Reconstructing Jackson

by Bush, Holly

  “I’m sure you’re tired, Aunt Lily,” Mary Ellen said and began to stand.

  “No, Mary Ellen,” Belle said. “She’s his mother. She has a right to know.” Belle told Lily of her upbringing; learning to read and how the man she had married had been her lone defense. Tears came to her eyes, and her voice shook when she recalled the grim night she had been beaten. How Reed had insisted she stay in his room, even Reed’s gift of the dictionary. How there had been no alternative other than to return to her father and how grateful and lucky she had been that Reed wanted her and how glad she was now. Mary Ellen dabbed her eyes, Beulah stared and Lily listened intently.

  “What did you think of this marriage, Mary Ellen?” Lily asked finally.

  Mary Ellen shook her head. “I didn’t know if it could work, but Reed was set on a path. It wasn’t my place to say.”

  Lily turned to Beulah.

  The black woman met the white woman’s eyes intensely. “I tried in every way to discourage it and spoke to Mr. Jackson of it.”

  Lily’s brows rose. “What conversations did you have with Reed?”

  Beulah leaned back in her seat, obviously evaluating. Whatever she saw in Lily’s face made her continue. “He was angry and afraid when he arrived here.” Lily’s eyes widened with the comment. “I told him to not let his fear stand in his way. That God had a plan for him. He threw the words back at me when I tried to talk him out of this marriage. That maybe Belle was indeed that plan. I told him that Belle would not ease the pain in his heart. That only he was capable of that.”

  Lily’s lip trembled and she looked everywhere but the other solemn faces in the room. She touched her finger delicately to her nose. “Reed is very fortunate to have found friends here.” Lily looked at Belle. “You may be wrong, though, Beulah. A good woman can, in fact, lighten the pain men carry. I believe Reed will be fortunate in that as well.”

  “May I freshen your tea, Lily?” Beulah asked.

  “Yes. And thank you, Beulah.”

  Shouts came from the sitting room. Henry came into the kitchen white faced. “Mary Ellen, Beulah. I think it’s time to go. I’ll leave the carriage here for you Aunt Lily and the door open to Room Three. Take your time.”

  Belle was only remotely aware of her guests’ leave-taking and nodded mechanically to them at the door. Buford’s face was red, and Reed sat fuming in his chair near the window. Lily went to her husband.

  “It’s late, Buford. We’re all tired. Henry left the carriage for us.”

  “Wasn’t that nice of him?” Buford boomed. “It fits your brother would raise a nigger lover.”

  Belle backed up at the hatred in his voice and the flinch of Reed’s shoulders. “Don’t say that,” Belle whispered.

  Buford’s head snapped around. “Another champion of the Negro. And what of your wife’s family, Reed? Sounds as though she grew up a cracker. Fine mother for my grandchildren.”

  “Buford!”

  “Don’t worry, Father. You won’t need to see the grandchildren often since you deeded my heritage away,” Reed said.

  “That again? How could you run Bristolwood from that chair, Reed?”

  “It was my home, Father,” Reed shouted. “The home I lost my legs for.”

  “You never had what it took, Reed. Couldn’t have controlled the slaves. Never had the strength and temperament even before the war,” Buford seethed. “Don’t look so shocked. You knew that as well as I. Your brothers were the ones born strong.”

  Belle’s chin lifted, and she touched Reed’s shoulder. “My husband’s a better man than you.”

  “Better than what you deserve,” Buford said.

  Lily shouted, “No,” as Reed wheeled closer to his father.

  “Take it back. Take it back, damn you,” Reed screamed. “She deserves better than I could ever be. Will ever be. You son-of-a-bitch. Take it back.”

  Belle hid her face in her hands to cry.

  “That’s enough,” Lily shouted. “Buford, apologize this instant to your son and daughter-in-law.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You fat-headed, stupid ass,” Lily cried. “Your son made his way here, alone, because you didn’t deem him worthy of Bristolwood. He makes a new life for himself, new friends and marries, and you have the gall to question those choices. You banished him like my father banished me for marrying an uneducated Southerner. I learned in my thirty-odd years that not all those south of Boston were stupid.” Lily was breathing hard and red-faced. “Just, apparently, you.”

  Buford Jackson’s mouth opened and closed.

  Lily pulled her lace gloves on with a vengeance. “We’re going to the hotel, now, children. I’m sure your father will have some things to say to you both tomorrow that will redeem him … somewhat. Don’t call your father a son-of-a-bitch, Reed. It’s unbecoming to a Southern gentleman. Belle, you’ve been a lovely hostess. I look forward to spending time with you tomorrow. Buford, in the carriage. Now.”

  Belle watched Lily exit, head high, and her husband followed, quietly. Reed wheeled himself into the kitchen and rooted through cupboards.

  “What are you looking for?” Belle asked.

  “Whiskey.”

  “It won’t make it better,” Belle whispered.

  “Where’s the goddamned whiskey, Belle?”

  “I handed my father a bottle every day for ten years. See what became of him. I won’t do it for you. Find it yourself,” Belle said. She went to the bedroom and laid down to have the cry that had been building up for the last hour. Her sobs had wound down to a hiccough when Reed called to her through the door.

  “Can I come in?”

  Reed wheeled to the bed. Belle continued staring at the ceiling. “Do you feel better now with a belly full of moonshine?”

  Reed folded his hands in his lap. “You said I was a better man than your father, Belle. Don’t want to prove you wrong by drowning my anger in a bottle.”

  “Oh, Reed,” Belle said and sat up. “It was horrible, the fighting and the name-calling.”

  “It was at that. My father has a mastery of making me a raving lunatic.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” Belle whispered.

  Reed’s hand waved in front of his face as if swatting a fly, and he grimaced. “The only thing father likes is the South. And power.”

  Belle changed into her nightdress and climbed into bed. Her eyes were dry and stinging. She looked at the ceiling. “How long will they stay?”

  Reed shrugged. “Who knows? When father’s ready, he’ll shout at mother to pack, and she’ll scurry to follow, and they’ll be gone.”

  “I hate when people bark and shout orders at me.”

  “You’ll have a sorry time of it then,” Reed whispered.

  Belle lay quietly. In many ways she and her husband had grown up alike. Someone belittling and screaming all the time. Trying desperately to appease someone else’s notion of what they should do or be. “Our families aren’t so different, I don’t think.”

  * * *

  Reed eyed her. To compare Bristolwood and the shack Belle was raised in was a far stretch. He was educated; she had just learned to read. He had the manners and upbringing of a gentleman. Belle mortally feared woman who were ladies.

  “Hardly,” he drawled.

  Belle sighed and rolled onto her side to face him in his chair. “You and I are a lot alike. Looking over our shoulder all the time. Trying to be what someone bigger than us wanted us to be so we didn’t get yelled at or beat.” She rolled back to stare at the ceiling. “Your Pa teased you with the deed to your house. Mine showed his fists.”

  They were alike in many ways. Both had lived with the fear of disapproval, but it had molded them differently. Belle knew what she had wanted and reached for it. Reed had been so frightened of his father’s censure he had rarely spoke his mind. No wonder his father thought him weak. I am. What an admission for a man to make, Reed thought. His father had never beaten him but a veiled threat hung there. The sacrifice of
face or privileges or his home was enough to make him swallow his anger and pride and perhaps even his convictions.

  “Even the threat was enough to make me shut my mouth and scurry off to do his bidding. College, the Confederacy, whatever it was.”

  “I did the same. Doing what Pa and Jed wanted without showing any weakness. Like I was doing all those things for me and not them.”

  Reed stared at Belle. “I think you’re right. We’re more alike than I first thought.”

  Belle turned her head and smiled. “But it’s alright now, Reed.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked as he pulled off his shirt and levered himself into bed beside her.

  She snuggled up on his shoulder and sighed. “We’re married. My Pa and Jed can’t hurt me, and your family lives a hundred miles away. The only two people we have to worry about is us.”

  Reed listened to Belle’s breathing become even and quiet as a weight he had carried all his life slowly lifted. This backwoods creature, now his wife, explained to him why everything would be fine. She was right. He was a married man. He had relinquished his home and his fiancée to his father and brother. What else was there to lose? Nothing. Buford Jackson could rant and rail all he wished from Bristolwood. Reed would never hear him. With no threat hanging over him coloring his decisions, he could do or be whatever he wished. I have only my soul and Belle to answer to.

  Chapter Ten

  Lily Jackson sent a note the following day. She and Buford would like Belle and Reed to join them for supper at the hotel. Reed harrumphed. He was surprised they weren’t already on the train out of town. He knew his father didn’t want to break bread with him, but Lily would insist. Belle’s face paled when he told her. “I don’t particularly want to go either, but I don’t think we have much choice,” Reed said.

  Belle held up a new skirt and shirtwaist to herself and stood in front of the bureau mirror. “Will this be right to wear?”

  “I think it will look fine, Belle. Remember what you told me last night. The only two we have to worry about is you and I.”

  Belle shrugged. “I know but it’d be a lot easier if I didn’t have to sit across the table from them.”

  Reed nodded and acknowledged his own misgivings about dining with his parents. Belle helped him change, and he opened the door for her. “Off to the lion’s den, then.”

  Buford Jackson rose from the table as Belle and Reed approached in the Ames Hotel Dining Room. “Belle, Reed,” he murmured.

  Reed kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’m so glad you could join us.” “It’s not like our social calendar is full, Mother,” Reed said as he wheeled closer to the table. He glanced briefly at his father and spread his napkin out on his lap.

  Lily Jackson’s head tilted. “I realize that, Reed. I was referring to our … our parting last night.”

  Reed smiled tightly and picked up the menu. “Then the observation would have been, glad you would join us, rather than could.” Belle’s hand touched his.

  Buford Jackson plopped two elbows on the table. “No use baiting your mother. She’s not the one you’re mad at.”

  Reed stared at him. “No. She’s not.”

  Buford looked around the room but would not meet his wife’s eyes. “My apologies to you and your bride, Reed.” Red-faced Buford stared at Reed. “I don’t agree with you, but I’ll admit I had no business questioning you in your own home.”

  Reed felt the tension and knew Belle and his mother were holding their breaths. His father’s capitulation surprised him. Buford had apologized for last night’s debacle. Reed would wait a lifetime for another. Not that this small admission would clear years of transgressions, but it was something. And certainly not small by Buford’s standards. “Apology accepted, Father.”

  Belle’s eyes closed and a whoosh of breath expelled from Lily Jackson. “How was your trip, Lily?” Belle asked.

  Lily smiled. “Fine. Thank you for asking, Belle.”

  “How is Bristolwood, Father?” Reed asked.

  Buford stabbed a bite of steak. “Winston cleared the lower forty. The damn wages will make a profit non-existent this year.”

  “But he’ll make it?” Reed asked.

  “Of course, he’ll make it. He’s a Jackson isn’t he?” Buford bellowed.

  Reed stared at his father. The old man would never admit weakness or defeat. “How bad is it?”

  Buford did not raise his head. Lily responded. “Bad.”

  “Is there any more you can sell?” Reed asked.

  “Not the taxes, Reed. It’s the damn niggers. Between wages and carpetbaggers filling their heads with the forty-acre rule, we won’t have the hands to plant come spring.”

  Reed mulled his father’s words. He had, in fact, warned his family before the war and after that things they had taken for granted would change, but no one listened. Too sure of their own God-given rights to wonder. Too shortsighted and cocky to plan. The changes the Great War brought would alter the face, the very fiber of the country and yet men like his father would never yield.

  “Winston must have some ideas.”

  Buford stabbed the air with his fork. “Some nonsense about buying combines and planting something other than cotton.”

  “What combines?” Reed asked.

  Belle’s face lit up. “I read about that in the newspaper.”

  Buford’s brow lifted. “Can’t be done.”

  “The paper said it was just a matter of time …” Belle began.

  “Can’t be done, I say,” Buford barked.

  “Do not yell at my wife like she’s a dog nipping at your heels.” Reed turned to Belle. “What did the article say, Belle?”

  Belle’s hands trembled, but she looked at Reed and repeated what she had read.

  “Why do you oppose this, Father?”

  Buford leaned forward over his coffee. “Some of us don’t think this will last.”

  Reed shook his head. “What will last?”

  “This emancipation nonsense. The niggers will be running home in no time.” Buford continued, hands splayed to the stunned table before him. “When they can’t feed themselves or keep a roof over their heads, they’ll hurry home to Bristolwood.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Buford gripped the edge of the table. “Of course, I’m serious. My niggers worked, but they always had enough to eat and shelter. Hell, we didn’t even sell away families. What more could they want?”

  Reed stared at the man, in some ways a stranger across the table from him. His father, like many Southerners possibly, thought Lincoln’s Proclamation was without teeth. Let alone the thought that shackled men with their first taste of freedom would come running back to his father’s bullwhip. He shook his head with no response.

  “Miss Beulah will never go back. Neither will her brother,” Belle said.

  Buford grinned. “There’s ways of convincing the unrepentant.”

  “What do you mean, Father?” He turned to Lily. “What does he mean, Mother? What plans does he have?”

  “It’s nonsense. I told him,” Lily said.

  “Don’t you see?” Reed questioned. “Don’t you see? You blind old fool. The war is over. The nation has changed. It will never be as it was before. Never. And no band of whiners will change the facts. We lost the war. Listen to Winston.”

  Buford’s fist slammed down on the table and coffee sloshed over the rims of the cups. “Nothing’s changed. You think because some fool in Washington told the slaves they’re free to run their lives that they will? That they could?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Some will succeed, some won’t. You no longer have a say.”

  “The ones that don’t starve to death will be back and the others, well, may be persuaded,” Buford said and turned to Belle. “Where is Beulah’s plantation?”

  “Do not open your mouth, Belle.”

  “Why do you protect this nigra woman, Reed?” Buford sat back and chuckled to himself. “Hell, you had your first woman from the
slave quarters.”

  Lily gasped. “Buford, really.”

  “I’m trying to figure this boy out, is all, Lily. Left us a few months ago, and it sounds as though he’s forgotten everything he’s been taught. Do you really think the niggers will make it without us?”

  Reed’s face flamed with embarrassment, and he tried desperately to control his anger. To make his father see reason before he lost Bristolwood to his pride. “I don’t have any idea if the Negroes can make their way without education and land, but it doesn’t matter anymore, Father.”

  “How can you say that, Reed? How can you say it doesn’t matter? You lost your leg and your brother fighting for it.” Buford sat back in his chair. “It’s the only thing that matters.”

  Reed stared away. What had changed him, he wondered. Reed’s reasoning before was strictly pragmatic. The South would need to change and move on to survive. Now, he envisioned Beulah’s face and realized the changes coming had as much to do with those individual survivors as it did the law. The ones beaten and bowed but never broken. The ones shown only degradation who lived to pass on knowledge and kindness. Those, black and white, with the brains and tenacity and luck to move forward would be the ones to shape a nation and carve out a future.

  “You have no idea what’s important to me, Father.”

  “Can we please end this meal on a pleasant thought, Buford?” Lily questioned.

  “Damn silly women.”

  “Silly enough to raise your sons and run your household for thirty-five years,” Lily countered. She turned to Reed. “There is good news from Bristolwood. Belinda is expecting.”

  “Tell them congratulations for me.”

  Buford puffed up. “Married three weeks and Winston’s got her carrying.”

  Reed could barely abide the smug look on his father’s face. “Maybe our sweet Belinda was carrying before the wedding. Who knows?”

  “Reed! What a thing to say!” Belle said.

  Reed caught the look that passed from his father to his mother.

  Buford’s brows rose. “Got to get some grandchildren somewhere.”