Always Forward

by Ginny Dye

  Janie burst in through the front door. Matthew appeared at the door to the kitchen as she quickly unbuttoned her coat and tossed it haphazardly on the hook next to the door.

  “What’s wrong, Janie? I was watching you come down the street. I don’t believe I have ever seen you move so fast.” Matthew’s blue eyes were dark with concern as he glanced at the door. “Was someone after you?” he asked sharply, and then forced his voice to relax. “Of course, maybe you were just eager to get home to your new husband,” he added lightly.

  “Is it good news, or bad?” Janie demanded, her soft, blue eyes fixed on his as she pulled her hat off, brown hair breaking free from her bun and cascading down her back.

  Matthew didn’t pretend to not understand. “Good,” he assured her. “I should have known my early arrival would alarm you,” he said apologetically.

  Janie relaxed as soon as the words came out of his mouth. “I’m glad you’re home early,” she said warmly. “It’s just that after so many years of horrible news – especially where you are concerned – it may take me a while to not anticipate the worst.” She wrapped her arms around Matthew’s waist, and pulled him close. “Hello, husband.”

  Matthew chuckled. “Hello, wife.” He pulled her close, and lowered his head to give her a kiss. “I have a surprise for you.”

  Janie smiled. “It’s hard to keep chicken soup and apple pie a secret when the aromas are swirling out of the kitchen like a snowstorm.”

  “Do they smell good?” Matthew asked hopefully.

  “Heavenly!” Janie, starving now that there was no cause for alarm, turned toward the kitchen. “Is it ready to eat?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  Janie altered her course, and went to stand beside the gas heater. “Then you have time to tell me the good news. Talk,” she commanded.

  Matthew chuckled again. “Am I the only one who knows you are not nearly as mild-mannered as you want the world to think?”

  “It’s best to keep everyone guessing,” Janie said primly. “They don’t pay me nearly as much attention so it’s easier to achieve my agenda.”

  Matthew threw back his head with a laugh. “I’ll remember that for the future.”

  “That would be wise,” Janie agreed easily, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  Matthew took a deep breath. “Black men were given the right to vote in Washington, DC. Congress approved it today.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Janie exclaimed, but then hesitated. “They can do that? I thought they had to pass an Amendment for blacks to get the vote.”

  “Washington, DC is rather unique,” Matthew explained. It’s not actually a state, and it is not part of any state. Congress approved the creation of a capital district along the Potomac River in 1790. The Constitution proclaimed it would be a federal district under the exclusive jurisdiction of the Congress.”

  “So they don’t have to have anyone’s permission,” Janie observed. “They can do whatever they want?”

  “Well, yes, but whatever they do has to pass with the majority of the Congress.”

  Janie thought about that for a minute. “President Johnson approved this?”

  Matthew snorted. “Hardly. Our president vetoed it. Congress overrode his veto and made it law. It’s just the beginning of what our president can anticipate. Now that the Republicans have such a strong control of the Congress, they can be fairly certain of accomplishing what they want.”

  Janie turned to look out the window, not even minding when the first flakes of new snow floated down past the oil lampposts stationed outside the house. “So it’s begun,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, it’s begun,” Matthew agreed. “It’s just a matter of time until black suffrage is law throughout the country.”

  “For men,” Janie said wryly.

  “Yes.” Matthew stepped up to wrap his arm around her waist. “I’m sorry, Janie. But I do believe women will have the vote in this country in the future.”

  Janie pushed aside her retort that it should have already happened. She knew how much Matthew wanted women to have the vote. There was something else, though… “What aren’t you telling me, Matthew?”

  Matthew blinked down at her. “Not telling you?”

  “Black men getting the vote, even if it is only in Washington, DC, is a truly historic event. So many people have fought for it.” Janie narrowed her eyes. “Your excitement is rather underwhelming.”

  Matthew frowned, and then smiled. “It will take me time to get used to having a wife who knows me almost as well as I know myself.”

  “I have the advantage,” Janie said smugly. “I’ve been watching you for years. I wanted to know everything about you. If you hadn’t been smitten with Carrie for so long, you would have realized it.” She felt a flash of sympathy at the embarrassment that flashed through her husband’s eyes. “Oh, pooh, you finally came to your senses.” She decided to answer the question she saw on his face. “And, yes, I know you love me desperately, and are completely over your infatuation with Carrie. You finally proved you are as intelligent as I always believed you were,” she added smugly.

  Matthew pulled her close. “As long as you know I love you desperately,” he said tenderly.

  Janie smiled as she eased away from the kiss. “I’ll know it more if you will answer my question.”

  Matthew groaned as a grin twitched his lips. “You should be the journalist.”

  “Perhaps,” Janie agreed complacently. “Right now I’ll just settle for knowing why you aren’t wildly excited about blacks getting the vote.”

  Matthew lifted his head and sniffed. “I promise to tell you, but only in the kitchen. The nose my mother trained so well in the mountains of West Virginia tells me the apple pie is done. My guess is that you don’t want it to burn.”

  Janie turned, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the kitchen.

  *********

  Questions about Matthew’s response to the black vote disappeared as the steam and aromas coming from the pot of chicken soup enveloped Janie. She walked over and lifted the lid in order to get the full effect of it billowing into her face. “There is not anything I would rather have than your chicken soup on a day like today. I wish it was possible for me to thank your mother for raising such an incredible son.”

  “Me too,” Matthew said wistfully. He gazed out the window for a long moment. “Smelling this soup puts me right back in the mountain cabin I grew up in. My mama was the best cook in the world. She knew how to make anything taste good. We didn’t have much money, but we always ate well.” He turned back to look at Janie. “Mama would have loved you so much. I hate that she won’t get to meet you, and I hate that she died before we could produce fabulous grandchildren for her.”

  Janie’s heart softened at the longing in his eyes, even as her heart quickened at the idea of having his children. “How many?”

  “Children?”

  Janie nodded. “We’ve never talked about that.”

  “Twelve would be fine.”

  Janie blinked, searching for words, but came up blank. “Excuse me?” she finally managed.

  Matthew chuckled. “I just wanted to see how you would react. Twelve might be fine for a mountain family that requires a labor force, but I have a feeling we won’t need so many.”

  “That’s good,” Janie said faintly. Having grown up an only child, she couldn’t begin to imagine twelve of her own.

  “How many do you want?” Matthew asked. “Since you raised the question…”

  Janie thought about it as he ladled the soup into bowls, and then added a thick slice of buttered bread onto the plates beside them. “Right now even one, while I’m still in school, seems impossible, but I’ve actually dreamed of having four children.”

  “Four,” Matthew repeated with a smile. “That sounds like a fine number. I hope they all look like you.”

  “And I hope they all have red hair and bright blue eyes,” Janie replied. She pause
d. “I’m worried about Carrie.”

  Matthew cocked his head. “Carrie? Why? Women get pregnant every day.”

  “Carrie’s mother almost died giving birth to her. She could never have more children.”

  “Surely that doesn’t have anything to do with Carrie. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “Of course she does,” Janie said quickly, “but sometimes the reasons get passed down to the offspring.” She paused long enough to eat some of her steaming soup. “They don’t know what causes it, but some women just have a very hard time bearing children. I spoke with Dr. Strikener about it today.”

  Matthew frowned. “Did he have any suggestions?”

  “He gave me a list of treatments to send to her, but he said the most important thing she could do is listen carefully to her body and not push herself.”

  Matthew’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure she has any idea how to do that.”

  “I know,” Janie said worriedly. “I wrote her a long letter before I left school today. Hopefully, she will take it seriously.” She ate several more bites of soup, and then shook her head. “I know worrying will not do any good. Tell me about why you are not extremely excited about the black vote in Washington, DC.” She wanted Matthew to distract her from the concern she was having such a difficult time shaking.

  “I am excited about the black vote,” Matthew insisted. “It’s the first step that will lead to suffrage for all black men, but I learn more each day that tells me the road is going to be very long and hard.”

  Janie fixed her eyes on him, but kept eating. She knew from experience that he would explain himself if she just remained quiet. Steam hissed from the gas heater as she waited.

  Matthew finally shook his head. “It took four years of war to make the slaves free. I suspect it will take far more violence before they truly have the right to actually live free,” he said heavily.

  Janie gazed at him for a moment. “We’ve talked before about the fact that the war is not actually over. Something has happened.” It was not a question. When she saw Matthew hesitate, her voice sharpened. “I do not want to be protected, Matthew. The benefit of being married to a journalist is that I can learn things before most people. You will only make me angry if you hold back.”

  “I know,” Matthew said with a sigh. “It’s not really what has happened, though. It’s more a feeling for what is coming.”

  “Which you have been right about every single time,” Janie reminded him.

  “I suppose so,” Matthew murmured, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see. “Americans wanted the slaves free, but most of them have no intention of ever accepting them as being equal. I don’t think many of them ever considered that could actually happen.”

  “Northerners included?”

  “Yes. Oh, I know abolitionism started here, and I know members of Congress are pushing hard for black rights, but they are only a tiny percent of the American population. Most people in the North want the blacks to be free, but they also want them to be kept in their place. The South is a whole different issue.”

  “The vigilante groups.”

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed, “but…”

  Janie eyed him sharply when his voice trailed away. “The truth, Matthew.”

  “That’s the trouble,” he replied. “I don’t know what the truth is.” His eyes met hers steadily. “But I suspect it is going to get far worse. I’m afraid what we are seeing right now is just the beginning. Now that the Republicans have control, and are determined to pass new amendments to give blacks full rights as American citizens, I believe the backlash is going to be more violent and more extreme. When word gets out that the blacks have been given the right to vote in Washington, DC, I don’t think it will be taken well.”

  “But the South lost the war,” Janie protested. “I know it will take time to get used to that, but surely they won’t risk another war.”

  “Desperate men don’t usually do a lot of thinking,” Matthew said flatly. “They act from their emotions and their fear. They don’t usually consider the consequences. Yes,” he continued, “the South lost the war, but each person in it still has their hopes and beliefs.”

  “And their pride,” Janie added.

  “Yes, their pride,” Matthew agreed. “Pride is a powerful thing, even if it is misplaced. Every Confederate soldier has had their pride damaged. There are men who will do just about anything to try to restore it.”

  “By hurting the freed slaves?” Janie asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Matthew managed a small smile. “None of this makes any sense. It seems that people, for all of time, have wanted someone to look down on. Someone to feel superior to. Instead of taking responsibility for their own feelings of inadequacy and failure, they blame them on someone else. They take out their rage and anger on whoever they believe is weakest.”

  Janie absorbed his words. She didn’t want to believe him, but the last five years had taught her he was right. “What’s coming?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” Matthew admitted. “I just believe it’s going to be worse than anything we have seen so far. We won’t know until it happens. The vigilante groups are like the top of the carrot. We can’t really see what is growing underground. But it is growing,” he said ominously, his eyes dark with concern. “It is growing, and I don’t believe it will be long before it is pulled out of the ground.”

  Janie swallowed hard. She had asked him to tell her the truth. She couldn’t choose to hide from it now. “Then we will all deal with it,” she said bravely.

  Matthew turned his eyes on her. “Yes, but some of us will have much more to deal with. The color of our skin affords us some protection, but so many of the people we love are going to be in serious danger.”

  Janie could think of absolutely nothing to say so she settled for grabbing his hand, and squeezing it tightly.

  *******

  Carrie looked up as the door to the clinic opened, letting in a blast of cold air. She pushed away the strands of hair floating down into her face as a harried-looking mother, holding two small children by the hand, entered the small building.

  Polly bustled forward, her face creased with a warm smile. “Hello. How may I help you?”

  “It’s my kids,” the woman replied, tired blue eyes peering out from a tangle of blond hair.

  She looked to be in her thirties, but Carrie suspected she was far younger – probably closer to her age. The last years had aged everyone. She listened closely as she finished bandaging the hand of one of the men from Cromwell Plantation. He had cut it badly while taking down some trees for firewood, but he would recover.

  “Both my kids are real sick,” she said wearily. “We ain’t got enough to eat, and this weather has been real hard on them.”

  Carrie’s eyes turned to the children. Both of them had eyes glazed with fever, and their faces were flushed above their too thin coats. They were both trembling from the cold.

  Polly, observing the same thing, grabbed two thick blankets and wrapped them around the children, pushing them gently down into two chairs. Then she handed the mom a blanket. “I expect you need this just as much as your kids.”

  The woman accepted the blanket gratefully, pulling it close. It would take a while for the warmth from the fire to stop the shivering. “My kids are supposed to start school in a couple days,” she said quietly. “I don’t want them to miss it. Neither one of them ever been to school.”

  Carrie’s heart ached for her. She reached down to touch her stomach lightly. The nausea had finally eased enough for her to come to work. Robert had questioned her being around sick people, but she couldn’t just ignore the patients who had come to count on her. Besides, she had been treating ill people for six years, and not once had she gotten sick herself. Seeing the young mother, however, made her ache for the other woman’s pain. She couldn’t imagine knowing her own child, yet to be born, would go hungry, or cold, or not have an education.<
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  She finished wrapping the hand. “You’re good to go, Benjamin. Try and keep that axe away from your hand next time,” she said lightly. “Come back tomorrow so I can change the dressing, and put on a fresh layer of ointment. I’ll change it each day for the next week. Do not let your hand get dirty,” she said more firmly. “You will recover fully before spring planting, but only if you don’t let it get infected. I’ll take the stitches out in seven days.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Benjamin said stoutly. “I’ll do just what you said. I don’t want to have to answer to Moses.”

  “To Moses?” Carrie asked innocently, concealing her smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. He told me he would forgive me for being careless enough to cut my hand, but he wouldn’t let me off easy if I didn’t do just what you says to do. Moses be a real good man, but I don’t want him mad at me,” Benjamin said earnestly.

  “Wise man,” Carrie replied with a chuckle. Moses sent every one of his men to her with the same threat. It always worked. “Now go on home.”

  She watched him leave, and then turned to the children with a gentle smile. “Hello.”

  “Did you really sew that man up?” The little boy, who looked to be six or seven, clearly thought that was not likely.

  “I did,” Carrie assured him.

  “But you be a woman,” he persisted.

  “Silas! Don’t be rude,” his mother scolded. “I’m sorry, Doctor Borden,” she said quickly.

  Carrie smiled at the woman. “What’s your name?”

  “Amanda Williams.”

  “Well, Amanda, welcome to the clinic. You can call me Carrie, and your little boy can feel free to ask questions. I don’t mind at all. How long have the children been sick?”

  “They started feeling poorly about five days ago,” Amanda answered timidly.

  Carrie hid her frown as she nodded briskly, and knelt in front of the little boy, not missing the flash of gratitude in the tired woman’s eyes. A normal cold would have run its course in five days. The children’s had developed into something more serious, probably pneumonia, but she kept her voice light. “It’s nice to meet you Silas.”