by Ginny Dye
Perry nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been doing some reading in the library. My understanding is that tobacco plants leech almost all the nutrients from the soil. In the past, farmers have had to keep cutting down trees and plowing new fields to continue growing tobacco.”
“That’s true,” Simon agreed, still wondering how Moses had talked him into this tour of the plantation. He had to admit Perry had lost the arrogance that had oozed from him in his first few weeks on the plantation, but he had seen nothing to indicate the man still didn’t consider himself far superior to himself and Moses simply because he was white.
“So how did you have such a huge harvest?” Perry asked.
“This year was easy,” Simon answered when Moses remained silent. He understood Moses was trying to make him carry this conversation. Fine. He would talk, but it wasn’t going to do anything to change his mind about working at Blackwell Plantation. “The fields lay fallow throughout the entire war, with the exception of the small number of acres used to grow food crops for Richmond before Carrie had to flee. The land had time to rest and replenish itself. We put in last year’s crop very late, so most of the fields were not used. They were ready to produce a hefty harvest.”
“What about next year?” Perry asked keenly.
Simon smiled. He was enjoying the conversation, even if he wasn’t particularly fond of the person he was talking to. He loved everything about farming. The joy of watching tiny transplanted tobacco seedlings grow into tall, strong plants never grew old to him. He had hated it as a boy, being forced to toil for endless hours without water under a brutal sun and under the constant fear of the whip, but now that he was in charge of the process, it had become pure joy. “We will fertilize the fields with marl,” he said.
“Marl?” Perry asked.
“What do you use to fertilize cotton?”
“The cotton seeds are turned into cottonseed oil and meal. We use the meal to fertilize each of the plants.” Perry’s face held a mixture of anger and pain. “It’s all I know how to do,” he said as he stared out at the fields, “but that life is gone.”
Simon felt an unwanted surge of sympathy. He understood that look of frustrated hopelessness, had experienced it many times himself, but he didn’t want to feel anything other than resentment toward Perry. He pushed aside the thought that if he wanted Perry to change, perhaps he needed to be willing to change himself. “Then you have to learn something new,” he retorted. He wasn’t willing to feel sorry for Perry, but he was willing to give him information. “Marl is a natural fertilizer that consists of clay and calcium carbonate. It counters the depletion of lime, so it neutralizes soil acidity.” Simon felt a flash of satisfaction when he saw the stunned surprise on Perry’s face. “Marl beds are found all up and down the Virginia coast because it was once covered by the ocean. Marl pits have actually been found more than a hundred miles inland. The marl was formed by the breakdown of rock and the buildup of seashell, animal and plant remains. It’s actually a mixture of sand, clay, azote, magnesium, iron and limestone.”
Perry stared at him. “How do you know all this?”
“I read.” Simon tried to temper the sarcasm in his voice, but he knew it was there. Perry flushed and looked away. To his credit, the flash in Perry’s eyes seemed to be more embarrassment than anger.
Moses bridged the sudden silence. “Edmund Ruffin was largely responsible for introducing marl to Virginia’s tobacco farmers. Ruffin and Thomas were once friends.”
Perry looked thoughtful. “I seem to remember Edmund Ruffin being rather staunchly Confederate.”
Moses chuckled. “From what Thomas has told me that would be putting it rather mildly. As time went on, Ruffin and Thomas drifted apart because their views were so radically different. That didn’t change the fact, however, that Ruffin’s work saved most of the tobacco farming in Virginia.”
Perry nodded. “Doesn’t Ruffin live around here?”
“He did,” Simon said. “He found it difficult to live with the changes in the South after the war ended.”
“He lost everything,” Moses added. “All the fields at his Marlbourne Plantation in Hanover County were salted by Union troops during the war. When the war was over, he had nothing, and he was also sick. He had no money, but mostly he simply didn’t know how to live in the new South.”
Simon could tell by the expression on Perry’s face that he understood how Ruffin had felt.
“What did he end up doing?” Perry asked.
“He shot himself last year.” Simon had no sympathy for a man who had once owned over two hundred slaves, but he had enough compassion to sympathize with Perry’s shock.
A long silence fell on the three of them. Simon was happy not to speak. He felt no compulsion to encourage conversation with Perry Appleton. He settled back in his saddle and gazed out over fields bordered with the vivid colors of fall leaves. His favorite were the maple trees showing off their bright red and orange clothes, but the deep yellow of the poplar and oak trees was a close second. He watched as birds flitted through the dogwood trees to grab the bright red berries. Hawks soared over the empty fields, their keen vision ferreting out any mouse or rabbit foolish enough to venture out in daylight. He was sure Blackwell Plantation was beautiful, but he was also certain nothing could compare with Cromwell.
Perry broke the silence by pointing toward a group of workers in the distance. “What are they doing? I thought the harvest was over.”
Simon, knowing Moses was going to remain silent, looked in the direction he was pointing. “They are beginning to apply the marl. The best time to do it is right after the harvest so that it enriches the soil all fall and winter. The ground will be ready to plant next spring.”
Perry frowned. “Should we be doing that over at Blackwell?”
Simon shrugged. He would talk about Cromwell, but he wasn’t willing to engage in conversation about Blackwell Plantation.
“There is no need,” Moses replied. “Your fields have been fallow for almost six years. You won’t have to do anything to ensure a good harvest next year. They are in good shape.”
“How do you know that?” Perry asked.
“I went over there to find out,” Moses said.
Perry looked confused. “Why would you do that?”
“Because Robert asked me to.”
Simon heard the unspoken words. I only did it because Robert asked me to. He could almost feel sorry for Perry’s puzzlement. He and June had late night conversations about the changes Louisa was experiencing, but both of these people shared deep-seated prejudices that neither particularly wanted to give up. They might someday be forced to act differently if they wanted to live in the new South, but that didn’t mean they would change how they truly felt. Carrie, Thomas and Robert had had a complete change of heart. He didn’t see that happening with Perry and Louisa. His certainty that he would never work for this man grew firmer.
“You really believe Blackwell can be profitable?” Perry asked. He merely glanced at Simon before looking at Moses.
Simon sighed. He had seen Moses play dumb on the battlefield before. It had been his way of forcing Simon into leadership. He didn’t really appreciate it any more now than he had then, but he knew they would sit there in silence unless he said something. “Any plantation can be profitable if it is handled correctly,” he said, not really caring if he hurt Perry’s feelings or offended him. The man was asking a question. He would answer honestly.
Perry stiffened and reluctantly swung his eyes toward Simon. He finally seemed to realize Moses was choosing to remain silent. His expression said he didn’t appreciate it any more than Simon did. “And what is correctly?” he asked.
Simon shrugged. “Moses has already told you that. I don’t see any reason to repeat it.” A flash of anger flared in Perry’s eyes, but he tightened his lips and remained silent. That was when Simon saw something he didn’t necessarily want to see. Vulnerability. It settled in Perry’s eyes and twisted his face with
something akin to grief before he turned away to stare out over the fields again.
Perry had lost everything when Sherman’s Army swept through Georgia. The man had only owned a few slaves, but only because he had no money to buy them - not because he thought it had been wrong. As far as Simon was concerned, Perry was no different than the men who had owned him before the war. Yet he also knew men could change. He had seen it. Who was he to determine who it would, or wouldn’t, be?
Moses again broke into the silence. “Those men applying the marl will only be here a few more days,” he said.
“Oh?” Perry asked, obviously clueless as to why Moses was telling him about the men.
“Those men all have tobacco farming experience, and they served with me in the army. I wish I could hire them on full time, but there isn’t a place for them after the harvest. They will be moving on.”
Simon was watching Perry carefully. He knew the minute the Georgian made the connection. Moses was allowing him to discover for himself the men who could help him save Blackwell Plantation.
Perry shaded his eyes for several minutes, watching the men as they worked. Spurts of talk and laughter were carried to them on the breeze. The sun flashed on strong muscles and intense faces. All the men had gained weight during the summer. They were fit, and anyone watching them could tell they were capable. He finally turned to Moses. “You said you would tell them not to work for me.”
“I did,” Moses agreed. “Can you give me a reason to tell them differently?”
Perry hesitated a long moment and then answered Moses’ question with one of his own. “I have to protect my family. If I have a group of men working Blackwell Plantation under the same conditions as Cromwell, will I be putting them in danger from the vigilante groups?”
Moses stiffened. “I suspect you know the answer to that better than I do,” he said. “What are their plans?”
“I don’t know,” Perry answered, “but I’ve heard rumors they intend to take control of the South again.”
Simon watched Perry closely. As far as he could tell, Perry was telling the truth. “What does that mean?” he asked.
Perry turned to him, his blue eyes clear even though his face was deeply troubled. “I’m not totally sure, but I’ve heard talk that they have plans for the freed slaves and the white people who help them.”
Simon and Moses exchanged a look full of meaning. They had long been hearing the rumors, but having them confirmed by a white man made them suddenly much more real and dangerous.
Moses was the one to respond. “Then I guess you have to decide if your family is safer in Georgia where you have no way to make a living, or safer here on Blackwell. You could also just sell out and take what you get. No one can blame a man for protecting his family.”
Simon fought the bitterness rolling in his gut. At least Perry had that choice. There was not a black in this country who could make a choice that would remove him and his family from danger. It would find them wherever they went.
The Georgian’s eyes widened with sudden, shocked understanding. The understanding was followed by a deep look of shame that quickly morphed into pained sympathy. “I’m sorry,” Perry said. “Truly.”
Simon remained silent, but he felt himself relax a little. It was a beginning.
Chapter Eighteen
Louisa looked around the schoolhouse, more than a little bewildered to find herself there. Earlier that morning, John had proudly announced to Jasper that he was going to school with his mama that day. Jasper had immediately demanded he be able to join his friend. Rose had agreed, but suggested it would be helpful if Louisa came along to help watch the boys while she taught. Jasper had been so excited by the idea of going to school that she hadn’t had the heart to say no. So here she was, a lone white woman in a school full of black children. To say she felt like a fish out of water would be putting it mildly. She watched as the school filled with eager-eyed boys and girls. They all looked her way with wide-eyed curiosity. Many of them smiled shyly, but none of them spoke to her. That was just as well, because she had no idea how she would have responded.
Her family’s people had never been allowed to read or learn anything. Louisa had believed the explanation that blacks were incapable. She had a quick vision of a time when she could not have been more than six or seven. She had just begun reading lessons with her tutor. Louisa had asked her mother why none of the black children were learning with her. Her mother had carefully explained that blacks were much less intelligent than she was. They weren’t capable of learning, or of doing anything more than their work on the plantation. That was why white people had to take care of them. Most of the time they could treat them with kindness, but there would be times they would have to discipline them just like they might small children because that’s all they really were. Louisa had listened carefully, and hadcertainly had no reason not to believe her.
Louisa shook off the memory, suddenly very uncomfortable with it, and gazed around the simple, but well-built, schoolhouse. June and Polly had told her about the fire that destroyed the first one. She controlled the shudder that came with the idea of being the target of white vigilantes. She had no desire to be on the receiving end of that kind of anger and hatred. And why should she? She had been born white by no choice of her own. Why should she feel responsible for people who had been born a color that put them in a lower class? It wasn’t her fault that she was white. It wasn’t her fault that others were born black.
Rose stepped to the front of the room, interrupting her thoughts.
Louisa watched as the children immediately became quiet and straightened at their desks.
“We have two guests today,” Rose began. “Louisa Appleton and her son, Jasper, are going to be with us at least through lunch.”
“And me, Mama!” John yelled, his eyes dancing with excitement.
“And you,” Rose agreed, her face soft with love. “We are very glad to have all of you here.”
Louisa smiled at the sight of Jasper sitting beside John at a small table next to Rose’s desk. He was sitting straight, his eyes locked on her just like the rest of the students. She doubted he would sit still like that for long, but she was grateful for whatever respite she could have from his rambunctious energy.
“In honor of John and Jasper being with us today, I have asked Felicia to start us off with her lesson.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. Felicia? Rose’s ten-year-old daughter? Teaching? She bit back a smile, certain this was just an example of the inadequacy of black education.
Felicia stepped to the front of the classroom. “We’re less than a month away from the Leonid Meteor Shower,” she stated enthusiastically.
Louisa stared at her. What was she talking about?
“Since Mrs. Appleton has just joined us, I’ll remind everyone that the Leonid Meteor Shower happens on November thirteenth.” She looked directly at Louisa. “Have you ever seen a shooting star, Mrs. Appleton?”
Louisa hid her discomfort and nodded graciously. “Why, yes.”
“What you actually saw was a meteor,” Felicia explained. “On November thirteenth, you will be able to see hundreds, even thousands of them in one night,” she said. “They seem to come down like rain from the night sky. It happens every year, but every thirty-three years it is more intense than ever. This year is the thirty-third year!” Felicia was almost breathless as she delivered this piece of news.
The only thing Louisa could do was nod as she watched the little girl with fascination.
Felicia turned back to the class. “November thirteenth is going to be a very special night, but the entire month of November is known for meteor showers. Just look up every time you are out at night next month. The odds are that you will see a meteor,” she said with confidence. “November has more activity than any other month. The last big Leonid Meteor Shower, in 1833, did more to spawn the study of meteors than any other single event. Lots of people saw it and talked about it. Now, more and more people want
to know about meteors.”
Louisa realized, much to her surprise, that she was one of them. The only thing she couldn’t understand was why she was learning it from a little black girl who had watched her parents be murdered. A little girl who was obviously very intelligent and extremely well-spoken. Now, perhaps more than at any other time since she had arrived in Virginia, she felt lost and adrift. There were times she felt like she was getting her bearings, but then something would happen to shift everything again. This was one of those times.
“A few of you have asked me if it is dangerous to watch a meteor shower,” Felicia said. “I remember asking my mama that same question when I was real little. She didn’t have any way of knowing why she was telling me the truth, but she told me I had nothing to be afraid of. I believed her. Now that I’m a meteor observer,” she said proudly, “I know the why.”
Louisa’s mouth gaped open. A meteor observer? What was that, and how could a little black girl be one?
“I told you last week that shooting stars are really just chunks of rock that have broken off from a comet. Now sometimes…there are meteors big enough that they don’t burn up in the atmosphere, so they crash into the ground.” She paused when everyone in the room gasped. “Those are called meteorites, but that is something that hardly ever happens,” she said emphatically.
“The meteors that make up a meteor shower are actually quite fragile,” Felicia continued. “They burn really hot and fast. The most important thing to understand is that none of them will reach the earth. They will burn up long before that happens.” She smiled as whispers of relief filled the room. “We’ll all be fine as we watch them fall.”
“What if it’s cloudy?” Louisa burst out, almost appalled when she realized she was asking a black child for information, but she realized she was quite eager to view what Felicia was describing.
Felicia frowned. “I’ve been praying real hard that it won’t be, Mrs. Appleton. If it is, we won’t be able to see anything.”