Always Forward

by Ginny Dye

  Three officers appeared, each of them holding one of the prisoners by an arm.

  “Get them out of my station,” the officer growled.

  Jeremy fought the urge to laugh with victory. “Thank you, officer,” he said somberly. “You have done a good thing for the city tonight.”

  “Just get them out of here,” the officer snapped, eyeing the door nervously.

  Jeremy bit back another burst of laughter and walked over to the door with Marietta, pushing it open before the officer realized he was playing nothing but a game. He wasn’t going to give him time to change his mind. Clark, Ernst and Jubal were close behind him.

  Everyone remained silent until they were several blocks from the station. The dark gave them a feeling of protection, but also made them aware danger could be lurking in any shadow.

  Clark finally broke the silence. “How in the world did you do that?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure we was about to get beaten, and then all of a sudden this officer showed up. He said somethin’ to the officers holdin’ us, and they got real nervous lookin’ and decided to let us go.”

  “My husband can be quite persuasive,” Marietta responded with a chuckle, but she sobered quickly. “I’m glad y’all are all right.”

  “Me, too,” Clark replied. “It seemed like a good idea at the time not to let the crowd keep us from gettin’ arrested, but once we got down there, we realized things weren’t gonna go well.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Jeremy said grimly. “You can thank Eddie.”

  “Eddie?” Clark asked. “What does my brother have to do with this?”

  “He asked me to go get you out. I had no idea how I was going to do it, but once I got down there, the words just seemed to come.”

  As they reached the outskirts of the black quarters, ten men stepped out to meet them. It was impossible to identify anyone in the inky darkness. “Who goes there?” one of the men called harshly.

  “It’s Clark, Ernst and Jubal,” Clark called out.

  “What?” Eddie stepped close enough to be identified. “Clark, is that really you?”

  “It’s me, brother. I hear we have you to thank for gettin’ us out.”

  Eddie stepped forward to give his brother a hug and then slapped the other two men on their shoulders. The other militia men crowded close. “How did you get out?”

  “Jeremy hasn’t told us too much,” Clark admitted. “I don’t reckon I rightly know.”

  Jeremy smiled and shrugged. “Let’s just say the police weren’t excited about hundreds of black militia attacking the police station to free their friends.”

  “What?” Eddie breathed. “You told them that?”

  “It seems they understood the federal government might frown on a repeat of the riots in Memphis or New Orleans,” Jeremy said. He kept his voice light, but the reality of what he had done was settling in. He had freed the prisoners, but he also knew he had put Marietta and himself in more danger by revealing his close affiliation with the blacks in the quarters. They did not have to know he was mulatto; it was enough that he was aligning himself with the freed slaves who they believed were destroying the South. He couldn’t help thinking about Robert. Would he and Marietta be next?

  “We’re going to walk you and Marietta home,” Eddie said somberly.

  Jeremy wanted to protest, but he was too relieved not to have Marietta’s protection solely in his hands. He realized the city was buzzing with tension after today’s events. He knew better than to tempt fate. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  Eddie turned and spoke under his breath to one of the men in his group, and then he turned back to Jeremy. “Give me a few minutes. We’re going to call more of the men out, and then we are going to walk you home. If there are enough of us, anyone will think twice before trying to go after us.”

  ********

  The entire group had not exchanged one word since they left the black quarters, because they did not want to call attention to their presence. Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the house, but relief was quickly replaced by concern for his friends. He glanced up and down the tree-lined street, but he didn’t see anything that indicated a threat. The elegant three-story brick homes were shrouded in darkness; the soft glow of streetlamps provided the only light.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Eddie said quietly. “We know this city like the backs of our hands. We’ll get home just fine.”

  Jeremy embraced him warmly, nodded his thanks to the rest of the men, took Marietta’s hand, and climbed the stairs.

  Thomas was waiting just inside the door. “What happened?” His eyes were dark with concern. “I wanted to come find you, but May wouldn’t let me leave the house.” He rolled his eyes with impatience.

  “It would have been nothing but foolishness for you to go out there by yourself,” May said, her black eyes crackling with worry.

  “You were right,” Jeremy replied. “It’s not safe out there tonight.” He explained while he gratefully accepted the hot cup of tea May handed him.

  “I’m glad you did what you did,” Thomas said, “but you know it makes you and Marietta more of a target, don’t you?”

  Jeremy understood the raw pain on Thomas’ face. The death of Robert and his infant granddaughter was still a fresh wound. “I had no choice.”

  “Oh, you had a choice,” Thomas replied, “but you made the right one,” he added firmly. “I know you considered the risk and then decided you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t decide to help.”

  Jeremy nodded, grateful for Thomas’ understanding.

  Marietta leaned over and took her brother-in-law’s hand. “Every single one of us in danger,” she said steadily, “but we’ve known that for a long time. If we let fear stop us from doing the right thing, then the vigilantes and the haters have already won, without them having to do a single thing. We stopped something terrible from happening tonight. Your brother was absolutely brilliant,” she added brightly.

  Thomas took a deep breath and returned her smile. It was not as bright, but it was equally determined. “That doesn’t surprise me a bit. Tell me what happened.”

  Laughter, even though it was a bit strained, rang through the house as Marietta regaled her listeners with Jeremy’s performance at the police station. “You should have heard him,” she declared as she finished, “he even had me almost convinced there was the potential of a riot in Richmond tonight.”

  Micah walked into the room in time to hear her last statement. “He wasn’t far off,” he said soberly.

  Jeremy looked up, his searching gaze taking in Micah’s strained eyes. “Where have you been?”

  “Down in the quarters,” Micah replied. “I was helping spread the word that Clark and the others had been freed.” He took a deep breath. “Some of the men had gathered together a right large group to go after them.”

  Jeremy sucked in his breath. “They were actually going to do it?”

  Micah nodded grimly. “The last men who got put in jail were beaten pretty bad. Oh, the police didn’t do it, but they put them in a cell with other men that roughed them up. We weren’t going to let that happen again.”

  “We?” Thomas asked.

  Micah met his eyes steadily. “Yep. We.”

  Thomas sat back in his chair heavily but said no more.

  Jeremy reflected on this new information. “It would have been a bloodbath,” he murmured. The performance, which had promoted so much laughter minutes earlier, may have actually accomplished what he had predicted—saving Richmond from a riot. He sat down in the closest chair as the reality struck home.

  Marietta took his hand. “Well done, Mr. Anthony,” she murmured. “Even without knowing what you were doing, you saved a lot of lives tonight.”

  Jeremy returned her loving gaze. “I do believe that is what my father would have called a ‘God moment.’ ”

  “I do believe you’re right,” Marietta replied.

  “You did a real good thing, Mr. Je
remy,” Micah said. “A real good thing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Felicia came rushing in from the library, her face alight with excitement. “They did it!” she yelled, waving a sheaf of papers in her hand.

  Rose, home from the convention for only one week, looked up with a smile. “Who did what?” she asked as she spooned food into Hope’s mouth, convinced her youngest daughter had grown leaps and bounds in the two weeks she had been gone.

  “The protesters in Richmond,” Felicia explained. “After what happened with the three men who were arrested, the streetcar company gave in! They have announced that from now on there will be six streetcars. Two will be reserved for white women and children, but the rest will be for black people.” She did a little jig in the parlor. “They won access to Richmond streetcars, just like the people down in Charleston did!”

  John looked up at her with a puzzled expression. “So what?” he asked. “You don’t ride the streetcars. You live here with us where there aren’t any.”

  Rose smiled, glad her young son’s world could continue to be simple for a while. John talked about Robert, but he had no real grasp of what had happened that night. He had asked her once where Carrie’s baby had gone, but he had accepted her weak explanation that God needed Bridget in heaven. Thank goodness he had not picked up on the grief and anger she had worked so hard to hide when she answered.

  “It’s important,” Felicia explained patiently, “because it is a step for all black people. We may have our freedom now, but there are a lot of people who are fighting to keep us from having our rights. The blacks in Richmond showed that we can fight to get them.” She waved the papers in her hand again. “It is a victory for all black people!”

  Rose watched her, love pulsing in her heart for the passion Felicia showed every day. She tried to push back the hollow feeling of fear that followed hard on the heels of the pride she felt. She knew Felicia’s passion and determination would bring trouble to her in the future, but that was not something she could control. Just like her mama had done when she had insisted on her secret school in the woods, all Rose could do was encourage Felicia, love her, and believe in her.

  “What are you thinking, Mama?”

  Rose took a breath. “I’m thinking I’m so proud of you I could almost pop.” She was also remembering the feeling that Sojourner Truth had passed her baton onto her. Only time would tell what that would produce in her life – what dangers it would put her in.

  Felicia’s knowing gaze said she knew Rose was thinking far more than that, but she let it go, her eyes resting on John’s innocent face.

  ********

  Carrie was waiting outside the barn under the shade of an oak tree for Miles to bring Granite to her. It had been sixty-six days since the fateful night that had destroyed her life. She still had not found the courage to walk into the barn, but it no longer mattered to her. The days had all begun to blur together. She slept, she rode Granite because it made her feel close to Robert, and she sat by the river long into the night. She could tell by the concerned looks on everyone’s faces that they were worried about her, but that didn’t matter either. She really just wanted to be left alone. She could tell by how loose her clothes were that she was losing weight, but that was hardly a concern. She had started wearing Robert’s breeches to ride in. They had started out being big on her, but she just kept pulling the rope tighter around her waist.

  Miles emerged from the barn holding Granite, but the look on his face was stern. “Annie said you not eatin’ enough to keep a bird alive, Miss Carrie.”

  Carrie shrugged and reached for the reins.

  Miles pulled them back. “I ain’t lettin’ you go until you have somethin’ to eat,” he insisted. He handed her a small cloth bag. “I had Annie fix you some ham biscuits to take with you.”

  Carrie frowned. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t interested in taking them, but she knew it would only delay her departure. It didn’t mean she had to eat them. “Fine,” she replied as she reached for the bag.

  Miles still held it away from her. “You got’s to promise me you will eat them,” he said. “I know you be grieving, Carrie Girl, but you ain’t never lied to me. I hope you ain’t thinkin’ about startin’ now.”

  Carrie gritted her teeth, holding back the angry words she wanted to spew onto the elderly black man who had never been anything but a friend. She had become accustomed to the grief, but the anger still surprised her. If she was honest, she could admit she welcomed it because it offered a break in the endless gray that seemed to have become her world. Still, Miles did not deserve what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath and reached for the bag. “I’ll eat it.” Somehow she would manage to choke down whatever Annie had put in the bag.

  Miles’ eyes were still suspicious, but once she had the bag, he handed her Granite’s reins. Carrie reached for them, stuffed the biscuits in her saddlebag, and prepared to mount. A sound in the distance made her hesitate. She glanced up the driveway. She didn’t really pay much attention to what was happening on the plantation, but she didn’t remember shutting out talk about a visitor arriving today. She knew she should mount and ride off, but something she couldn’t identify held her in place.

  The sound of the approaching carriage grew louder. Carrie’s eyes widened with surprise when she identified the lone person occupying it. Her desire to leave intensified to something approaching desperation, but she seemed frozen in place as she watched Matthew catch sight of her and wave.

  Carrie waited for him to approach, but she didn’t return the wave. What was Matthew doing here? They had not talked since before Robert’s death. She knew he and Janie had been on the plantation for a week after Robert and Bridget’s deaths—she even had a vague recollection of his worried, sorrowful eyes during the funeral—but she had managed to avoid speaking to him. She hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, but the devastation on Matthew’s face was absolutely more than she had been able to deal with. That had not changed, but she could hardly ride away from him, even though the thought certainly occurred to her.

  “Hello, Carrie,” Matthew said as he pulled the carriage to a stop.

  “Hello, Matthew,” she replied. The look in his eyes made her uncomfortably aware that she must not look very good. The combination of shock and concern on his face made her glance down at the baggy breeches hanging from her body, and she reached up to push her tangled hair away from her face, remembering she hadn’t bothered to pull it back this morning. The brief awareness made the anger surge back to the surface. What right did he have to make her aware of her appearance? Didn’t he understand it didn’t matter? She tightened her lips as she turned to put her foot in the stirrup. She had greeted him, so now she could leave.

  “Can I come with you?” Matthew asked.

  Carrie whirled around to stare at him. He had stepped out of the carriage and handed the team off to Clint, who had emerged from the barn to take them. “Riding?” Her thoughts spun. No one had gone riding with her in the months since Robert’s death. Everyone seemed to accept that she wanted to be alone. That had not changed. “No, thank you,” she said abruptly.

  Matthew stepped closer, his blue eyes boring into hers. “It would mean a lot to me.”

  Carrie stared up at him and then looked away, not wanting to see the warmth in his eyes. Matthew reminded her too much of Robert. His very presence evoked memories she both welcomed and hated.

  “Please, Carrie.”

  Carrie hated the hot burning in her eyes when Matthew’s voice broke into her thoughts, but she was too tired to refuse his request. He could come, but it didn’t mean she would have to talk to him. “Fine,” she said vaguely.

  “I’ll get you a horse, Mr. Matthew,” Miles said eagerly. “Won’t take but a minute to throw a saddle on.”

  ********

  Matthew knew he had been unsuccessful at hiding his horror when he saw Carrie. Thomas and Abby had warned him that she had grown apathetic, but he had not been prepar
ed for the thin caricature of the beautiful woman he knew. He had a sudden understanding of how he must have appeared to her when she came to visit him in Libby Prison during the war. She had tried then to suppress her look of horror, but she had been just as unsuccessful. The difference was that he looked like a scarecrow because he was not given enough food to sustain him; she was simply refusing to eat. A part of him realized it probably wasn’t as much refusal as it was being incapable of swallowing the food given to her.

  Abby had explained that Carrie’s grief over losing both her husband and daughter at the same time was being compounded by the combined pressures and sorrows of the war years. The spirited woman he knew had obviously reached her breaking point. He had been warned, but the evidence of it took his breath away.

  “Here you go, Mr. Matthew.”

  Matthew smiled at Miles and swung into the saddle of a new sorrel mare that Clint had purchased weeks earlier. “Thank you,” he murmured. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out how to break through the grief that had trapped his friend. It was time to reveal what he had with him.

  He rode side by side with Carrie down the path between the tobacco fields, vaguely aware that once again Cromwell Plantation was going to have a magnificent crop. The fields were full of sweating men who looked up with a cheerful wave before turning back to their work. He waved back, but Carrie seemed not to even be aware of their presence. Her eyes were set straight ahead as Granite trotted smoothly down the road.

  Matthew was fine with the silence. The morning air was already hot, but a line of clouds on the distant horizon promised an afternoon thunderstorm that would cool things off for the evening. Watching Carrie from the corner of his eye, he recognized when she finally relaxed, obviously relieved he wasn’t forcing conversation.

  Once she relaxed, he found he could enjoy the ride. It had been a long time since he had been on horseback through beautiful scenery. The pressures of the country seemed to keep him trapped in the confines of one city after the other. He still managed to spend most of his time in Philadelphia, but the last weeks in the summer heat had begun to suffocate him. He was sorry Janie wasn’t with him, but she was deep into an apprenticeship with a homeopathic doctor and didn’t feel she could leave. Actually, he suspected she was relieved to have stayed behind. Carrie had not answered even one of her long letters, and she was discouraged that she would ever be able to help. He knew his wife would do anything to ease her friend’s grief, but she had run out of ideas. She would be heartbroken when he reported Carrie’s condition to her, but he knew he would have to tell her the truth.