by Bush, Holly
Reed’s gut twisted. He had witnessed horrible violence in his years, but none had torn at his heart like this. Never before had his injuries bound him to look on helplessly at brutality. He cleared his throat and the white man’s head swung around. “This is a house of worship, sir.”
“Nigger lover, is ya,” the man said and turned his attention back to Belle. “Git up,” he shouted.
Reed watched the woman struggle to her feet holding her side. Her lips were beginning to swell. The man’s hand raised, and she cowered.
“Please, Jed. This is a church,” she whispered.
“My sister don’t need some nigger church.” Jed looked around at the crowd. “You’ll be wearing the mark of my bullwhip if I hears she was here again.”
“I came on my own, Jed. Please,” she pleaded. “Leave them out of it.”
Her brother slapped her, and her head whipped around. “Shut up.”
Reed’s anger rose, as did his voice. “Stop it.”
The man twisted his sister’s arm and dragged her to Reed. “Ain’t none of your business, cripple.”
Reed looked at the woman. Her fair skin now marked with the imprint of her brother’s hand and smeared blood. Her eyes begged for silence. Reed stared at her, helpless he knew in his chair, but unable to let this continue. “The well-being of every white woman is a Southerner’s business, sir.”
“She’s me and Pa’s property till a husband takes her. Don’t you know your law, boy?”
“As an attorney and officer of the court, I know the rules governing acceptable punishment. I can’t imagine the sheriff here in town would find this acceptable.” Reed peered at the man. “Or better yet, may hap the tax office would list your name for some overdue property taxes.”
The man’s eyes opened wide and then narrowed. “You threatening me, cripple?”
Reed stared innocently. “Threaten you? Hardly. Me in a wheel chair and all.”
“Better not.” He shoved his sister out the door and turned back to the room. “You nigger boys remember what I said. My sister’s here again, and there won’t be a one of ya not lynched.”
Reed wheeled to the open door and heard hushed whispers and thankful sighs behind him. He watched the retreating forms in the night and flinched when Belle stumbled, roughly pulled up to her feet. His anger mounted.
“Mr. Jackson. What have you done now?” Beulah hissed. The crowd grew quiet with her words.
“What have I done you ask, as you stood by and did nothing, Miss Beulah.” Reed said.
Beulah folded her hands in front of her. “Belle can read now and very well. There is nothing else for us to do.”
Reed narrowed his eyes. “As he beat her in front of us.”
Brother Freeman came to Reed. “The sacrifice of this congregation will not save Miss Belle from a beating.”
Reed’s shoulders slumped. The crowd gathered their belongings and children’s hands. The men filed past him, and a voice from the crowd whispered, “He’d a never said nothin’ if it was a Nigra woman takin’ a beating.”
Would he have defended a Negro, he asked himself? He remembered one time, long ago, witnessing his father beating a slave. It had sickened him, and he did not speak to his father for days. Reed knew his father and brother beat their slaves, but he could not bring himself to view it. Shortly after, his father revealed his plans for him. College. I never had the stomach to be a plantation master, and my father knew it. That fateful day he saw his father at his vilest and was repulsed. As a young man, mid-teens, Reed was confronted with a moral argument of such magnitude his family’s very existence came into question. The coward’s path, his path, lay in avoidance rather than conflict. He watched Beulah pull her shawl over her head and kiss her brother’s cheek.
“I’ll walk you back to town, Miss Beulah,” he said.
“I am in no need of your comforts, Mr. Jackson,” she replied.
Reed was exhausted and exasperated. “Well, maybe I need yours, Miss Beulah.”
Her eyes widened. “A good Christian would never deny a cripple her company. Isn’t that right, Brother Freeman?”
Beulah swept past him, and her brother wheeled him out the door. “Many of us would have liked to stop him, Mr. Jackson,” Brother Freeman said. He whispered in Reed’s ear. “My sister likes you. An honor she bestows on few and no white men of my knowledge.”
Reed looked from the corner of his eye to the preacher. “Really?”
“Now I have a face to attach to the cross my sister claims she bears.”
Reed bade the man good night and hurried to catch up with Beulah. “I am the cross you bear?” he asked her.
“God gives us burdens in many forms, Mr. Jackson.”
“He has seen fit to burden Belle,” Reed replied.
Beulah stopped on the dark road and turned to him. “What exactly were you trying to prove? Following me here tonight and then putting our lives in jeopardy with your interference?”
“I couldn’t sit by and watch.”
“Do you understand the dangers you’ve put us all in?”
“I couldn’t watch.” Reed knew the words, true words, were fatalistic at worst, foolish at best.
Beulah’s hands rose to her hips. “Your family owned slaves, I’m certain. Did you beat them or did you watch others do the deed?”
“I never beat a slave.”
“But you watched,” Beulah accused and turned away. “One and the same.”
They continued silently along the road, seeing the light of town up ahead. “Belle. What do you know of her, Miss Beulah?”
She eyed him and he ignored her. “Belle Richards. She’s a dirt poor farm girl with a passion to read. Feels that will free her from the life of waiting on her father and brothers,” Beulah replied and added under her breath. “Lowborn trash that they are.”
“I agree, but then I’m a spineless cripple who causes trouble by defending a young woman. You, on the other hand, are above those sorts of judgments,” Reed replied.
Beulah narrowed her eyes and mouth. “We had best not be seen walking into town together.”
Chapter Four
Reed awoke from a troublesome sleep that night to crying and moaning outside of his window. There was no moon, and Reed could not see the source of the noise, but heard movement in the hallway. He pulled pants on and lowered himself into his chair as he wiped the night from his face. On the porch, Reed heard Beulah’s voice, low and comforting in the still air. “Miss Beulah,” he whispered.
“Go back to bed, Mr. Jackson.”
Reed heard a moan and Beulah’s pleas to someone. “What is it?” he asked.
Beulah rose from the walk and Reed saw her eyes, angry, through the spindles of the porch. “None of your concern.”
“For God’s sakes, woman, tell me who cries so piteously.” Reed realized the moaning had stopped.
Beulah looked down and back to Reed. “She needs no more of your help, Mr. Jackson.”
Reed froze and the blood drained from his face. He wheeled down the ramp and to where Beulah held Belle Richards in her arms. “What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She fainted or … died before she could she say.”
A lump of terror balled in his throat for a woman he barely knew. He forced words from his mouth. “Check her pulse.”
“Faint. But there.”
“Then hurry, Beulah,” Reed rushed on. “Can you lift her?”
“I was a slave, Mr. Jackson. I carried baled cotton on my back …”
“Enough with the lecture on the evils of slavery. She may die as we speak,” Reed hissed.
Beulah stood slowly, the girl limply lying across her arms. Reed hurried up the ramp and opened doors. Beulah dropped the woman onto his bed and heaved a breath. Reed stared at her face, a mass of blood and swollen flesh. She moaned fitfully and drew a hand to her chest. Her unconscious flinch made Reed tremble.
“We are bound for troubles now,” Beulah said and lowered herself in
to a chair.
Reed drew a basin of water and wiped small spots of unmarked skin. “This girl is the one with the troubles, Miss Beulah.”
“A crippled Confederate soldier, a former slave already accused of uppity airs and a half dead white girl. Oh my.”
“We’re going to have to wake Henry. So he can go for Jim Lowell.”
Beulah’s eyes widened. “She can’t stay here, Mr. Jackson. We’ve got to get her far away from us and do it quickly.”
Reed straightened the girl’s tattered clothes. He knew Beulah was right. But his desperation to keep this pitiful, broken, proud woman beside him won. Reed used what he knew to be his only hope with Beulah. Shame warmed him, but he did not care. “What if she were colored? What would you do then?” Beulah faced him mutinously, and Reed continued softly. “What would your brother do?”
“You sink to new lows, Mr. Jackson.”
Reed wondered if Beulah knew he was instead rising to new heights. He knew Beulah was no coward, having survived years as a slave with the wherewithal to make a new life and help others as she did. A heretofore silent conscience awoke in Reed as this woman clung to life before his eyes. Had he yet earned or unearthed the courage to do what was right? “Don’t let fear stand in your way.” Reed repeated Beulah’s words and turned to her. “You said that, Beulah. My mother begs the same of me. Mayhap this is where God leads us.”
Beulah rose and went to the door. “I will go for Dr. Lowell. He has helped my people before.” She walked back to Reed. “If we do this, help this girl, will you be able to shoulder the consequences?”
Reed stared up at her.
Beulah bent down, placing her hands on the arms of Reed’s chair. “I killed a man, a white man, as he used me for pleasure, Mr. Jackson. You may be driven from this place. I could be hung. God’s plans often lead us to a dark place. Do you have the faith, any faith to let Him lead you to light?”
Reed could not answer Beulah’s questions. Had chosen in the past not to face his own questions. Reed only knew that this woman, Belle, battered and bruised, before him lured him in a way he had never experienced. He watched her chest rise and fall slowly. And with each breath, cracked the shell surrounding his heart. “I have no knowledge of faith. But I can’t watch her die.”
Beulah straightened, pulled a dark shawl over her head and left the room. Reed sat silently stroking Belle’s hand. What compels me? Why this woman? Reed closed his eyes and envisioned her reading. Joy had lit her face. Reed could only imagine what obstacles she faced to learn those letters.
Jim Lowell surprised Reed with a hand on his arm. “I didn’t hear you come in,” Reed said.
The doctor opened his bag and examined Belle’s face. “This is Belle Richards. I was with her mother when she died. Beat up bad this time.”
“She was beaten like this before?”
“A few times. Not as bad as this, though.”
Henry and Mary Ellen stood in the doorway to Reed’s bedroom. Mary Ellen’s hand covered her mouth. “What happened?” Henry asked.
Reed saw Beulah standing behind them. “I don’t know. I heard her moaning on the sidewalk,” he said.
“Will she be alright?” Mary Ellen asked.
“Hard to say. But she’s young and healthy. These ribs are cracked though. Miss Beulah, come here and help me,” the doctor replied.
Beulah hurried to his side as Reed watched. The doctor pulled stones from the woman’s knee and stitched a cut on her face. Reed heard Mary Ellen’s hushed whispers behind him.
“What are we going to do with her Henry?”
“She’s runaway that’s for sure. Be it from a father or husband,” Henry said. “Hate to get in the middle of that in this town.”
“Belle Richards is unmarried,” Jim Lowell said. “More than likely her brothers or her father did this.”
“We can hardly send her back, Henry,” Mary Ellen said and wrung her hands at her waist.
Henry’s shoulders dropped and he blew out a breath. “I’m not sure we should interfere.”
“Leave her here, Henry. No one has to know,” Reed said as he stared at the bump forming on Belle’s head.
Henry pulled the knot tight on his dressing gown. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Reed. You can’t nurse the girl, and what if someone finds out she’s here?”
“Be careful, Reed,” Jim Lowell said. “Her father and brothers wouldn’t bring the sheriff to get you. They’ll sneak in and slit your throat.”
Belle moaned, and Reed wheeled closer.
* * *
Belle’s eyes fluttered open, and the pain took her breath away. She struggled to sit up. A man pushed her gently back onto the pillow. He was the doctor that came when Mama died, Belle thought. Her eyes focused, and she looked from face to face. Beulah. She had made it to the Ames Hotel. Beulah would know what to do. Belle blinked when she saw the man in the wheelchair. He was the one to defend her at the Freeman farm. Why is he so unhappy? The doctor called to her.
“Miss Richards? Can you hear me?”
Belle nodded. A tall man in a fancy robe stepped forward.
“Does your family know where you are?” he asked.
Belle’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Not going back,” she whispered.
“Quiet, Henry,” the man in the wheelchair said.
“How did you end up here, Miss Belle? Someone you know work here?” Dr. Lowell asked.
Belle looked up at Beulah. The woman would not look at her, and tears filled Belle’s eyes. She was drawn to the man in the moving chair. His stare was grim. His underlying dark hair melted to blonde and his blue eyes bored into her. He was clean down to his pink fingernails. He looked at her solemnly and turned his head once left and once right.
“No. There’s no one,” she said.
The man and woman in their nightclothes and the doctor spoke in hushed whispers. The seated man stared at her. Beulah looked afraid. Belle wondered what she had been thinking to lay these problems at the doorstep of the woman who taught her to read. I was thinking I might die, Belle thought. Pa had beaten her with a board before Jed took her outside. Frank stood by helplessly. If her tabby hadn’t latched onto Jed’s face, she would certainly be dead.
“Are you warm enough? Can I get you a blanket?” The seated man said and looked up at the others in the room. “We can’t do anything tonight. Let the girl rest.”
“Reed’s right, of course,” the woman in the doorway said. “Do you want Beulah or I to stay here with her, Reed?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go on to bed.”
The doctor closed his bag and told Belle he would be back to check on her in the morning. Then she was alone with Beulah and the seated man.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Beulah,” Belle said. Her tears stung the cuts on her face. “This will be trouble for you. I didn’t know what else to do. Jed told Pa he watched me read that book through the window last night. If Pa finds out I came here to you, he’ll lynch your brother.”
“Perhaps he won’t find out,” the seated man said.
“You were the one last night who tried to stop Jed at the Freeman’s. Who are you?” Belle asked.
“My name is Reed Jackson.”
“Reed Jackson,” Belle repeated. Every bone in her body hurt and the medicine Dr. Lovell gave her for the pain in her arm was beginning to make her sleepy. Her thoughts ran together and she had trouble focusing. She gazed at this fair-haired man. “Why are you sad?”
“I feel bad for you,” he replied.
“Don’t feel sad for me, Mr. Jackson. I’m going to meet a man to love and have children. And a little house with curtains and …” Belle’s eyes fluttered closed.
* * *
Morning came through the window and the man awoke, stiff she imagined from a night in the chair with wheels. Belle watched him.
“Good morning,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
Belle groaned as she moved. “Terrible. Always worse the day
after. Where am I? Who are you?”
“My name is Reed Jackson. You’re at the Ames Hotel.”
Belle closed her eyes. Her head was exploding and her mouth sore and dry. Every limb hurt, but the pounding in her chest would not cease.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked.
“What time is it?” Belle asked.
Mr. Jackson pulled a gold watch out of his pocket. “Ten o’clock.”
Belle sat up and the room swayed. She pushed back the covers. “Gotta get going.”
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Lie down,” he said.
Belle pulled her hand through her knotted hair. She stood and stumbled back against the bed. The room spun and she thought she might vomit. Have to get going. “Where are my shoes?”
“Miss Richards. Lie down. You can barely stand.”
Belle wiped her face with her hand. “Twelve o’clock train. Gotta be there.”
“What nonsense,” Mr. Jackson said and held a hand up to steady her. “You’re in no shape to travel.”
“No choice, Mr. Jackson. Miss Beulah’s the one who taught me to read. I won’t repay her with trouble.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Jackson? I have fresh sheets for your bed. May I come in?” Beulah called.
He wheeled to the door and opened it as Belle leaned against the doorjamb of the bedroom. Beulah stepped in and closed the door.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Beulah asked in a hushed whisper.
“She’s planning on catching the noon train,” Mr. Jackson replied.
“I got to, Miss Beulah,” Belle said.
“Nonsense. You won’t have the strength to make it out the back door,” Beulah said and turned. “Mr. Jackson, excuse us. Belle needs to get cleaned up.”
“I got to go, Miss Beulah. Jed’ll be looking for me. I’ve caused enough trouble already,” Belle said.
“If you want to get out of this town, I have friends who can help you. But you’ll be a danger to them in this condition. Build your strength and be patient, Belle,” Beulah said.
* * *
Reed wheeled himself into the kitchen in yesterday’s clothes. The cook grimaced when he asked for eggs and coffee. The man was already beginning the noon meal. Reed pleaded a hangover and a short night, and the man conceded. When he went back to his room, Beulah was pulling the door closed.
