by Naomi Finley
He shook his head and released a hearty chuckle. “You always dreaming up somepin’ in dat head of yours.”
“If you do not dream, how can you create a future of your choosing?”
“Ain’t all dat thinking exhausting?”
“Sometimes,” I said with a laugh.
“I prefer to put dese to work over thinking.” He held up his hands before stepping away from the fence to go back to work. He paused and turned around. “De mind will eat away at you ef you let et. Make you conceive de worst outcomes.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For always offering sound advice.”
He waved a hand, and an endearing smile settled over his face. “Now you go on and check in on de li’l miss. She be what breathes life into your lungs.”
Ruby
AFTER MY HUSBAND ENLISTED IN the army and received a pitiful sum for his service, I had no choice but to inquire about my old job at the newspaper office. During Kipling’s absence, he had placed a man in charge who hadn’t been keen on women in the workplace, and at first he refused, but persistence from colleagues had secured me the job on a trial basis.
Late one July evening, after everyone had left for the day, I sat at my desk and scripted the article about the Gettysburg battle, set to go out in the newspaper by the end of the week.
Clarence, a black man from Five Points hired by Kipling to clean the office in the evenings, paused in front of my desk.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I looked up from my work.
“I’ve finished and was going to head out,” he said before looking over his shoulder.
I glanced past him at a group of men who’d gathered across the street. They stood with torches in hand and eyes on the newspaper office. My heart thumped faster. I’d been so caught up in writing the article I hadn’t noticed them.
He looked back at me. “I think it would be wise if you locked up for the night. It isn’t safe for anyone out there with the draft riots going on. They burned a black orphanage and a church, and mobs are lynching black folk around the city.”
Replacing my quill, I pushed back my chair, walked to the door, and locked it before gathering my hat and handbag from the peg. Securing my hat, I darted back to my desk and turned out the lantern.
Clarence hurried around the main office to do the same, enveloping us in darkness. The gas lamps lining the streets gave us a view of the men, and as the office had gone dark the group became agitated. Hands struck at the heavens as one man with his back to us rallied the mob.
“Let me walk you out.” Clarence steered me toward the back door, moving with urgency.
My heartbeat echoed in my ears, and I whispered a prayer of protection before cracking the door open. Sticking my head out, I noticed a band of men standing some distance off but not looking in our direction. I jumped at the sound of shattering glass and peered back at Clarence.
“They’ve broken the front window.” The whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Beyond him was a crimson-and-orange glow as the flames took hold. The mob had set fire to the office.
“We need to go, now.” I stepped out into the alley with him on my heels.
He gripped my elbow and hurried me past the group, who’d ceased their conversation at the ruckus taking place on the front street.
Clarence gripped my elbow tighter, and I raced to keep up. “It isn’t safe for anyone to be out here. And you have a long journey ahead. Let’s hail you a buggy and see you safely home.”
I wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of my home and the comfort of my daughter.
We hurried on, putting distance between the newspaper office and us before stopping to look back. My stomach plummeted as raging flames rose high above the surrounding buildings, taking with them all Kipling’s work for the abolitionist movement.
“Come. There’s nothing we could’ve done,” Clarence said. “The men were coming in one way or another. At least we escaped with our lives, and let us make sure it stays that way.”
Heart heavy, I followed after him. We wove between buildings toward the main street. He ducked his head out to ensure the street was safe before stepping out to hail a carriage.
After he had seen me securely seated inside, he smiled. “You get yourself home safely, Mrs. Sparrow. I’ll see you soon.”
I nodded, but a movement in the shadows seized my attention and my heart stopped. Clarence peered behind him, and before we could act, a shot echoed, and he stumbled back.
“Clarence!” I reached for his outstretched hand, but he stumbled again before dropping to his knees. He tore at his chest where darkness splattered his shirt and coat. “No…” I wailed.
“Go,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
The driver whipped the reins and the team launched the buggy forward, and I was thrown toward the open door. The men raced toward the carriage, and I clawed at the doorframe, trying to grasp the swinging door. Tears blurring my vision, I sprang for the door and closed it as the pursuers fell away.
Through the back window, I observed the men standing over Clarence. I balled my hand and struck the seat as another gunshot rang out, and I turned away and buried my face in my hands. He had given his life to save me. He had a family—a wife and a young son.
My guilt melded with heartache as the carriage raced down the street that would take me away from the city. I stared in horror at the bodies of black men, women, children, and the occasional white sprawled in the streets. “Everyone has gone mad,” I said into the darkness of the buggy.
As the lights and chaos of the city faded, I sat perched on the edge of the seat, scanning the roadside, half expecting an attack.
Later, in front of my home, I paid the driver and exited the carriage. I stood on the street until the carriage was out of sight before climbing the steps and walking inside.
Aisling, our housekeeper and nursemaid, descended the stairs. “Evening, Mrs. Sparrow. I was starting to worry about you.”
“I’m sorry,” I removed my bonnet and shawl. “I didn’t intend to stay so long, but you know how I get when I have an article to finish.”
She offered me a soft smile before it dissolved. “You look exhausted.”
“It’s been an extra eventful day. Is Mercy asleep?”
“The lass insisted she would wait up for you. She misses you, and with Mr. Sparrow away I thought it wouldn’t hurt this one time. But tiredness got the best of her, and I carried her up to bed just before you walked in.”
“People in the city have gone mad. They are killing people in the street. Mostly black.”
She gasped and looked to the window.
“There hasn’t been any trouble here this evening, has there?” I asked.
“It’s been quiet. You don’t think they would come here, do you?”
“Let’s hope the distance will keep them away.” I walked to the parlor and sat down in my husband’s favorite armchair. Although its upholstery was tattered and faded, sitting in it gave me solace in his absence.
“Let me help you with your shoes.” Aisling dropped to her knees before me and started undoing the laces. “Then I will fix you something to eat.”
I allowed her to remove my shoes. “I’m not hungry.” Clarence weighed heavily on my mind, and I forced back tears I thought I’d exhausted on the journey from the city. “I think I’ll turn in for the night.” I stood, and she rose. I touched her arm and smiled. “Thank you, Aisling. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“We’ll get through this, and soon Mr. Sparrow will return, and everything will be good again.”
I laughed. “I admire your optimism.”
She blushed and ducked her head.
“Good night,” I said and walked toward the corridor.
“Night, Mrs. Sparrow.”
I lay in bed, gazing out the window at the evening sky and thinking of Papa. Years had passed since I’d seen him. No news had come of h
ow he and my friends at Livingston were doing. Willow’s letters had stopped coming, and I wondered if she’d received any of mine.
Despite my concerns over the divide between the North and South, the terrors occurring in the city and the sight of Clarence’s body sprawled in the street held my mind hostage. I decided I’d pay his wife a visit the following day and inform her of the sacrifice he’d made. But how do you tell a wife and mother that her husband had died saving you so you could come home to your daughter? Dread churned my gut at the backlash I might face.
Willow
JOSEPHINE LOOKED UP FROM THE chess game we played and paused to observe my daughter. “She is growing fast.”
The babe crawled quickly across the floor and attempted to pull herself up with the assistance of a table, but failed and landed on her buttocks. Instead of crying, she looked back at us and smiled. She was a delightful baby, so full of life and far too much energy.
Sailor strode into the room and set his sights on Olivia right away. “Evening, Missus Willow and Missus Josephine.” He paused to bow before turning back to eye the baby. He’d taken a liking to her, often seeking out ways to play with her, but recently I’d scarcely seen the boy.
“I sent for you a while ago. Mrs. Carlton has come to visit. A rare treat these days.” I stood. “What has you occupied lately? I haven’t seen much of you at all.”
“No, Missus.” He reluctantly turned his gaze to Josephine and I. “Big John has been teaching me about medicines and herbs. I think that, when I’m grown, maybe I could go to medical school.” He beamed with optimism.
I smiled at his ambitions and hoped that such a far-fetched dream would be possible for him one day.
“Speaking of growing.” I regarded Josephine before walking to Sailor and draping an arm around his shoulders. “Do you see the size of this boy?”
He grinned up at me before straining to stand taller and looking back at his mother.
Tears glistened in Josephine’s eyes as she stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “Indeed I do. He’ll be a young man before you know it. I believe he’d make a splendid doctor, too.”
Sailor squared his shoulders. “Thank you kindly, Missus Josephine.”
“Mind you don’t grow up too fast, young Sailor,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” he said, then glanced up at me. “Do you mind if I sit with Miss Olivia for a moment?”
I smiled and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Go ahead.” I released him.
“Can you imagine our Sailor going to Harvard Medical School?” Her face soft with love and affection, Josephine turned back to our game.
Sailor strode to Olivia and knelt beside her. She swatted her hands with delight and babbled at him as though she had something important that needed describing. He reached out a finger and stroked her arm as if she were a forbidden gem.
“Yes, I can. Black people are rising up all over this country despite the oppression they’ve faced. If Sailor wishes to go to medical school when he is of age, I will see he goes.”
“I wish I could help pay for the expenses, but Theodore keeps a tight hold on our finances. All monies I would inherit from my family were bequeathed to my husband when I breathed, ‘I do.’ If only I could divorce him like the South did the North.” Her mouth pinched as she regarded me over the board. “My cousin says I shouldn’t be complaining because at least I have a husband when she and many other girls fear there will be no men left to marry.”
“Surely having no husband would be better than being married to the one you’ve endured.” I relocated my bishop. “Check.”
She moved a pawn to protect her king. “The laws for women must change.” Her rook clanged as she set it down hard.
“As must the ones for your son,” I said.
Her hand froze in mid motion, and her gaze held mine. “It has taken some time, and a son, for me to see that perhaps we are wrong in our actions toward the blacks.”
“The world is changing, Josephine. If we are to evolve, the South must too, or we will be left in the dust of progress.” I studied the board and smiled inwardly as my strategy took form.
“But if the South wins, it will be the North that must change.” She carelessly made her next move and stepped into my trap.
“I fear we may be on the losing end of this war.”
She stiffened. “You mustn’t speak so. Should I question your loyalty to the South?”
“Of course not. My heart is with the South. But it’s our unethical behaviors, our actions, and the South’s generational legacy that I hold in disregard. We must do better as a society.” Passion kindled in my chest as I thought of a better tomorrow. “And” —I studied my next impactful move— “as for the war, the Northerners outnumber our troops. We can have all the weapons in the world, but able bodies are growing scarcer by the day.”
“And if the South doesn’t—”
“Checkmate.” I moved my queen and put in place the final gambit to corner her king.
“Yes, well…wait a minute! You little sneak.” She leaned back in her chair, staring at the board in disbelief. “You used all your boring talk of war and politics to ambush me. Your chess skills make me wonder how you’d fare as a general with the Confederacy. Perhaps we wouldn’t be on the losing end of this war.”
I smiled, thinking fondly of the times I’d played chess with my father as a young girl. “I was taught by the best,” I said. “There wasn’t a game my father couldn’t win.”
“He taught you well, my friend. It has been a nice visit,” she said with a laugh and stood. “We will have to do it again soon. But I need to get back before my husband returns.”
She said her goodbyes to Sailor and bent to stroke my daughter’s cheek before I walked her to her carriage.
Amelie
May, 1864
THE TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR PLASTERED MY uniform to my body like a second skin as our army of 120,000 or more marched on toward Atlanta. Zeke and I were serving under General William T. Sherman after President Lincoln had appointed General Ulysses S. Grant commander of all Union armies and assigned General Sherman commander in the west.
The storm made the conditions treacherous and challenging as we pushed up the serpentine path. We slipped and skidded, trying to gain traction. I lost my footing, and my rifle struck me hard in the jaw. Teetering on the edge of the cliff, I saw my life flash before me, but before I could plummet to my death on the riverbed below, a hand gripped my collar and reeled me back.
Heart thrashing in my throat, I peered into Zeke’s panic-filled eyes.
“You won’t die today, soldier,” he yelled over the storm’s howl.
“I need to rest,” I said through chattering teeth. Legs burning from the climb, my feet soaked and rubbed raw from my boots, I was miserable and dispirited.
“The captain said we will set up camp in the valley.” He pushed me onward.
“I don’t know if I’ll make—”
A pack horse in front of us lost its footing and skidded back toward us, and I leaped to the side, plowing into Zeke to get out of the way of a thousand pounds of horseflesh. The soldier behind me wasn’t so lucky; he and the animal tumbled over the precipice. I cringed at the sound of the impact below and bit down on my lip to stifle my cry.
A brief second of acknowledgment passed between the soldiers who had witnessed the accident but others pushed forward, unaware of the life lost.
Unable to hold back mounting emotions, I gasped, releasing the sob caught in my throat.
“Don’t look,” Zeke said. “There is nothing we can do. Keep going.” He gripped my shoulder and forced me up the path.
Numbness gripped my body and spirit as my thoughts remained with the soldier. Left to the elements and animals, would there be anything left of him to identify or bury? Would his family be added to the infinite list of those who would grieve the lack of closure? Whose loved one became merely another war casualty?
Some hours later, the rain clouds parted, a
nd sunshine blanketed the valley below. Relief rippled through the men, and we made our descent.
While others set up camp, General Sherman ordered foragers sent out.
“You two.” An officer pointed at Zeke and me. “You will accompany these men to gather food and supplies. You’re to return before nightfall.”
Dread settled on my shoulders like a great weight. Although I’d participated in various raids, the duty of plundering and looting had become as hard as the clamor and violence of the battlefield. Some soldiers showed no mercy, and the fear and weeping of the families left in our wake didn’t sit well with me. But war was war, right? Or at least that was what I told myself to calm my guilt over our actions.
“We have our orders.” Private Cane, a distinguished-looking man with fine features, had been put in charge of the foraging party.
We mounted the horses provided and rode out ahead of the supply wagon to scour the countryside. After we had ridden three or four miles, we crested a hill and saw a farm below.
A soldier let out a yelp of glee. “Well, lookie there, boys. It looks like we won’t be eating hardtack tonight. They got themselves a fattened cow.” He licked his lips in anticipation.
I glanced in the direction he pointed to the lone cow grazing in a pasture. I had to admit the thought of devouring a hunk of meat made my mouth water.
A dark-haired soldier with a gnarly scar that ran from jaw to eyelid, causing the lid to droop, grinned and said, “Maybe we will enjoy the warmth of a pretty young filly.”
“You know the general’s orders. The citizens are not to be harmed,” Zeke said firmly.
“You heard the man. We are here for food and supplies and to instill a little fear if need be.” Private Cane heeled his mount, and we followed after him.
We charged down the hill and across the field to the two-storey yellow farmhouse before reining in.
A young boy stepped onto the porch with a rifle aimed at us. “We ain’t got nothing you looking for,” he said, striving for a voice of authority much too old for his tender years. “So I suggest you ride on out of here.”