Authors: Gilbert Morris
She looked up at him, taking in the fine blue eyes and the trim strong body. “You are a handsome old thing,” she smiled. “You can do a lot better than Ellie McClain.”
He sobered, and said quietly, “Guess my prospects aren’t too good, Belle. Another month and I’ll be leaving.”
“Oh, Dan, it may not come to that. Father may get a loan that’ll tide us over.”
“I hope so, Belle—but I’m leaving anyway. Going to Texas.”
“Texas! Why Texas?”
“Better than here.” He grimaced bitterly. “Don’t tell the folks. I haven’t said anything to them.”
“Does it have anything to do with this White Knight business, Dan?”
“No. But I think Beau and the knights are right and the folks are wrong.”
“What about whipping Little John?”
“Oh, that may happen, but if enough good men take part, they will make sure everything is done right.”
She put her hand on his arm, saying gently, “Dan, I hope you don’t go. I hate to see the family breaking up. There’s Mark going to work on the railroad, and now you’re talking about leaving.”
“Guess the war ruined everything for us, didn’t it?” Then he looked directly at her and asked, “What about you, Belle? What’ll you do?”
She knew he was curious about her sudden happiness, and she said with a trace of embarrassment, “I’ll be all right, Dan. After I lost Vance I just crawled into some kind of black hole and told the world to leave me alone.”
“You’ve sure changed,” he commented. “Is it that Yankee preacher?”
She flushed and hesitated. Slowly a smile softened her lips. “He’s been a big help to me, Dan. He helped me find my way back.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“Oh, Dan, I don’t know!” Belle exclaimed. “I’ve just got my life pulled together. I was so far from God and so unhappy, and Davis showed me how to find Him. It’s too soon to talk about things like that—and, anyway, we were talking about you, not me.”
“I’ll be leaving, Belle,” he shrugged. “I feel out of place around here.”
Three nights after this conversation, the White Knights struck.
Belle and Davis had spent all evening going over plans for
the school. Since it had been so late, he decided to stay over. Belle went to bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She awakened instantly out of a deep sleep by the sound of several gunshots in the distance. Jumping out of bed, she ran to the window and saw a glow in the east. She heard others calling down the hall, and threw on her clothes and raced down the stairs just as her father and the other men left the house.
“What is it?” she asked her mother.
Rebekah was pulling on her coat, and paused only long enough to say, “Trouble at the quarters.” She left, and Belle hurried after her. Davis was ahead with her father, and when she glanced back, she saw Pet and Thad running out the door.
The moon was full, casting a golden light over the pathway leading to the quarters. As they came closer they could hear the horses stamping and blowing and men calling out.
As she dashed past the hog lot, Belle saw the flicker of torches immediately behind the small rows of cabins lying in a shallow hollow. When she reached the crest, she paused, restrained by Rebekah and Pet.
Between the rows of cabins facing each other, men on horseback were drawn up in two rough lines—all bearing torches and wearing white hoods with holes cut for eyes. Six men had dismounted and two of them watched as the others dragged a black man across the yard.
“It’s Toby!” Belle cried. Even as she did, she saw her father and the other men move down the hill toward the houses. She tried to get closer, but Rebekah held her back.
“Hold it right there!” Sky’s voice rang out.
The men dropped Toby abruptly.
Sky moved into the space between the two lines of mounted men, holding his pistol. Davis was at his side, but unarmed. Sky’s sons and Thad stopped at the end of the rows, fanning out. Mark had a pistol, the rest rifles.
Two hooded men on foot wheeled to face Sky and Davis,
about ten feet away. One knight, dropping his hand to the pistol in his holster, yelled, “Winslow—get your people out of here!”
Sky stood like a pillar, the high planes of his face outlined by the flickering shadows cast by the torches. He held the Colt loosely at his side, the careless ease of his body giving a sinister warning.
“You’re on my land,” he said evenly; and although he didn’t raise his voice, it carried across the yard. “Let that man go and get off.”
The large man shook his head and cried out, “You’ve been warned, Winslow! We aim to show you that this is a white man’s country!” He turned to the twin lines of riders, and the sight of them spurred him on, for he turned his head and said to the four men holding Toby, “Get on with your business!”
They obeyed instantly, one of them jerking a length of rope around the post; the other, throwing a lashing around the struggling Toby.
Sky said in almost a conversational tone, “If that man is not released at once, Henderson, I’ll put a bullet in you.” He had recognized the voice of Rance Henderson, a small-time local lawyer. He’d had dealings with him several times during the war, never pleasant. Henderson had not been in the army, though he had been an agitator to pull out of the Union.
Henderson laughed, not seeming to care that he’d been recognized. He waved a big hand at the two lines of armed men and jeered, “I guess you haven’t counted how many men are here, Winslow. Now, you just move on back. This is just a warning visit.” He motioned with his hand, “Tie the nigger up.”
Belle had often heard of her father’s youthful exploits, and knew his expertise with a pistol. But neither she nor anyone else in the crowd was prepared for what happened next. In a movement so smooth it was almost impossible to see, like the strike of a rattlesnake, he drew his gun and fired.
Henderson screamed and swung to one side, sending the
torch he held in his left hand cartwheeling. The bullet had struck with deadly accuracy. He threw the other hand up to ward off the next bullet, but Sky calmly lowered his gun, holding it casually at his side. “I could have put that bullet in your brain instead of the torch, Henderson,” he said. Then the anger he’d bottled up boiled over, and he lifted his voice as he looked over the mounted knights. “You men are wrong! I think some of you are my friends and neighbors—but I’m no friend of any man who covers his face and tortures helpless people. Now got off my land!”
The echo of his voice had not died before one of the men called out, “Let’s give
him
a dose of the whip!” Several voices rumbled approval, and Mark warned from where he stood, “That one’s my meat when the ball starts.” The man who had spoken snapped his head around and spat out, “I ain’t afraid to die, you nigger lover! Let it start, Henderson!”
Henderson half turned, facing Sky again. He was noted for his fits of rage, and had shot two men in duels. Every man there knew the Winslows had no chance whatsoever if Rance gave the signal—and most of them expected him to begin the action.
But Henderson could not forget the unearthly speed of Sky’s draw, and shivered as he thought of the instant shot that had blasted the torch out of his hand. He hesitated, longing to kill the man who stood in front of him, but unable to shake off the knowledge that if he touched his gun, he was a dead man.
The rider who had spoken called out again, “Well—what’s it going to be, Henderson?”
Sky smiled thinly. “Your boss is trying to decide whether this is a good day to die.”
He slid the gun gently at Henderson and saw the big man falter. Doubt rounded his shoulders, and in the end, Henderson dropped his head and moved to his left.
“Bluffed out!” the rider who had spoken to Mark cried out, and then yelled, “Well,
I
ain’t!”
Sky had kept his eyes fixed on Henderson, but Mark saw the angry rider lift his pistol. “Look out, Pa!” Mark shouted. But none of them were ready. The unexpectedness of it all caught them flat-footed.
Even as Mark cried the warning, he knew it was too late.
Davis had no gun, but he threw himself forward and caught Sky by the shoulders to push him out of the line of fire. But the shot came the exact moment he reached Sky and struck Davis high in the back. It drove the breath from his body, and sent a cold streak of pain through him as he fell to the ground. From seemingly far away, he heard another shot and the sound of a woman calling his name. He felt hands pulling at him—then he slipped into smooth, black silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DAVIS GETS A SHAVE
“Richmond! Richmond! All out for Richmond!”
Robert Winslow had been gazing out the window of the coach, dismayed with the terrible devastation of the city. At the conductor’s announcement, he pulled himself up and began gathering the luggage, saying, “We made pretty good time.” He helped his wife to her feet. “It looks as if we might have a time finding a hotel room. From what I can tell, most everything’s been burned.”
“We’ll find something, Robert,” Jewel assured him. “It doesn’t matter so long as Davis is all right.”
Captain Whitfield Winslow cocked an eye approvingly at his daughter-in-law. He got to his feet and stretched his stiff leg. “You’ve handled this trouble very well, Jewel.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Davis will be all right. The telegram said the wound wasn’t mortal.”
Jewel’s face was tense, but since the telegram from Sky Winslow telling them about Davis’s injury, Jewel Winslow, for the first time in many years, forgot her own ailments—real and imaginary. She had handled the crisis better than her husband. Robert had been so shocked that he was unable to make the instant decisions he was noted for. It had been Jewel who had announced adamantly as soon as the news came, “We’re going to Richmond!” Her determined response had galvanized Robert into action, and they were on the next train out of Washington.
Now as they descended the coach to the brick pavement
of the station, they were greeted by Sky and Rebekah. “Glad you’ve all come!” Sky said warmly.
Rebekah put her arms around Jewel, which caught her off guard. She was not accustomed to gentle expressions of affection—particularly from strangers—and
most
particularly from ex-Confederate women.
But Rebekah’s face was filled with such compassion as she said, “My dear! I’m so glad you’ve come!” that Jewel found herself relaxing. “Davis will be so glad to see you all!”
“He’s awake then?” she asked, her hand at her throat. The telegram had been carefully worded to give no alarm, but Jewel had found herself unable to break free from the pangs of fear. She had been afraid to get off the train, thinking her son might have died before she saw him.
“Oh, yes!” Rebekah smiled. “He gave us quite a fright—but after the first night he awoke with a clear mind. Actually, I’ve been feeling very bad about sending you the telegram. I knew it would frighten you, Mrs. Winslow—but the wound did
look
bad—”
With relief Jewel broke in, “No, Mrs. Winslow. I—I’m so happy that he’s doing well, but I’d have come anyway!”
Sky laughed. “Hey, everybody here has the same last name, so using it’s going to be a confounded nuisance. I move that we dispense with the formalities. Sky and Rebekah—Robert and Jewel, all right!”
“What about Whitfield?” the captain demanded, but Sky shook his head firmly.
“No, sir, you’re an
institution
—and I’m not about to call an institution by its first name.” He urged them along. “The carriage is over here.”
Sky led the way, and when they were all aboard, he took the reins and urged the horses on. As they made their way along Cherry Street, Robert said, “I was in Richmond ten years ago.” He looked at the blackened shells of the burned-out buildings and exclaimed, “Terrible! Terrible!”
“It’ll be rebuilt,” Sky replied.
Robert was dubious. Changing the subject, he asked about Davis. “What actually happened? You said he was shot.”
“There’s a group called the White Knights.” He told the story in full detail, leaving out none of the unpleasant ones, but stressed at the end that Davis had saved Sky’s life.
“What happened to the man who shot him?” Jewel wondered.
Sky paused. “He won’t be making any more midnight calls on folks,” he remarked. “He was killed as soon as he fired—and that discouraged the rest.”
They continued down the road in silence. Noticing the countryside, Robert said, “Why—we’re on our way out of town, aren’t we? I thought we’d find a hotel before seeing the boy.”
“No need of that when we’ve got plenty of room at Belle Maison,” Rebekah told them. She smiled at Jewel. “I knew you’d want to help take care of Davis, so your room will be just down the hall from his.”
“Why—we can’t put you out like that!” Robert protested. But neither his nor Jewel’s protests swayed their relatives.
“I’ll bring you back to Richmond tomorrow if you insist” was the only concession Sky would make.
Both Robert and Jewel had come prepared to keep a formal air with their Southern relatives, but the frank, warm hospitality of Sky and Rebekah made that impossible. Neither Robert nor Jewel had been in favor of Davis’s decision to go into the ministry, but as they heard the enthusiastic praise from their hosts, they began to relax their views. It was, both had agreed,
much
better than being a writer!
As they passed through the fields lining the road and were informed that they were part of Belle Maison, Robert was puzzled. “Isn’t it about time for spring plowing, Sky?”
“Yes, it is.” Sky wondered how much to tell them. “Guess you’ll learn about it soon enough, so you may as well hear it from me.”
He spoke briefly about the problems that beset them,
including his refusal to go along with planting cotton. He concluded, “I don’t see any future in going back to a one-crop system. That’s what created the need for slavery in the first place. What I’d like is to diversify—but the bank won’t agree.”
“Why, I think you’ve got the right!” Robert exclaimed. “Have you tried to find financing any other place?”
“Sure—but there’s not a line of investors waiting to put their money into farming in Virginia right now,” Sky answered.