Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (31 page)

The Civil War over, the emancipated slaves were filled with hope. President Lincoln intended to rebuild the South and to advance the Confederate states’ reconciliation with the rest of the nation. Legislation coming out of Washington after Lincoln’s death enacted laws to deliver protections and rights to the newest American citizens.

Never was there a headier time for black people. Men and women decided where they would live, whom they would work for, and what work they would perform. For a few years, Reconstruction brought dignity and protection of civil rights. For a few years, the black population of America approached equality.

There were many men like the fictional Thomas Bickell throughout the South. They gained power through the ballot box and helped write the new state constitutions, which included the right of black men to vote. They became policemen, sheriffs, and judges. They won office as governors and mayors. They were sent to the Congress of the United States. Black schools sprung up all over the South and black families sacrificed to be sure their children learned to read.

The U.S. Army and the Freedmen’s Bureau remained a presence in Southern states for a number of years after the war. Their duties included protection of the ex-slaves from the violence and oppressive manipulations of those whites who refused to accept the world had changed. The Freedmen’s Bureau adjudicated disputes between labor and employers, reunited slaves sold off from their families, monitored elections and judicial proceedings, and generally endeavored to keep freedmen from being re-enslaved.

And then.

I’ve never read a more dispiriting account in history. Many expected Lincoln’s Vice President Andrew Johnson to carry on with rebuilding the South at the same time ensuring the rights of former slaves. Instead, accommodating the pressure from Democrats in Congress and yielding to arguments from powerful Southern planters, Johnson and his administration set about restoring the lands and rights of the defeated Confederate plantation owners who had once enslaved close to four million people.

By 1877, Reconstruction was over. If the goal of the Radical Republicans to ensure equality to the ex-slaves had been realized, there would have been no need for the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s. Instead, the Ku Klux Klan ascended, Jim Crow laws proliferated, and the black population struggled on.

Among the forces aligned against the blacks, The Knights of the White Camellia rose up in Louisiana intent on returning to the old ways, using threats of violence, economic pressure, intimidation, misinformation, and many “dirty tricks.” This group was short-lived, but others across the South carried on the campaign to deprive blacks of basic civil rights.

In this maelstrom of injustice and anger, people like Alistair Whiteaker and Musette DeBlieux had their real-life counterparts in the South. We remember their roles, also, in the greater struggle of black Americans to be truly free.

The most important characters’ names are in
bold
. Recurring
characters’ names are
italicized.

On Toulouse Plantation, The Tassins, a Creole family:

• Grandmother Emmeline Tassin, shrewd mistress of the family
  business.
  

• Emile Tassin, her son, dreamy, loving, irresponsible.
  

• Celine Tassin, Emile’s wife, frustrated, embittered, neglected.
  

• Bibi, a house slave and Emile’s beloved, calm, big-hearted, nurturing.
  

• Josephine (Josie)
  , Emile and Celeste’s daughter, naïve but ultimately practical
  

• Cleo
  , Emile and Bibi’s much-loved daughter, a quadroon, born a slave but blessed with beauty and talent.
  

• Thibault
  , Emile and Bibi’s son, born simple.
  

• Remy
  , a field slave, Cleo’s lover, sweet-natured, sings like an angel, ambitious and wise.
  

• Mr. Gale, the overseer, a competent and honorable man.
  

• Mr. LeBrec, the second overseer, Cleo’s worst nightmare.
  

• Elbow John, a slave.
  

• Louella, a cook.
  

• Grammy Tulia, Bibi’s mother.
  

• Gabriel
  , Cleo’s child with Bertrand Chamard.
  

On Magnolia Plantation across the river, The Johnstons,
an American family:

• Mr. and Mrs. Johnston.
  

• Albany Johnston
  , their son, a good man, though
  unimaginative.
  

• Abigail Johnston, their daughter.
  

On Cherleu Plantation, next to Toulouse
:

• Bertrand Chamard
  ,
  a distant Creole cousin to Josie Tassin: dashing, handsome, suave, debonair,
  charming, desirable, seductive – every woman's dream; important character in
  Books II and III.
  

• Valentine
  , slave, Bertrand’s valet.
  

From the bayou:

• Phanor DeBlieux
  , a Cajun: funny, kind, handsome, talented, intelligent, and ambitious.
  

• Lalie, Phanor’s sister
  

• Louis, Lalie’s husband
  

• Nicholas, Lalie’s child
  

• Papa
  

On Toulouse Plantation, The DeBlieux family:

• Josie Tassin DeBlieux.
  

• Simone
  , Josie and Phanor DeBlieux's eldest daughter,
  in love with her half-cousin, Gabriel, she is intense, loyal, steadfast,
  passionate, and very stubborn.
  

• Musette
  , the middle daughter.
  

• Ariane, the youngest daughter.
  

In New Orleans and on Chateau Chanson, the farm next to
Toulouse Plantation:

• Cleo
  , half-sister of Josie Tassin DeBlieux, a free
  quadroon and a renowned songstress: co-heroine in Book I; mother of Nicolette
  and Gabe Chamard.
  

• Pierre
  , a free black man, a musician who marries Cleo
  in mid-life.
  

• Gabriel (Gabe) Chamard
  , an octoroon, Cleo’s son with
  Bertrand Chamard: brilliant, passionate, sophisticated (studied medicine in
  Paris), capable of fisticuffs and surgery.
  

• Nicolette Chamard
  , an octoroon, a popular songstress,
  Cleo’s daughter with Bertrand Chamard and the heroine of Book III.
  

On Cherleu Plantation, next to Toulouse Plantation:

• Bertrand Chamard.
  

• Marcel Chamard
  , son of Bertrand with his first
  wife, Abigail Johnston, deceased: suave man-about-town; privileged; important
  character in Book III.
  

• Yves Chamard
  ,
  son of Bertrand with his second wife; debonair, secretive, principled,
  courageous, and seductive.
  

• Valentine
  , slave, Bertrand’s valet.
  

On Magnolia Plantation, across the river from Toulouse
Plantation:

• Albany Johnston.
  

• Adam Johnston
  , his son; insecure, passionate,
  jealous, drunk too often; important character in Book III.
  

• Marianne Johnston
  ,
  Adam’s sister: open-minded, thoughtful, skilled in rose breeding and in
  creating medicinals; also head-strong, idealistic, and passionate.
  

• Mr. McNaught, the overseer.
  

• John Man and Peter, brothers, slaves.
  

• Joseph, a slave.
  

• Luke, a slave.
  

• Pearl,
  a slave: her heart’s desire – to love and
  be-loved by husband and child.
  

• Alistair Whiteaker
  , a plantation owner, friend
  to Marcel; important character in Book III; Hero of Book IV.
  

• Nicolette Chamard
  ,
  heroine, first introduced in Book II; octoroon daughter of Cleo and Bertrand
  Chamard; talented performer, beautiful, courageous, determined, and principled.
  

• Cleo,
  quadroon, renowned entertainer; co-heroine in
  Book I, important in Books II and III.
  

• Pierre
  , Cleo’s husband.
  

• Bertrand Chamard
  , Creole planter, important in Book I,
  also prominent in Book II and IV; father of Marcel and Nicolette with his lover
  Cleo, a former slave.
  

• Marcel Chamard
  ,
  Bertrand’s legitimate son, half-brother to Nicolette,
  Confederate officer; conflicted by his love for two women and by his role as a
  Confederate soldier of conscience; also in Book II.
  

• Lucinda
  , Marcel’s beloved quadroon, a free woman,
  beautiful, loving.
  

• Valentine
  , a slave, Bertrand’s valet.
  

• Val, a slave, Valentine’s son.
  

• Deborah Ann Presswood
  ,
  Marcel’s white fiancé; spoiled Southern Belle whose heart’s desire is to love
  and be loved by Marcel Chamard.
  

• Mr. Presswood, her father.
  

• Adam Johnston
  , Confederate officer; haunted by
  his misdeed in Book II.
  

• Alistair Whiteaker
  ,
  Confederate officer, friend of Marcel’s and Nicolette’s; torn between his heart
  and his duty; becomes the hero in Book IV.
  

• Dix Weber, Confederate officer, friend of Marcel’s and
  Alistair’s.
  

• Captain Finnian McKee
  ,
  Union soldier from Boston; of abolitionist sympathies, bewitched by the exotic
  city of New Orleans and besotted with Nicolette.
  

• Major Hurshel Farrow, McKee’s friend.
  

• General Benjamin Butler, in charge of Union occupation of
  New Orleans, a historical figure of notoriety for his role in the war.
  

On Toulouse Plantation:

• Musette DeBlieux
  , daughter of
  Josie Tassin DeBlieux
  who was the heroine of
  Book I. Musette is Idealistic, romantic, and passionate.
  

• Uncle Thibault,
  Musette's mother's half-brother,
  introduced in Book I.
  

On Cherleu Plantation:

• Bertrand Chamard,
  major character in Book I, also
  important in Books II and III.
  

• Valentine
  , his valet.
  

On Elysium, the farm behind Toulouse Plantation:

• Uncle Garvey Bickell.
  

• Thomas Bickell
  ,
  former slave, running for public office; brilliant, charismatic man with a
  great future.
  

• Peep, Rachel, and Dawn Bickell, former slaves, Thomas’s
  family.
  

• Lily Palmer
  , Garvey’s niece from Philadelphia; haunted by past sins, she yearns for a life
  of peace and quiet, but new love brings her disquiet, pain, and hope.
  

• Maddie Palmer, Lily’s daughter.
  

• Frederick Palmer
  , Lily’s husband: a disappointed man.
  

• Cabel, ex-slave, friend of Thomas’s.
  

• Reynard, ex-slave, friend of Thomas’s.
  

Other players:

• Fanny Brown
  , former slave, teacher, beloved of Thomas
  Bickell.
  

• Alistair Whiteaker
  ,
  plantation owner, former Confederate officer; a principled man of ideals,
  valor, and hope. Prominent in Book III as well.
  

• Jacques Valmar, criminal.
  

• Nicolette and Finnian McKee
  , briefly, Bertrand
  Chamard’s daughter and son-in-law. Heroine and Hero of Book III.
  

I’m a
Southerner, born and bred, and I’ve tried to give a little flavor of rural
black speech in my characters’ dialogue. The only usage I think might give
non-Southerners pause is “gone.” Generally, we use “gone” as a modifier, just
like the rest of the country: “The milk’s all gone.”

In some Southern
dialects, mine, for instance, we also use “gone” as a verb which rhymes with
“bone.” For instance, instead of saying, “I’m going to get to that later,” I
might say “I’m gone get to that later.” That’s it. The rest will roll right off
your tongue.

All things above were bright and fair,

All things were glad and free;

Lithe squirrels darted here and there,

And wild birds filled the echoing air

With songs of Liberty!

From
“The Slave in the Dismal Swamp”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The first time she saw him, he was
grinning. The next time she saw him, he was whistling. A slave, working in the
field, under a July sun. What was wrong with him?

Livy decided he was simple. It happened
now and then, and no one knew why. A child was born without the sense God gave
hens. Instead this man was gifted with a strong body and a sunny disposition.

She kept her distance from him and most
everyone else on this new place. She had spent her entire twenty years on a
plantation upriver, had known everyone in the quarters, had loved some of them.
Livy didn’t want to know these people. She wielded her hoe among the knee-high
cane stalks, weeding and keeping an eye out for snakes, and pretended she was
the only one laboring in this field. She didn’t mind hard work. She was used to
it. What she minded was being forced to work here, or there, for this long or
that long, being forced to leave her mother and her sisters with no say-so. It
was just easier to bear if she lived her life inside a dust-colored shroud
where nothing could touch her.

“Hey, pretty girl.” It was Zeb, the
simpleton. He’d worked his hoe up the next row till he was even with her.

She ignored him.

“What’s your name?”

She hacked at a bunch of crab grass with
a savage blow.

“You been here, what, a whole week, and
don’t nobody know your name yet. You Suzy? No? I bet you a Rebecca.”

So maybe he was not so simple, she
thought. That teasing note was just a little too knowing to be simple.

“You act like you don’t see me, so I
can’t see you neither? Well, I introduce myself anyway. I’m Zebediah. Zeb, to
most folks.” He leaned over to look up into her downturned face. “Sure wish I
wadn’t a will-o-the-wisp, cain’t nobody hear me, cain’t nobody see me.”

Livy straightened, held her hoe up-right,
and turned to him with a face she hoped would freeze him solid.  “What you
want?”

“I want to know your name.”

She stared at him. Maybe he was simple.
Then he smiled at her, and she saw the twinkle in his eye. Annoying, but not
simple.

“Livy,” she said, and turned back to her
hoeing.

He chopped a weed with his own hoe.
“Morning, Livy.” And he set off down his row, like he was completely satisfied
now he knew her name.

Next day, and the day after that, he
said, “Morning, Livy.” She ignored him.

Day after that, he said good morning, and
then at sunset, he found her coming from the tool shed and said, “Evening,
Livy.” Two more days of good mornings and good evenings, he said, “My name’s
Zeb. You want to use it, it be fine with me.”

He kept on with the good mornings, good
evenings. Finally, she snapped at him. “What you want with me?”

He grinned and light shone off his face
like a lantern. “I want you to call me Zeb. Good morning, Zeb. Good evening,
Zeb.”

She felt it first like a tickle behind
her throat, then a tightening around her mouth, and then a tiny half-smile
pulled at her lips. She tipped her head at him like she’d seen the master’s
women do and said, making it as formal as she knew how, “Good evening, Zeb.”

Now the moon moved in behind his eyes and
he glowed. “Good night, Livy.”

After a long day’s work, even if the
night was steamy and still, people in the quarters slept hard. Livy shared a
cabin with two other women. Etta, an old woman whose back was so bent all she
was fit for was riding herd on the littlest children while their mamas were in
the fields, and Grace, a dried up little woman with a limp who milked the cows.

Livy listened to their quiet, even
breathing. She tried to match her breath to theirs. She tried to remember all
the yellow things there were to look at. She did not allow herself to think of
home, of her mama and her sisters back on the Griffin plantation. She didn’t
let herself think about being nothing more than a kind of coin – the master
gambles, he sells off a few slaves to pay his debt. No, better to tot up how
many yellow things colored the world. Butterflies, daffodils, squash, baby
chicks. Still, she could not sleep.

She rolled off the corn shuck mattress as
quietly as she could and padded out to the porch. She could just believe it was
a little cooler out here. Livy crushed a few leaves of the mint Etta had
growing in a pot and rubbed them on her skin to discourage the mosquitoes, then
sat on the top step to watch the night. She could hear the whir of a bat
winging overhead, and crickets sawing away in the bushes. A little sliver of
moon gave enough light to see the outlines of the cabins.

A movement down the lane caught her eye.
A man slipped into the cabin third down the row. That was Tish’s cabin, Tish
whose little boy Beesum toddled around with his fingers in his mouth. But why
did a man have to sneak in to see Tish? Nobody would care. Tish was alone in
her cabin, just her and the baby since her man run off. Run off and left her
and their baby behind, that’s what she’d heard.

Maybe he didn’t run off though. Maybe her
man was one of those maroons who hovered around the plantations to see their
people or get food. Livy didn’t see the point in that. Lying out in the woods,
you still ain’t free – hungry all the time, slave patrols after you all the
time, scared all the time. You want to be free, then keep going till you be
free.

After while, the man stepped out of
Tish’s cabin and closed the door real quiet. He looked up and down the lane,
but Livy was sitting still and he didn’t see her in the shadows. He crossed the
lane and let himself into the cabin directly across.  One of the bachelor
cabins.

Pretty soon, here came another man.
Jubal, it looked like. Jubal, the quarters’ lover man who had two or three
women pining after him all the time. She thought he stayed in the bachelor
cabin other end of the lane. What did he want slinking into another cabin full
of men?

Livy’s mind wandered lazily over the
possibilities. Maybe they were gambling in there, using carved wooden dice and
pebbles instead of coins. But why be secret about that? Why be secret about
anything in the quarters? They lived on top of each other, day in and day out.
There were no secrets.

Except for this skulking in the night.

Sure as she’d ever been, she suddenly
knew. They were planning to run.

Livy’s pulse picked up. Running together,
they’d help each other. Keep watch for each other when they had to rest, keep a
lookout for the slave patrols, share the food they could forage.

The men sat in a circle around the candle
placed on the floor, the windows all covered so nobody outside could see the
light. Clem had the only chair, and Hector thought that was right since Clem
was near about forty.

Hector looked around at the men, their
chins and noses casting shadows in the yellow candle light. There was Pete,
just hooked up with a woman, but he aimed to take her with him. Clem, he
wouldn’t go, said his bones hurt too bad, but he help anybody thought they
could get free. Clem’s own boy run a few years back – nobody heard nothing
about him, so they all believed he made it to freedom land. That was best --
believe he made it. And there was Samson, planned to come out in a year or two,
when his oldest boy big enough to run with him.

That left Jubal. Hector had him figured for
a wishful kind of man. He made time with three women, last Hector knew, no
telling how many kids. He just liked dreaming about being a free man, but he
was a help to them sometimes. He the reason they had a  machete.

That meant only Pete was coming out with
him, at least the only one this year.

“I found us a place,” Hector said. “Eight
or nine miles back in the swamp, maybe three miles from Flavian’s camp.”

“How much this place dry land and how
much water?” Jubal asked.

“I reckon there’s maybe ten acres dry,
two to four feet higher than the water.”

“It got to be cleared, though.”

“Yeah, it got to be cleared. We gone need
saws and axes.”

“And we gone need boats.”

“Either that or wade chest deep with the
gators nipping at you. I’ve done it, but it weren’t no fun.”

“I got a dugout started back in the
bayou,” Samson said. “Rate I’m going, it’ll be ready in a couple of years.”

“Flavian don’t mind you splitting off?”
Pete asked.

“Nah. He all for it,” Hector said. “A
camp get too big, it make too much noise, leave  too many trails, eat too much.
He help us all he can, but we got it do ourselves.”

“Got something to tell you,” Pete said.
“I ain’t going.”

Anger flashed over Hector, but he kept
his voice cool. “Why not?”

“Bess told me this morning. She pregnant.
She won’t go, and I ain’t going without her.”

Well, hell, Hector thought. All this
talking and planning for nothing. He couldn’t very well start a camp all by
himself.

He guessed he couldn’t  blame Pete for
not leaving a pregnant wife, but babies been born before in a maroon camp. It
was up to Pete though.

“What about this Adam over at the Bissell
plantation – he coming or not?”

“Yeah, he coming. Trying to get his hands
on a axe.”

The door creaked open -- Hector’s knife
was in his hand before he half knew the door was opening.

A woman stepped in and closed the door
behind her. She was tall and slim, her eyes burning hot.

Sampson had jumped to his feet, menacing
her with his six foot bulk and his clenched fists. Judging by the looks on the
men’s faces, Hector figured she wadn’t expected.

“I’m going with you,” she said.

“What are you talking about, girl?” Clem
said.

“You gone run.”

“We ain’t running. You think we fools? Go
on back to bed. This here is the men’s cabin.”

Bold as brass, the woman brushed past
Samson and sat down in the circle just like she been invited. “I’m going with
you,” she said.

“No, you ain’t, cause we ain’t going
nowhere. Get on out of here,” Clem said.

“I’m strong. I’m fast. I can run all
night, steal food, cook, keep watch. I’m not afraid of nothing. I won’t hinder
you.”

“No.” Pete snapped. “Go on. Get out.”

She had grit, Hector had to give her
that. She stared at every one of them, not backing down one bit.

“She talk to the overseer, we in
trouble,” Jubal said.

“I won’t never tell nothing to the
overseer, never. But I’m going with you anyway, so I got nothing to tell.”

“Your name Livy, ain’t it,” Clem said.
“Livy, nothing we doing here got anything to do with you. We ain’t running. Go
on now, go to bed.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Clem let out a great sigh and nodded to
Jubal. He and Pete took her up under the arms.

“Take her back to her place. Livy, you
make a fuss out there, wake folks up, they gone think you in here after a man.
They all laugh at you from sunup to sundown.”

“I’m going with you,” she insisted as the
men pulled at her.

Hector  listened to the three pairs of
feet on the porch and on the stoop. Then he didn’t hear nothing else. At least
she had sense enough not to cause a commotion out there. 

“She gone be trouble.” Samson said.

They breathed quiet for a few minutes,
sweat trickling down their fronts and their backs.

“She want to go too bad to run her mouth
off,” Clem said. “We’ll keep an eye on her. May be she can come out to the new
camp with you, Hector.”

“You taking your woman when the new camp
set up?” Jubal asked.

Hector let out a breath. “When the boy
old enough not to pick up a scorpion and put it in his mouth, Tish maybe come
then.”

“Me, I been thinking maybe me and my boy
run, when he gets some age on him, maybe we run instead of coming with you all.
Head north till we hit the free states,” Samson said. “You know anybody,” he
glanced at Clem, “besides Clem’s son – anybody else done that and didn’t get
brought back half dead?”

Hector stared at the candle flame. It
wadn’t easy laying out in the swamp and it wadn’t any easier lighting out for
the north. If it was easy, they’d have all done it by now.

“I ain’t heard of nobody, but that don’t
mean nobody ever done it.”

“Samson, don’t you and the boy be running
on your own,” Clem said. “The odds ain’t good, you know that. Go on out to the
camp, make a new place. Hector gone need you and you be better off with him.”

Samson ran a hand over his head and let
out a breath. “It ain’t time to do nothing anyway. The boy too young to leave
his mama, too little to keep up. When the time come, I talk to you again.”

 “All right. Nothing more to do here.”
Hector got to his feet.

“Don’t give up on us, boy,” Clem said.
“This ain’t a small thing, running off. Maybe later on, some of us go out there
with you.”

He needed them now, Hector felt like
shouting. But it wouldn’t do any good.

Hector blew out the candle and slipped
into the night. He was disgusted. He was disappointed. He’d seen it all in his
mind, this new camp, clearing the land, building a place like the one Flavian
had built. And now not even Pete was coming. He felt like punching something.

Once he found the trail heading back into
the swamp, he made good time. The path took him through the back of the
plantation deep into the woods to a pond that caught the moonlight so it was
like a silver mirror with the moon caught in it. Hector skirted the marshy edge
trying to keep his shoes dry, but it wadn’t happening that way. Wet muck sucked
at his heels and he was glad when the trail angled up a couple of feet onto dry
land.

Owls hooted back and forth. Somewhere out
in the marsh, a chorus of bull frogs sang to the skeeters. Come here, they
croaked, hoping for a mouthful of bug. Plenty of bugs following him around. He
entertained himself with the thought of having a frog tongue himself to turn
the skeeters from a torment into a treat.