by Ginny Dye
“Robert!” Carrie cried, running into the arms he held wide.
“Hello, my love,” Robert murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Then his lips lowered to cover hers.
Time stood still for Carrie as her body melted into his arms. She pressed against him, all the longing she had felt for six long months finally expressed. Thoughts of anything else flew from her mind as she kissed him eagerly.
She finally pulled back, laughing. Then she reached up to touch his cheek. “I just always have to convince myself you’re real,” she said joyfully.
Robert chuckled, then picked her up, and swung her in big circles. When he finally put her down, she was deposited on his lap in the porch swing. He held her gently, staring into her face. “I missed you.” Then he peered closer. “You look tired.”
“I’m not anymore!” Carrie smiled. “There is so much to talk about. I want to know all about your trip. I want to tell you what has happened here.”
Robert put a finger to her lips. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk.” He pulled her closer. “I have to admit I had something else in mind for tonight. I’ve been waiting out on this freezing porch for two hours.”
Carrie flushed then met his burning gaze. “I can think of somewhere you might be warmer,” she said coyly.
Robert grinned. “That’s more like it, Mrs. Borden.”
Carrie suddenly clapped her hand to her mouth. “Janie,” she whispered. “We’re sharing a room again.”
“Not as of a few hours ago,” Robert said smugly. “I have it all taken care of, my love. I even have food up there. I know my wife.”
Carrie held out her hand. “Lead the way, Mr. Borden.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rose was just leaving school when Annie came racing up the road, her eyes bright with excitement. She knelt down to the little girl’s level. “Is something wrong?” Rose asked anxiously. Things seemed to have calmed down in the contraband camp with the arrival of cold weather, but there were still occasional flare-ups of temper.
Trying to catch her breath, Annie shook her head. “Miss June sent me over. Someone came and said you had something on the ship that just came into the harbor.” Her voice was as excited as her eyes. “You reckon it’s some new clothes? Remember, you said I could have a new dress when more came.”
“I remember,” Rose laughed, relieved to know the reason for her hurry. Thoughts of John, injured or sick, had frightened her. She patted Annie’s head. “I’ll let you know what was on the ship when you get to school tomorrow. Now get on home. Your mama will be worried sick about you.”
Annie, nodded, grinned, and dashed away, her black pigtails bobbing behind her. Rose watched her for a moment, then turned, and walked back into the school. She found Marianne Lockins still seated at the desk. “There is a new shipment that has arrived. I’m going down to the waterfront to get it.”
Marianne smiled her pleasure. “Do you think it’s from your Aunt Abby?”
“It must be,” Rose replied, just as eager to receive the letter she knew would be with the barrels as she was to get the clothes. “She told me there would be some on the way soon. That was over a month ago.”
“That woman is amazing,” Marianne said. “She has singlehandedly sent more clothes down here than all of the organizations who help us combined.”
“She is quite a woman,” Rose agreed. “When there is something to be done, it’s better to just get out of her way. She moves too fast for most people to keep up with. Her latest letter said there were contributions being sent from six other states.”
“Six other states!”
Rose nodded. “Aunt Abby is collecting signatures for the petition to abolish slavery completely. Every time she makes a contact she tells them about the camp. She said clothes and supplies have been piling in from everywhere.”
“Do you want some men to help you?”
“No. General Butler promised the assistance of his men when the barrels got here. I’ll have them delivered to the school. We can use it as a headquarters to distribute everything.”
Marianne nodded briskly and turned back to her work.
Rose hugged her coat around her as she strode briskly down the road. Virginia had enjoyed a wonderful Indian summer that had stretched far into the fall, but it had finally retreated to allow winter in. The sky was clear and bright, the air cold. If it hadn’t been for the increased threat of disease throughout the camp, Rose would have welcomed it. The thick humidity of the coastal summers always drained her.
In spite of the beauty of the day, Rose frowned. How many people would die this winter? How many children would be claimed by the ravaging diseases that always swept through the camp when cold weather descended? Rose knew she should be grateful. She had heard reports of the conditions of other contraband camps. She knew the numbers of runaway slaves all over the South had swelled way beyond anything the government was prepared to handle. Everywhere, people were starving and dying. Yet still they came.
Rose gazed out to sea as she walked, bewitched as always, by the sparkling water stretching out as far as she could see. Flocks of gulls dove and twisted over her head as they called to each other loudly. Delighting in their freedom, Rose mused. Just like my people. She prayed the war would end soon so that the job of rebuilding the country could begin. She knew the mighty power of the North was being poured into the war effort, into crushing the South into submission. Not until that had been accomplished would they turn their attention to the tens of thousands of blacks suddenly homeless and penniless. It was up to people like her and Marianne and Aunt Abby to stand in the gap until better times came.
Rose arrived at the wharf and presented herself to the soldier checking cargo off the large ship bobbing among the swells. “I believe there is a shipment for the contraband camp.”
“That there is,” the soldier said pleasantly. “I’ve got some fellows lined up to haul it over for you. Are you Rose Samuels?”
“I am.”
“Then this letter is for you.” He hesitated then smiled. “I think this one is, too.”
“Two letters?” Rose was confused. The handwriting on the first was clearly Aunt Abby’s. The second letter revealed one she didn’t recognize. Suddenly her heart began to pound with fear. Something must have happened to Moses. This must be notification from the government. She stared at the white envelope in horror. She was afraid to open it. Afraid to have all of her hopes and dreams destroyed.
The soldier was watching her closely. “Aren’t you going to read them?”
“I’ll wait,” Rose said, straightening her shoulders. “I want to make sure all the barrels are sent over.”
“Oh, all the barrels are already off the ship,” the soldier assured her. “I checked them myself. Why don’t you go ahead and read your letters?”
Rose looked at him closely sure she saw a hint of laughter in his eyes. What was going on? She glanced at the unfamiliar handwriting again. Her stomach tightened in rebellion. She shook her head. “I’ll open it when I get home.”
“Mrs. Samuels, I really think you should open it now,” the soldier persisted.
“Why?” Rose demanded, fear making her irritable.
The soldier stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “I told him it wouldn’t work,” he muttered.
“Told whom what wouldn’t work?” Rose was hopelessly confused. Over the soldier’s shoulder, she could see a large mountain of barrels being loaded into several waiting wagons. Every man was black - and dressed in Union blue.
The soldier just shook his head again and turned toward the building behind him. “You better come on out. I told you she wasn’t going to fall for it.”
Rose stared at the building, her indignation growing. Who was playing this strange game with her? Her heart skipped a beat. Was this part of Manning’s plan to get even? She stiffened and sucked in her breath.
A towering form stepped from the building. “She’s a hard one to pull something over on,�
�� he chuckled. “I’ve known that a long time.”
Rose stood, rooted by her shock. Finally she made her voice work. “Moses,” she whispered, staring in disbelief.
Moses laughed loudly and sprang forward, sweeping her up into his arms. “Rose!”
Moments later they were surrounded by a swarm of men. Moses finally stopped spinning her around and set her down gently. “Rose,” he said proudly, “I’d like you to meet my men.”
Rose stared at the smiling faces in astonishment then glanced toward the wagon. “You were just loading the wagon,” she said faintly.
“Yes, ma’am,” one of them grinned. “We told Moses we didn’t want to miss out on the excitement. He’s done been plannin’ this surprise all the way down here.”
“And I messed it up!” Rose cried. “I’m sorry.” Then she looked up at Moses with her secure in the circle of his arm. “How did you know I would be down here?”
“I didn’t,” Moses replied. “Not till I realized this ship was stuffed with supplies from Aunt Abby. Then I knew I could lure you down.” He shook his head. “It almost worked,” he said ruefully. Then he looked at his men. “Excuse me,” he said gruffly.
Seconds later Rose was swept up into his arms and kissed soundly. In spite of her embarrassment, she kissed him back fervently, overjoyed to have him there. His men’s cheers rang in the background.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked after he had put her down and she had regained her breath.
“My men and I have some work to do,” he said, then grabbed her arm. “I’ll tell you all about it.” He turned to his men. “Finish taking the supplies over. Then get settled in. We leave in two days.”
“You have to leave so soon,” Rose said, disappointed.
“Yes, but I’m not going far. I should be back here by Christmas. This year I get to spend it with my family.” Moses voice was suddenly husky.
Rose smiled up at him. “There is someone waiting to meet you,” she said softly. “He’s becoming quite a big boy.”
“If he’s like his daddy, that boy will be a tree,” one of the men chuckled.
Moses grinned. “See you later,” he called, swinging Rose up into his arms and striding down the wharf. His men cheered and whistled.
Rose stared up at him. “What are you doing? I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“Probably are,” Moses agreed easily. “I just want to keep you close to my heart.”
Rose was quiet after that with her enjoying the feel of Moses strong arms and pounding heart.
It was past midnight before Moses stood up again. He gazed down at his sleeping son snuggled into his arms. “My son,” he said in awe. “He’s beautiful.”
“As handsome as his daddy,” Rose said softly. Her weariness was forgotten in the joy of seeing John and Moses together. She blinked back tears as she watched the tender way Moses held and looked at his son. She had waited so long for this moment.
June had been thrilled to see Moses. The three of them had talked for hours while little John and Simon had played on the floor in front of the fire. When John had gotten sleepy, Moses had scooped him up in his arms. John had slept contentedly for the last several hours.
“You want to put him to bed?” Moses whispered.
“I think that’s your job tonight,” Rose whispered back.
Moses smiled and carried John over to the small mattress on the floor where he laid him down carefully.
“He’s not going to break,” Rose laughed quietly.
Moses stared down at him with the same awestruck expression he had been wearing all night. “He’s kinda big, isn’t he?”
“He’s bigger than the other boys his age,” Rose agreed. “He’s almost as big as some of the two year olds.” She shook her head. “He gets heavier every day. He’d better start walking early, or soon I won’t be able to carry him.”
Moses looked up. “Aunt Abby sent a stroller.”
“A what?” Rose asked in disbelief.
“She told me she thought he would be big, so she sent a stroller.”
“I can’t use it,” Rose said firmly. “I would feel bad having something the other women couldn’t have.”
Moses nodded casually. “That’s what I told her,” he said, looking at her lovingly. “She said she would send it anyway.”
Turning, he swept her up into his arms. “So now that everyone’s asleep…,” he said huskily.
Rose smiled up into his eyes and lifted her arms. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Moses left Fort Monroe early in the morning, two days later. He hated to leave Rose and John, but at least he knew he would be back within three weeks. He could bear it that long.
“You be knowin’ this land round here pretty good?” Pompey asked, riding up next to him.
“Pretty good,” Moses agreed easily. He could still hardly believe he had been given command of twenty men on horseback and instructed to raid at will through the Confederate countryside.
He led his men a few miles from the fort then called them together. He gazed at them proudly. They were veterans of several battles now. Gettysburg had strengthened and sharpened them. He would trust his life with any of them. “I haven’t told you all the reason we’re here,” he began.
“Me and the men figured you be holdin’ something back,” Pompey replied knowingly. “We goin’ after men, ain’t we?”
“How’d you know that?” Moses asked, astonished.
“We hear thin’s,” Pompey said smugly. “We done heard ‘bout them raidin’ parties sent out to get more of us coloreds to fight. Them slaves took one look at some of them white men and hid. I’m afraid they done heard some bad thin’s bout how the Union treats coloreds.”
“Some of it is true,” Moses said grimly.
“Yeah,” Pompey agreed. “Sometimes it just like bein’ a slave. Only one thin’ be different.” He paused then grinned. “When this all over, we be free for good. Then we gonna make thin’s change in this country.”
“We just got to keep fightin’,” Mort chimed in. “I reckon we can get some men around here to join up with us.”
Moses nodded. “I told Captain Jones we would. I told him he could count on you men.” He watched as they straightened with looks of pride on their faces. He had grown to love these men fiercely. He longed for the day when they could all stand together with white men - equally. The day was still far off, but it was getting closer. At least legally. He knew it would be much longer before attitudes of people’s hearts changed.
Pompey seemed to be reading his mind. “You reckon white folks will ever think we not be less than them?”
“I hope so,” Moses replied. “They’ve got to change a lot of their thinking. It’s going to take more than a sheet of paper saying we’re free for white folks to see us the same as them. This war is just the beginning for us. Once we win our freedom, then the real battle will begin. And I’m afraid it will last a lot longer than this war.”
“Yep,” Pompey agreed. “But I reckon thin’s will get better.”
“They’d better,” Moses replied as he gathered up his reins. “If not, we’re all wasting our time.”
Moses led his men down a dirt road headed east on the finger of land that went inland from Fort Monroe. It was the same road he and June had followed when he had helped her escape. He much preferred the circumstances now. The air was cold, but the air was dry and clear. There were no bugs to harass his men, and there was a plentiful supply of wood to stay warm on the coldest nights. Moses reveled in the feeling of freedom. For the first time, there were no white officers around to throw subtle digs and sarcasms. It was just Moses and his men. He threw back his head and laughed.
His men entered into the spirit quickly. Songs poured forth as they rode underneath the canopy of live oaks spreading out over the trail. Towering pine trees lent their own splashes of green among the leafless oaks and maples.
“Hey, Moses,” Mort called out. “You done heard the n
ew song them white soldiers wrote? That one they call ‘Sambo’s Right to Be Kilt’?”
Moses shook his head. “Sing it for me,” he called back.
Mort willingly broke into song with several of the men joining him. Their voices echoed through the trees.
The men who object to Sambo
Should take his place an’ fight
And it’s better to have a naygur’s hew
Then a liver that’s wake and white.
Though Sambo’s black as the ace of spades,
His finger a trigger can pull,
And his eye runs straight on the barrel-sights
From under his thatch of wool!
So hear me all, boys, darlings, --
Don’t think I tippin’ you chaff, --
The right to be kilt I’ll divide wid him,
And give him the largest half!
“What you think of that song?” Mort called when the voices dropped away.
“I think that the black man would have fought for his freedom long ago if given the chance,” Moses called, swallowing his anger. He knew many white men were all for the black man fighting. What their motivation was - whether he thought the black man was capable or simply a good substitute for white men - didn’t really matter. The white people who disagreed were quickly being shown how wrong they were. The black soldiers recruited by the army were fighting hard and fighting well. Their critics were being silenced.
The first plantation house Moses and his men approached was obviously empty. Shutters banged against the peeling paint, and the front door swung open freely. Moses motioned for silence and edged forward cautiously. Now was not the time to get careless. The blue of their uniforms would be a welcome target for any loyal Rebel in the area. Add the blue to the color of their skin, and Moses knew that any of his men would be hung on the spot. The singing was over. They were far enough away from the fort to be well entrenched in Confederate territory.
Moses lifted his pistol from his waistband and eased up onto the porch. He heard nothing. He motioned to his men to join him. Moments later they were standing in the foyer of the forlorn house and looking around at the deserted opulence. It was obvious no one had lived in the home for a long time. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Cobwebs filled corners and lampshades.