Sitting down beside her, Mr. Jones extricated an official-looking envelope from his suit coat pocket.
“I hope you haven’t brought me bad news,” she said.
“I suppose that’s up to you to decide. Were you aware that your husband had a will?”
“No.”
“Did you know that he left Fallen Oaks to you in that will?”
Katie blinked in surprise. “That’s not possible.”
“Actually, it is quite possible.”
“Harlan said the plantation would go to his oldest male relative, Fenton Calloway. Isn’t that what usually happens to family property around here?”
“Usually.”
“Why would Harlan leave it to me?”
“The will was dated a few days before he left for war. I was the one who drew it up. I remember specifically that when he came into my office, he was incensed over something Fenton had done—or not done. Your husband could sometimes be quite . . . volatile. But at the time, he had decided he would rather you have it than his cousin.”
Katie had never expected nor wanted the responsibility of the land that Harlan and his family had worshipped.
“Fenton will surely contest this will. I certainly won’t object if he does.”
“Fenton fell at Gettysburg, Mrs. Calloway.”
“Oh.”
She thought that over.
“But what am I to do with an overgrown plantation? I’m no farmer.”
“One thing you cannot do is sell it. He insisted that I write the will in such a way that you cannot sell it during your lifetime. Upon your death, assuming you have not left a will of your own, it will revert to one of the blood relatives.”
“Can I give it to one of them?”
A strange expression passed over the solicitor’s face. “Forgive me, madam, but do you mind if I ask you why you ran away from your husband?”
“You can ask, but after the glowing eulogy the preacher gave, you won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Harlan was a cruel man.” Katie took a deep breath. “He hid it well, but those of us who were his victims knew the truth.”
Elias Jones tapped the will against his knee. “I always suspected. As you said, he learned to cover it well, but that cruelty was in his eyes when he made that will disinheriting Fenton, a much better man than himself. Fortunately, at that moment, he was angrier with his cousin than with you.”
“Why didn’t he change it after I left?”
“Harlan didn’t come to town often after that, and frankly, I deliberately avoided him. His behavior became very erratic after the war and he seemed to fall into a steady decline. I’m surprised he sobered up long enough to follow you north.”
“Won’t the other Calloway cousins contest the will?”
“Probably, but I’m a very good lawyer. I made absolutely certain it was ironclad. Fallen Oaks belongs to you. Except you cannot sell it or give it away.”
“Can I leave and let it grow into brush and brambles?”
“I suppose you could. Or you could stay there. The cabin where Harlan lived is habitable after a fashion. You might consider renting it out. There are quite a few sharecroppers now, former slaves who work the land as they did before, giving their former masters a portion of their earnings as rent.”
“How many acres are left?” she asked. “Did Harlan sell any more than the section by the river?”
“As far as I know, there are approximately eight hundred acres. It seems a shame to let the soil go to waste when there is such a need for food in this country—and so few able-bodied enough to raise it.”
“Are you suggesting I take up the plow, sir?” she asked.
“No. I’m suggesting you find someone willing to do so.” He handed the will to her. “Or you can let it grow into brush and brambles and forget all about it. Of course, you realize you will be expected to pay taxes. Fortunately, as far as taxes go, the land is now valued at less than half its prewar value.”
“I can’t sell it. I can’t work it. I don’t care if I ever see it again. But I’m responsible for it.” Katie creased and re-creased the stiff paper. “It appears that I will have this albatross around my neck for the rest of my life.”
“There are many people who would not consider the ownership of eight hundred rich, bottomland acres an albatross.”
Her fit of annoyance left her. He was right. Even though it was Calloway land and held too many bad memories to count, would the Lord want her to allow it to lay fallow when so many people were trying to survive on so little?
She knew what hunger felt like and she hated the idea of innocent people having to endure it—especially the elderly and children.
“You have given me a great deal to think about, Mr. Jones, and I thank you for your kindness.”
“There is one more thing, Mrs. Calloway.”
“Oh?” She wasn’t certain she wanted any more surprises.
“Very little gets past me in this county. I know that the reason your husband was able to find you was through your connection to Violet.”
“That’s true.”
“Did you know that Mose and Violet have married and are living at Mrs. Hammond’s?”
“I wasn’t certain they were still there. I would love to see them again.”
“I believe that could be arranged. Mrs. Hammond passed away three weeks ago. Unfortunately, even though Violet nursed her faithfully during her last illness, Mrs. Hammond’s son is planning on turning Mose and Violet out soon.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“It is especially unfair since Mose has already finished the plowing and planting of Mrs. Hammond’s farm this spring.”
“Are you trying to suggest something, Mr. Jones?”
For the first time since they had begun their conversation, Mr. Jones smiled, and it was a smile worth seeing. His heart and soul was in that smile, and she saw for the first time that the elderly solicitor was an exceptionally kind man.
“Very few people know this, Mrs. Calloway, and I would appreciate it if you kept this between the two of us, but I have been an abolitionist at heart my entire life. There was little I could do about it before the war, and I was too old when it broke out to enlist. But in many small quiet ways I have done what I could.” His eyes twinkled. “I have to admit, as I sat through the eulogy, it occurred to me that there would be an ironic justice to a freed slave making a living off land his master once owned.”
The idea he proposed shimmered before her, silvery with justice. Mose and Violet would have the skill and the heart to turn the humble foreman’s cottage into a haven. They had all the knowledge it would take to farm the rich soil.
She did not want rent. She didn’t want to sharecrop. It would be her gift to Violet and Mose—her friends and fellow sufferers, to see what they could do with the place.
And yet . . .
“Wouldn’t an arrangement like you’re suggesting cause problems for Mose and Violet?” she asked. “I don’t believe the white community would accept such a thing.”
“Oh, Mrs. Calloway,” Mr. Jones said with a chuckle. “Of course most of the white community wouldn’t accept it. But as your solicitor, and the extremely respectable representative of the Calloway family, I would be most happy to oversee your . . . employees. I don’t see how the financial arrangements you and I choose to work out for Mose and Violet are anyone else’s business.”
Katie felt a warmth and joy spreading through her body at the brilliant simplicity and rightness of this good man’s plan.
“Mr. Jones, would you care to accompany me, as my solicitor and representative, to visit the Hammond place? I believe it would be quite useful to have you along when I go check on my future . . . sharecroppers.”
“Mrs. Calloway, it would be my honor and delight.”
Even after his conversation with Delia, it was not easy for Robert to extricate himself from Bay City. He had books to balance, business to attend to, and children to
reassure. He had to ease Charlie over the hump of accepting the idea of Delia as his business partner—as well as getting through the unenviable task of breaking it to his sister.
He also needed to get Skypilot settled and make certain Moon Song had temporary food and shelter beneath his roof. He had begged his sister to take care of his menagerie of people for yet a while longer. Fortunately, she seemed to be so pleased with her new husband, the butcher, that there was a softness and happiness about her that he had never seen before. He even liked the butcher, a smallish man with worried eyes—not at all the red-faced oaf he had envisioned.
Going to Georgia was not an easy excursion. He might be gone for weeks or months, time he really should be using to build a new lumber camp—farther to the west—a stand of pine so glorious that if they got a nice, cold winter, and if there was a good thaw in the spring, and if he managed to find a good camp cook, and if there were no major accidents along the way—it might just make him rich enough in a few years that he wouldn’t have to keep lumbering forever. Some men loved the work. He did not.
Frustrated beyond endurance by the delay, he took a leap of faith, dropped a load of business details into Delia’s lap, and hopped the southbound train from Bay City. He had no idea where Katie would go after the funeral, and he was afraid he would lose his chance to find her again if she and Ned left the area before he got there.
If he lost them, it would be more than he could endure. His dreams and thoughts had been consumed by Katie ever since he learned that she was finally, truly free.
Violet was one of the loveliest women Katie had ever known. Two years older, she had become more like a big sister than a servant. They had giggled together, tried different hairstyles together, and when Katie had begun teaching Violet how to read and write it had been almost a form of play to her. Katie, being from the North, had not fully realized the ramifications of what she was doing.
When Harlan had discovered her teaching Violet, he had forbidden her to do so. But she had very cautiously, and discreetly, disobeyed him.
Now, after all she had been through, after all they had been through together, she was almost overwhelmed by the joy of seeing her friend once again.
Mose was hoeing a small vegetable garden and Violet was drawing water from a well. Neither of them saw her at first as she walked up the long lane of the Hammond farm.
She had asked Mr. Jones and Ned to stay in the buggy for a few minutes so that she could greet her friends alone. It was a selfish act on her part, but she wanted the freedom to hug Violet and weep if she wanted—without any audience except Mose, who would understand.
Mose and Violet, from whom so much had been taken, were going to be given a chance at a better life, a secure life, a life where they could fully enjoy the fruits of their own labor. She couldn’t wait to see what they could accomplish together.
31
While round a good campfire at night
we’ll sing while wild winds blow,
and we’ll range the wild woods over,
and once more a-lumbering go.
“Once More A-Lumbering Go”
—1800s shanty song
April 30, 1868
At the train station, Robert hired a horse from the livery and asked directions to Fallen Oaks. He assumed Katie would be living there, or at least staying there temporarily. It was his best hope of finding her.
His need to see her increased even more as he flew over the road, going as fast as he dared on the unfamiliar horse.
The lane to the plantation was deeply rutted and weeds grew over acres that he could tell had once been ripe with promise. A huge, burned-out shell of what appeared to have once been a handsome house sat atop a small rise.
So this was Sherman country. He had seen other examples of the General’s handiwork as the train had wound its way through Georgia over repaired tracks that had been twisted into knots by Union troops.
In the distance he saw four figures following behind a great gray gelding pulling a plow. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was Katie, Ned, Mose, and a woman he didn’t know. They stopped and watched him approach.
Even though there were other people around her, his eyes were only for her as he dismounted. Her hair had once again come undone from its bun. He vividly remembered the sight of it coming loose in straggles as she wound her way through each hard day—always with a triumphant smile on her lips as she brought a feast to the table.
She was dressed in a common work dress, the hem soiled from the red earth, her bare feet digging into the freshly turned soil. She had a bag slung around her neck filled with seed, and her face was damp with perspiration.
Robert had never seen a more beautiful woman.
She registered surprise when she saw him, then puzzlement. Ned started to run to him, but she stopped her brother with one hand.
“Are you lost, Mr. Foster?” she asked.
“No.”
“You’ve traveled all this long way just to find me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You must surely be in dire need of a cook for this October.”
“I am most definitely in need of a cook this October. Do you know of any who might be willing to come to Michigan?”
He was so close to her now that he could almost count the lashes fringing her beautiful blue eyes. The fact that there were three other people listening to every word didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“I would have to think on it a while,” she said.
“Don’t think too long. I am in desperate need,” he said. “Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that it isn’t seemly for a woman to work in a lumber camp without a husband on hand. Shanty boys tend to fall in love with good cooks.”
“They do, do they?” She put her hands on her hips and smiled.
“You need to know, as camp boss I’ve made a new rule at my camp.” It wasn’t the smooth proposal he had intended, but it was all he could think of at the moment. “I insist that anyone who cooks in my camp has to marry me.”
“Oh, Robert, I’m so sorry.” The regret in her voice made his heart plummet. Then she smiled mischievously. “But I’m not at all sure that Jigger will accept that proposal.”
It was the oddest feeling having Robert beside her on Calloway property. They sat near the campfire Mose had built before he and Violet went to bed. This was where her old life had played itself out. Robert was part of the new life she had created up in Michigan. It seemed strange to have the two come together.
Until Mose could repair another cabin, she and Ned had been staying in two old army tents Elias Jones had found. She had insisted on Mose and Violet having Harlan’s cabin. She never wanted to sleep in that place again. Every night so far, they had all enjoyed a campfire together after the day’s planting was done.
The other slave cabin Mose had repaired housed the old house slave, Hannah, and her four-year-old grandson. They had taken Hannah in when they found her wandering around disoriented, trying to find her old cabin. It was the only home she had ever known. Once she got her bearings and some food, she became more lucid. As poor as it was, Hannah had never had any other home than the cabin where she now slept. Mose said he suspected there might be others wanting to come back too, now that Harlan was gone.
“Ned’s asleep.” Katie stroked the little boy’s hair as he lay curled up beside her. “Now will you tell me what you know about who killed Harlan, and why you wouldn’t tell me in front of Ned?”
“It was one of Delia’s girls.”
“You’re not serious!”
“I’m dead serious. There was one who had red hair, looked a bit like you, and after what had happened in camp, Harlan was angry.”
“Oh, that poor little thing!”
“Not so little. She was quite a lot bigger than you, according to Delia, and she had no patience with a man like Harlan. Evidently he finally met his match.”
“Where is she now?”
“Delia said the girl headed out West
carrying Harlan’s money pouch.”
Katie stared into the fire, absorbing the information. “So now we know.”
“Yes, now we know.”
“Harlan had everything a person could want.” She threw a stick into the fire. “And yet he threw it all away.”
“True, but I don’t want to talk any more about Harlan right now if you don’t mind.” He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his collar. “Katie, I’m not a rich man. I’m not even comfortably off. Lumbering is always a gamble. I might make a lot this winter off the new section, or things could go haywire and I’ll lose my shirt. There’s enough left over right now to get me and my family through the summer, and just about enough left over to start another camp in another location. I don’t have a whole lot to offer a woman.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“A lot of women would.”
“A lot of women don’t realize how rare it is to find a good man.”
“I’m not sure about good, but I can promise to love you until the day I die.”
Katie went silent. There was one more secret that Robert didn’t know, and she dreaded telling him.
She stared at the ground, not willing to look directly at him as she revealed the greatest wound of all. “I’m barren, Robert.”
“How do you know?”
“Eight years of marriage. It was one of the many things Harlan grew to hate about me. Each month, when he found out that I wasn’t with child—well, it was bad.”
“He hurt you? For something you had no control over?”
“That was Harlan.”
He stared into the fire, absorbing that information. She glanced at his profile as she waited, wondering if he would still want her in spite of her inability to give him children. The muscles in his jaw clenched as though in anger, and her heart sank. She stared down at the earth again, steeling herself for his rejection—now that he knew everything about her.
Measure of Katie Calloway, The: A Novel Page 28