Walking Into The Unknown

by Ginny Dye

  “Tell him about your feet,” Grace prompted gently.

  Willard took a deep breath. “My feet weren’t real good by the end of the war,” he admitted, “but there is more to tell you about the prison.” He brought his gaze back to Harold. “I’d only been there a month or so when smallpox broke out. There weren’t no hospital buildings, so everyone had to stay together.”

  Harold sucked in his breath, knowing without being told that the death rate must have been astronomical.

  “The smallpox spread like a fire,” Willard said. “They made a pitiful attempt to give people a place to be sick, but there weren’t enough room, and they made the people who were sick take care of each other. No one else would come close.” His eyes shuttered. “I never seen so many people die so fast before it finally petered out.” He shook his head heavily. “I reckon I was lucky because I didn’t get the smallpox, though there were times when I thought the lucky ones were those being carried out on a stretcher to be thrown into a mass grave.”

  Willard, obviously trying to regain control of his emotions, reached for another biscuit. After he had chewed for a few moments, he met Harold’s eyes again. “I had a chance to go free,” he announced.

  Harold eyed him. “And you didn’t take it?”

  “Thousands of us refused to,” Willard said proudly. “They wanted us to renounce the South and join the Union Navy. Guess they figured we couldn’t escape if we were on a boat, and that we would probably fight if it was the only way to save our life. The offer to join was made in March after they quit burying people from smallpox.”

  Harold knew nothing about this. “I had no idea,” he murmured.

  “A few fellows took them up on it, but most of us refused. They hadn’t really given me any reason to think I should turn my back on the South,” Willard said harshly. “They came back in September and made the same offer, only now we were going to be sent out to the West to fight Indians.” He eyed Harold. “I’ll tell you something I overhead by mistake, but only if you promise to learn the whole truth.”

  Harold nodded, both appalled and fascinated by what he was learning. “I promise,” he said again.

  “When I first got to Rock Island, I was miserable and cold, but they were at least feeding us. That all changed in June of sixty-four. They stopped feeding us much of anything. I figure it was their way of starving us out.”

  “Starving you out? I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t either until I overhead some people talking. I don’t know who they were, but I believe they were telling the truth,” Willard said.

  “I’m listening.” Harold suspected he was about to learn a whole different story than the one he had come to write, but he sensed it was important.

  “There was another call to service in September of sixty-four, like I said. I guess they figured after three months of starving us we would be eager to take them up on it this time because they were promising we would eat. There still weren’t very many accepting. They kept offering and offering. They even built a special enclosure and left the gates open all night. I reckon they thought if men could go in there without being seen, they would do it.”

  “But they didn’t,” Harold observed.

  “Not at first…but then it changed real quick. Frontier service became right popular,” Willard said. “I watched men who had ridiculed others for joining up turn around and make the same decision. I couldn’t understand it until I heard the men talking.”

  Harold remained silent, knowing Willard would reveal his story in time.

  “There was a judge that decided to make himself some money. Judge Petty from the Pennsylvania oil fields. He claimed he had authority from President Lincoln to offer a bounty of one hundred dollars to each man who took them up on the offer to join the Union and go out West. On top of that, if they were rejected because of bad health, they would be released to go home.”

  Harold leaned forward. One hundred dollars was a lot of money to starving men. Add to it the chance of release, and he could see why more would take it.

  “But that ain’t the whole story,” Willard said. “According to what I heard, every one of the men who enlisted were substitutes for men in the Pennsylvania oil fields. Those fellows had been drafted, but they didn’t want to fight, and they were needed in the oil fields. What I heard was that each of them had actually paid three hundred dollars for their substitutes. Judge Petty pocketed the other two hundred bucks for every one of those men who enlisted. I figure he made over three hundred thousand dollars. That’s what them fellows said.”

  Harold whistled and sat back in astonishment, appalled at the realization that men had been starved into submission and then sold off for profit. “My God,” he muttered.

  Willard stared at him. “You’ll find out more?”

  “Yes,” Harold promised. “I’ll do everything I can to discover the truth.” He looked at Willard more closely. “You didn’t take the deal.”

  “Not a chance,” Willard said darkly. “Being a prisoner was bad enough, but I wasn’t going to sell my soul. Me and a bunch others decided death was better than that.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t die,” Harold said firmly.

  Willard took his wife’s hand. “Only because of Grace,” he said, love shining from his eyes. “By the time the war ended, I wasn’t in such good shape. I wasn’t much more than a bag of bones, and my feet were pretty bad. When they told us we could go home in June, there weren’t any trains or boats waiting for us.”

  Harold frowned, realizing he had never thought much about how the Confederate prisoners had gotten home. “What did you do?”

  “I walked.”

  Harold stared at Willard. “You walked?” He did a quick calculation in his head. “It has to be at least seven hundred miles to Alabama.”

  “Pretty nearly,” Willard agreed. “I wasn’t really counting miles. I just wanted to go home.” He took a deep breath. “I only made it to southern Illinois before I got real sick.” He took a deep breath and looked at Grace.

  Grace took his hand, and also took over the narrative. “I found Willard on the road near my house sometime in August of that year. I don’t remember the exact date. My mama and daddy escaped an Alabama plantation with me and my two brothers right after the war started. I was thirteen when we left, seventeen when Willard showed up.” She glanced at him lovingly. “He was passed out on a dirt road and burning up with fever. He kept mumbling things, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. He didn’t have no shoes on, so I could see his feet were all messed up.” She winced as she remembered. “I went home to get my brothers.”

  “You took him in?” Harold asked.

  “Of course,” Grace replied serenely. “My parents were nervous at first, but I reminded them of the people who had helped us when we escaped. I didn’t know at the time that Willard was a Rebel soldier, but it wouldn’t have mattered to me. He needed help. My brothers picked him up and carried him back to our house. It took a right long while, but we brought him back to health.”

  Harold gazed at Willard. “How did you feel when you woke up in a black person’s house?”

  “I was glad to be alive,” Willard responded. “My family was never rich, so we had never had any slaves. I didn’t really understand how people could own other people.”

  “Yet you fought in the war,” Harold murmured.

  “I wasn’t fighting over slavery,” Willard replied. “I was fighting to protect my home. At least that is what I believed.” He looked thoughtful. “I doubt there were many soldiers who had any real idea why we were fighting. We just were.”

  “How long did it take before you could get home?” Harold asked, understanding now why Matthew had wanted this story told.

  “I left Grace’s house in November. It was cold again, but I had shoes and clothes this time, and my feet were a heap better. I walked the rest of those seven hundred miles by the next spring. My mama had given me up for dead,” he said with a faint smile. “You’d
have thought she saw a ghost when I walked down our road.” He took a deep breath. “I stayed home for a few months, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Grace. I fell for her real hard, but I didn’t believe she would want anything to do with a white Rebel soldier without any money.”

  Grace stroked his hand. “I fell in love with him, too, but I couldn’t believe he would love a former slave girl. I never said a word while I was taking care of him.”

  “So how did you get together?” Harold breathed, completely caught up in the unfolding drama.

  Willard smiled. “I finally decided if I was brave enough to survive eighteen months in a prison camp and walk home seven hundred miles, that I had enough courage to hear for myself that she didn’t love me. After living through the war, I wasn’t going to spend my whole life wondering what might have happened if I told her how I felt.”

  Harold grinned. “So you walked back?”

  Willard shook his head. “I wasn’t that patient. I found work with a company hauling supplies up north. I worked my way up to Illinois and got off the train with my final paycheck. I was mighty scared when I walked up to Grace’s house, but I figured the worst they would do was tell me to go back home.” He grinned. “They didn’t tell me that.”

  Grace took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I could hardly believe it when he came back. I had given up hope of ever seeing him again, but I hadn’t quit loving him.”

  Harold watched them, envious of the love that was so evident. The ache of missing Beth almost took his breath. He made himself focus on his assignment. “That is a beautiful story. I have to wonder, though, why you are in Richmond,” he said bluntly. “It can’t be easy to live as a mixed-race couple here.”

  “It’s not easy anywhere,” Willard replied.

  “Things are better for blacks in the North,” Grace confirmed, “but you shouldn’t confuse that to mean they are good. There was a loud cry for the slaves to be freed before and during the war, but now that we are, and now that we are going to have the vote, folks everywhere have decided we have to be taught to remember our place. I don’t believe anyone ever considered blacks might have social equality…or might deserve it,” she added.

  “At least they don’t have the Ku Klux Klan,” Harold observed. “You realize you have put yourself in more danger down here?”

  “I know,” Willard conceded, “but it’s not easy to find a job in the South right now, and the Union soldiers are getting all the jobs up north. When I found one in Richmond, I figured we should come.”

  “You found a job here? How?”

  Willard looked puzzled. “Matthew didn’t tell you?”

  Harold shook his head. “Evidently not. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Willard smiled. “After Matthew heard our story, he sent a telegram to Richmond. The next morning, before they pulled out the following day, he came and told me there was a job waiting for me if I wanted it. I’m working for Cromwell Factory,” he said proudly.

  Harold chuckled. “It that doesn’t beat all. I can’t wait to tell Abby and Thomas this story.”

  “Abby and Thomas?” Grace asked. “Who are they?”

  Harold grinned. “Abby and Thomas Cromwell. They own the factory, and they happen to be who I am staying with while I’m here. Abby demanded I tell this story tonight at dinner.”

  Willard returned the grin. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” he agreed. “You tell the Cromwells that I’ll be working hard, and that pretty soon we won’t be stuck out here on the outskirts of town. Seems no one wanted us in the white part of Richmond, and the black quarter wasn’t real excited about us either.”

  Harold felt an idea forming. He waited a few moments before it took shape, and until he was certain it would be well received. “I think you should tell them yourself,” he said finally.

  “How are we going to do that? I suppose I could go to the office, but I imagine all the Cromwells are real busy.”

  “You’re coming to dinner tonight,” Harold announced.

  “Dinner?” Grace gasped. “We can’t do that!”

  “Why?” Harold asked, more sure by the moment that it was exactly what Thomas and Abby would want him to do.

  “I ain’t got no good clothes, and we’re not fancy enough for the Cromwells.”

  “I think you’ll be very surprised,” Harold assured them. He glanced at his pocket watch, surprised by how much time had passed. “We’ve got another hour or so before Spencer returns for me. Do whatever you feel you need to in order to be ready. He’ll drive you back home tonight.”

  Willard and Grace shared a stunned look. Finally, Willard nodded. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” Harold promised.

  *****

  Abby smiled when Harold walked through the door with the couple. She had returned home from the factory minutes earlier, and had just sat down in the parlor with some lemonade. She stood and graciously offered a hand. “Hello. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

  “This is Willard and Grace Miller,” Harold said. “They will be joining us for dinner tonight.”

  “I’m pleased to meet both of you,” Abby said warmly, noticing the couple was nervous. She knew Harold would explain in time. She had not known him very long, but he was so much like Matthew that she already innately trusted him. “Excuse me a moment,” she murmured. “I’ll let May know there will be two more for dinner.”

  “Only if it’s not an inconvenience,” Grace blurted. “We don’t want to impose.”

  Abby shook her head, immediately impressed with the young lady’s proper English. Whatever her story was, it was obvious she was educated. “You are certainly not imposing,” she said. “We are always pleased to have company. It makes this big house seem not so empty.”

  She returned followed by May, who was carrying a tray with iced tea and molasses cookies. “I just pulled these cookies out the oven,” May announced. “Taste them and tell me what you think.”

  Abby understood Grace’s startled look. “May prefers to believe she runs things around here. We let her believe it,” she said teasingly. “Especially since without her and Micah we would be hopelessly lost. We just pay the bills.”

  Grace laughed and relaxed a little more. She took a small bite of the cookie and closed her eyes with delight. “May I have the recipe, please?”

  Abby watched May carefully. She had never been willing to give out her recipe for the molasses cookies, insisting they were a family secret from generations gone by.

  May stared at Grace for a long moment and then turned toward the kitchen. “You come on back here in my kitchen and I’ll give it to you.”

  Abby watched the two disappear with an open mouth, before turning to Harold and Willard. “Your wife is a magician,” she said lightly. “I’ve never known May to share her molasses cookie recipe.”

  Willard smiled. “She’s something, all right. She pretty much always gets her way with me, too. Not that it bothers me. When someone saves your life, it’s expected that you would feel indebted.”

  Abby cocked her head. “Saved your life? That must be quite a story.” She caught Harold’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “These are the people you interviewed!”

  “They are,” Harold confirmed. He looked at Willard. “Do you have it in you to repeat your story?”

  “Why don’t you do it,” Willard suggested. “That way I can see how well you listened.”

  Abby was amused, recognizing the two of them had developed an easy friendship over the course of the last hours. She sat back and listened, completely engrossed in the story. When Harold got to the part about them finding a job in Richmond, she was thrilled. “It’s terribly hard to find a job right now. Who are you working for?” she asked Willard.

  “Cromwell Factory,” Willard responded with twinkling eyes.

  Abby sat back against her chair. “You work for us? That’s wonderful.”

  Willard nodded and sat forward, fixing his eyes on he
r. “It’s why Grace and I decided to take a risk on imposing for dinner tonight. We wanted to thank you and your husband in person. And Mr. Anthony, as well. I’ll probably never get a chance to talk to him, but he is a fine man to work for. I promise you I’ll work harder than anyone else at the factory,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” Abby said. “And I believe you. Thomas will be home soon, and so will Jeremy Anthony.” Her eyes sparkled. “Jeremy and Thomas happen to be brothers. He and his wife, Marietta, live here with us.”

  Willard took a deep breath. “When Grace and I got up this morning we never dreamed what we would be doing tonight.”

  Abby nodded. “I find that most days hold something I never dreamed would happen. It’s what keeps life so fascinating for me. Not all the things are pleasant, but I can certainly say they are never boring.”

  “I would agree with that,” Willard replied.

  Abby looked up when she heard the door open. “I do believe everyone is here. Thomas and Jeremy were going by to pick up Marietta on the way home.”

  Abby felt her heart swell as she watched introductions being made. Carrie, Matthew, Janie, Rose, Moses, Felicia, John and Hope might be gone, but new people were coming into her world. She had already fallen in love with Willard and Grace, recognizing a young couple that needed friends in their new city until they found their way. They had shown great courage in choosing to live in Richmond as a mixed-race couple. They would need support, not just a job.

  When May called them in for dinner, she grabbed Harold’s arm to hold him back. “Thank you,” she said softly.