“God has given us the grace of water,” Elder Goerz told Deborah during one of her visits. “The council has voted to give all the food we can spare to those in need. Will you see to the distribution, Fräulein Whitlaw?”
So with Ansjie and Challoner, Deborah visited parched farms. Often what they brought was the only food in the house except for a little corn. Doc, a big, gruff but incredibly gentle man, delivered babies, set broken legs and arms, and did whatever else he could.
“But there’s not enough food,” he said, looking gaunt and drawn himself. “These malnourished children and frail women—men whose hurts won’t heal because they’re run down! Food’s the medicine they need, and there’s just not enough of the right kind.”
He and Ansjie, like the people at the smithy, ate abstemiously in order to share with the virtually starving.
Prairie chickens, usually so plentiful, were scarce, and even when one could be shot, it was tough and leathery. Where grass had once grown waist-high, it reached only a few stunted inches, except along the river and creeks.
In Washington the debate on admitting Kansas was fiery on both sides. Senator Wigfall of Texas railed against Massachusetts for “subverting” the Territory through the New England Emigrant Aid Society. He charged they had filled it up with “vagabondism of the North; not only the vagabondism of the North, but that of Europe also has been drained in order to get emigrants to send into that country.” And he went on to say: “The inhabitants of that so-called state are outlaws and land pirates … a set of Black Republicans, and traitors, and murderers, and thieves.”
To which Eli Thayer, founder of the Society, blamed Southerners for the Kansas-Nebraska Bill, recounted the terrorism of the Border Ruffians, and said, the Free-Staters had quite rightly resisted a fraudulent legislature.
As fall came without rain, Johnny closed down the smithy and, with Challoner, Maccabee, and Laddie, took a wagon several days’ journey west till they found buffalo, gaunt from the drought but still good. Killing a dozen, they butchered and jerked the meat, and again Deborah and the Challoners made the far-scattered rounds of the hardest-pressed settlers.
The twins, now rapid crawlers and slow walkers, cut their first teeth on that jerky. Lettie’s hair had stayed silky black, but Tom’s was turning red. Both had warm brown eyes. It was a shock to realize on their first birthday that they’d never seen rain.
People would certainly have starved that fall and winter if easterners hadn’t contributed, through a relief committee set up by Samuel Pomeroy, steamers and freight caravans of food and other supplies. Pomeroy became known as “Baked Beans” because New Englanders sent so many of them to Kansas. Illinois shared its corn.
Rain fell in November, but it wasn’t till the snows of January that people began to dare hope the drought was broken.
Meanwhile, border troubles had heated up. A newcomer, Charles Jennison, stole so many horses that people said any good horse was “out of Missouri by Jennison.” Down at Fort Scott, pro-slave Judge Williams fled to Missouri, and without even his loaded justice, pro-slave men hanged two Free-Staters, and Free-Staters returned the compliment.
While the Missouri militia was called to the southwest part of the state to defend its borders, there was a peculiar raid on the rich plantation of Morgan Walker, seven miles from Independence. Walker was warned ahead of time by a man calling himself Charlie Hart. Hart said he’d be with the raiders but was betraying them because jay-hawkers had killed his brother.
Actually, the raiders were Quakers, dedicated abolitionists, whom Hart had recruited by claiming Walker’s thirty slaves were thirsting to be set free.
When the Kansans knocked on Walker’s door on the night of December 10, he invited them in. They told him they’d come for the slaves. Walker gave them directions to the quarters and the Kansans started out, except for Hart, who stayed in the house. Walker’s hiding neighbors cut loose with shotguns. One man was killed and a wounded one was dragged off by a companion to be tracked down and killed a few days later.
The double-dealer was a young hanger-about Lawrence who had boarded for a time at the Whitney House and been nursed through a long illness by the Stones, who owned that hotel. He’d taught school briefly and followed the wagons to Pike’s Peak. In Missouri he was pro-slave, in Kansas a Free-Stater. He had blue-gray eyes and pale gold hair.
His real name was William Clarke Quantrill. The Walker raid was the beginning of his known depredations, though from then on he would prey on Kansans and Unionists.
In January 1861 the last Territorial Legislature met at Lecompton, and, as usual, adjourned to Lawrence, where they waited for news of Kansas’s admission to the Union.
Because President Buchanan and his party opposed Kansas’s entry as a free state; admission had been stalled in the Senate till the 1860 elections were over and Kansas could have no part in them. As the Senate debated admission, six senators from seceding states left Washington for their homes.
Late on January 29, Dan Anthony strode into the Eldridge House after a hard ride from Leavenworth and told the legislators that Buchanan had that day signed the bill making Kansas the thirty-fourth state.
In spite of windy cold and snow, people poured to the hotel and public places to celebrate. “Old Sacramento,” the cannon captured from pro-slavers back in Lawrence’s besieged summer of 1856, was hauled out and fired.
If Father could have been there! Deborah thought as she listened to Johnny, tears springing to her eyes. She blinked them back and picked up little Tom, waltzing him in wide circles as his moccasined feet braced sturdily on her hip and he squealed with delight, red curls dancing.
“You’re a citizen of the United States!” she told him, then plunked him down and gave Lettie a twirl. “As for you, honey, I may not see it, but the day’s coming when you can vote! Why, you might even be a senator!”
“Cesli Tatanka!” roared Johnny. “Her Indian blood should give her better sense than that!” But he got out a jug of wine and even the women got slightly tipsy that night.
After seven years and eight months, six governments and five governors, shifting the seat of government from Leavenworth to Shawnee Mission, to Lecompton, to Pawnee, back to Shawnee Mission, then to Minneola, and at last Topeka, the strife-born Territory was at last a state.
It entered a Union from which southern states were rapidly seceding. Lincoln was inaugurated in March and on April 12 Confederate troops opened fire on Fort Sumter.
Jim Lane and “Baked Beans” Pomeroy had been elected as Kansas’s senators late in March. At news of Fort Sumter, Lane hastily organized a Frontier Guard which bivouacked in the East Room of the Executive Mansion with Sharps rifles and cutlasses.
“Lane’s back here raising a Kansas Brigade,” Johnny reported one noon. “Just shod a horse for one of his recruits. If I know Lane, it’ll be a gang of thievin’ jayhawkers who’ll make Missourians wish they had seceded!”
Missouri had voted to stay in the Union, but loyalties were bitterly divided, and the raidings of Lane, Jennison, and Montgomery had done nothing to soothe those Missourians who lived near the border.
“But Lane’s a senator!” Deborah objected. “How can he be getting up an army?”
“Hin! He and Governor Robinson, who’ve always hated each other’s guts, are sort of arguin’ that point. Robinson wants to appoint a replacement. Lane says he’ll resign when he gets the brigadier general’s commission he’s been promised.” Johnny cleared his throat. His smoky eyes rested on Sara till she glanced up at him in alarm. “No doubt, though, that Kansas needs to muster every soldier she can, fast. Missouri could easily fall to the Confederates. If she does, Kansas is easy pickings.”
Almost-two-year-old Lettie was snuggled in Deborah’s arms. With a rush of fear, Deborah held her closer so that the child’s soft black hair brushed her cheek. “I thought Missouri wanted to be neutral!”
“That was what Claib Jackson, the governor, tried to bring off. Made an agreement with Gen
eral Harney in May, but Lincoln booted Harney out and General Lyon—” Johnny chuckled. “Tatanka wakan! Lyon was stationed at Fort Riley during the worst Border Ruffian days. Hates slavery, claims to be infidel, and has been known to make a man who was beating a dog kneel down and beg the dog’s pardon. Well, Lyon replaced Harney. He listened for about an hour to Jackson, General Price, and other big guns carry on about states’ rights and Missouri’s right to be neutral.”
“And then?” prodded Deborah.
“Lyon got up, spurs jinglin’, and told them that before he’d let Missouri dictate to his government on anything, he’d see all of them, and every man, woman, and child in the state, dead and buried. So they took off for the capital.”
“Jefferson City?”
Johnny nodded. “Lyon is calling for men. He’s got to keep Jackson from handing Missouri over to the South.”
“And you think you’ve got to help him!” Sara cried.
“Wastewin, I know I do.”
She sat as if frozen. Tom, clambering onto her lap, patted her cheeks. “Mama? Mama?”
For once, she put him down. After a moment’s pout, he ran to Judith’s inviting arms. The twins were usually absorbed in their own world, but when they came to the grown-ups they were used to being indulged.
As Sara reached for Johnny’s rough, powerful hand, Deborah couldn’t keep from a flash of wondering how they were with each other as husband and wife. Was Sara merely grateful to Johnny, or had he become her man? If that hadn’t been so before, it certainly happened now.
Sara pressed Johnny’s hand to her cheek and then released it “When will you leave?” she said.
Maccabee wanted to go, but Johnny persuaded him to stay. “No use in your goin’ along to do camp chores, but you could keep the smithy runnin’ and look after the women.”
“We’ll look after him,” said Judith saucily.
“Fine.” Johnny grinned. “Just so you’re all here when I get back. Maccabee, I’m thinkin’ maybe you and Rebe can work together at Friendental for a spell and then here, takin’ care of the work at both places. His striker’s not much account.”
Maccabee considered a moment. “No one could say we wasn’t real black smiths, could they?” he chuckled. “But if I get a chance to do some real fightin’, Laddie may have to take over.”
Laddie looked rebellious. At fifteen, he was as tall as Johnny, but he still had a child’s smooth face. “I want to go with you, Johnny!”
“Your turn’s liable to come,” said Johnny in the tone that meant he wasn’t open for argument. “Don’t rush it, son. One man at a time’s enough from our outfit.”
But Johnny didn’t go alone. Doc Challoner came by on his way to join up. He’d wanted to ask Deborah to visit Ansjie sometimes. “She says men are fools to blow holes in each other.” He grinned. “And she’s right. But it’s still my job to patch ’em up.”
He spent the night. The next morning he and Johnny rode east, Johnny on Sleipner’s colt, given to him by Conrad, and Doc on Sleipner.
Sara didn’t cry then, but later that morning Deborah found her hugging Johnny’s old horsehide coat and weeping as if her heart would break. Thos had been her joy, but Johnny had made her happiness.
Slaves began to come—not through the underground railroad, but like leaves before the wind. Many slave-owners in Missouri and Arkansas were afraid of losing their “property” and were selling their people south, a fate blacks dreaded. To escape this, or simply taking advantage of the confusion caused by war, hundreds of slaves flocked into Kansas, often bound for Lawrence, which was to them a sort of Jerusalem.
According to the refugees, Lawrence people had been kind, feeding and sheltering slaves who wanted to settle there, helping them find work and even running a night school. But the town was overcrowded and not recovered from the drought of the year before. So singly or in groups, these wayfarers stopped at the smithy.
Though the Fugitive Slave Act was still in effect, the war made it unlikely to be enforced in Kansas or the North. After their guests were rested and fed, Deborah, Sara, or Judith talked with them to see what they wanted to do. Deborah took those who wished to go north on to Topeka and white-haired Amos Blakeman. The problem was what to do about those who wanted to stay in Kansas.
Penniless, with no tools or supplies, all they had was the ability to work. Brooding on this, things suddenly clicked in Deborah’s head.
“Johnny and Doc aren’t the only men who went off to war,” she said, glancing around the supper table and at the three refugees who’d come that day, having trudged barefoot from central Missouri.
Sam and Jewel were husband and wife. Jace was Jewel’s younger brother. They all looked to be in their twenties, and their elation at reaching freedom had been considerably dampened by realities.
“Marse Hugh couldn’t find anyone to buy us together, so he was fixin’ to sell us separate,” Sam had explained. “So we took off for where we heard the Union army was. We thought they’d take care of us, but the cap’n, he say we still Marse Hugh’s, and Marse Hugh a Union man, so if he come huntin’ us, we have to be handed back. Cap’n say we better scoot for Kansas.”
“Glad we cain’t be sold no more,” said Jace. “But we don’ know what to do, and no one else seem to know, either!”
Now, swept up in the simplicity of her idea, Deborah clapped her hands together. “You need a place to live and work,” she said. “And there are lots of farms where the men have gone off to fight. Do you want to farm?”
“All we know.” Sam shrugged. “But how we goin’ to do that?” He shot her a suspicious look. “We don’ come here to be slaves again, and we sure cain’t own land, no more’n a mule.”
“Well, that’s bound to change,” reasoned Maccabee. “Unless the South wins the war, the slaves are goin’ to be freed. Then they’ll own land ’stead of bein’ owned by it!”
The fugitives looked skeptical. “Maccabee, I’m sure you’re right,” said Deborah. “But for right now, I’ll bet we can find places for lots of folks who want to stay.” She turned to the young blacks. “My family’s place was—burned down, but the soddy we lived in till we built a cabin is in fair shape. There’s a good well and we’ve kept planting the fields, so there’s wheat and corn this year. If you want, you could take it over for a while.”
“For sure?” asked Sam between hope and doubt.
Deborah shrugged. “With Johnny gone, it’ll be hard for us to take care of it. It’ll belong to the twins someday, but long before they need it you’ll probably have land of your own.”
“Land of our own!” echoed Jace.
Tears glittered in Jewel’s eyes and Deborah felt a lump swell in her own throat as she comprehended something of what it must mean to people who’d been chattels, possessed like horses, to think of being owners themselves, holding land and the fruit of their labor.
It must be scary, too, making decisions after a lifetime of being told what to do and when, having to supply one’s own necessities instead of having them provided, however inadequate.
Freedom was choice, and choice was scary. Deborah had a treacherous moment of wondering whether most people, providing they could consider themselves free, wouldn’t rather be relieved of choice, the struggle to support a decision.
“We saved a few tools from the place,” said Maccabee. “You want to loan Belshazzar, Deborah? There’s a plowshare I can weld a new point on. Yeah, I figger we can get you off to a purty good start. Damned lucky you come this year ’stead of last! Wouldn’t have been a crop.”
Judith nodded. “You got time to get food for winter. We’ll give you seeds for melon, squash, and pumpkins.”
“Maybe we can build a new cabin,” Jewel dreamed.
Deborah felt a pang. Other people living where her family had, sitting by the fireplace.… But the stab of pain eased into thankfulness. If her parents knew, they’d be happy. What better way was there for their home to come alive again?
“But before w
e start,” said Sam with new, quiet authority, “I notice your wheat’s high enough for harvest. We help you.”
“Obliged,” said Maccabee. “I’ve been tryin’ to get away from the forge, but everyone seems to need somethin’ fixed yesterday, or teams go lame ’cause they need shoes.”
So Deborah, Judith, and Jewel bound as Jace and Sam swung the cradles. “When my back aches,” said Judith as they paused beside a shock to wipe itching sweat from their faces and necks, “I just remember last year, when there wasn’t any wheat!”
Deborah laughed and nodded. “It was like the first years, when all we had was cornmeal.”
As she bound the ripe grain, she thought back to all her harvests: Thos reaping that first June, with Dane joining them; the second strange harvest, with Conrad and Cobie, and again Dane had helped.
Strange, considering his absences, that he’d taken part in both reapings. Last year, there’d been none, only drought. Drought in her, as well.
Thos was dead, and Conrad. In spite of the heat, a chill ran down her spine as she bent to her work, hoping that no one’s life would be exacted for this crop. Roused memories, usually forced beneath her consciousness because of their pain, took possession, compelled to think of Dane as a living man, not an impossible, rejected dream.
She had heard from him twice since that letter saying he was taking Rolf to England. Rolf! Another sealed poison burst loose. Her body felt again that tearing, that assault, and she clenched her hands, staring unseeingly at the reaped grain before her. He still owed for Conrad’s death. He would pay, if he came back!
And Dane?
His letters had said that he loved her but that Sir Harry was enfeebled from a stroke and clung to him like a child. Dane felt he couldn’t leave him.
If Deborah would come to England, though, Dane would joyfully arrange her passage and Sir Harry would bless their marriage. He didn’t mention Rolf.
Deborah hadn’t answered. She loved Dane in a despairing, muted way, but there could be nothing between them till the war ended and Rolf was dead.
Daughter of the Sword Page 38