Читать книгу Unconquered - Johnny Neil Smith - Страница 13

A steady snowfall which had continued for four days finally became single snowflakes freckling the skies. Soon the clouds separated and brilliant flashes of light layered the countryside as the falling snowflakes twinkled like millions of tiny stars.

The horse snorted and shook his head sending clumps of snow in all directions. A couple wrapped in layers of blankets cuddled close in their sleigh and shivered as icy particles gently fell on their faces.

“Didn’t I tell you it would be spectacular,” Robert said, edging closer to Lucretia who was wrapped so snuggly that only her sparkling eyes and frosty red cheeks were showing.

“Not a soul, man or beast has disturbed a single flake. God doesn’t make it prettier than this, does He.”

Lucretia, almost too cold to speak, nodded and gazed down the slope to the valley below.

Earlier that day as the storm began to break, Robert had borrowed a sleigh and horse from one of his friends, Bob Taylor, and had no trouble coaxing Lucretia out of the house that had held her captive for the past days. She loved the outdoors and a chance to get outside was welcomed. Being a protective mother, Mrs. Caulder at first discouraged the venture, but knowing that Lucretia was a grown, headstrong woman, she ladened them with quilts and told them that if they weren’t back in a couple of hours, she would be coming after them.

Suddenly from down the way, Lucretia noticed a lone horseman making his way up the Emmitsburg road toward town and then for some strange reason, he reined his horse to a stop. Lucretia waved to the stranger, not expecting a response. The rider returned the gesture.

Robert shuffled uneasily and murmured, “He’s disturbing everything. Why doesn’t he just go on?”

Shivering, Lucretia replied, “What in the world are you talking about, Robert? The man is probably trying to get home before dark.”

“He’s tracking up the road, that’s what he’s doing. Everything was perfect,” Robert said. “That is, before he came through.”

A frown crossed Lucretia’s face. She had no idea how he could rationalize such an absurd statement.

“Robert, when the man moves on, we won’t even be able to tell that he was ever there.”

“I’ll know it. This was supposed to be our special encounter with nature. Snow is always the prettiest before anyone or anything disturbs it. I wanted at least a few moments before it’s spoiled.”

Lucretia didn’t respond and once again stared out across the way. It was indeed beautiful. As far as she could see there were mounds of puffy snow, and even the branches of the evergreen trees, limbs bent downward, were completely covered. As enchanting as it was, at one time this hillside had been the very inferno of hell. Turning so that she could get a better view, she located the long winding pile of stones, a fence row, that had given the Union soldiers protection as the Army of the Northern Virginia broke the center of the line only to be thrown back in defeat. As a young girl hiding in her father’s cellar, she could still hear the roar of cannon fire and its striking force that shook the very foundation of her house. She also remembered the constant rattle of muskets as men fired point blank at each other. Then through a lull of battle, she would hear the loud screams and cheers of men as they charged toward each other in mortal combat. But after the battle had ended, the most horrifying thing that she had ever experienced was the carnage of human destruction, so terrible that as a girl of thirteen she had all but blocked it out of her memory.

That day in July, this hillside was no white winter wonderland. The moan and shrieks of the wounded and dying returned vividly to her mind as did the recollection of the ground covered in blood, slimy and puddled. Not wanting to think about it, Lucretia shook her head as if that would clear her mind of what had happened.

Startled by her quick jerk and noticing a tear trickling down her cheek, Robert said, “Did I say something wrong?”

For a moment Lucretia couldn’t bring herself to speak but gaining courage she murmured, “It’s something from years back, something that I have tried to put past me, something—”

Robert took her hands in his and could see pain in her eyes. “You can share it with me.”

Lucretia slowly pointed to the fields below. “Where you may see a wintery spectacle, I see a killing ground. I saw men laid out by the thousands killed and wounded. As a girl of thirteen, I had men die in my very arms. I saw things a child should never see.”

Robert pulled her closer. “Why did you come out here with me? Why did your mother allow it?”

A few moments lapsed then Lucretia continued, “My father was a doctor and mother helped him, that is, when he asked her to. And after that terrible slaughter, every able-bodied man, woman and child came up here. We weren’t asked; we knew we had to come.”

“Haven’t you been up here since then?” Robert asked.

“Maybe once and then I tried to shut it out,” she answered.

Noticing that the sun was setting, Robert thought about what Lucretia’s mother had said and with a slap of the reigns, the horse lunged forward through the deep snow.

This was supposed to be a special afternoon, one full of fun and fantasy, an afternoon when everything was to be perfect. He had been working under the supervision of Lucretia’s father for the past two years and come October, he would be accepting a position in Baltimore in one of the finest hospitals in the East. When he left, he wanted Lucretia to go with him, but seeing how disturbed she had become, this was not the time to propose. Things were going well until that rider distracted them. If it hadn’t been for him, I might have been engaged by now, he thought to himself.

As the sleigh made its way down the slippery trail, a lone cedar tree by an old barn that had been all but destroyed by cannon fire caught Lucretia’s attention. Lucretia tugged on Robert’s sleeve and said, “Can you pull up for a moment.”

Sensing that no questions should be asked, he pulled the sleigh to a stop.

Being careful not to fall, she stepped down and made her way to the old cedar. As she approached, she could see the scars of battle where large chunks of bark had been torn off the tree and many of the limbs had been severed by musket fire. It was a wonder that it had survived. For a moment she could still see the masses of bodies lined up in long lines, many who would never see the light of morning. Straining, she tried to remember the young man, a Southerner, placed by himself down past the barn, wincing in pain. Reluctantly easing up to him, she had offered him water and gasping, he said, “Don’t leave me. Don’t let me die here.” And for some strange reason, she promised to stay by his side, and told him she would never leave him.

A lone crow suddenly flew down and lit on one of the upper branches sending snow tumbling to the ground. Lucretia quickly stepped back to keep from getting covered and then made her way to the sleigh.

Robert extended his hand and helped her up. “You all right?”

Lucretia smiled at him and answered, “I’m fine, but I’m not sure I’ve been good company this afternoon.”

Robert cracked the whip and as the two left the hillside, Lucretia wondered if she would ever see the young Southerner again. Then there was the evening in Philadelphia last Christmas. As she gazed out of the window she imagined him standing there by the lamppost smiling up at her and strangely enough, and beyond any reality, in the lone rider this afternoon that waved to her.

In a short time, they had made their way back to Lucretia’s home. Mrs. Caulder hurried them inside and helped them remove their wraps.

“You two better get on into the kitchen and thaw up before the old frost bite gets to you. I’ve got some hot tea on the stove, and you can stick those toes right up to the oven,” she said with a smile.

Settling in their seats, Lucretia glanced over to her father who was sitting with a book in his hand on the far side of the stove next to a window that overlooked the backyard and woodlands beyond.

“Papa, you haven’t moved an inch since we left.”

Doc Caulder placed a marker in his book, slowly closed and laid it on the lamp table and replied, “Don’t see any need to go anywhere. I’m as warm as toast, got an interesting book to read, a good smoke, and I can still look outside and watch all that beautiful snow flutter down. Why in the world would I want to move?”

Adjusting his glasses, he peered over at the two sitting there with frosty cheeks and steaming shoes which he felt were too close to the heat. “Better get your feet back a piece. You know they’re probably numb from the cold. You two must be fools to get out in this weather. You know when I was your age—”

Mrs. Caulder, pouring Robert another cup of tea, interrupted him, “When you were a youngster, your mother told me she couldn’t get you in out of the snow. Said one time some of you boys even slept out in it. Now that sounds foolish to me.”

Pointing to Robert and Lucretia, she continued. “All these two did was bundle up and take a short ride around the place.”

Seeing the humor, Doc Caulder chuckled as he packed his pipe with fresh tobacco. “We didn’t sleep out; we spent the night in Jamie Butler’s father’s barn. We made a bed of hay and had a mountain of cover to keep us warm. Yes, we had a fine time. We should try it some time, you know, just you and me? Could be a lot of fun,” Doc Caulder said with a twinkle in his eye.

Blushing and trying not to smile, Mrs. Caulder said, “Mister Caulder, there are young people in our presence, so you’d better watch your tongue.”

Seeing how humorous and youthful Doc Caulder could be at times, Robert and Lucretia smiled at each other.

Rising from his chair, Robert said, “Well, it’s getting late and I’ve got to get the sleigh back, so if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. And, by the way, Doctor, if you two decide to visit the barn tonight, I’ll be in the office in the morning to treat the both of you.”

Little Rock, Mississippi

In the days that followed John’s meeting at the Olliver’s, his parents saw a drastic change in him. Even though he was still dedicated to his work and to the supervision of the farm, he seemed to have a new approach to life. He became more social and optimistic, much more like the person his parents had known before the war: a young man full of dreams and ambition.

On his return from the Olliver’s, John had told his parents the purpose of the meeting and his possible opportunity to represent the county in the state legislature. Even though the group had not officially offered him their support, John felt it would only be a matter of time until he would be asked to qualify.

John’s father, Lott, was somewhat apprehensive about the whole ordeal and showed little enthusiasm about John’s aspirations. Lott had heard talk of an organization that was meeting secretly and, from what he understood, the group was up to no good.

A few mornings later, Lott roused John a little earlier than usual, and after the two had finished their breakfast, he pointed to the jackets hanging on a set of pegs on the wall and said, “Son, we got most of the work done for a spell. I want you to take a walk with me. I want to go to the Big Woods.”

When Lott and his brother, Jake, came into this country as surveyors in the 1830’s they were able to acquire two sections of six hundred and forty acres. Later, Jake had married a Choctaw woman named Hatta and when the Choctaws were forced to leave, some were given land in return for giving up their tribal allegiance. In this way, Hatta’s brother, Minsa, was also granted a section of land. When Jake was murdered, his land naturally went to Hatta, but when she and her brother Minsa decided to move to Oklahoma, they left the land in Lott’s care. Since that time, Lott had not touched a tree or plant in the area and referred to it as the Big Woods.

As they headed down the steps and out onto the yard, John said, “Want me to saddle up the horses?’

Lott shook his head and walking with a slight limp, he headed toward a narrow lane that led to the woods and replied, “We’ll walk this morning. Won’t be too many years ‘till I’ll have to ride. We’ll just walk.”

John hurried to catch up with his father and before long they had crossed their farmland and entered a beautiful and somewhat sacred forest. The ancient long leaf pines seemed to reach their fingers to the sky. Observing the trees closely, John saw where fires and lighting had taken their toll on the giants, but they stood tall and commanding as if they were standing guard against anyone who threatened their existence. Enthralled by their size, John reasoned it would take at least five men, hand in hand, to reach around just one of the trunks.

After a while Lott and John left the hills and made their way down into the swamp bottoms which were covered with masses of hardwoods and, in the damp places near the creeks, ferns and canebrakes still grew in abundance. These trees with their summer canopy of leaves allowed little summer light to filter to the ground thus leaving little undergrowth and miles of openness.

Tiring, Lott motioned for John to help him down a steep bank that led to a trickling brook. Once down, Lott knelt and after cupping his hands together, brought a handful of cold water to his lips. John wasted no time in joining his father.

Then they settled down on a mound of soft moss to rest their backs against the trunk of an old beech tree.

Once entering the forest, John knew that his father seldom spoke. He was their gardener, their keeper. John also knew that he often came to these woods when something was bothering him.

John pulled out his pocketknife and began trimming a small reed of cane into a toothpick. Chewing on the cane produced an unforgettable sweet taste.

“This is something, ain’t it, Son?” Lott said. “God don’t make it any prettier than this. It ain’t changed a lick since before the Choctaws were here.”

Lott pointed to a thick canebrake down to their left. “Them sorry Yankees stole most of our livestock but I’ll tell you one thing, that brake over there sure enough hid a few of our horses and cows. We got to telling them hoodlums about the rattlers down here in the swamp and they decided to leave well enough alone.”

John chuckled, “You ought to have sent ‘em on down here with a prayer the snakes would be out.”

A few moments passed in silence and John sensed that his father had more on his mind than just a discussion of nature.

“Papa, I love to make these walks with you, but is there something on your mind we need to talk about?”

Lott stretched out his legs to relieve a cramp. “You mean it’s that obvious.”

John nodded. “You’re concerned about me thinking about entering the race, ain’t ya?”

“More than concerned, Son. I am somewhat troubled. John, you’re the only son I’ve got left. James Earl died up in Virginia during the war and Thomas deserted when he thought you’d been killed. You remember. He came by here one evening with some more men who had decided to leave the army and said they was headed for Texas, Mexico or somewhere of the sorts. A few days later the army came looking for him and they told me that if they caught them, they was going to string ‘em up. Never heard from him since. Don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Probably dead. So what I’m trying to tell you is that first, you’re needed at home, and second, I have little respect for any politician. Them politicians in Washington and in Richmond started them a war that tore this country apart and took two of my sons from me. It would have been a different story if them bastards had been out there on the firing lines like you and the other boys. I have a feeling that war would have never been sparked.”

John thought for a moment about what his father said, and then carefully replied, “The war cost me far more than you could ever imagine. There are details I haven’t shared with you or mother. When I got home, I found that I had lost the thing I valued the most.”

“You talking about Rebecca, ain’t you, Son?”

John nodded. “The only reason I stayed here in Little Rock was because you needed help with the farm, and I guess I needed the healing power that only you and Mama and the good Lord could give me. I worked day and night for you, not because I loved working that much, but as long as I was busy, my mind tended not to wander.”

John stood up and slowly rolled his neck around to relieve the stiffness. “Papa, the farm is in good shape. We got Andy to help us when we want him and James is chewing at the bits to get into the fields full time. He’s tired of his soldiering, ‘specially with the job he’s got. What I’m saying is, you don’t really need me.”

For a moment Lott thought about what John said, then replied, “I guess I’ll always need you, Son, but the problem is, I ain’t never had much respect for no politician. If you want to do something else, I’d rather it be more of an honorable profession than that. Just look at that crowd in Jackson and what they’re doing to us.”

At that moment, a cold wind blew out of the northwest causing the leafless tree limbs to quiver. The groaning sounds as they twisted against each other sent a chill down John’s back.

Shivering, John reached down for his father’s hand and as he pulled him to his feet said, “We need to head for the house; it’s gonna be a cold one tonight.”

On their way home John said, “Papa, you know what you said about what was going on in Jackson? That’s one of the reasons I want to try to help.”

Hoping their talk about politics was over and that his son’s mind had been changed, Lott became annoyed and said, “John, there ain’t a tinker’s damn you can do in Jackson.”

“Papa, Mama told me that you was one of the smartest students in your class growing up in Savannah and that there weren’t a math problem you couldn’t work.”

“So what if’n I was,” grumbled Lott, ducking a limb that John had pushed aside as it swung backward toward him. “What does that have to do with politics?”

“Mama said she always felt that you could have done more with your life than farming. She feels that you always had dreams that for one reason or ‘nother, you couldn’t chase.”

“John, Mama don’t know everything that goes on in this here old mind of mine, and I’m doing just what I want. If I wanted to do something else, believe me, I would do it and nothing could stop me.”

As they reached the path that would lead to the house, John replied, “And that’s the way I feel too. Papa, I’m not bragging, but I learn easily, and you and Mama have taught me the difference between right and wrong. As you said, Miss’sippi is in one heck of a state and it needs good, honest, hardworking men to pull it through. I think I can make a difference, at least I think I want to try. Maybe this is a dream I need to chase.”

Just then the hounds curled up on the porch began to bark and raced out to greet them. The cold wind had gained more strength now and the sight of smoke pouring from the chimney gave them a feeling of warmth. John reached down and stroked the back of one of the dogs while Lott bent down to pet the other.

Rising, Lott said, “John, you best check the livestock ‘fore you come in; they might need some extra grain. I’ll have us a hot cup of coffee ready when you get in.”

John had a good feeling about the afternoon spent with his father and even though he felt he hadn’t completely gained his father’s favor, he knew he would consider all that he had told him.

Later that night after John had gone to bed, Lott and Sarah cuddled under a mountain of quilts and quietly watched the last embers of the fire dwindle away. An occasional gust of wind would rip through the open hallway whistling as it went. Sarah, her head on Lott’s shoulder, listened as he told her all he and John had talked about that afternoon. When he finished, Sarah said, “You know, you’ve often said that John, as smart as he is, ought to do something besides farming. You’ve said it dozens of times. Why don’t you give him some encouragement?”

Lott thought for a moment and sighed, “But I never said nothing ‘bout politicking.”

Sarah nestling closer to him replied, “Nobody’s endorsed him, nobody’s come by to pull his arm and he ain’t even tried to qualify. Don’t you think he might be just doing a little wishing? But one thing I do know, something good has come over that boy that I ain’t seen in years and ever what it is, I hope it stays with him. He seems happy for a change.”

Lott knew she was right and said, “I guess I’ve been a little selfish with the boy, and I have noticed the change. It’s time for me to let go and let him chase his dreams, no matter where they carry him.”

A few moments passed and he whispered, “You told John that you thought I had other dreams to chase when I was young, but I’ve always had one that I’ve been after and I’ve got her right here with me.”

Even though the military still held control of the state, the new constitution had been ratified guaranteeing that the Negroes were recognized as citizens and had voting rights. With many of the pre-war politicians and white citizens unable to hold office or vote, carpetbaggers, scalawags and Negroes dominated the majority of political offices.

The morning after John and his father had taken their walk, Professor Hendon rode over to the Wilson’s and informed the family that his organization wanted John to represent the Democrats in the fall election and that he would be glad to help him with the qualifying papers. John was elated over his endorsement and even Lott showed some enthusiasm.

Hendon and his group knew that the whites were still in the minority and, to win the district, they would have to win some Negro votes. In John, they felt that they had a man who would definitely get the white votes and since the Wilsons were held in high regard in the Negro community, they felt that his election was assured. Newton County and the district would be in Democratic hands.

A short time after Hendon left the Wilsons, John, on his way to the barn to check a mare that was soon to fold, saw Andy approaching on his mule.

As he neared, John called out, “Andy, we got to do sump’n about how you’re getting around. How ‘bout letting me sell you one of our horses?”

Andy slid from the side of his mount and with a smile replied, “I don’t need no better way to get about, and I’m sure I can’t ‘ford none of yore high-priced hosses.”

John led Andy down to the barn where the horses were stabled and the two quietly crouched down outside the stall where the mare was laboring. The mixture of hay, corn and manure filled their nostrils

Andy nudged John. “Folks says you gonna politic. Anything to it?”

John easing into the stall to check the mare replied, “Been thinking about it. Think I can win?”

“You got my vote, that is, if’n I can vote. You knows I can’t read.”

John turned to Andy. “I told you that I’d help you get registered, and I’m sure there’ll be someone to help you on election day.”

“Mist’ John, I’ll tell you something else, the colored’s gonna help you if’n you needs us.”

John rising replied, “I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

The two then made their way down the open hall of the dark barn and into the bright sunlight. A brisk breeze blew in from the south, chasing the barnyard odors away.

They walked over to the fence of the corral that bordered the barn and peered out into an area that served as a breaking pen. John crawled up and straddled the top rail of the fence and Andy climbed up next to him. Sitting there together, Andy with a worried expression on his face said, “Mist’ John, there’s some things goin’ on that I don’t reckon I feel too good ‘bout nor understands.”

John, stretched upward in search of some cows that were supposed to be in the adjacent field.

“John, there’s a colored man’s house got burnt up the other night. Man called Matthews.”

Finally spotting the cattle in the lower bottom, John settled himself back on the fence. “Sorry to hear about that; it happens to a lot of folks, you know.”

Andy glanced down toward the ground and rubbing his nose, continued nervously, “When they went through the ash and pulled what was left of ‘em out, somebody had cut his throat.”

John grabbed Andy’s hand. “You saying somebody murdered him?”

Andy nodded. “Killed ‘em dead.”

In disbelief, John replied, “That can’t happen ‘round here. You sure ‘bout what you’re saying?”

Andy slowly nodded.

“Anybody get the law to look into it? Could have been a case of a jealous husband looking for some justice. Happens you know,” John said.

Andy shook his head “There was a lot of hoss tracks ‘round the place. You see me ridin’ that mule? Us colored don’t have no hosses, and for the law, they sent some white folks out there. They just sat ‘round for a spell, smoking, drinking and after a while they rode off laughing.”

“Andy, tell me more about the man. Who was he?”

Andy muttered, “He was a northern colored who bought the Amos place when it went up for sale. Folks says that Mister Amos couldn’t pay no taxes, and folks says that Matthews works for the Freemen’s Bureau. The colored says that a crowd of white folks got ‘em.”

John bit his lip in disbelief. There was no way this could have happened in Newton County, he thought. There was some tension between the whites and Negroes down in the southern end of the county, especially in the Newton area, but murder, not a chance.

Climbing down, John said, “Come morning, I’m going down to Decatur and check on what happened. Gonna carry James with me. He still serves with the military. There’s got to be some kind of explanation.”

Mounting his mule, Andy looked down at his old friend. “Mist’ John, you best stay out of that bus’ness. There’s some things happ’ning that’s got the colored skairt. You just set yore mind on politick’n and we’ll see if’n we can take care of the rest.”

Watching Andy ride off, the words, “We’ll take care of the rest” stuck in John’s mind. Was the colored man really murdered by whites, and was Andy telling him everything he knew?

Early the next morning John stopped by his sister’s house and after speaking with James, the two rode the seven miles to Decatur to find the sheriff. As they inquired as to a burning of a house and a possible murder, the sheriff acknowledged the burning but blatantly dismissed the idea of a murder. He said that they found no evidence of rough play.

At the courthouse John ran into Professor Hendon who was trying to employ a surveyor to come out to check his property lines. While there the professor took John to the clerk’s office where he could sign the necessary papers to be a qualified candidate for the upcoming election, and upon signing, the clerk assured him that he had the county’s full support. John’s opposition would be a republican named Jack Templeton, a transport from Ohio who had been appointed by the post-war government. Templeton was a drunk and had a streak of jackass stubbornness. No one in the county, black or white, cared for him.

Hendon, his business concluded, decided to accompany John and James back to Little Rock. While they were making their way home, Hendon looked over to James and said, “You ever get tired of wearing that uniform around here?”

“Sometimes, I get tired of the looks folks give me,” James replied.

Following the war, James, interested in John’s sister, asked to be assigned to the east central part of the state and even though he knew that resentment would be a part of his job, he wanted to pursue his relationship with her. He also felt that he could help the people in their struggle to regain their rights.

Looking over to Hendon, he continued, “Won’t be long till I’ll be taking off the blue and I’ll just be a plain ole citizen.”

“Folks around Little Rock kinda like you. Not like those Yankees posted down in the southern end of the county. They’re going around looking for trouble, and the Negroes down there at Newton know they can get away with anything. There’s lots of trouble down there,” Hendon said.

“That’s what I understand,” James replied. “But if folks around Little Rock accept me, it’s because I try to treat them with respect. I don’t look at them as a conquered foe. I only see hardworking people trying to make a go with what they have.”

As the three reached the Wilson property, James took the road that led to his house and Hendon invited John over to his place where they could talk about the fall election. Upon reaching Hendon’s place, the professor found that his wife and children were down at neighbors, thus making for a quieter afternoon. Hendon added extra wood to the fire and reaching behind the woodbox, retrieved a bottle of whiskey. Pointing to a chair over near the fireplace, Hendon motioned for John to have a seat. With a loud pop, the cork flew up, hitting the ceiling and then bouncing over to where John was sitting.

“Kinda potent, isn’t it,” laughed Hendon filling a cup that always could be found at the end of the mantle. “Care for a shot?”

John shook his head.

After a deep swallow, Hendon licked his lips. “Best liquor in the county. Same recipe your Uncle Jake used. He shared it with me, and Timothy and I still turn it out.”

The two then sat there quietly watching the fire burn. Putting the cup down, Hendon said, “I’ve known you since the day you were born and I’ve done all in my power to teach you all I can. You’re by far the best student I’ve ever had the opportunity to teach.”

John reached down and with a quick motion picked up a log that had rolled off the burning stack and lobbed it back to the fire. “You always made learning fun and you made me seek for answers not written in the books. You made me the student that I was.”

Hendon reaching into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tobacco pouch and after packing his pipe, continued, “John, you have the making of a fine politician and knowing you the way I do, there is no limit to where you can go. Right now you will be representing us in the legislature, but, if I know you the way I think I do, you’ll be in Washington one of these days. I can just see you sitting in the Senate.”

John glanced over at Hendon whose eyes had become glassy from the corn whiskey. He knew the Professor respected and cared for him, but Hendon was always living in a dream world, always had plans to remake society.

“I think the bottle’s talking for you, ‘Fessor. I ain’t won the local election yet.”

Hendon smiled over at John. There’s no way you’re losing it. You got the popular support and if you shouldn’t, I got the power to put you in. From here on out you’ll speak at every engagement in the county. We’re gonna have you at every church meeting, wedding, barn-raising and when the county fair rolls around this summer, we’re gonna have you debating ever who the Republicans choose to run. Yes sir, Mister John Wilson, as you Mississippians say, ‘We’re gonna take names and kick asses.’ And, by the way, when you get to Washington, I hope you’ll carry me with you.”

“What about your wife and family,” laughed John.

Without stopping to think, he replied, “Why do you think I want to go with you? They’re about to drive me crazy as a loon. They’re staying here.”

As John left Hendon’s that afternoon, two things bothered him: first, the sheriff’s nonchalant denial that a murder had been committed and then, the statement by Hendon about his power to control an election. John was becoming suspicious of Hendon’s ethics, purpose, and source of power.

As he approached the house, John saw his mother hurrying out to meet him waving a piece of paper clasped tightly in her hand. John quickly dismounted and tied the horse. Never had he seen such pleasure on her face. Tears of joy streamed down her wrinkled and weathered cheeks. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him, half crying and laughing with joy.

“What in the world’s happened to you?” John muttered.

“I’ve finally heard from him; he’s alive.”

John took her hands in his and asked, “Who’s alive?”

“Thomas is alive. He’s somewhere out in Texas.”

By that time, Lott had come out of the house to join them. “Y’all best come on in, yore Mama’s not dressed for the cold.”

Inside, John read the brief letter. Thomas hoped that all was well with the family and as for himself, he was making it all right. It was the most exciting news the family had received in years. Never had John seen such peace on his father’s face, knowing that he now had two sons alive.

In the weeks that followed, Hendon scheduled John to be at every social function. Although women could not vote, Suzanne went with John and gave him her full support.

Spring soon returned to the hill country with its usual array of flowers and budding trees. The buggy bounced and rattled as its driver carefully reined the horse down the rough road trying to stay out of the deep ruts made during the wet winter months. At mid-morning, the sun was shining brilliantly through the limbs of the trees that lined the roadway, sending flickers of light racing across their path. Even with the coming of spring, there was still a touch of chill in the air.

Suzanne snuggled closer to John and pretended to brush some lint from his trouser leg as she said, “It’s mighty nice of you to escort me to church this morning. You know Easter Sunday has always been a special time.”

John again noticed how beautiful Suzanne had become. She wore a heavy dark red ankle-length coat with a black hand-woven scarf wrapped around her neck. Her jet black hair, glistening in the morning light, was pulled back on each side and fell loosely down her back. With her brown eyes and dark complexion, she looked every bit the Creole of her mother’s people.

“We’ll see folks here that we don’t see for the rest of the year. I guess one service a year takes care of their religious needs. Frankie’ll be there, won’t he?”

Easing away from him, Suzanne answered, “That’s an ugly thing to say about your friend and my brother. Since when have you been in charge of the judgment seat. You know some of those men will be casting votes come election time and you might need their support.”

John worked the horse down the road and when the animal balked at a deep washout, he took out his whip and with a sharp crack, sent the horse bolting forward, almost tipping the buggy over. Once through the eroded area, he replied, “I’m telling you the truth as I see it, and, that is, that some of those folks only come once a year and that’s a fact.”

Realizing that what John said was true, Suzanne said, “I guess you’re right, but I don’t think it’s fair for you to place Frankie with them.”

John glanced over at her. “I don’t see why not. All you have to do is ask the preacher. He knows who’s there at every meeting.”

“John, you know Frankie’s a busy man and with his investment in the railroad, he’s hardly ever home any more. And what about you? I don’t think you darken the doors too much either, do you?”

John didn’t answer. Thinking back, there was a time when he didn’t miss a service and even if he had wanted to, his parents gave him no choice. When he had been in the field all week from daylight to dark and the monthly service finally came around, it was a pleasure to clean up and spend the day worshiping and being with friends.

Thinking back, John could still see her as she awaited his arrival, always standing on the top step next to where the preacher was welcoming his congregation. As soon as he cleared the bend in the road, her hand would be up waving with that little white handkerchief she always carried. He could still feel the warmth of her body and the smell of her perfume as they sat together in his parents’ family pew.

When Becca looked at me, I felt like I was standing there defenseless. She looked straight into my heart. She knew me better than I knew myself, John thought.

Suzanne suddenly eased closer to him and once again placed her hand on his leg. Trying to change the subject, she exclaimed, “You sure are handsome when you dress in your Sunday best.”

John reached over and placed his hand on hers causing her to gasp. Even though she felt that he cared for her, he did not often show her the emotional love that she yearned for. They had kissed on several occasions and had become intimate once while swimming in the creek, but she wanted more.

John looked down at the suit he was wearing. What Suzanne didn’t know was that John had never owned a suit of clothes at all and the one that he was wearing belonged to his brother.

Suzanne slid her hand from John’s leg as they approached the church and straightened her coat as the buggy pulled into the churchyard. Throngs of people were making their way up the steps and into the hallway of the white frame building. Once inside, meeting friends on the way, they finally reached the aisle where John’s parents were sitting. To John’s surprise, Tim had settled himself on the family pew next to Sister and James. Tim glanced up at John. “Surprised to see an ole sinner like me here today?”

John shook his head in fun and winking at Suzanne whispered, “Not at all, Tim Johnson. Easter Sunday comes once a year. I just hope the preacher has a sermon that’ll get yore attention.”

Tim replied, “I’ll be just fine long as he lays off the subject of adultery.”

Pinching him as hard as she could, Sister mumbled, “Tim Johnson, you’d better watch your mouth or I might just pinch you so that you don’t have to worry ‘bout no adultery.”

After a service of familiar hymns and a sermon on the resurrection of Jesus, the preacher closed his talk a little earlier than usual and to the surprise of the congregation, instead of giving an invitation, stepped down from the pulpit. As if contemplating the right words to speak, he took his hand and stroked his long mustache and finally said, “I know it is Easter Sunday and the Lord knows I have told His story to the best of my ability, but I have something more I want to talk to you about.”

Surprised, people began to look around at each other wondering why he had ended his service in such an unusual way.

He continued, “I can see in your faces that you think I’ve probably lost my wits, but I’ve got something on my mind that I think the Lord won’t mind me sharing with you. You all know what a perilous time we’ve all been through and every once in a while we get a glimpse of sunlight, better still, a magnificent rainbow after a storm.”

He paused a moment and looked over to where John was sitting. “The other day when I was in Decatur, I heard that one of our own might be interested in throwing his hat into the political ring, might be running for the legislature. How ‘bout it John? Anything to it?”

The congregation instantly applauded and one of the men in the back shouted out, “Let’s hear from him, preacher.”

The preacher motioned for John to come to the pulpit and after a nudge from his mother, John eased from his seat and made his way down the aisle to the platform.

Standing with his hands resting on each side of the pulpit, John thought for a moment and then began, “I’m not sure that this is the place to talk about politics, and I hope the Lord forgives me for using His time, but to get to the point, I have decided to run for office. As the preacher said, we are living in hard times and we all feel the oppression of a heavy yoke cast on our neck by a government bent on punishing us beyond what the constitution dictates. The war has ended, the issue of slavery has been settled, and it’s time for this great country of ours to heal its wounds and return to the democracy that our forefathers had in mind when they sat there in Philadelphia. I believe there will be a time when the troops will be pulled out of the South and we once again will return to self-government. I see a time in Mississippi when we will once more prosper and will regain the status we held prior to the terrible conflict.”

John paused for a moment and looked out into the congregation and the faces of friends and neighbors that he had known all of his life. He then humbly lowered his head and said, “I’m willing to do all I can to help you and all the people in Mississippi regain the freedom that has been ripped from our hands. I think you all know me and what I stand for, and as the Lord is my witness, I’ll do my best.”

For a moment the church was completely quiet and then, one by one, people began to stand in approval. Without hesitating, they came forward to clasp his hand and pressing around him, declared their support.

As John’s parents saw the people crowd around him, a feeling of pride filled them and they felt that perhaps this was a sign from God as to what He intended to do with their son’s life.

As the people finally dispersed to prepare for a lunch that would be spread outside, Suzanne eased down to where John was standing talking with Tim and held out her arms to him. Holding him tightly, she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and said, “I’m so proud of you, John. You’ll be in Jackson come this time next year.”

Overcome by the reaction of the people and feeling a sense of warmth toward Suzanne that was unexplainable, he pulled her closer to him and whispered, “You know young lady, I might even carry you with me.”