crawled out of when you showed up here. Whoever sent you here will make sure you have money, but what about all the men you’re leaving behind?” He talked calmly, praying the men listening were rational and intelligent enough to recognize the truth. He realized hatred could make you incapable of reason, but talking was his best course of action right now. He knew he couldn’t single-handedly stop whatever the dozen men below him had come to do.
“Don’t listen to him,” Pierre shouted. “I gave you a job to do. You’d better do it if you want your families to live through the night!”
Thomas suddenly understood. Pierre had played on the men’s prejudices to get them to agree to his plan, and then threatened their families if they didn’t follow his orders.
“Don’t believe him!” Thomas yelled, his voice bouncing off the rafters. “He can’t hurt your families.” Even when the words came out of his mouth, he knew he had no way of being certain of that. White vigilantism was spreading everywhere. For all he knew, the families of every single man below him could be under the control of angry vigilantes who would not hesitate to hurt people to fulfill their agenda.
Evidently, the men below him knew it as well.
There was a long silence, and then he heard matches being struck again. He waited only a moment before the glow of flames was enough to know the men were setting fire to the factory. He clenched his teeth and glared at Pierre. “It’s going to be hard to get out from up here.”
Pierre glared back. “I’m prepared to give my life for the Southern cause,” he snapped. “Men like you simply can’t be allowed to destroy our way of life.”
Thomas stared at him. “I believe you actually mean that nonsense,” he said wearily. “What happened to you, Pierre?” He wanted to understand what was fueling the ignorant hatred exploding in the South.
