by Ginny Dye
“We’re the only ones who will do it,” Mitchell said solemnly. “The Freedmen’s Bureau is dedicated to helping the niggers, but they don’t have the same concern for the white man who has been disenfranchised in their own country.”
Matthew knew better than to protest, but he also knew plenty of money was going to poor whites through the Freedmen’s Bureau. He was quite certain no one was open to reason, and he didn’t want anyone to look at him and Peter with suspicion, so he just nodded along.
Mitchell locked his eyes on Matthew. “What are you doing here?”
Matthew forced himself to remain relaxed and meet Mitchell’s probing eyes. “I’m here with Hobbs,” he said simply.
“What for?” Mitchell snapped.
Suddenly Matthew understood. Hobbs was still being watched carefully, which meant that anyone who appeared with him would be suspect. He had to perform well to make sure Hobbs was in no greater danger. “It’s time we stood up and said enough is enough,” he said firmly. “I used to be a bank manager in Richmond. The bank was rebuilt after the fires, but there are nothing but Yankees working there now because they brought all the money in to bring it back to life. I have yet to find a new job.” He knew that wasn’t true of all banks, but he was counting on Mitchell not knowing that. Abby had carefully prepped him on his story. When he didn’t see a spark of suspicion, he felt confident his tale had been accepted.
“How do we do that?” Mitchell asked.
“In whatever way it takes,” Matthew answered. “I understand the Klan uses some methods that some may look down upon, but I’m beyond caring what anyone else thinks. If the South is going to survive, it will be because Southerners stand up and fight for what is theirs. No one seems to care about the Southern white man anymore, so we have to care about ourselves.”
Mitchell had watched him carefully while he spoke, and suddenly his face cleared. He slapped Matthew on the shoulder. “Hobbs said you could be trusted. I guess he was right.”
Matthew knew he needed to take it further. He nodded toward Peter. “Darrell and I are here to help in whatever way we can. There are a lot of men who feel the same way we do in Richmond. We want to find out how we can start a group of our own.” He reached over and put a hand on Hobbs’ shoulder. “We had heard some vague rumors about the Klan, but Hobbs let us know what was happening after he overheard us talking in a restaurant one day. When he was confident we could be trusted, he told us he knew how we could become involved. That’s why we are here,” Matthew added eagerly, almost gagging at the sound of his own voice.
Mitchell smiled at Hobbs with a bright light of approval in his eyes. “Well done, Hobbs.”
Matthew forced himself to not reveal his relief, and prayed the meeting would be called to order quickly. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could play this charade. His prayer was granted almost immediately.
“Everyone inside,” a man shouted.
Matthew stepped in place beside Peter and Hobbs as they joined the mass of men moving toward the large room.
********
As Matthew waited for all the men to enter the room and for the meeting to start, he thought about all he had heard. In spite of his horror at what the Ku Klux Klan was doing, he also had to reluctantly admit he understood the bitter anger fueling it. No one would ever know how the country would have been rebuilt if President Lincoln had not been assassinated, but Matthew was confident it would have been handled differently than President Johnson had done it. Johnson’s short-sightedness, and his own bigotry toward the blacks, had put things into motion that might take generations to heal. If the steps toward reunion had been done thoughtfully, with every single person taken into account, the rebuilding of a destroyed nation might have gone differently. As it was, a fire had been ignited that would take a long time to extinguish.
The questions kept pounding through his brain… Did Lincoln have a plan to make things right in areas like the Shenandoah Valley and Georgia that had been completely destroyed? Had he intended that northerners would come down and snap up Southern properties and businesses at ridiculously low prices? Did he have a plan to help restore Southern dignity, while at the same time holding them responsible for a war that had ripped the country apart? Did he have a strategy for introducing citizenry to the black population, while also assuring that all white men maintained their voice?
Matthew sighed, knowing he would never have answers to his questions. One thing he was certain of though—President Johnson’s actions had made the Reconstruction Acts absolutely necessary. He was equally certain that the acts, and the reality of Southern military occupation, had ignited the inferno that resulted in the very meeting he was sitting in. He could not excuse one thing the Klan was doing, but he also understood that men pushed to the brink of hopelessness would not hesitate to attack.
As the meeting was called to order, he knew he had to discern just how much they were willing to fight back.
Chapter Sixteen
Matthew was exhausted by the time the convention was called to a close. A look at Peter’s face revealed his friend felt the same way. All he wanted to do was go back to their boarding room and settle in, but they had decided to put Hobbs on the train leaving town that night. He would attract far less attention that way because it seemed everyone else was leaving Nashville the next morning. They didn’t want anyone to know which train Hobbs had caught, just in case he was being watched.
Hobbs looked up from the schedule he was examining. The plans had already been explained to him, but Matthew knew he was nervous. “I’m going as far as North Platte, Nebraska on the train.”
“That’s right,” Matthew told him. “That’s as far west as the train goes right now. They are working to build the tracks further west, and there are other crews working to build track east from California across the Sierra Nevada, but it is hard work that is taking a lot of time.”
“Do you think they will ever join together?” Hobbs asked skeptically.
“Absolutely,” Peter said. “Things came to a standstill during the war, but there has been a lot accomplished in the last two years.”
“Didn’t they start working on it in Omaha?” Hobbs asked, revealing he knew far more than he was letting on. “Laying track as far as North Platte doesn’t seem like much for two years work.”
“It moved slowly in the beginning,” Matthew agreed. “Finding men to do the labor has been difficult, but when the war ended, veterans moved west to find work on the railroad. It took time to train them, but now things are moving fairly smoothly.” He knew his words didn’t convey the reality of the backbreaking, dangerous work in the middle of Indian country.
“I heard they were mostly Irish.”
“On this end,” Matthew confirmed. “The railroad coming east from California is mostly being built by the Chinese, and they have recently added Chinese to the crews that are heading west.”
“Taking soldiers’ jobs?” Hobbs asked with a frown.
“Only because there aren’t enough veterans willing to work on it,” Matthew answered, though he also knew it was because the Chinese were willing to work for far less than the Irish veterans were, even though they were underpaid as well. Like usual, profit was ruling the decisions made, and the railroad barons were taking advantage of a population desperate for work. Matthew was quite certain that if the war hadn’t freed the slaves, the railroads would have figured out a way to build it for free with slave labor. He was glad it hadn’t come to that.
“And there are Indian attacks,” Hobbs commented casually, though his eyes revealed how concerned he was now that the time for him to leave had actually arrived.
“You’ll be safe on the train,” Matthew said confidently.
Hobbs shrugged. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I still have to cross Wyoming, Idaho and Oregon in a wagon train. The odds of an Indian attack seem pretty high, I reckon.”
Matthew didn’t bother to deny it. Indian attacks were a regular occurrence on th
e trails that led through their sacred grounds. Hobbs should be over the mountains and into Oregon before winter hit, but you never knew what could happen with one of the wagon trains. “You don’t have to do this, Hobbs,” he said instead. “We can come up with another place to send you.”
Hobbs shook his head. “I’ve thought about this. If I can’t live in West Virginia, there ain’t no place on this side of the country I want to live in. Even though I might die on my way out there, I reckon my odds are better than staying here. Folks are making it through, or they wouldn’t keep going. I reckon I’ll take my chances.”
Matthew heard a train whistle in the distance. “That’s your train,” he said somberly.
Hobbs nodded and straightened his shoulders. “I reckon it is.”
Peter shook his hand warmly. “Thank you for what you did, Hobbs.”
Hobbs looked uncomfortable. “It was the least I could do after how I lied to the Cromwells.”
Peter shrugged. “You made it right in the end. That’s what counts.”
“You reckon it did any good?” Hobbs asked seriously. “Going to the convention?”
Matthew nodded even though he wasn’t at all sure it had. He would send Hobbs off with the belief he had contributed to the effort to stop the Ku Klux Klan. “Absolutely,” Matthew said heartily as he avoided Peter’s eyes.
Hobbs’ face showed glad relief. He grabbed his single satchel close as the train pulled to a stop. The men waited quietly, relieved they didn’t see any faces of the men they had met at the convention. When the conductor called for everyone to board, Matthew and Peter shook hands with Hobbs one last time and watched him step onto the train. They stayed in their spot until the train pulled out, understanding the resolved wistfulness on the young man’s face as he waved good-bye to the only life he had ever known.
********
Matthew and Peter were too tired to talk during their dinner at the hotel, but when they had settled into their room, Matthew asked the question he knew was on Peter’s mind, as well. “Do you think the convention was worth everything we did to attend?” He was almost embarrassed to say what he was really thinking.
Peter said it for him. “You mean was it worth shaving your beard to be there?”
Matthew chuckled as he nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.”
Peter shrugged. “I think it’s obvious they are gearing up for impressive growth. The Ku Klux Klan Prescript that Gordon laid out made that clear. The passing of the Reconstruction Acts has galvanized the action that seems to have been planned all along.”
Matthew fingered the copy of the Prescript that he had bought at the convention. He remembered most of what Gordon had said, but he was glad to have a copy of the Klan rules. “Gordon seemed eager to establish some order.”
“He’s a military man,” Peter replied. “He knows a large organization has to have order if it is going to be successful.”
Matthew thought about the carefully laid out plans for the Klan. Every group within the Klan was called a den. Dens within a county would be overseen by a Grand Giant and his four assisting Goblins. Counties within a congressional district (Dominion) would be headed by a Grand Titan and his six Furies. Dominions within a state (Realm) would be governed by a Grand Dragon, assisted by his eight Hydras. And in charge of all states within the Klan’s “Invisible Empire” was the supreme commander, the Grand Wizard, who would be assisted by ten Genii. The chain of command was clear.
“Do you think Gordon will be the Grand Wizard?” Peter asked. “Take command of the entire Klan?”
Matthew shook his head. “I don’t think so. He seemed content with his election as the Grand Dragon of the Realm of Tennessee.” It would have been hard to take all the jargon seriously if he hadn’t seen so much evidence of how deadly the Klan was. “I think he has someone else in mind, but he was careful not to talk about it.”
“He was careful not to talk about a lot of things,” Peter said ruefully. “He laid out some political aims, like securing the rights of the oppressed, but he seemed to be deliberately vague.”
Matthew was troubled by that as well. He had hoped to gain more concrete information that would help him foil the agenda of the Klan. He couldn’t help feeling he was walking away empty handed. “He was quite clear about the dire oath of secrecy.”
“I can see why they will sell many copies of the Prescript,” Peter agreed. “It’s the only way possible to know all the secret passwords and hand grips.”
“That he didn’t even spell out in detail,” Matthew lamented, feeling once again that attending the convention had been in vain.
“I believe Gordon achieved his agenda,” Peter commented. “He knew he had to create some type of political and military structure because the Klan is growing too quickly and becoming reckless. And now everyone at the convention has to go back to their dens and sell the organizational structure to everyone else. You do realize they will be waiting for a report from us on how things are going in Virginia.”
Matthew felt marginally better as he thought about that. “We will at least be able to foil that expectation,” he said. Suddenly, he was anxious to rid himself of all connections to the Klan. Even being close to it had made him feel sullied. “I was going to wait until morning to wash out this dye, but I would rather do it now.”
“Let’s do it!” Peter agreed emphatically.
Thirty minutes later, not even minding the cold water they had not taken time to heat, they had their heads rinsed clean of the dye. It took several jugs of water, but it was deeply satisfying to see the basins fill with black and red liquid, washing away their connection to the Klan. Tomorrow morning they would be on trains bound for Philadelphia and Boston.
They had done what they could, and they would have accurate information to feed to the public about the Klan’s organizational structure. Only time would tell if it would make any difference. As Matthew towel-dried his red hair, he had a sick feeling it wouldn’t matter.
********
Rose breathed in the spring air that already carried a hint of summer humidity. She didn’t mind. The heat brought out the fragrant aromas of the honeysuckle lining the fences along the road, and the heady perfume of the wisteria hanging in great purple clumps from trees. The glorious blooms of the redbud trees had withered and dropped to the ground, but the pearly white of the dogwoods glistened in the woods as the soft breeze rustled new leaves that danced in a myriad of green shades.
Rose had left for school early, hoping the beauty of the countryside during a slow carriage ride would ease her concern, but it wasn’t working. What made it worse was that she couldn’t put a finger on any reason for her worry. Perhaps that was it. Things were going well, which usually meant trouble was on the way. She hated feeling that way, but too many negative experiences had made her both cautious and careful. She wondered if she would live long enough to see that reality change, but somehow she doubted it. America was changing, but too many mistakes had been made after the end of the war. She was sure it was blacks and women who would pay the highest price for people’s decisions and actions. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she pondered what could be coming. Her greatest wish was that Felicia and Hope would live to see a better country, and live a life full of freedom and opportunities. She fully intended to press forward in becoming an educator, but her heart told her there were many dark times ahead.
Things had been so quiet she had insisted Jeb and Andy be relieved of guarding her. She knew they were needed in the tobacco fields. Moses had resisted but finally agreed there seemed to be no danger. Why then was her heart catching with every movement in the woods?
Scolding herself that she was simply being pessimistic didn’t do any good. Yes, slaves were free and black men were about to get the vote, but the letter they had received yesterday from Matthew about the expansion of the Ku Klux Klan revealed that while things were getting better in some areas, they were going to get worse in others. She knew the reality of the black vo
te was going to galvanize hatred and violence more than anything had to date.
As her carriage rolled down the road, Rose thought about what her mama would have said. Surely, she would have told her she was just borrowing trouble, but she could also hear Sarah’s voice telling her to be wise in the midst of difficulty. Ain’t no good to pretend trouble might not be comin’, Rose girl. Trouble seems to always be followin’ black folks. You got to believe the best, but you’s got to be smart about livin’.
“I’m trying to be smart, Mama,” Rose whispered. She only hoped she could be smart enough to protect all the people she loved.
A deer burst out of the woods, startling her horse. “Easy girl,” Rose murmured soothingly. The mare flicked an ear in her direction and relaxed back into the harness. Rose was glad Carrie was coming home tomorrow. She had missed her terribly, but Carrie’s glowing letter about the factory opening had soothed any concerns over difficulties with her pregnancy. Now she was just glad to have her best friend coming home. She had learned to never take a moment of their time together for granted, and she was quite sure a long conversation would release the tension that seemed to be wrapped around her heart and mind.
Her concerns evaporated when she rounded the last curve leading to the schoolhouse. The yard was full of children laughing and playing. It seemed almost surreal that she had both black and white students. There were still some tensions, but most of them seemed to have worked out their issues. She knew it was because all the white students were reading now, and their hunger to learn matched all her other students. No one had anything to feel inferior about, so most of the children seemed happy to just act like children. She wished all of America would follow the lead of her tiny school.
She watched as four of the children broke free from the group and raced down the road toward her.
