Читать книгу Unconquered - Johnny Neil Smith - Страница 9

The late march winds gently nudged the tops of the trees creating an eerie sound as it whistled around the corners of the stately home located on the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia. Inside, a man wrapped in a dark red housecoat stood with arms crossed, staring out a large window.

Hearing the door open behind him, he turned and muttered, “Come on in, Joshua. I know it’s about time.”

An old Negro man dressed in a dark suit entered, holding a bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. He nodded politely. “Mas’ Stephen, it shore is some kind of cold out da’er and dat wind will cut ‘chu in half.”

“You can drop the Mas’ Stephen, Joshua. Those days are over,” replied Robert Stephens as he reached for the spoon.

“I always called you dat, sir. Ever since I can remember. What you wants me to call you?”

Smiling over at the old man standing patiently in front of him, Stephens replied, “Well, you can call me Mister Stephens or I guess maybe, Senator. Some folks still use the term.”

Nodding his approval, Joshua said, “I thinks I’ll call you Mister Senator. I’ll never forget them days we spent up da’er in Washington. You with all them high fluting folks, and I’ll never forget you being invited to dine with the Pres’dent. Them was some days to behold.”

Pouring the medicine into his spoon, Stephens nodded in agreement and pointed back to where a fire was burning in a fireplace located at the back of the room.

“Joshua, sit a spell with me. I get a little lonesome, especially this time of the year. She left me about this time two years ago.”

Not accustomed to socializing, Joshua dropped his head and replied, “You shore you wants me to sit with you.”

Making himself comfortable, Stephens continued, “Joshua, I’ve known you all my life. You served my father when he was alive; you took care of me when I was a youngster and when the war ended and the slaves were freed, you wouldn’t leave us. You go ahead and have a seat.”

“Yes Sir, Mister Senator, I ain’t never left you. You is the only family I got. You know, Mister Lincoln sho enough freed us, but he didn’t tell us where to go or what we ‘spose to do,” easing into the chair next to Stephens. “I decided I’d just stay right here with you, if’n you’d have me.”

Trying to refrain from coughing, Stephens grabbed his chest. “If I don’t hurry up and get over this ailment that danged ole medicine is gonna put me in the ground. Maybe that’s where I need to be anyway. The hope of the South, the Confed’racy, was crushed without mercy, our armies driven from the field and worst still, my beloved wife of more than twenty years passed away leaving me all alone. Some men have children. We never could.”

Placing his hand on Stephen’s arm, Joshua whispered, “Don’t talk like dat, Sir. You still got ole Joshua and before long the cold winds will be gone and Mister Sunshine is gonna pick you up and send you right back to ole happiness. You jest wait and see. You never was a winter man.”

At that moment there was a light tap on the front door, but the two men ignored the rapping sound thinking that it was probably no more than the wind.

“Sir, I think someone is out front,” Joshua said, getting out of his chair. “Yes Sir, that is a knock.”

Keeping his seat, Stephens said, “It’s might near dark. Be some kind of a fool to come out on a day like this. Unless it’s someone special, tell ‘em I’m not here.”

“Yes Suh, I’ll do just dat.”

A few moments passed and by the sound of voices conferring downstairs, Stephens felt that it was probably just one of Joshua’s friends who on occasions would drop by to chat with him. I’ll try one more dose of this medicine, Stephens thought, and if I don’t get some relief then it’s gonna be left up to the Lord Almighty to do what he wants with me. Suddenly the sound of people making their way to his room caused him to put down his spoon and pick up the glasses that were lying on the table beside his chair. The door slowly opened and Joshua whispered, “Mister Senator, I thinks you might want to see this gentleman, he says—”

“He says what?” Stephens interrupted, clearing his throat. “It better be good”

A tall man wearing a gray overcoat and a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck replied, “Well sir, you sure are in a foul mood tonight. I thought I’d just come by to see if you would like to make a charitable donation toward one of our local houses of ill repute.”

“Ill repute! What in tarnations are you talking about?” Stephens answered, adjusting his glasses.

Unwrapping his scarf, the intruder began to chuckle. “Robert, I know we’re getting a little old, but I didn’t know you’d be blind as a bat.”

Hearing a familiar voice, Stephens peered closely at the man standing by the door. “You’re Jack Hudson. Good gracious man, I haven’t seen you in years. What in the world are you doing here in Richmond?”

Extending his hand, Hudson replied, “Good to see you Robert. It’s been a few years since you and I were cadets at the institute. I was passing through here and I thought I’d better stop by to see you.”

Happy to see his old friend, the two embraced. After a hard pat on the back, Robert said, “What’s it been, thirty years or so? Come on in here by the fire. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Joshua, take Mister Hudson’s coat and prepare the guest bedroom.”

“I can’t impose on your hospitality, Robert, and you may not feel like puttin’ up with an old fool like me. Joshua told me you’ve been sick for a spell. I can stay downtown.”

“Downtown! There ain’t much left downtown since the Yankees burnt us out. You’re staying here with us,” Robert insisted toward Joshua. “Go do what I told you and go to my study and get me a bottle of scotch. You haven’t stopped drinking, have you, Jack?”

“I’ve been known to sip a little on special occasions.”

“Well this here is one of them occasions, and if you’ll stay with me, we might just make a night of it,” Robert said, feeling better.

Joshua stood quietly for a moment. “Mister Senator, you know what the doctor told you ‘bout that dranking. He said if’n you didn’t quit, it’ll most near kill ya.”

“Kill me,” Robert exclaimed. “That medicine he prescribed for me is gonna kill me. No sir, tonight we’re going to do some serious drinking and if it kills me, you’re gonna be one rich Richmond Darkie.”

“What you mean by that, Mister Senator?”

“Joshua, my kin folks don’t give a tinkers damn about me. They only come to see me when they want something. So Mister Joshua, I’ve left everything I own to you when I die. You’ll have one of finest houses in the city and a little bit of money that’ll last you if you’re careful. The only problem you’re gonna have is all them women that’ll be after you. You know you ain’t as spry as you used to be. They might take advantage of you.”

Joshua laughed, “Mister Senator, you joshing me, ain’t cha and if’n you ain’t, Ole Josh is more spry than you thinks. Yes Suh, I’ll bring you a bottle. I’ll brang you two of ‘em.”

The two men laughed, then settled themselves before the fire. Joshua soon returned with the Scotch and two clean glasses, asking to be excused as he quietly closed the door.

Jack and Robert reminisced over times at the Virginia Military Institute and laughed at the senseless youthful capers that had often sent them to detention hall. They also remembered their last farewell and promises at graduation to spend the next Christmas with each other. Through the years they had exchanged numerous letters, but until this evening they never had seen each other.

Standing up to stretch, Jack moved over to the window and stared out into the darkness and then as speaking to himself, he whispered, “You know Robert, our lives certainly moved in different directions after the institute. I accepted a commission as a second lieutenant in the United States Army and spent twenty years out west chasing Indians and you went into politics and should have become our president.”

“President, did I hear you say president,” Robert questioned, leaning over to hear him better.

Jack returned to his chair. “That’s right, I said president. I followed your career up there in Washington and you were outstanding. You were honest, clever, and I must say you helped make some laws that were beneficial to all of us here in the South. If we hadn’t seceded from the Union, I believe you’d be in the White House by now.”

“White House, I made more enemies up there than you know about, and when the state of Virginia sent me back up there after the war, what happened? They wouldn’t accept me. They sent me and a lot of others like me right back home. They said that since we served in the Confed’rate Congress, we weren’t eligible. Ain’t that a hell of a note.”

Jack poured another drink and replied, “It weren’t right. You’re suppose to represent the state that elected you. You ought to be up there right now. What are you going to do with yourself now?”

Robert got up, leaned against the mantle and stared into the low burning fire. “I’ll hang up my shingle and start practicing law again. Folks always gonna be getting into trouble. I’ll do all right. I’m still a cadet at heart. I’ll survive.”

“Survive,” Jack stammered. “Looking out into that darkness a few minutes ago, I wondered if the South is gonna survive. They drove our armies from the field; the military has control of our government; our economy is in shambles and a lot of us that could add stability to the situation can’t even vote or hold office. It’s just like that wall of darkness outside your window, we can’t see out there. We don’t know what’s in store for us and if we could, we can’t control any of it.”

“Jack, I think your liquor is talking for you. Unless you’ve changed, it always got you down when you got two sheets in the wind,” Robert said, swirling the scotch around in the bottom of his glass. “First thing, you and I are both alive and you survived more battles than a man could expect. And another thing, they taught us at school, no matter what, there will always be problems and to every problem, there is a solution. There ain’t no denying, we’ve got one heck of a problem, and it’s gonna be left up to someone to solve it. We’re just gonna have to get control of the South again, that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Jack exclaimed, feeling a little tipsy. “You think we ought to put our men in arms again. You think we could drive them out? That’s ridiculous. Our war is over.”

“I’m not talking about raising new armies. I’m talking about taking control of our government again,” Robert explained. “The military won’t always be stationed here and when they’re gone, we’ve got to place our men in every elected seat of government in every southern state. Whoever makes the laws, controls the action of its citizens. Our job is to form an organization now that will place our eligible candidates on the ticket come election time and find ways to get the Negroes, sorry Whites, and those Northern scavengers who are now holding office, back to where they belong. That’s what we need to do.”

Jack laughed. “I think the scotch is getting to your head now. You think all those so called undesirables will graciously give up their seats? We don’t even hold a majority vote. What we gonna do? Run ‘em off with sticks. How ‘bout killing the devils? Is that what you intend?”

Robert peered over the top of his glasses and nodded “I state once again. We select our candidates and then do whatever is necessary to eliminate the competition. There are ways that this can be done, and yes, if it takes violence, then let it be. You know the old saying, ‘The end justifies the means.”

“You think someone could do this?”

“We’ve just got to find someone to lead the movement. Someone the South will follow, someone the soldiers respect. Our troops have put down their rifles, but I promise you, they still have the fight in ‘em. It’ll just be a little different kind of warring. Our Southern soldiers will follow the right man. How about you? I followed your career during the war and you were one of the best division commanders the South had.”

“Not me old friend, I might have had a good military reputation but I paid the price for it. I got shot eleven times and there are times that even now I have numbness in my left leg and at other times I can hardly catch my breath.”

Jack thought for a moment. “How about Hood? I’m on the way to New Orleans right now for a job he has lined up for me. He was some kind of Gen’ral.”

“Don’t think so. He all but destroyed one of our armies up there at Franklin. Lot of the men lost faith in him. We need someone they idolize. We need a real fire-eating fighter. It’s got to be someone special.”

Jack walked about the room for a few moments, then said, “I know the man that will get the job done.”

On an August day in 1867, in the Little Rock community located in rural east central Mississippi, slightly past mid-day, a young woman suddenly slammed open her front door, angrily picked up her sagebroom and scurried out on her front porch where two of her husband’s hounds were curled up sleeping. Loose chicken feathers surrounding the dogs revealed the plight of the flock.

“You sorry devils!” she screamed. “My husband said he thought the foxes or hawks been eating ‘em, but now we know,” she said taking a swing at the nearest dog. “You’re the culprits cleaning out the hen house, and I’ll tell you one thing. I’m fixin’ to beat the living sin out of both of you.” She struck one of the dogs so hard it knocked him off the side of the porch as he tried to run toward the steps.

“Not only that, the next time my husband is gone for a few days, you two devils gonna come up amiss. I’ll take that shootin’ iron of his and for all he knows, the panthers got you. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Howling to the top of their lungs, the hounds ran for protection under the house. A few wandering chickens flapped their wings in flight to the nearest tree limb. Meanwhile the angry woman hadn’t noticed the visitor who had ridden to the edge of the yard.

“Say you gonna kill ‘em, Sister,” the man called out.

Startled by the sound of a voice, the woman spun around and saw a man she had known all of her life sitting there calmly on his horse rolling a smoke.

The woman threw down her broom and placed her hands defiantly on her hips as she scowled, “Timothy Johnson, how long you been sitting there?”

With a smurkish smile, he replied, “Long enough to see you beat the hell out of James’ dogs, and I do believe you’re gonna sure ‘nough kill ‘em first chance you get. I do believe that Mister James has up and married him a dog killer.”

“Dog Killer! I barely hit ‘em and they have been killing my birds,” Sister said, as she went down the steps.

“Yes Ma’am, I saw what you done to James’ prize hounds,” Timothy said, lighting his smoke. “And just wait ‘til I tell the preacher how you been cussing right out in public. Yes ma’am, Sister Wilson, you are one violent woman.”

No sooner had he finished his statement, than Sister reached for her broom and with one swing, and to her own surprise, knocked Timothy from his horse onto the ground. Startled by the unexpected attack, Timothy’s horse bolted across the yard into a field and in the confusion, Timothy’s smoke went sailing into the air landing right in Sister’s hair. Sister could envision her hair aflame and began screaming and shaking her head in all directions.

As she frantically tried to get the smoke out of her hair, Timothy sat there on the ground laughing as hard as he could, enjoying every minute of Sister’s dilemma.

Seeing the smoke fall to the ground and knowing that she was no longer in trouble, Sister quickly regained her composure.

Through the years, Timothy, one of her older brother’s best friends, and she had delighted in tormenting each other with pranks and verbal comments. Sister had always loved to antagonize Timothy but had a difficult time when she was the one being teased. Often parents had to intervene when the arguments got out of hand. Her seeming appearance of dislike masked the fact that she had found him both attractive and somewhat dashing. Timothy’s lack of parental discipline and his stories of devilish and adventurous exploits intrigued her. Even though she knew his stories were exaggerated, they still managed to excite her. One thing was certain, when they were together, sparks were going to fly.

Smoothing her hair, she glanced over at Timothy. “I know what you’re trying to do and it ain’t gonna work. You’re not getting me upset, Mister Timothy Johnson.”

He, pulling himself up, replied, “Too late, Sister. You done made a fool out of yourself, and you might near killed me in the process. That fall almost broke my wood leg.” He had lost the lower part of his right leg during the war and was very protective of his artificial limb.

Hobbling to get his horse he continued, “Come sundown, me and that brother of yores is going to a revival down near Hickory.”

“Revival! You ain’t going to no church meeting,” Sister exclaimed. “You ain’t been in a church since your daddy died more than a year ago, and my brother don’t need to be going nowheres with the likes of you.”

Mounting his horse, Timothy replied, “Then where in blazes do you think I intend to carry him, Miss Know-it-all.”

By that time Sister had gone back to the house and begun sweeping the feathers off the porch. “Knowing you, you will try to talk John into going to Meridian with you for a night of drinking, gambling, and you know what else.”

“What do you mean by, you know what else,” Timothy asked.

“The only thing you is fit for is whoring. Timothy Johnson you are nothing but a sinning whoremonger, and my brother won’t be going to Meridian with you. He’s got a pretty young lady who thinks the world of him. He don’t need yore whores. Why do you think that wife of yores run off with that visiting preacher? Cause of your constant carousing and staying away from home for weeks at a time. That’s why she left you. You just go on to Meridian by yoreself.”

Before the Civil War, Meridian, a bustling rail center, was the largest town in Mississippi. When General Sherman sacked and burned the town on his raid across the state, many feared it would never prosper again, but as soon as his troops had left the area, its people began to rebuild. Now Meridian was once again thriving and prosperous. It was filled with merchandise, and its nightlife attracted people from all parts of the state. Gambling houses were in operation twenty-four hours a day and for those who wanted the company of the opposite sex, the red district was rivaled by none.

Timothy was in the process of leaving when he caught the remark about his ex-wife and he sharply brought his horse to a stop and turned in the saddle. “Sister, we may get into some squabbles sometimes and most of the time it don’t mean nothing, but you better never say anything about Sally. That’s none of yore business what happened to us, and I’ll tell you one more thing, least I didn’t up and marry a damned Yankee.”

During the war when Sherman made his raid through Little Rock, some of his soldiers were foraging for food when they came upon the Wilson’s house. Making their way inside, they knocked Sister’s father unconscious and were trying to force themselves on Sister and her mother when suddenly a federal officer, Lieutenant James Robinson, rode up and intervened. In the scuffle that followed, Robinson killed one of his soldiers and wounded the other. Following the war, he was assigned to the Newton county area as part of the military controlled government and began to stop by the Wilson’s on a fairly regular basis. Eventually, Sister and he began to see each other socially and after a ten-month courtship, they were married.

Knowing she had probably gone too far, Sister stood motionless, fearing to say anything else.

Heading down the road, Timothy stopped and shouted back to her. “You think I’m nothing but a whoremonger, but you know what your are, Lucretia Wilson? You’re the biggest gossip and hypocrite in Newton County and for your information, we ain’t going to Meridian, I think.”

Calming down as he rode off, Timothy couldn’t help but feel a fondness for Sister. Even with her quick lip and spunky attitude, she could be delightful at times. Glancing back, he noticed how attractive she had become, standing well over five feet six inches tall with long flowing blond hair and blue eyes. She was certainly a striking figure on the porch. Without thinking, he raised his hand and waved.

Without hesitating, she smiled and returned the gesture.

Because Sister and James had built their home on a plot of lower Wilson land, it didn’t take Tim long to reach Sister’s parents’ place. Riding up, he could see Mrs. Wilson sitting on her front porch churning butter and singing a familiar church tune.

At that moment she stopped churning and peered over the top of her glasses. “Timothy Johnson, you sure are dressed to kill. You must be on your way to see some pretty little thing. Get down and come on in.”

Tim dismounted and politely tipped his hat. To him, the Wilsons were his second family. They had always accepted him no matter what he had done, and Mrs. Wilson always encouraged him to try to do better. He felt that his own parents never cared enough about him to even correct him or give him encouragement.

Making his way up the steps, he said, “Good to see you Mrs. Wilson, mind if’n I give you a hug.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, young man,” smiled Mrs. Wilson.

After a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she said, “How’s your mama doing these days?”

“She’s fine. She’s been doing a lot of garden work lately and putting up with me keeps her pretty busy,” he replied. “Is John in?”

Mrs. Wilson pointed to the back of the house. “He finished his chores early today. You’ll find him back there in his room, probably reading. Sometimes I think he spends too much time in them books.” Pausing a moment she continued, “I bet you boys gonna do some courting tonight. That’s why you’re so dressed up. That’s it, ain’t it?”

“Pretty close, Mrs. Wilson. I’ve come over to invite John to a meeting. A kind of revival meeting,” he replied.

“A revival meeting. I ain’t heard of any such meeting around here. You sure ‘bout that?”

“Yes Ma’am, there’s gonna be one down near Hickory Station. A shore ‘nough big ‘un.”

Tim made his way down the open hall toward John’s room.

Easing the door open Tim began to sing, “Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river down near Hickory.”

“Come on in Tim, I could recognize your voice anywhere. And by the way, you can’t carry a tune and your lyrics border on being sacrilegious. No wonder they never encouraged you to sing in the church choir.”

Lying across the bed with a pillow folded under his neck and a book across his lap was Tim’s best friend, John Wilson. They had attended the same church and had been classmates in school until Tim quit in the eighth grade. Although Tim and John were total opposites, they had a special bond of friendship. John was serious and believed that honest hard work was the way to success and that education would open the doors of opportunity to those who persevered. John’s reputation of being the best student the local school had ever produced was a promise for his future, but the war and the effects it had upon his family had kept him at home and away from his dreams. Tim, in contrast, lived only for the day. As a youth he never cared for farming and the loss of his leg during the war made farming impossible. Instead, Tim loved to gamble, drink and carouse and had become so skilled at the cards that he made more than a meager living.

Even as different as they were, they were inseparable. Since they had joined the same regiment during the war and had experienced the same horror and trials of combat, they had drawn even closer.

Easing down in a chair next to John, Tim reached over and glanced at the cover of the book. “Thought you might be reading some of that ole Shakespeare the professor used to try to cram down our throats. You used to like that stuff, didn’t you?”

“You know I never cared for that,” John replied, closing the book. “I’m reading about the Greek way of life. It’s fascinating to see how they formed their government. You know, their system is part of the foundation of how we operate today.”

“Greeks,” Tim exclaimed, grabbing the book. “Let me see what you got yourself in to.”

In a few minutes Tim handed the book back “Don’t look too interesting to me. Them folks been gone for a thousand years.”

“Thousand years,” John replied. “Been longer than that and what do you like to read, nothing I bet.”

Feeling somewhat offended, Tim responded, “I do read sometimes. I read the newspapers when I get a chance and things posted around on walls and I’ve read some of the Bible. So you see, I ain’t as illiterate as you think.”

“Read anything in the last month,” John asked.

Tim was silent for a moment and then replied, “You been to bed with any good-looking women in the last month, Mister Socrates.”

John shook his head in disbelief and thought, here I am trying to show him the importance of reading and he completely turned the table on me.

“No, I ain’t been to bed with any woman. How about you?” John asked.

“Me neither,” laughed Tim. “I thought that might be a good way to shut you up. Now back to them Greeks. Why do you like reading that stuff?”

John sat up on the side of the bed and after stretching answered, “Governments and law systems are what control the lives of people. Without law and order no one’s rights would be protected. We’d live in total chaos. Without our governments it would be a kill or be killed society.”

“Well, I guess that kinda falls in line with what I came by to tell you,” Tim said. “You see there’s gonna be a special, secret meeting down near Hickory tonight and you and me has been invited.”

With a question on his face, John asked, “What do you mean a secret meeting?”

“You can’t tell a soul about what I’m gonna tell you, John, especially if’n you decide to go with me.”

“You know me better than that, Tim.”

“Well, there’s gonna be a get together down there tonight and there’s gonna be a high ranking confed’rate gen’ral who’s suppose to talk to us.”

“Gen’ral!” John exclaimed. “What in tarnation about?”

“Well, if’n you’ll shut up, I’ll tell you about it. Now as I was saying, this here meeting is the beginning of a movement to take our government back.”

“Government back!” John said. “What kind of hair-brained joke you trying to play on me.”

“It ain’t no joke,” Tim replied. “Folks here in the South is tired of them Northerners, sorry white Southerners and Negroes running things. We’re tired of the treatment they dishing out to us. Things fixing to change around here, Mister John Wilson and if’n you want to help us, you got an invitation.”

John shook his head in disbelief. “Tim, the military gov’ment ain’t always gonna be around here. There’s gonna be a time when we’ll get our chance to run things. How do you think this group is planning to take over the government? You know there’s no way we can fight the Federal troops. We been through that before and I must say we didn’t and don’t have the men and resources to do it again. You’ll not get me in trouble this time. I won’t be going with you, and who is this person who wants us at the meeting anyway?

“Frank Olliver and ‘Fessor Hendon wants you there tonight, that’s who,” Tim answered.

“Frank Olliver! That’s enough for me. If Frankie’s involved, there’s got to be trouble connected. You can go, but you can count me out.”

“Wait a minute, John. There was a time when you two was closer than two straws in a broom. Frankie don’t mean you no trouble.”

“That was a long time ago. He’s changed a lot these past few years. We speak to one another, but that’s about it. If Frankie’s involved, you can bet trouble ain’t far behind,” John said.

“You know why you’re on the outs with Frankie,” Tim replied. “You ain’t ever forgive him for not showing up down at Newton Station and when he up and married—”

“Stop it right there, Tim. You don’t know what you talking about. Don’t ever mention her name to me. That’s a part of my life that just don’t exist no more, you hear me.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to tell you that they wanted you there for some reason and if’n you don’t care much for Frankie, then you know the ‘Fessor means you no harm.”

Professor Hendon was the only teacher John and Tim had ever had and even though he could be eccentric at times and had a reputation of being a ladies man, he had the men’s respect. To John, this was the man who opened his eyes to learning and always challenged him to never accept mediocrity.

“The Professor,” John said, regaining interest. “He really wants me there?”

I can’t believe that he wants me to go with him tonight, John thought. It seems like I should still be just a student to him, listening to him lecture about the poets, the art of speaking and politics. Politics, that’s what he enjoyed the most. No wonder he is interested in this meeting. Politics was always his first love.

“If’n ‘Fessor Hendon will be going, then I might just tag along with you,” John said, changing his mind. “It might be interesting just to see what this group is up to, but y’all better not get me into any kind of trouble with the law.”

“Won’t be no trouble, John. If’n you don’t like what you hear then you can quietly bow out, and I’m sorry about what I almost said. I know’d it was a ticklish subject.”

“Don’t worry about it, and I was a little too hard on Frankie too. I’m suppose to go over to see Suzanne tomorrow, and her mother ain’t never been nothing but nice to me. Mrs. Olliver can’t help that she’s got a son like Frankie.”

A large smile crossed Tim’s face. “I must say, that Suzanne is one beautiful woman. With that long black hair streaming down her back, those dark brown eyes, long legs and a figure that would even catch Preacher Gilmor’s fancy, I swear I don’t have but one good leg, but I’ll tell you one thing Mister John Wilson, I’d give ever bit of that good leg of mine fer one glance of that woman in the raw.”

John immediately reached for his pillow and sailed it across the room so fast it almost unseated his friend. “It’s just like you Tim Johnson, always got your mind where it ought not to be. If’n you’d behave yourself, you could find yourself a good woman, but all you like is those women who let you have your way.”

Tim laughed. “Why don’t you go ahead and say it? I like the whores. I can have a night of passion and fun and when the sun comes up, I go my way. No commitment, no marriage, and no nagging wife to hound me twenty-four hours a day. That’s what you thinking, ain’t it?”

“I’m just saying that you have a lot to offer some woman if’n you’d just work on it a bit. You ain’t that bad,” John said.

“Talking about marriage, folks around here is saying that you and Suzanne would make a fine couple. They say y’all been doing some heavy courting and figure won’t be long ‘til Miss Suzanne and you will set up house.”

“Set up house, that’s ridiculous,” John replied getting up to retrieve his pillow. “I agree she is a fine looking woman but like Daddy always said, when you marry a woman, you also marry her family and that Olliver family is a strange lot.”

“Well, John, I don’t see how you could beat her. As I said, she is some kind of looker and her mother and Frankie own a large chunk of Newton County. Some say they is among the richest folks in Miss’sippi.”

“That’s part of the problem, Tim. I know how they got their wealth and it ain’t honorable. To my family’s disgust, Frank Senior was one of the first to bring slaves into the county. His father-in-law gave him ten or twelve to get him started and then he cheated many a poor Choctaw and white alike out of their land along the way. My daddy still believes Frank Senior was in on getting my Uncle Jake killed and that was all about land that the Choctaw Land Company wanted. Yeah, they got plenty of money but the way I see it, it’s blood money. Marriage, I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Tim said leaning back in his chair and resting his good leg on the edge of John’s bed, “I’d marry her in the twinkle of the eye. With her money, Ole Tim wouldn’t ever have to hit a lick at nothing. I’d just sit back, drink my mint juleps and just observe that woman from morning to night and when the ole hoot owl starts his screaching, I’d be in glory land.”

“Well, you can be in your glory land if’n you want but if’n we’re to be at Hickory tonight, I need to go get washed up.”

It wasn’t long before John returned clean-shaven, hair brushed back as well as his curls would allow and wearing the only suit he owned. As they were about to leave, Mrs. Wilson stopped him on the porch. “John Wilson, you better wait up a second and let me look you over. You got to pass my inspection before you two go gallivanting.”

Embarrassed, John replied, “Mama, we been going through this ordeal ever since I was a young ‘un. Don’t you think I’m a little too old for this?”

“Not as long as you live under my roof and have a mother that cares about you like I do. Now stand up straight,” Mrs. Wilson ordered.

With Tim snickering in the background, John stood erect and then smiled down at his mother. “May I go now?”

“Not until you give an old woman a kiss.”

John bent down, gave his mother a hug and a kiss and then bounded down the steps to where his father, who had figured they were going off for a good time, had his horse saddled and waiting. John’s father, Lott, had been among the first white men to enter what was now Newton County, and he was instrumental in the organization and settlement of the Little Rock community. Lott was noted for his honesty and hard work and his reputation was beyond reproach. With his thick curly white hair, piercing blue eyes and stocky build, his presence still demanded respect.

Handing John the reigns, Mister Wilson said, “Mother said you two was going down to Hickory to some kind of a meeting. That’s a pretty far piece. What time will you be getting home?”

“I’m not sure, Papa,” John replied.

“Mister Wilson, since our place is closer to Hickory and if’n it’s alright with you, John can spend the night with me and come on home in the morning,” Tim said.

Mister Wilson nodded. “John you get on back before too late tomorrow. We got some planning to do for next week.”

While John sat in the saddle waiting for Tim to mount, Mrs. Wilson couldn’t help but admire her son. John stood over six feet tall, broad shoulders and with a frame much like his father’s when he was a young man. His hair was soot black with a trace of premature graying across his temples. Sitting tall in the saddle, she thought, some folks say he’s the most handsome man in these parts, but I say he looks like his father and that’s good enough for me. Don’t see why some pretty little thing ain’t grabbed him, but John hasn’t been the same since he returned from the war.

At the end of the war, the Confederate officials and some of the soldiers in John’s company had thought he’d been killed in battle. Mrs. Wilson never believed them and on a cold, snowy night John had quietly rapped on the door and fell into her arms half frozen. She knew the Lord had brought John home to her. Even though he had recovered outwardly, inwardly he was not at peace. He didn’t enjoy socializing with other young people like he once did and he spent too much time to himself and with his books. Mrs. Wilson was surprised to see him ride off with Tim tonight. Even though much time had passed since the war, he still seemed to have dreams that haunted him, and he would often wake up screaming. He would hardly ever talk about it. Something terrible had happened to him up there, something John had buried deep inside himself.

John and Tim waved goodbye, and when they were out of hearing range, John exclaimed, “I heard you laughing back there on the porch. I wish she’d stop that inspection routine; it’s embarrassing.”

Tim glanced over at John. “I might have laughed a little, but I’d give anything in the world if’n my mother would ever tell me she cares for me. Seeing the way you two feel about each other made me sort of jealous.”

“Tim, your mother loves you just like mine does. I can tell by the way she looks at you. She just doesn’t know how to show her feelings. Some folks are just like that.”

As the two continued their way, John had no idea of the movement that was well underway throughout the South and certainly had no idea of what lay in store for him. The events that followed the meeting at Hickory Station would forever change the structure of politics in Newton County. The lives that would be shattered were never envisioned by John Wilson on that hot August afternoon.