Chapter 29
When a cold October wind whipped through the plaza in front of the Harrison County Courthouse, several thousand people shivered as one. It was eighteen months since the last such gathering, when John Bingham died. It seemed a lifetime ago. The old gentleman had brought out this crowd as well, or at least his memory had. This time Mr. Bingham was present only as a bronze likeness. Another endless ceremony dulled the crowd’s vitality. This one was to dedicate his statue, which towered in front of the courthouse.
It was Fraser’s second time in Cadiz since the meeting with General Longstreet. He came back during the winter to pack up his things and arrange to sell his remaining property. In three short weeks he had helped four Cadiz babies into the world, starting with the Gable family. He greeted each birth with unmixed joy, one more sign that his soul had grown lighter. Eliza did that. She changed a great deal more for him. He would be a country doctor no more.
On the dais, Senator Spriggs was working through some standard pieties about Mr. Bingham. He assured the crowd that Bingham would be a household word long after each in the audience had ceased to be, and after what they had done had crumbled and decayed. After spending half a year chasing Mr. Bingham’s secret, Fraser had no confidence in history’s memory. Would anyone remember Mr. Bingham one hundred years from now? Would what they remembered be even remotely true?
Fraser took Eliza’s gloved hand and gave it a small squeeze. She was the prize from the race that he and Cook had run. She had taken persuading to marry, but she wanted to be persuaded. Marrying her meant he would leave Cadiz. She was too bold a bloom for Harrison County, and Fraser found that New York suited him. There he could improve his medical knowledge and skills, drinking in the advances of new research. And Eliza’s theater world remained magical to him. Her generous skirt concealed her current condition, only three months along, and he hoped to be luckier this time. Poor Ginny. He and Eliza laid flowers on her grave that morning. He felt sad about Ginny, but also grateful to her. She had brought him joy. Now he was blessed with a second chance at love, one he could not claim to deserve, but he intended to make the most of it.
Cadiz was doing itself proud for this ceremony. The speakers numbered not only a United States senator, but also a Japanese diplomat and now, after the singing of the hymn, Reverend Wolf stepped forward. The pastor of the A.M.E. church proudly recited the achievements of Harrison County’s colored people. They had acquired property, founded schools, started farms and businesses. They were, he said, the best testament to Mr. Bingham’s wisdom in fighting for their rights. His voice rising, he proclaimed that they had redeemed the man’s sacrifice.
When the program was over, many seemed reluctant to leave. The town band continued to play, showing an unfortunate enthusiasm for the marches of Mr. Sousa. Men and women admired the Bingham statue, exclaimed over the current harvest, and expressed hopes that the new president, young Roosevelt, would be equal to the task of succeeding McKinley, shot down by an assassin only a month before. At least there was no mystery about that assassination.
Fraser and Eliza greeted his old friends, asked about their lives and told about life in New York. After some time, Fraser spied a large figure some distance away. He excused himself.
“Speed!” he called out.
“Dr. Fraser.”
“I hoped to see you.” Fraser stretched out his hand. When Cook took it, Fraser used a two-handed grip.
“I came to pay my respects.” Cook nodded at the statute.
Fraser grinned, releasing his friend. “I’m glad you did. Can we talk?” They fell into step and circled the crowd. “You printed it after all. I saw the edition you put out about the assassination.”
“Ah,” Cook said, “fat lot of good it did. We ran off our usual thousand copies, and another thousand for posterity. I mailed it to every American newspaper I could find an address for. Do you think even one of them picked it up? Even one? They probably all laughed themselves sick over the gullibility of that poor colored man down in Steubenville, he must be crazy stupid. More evidence of the power of the lie.”
“But you did it. You were true to yourself.”
“I also mailed that edition to every library I could think of, hoping they’ll save it, maybe the time will come, maybe fifty years from now, maybe a hundred, when someone will look back at that and say, damn, that man was on to something.” After a second, he looked over at Fraser. “Is Mrs. Fraser angry about it?”
“I tried to explain it to her, but I can’t say she sees your point of view. Not entirely.”
“How about Dr. Fraser, my investor?”
“I think I know why you did it. Maybe I would have, too, in your place. But I’ve got to say I’m just as glad no one else picked it up. I’m sorry I couldn’t join you in writing it.”
“You’re not the first man’s done the wrong thing for a woman. But it shouldn’t matter that you wouldn’t write it with me. I wrote it, wrote it all up just so. I shouldn’t need a white man to say what I wrote is all right.”
After a few more strides, Fraser said, “The articles you’re doing on Jim Crow have been terrific. Are you getting any reaction—any threats?”
Cook stopped and glared at Fraser. “Threats? Threats are my breakfast. It’s the rocks through the windows that make me jumpy. You tell me, how can I live in this country, where I’m supposed to sit down and shut up, just because I’m colored?” He resumed walking. Cook fell into that passionate form of declamation that Fraser had come to know during their journey together. America was getting worse, Cook said. Segregation was spreading, lynchings every week. Freedom from slavery wasn’t enough. Equality was what colored people needed, and they were getting less of it, not more. Colored people, he said, had no future here. They needed to go to Africa, where they could live their lives proud and hold their heads up high. When they were chasing Mr. Bingham’s secret, Cook couldn’t go to places where Fraser went, do things that Fraser did. Cook didn’t know that he could take that anymore.
They kept walking, now on their third orbit of the plaza.
“It didn’t feel right,” Cook said, “using your money to print all that about Miss Eliza’s daddy.”
“I knew what you were going to do. And I think I wanted you to try. You were entitled to that.” Fraser stopped and smiled. “You know, I’ve trusted my life to one man in my life, and that man took care of me.”
Cook shook his head. “You always were the sentimental one. So now I’m supposed to say the same thing about you?”
Fraser grinned and put his arm around Cook’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You feeling brave enough to say hello to my wife?”