Beverly Jenkins

by Night Song

  “I won’t.”

  On that note, Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson began the day.

  Chapter 15

  Chase stayed three weeks instead of two. Admittedly, he spent the better part of each day scouting the area for signs of Miles Sutton, who seemed to have vanished into thin air, but nights and evenings he spent with Cara.

  The time passed quickly, and on the night before he was scheduled to leave, they made love again in front of the fire. The poignant, furiously tender farewell left them both sated, but no less sad at the prospect of another separation. He had no idea how long he would be gone, but the next morning, after they shared a lingering, parting kiss at the door, Chase promised to return as soon as he possibly could.

  Watching him ride out, Cara waited until he disappeared into the crimson dawn before she let the tears roll down her cheeks.

  In mid-April, three weeks after Chase’s departure, Sophie and Asa rode out to check on her. When Cara opened the door, surprised and very glad to see them, she nonetheless admonished them for venturing out on such a potentially stormy day. The dark gray sky, fat with ominous clouds, threatened to send down buckets at any moment.

  Sophie thrust a package into Cara’s hands. It was wrapped in brown paper, and Cara studied it while Sophie and Asa removed their coats.

  “Open it,” Sophie advised.

  Cara could only stare in wonder at the sender’s writing. “It’s from Chase!”

  Asa and Sophie smiled at each other.

  Cara hurried into the kitchen for her sewing basket. Her scissors cut through the twine and layers of paper easily. With shaking hands, she peeled away the outside wrappings and lifted out the small note which read: “Because I knew you would enjoy these more than anything else. Chase.”

  “Are those newspapers?” Sophie asked.

  Cara was choked up. “Yes, they are.” Chase knew of her keen interest in the state of the country; during his most recent stay, they’d spent many evenings discussing the political situation. He also knew she incorporated news events into her lesson plans.

  There were only three, and from the looks of them, all had been well read, but they were no more than four months old, and they had been sent by her husband. She couldn’t have asked for a more precious gift.

  “If I sent you newspapers, would you get all misty-eyed like this one here?” Asa asked Sophie.

  “Not a chance,” she replied.

  Cara’s predictions on the weather proved accurate. A little over an hour after she exchanged farewell hugs with Sophie and Asa, it poured and poured. She knew from experience that a rain this fierce would turn the outlying roads and the streets in town into impassable quagmires, so she hoped they’d made it back safely.

  It didn’t take long for the force of the deluge to cause leaks in the low-slung roof over the kitchen. She spent the next few minutes scurrying around placing pots and bowls in strategic positions. When she found the upstairs dry, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Later that evening, Cara lay snug in her bed. Outside, the storm continued to rage, wind and rain lashing at the panes as if wanting it, but she ignored it. With her fire blazing in the grate, her body nice and warm beneath the mound of quilts, and her husband’s gift spread out on the bed, Cara didn’t care if it rained until next week.

  She pored over the papers most of the night. That Chase took the time to acquire them gave further proof of his soft heart. Sophie and Asa may not have found the unusual gift endearing, but Cara did.

  He’d sent copies of the People’s Advocate, published in Washington City; the Cleveland Gazette; and a February 17th issue of Mr. Fortune’s New York Globe. None of the editions was lengthy, but what they lacked in quantity, they more than made up for in quality. Like a majority of the other two hundred African-American newspapers in the country, they were true to the tradition set in motion by John Russwurm and Reverend Samuel Cornish. These two men, Cornish a militant young preacher and Russwurm the second man of African descent to graduate from an American college, published the first Black abolitionist paper, Freedom’s Journal, in 1827 in New York. Previously, the cause of Blacks, both slave and free, had been championed by publications owned and operated by white abolitionists. Freedom’s Journal debated the issues in a Black voice.

  Now, over fifty years later, their descendants continued to carry the banner. Justice was the rallying cry, justice and expressions of outrage over the government’s hands-off attitude toward the escalating violence in the South.

  The papers also carried news of events on the African continent. Cara glanced over a story on the exploits of the explorer David Livingstone. Under the auspices of Leopold II of Belgium, he’d begun establishing bases in the Congo Basin. Also reported on were the French, who after reestablishing themselves on the coast of African Dahomey, were now expanding into the interior. Cara solemnly shook her head and read on.

  The most pressing concern of the Black press and Black people in general revolved around the upcoming Supreme Court decision in the case involving William R. Davis. On November 22, 1879, Davis, a Black resident of New York, had been denied entrance to a matinee at the New York Grand Opera House, even though he had a ticket. The ticket, purchased by his mulatto girlfriend, was deemed no good by the Opera House doorman, Samuel Singleton. Singleton offered a refund, but Davis refused it, demanding entrance instead. In the end, the police were called and Davis was evicted from the premises.

  Davis felt he had a clear criminal complaint. The Civil Rights Law, passed by Congress after the war to strengthen the Fourteenth Amendment, guaranteed equal access to public accommodations, transportation, restaurants, and places such as New York’s Grand Opera House. So the Black man, along with a United States Attorney, sued.

  The doorman Singleton was indicted on December 9, 1879. When the case was heard on January 14, 1880, Singleton’s lawyer, Louis Post, argued the unconstitutionality of the Civil Rights Law, saying it “interfered with the right of citizens and their private property.”

  The judge presiding over the case couldn’t decide and sent the matter on to the Circuit Court. When they were unable to come to a decision, Davis’s suit went to the Supreme Court.

  The newspapers said the high court’s ruling would be coming soon. Some people held hope; after all, it was the law of the land. Why else had the country waged war?

  Others were not so optimistic. The Supreme Court had been no friend to Blacks during Dred Scott v. Sanford in ‘56 and ‘57. That judgment and the recent establishment of the hated Black Codes were only two items on a long list of court-sanctioned injustices that dated back to colonial times.

  Both the pessimists and the optimists agreed on one thing: If the Supreme Court did indeed find the Civil Rights Law unconstitutional, segregation would become the law of the land for generations to come.

  Cara thought about the future. She and Chase had not discussed the possibility of another child, but she assumed there would be one and perhaps more. What kind of world would they inherit? Sometimes her heart ached for thinking about it.

  By April’s end, spring finally wrestled winter to the ground.

  Unlike the first winter when whole families died from exposure in sparsely heated underground dugouts and others might have found the same fate had it not been for the generosity of the Indians in the area, the Valley population came out of hibernation relatively unscathed. Preparations for planting began. Neighbors cut off by the fierce Kansas snows could visit one another again, checking to see if anyone needed help in shoring up winter-damaged homesteads—or in burying their dead now that the ground had begun to thaw.

  With the break in the weather, the merchants of Henry Adams found the thirty-mile trip to Ellis and its railroad depot a less arduous journey. They restocked their depleted shelves with everything from bolts of cloth and farm implements to newspapers, washtubs, and seed. Wanted posters featuring Miles Sutton were plastered on fence posts and barn walls all over Graham County, but he had not been seen.

>   Cara received a page-long letter from Chase around that time, and its arrival thrilled her. She was disappointed to read he wouldn’t be home until late May or early June, but he’d written, and that made her smile.

  Another thing that made her smile was being able to resume teaching. The Reverend Whitfield had wisely closed the school back in February because of the toll winter had taken on the old place. The ground-breaking for Virginia’s new school, which Cara, with reservations, had agreed to name the Virginia Sutton Free Public School of Henry Adams, would not be held for another few weeks, because planting came first. Cara held classes in the A.M.E. Church in the interim.

  Cara’s tutoring of Virginia also continued, though in the evenings, now that Cara’s days were once again busy. Speculation ran rampant as to Miles Sutton’s whereabouts, but Virginia never mentioned him, nor did Cara.

  One evening in early May, they were in Virginia’s sumptuous study going over the lesson for the week. Virginia had made tremendous progress over the winter, which Cara attributed to her strong will and determination. While Virginia was reading to Cara, the study door suddenly opened.

  “Excuse me,” said Frances, one of Virginia’s servants. “I know you said not to disturb you,” she added in an apologetic manner, “but—”

  Miles Sutton appeared from behind Frances and explained drolly, “What she’s trying to say is that I wouldn’t go away. How are you, Mother?”

  “Thank you, Frances. I’ll take care of things from here,” Virginia said, eyeing Miles.

  Frances nodded and withdrew, closing the door quietly.

  Cara viewed him with contempt and some measure of satisfaction. Being on the run had not served him well. He no longer looked like the rich dandy who owned a saloon. He was unshaven and his clothes were soiled. His face bore the scars of a fight, and it’s handsomeness had been permanently marred by the breaking of his nose. Must have been some fight, Cara mused, pleased. She looked away from him and began to gather up her things. “Mrs. Sutton, we can finish this some other time.”

  “No, Cara, please don’t leave. Miles won’t be staying.”

  As if his mother hadn’t spoken, he came over and took a casual look at the books and papers spread out on the table.

  “What’s this?” he asked, picking up one of the primers. “Well, since I can read, and we all know Cara can, too, does this mean you’re finally trying to educate yourself, Mother?” He tossed the book back onto the table. “It’s about time. No telling how much you’ve been cheated over the years because of your ignorance.” And he laughed.

  Cara saw Virginia’s jaw tighten and her eyes flash. However, when she spoke, her voice was calm. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m a wanted man, Mother. Wanted men need money.”

  “And you expect me to hand some over?”

  “You’re my mother. Of course I do.”

  Virginia shook her head. “No more money, Miles. Not for gamblers, or pregnant girls, or anything else. I won’t be bailing you out anymore. You cost this woman her child. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  His eyes held Cara’s. “Well, I think we’re about even. Cara, did Mother tell you what your soldier did to me?”

  “No,” Cara responded. “But be grateful he let you live, Miles. He didn’t want to.”

  “Grateful? For what? The broken nose and shattered jaw? Or maybe you mean the three busted ribs and the blood that I pissed for four days? Yeah, I’m very grateful.”

  Care gave him a smug smile.

  “Smile all you like, Cara, but if I meet him again I’ll kill him.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him,” Cara replied.

  “Would you listen to yourself talking about killing someone?” Virginia snapped. “Why don’t you turn yourself in to Sheriff Polk and put an end to all of this?”

  “No, Mother, territorial prison is not for me.”

  “Then you did cheat those people?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Cara wondered how Virginia would react when she found he had also been involved in the robbery of the mail coaches and the death of the drivers. So far, the warrants issued for Miles pertained only to his activities back East. The investigation surrounding the robberies was still ongoing, though close to closure, according to Sheriff Polk.

  “Let’s just say, not even your money can buy me out of this one,” Miles was saying in answer to his mother’s question. “But you have to understand that after they dismissed me from school I had no money.”

  “More gambling,” Virginia snapped.

  “Yes,” Miles echoed in feigned weariness, “more gambling. I’m sure everybody in the state of Kansas knows I was dismissed for running games in Howard’s dormitories at night.”

  “Crooked games,” Virginia pointed out.

  “Touché. But those sissies got what they deserved. Do you know what they nicknamed me the first day on campus? Seed.” He sneered. “Short for Miles Cottonseed. They laughed at my Spanish-cut suits, my boots, the way I spoke. I hated them.” His gray eyes flashed. Then he turned to Cara and smiled as he said, “But they didn’t laugh at the way I played poker or my success with their pampered women. Unlike you, my precious Cara, Eastern women loved me.”

  “Why didn’t you find a job, Miles?” Cara asked. “You took people’s life savings.”

  Virginia offered an explanation. “Because before he started running the Lady, he’d never worked for a thing in his life. Your father saw to that, didn’t he, Miles?”

  “Yes, he did. Pity he’s not still alive. He’d put you in your place soon enough.”

  Cara had never heard anyone speak to a parent so scathingly. She thought the remark especially cruel knowing the abuse to which Ezra Sutton had subjected Virginia for so many years.

  He turned away from his mother’s icy anger and spoke to Cara. “So, you see, I didn’t look for a job. But I got lucky. I was walking through a park in Washington one afternoon, trying to figure out where my next meal would come from, and I happened upon an emigration rally. I listened for a while and at the end they passed the hat. I was impressed by how much they hauled in, so I became a missionary. It was easy. And in reality, I did those people a favor. What did they know about Liberia or South America? They were better off staying here where at least they know what they’re facing.”

  “Oh, Miles,” Virginia said in a tone that was part pity and part disgust. “I’m not giving you any money. The only thing I can do for you is not tell Sheriff Polk you were here until morning, and that’s only because you are my son. But don’t come back here. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  He observed Virginia a moment and drawled, “Such dramatics. Next you’ll be threatening to disinherit me.”

  Virginia smiled bitterly. “You always were smarter than you let on.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Virginia’s expression did not change.

  He became angry then. “That money is mine!”

  Virginia was angry, too. “Not a cent of what I’ve earned is yours.”

  “That money’s supposed to come to me.”

  “Why? Because you say it does? Miles, I’ll give it to the Democrats before I leave you a dime. Now get out of my house before I have someone ride for Sheriff Polk right now.”

  Cara thought he would explode. “This isn’t the last card, Mother dear. Not by a long shot.”

  He turned his blazing eyes on Cara and said in a softly sinister tone, “I’ll see you again, too. I promise.”

  On June first, a star-filled night, Chase returned home. He let himself in quietly so as not to awaken his sleeping wife, put down his gear, and silently mounted the stairs.

  At first, Care thought it was just another of her vivid dreams. Her nocturnal imagination had conjured him up on many many occasions in nights past. She felt the caress of his hands, the fleeting pressure of his lips, the heady rasping of her name. His strokings were as potent as any reality and she arched her body for more.

 
“I should awaken you this way all the time,” he murmured hotly against her ear. The feathery warmth of his breath pierced the dream. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  His mustache was the first thing she saw. Still groggy with sleep, she sat up partily and asked, “Is that really you?”

  His hands beneath the covers were doing wanton things to her.

  “What do you think?”

  Her answer was a soft drawn-out moan.

  He spent the rest of the night convincing his wife that he was indeed real. By the time the sun rose, Cara had no doubts at all.

  The raising of the new school was held the next day and turned into a community affair. People from all over the Valley came to help, bringing with them their families and a dish to pass at the potluck. Chase and Cara were among the first to arrive at the cleared field behind the church. Ignoring Cara’s statement that she could swing a hammer as well as some of the men and would not be relegated to women’s work, Chase helped her down from the buggy, then, with a firm yet polite guiding hand under her elbow, escorted her over to where Sophie and the other women were gathered. He left her in their care and went off to find Asa. Sophie silenced Cara’s fuming by showing her Asa’s final drawing of the school. It bore little resemblance to Cara’s original idea of a modest one-story structure. Asa and Virginia had gotten together and added rooms, breezeways, and a steepled roof. The drawing left Cara speechless.

  As the morning sun climbed to afternoon height, the day took on a beauty that was exclusive to the month of June. The sky was an endless blue above, and the sun bore down gently instead of with the blistering vengeance of the summer months to come. More and more people arrived with more and more food. Soon two long tables were filled with offerings.

  The floor of the new school had been lain and completed, and now the walls were being raised. The children were running back and forth, and more than a few had to be cautioned about getting in the way of the workers. In the end, Cara rounded up all the children. With a ready, set, go, she raced them to a point out in the field some distance away from the main gathering. With Cara leading the way, they played kickball and baseball and tag. They had a grasshopper hunt and played leapfrog. By the time they were waved in for supper, Cara was too tired to join the foot race back. She let those with the energy run; she and a few of the younger ones chose to walk. She sent the children straight to the pump behind the church to wash up. When they were finished, she took her turn.