Chapter Thirty-Four

APRIL 1865

Was it premonition that prompted me to make a second copy of Obadiah’s deed to the land the moment he and I returned home? Or was it the Holy Spirit speaking to me?

Whatever it was, I woke Elliott to sign the copy as soon as it was ready and again guided Father’s hand across the page and set his seal. I hid the deed copy beneath the false bottom of our ancestor’s trunk in the attic, just as I’d hidden the freedom papers and later, their copies that Obadiah, Martha, and Alma had asked me to safekeep. I intended to write copies of the other deeds as soon as I could. I didn’t trust Mr. Bass, even though I’d seen him at work on our deeds. I didn’t know if there was anything Grayson could legally do to stop the transactions, but I didn’t trust my brother, either, and I wanted proof of the land allocations in my own hands.

I trusted Grayson even less when he stormed into the house that afternoon, demanding Elliott explain to him why he was partitioning off Belvidere land to slaves.

I would have locked Grayson from the parlor if I’d gotten there first. But Elliott said, “Let him stay. Grayson must be told; he deserves to know.”

I propped another pillow beneath Elliott’s neck and back and refused to be sent from the room. Elliott was too weak to sit in a chair and I feared that Grayson’s tirade would do him in, or that, God forgive me for such a thought, Grayson might.

“You’re not lord of the manor, Elliott!” Grayson stormed. “You had no right!”

“You know that was always Mother and Father’s intention.” Elliott spoke calmly.

“To free them after Father’s death —not before. That was bad enough. But to give them our land!”

“They’ve earned that land, many times over, and those that wish can stay on as our employees, selling back that acreage if they wish. Mother wanted our people to have a start in life, a way to begin on their own.”

“Nobody does that.”

“That’s what people do in a free society, Grayson.”

“You had no right,” Grayson said again and again.

“I had every right, and it was Father’s wish. I shouldn’t need to remind you that he is still owner of Belvidere Hall.”

“You should have waited till he died and divided Belvidere between us, let me decide what to do with what’s mine.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“It’s my land! It should be mine as much as yours, and I’m the one going to live long enough to be saddled with its debts and with Minnie. You should have at least waited till Father dies —that was the plan, as you say. If it happened after the war, at least we’d know what the land is worth.”

“That plan was made before there was a war, a war that will determine the legal status and rights of the people heretofore enslaved.”

Grayson blinked and walked slowly toward Elliott, who lay helpless. Grayson’s brawn, his strength and anger frightened me. I tried to slip between them, but Grayson pushed me away. He stuck his finger in Elliott’s face. “If you think this is over, you are sadly mistaken. I swear to you that not one of those darkies will ever get an acre of Belvidere land!” He accentuated his words with a stab to Elliott’s shoulder and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

“It’s done, Grayson!” I called after him. “It’s already done!”

“Let him go, Minnie.”

But all our voices were drowned out by Alma’s and Martha’s screams from the hallway. I didn’t make it to the parlor door before they threw it open.

“News from town —General Lee has surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia. It means it’s over, doesn’t it? The war is finally over!”

Alma clasped her hands together and Martha raised her arms toward heaven.

Elliott closed his eyes. “Thank You, Father!”

April is still chilly in the foothills of North Carolina, but occasionally warm enough to leave windows open at night. I’d done that each spring, hoping to hear the year’s first whip-poor-will call. I did that the night we learned of General Lee’s surrender.

I lay awake, thinking through the day’s events —Grayson and his tirade and threats. The miracle of General Lee’s surrender and the hope that it meant the war was truly over, that the husbands and sons and brothers of our neighbors would come home and not one more name would be typed in the post office’s window listing of Confederate dead.

Through all those musings and half prayers, I smelled woodsmoke. It could have been a fire in one of our own fireplaces or even one of the cabins in the quarters, but that seemed odd, for the temperature was unusually mild.

Memories of the night I found Grayson burning freedom papers and deeds came to mind. I turned over, grateful beyond words that those deeds were filed at the courthouse and no longer in my possession. I closed my eyes, determined to shut out unruly thoughts. That’s when I heard the church bells —church bells frantically ringing in the middle of the night, our town’s call to arms. Someone in need. Fire!

I pulled on my shoes and threw a wrapper over my gown. I ran down the stairs and heard Obadiah’s footsteps on the porch just as I opened the door.

“I’m going into town, Miss Minnie. See what I can do.”

“Obadiah, I don’t think you should. You don’t know what —”

“I’m a free man, Miss —Minnie. This is my town now, too. Our people —somebody needs help. I smell fire —no tellin’ how bad it is, how far it’s traveled.”

“Wait for me. I’m going with you.”

“There’s no need.”

“I’ll go alone if you don’t wait for me. If there’s a fire, there’s bound to be something I can do to help.”

“I’ll get the buggy, load it up with buckets and rakes, rugs from the barn.”

“I’ll bring our medical kit and bandages. There’s bound to be burns.”

Martha was already in the kitchen, gathering supplies. “I heard what y’all said. You be careful now, Minnie. I can’t be bandagin’ you up and takin’ care of Mr. Elliott all at the same time.”

I wrapped my arms around her and felt her trembling.

“I told Obadiah don’t be a hero. I don’t need a hero; I need my husband back in one piece.”

“We’ll be careful, I promise, and we’ll be back.” I prayed that was a promise we could keep.

Obadiah helped me into the buggy and took the reins. We lost no time. No Creek proper was not far from Belvidere Hall. Before we reached the church, we could see flames leaping into the night sky from the center of town. We reached the general store, but a crowd stood between us and the fire —a crowd that didn’t seem to be doing anything to put out the fire. Mrs. Mae and her grown children stood on the porch.

Beyond the crowd of bystanders, townsfolk who’d turned out with fire buckets and rakes and rugs, stood the silhouettes of men on horseback, prancing before the fire, creating a shield against those who would help.

“What is it? Why aren’t they putting out the fire?” I leaned from the buggy and called to Mrs. Mae.

She covered her mouth with her hand. It was too dark, and I could not read her eyes, not until she saw Obadiah driving our buggy, and then the whites of her eyes widened. “You value your man, you get him out of here, Minerva Belvidere. You get him out of here right now.” It was a rash statement and one that made no sense. But I knew Cordova Mae would not have said it without cause.

From near the fire there was a chorus of whoops and then that terrible screeching rebel yell I’d read about and heard discussed around the stove in the store but had never heard with my own ears. It sent chills over my body and terror through my heart. Riders in front of the burning courthouse reared their horses, and hats flew into the air, lurid specters against the flames. The crowd of spectators stepped back. I recognized one neighbor and another, but no one did a thing, the terror on their faces as clear as my own.

“Obadiah . . . I think we’d best turn around.”

“The courthouse —it’s the courthouse on fire.” He said the obvious, as if he disbelieved. “They not puttin’ out that fire, Minnie. They —”

“Turn around, Obadiah. We’ve got to get out of here.” But Obadiah seemed frozen in the moment. I shook his arm. “Obadiah! Please! Take me home!”

“I’ll get you home, Miss Minnie. Sure enough, I’ll get you home.”

He turned our already frightened horses and snapped the reins. With no words between us he drove me straight to the front of the house. “I’ll let you out here.”

But I wouldn’t budge. “You can’t go back. You can’t be part of that, whatever it is.”

“You know that’s where our deeds be —every one of Belvidere Hall’s freedmen’s deeds.”

“I know. I know, but they’re gone now. They’re surely burned. You saw that fire. The deeds are already registered, Obadiah. Don’t worry. You mustn’t worry, but you cannot risk that crowd —they’re drunk and bent on destruction. You have everything to live for. Please, put the buggy away. Don’t go, I beg you, for Martha’s sake.” I didn’t want to believe that the fire had anything to do with those deeds, those hopes and dreams and livelihoods for so many.

Obadiah helped me down and walked me to the house. He returned the buggy and horse to the barn and I walked through the door of my home believing that he’d gone back to Martha.

I looked in on Elliott, who’d apparently slept through it all. “Thank You, God!” My prayer was whispered but sounded loud in the still house. Elliott roused then but did not wake. Father’s and Grayson’s doors were closed, and I wondered how it was that neither had smelled the smoke or heard the church bells, neither had been drawn outside. The night had turned chillier by then and their windows were closed. It was the only explanation.

I checked on Ellie and stroked her baby cheek, thanking God that she knew nothing of these days. For hours I lay awake, praying for the people of my hometown, praying for the outcome for all whose deeds we’d registered the day before.

Shortly before daylight I heard the clopping of horse’s hooves on the drive and waited for someone to pound the front door. I sat up, ready to shove my feet into slippers and meet whatever new tragedy awaited. But no pounding came.

I cracked open my door, heard the downstairs back door open and close. Moments later I heard another door open. I grabbed my wrapper and had just cinched the waist when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I opened my door in time to see Grayson taking the stairs in his stocking feet. Reeking of woodsmoke, he slipped through his bedroom door.

I wanted to believe my brother had been part of the crowd who’d gathered to help put out the fire, prevented from that good task though they were. But in my heart, I knew it was not so.

When I came downstairs next morning, I found that Elliott’s window had been opened wide and the fire had gone out. The parlor was freezing. Elliott lay wheezing, nearly unconscious. He couldn’t catch a deep breath. I sent Alma for Dr. Hendrix before breakfast. It was midafternoon before he arrived, looking as if he’d not slept for days. By then I was frantic. I stood outside the room while he examined my brother. It was several minutes before he met me in the hallway.

“Afraid there’s not much I can do for Elliott now, Minnie. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” I knew perfectly well my brother was dying, but surely a miracle stood at hand.

He shook his head sadly. “Pneumonia’s set in. Best thing is to make him comfortable as you can.”

“We can’t manage without Elliott.” I sounded like a child. I felt like one, as young as Ellie.

Dr. Hendrix placed his hand on my shoulder. That simple sign of sympathy was my undoing. Tears I couldn’t stop coursed over my cheeks, and the old doctor, formal as he was, as much a Confederate as I was loyal to the Union, took me in his arms and let me cry on his shoulder.

He patted my back as I would pat Ellie’s, finally pulling away. “Are your people all right? I don’t usually treat Negroes, but after last night . . . Mrs. Mae said she saw you there with that big buck Obadiah.”

My heart constricted. “We only went to see if we could help put out the fire. He was with me the whole time.”

“Well, thought I’d ask.”

“What happened last night? What started the fire?”

Dr. Hendrix hefted his black bag. “Hard to say how it started. A bunch of hotheads on horses is what I saw, but the blame was cast on a group of coloreds standing by. I don’t see how —”

“What happened to them?” My skin crawled.

Dr. Hendrix’s gaze leveled on mine, as if taking my measure, uncertain what more bad news I could stand. “Lynched three of them before it was over. Right there in town.”

I gasped and might have fallen backward if the doctor hadn’t steadied me.

“Looked to me like they’d come to help put out the fire, but . . .” He shook his head. “I swear I don’t know what we’ve come to. Best that your people stayed away. Best keep clear of town for now.”

That’s when I realized I hadn’t seen Obadiah, or Martha for that matter, all morning. Alma had served breakfast and lunch, quieter than usual. Ellie’d been with Mother Sally all the morning. Obadiah hadn’t directly said he wouldn’t return . . . Dear God, please . . . please, not Obadiah.

The doctor had been saying something else, but I hadn’t heard. Now I made myself focus.

“I’ve no more quinine, and no sense bleeding him. He’s too weak now. It would finish him. Have Alma fix up mustard plasters. I’ll write down what’s to go in them. Keep him comfortable. I won’t lie to you, Minnie. I know you wouldn’t want that.”

I nodded, my heart too burdened to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

I stepped aside to show him out.

“Never mind that. I know my way. You take care of yourself, Minnie, and your father. How is Horace?”

“The same.” It was true. Father sat in a chair and stared into space unless Elliott or I spoke to him, and for several days it had only been me, and only when I’d thought of him. There was so much to do, so many to care for, so many to worry over, or so it seemed to me.

Dr. Hendrix’s hand was on the door handle when he turned. “Minnie.”

I looked up from my daze.

“Be careful. Mind how you go.”

“What do you mean?” I needed him to speak plainly. My head was too thick for innuendos.

“This war’s come to its end. Folks around here are not happy about the way things are headed, the way they’re bound to go. I’m not happy we’ve lost this war, but I’ll pick up my boots and go on doing the work I’ve always done. There’s them that won’t, that will do what they can to wreak their revenge on those they blame.”

He meant me. Father. Elliott. And now every freed man and woman at Belvidere Hall. “I understand.” But I didn’t. Not in my core. I’d never understood how a person could think it right to own another person or beat them as I’d seen Rosalee beaten before this cursed war started, or think they had the right to accuse innocent bystanders and lynch them —all the while knowing the law would do nothing to prosecute them even when half the town witnessed the truth. Why did politicians think it worth destroying a country to have their way? How could wealth and power over others matter more than human life and integrity? No, I didn’t understand all I knew.