Old Isaiah whispered to his mules and rubbed their ears. I scratched and yawned and spit and uncurled from the buggy seat. “Mornin’ Isaiah. You talkin’ to them mules?” I asked. “Mr. Tom, these mules, Abe and George are just as smart as most people. You seen how they saved my neck yestidy?” “Yessir, I did,” said I. “Jus’ you nice babies settle down. Ev’rythin’ is just fine. We ain’t got no more worries,” Isaiah said.
They were docile as could be while he hitched them to the wagon. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “I’m powerful sorry about what happened yesterday. You must hate us white people something awful for what they did to you,” I said.
“We don’t hate nobody. There’s been too much hatin’ in this land. There’s good white folks and bad ones too. Most of those fellows yestiddy ain’t that bad, they just being led astray. Young Tom, get a move on. We be burying Miz Trimmer in a little while. She always say, she wants to be planted in the ground next to the Cap’n when the first sunbeams strikes that grove of oaks at the top of her hill,” Isaiah said.
There weren’t many white folks who would have been so forgiving. It didn’t exactly make me proud of my white skin.
The Negroes came drifting out of the cabins in their best clothes. Obediah and Zebediah walked stiff and bent over. Even with Doc’s salve, their backs must have hurt something terrible. The littlest children rode the wagon and the rest walked up the road to the big house. The women had wrapped Miz Trimmer in a quilt and put her in a coffin. They had took turns sitting up with her all night. Bessie looked plumb wore out. Obediah and Zebediah carried the coffin down the steps with the women strung out behind.
“I hep’d the Cap’n make that coffin and his’n too outen an old black walnut tree afore he went off to war. He figured coffins might come in handy someday,” Isaiah said.
They put the coffin on the wagon next to Old Isaiah’s wife. Then Isaiah got up and rove the mules. The rest of us trudged up the hill to a grove of ancient oak trees. The colored folks broke into the dolefullest song I ever heard. It was the sound of death and darkness that came out of Africa. I couldn’t understand the words, but folks had tears in their eyes. Bessie sobbed quietly and wiped her face. I felt lower than a snake’s belly. The singing got deeper and more mournful, then suddenly stopped, when we got up the hill near the open grave. It was under the branches of a big oak tree and right next to a boulder chiseled with the name of Miz Trimmer’s husband.
Captain John Trimmer
Army of Northern Virginia
April 6, 1812 –July 2, 1863
Over to one side were markers for Young Isaiah and little Ike. There was a law against burying Negroes next to white folk, but this was family. It was the right thing to do, no matter what people said. The first rays of sunshine lit up the trees when they lowered her coffin into the newly dug grave. The Negroes and Bessie and me got down on our knees, but Old Isaiah stood straight as a soldier and held his proud old head like he was seeing the face of God up there in the sky. “Miz Trimmer was a good, kind woman who freed us slaves and brought us to this promised land. She is in heaven with her Captain,” he said. Isaiah didn’t sound like a “yassah, nossah” ex slave but like a strong man, standing on his own two feet, talking directly to God. Bessie clutched my hand and cried hard, maybe because her own father and the town preachers refused to let Miz Trimmer into church when she gave land to the Negroes.
Old Isaiah recited from memory without even looking at a Bible.
“For you shall go out in joy,
And be led forward in peace;
The mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the briar shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
for an everlasting sign which shall not be cut off.”
Bessie had a tight hold on my hand and rocked back and forth. “That’s from Isaiah fifty-five,” she said.
When the grave was filled, Obediah got on the back of the wagon and blew a high sweet note on an old bugle. Zebediah strummed a banjo so fast you couldn’t see his fingers on the strings. Folks began to sing and the children danced. I felt like singing and jigging too. A happy feeling came over me. Miz Trimmer was with her captain in a better place. Maybe, this was how religion was supposed to make people feel.
When we got back to the cabins, Odette was still out of her head. Doc carried her to the wagon and put her on a pile of straw. Isaiah drove them back to town. I followed in the buggy with Bessie and the boy, Michele.
“Tom, I got a message for you from Rachel,” Bessie said.
“Is she married yet?
“No. Her ma said that if she gets healed, it is a sign from God that Rachel isn’t supposed to be married yet. The man she was to marry got tired of waiting and called off the betrothal. Rachel says to tell you she might get to go to school.”
That was powerful good news but first, I had a duty to take care of John Trimmer’s papers that gave his land to the Negro family. When we got back to town, I ran into the newspaper office and gave the papers to Mr. Birt. He promised to see Judge Parsons that very day. He did it, too.
When we got home, Doc carried Odette into a room, just as gentle as he would a newborn baby. “Aunt Alice, make tea and soup,” he said.
After she was settled in bed, he caressed her face, smoothed her hair and tried to force brandy into her mouth, all at the same time.
Aunt Alice pushed him out of the way. “You, Tom, take the doctor to the kitchen. There’s coffee on the stove and fresh apple pie. Give some to that poor old darky and the little boy.”
Isaiah, the boy and Doc sat around the kitchen table while I sliced the pie into four pieces. There was also a chunk of cheese and milk. Doc had coffee with a good dose of whisky. We all dug in and in no time, the pie and cheese was gone. Isaiah sat back and rubbed his stomach. “I din’t know you white folks et so good.”
The boy hadn’t said a word, but perked up when Doc cut the second pie into four big slices. “No use in letting this pie go to waste.”
We finished the pie and the boy drank another glass of fresh milk. Then his head went down. He went sound asleep.
“Fix a bed for him in your room,” Doc said, “and find a place for Old Isaiah.”
I made up a pallet of quilts for the boy and put Old Isaiah in the spare room. He settled in, closed his eyes and slept. He was mighty easy for a man who came close to swingin’ from a rope.
Aunt Alice washed Odette and put her into a nightgown, like she was her own child. “The girl has wood ticks full of blood all over her body,” she said.
Doc bowed his head and locked his hands together like he was praying. “She has brain fever and doesn’t have much chance,” he said in a low, tired voice. He was just about wore out after seeing sick folks every day and most nights since the diphtheria epidemic started. There was no rest because Billy Malone and his pa came into the yard, leading another horse, carrying a man who looked pretty much the worse for wear.
“Where you all been?” I asked Billy.
“We follered the gang most all night until they swam their horses across the river and we lost the trail. This one got throwed from his horse and is bad hurt,” Billy said.
The young fellow screamed like he was about to die when we carried him into the house. One of his shoulders was dislocated and he had a bunch of busted ribs.
I gave him a whiff of ether. Doc took off his shoe, put his stocking foot in the man’s armpit and pulled on the arm. There was a loud “pop” when the bone went back into its socket. We bound up his arm and chest while he came out of the ether.
I could tell Doc was bone tired, but I asked him, “How could you have missed Murphy?” “The pistol was loaded with birdshot. I aimed at the horse. The sting drove him plumb crazy,” Doc said.
“Birdshot! Why?”
“I was figuring on getting a mess of quail.”
That just about beat everything. He had bluffed a whole gang with nothing but a pistol loaded with birdshot. I guess that’s why he was such a good poker player.
A little later, Aunt Alice answered a knock at the door.
“I’m Bryon Mackey, ma’am, United States marshal. May I come in?”
Mr. Mackey was tall, well built and had a droopy gray tinged, walrus mustache. For a law officer, he had a kindly face. When he took off his Stetson, I saw that he had a high, pale forehead and sparse gray hair. He didn’t wear a gun. You wouldn’t suspect he was a law officer if it hadn’t been for the U.S. Marshals badge on his vest. He came into the office and politely asked if we could talk.
Doc came out of Odette’s room, looking about as bad as I ever saw him. Old Isaiah came too. When we were all there, the Marshall took out a notebook. “I’m here to investigate the Klan.”
I fidgeted, and waited for someone else to talk but Isaiah was too shy and Doc was all drawn inside himself. It was up to me. I took a couple of deep breaths and told about how little Ike died and how the gang burned a cross in front of our house and about the murder of Young Isaiah and how they had beat up on Miz Trimmer. It took a long spell to get it all out and all the while, the marshal wrote in his notebook. When the marshal was done asking questions he walked over to the man with the dislocated shoulder.. “Young fellow, you are facing charges of attempted murder. Tell me the names of the gang members or go to jail, maybe even hang,” said the marshal. The idea of hanging caught his attention and he blurbed out the gang members names, but mostly he claimed it was Murphy and the Sherriff who had the idea for killing the negroes.
Aunt Alice fixed fried eggs, biscuits and hot coffee. The Marshall was right pleased and said he would be working for Judge Parsons until everything was cleared up. He put down his coffee cup and took some papers out of his coat pocket. “Dr. Steele, there is a little matter that hasn’t been settled. You ran off to Europe after shooting a man.”
“I caught that man cheating at cards. He shot first. I plugged him in the shoulder but didn’t kill him.”
“How come you were in such a hurry to leave the country?”
“I already paid the fare on a boat that was leaving for Liverpool the next day.”
“The man you shot admitted to cheating and firing the first shot before he died. . Since it was self defense, the state dropped the charges,” the marshal said.
Doc sat very still for a long time. “I guess that is the end of it,” he said.
Mr. Mackey said he would be around town, until he brought the Klan to justice.
Michele ate and sleep for about a week. When he got his strength back, he told about how he and Odette got away from the overseer and escaped up the river. I said he should change his name to Mike on account of it sounded more American. “You can call me Mike, starting right now,” he said. He fattened up and hung around Aunt Alice, like a lost pup. Mike chopped all the firewood and washed dishes. It got so he was like a brother and it was nice to have him do my chores. Aunt Alice took him down to Otto’s store and bought him new clothes. Billy Malone took a liking to him and taught him how to play ball.
We walked around the house on tippy toes because loud noises made Odette wake up and scream. When she burned up with fever Doc and Aunt Alice cooled her with wet cloths and forced broth into her mouth.
“I’ve never seen a case of brain fever, but the books say it’s fatal if they have fits.,” Doc said.
He gave her valerian drops when she got excited and willow bark and quinine for the fever. She talked French in her sleep and when her eyes were open, she acted plumb scared. After a few days she broke out in a skin rash and the fever came down. Aunt Alice looked after her like she was a baby. Doc hardly ever left the room until Bessie came over and shooed him away.
When the diphtheria epidemic died down, I handled the office as best I could and went out on a few calls. One night, Odette’s fever broke and she settled into a normal sleep, It was cold enough to have a fire. Doc came into the parlor and warmed himself with a stiff drink by the flames. Aunt Alice rushed into the room. “Come quick,” she said.
Odette had come out of the coma and asked for Doc. Her hair was thin, there were great dark circles under her eyes and she had lost a lot of weight. Doc looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Odette, Odette.” He went down on his knees and the tears rolled down his face for pure happiness. I got a big lump in my throat too on account of I was plumb tickled. Doc and Odette got me to thinking about Rachel and I got low down again.
In a few more days, Odette sat by the window. When her head cleared, she spoke English as well as anyone, but sometimes she and Doc spoke French just for practice. When she was stronger, Alice bundled her up in blankets and Doc took her for buggy rides. Folks took to calling her the French woman.
After the epidemic passed on, it seemed like there wasn’t much sickness, except for accidents and kids with measles. Doc looked after the office patients and went back to doing his morning rounds. With Mike helping out with the chores, there was more time for me to study. It got so I could read about all those wars in Gaul and Caesar’s invasion of Britain, but the Latin pluperfect tense was a mystery. I really liked “Natural and Experimental Philosophy” a book by a man named Richard Green Parker.
It was late fall and there wasn’t any word about Murphy and the gang. Everybody thought the rascals had run off to Missouri or Tennessee. The sheriff had left for parts unknown. We were still uneasy and worried about the law coming for Odette. Then, too, I still got dreamy thinkin’ about Rachel.