by Naomi Finley
Bowden chuckled, and clapped a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “You collect that bottle and gather the others. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Yes, Masa,” he said before darting off.
Hope buoyed within me, and the future didn’t appear so dim as we ascended the steps and wandered into the house to celebrate the men’s return.
Summer of 1867
SOME SOUTHERNERS ADHERED NOSTALGICALLY TO the Old South, while others moved forward with the Reconstruction. From the ashes and destruction of war, our nation sprang, and I held to the belief that we possessed the faculties to forge a better country. In a world of my design, hate wouldn’t drive politicians’, men’s, and women’s actions, nor would we label another because we lacked the intellect or willingness to accept and comprehend each other. As a whole, humankind had to evolve. The importance of restoring our homeland with devotion and unity while forging a great country for the future’s children rested on men’s and women’s shoulders.
As Bowden and I strolled the grounds, I looked over the property. The slave quarters had been demolished, and to the north sat our new home. We had signed the deeds giving Pete and Tillie, and Mammy and Big John each a section of land and helped them build homesteads. The same offer was extended to Jimmy, and although he claimed his right to the ground he had forgone building a homestead and resided in a small cabin constructed next to Jones’s. Jones had agreed to stay on as foreman. Men and women, whites and blacks, worked our land for equal wages, a decision that stirred riots from time to time. Parker had accepted his plot of ground, but had left with Kimie to pursue a life in the north.
I reflected on the suffering of the oppressed at my family’s hands. History would document my ancestors and Bowden and I as slave titleholders, and the chronicles would be accurate. Despite my family’s transgressions, my love for the estate remained. It was my home, and the place I’d raise my children and tell them of the lives that had passed through Livingston. I would educate my children so they didn’t replicate our country’s sordid past, and to be better than their father and I had been. To conduct their lives without fear of diversity, so often converted to deep-seated hate and ingrained into our society. Although no one held all the solutions, our Creator had given the human race the ability to open our hearts and minds to learn from each other.
I dragged my thoughts from the past and the future and stopped walking. “Mary Grace writes from England. She says she misses everyone, but she’s happy. The children are thriving.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. So much has changed.” He too halted and turned to me. “There is something I’ve meant to mention to you.”
“Oh, what is that?” The concerned look in his eyes gave me pause. “Go on, what is troubling you?”
“You’ve read whisperings of the Ku Klux Klan?”
I resumed walking. “Hasn’t everyone? What about them?”
“I was approached by some Confederate veterans—Theodore Carlton, amongst others—in Charleston the other day. Carlton led them in trying to recruit me.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Afraid so.”
“What did you say?”
“That I do not wish to relive another war, and I will do my part to see that the South doesn’t undergo such devastation again. Also that I believe we must all move toward progress, and maybe devoting our ambitions to the unity of all Americans.”
I understood the sense of freedom that had given him as I, too, had felt liberated when I’d voiced a similar belief to the women at a social gathering soon after the war. Beside herself with outrage, Lucille had declared I’d dishonored the South and the Confederates who had lost their lives in the war. She had claimed she’d never speak to me again. If I’d known that was all it would’ve taken to rid myself of the likes of her, perhaps I’d have done so sooner.
“How did they receive your opinion?” I asked.
“Their scowls and whisperings to one another revealed their displeasure. To my surprise, Sterling and another man aligned with me.” He gave me a sideways glance, and hope gleamed in his eyes. “We may be few, those that yearn for a unified America, but I believe others will stand with us. After today we will show our desire for progress.” He gestured at the former main house. “The new school will no longer be a secret.”
We had Ruby to thank for securing the teachers who would educate the children. Former slaves, the husband-and-wife team had met and united over their passion for educating the blacks. Despite the animosity directed toward the blacks in the South, they’d agreed to move to Livingston and reside at the small boarding house we had built next to the main house. Tillie had jumped at the opportunity to assist the teachers and planned to continue her studies under their tutelage.
As we rounded the main house, I looked to the sign staked by the front stairs that read: Livingston School for Blacks, in honor of Gray and all those once enslaved here.
“I know my desire to open a school was a risk, but it is one I was willing to take,” I said.
“This will bring more hardships to our family.”
“I want our daughter to grow up knowing her family may have owned slaves, but her grandparents and parents before her sought to right the wrongs of her predecessors.” I looked to where Olivia sauntered along beside Jimmy as he led a horse from the stables.
“Good day.” He grinned as he walked past us on the way to the pasture. “Miss Olive and me ’bout done. I take her home when we finished.”
“Jimmy said I could come to the stables tomorrow and help him with the foal.” She cast a worshiping smile up at him, and I recalled with fondness how I’d chased along beside him as a young girl.
I saw merriment in Jimmy’s eyes as they proceeded toward the pasture.
Bowden stood admiring them. “Never seems to mind her shadowing him.”
“He informed me when I warned her about pestering him one day that she ‘wasn’t causing no harm.’ Grinned at me and said, ‘She ain’t as chatty as her mama was.’ One can only assume he welcomes her presence more than he did mine.”
“Do I discern dismay?” he said with amusement.
I feigned a pout. “Perhaps a little.”
He laughed.
“With his desire to stay here, I’m hoping he’ll teach our children the invaluable lessons he taught me.”
Bowden placed a hand on my swollen stomach. “I concur, and I hope he schools our son on all there is to know about horses.”
I placed my hand over his and looked at my stomach. “You’re so sure this babe is a boy. But what if it is not?”
He gathered me into his arms. “It will be,” he said with a grin before lowering his lips to meet mine.
Coming 2022
Naomi is a bestselling and award-winning author living in Northern Alberta. She loves to travel and her suitcase is always on standby awaiting her next adventure. Naomi’s affinity for the Deep South and its history was cultivated during her childhood living in a Tennessee plantation house with six sisters. Her fascination with history and the resiliency of the human spirit to overcome obstacles are major inspirations for her writing and she is passionately devoted to creativity. In addition to writing fiction, her interests include interior design, cooking new recipes, and hosting dinner parties. Naomi is married to her high school sweetheart and she has two teenage children and a dog named Egypt.
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