by Ginny Dye
Thomas nodded. “This Christmas. They have decided to marry on the plantation.”
Matthew’s grin spread. “The plantation is always spectacular at Christmas. It will be even more so this year.”
Thomas laughed. “I believe you’re right. I hear that plans are already being made out there.”
“Has Rose met Marietta yet?”
Abby shook her head. “Can you believe they haven’t? When Rose last came to Richmond, Marietta had been called away from the city. That is about to be rectified, however.”
“They’re coming to the plantation with us?” Matthew felt the knots of pain unloosen a little more. “We’re all going to be together?”
Abby nodded and pulled him toward the carriage. “We are!” Her eyes were shining with delight. “Let’s get you and your luggage home so Spencer and Howard can return for the girls. It will be a tight squeeze, but I believe they can all fit in.”
Matthew shook hands with both Spencer and Howard when they arrived at the carriage. There was no evidence of the attack on Spencer’s face, but his eyes held a shadow that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen him. Matthew understood all too well. Then he appraised Howard, liking the tall, lean man’s steady brown eyes. Matthew knew Howard had served as a Union soldier, relocating to Richmond after the war to be closer to his wife’s family. He wondered if the guard really understood what he was up against. He would talk to him later. The man was protecting people very precious to him.
Matthew listened as Abby chattered on the way to the house, covertly watching Howard. He was relieved when he realized the guard was constantly scanning the road, both in front and behind them. Howard responded to Spencer’s quiet comments, but he never relaxed his vigilance.
Abby walked with Matthew into the house while Thomas stayed behind to get his luggage. “Are you satisfied with Howard?” she asked quietly.
“He seems competent,” Matthew replied, his throat tightening when he walked into the house.
Abby read his face. “You weren’t certain you would see this again.”
Matthew took a deep breath, trying to keep his mind from going back to those terrifying hours in the Institute. In spite of his best efforts, Ralph’s blank eyes staring up at him from the stairwell covered with blood would not be held back. He shook his head, biting back a groan.
Abby pulled him into the parlor and pushed him down into a seat. “My dear boy,” she murmured.
Matthew managed a thin smile. Hearing Abby say my dear boy always had a soothing effect on him. He suspected, no matter how old he got, that it always would. He was aware when Thomas walked into the parlor, and then he watched as the carriage rattled off before he found his voice. “I’m done,” he announced.
Thomas settled down in the chair across from him. “Done with being a reporter?”
Matthew nodded. “I thought covering the war was terrible, but what is going on in our country now is worse.” He paused, trying to articulate what he had been thinking during his long train ride across the country. He had watched as mile after mile of the South rolled beneath the wheels, the constant humidity enfolding him in a smothering blanket. The only relief had been a thunderstorm in Alabama. It had relieved the cloying humidity, but it had done nothing to relieve his thoughts. “I had anticipated that rebuilding our country would be difficult, and I also expected racial tensions to be a reality, but…” He couldn’t control his shudder.
“Take your time,” Abby said softly, laying her hand over his.
Matthew stared at her. Talking about it was like opening the floodgates to his memories. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he knew from experience that he had to. Holding it in would only destroy him from the inside. “I’ve never seen hatred like this. Soldiers fought on both sides of the war because their commanders told them to fight. They didn’t see real people on the other side of the battlefield most of the time. They fought because that is what soldiers do.” He turned to gaze out the window for a moment and then swung back. “Memphis and New Orleans were different. There was a certain mob mentality, but there was also a cold, calculating hatred that I had never experienced before. I was…I was ashamed to be an American,” he said slowly.
Thomas and Abby sat quietly. He knew they were giving him time to get it out.
“President Johnson’s policies have set something into motion that I don’t think can be stopped. When the war ended I believe the South was ready for change to be enforced. They expected it.” He shook his head heavily. “After a year of Johnson’s policies and virtually no consequences from the war, they have decided they will run the South the way they have always run it. Except now it is worse…And they believe they have the president’s support. They know they can never go back to slavery, so now they are determined to either run the blacks off, kill them, or terrify them so they will never present a threat.”
“You don’t believe Congress can stop it?” Thomas asked in a tight voice.
Matthew shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “They will make laws, but the last year has released a fury and hatred so intense, I don’t believe laws can shove it back into its box.”
“You’ve lost hope,” Abby murmured, her eyes dark with understanding and sympathy.
Matthew surprised himself when he shook his head again. “No, I haven’t.” Relief filled him when he realized he meant it. He pressed Abby’s hand. “I met another woman named Abby when I was in New Orleans.”
“Colonel Anderson’s sister-in-law who took care of you.”
A smile played on Matthew’s lips as he thought about her. “Yes. She reminded me of you. She asked me a question the night of the riot. If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which one would you choose?”
Abby absorbed the question for several moments before she responded. “How did you answer her?”
“She didn’t expect an answer, but I realized what she was doing. She was making me acknowledge that life, and our country, was going to go on whether I wanted it to or not. I could live my life in despair, or I could live it with hope.” He paused, wanting to make sure he meant his next words. “I chose hope,” he said firmly.
Abby pressed his hand, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I’m so glad.”
Matthew looked out the window again. “I am going to live life with hope, but I am done immersing myself into the worst this country has to offer. I’ve spent the last six years following battles, senseless deaths, and riots.” He took a long breath, once again feeling the freedom his realization had brought him. “There is more to life than that. There is more to America than that. I tried to walk away from reporting last year. The paper convinced me not to quit because they made me believe I could make a difference, and I thought writing a book about the South could heal the things that happened during the war.”
“But it hasn’t,” Thomas observed thoughtfully.
“No, it’s made it worse.” Matthew shook his head to clear it of memories lurking close to the surface.
“So what are you going to do?” Thomas asked.
Matthew hadn’t gotten that far in his thinking. “I have absolutely no idea. When Janie sent me a letter about everyone coming to the plantation, I decided to come here. That’s the biggest decision I’ve been able to make so far.”
Abby looked at him appraisingly. “So you’ve been communicating with Janie?”
Matthew smiled, knowing what she was thinking. “I have.”
“So Carrie was right.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Carrie?”
“She wrote me after the Fourth of July that she suspected something was happening between you and Janie. She was quite happy.”
Matthew sat quietly, relieved when the sound of Carrie’s name did nothing to his heart. He met Abby’s eyes squarely. She had been the first to realize the extent of his feelings for Carrie. He also knew she had agonized over the hurt caused by the unrequited love. “She’s right,” he said firmly. “If
I hadn’t known Janie was coming here, I would have gone to Philadelphia first.”
Abby smiled brilliantly. “Then I’m so glad she’s coming.” She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “They should be arriving soon.”
Matthew grinned. “In twenty minutes if it is on time.”
Thomas smiled but went back to the earlier topic. “What if you have simply been writing about the wrong things?”
Matthew frowned as he turned his thoughts away from Janie’s blue eyes and looked back at Thomas. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk about his future, but perhaps it was best to think about it before he was distracted by Janie. “The wrong things?”
“You have focused on battles, senseless killings, and riots,” Thomas said.
Matthew frowned more deeply. “I was covering the news.”
“So what if you made your own news?” Thomas pressed.
“Made my own news?” Matthew echoed blankly. He didn’t really want to be having this conversation but something told him it was important. “What do you mean?”
“Do you really believe every person in the South is full of rage and hatred?”
Matthew shook his head quickly. “Of course not.”
“Who is talking about them?” Thomas asked. “Who is telling their stories?”
Matthew considered his words but remained silent, mulling over the words in his head. He sensed the questions were worthy of serious consideration.
Abby, still holding his hand, squeezed it tightly. “What a marvelous idea, Thomas!”
Matthew remained silent, not at all sure anything was a marvelous idea right now.
“Don’t you see, Matthew?” Abby asked. “There are so many people that don’t want the South, or our country, to become what you have experienced in the last few months. They are tired of the hatred and violence. Just like you, they are trying to figure out how to hold on to hope, but all they read about in the papers are the terrible things that cause the despair you have been feeling.”
Matthew was still silent, trying to absorb what they were suggesting, but he could feel the glimmerings of something waking in his heart.
“The book you were commissioned to write is about the South, right?” Thomas asked.
Matthew nodded, his mind whirling.
“Did they tell you it has to be about all the terrible things of the South?”
“No,” Matthew admitted, feeling a small spark ignite in his mind.
“So, what if you wrote about the fire that burned down the school on the plantation, but instead of focusing on the destruction, you were to focus on the courage and determination that had it rebuilt so quickly. What if you were to tell the story of children that won’t let fear keep them from learning?”
Abby nodded vigorously. “And tell about Jeremy’s attack, but focus on the good that has come from it. The factory employees are more united than ever. We have even had other factory owners approach us about how they can emulate what we are doing because they see our success. Isn’t that worthy of a story?”
Matthew listened intently, the spark fanning to a flame as they talked.
“There are stories of people all over the South who are trying to rebuild their lives with an acceptance of the blacks and with the understanding that they lost the war. There are stories of blacks who are forging ahead to create something of their lives,” Abby said excitedly.
Matthew’s eyes opened wide as an epiphany filled him. “I have been feeling a responsibility to tell the stories of what has been happening. I thought if I told the stories, I could help create change. Believing that has created a tremendous burden.” He sighed. “New Orleans was more than I could bear. The responsibility was suddenly more than I could carry.” He stood and strode over to the window, sighing as a strong breeze blew in and cooled him. He smiled as he watched the waxy leaves of the towering magnolia tree shiver in the wind. “It’s all in how I see it…” he murmured, as sudden understanding blazed through him.
Matthew swung around with the beginning of a smile on his lips. “Writing about what I experience does not have to be a weighty responsibility. It’s all about seeing the possibility in what I am doing. The possibility that my words can create hope instead of simply spread despair.”
Abby jumped up and joined him by the window. “You’re right! Have you been seeing change in our country?” she asked urgently.
Matthew frowned, searching his mind. He knew what the answer was supposed to be, but perhaps he wasn’t ready to see it.
“Maybe even glimmers of change?” Abby asked.
Matthew nodded. He could acknowledge glimmers. “Yes,” he admitted. The single yes was all that was needed…Suddenly his mind was full of the stories he could write.
Thomas read his expression. “The kind of stories you are thinking about could ignite hope in people, instead of inflaming their fears. They could make people be willing to stand up and say they don’t want to live in a country full of hatred. They could compel our Congress to make decisions that will actually change things.”
“Glimmers of change…” Matthew murmured. He turned back to stare out over the city. “Doesn’t that sound like the perfect title for my new book?”
“It does!” Abby exclaimed. Then she paused. “What about the one you are already writing?”
Matthew shrugged. “My publishers haven’t set any solid parameters on my writing, but I know they have certain expectations. They won’t feel it’s a good book unless it covers the worst of who we are. Unfortunately, they believe sensationalism sells.” His brow creased for an instant and then cleared. “I’ve had many publishers approach me about a book. I’m going to write a proposal for the book I have in mind. I’ll find a publisher,” he vowed, confidence blooming in him. “It’s time to do things differently.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Matthew gazed around the porch as he sipped his lemonade, and then his eyes shifted to the pasture. He never got tired of watching the new foals frolic through the lush grass. Bays mixed with chestnuts and sorrels. He especially loved the dapple gray filly that pranced around the pasture as if she owned it. The pasture for the horses had more than doubled since he had last been here. Robert and Clint were indeed turning Cromwell Plantation into a thriving horse farm.
He watched with a lazy smile as Elizabeth, Alice, and Florence wandered through the field, Amber leading them confidently. Their peals of laughter and squeals of delight as the foals played around them rang through the air. Clint, his tall muscular frame outlined by the sun, kept watch over them from the door of the barn.
Amber still walked with a slight limp, but even Carrie had been impressed with how quickly her leg had healed. She had already begun riding again, but she and Felicia were never out of someone’s sight. He knew Felicia was in the barn saddling up horses for them.
Carrie and Robert, thrilled to be together again, had disappeared on Granite and Eclipse almost as soon as she had arrived a few hours earlier. He could still hear her shouts of joy as they had raced off down the road toward the river.
Thomas and Moses had ridden out into the fields to inspect the tobacco crop.
Abby had enlisted Annie and Polly to help her and Janie carry in the groceries she had delivered from the city. Matthew could tell by the delicious aromas already wafting through the windows that the evening meal was going to be wonderful.
Rose had just disappeared inside to put John and Hope down for their afternoon naps. The last few hours had been full of laughter, questions, and stories as she had gotten to know Marietta. The two women had bonded immediately.
Jeremy and Marietta had just walked down the road to discover the hidden lake Carrie had told them about, their hands clasped tightly.
Matthew drew a long sigh, letting the peace of the plantation wash over him. He looked up as Janie walked out onto the porch. “There you are,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on her face. It had been torture to be so close to her and not have time to be alone. Their train
had arrived the afternoon before, but the house had been full to the brim with laughter and activity. They had risen with the sun and come out to the plantation. He had done little but watch her as the wagons had made their way down the dusty roads.
Janie smiled, settled down in the chair next to his, and accepted the glass of lemonade he held out to her. “Thank you.” She sighed as she sipped the drink, breaking into a laugh when one of the colts butted Amber playfully with his head and then pranced away.
Matthew could see her relaxing.
“It’s so beautiful,” Janie murmured. “I think I’ll always feel this plantation is my true home.”
Matthew nodded, not able to take his eyes off her. He couldn’t agree more. “Have you seen all of it?” he asked.
Janie turned to look at him, her eyes puzzled. She blushed when she felt the intensity of his gaze, but she didn’t look away. “All of it?”
“I know about a special place down by the river,” Matthew revealed.
“Carrie’s special place?”
“No,” Matthew responded. “My special place.”
Janie cocked her head speculatively. “Then, no, I might not have seen that particular part of the plantation.”
“Hmm…It seems a shame to have missed something.”
Janie’s lips twitched. “It would be a shame,” she agreed.
“I think we should remedy that,” Matthew said, his heart beginning to pound as her soft blue eyes gazed at him. He could only hope he wasn’t reading more than he should into what he saw there. He stood. “We have time before dinner.”
Matthew cleared debris from a large boulder on the edge of the river, thankful for the shade created by the arching branches of an oak tree, and for a breeze strong enough to keep any mosquitoes and gnats at bay.
“This is beautiful,” Janie murmured as she watched the calm surface of the river reflect the puffy clouds gliding slowly by. After eight months confined by the crowded, noisy streets of Philadelphia, she was thrilled to be back on the plantation, but she couldn’t use that as the excuse for why her heart was beating so quickly.