All Things New (38 page)

Daniel moved into the clearing, closer to Harrison. “Listen, Captain. Thanks to my sister, we’re all going to be turned over to her Yankee friend. Not only that, one of my slaves spewed a bunch of lies about you and Samuel, and it nearly killed my mother. They need to pay for it. Then none of the others will ever try to get out of line again.”

“Your slave wasn’t lying, Daniel. She was telling the truth. I was there. Sam and I raped her, just like she said. When your father found out, he said it was an affront to God and he sent Sam away. I was too young and cocky to understand. I thought it was my right to treat slaves any way I wanted to. But I’ve paid for it. Samuel paid an even greater price. Don’t add guilt to your soul the way we did. End this right now. Let those children go home. And you go home, too.”

“Since when are you on the slaves’ side?”

“There are no more
sides
, don’t you get it? The war blasted all of that away. None of us have anything left. All that’s left is right and wrong, and this is wrong. It’s wrong! Even if the Yankees let you go free, God won’t. You’ll pay for what you did one way or another. Believe me, I know.”

He paused, waiting. Josephine couldn’t breathe.

“Let them go, Daniel,” he repeated. “Go home. Seeking revenge is just another way to commit suicide.”

Daniel took another step closer. “And if I don’t do what you say?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Sweat trickled down Josephine’s back. Harrison’s horse fidgeted in place. “Then I guess you’ll have to kill me, too,” Harrison said quietly. “That Negro girl you have over there? She just might be my daughter.”

Daniel stared up at Harrison for what seemed like a very long time. Finally he turned away and strode over to untie his own horse. Without another word, Daniel swung up into the saddle and rode away. After a long pause, the other men did the same, leaving Roselle and Jack behind. Josephine ran across the clearing and pulled them into her arms. They clung so tightly to her that her ribs ached.

“It’s over now. You’re safe,” Josephine soothed. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“I want to go home!” Jack wailed.

“Yes, Jack. Yes. Captain Blake is going to show us the way home.”

Harrison found the path and led them through the woods. Jack and Roselle clutched Josephine’s hands as they stumbled along behind him in the dark.

“What about the ducks?” Jack asked. “They took Roselle’s ducks.”

“They’ll be all right. They’re wild creatures, Jack. They’ll be happier now that they’re free.”

Josephine’s legs ached by the time they emerged from the woods near the tree house. They were almost home. Harrison halted, and the children let go of Josephine’s hands to run toward the house. Lizzie and Otis stood outside the kitchen, watching, waiting. They saw them coming across the yard and ran to meet them.

“Oh, thank you, Lord! Thank you!” Otis cried. Lizzie couldn’t seem to speak at all as she pulled her children into her arms. Josephine was so tired she wanted to sink down to the ground and cry with relief and weariness and joy. She looked behind her to thank Harrison and saw that he had turned the horse around to ride back into the woods.

“Harrison, wait!” When he didn’t stop or slow down, she summoned her last reserve of strength and ran after him, grabbing the horse’s bridle to stop him. “Wait! . . . Listen . . . how can I ever thank you for what you’ve done?”

He shook his head, gazing straight ahead into the woods. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Is that girl really Lizzie’s daughter?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Listen . . . I meant what I said about marrying you. I’ll—”

“I’m going home now. I’m sure my mother will be worried.” The horse moved forward.

“Harrison!” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Stop punishing yourself. You’ve earned Lizzie’s forgiveness. And God will forgive you, too, if you ask.”

“Since when are you His spokesman?” he asked bitterly. He flicked the reins and the horse started forward again.

Josephine watched him go, feeling sorry for him. Whether or not she married Harrison, she knew she owed him something in return. She promised herself that she would spend more time with him. Maybe she could help him find God again the way Alexander had helped her.

She trudged back to the house, so weary that she could probably sleep for days. Lizzie and Otis wanted to show their gratitude, but she told them to take their children home to bed. “Thank God, not me,” she said. As she watched them go, she wondered how they would ever feel safe again.

The war had ended—but it hadn’t. The Yankees would be back. Daniel’s bitterness would likely grow worse, and Mother would be forced to grieve another loss if the Yankees took him away. Would any of their lives ever be the same? Would the sorrow and fear ever stop? The war may have ended, but the effects of it seemed to go on and on.
“Nobody wins a war,”
Alexander once told her.
“We all lose in one way or another.”
As she staggered up the stairs to bed, Josephine knew he was right.

36

J
ULY
29, 1965

Josephine was exhausted the next morning, but she rose at her usual time, afraid her mother would ask too many questions if she remained in bed. She dressed quickly and went outside to the kitchen to find Lizzie and Otis. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find them too shaken and exhausted from their ordeal to do any work. Nor would she be surprised if they were packing up their family to leave White Oak for good. But the kitchen looked as it did every morning, with a fire on the hearth, Lizzie hard at work, and the aroma of fresh biscuits in the air. Roselle was churning butter, Rufus filling the woodbox, Jack pumping water—all the morning routines proceeding smoothly.

Jo looked around at the activity in amazement. “Are you all right? I wasn’t sure you would even want to work after . . .”

Lizzie set down her bowl and spoon and hurried over. To Josephine’s surprise, she took both of Jo’s hands and gripped them in her own. “We owe you, Missy Jo. We owe you for saving our lives, and so we decided we’ll stay here and help you out until the cotton is picked, or until you can find someone else to work for you here at White Oak.”

“But . . . I thought you might be afraid to stay.”

“Tell you the truth, I am scared to stay. But Otis says it’s hard for us Negroes no matter where we go. And he says that the good Lord is looking out for us.”

“Otis is right. The good Lord has been answering all our prayers, hasn’t He?”

“Yes, ma’am. Tell your mama I’ll have her breakfast up to her as soon as the biscuits are finished.”

Jo returned to the house and went upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. She and Mary had been eating their meals with their mother since the doctor had ordered complete bed rest. But this morning, Jo found her mother out of bed and getting dressed. “Help me finish, Josephine. I want to eat my breakfast downstairs.”

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we wait for Dr. Hunter? I thought he wanted you to stay in bed for a week.”

“Nonsense. I’m feeling much better and I’m tired of this room. A change of scene will do me good. Maybe I’ll even let the doctor take me for a carriage ride when he comes.”

Mary walked into the room a moment later and looked at their mother in surprise. “What’s going on? Why are you out of bed? And why is Daniel back from Richmond?”

A jolt of fear rocked through Josephine. “Daniel’s home? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I heard him rummaging around in his room just now. And when I was opening our bedroom curtains, I saw his horse.”

“I don’t know why he’s back,” Mother said, “but go down and tell Lizzie that we’ll all eat in the dining room. I’ll be down as soon as Josephine helps me with my hair.”

The news about Daniel made Josephine uneasy. She feared for Lizzie and Otis’s safety and worried that Mother would find out about last night. Jo couldn’t risk having her suffer any more shocks. “Shall I go knock on Daniel’s door and see why—?”

“No. Help me with my hair and we’ll talk to him together.” Mother sat down at her dressing table while Jo quickly pinned her hair in a loose chignon. They went down the hall and were about to knock on Daniel’s door when it flew open and there he stood. Josephine
could barely look at him, knowing what he had tried to do to Lizzie’s family. Daniel smiled as though nothing had happened at all.

“Good morning, Mother. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes I am, in fact. But I’m wondering what you’re doing home. You’re supposed to be in Richmond.”

He shot a glance at Josephine, and she shook her head to let him know that Mother hadn’t learned about last night’s events. “I didn’t go to Richmond,” he said. “I’ve been staying with Joseph Gray for the past few days, and it gave me time to do some thinking. First of all, it isn’t right for me to take our only horse and leave you with no transportation. And . . . and second, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for upsetting you . . . for that whole misunderstanding with the slaves.”

“They aren’t slaves,” Mother said. “They’re servants.”

Tears sprang to Josephine’s eyes at her words. Mother was trying to change, she truly was.

“Anyway,” Daniel continued, “my friends and I also agreed that it wasn’t a good idea for me to leave town right now. If the Yankees come looking for me, it would seem as though I had run away, that I was guilty.”

Josephine couldn’t help thinking that Daniel
was
guilty. She wondered if Mother was thinking the same thing.

“I see,” Mother said.

“Finally, I still don’t feel right about leaving you here all alone. So . . . may I please come home? Will you forgive me and give me another chance?”

Josephine eyed her brother with suspicion. Should they trust him—could they trust him? Would Mother welcome him back if she knew what he’d tried to do to Lizzie’s family? The memory of it chilled Josephine, and she fought the urge to run down to the kitchen and warn Lizzie to take her family and run. They needed to go somewhere far away from here.

“Yes, of course I’ll forgive you,” Mother said. She pulled him close for a quick hug. “Now let’s all go downstairs and eat our breakfast, shall we?”

But before they reached the top of the stairs, they heard Mary shouting up at them from the front foyer. “Daniel, come quick! It’s . . . it’s the Yankees! Dozens of them! And they’re coming here!”

Mother’s knees seemed to go weak, and she leaned against Josephine for support.

“Let me take you back to your room, Mother.” Josephine wrapped her arm around Eugenia’s waist. “The doctor said you can’t risk getting upset. If . . . if it’s Mr. Chandler, I’ll speak with him.”

“Stay here, all of you,” Daniel said. “I know how to deal with Yankees.”

“No!” Mother said sharply. “I’m sorry, Daniel, but we’re going to deal with them my way, not yours. Help me down the stairs, Josephine. I want to hear what they have to say. I’ll be more upset if I’m left up here to wonder what’s going on.”

Josephine held one of her mother’s arms and Daniel took the other as they guided her down the stairs to the front door. When Mary opened it, a sea of blue uniforms was rapidly approaching down the long lane. “They have no right,” Daniel murmured. “This is our property. . . .”

“Hush!” Mother said. She was clinging to his arm, keeping him from running forward. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

The troop halted a hundred yards from the house, and a single rider in civilian clothes broke from the pack to ride out ahead of them.

Alexander.

Josephine could tell it was him by the set of his shoulders and the way he sat in the saddle, even before he drew close enough to see his face. Her heart began to pound so hard she thought it might burst. He had returned, just as he’d promised. But judging by the troop of soldiers with him, this wasn’t going to be a friendly visit. Alexander was here to arrest Daniel. He hadn’t found a way for the two of them to be together, after all. He couldn’t possibly arrive with two dozen soldiers to arrest her brother and then expect her to ride away with him. How could she leave her mother under such circumstances?

Alexander stopped near the hitching post and dismounted. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. He looked up at them, standing in a row on the front porch. He must see that this was where Josephine had to be—with her family.

“Forgive me for bringing so many men,” he said. “It wasn’t my idea, I assure you. And I’m not armed.” He lifted his arms and spread his hands, then let them drop to his sides again.

“What do you want?” Daniel asked.

“I simply want to talk. And I can say what I need to say right here. I understand how you might feel about having a Yankee in your home. But I’m glad to see that all of you are here. I would like your entire family to hear what I have to say.”

“Leave my mother out of this. She hasn’t been well.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. It isn’t my intention to upset you, Mrs. Weatherly, believe me. And if you don’t mind, I would like your two servants, Otis and Lizzie, to come and hear this, too.”

Daniel started to protest, but Mother cut him off. “Mary, please ask Lizzie and Otis to come here.” Mary nodded and hurried off to fetch them.

Josephine was relieved that Mother hadn’t sent her on the errand. She had begun to tremble so violently that she didn’t think she could take a step. She clung to her mother’s arm, waiting, wondering what Alexander was up to. She searched his face for a clue, but he hadn’t once met her gaze as he’d addressed her mother and brother. Why did he want Lizzie and Otis? Alexander couldn’t possibly know about last night’s events. If Lizzie told him now, it would create a terrible scene, and the doctor had said that Mother’s heart couldn’t bear the strain of more bad news.

“Let’s go down below and talk,” Mother said as they waited. She led the way down the porch steps, still clinging to Jo’s arm. Daniel stayed right beside them. Jo stared at Alexander, but he still didn’t meet her gaze.
“Trust me,”
he had said. Could he really find a way for them to be together with her family’s blessing?

Mary finally returned with Otis and Lizzie, walking around from the rear of the house because Otis would never dare to go inside.
He was holding Lizzie’s hand, and they both looked frightened half to death. “Good morning, Mr. Chandler,” Otis said.

“Good morning, Otis. Thank you for coming to meet with us. I wanted you and Lizzie to hear what I came to say, since it involves both of you, as well. So, Mr. Weatherly.” Alexander took a step closer to Daniel, looking him in the eyes. “I’m here to try to reach an agreement with you. I believe I have enough evidence to convict you of at least some of the charges the government might hold against you: the two fires at the bureau office, the destruction of the school. But as of this moment, the evidence lives or dies with me. I haven’t filed any reports with my superiors in Richmond. Until I tell them otherwise, the fires may have been accidents, not part of a plot against my life. I’m willing to make sure those reports are never filed if I can have your word that the violence will end right now.”

Mother seemed to sway. “Wait . . . You would drop
all
of the charges against my son?”

“Yes, ma’am. As long as Mr. Weatherly swears to me that he and his friends will make peace with the Negroes. That there will be no more night riders. That they’ll allow the freedmen in your community to settle down here, be given jobs and homes here, be treated fairly. Will you agree to that, Mr. Weatherly?”

Daniel took a long time to reply. He was the larger and stronger of the two men and could probably overpower Alexander. But two dozen Yankee soldiers were watching from the end of the lane. “What game are you playing?” Daniel finally asked.

“I’m not playing any game. I’m offering you amnesty. I’m trying to reach a truce. Now, you may have noticed I didn’t mention the violence in the woods or the two Negroes who were shot and killed. That’s a separate issue, and it’s why I asked Otis to hear what I have to say.” Alexander turned to face him. “Otis, if you and the others want to come forward with evidence and press charges against the men who were responsible, then I’m honor-bound as a bureau agent to proceed with an indictment and see the guilty parties are punished. Is that what you’d like me to do?”

Jo held her breath. What would he say? Daniel had tried to kill
his entire family last night, and if Otis wanted revenge, this was his chance to get it. Alexander couldn’t possibly know what he was asking. Jo would be forced to testify against her brother—or watch him get away with another attempted murder.

“Well . . .” Otis said slowly. “I believe that sending people to jail is only going to make things worse. There will be more killing, more revenge, and it won’t bring the two dead men back. No, sir. I would like to make sure the dead men’s families get some help so they can get by without their husbands and fathers. But the Almighty says that vengeance belongs to Him, not us. He says He’ll pay back the guilty on Judgment Day if they don’t repent. If you can forgive them, Mr. Chandler, then I guess I’m satisfied to wait and let God do the punishing, too.”

“So, Otis, if we can figure out a way to compensate the families, are you content to make peace?” Alexander asked.

“They have to let us have our school, too,” Lizzie said.

“Yes, that’s a good point. The school must be part of the arrangement.” Alexander turned back to Daniel. “Can you agree to these terms, Mr. Weatherly? Otis and I will agree not to pursue any indictments if you agree to end the violence and live in peace.”

“Why would you do that?” Mother asked. “I don’t understand.”

“It must be some sort of trick,” Daniel said.

“It isn’t a trick. It’s called grace, and it’s what Jesus came to offer all of us. He forgives us even though we’re guilty. He lets us have a brand-new start. That’s what I’m offering you. We can forget the past and start all over again, beginning right now. We can make different choices this time.”

“I haven’t asked you for mercy,” Daniel said.

“That’s true. But I’m offering it to you anyway. There’s a beautiful passage in the book of Revelation, where Jesus talks about the end of time when God will wipe away all the tears from our eyes. He says there will be no more death or sorrow or pain—all those things will be gone. And He says, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ We’ve experienced enough pain and sorrow for one lifetime,
haven’t we? I’m offering you a chance to make all things new. If I can forgive you for burning down my office and trying to kill me, maybe you can finally forgive me for being your enemy during the war. If Otis can forgive you and your friends for beating him and destroying the school, then maybe you can forgive them for wanting to live free lives. . . . But if you’d rather not accept grace, we can continue this war and all the suffering that comes with it. It’s up to you, Mr. Weatherly.”