Columns of Cottonwood

by Sandra Robbins

  The horses harnessed to the wagon snorted and swished their tails as the August sun climbed higher in the morning sky. Dante patted the one he stood beside and stared down the path where Saul had disappeared ten minutes ago. Perhaps he was having trouble persuading any of the men to come to talk to the stranger from Mobile.

  When Dante thought he could bear the stares of the young people no longer, Saul appeared at the end of the path. Four men walked behind him. Dante’s eyes grew wide at the sight of a young white man in the group. The others had skin the color of Saul’s, and they walked forward with their gazes directed at Dante.

  As they approached, Saul broke into a grin that radiated confidence. The group stopped in front of Dante, and he let his gaze drift over their faces.

  Saul pointed to a tall, muscular man dressed in overalls and a long-sleeved shirt. “This here Big Mike. He was over the field hands at Cottonwood, and he knows that land better’n anybody in these here parts.”

  Dante stuck out his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Big Mike. I’m Dante Rinaldi.”

  Big Mike glanced down at the outstretched hand and hesitated before he reached out and grasped it. “Suh,” he said.

  Saul pointed to the others behind him. “And this here’s Pinky. I tole you ’bout him. He kin pick mo’ cotton in a day than anybody I ever seen.”

  Dante pumped Pinky’s hand. “Sounds like you’re what we need at Cottonwood.”

  Pinky grinned and shifted from foot to foot. “I sho’ would like to pick in them fields agin.”

  Sweat glimmered on the dark brow of the man standing next to Pinky. He glanced at Dante’s hand but didn’t pull his from his pockets. “My name Mose. Mr. Boyer owned me ’fore the war, and I worked his place.”

  Dante let his hand drift to his side and stared Mose in the eye. “Nobody owns you now, Mose.”

  The man took a deep breath. “Naw suh, I ’spect they don’t.”

  Dante looked past Saul at the white man, who appeared to be barely old enough to shave. “And what’s your name?”

  The boy grinned, and Dante noticed two bottom teeth missing. “I’m Henry Walton. Grew up in Georgia. After the war, there weren’t nothing left for me there. Folks all dead. So me and my wife started west. Thought we might end up in Texas. We got this far and found these good folks and decided to stay for the winter.”

  “Are you planning on moving on in the spring?”

  Henry shrugged. “Depends on what I find here.”

  Dante smiled and glanced around at the faces of the men. “I suppose Saul has told you that I need some workers to help me farm my new land. Right now I can’t offer you much. I’m staying in one of the slave quarters myself, as are Saul and his family. You’ll have to do the same. But we’ll build you houses so you can have a little spot that’s yours, and I’ll let you farm a portion of the land on shares. I’ll see that you get some livestock to start off, but it’ll be up to you to take care of it. If you prosper, it’ll be because of your efforts, not mine. I’ve worked hard to get this land. I’ll expect you to do the same, or I’ll find someone to take your place. What do you say?”

  Henry Walton nodded. “Best offer I’ve had since I left Georgia. I reckon as how me and my wife gonna take you up on it, Mr. Rinaldi.”

  “Good.” Dante glanced at the other men. “Anybody else?”

  Big Mike looked at Mose and Pinky then back to Dante. “Saul says we can trust you. So I ’spect we be going to Cottonwood if you let us bring our families.”

  Dante laughed. “Of course. I suppose I thought that was understood. I’m not married, but I want there to be families on the land. I want to hear children running and laughing. I want to bring life back to a grand plantation.”

  Saul smacked his hands together and giggled. “I guess that what we gwine do, Mistuh Dante. We gwine bring life back to a dead place.”

  “When do you want to move?” Dante asked.

  Big Mike’s eyebrows arched. “We be ready in a few minutes.”

  Dante frowned. “Do we have enough room on my wagon to transport all your belongings?”

  “I got a small wagon,” Henry said. “Between yours and mine, I think we got enough room.”

  Dante glanced at his wagon. It wasn’t very big. “How many women and children will there be?”

  Henry thought for a moment. “We’ve all got wives, and each family has three children except for Mary Ann and me. We ain’t got one yet.”

  Dante shook his head. “We only have two wagons to transport your belongings and, counting Saul and me, nineteen people. Maybe I need to get some extra help.”

  Big Mike smiled at Dante. “No need for that. We kin walk.”

  “But it’s at least ten miles from here to Cottonwood.”

  “That don’t matter.”

  Dante chuckled. “Then we’ll all take turns walking. Now go get your belongings, and let’s head out.”

  The men stood still a moment as if they couldn’t believe what had happened, and then with a whoop, they ran back the way they’d come. Twenty minutes later, Dante and Saul stood beside the two wagons and surveyed the small number of personal objects the families had placed there. Henry’s small wagon was almost filled, but Dante’s still had room.

  Dante turned to the assembled group. The women stood almost hidden behind their husbands, with their children at their sides. The woman standing next to Mose held a small infant in her arms. Dante wondered how long it had been since she’d given birth.

  He turned to Saul and whispered in his ear. “Is that Mose’s wife with the baby?”

  “Yas suh.”

  Dante cleared his throat and faced the group again. “We have room for some of the women and younger children to ride in my wagon.” He nodded to Mose. “Mose, help your wife into the wagon.”

  The woman hugged her baby tighter, but Mose shook his head. “Tildy can walk. She strong.”

  Dante sighed and glanced at Saul, who shrugged. He turned back to the group. “I appreciate the fact that your wife doesn’t want any preferential treatment, but she’s weak. I won’t have it on my conscience that I let a woman who’s recently given birth walk all the way back to Cottonwood. Now it’s your choice. She rides in the wagon, or you unpack your belongings and stay here.”

  Mose started to object, but he looked down at his wife. His shoulders sagged, and he faced Dante. “Much obliged, Mistuh Dante. I reckon ain’t no white man ever wanted to help one of mine before.”

  Dante stepped forward. “Things have changed, Mose. It’s a new day in the South.”

  Mose’s eyes narrowed. “I reckon for some, but not all.”

  Dante glanced at Saul, who nodded. “Folks at the Boyer plantation waren’t never treated like Mistuh Vance did us what lived at Cottonwood. Oak Hill be a hard place to live as a slave.”

  Before Dante could question him, Saul stepped forward and picked up a small girl who appeared to be about three years old. Mose lifted his wife and baby into the wagon, and Saul set the child he held next to her.

  Dante smiled and glanced at the children still standing beside the wagon. “Now you fathers decide who’s going to walk and who’s going to ride on the first leg of the journey.”

  When the wagon was filled, Dante turned to Big Mike. “Saul and I will walk the first leg, and then we’ll take turns with the wagon. Do you want to lead the way?”

  Big Mike’s eyes grew wide. “Suh, you wants me to handle the hosses?”

  Dante nodded. “I expect you know how from your years at Cottonwood.”

  A smile broke out on Big Mike’s face, and he climbed into the wagon seat. Wrapping the reins around his hands, he released the brake and cracked the reins across the horses’ backs. “Giddap, you hosses. We’s goin’ home.”

  Home. The word warmed Dante’s heart and stirred him in a way he’d never known. His father’s dream had been to own some of Alabama’s rich, black farmland, but yellow fever had ended that desire. Now it was Dante’s turn to fulfill the hope his p
arents had when they settled in Mobile.

  Dante watched the wagons rumble by, leading the way. He stepped aside as those walking behind passed him. Some of the women, their skin glistening in the hot sun and their hair covered by tattered bonnets, darted a glance his way, but most of them directed their attention straight ahead.

  There was no laughter from the children, and this surprised Dante. He was overcome by the realization that he had no idea what these people had experienced in their lives. Now another white man had come with his promises. Perhaps they were too afraid to trust him yet. But they would.

  With God’s help, he would teach them to trust. And the land was going to help him do that.

  Five

  Two weeks after Savannah heard that tenant farmers had come to Cottonwood, she sat in the church where she had worshipped all her life. The pastor had been preaching for fifteen minutes, but this morning she didn’t hear his words.

  She glanced at the few worshippers who’d gathered. When she was growing up, the church had been filled on Sundays. Buggies and wagons loaded with families streamed into the churchyard. Sundays were reserved for worship and, afterward, for visiting with friends and neighbors. Planters discussed their crops, women shared secrets, and children chased each other across the lawn.

  Sunday worship, as well as everything else in her life, changed when the first young men left to join the Confederate forces. Too many familiar faces were with them no longer.

  Even six years after the end of the war, its effects haunted each family she knew. She caught a glimpse of the Redmans from the plantation closest to Cottonwood. With both of their sons killed in the conflict, they had long ago moved to Willow Bend and left their land to be sold for back taxes just as hers had been.

  Resentment rose up in her throat, and she tried to swallow the choking rage at the thought of Dante Rinaldi living on her land. It had been more than two weeks since she’d seen the man but not since she’d heard about him.

  Every time she went to the store to sell their eggs, she ran into Martha Thompson, who couldn’t wait to tell her what she’d heard was going on at Cottonwood. The new owner had brought in four families to work as tenant farmers, she had said. One of them was white. At this statement, Martha’s eyebrows arched, and her nostrils flared.

  “Can you imagine white people living out there in that shantytown?” she said. “All I can say is that they must be white trash.”

  Savannah had turned away and tried to focus on selling her eggs, but the news hadn’t been unexpected. After all, she had encouraged Mr. Rinaldi to go to the Crossroads. Although she would never admit it, she was pleased that the land would be worked again. If only her father had listened to her, she might be the one getting ready for next spring at Cottonwood. Instead, an Italian, with dark eyes that made her breath catch in her throat, would harvest the next crop on her land.

  Turning her head slightly, she glanced over her shoulder, and her heart thudded. Dante Rinaldi sat in the last pew. His dark stare bored into her, and he nodded in her direction. For a moment, she froze before she blinked and jerked her head around.

  Aunt Jane, who sat on her right, frowned and leaned toward her. “What’s the matter?”

  Savannah bit her lip and shook her head. She patted her aunt’s hand. “Nothing.”

  Smiling, Savannah straightened her shoulders and directed her attention back to the pastor. Aunt Jane continued to look at her, but after a moment, she unfolded the fan that lay in her lap and began to wave it back and forth in the lazy fashion Savannah had seen her do so many times.

  For the remainder of the sermon, thoughts of the man who sat in the rear of the church whirled through her head. What would she say to him? After all, she had invited him to church, but that was before she knew he was her enemy. Even if she didn’t like him, she reasoned, she couldn’t be rude in a house of worship.

  When “Amen” was uttered, she turned to Aunt Jane and stole a quick glance toward the back pew. Her heart plummeted at the sight of the empty bench. She scanned the congregation, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  A wave of disappointment washed over her. Why should she care if he left? She should be thankful she’d been saved another embarrassing meeting with him.

  As the few church members walked up the aisle, everyone stopped to speak to Aunt Jane before they moved on to Reverend Somers, who stood at the entrance.

  When the last one walked by, Aunt Jane stepped into the aisle. “How many were here today?”

  “I counted twenty.” Savannah shook her head. “No, twenty-one. I forgot the visitor.”

  Aunt Jane’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t see a new face. Who was it?”

  Savannah took her aunt by the arm and nudged her up the aisle. “Dante Rinaldi sat in the back, but he’s already gone.”

  Aunt Jane stopped and gazed at Savannah. “I wish I could have met him. Maybe another time.”

  “Maybe.”

  Reverend Somers smiled as they approached. “Mrs. Martin, it’s so good to see you again.” He nodded to Savannah. “And you, too, Miss Carmichael.”

  Aunt Jane closed her fan and stuck it in her reticule. “Very good sermon, Reverend. I understand we had a visitor.”

  “Yes, but he left before I could greet him. Maybe he’ll come again. Do you know him?”

  “Savannah tells me he’s the new owner of Cottonwood.”

  Reverend Somers gave a small gasp. “I had no idea.” He cleared his throat. “I need to get something from the front of the church, but if you’ll wait, I’ll be glad to help you down the steps.”

  Aunt Jane waved her hand in protest. “No need for that. Savannah and I can make it fine. Have a nice day, Reverend.”

  “And you, too.”

  As the pastor walked away, Aunt Jane took a deep breath and grasped Savannah’s arm. “Come, Savannah. Let’s go.”

  Aunt Jane’s weight sagged against Savannah, and a sense of alarm rose in her. “Do you feel all right?”

  “Yes. I’m just a little short of breath. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  Savannah led her aunt out of the church and stopped to catch a better hold of her arm at the front steps.

  “Allow me to assist you, Miss Carmichael.”

  Savannah straightened and stared into the face of Dante Rinaldi, who stood at the foot of the steps. Her heart pounded, and a slow breath trickled from her mouth. “Thank you, Mr. Rinaldi.”

  He positioned himself on the other side of Aunt Jane. Together they eased her down the steps. When they stopped at the bottom, Aunt Jane took a deep breath and turned to Dante. “You must be the new owner of Cottonwood. Savannah has told me about you.”

  A smile curled his lips. “I hope she didn’t convince you I’m some sort of ogre.”

  Aunt Jane chuckled. “Not at all, Mr. Rinaldi. In fact, I’ve found myself wondering about you. You should call on us sometime so we can get better acquainted.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Savannah glanced around at the people who’d already climbed into their buggies. Never had she seen such looks of loathing, and they were directed at Dante. She recognized the silent message her friends were sending. Interlopers who bought land for back taxes weren’t welcome in their closed Southern society.

  Guilt flowed through her, and her skin burned. Was she responsible for the community’s opinion of Dante? She considered the misfortune of losing her land a problem for her, not a cause that her friends should embrace. She tightened her grip on her aunt’s arm. “I’m sure Mr. Rinaldi has better things to do than to stand around talking to two women, and you’re tired. Let’s get you home.”

  Dante appeared oblivious to her neighbors’ glares. “I believe I see your buggy tied to that tree. I’ll walk you there.”

  Savannah opened her mouth to protest, but Dante was already propelling her aunt across the yard. With a sigh, she followed behind.

  When they reached the buggy, Aunt Jane turned to Dante. “How do you like living at Cottonwood,
Mr. Rinaldi?”

  “I find myself enjoying it, even though we’re working very hard.”

  Savannah watched the last buggy pull from the churchyard before she glanced at Dante. “I hear you have more tenant farmers now. How is that working out?”

  “Fine. They’re all very hard workers. We’re going to try and build some better housing for them before winter, but getting the land ready for spring planting is the main goal right now.”

  Savannah nodded. “I can understand that.”

  His gaze flitted across her face. “I haven’t seen you at your parents’ graves lately.”

  Her skin warmed more under his intense stare. “I come when you’re in the fields. I don’t want to be in anybody’s way.”

  His eyes clouded. “It’s always a pleasure to have you there.”

  “Thank you.” She turned back to her aunt. “Now, let’s get—” She stopped in horror at the grimace on her aunt’s face. “Aunt Jane, what’s the matter?”

  She clutched at her chest. “I’m not feeling well.”

  Before Savannah could react, Aunt Jane’s eyes widened, and she slumped toward the ground. In one swift motion, Dante caught her in his arms.

  Fear washed over Savannah. “Aunt Jane, what’s happening?”

  Her aunt’s eyelids drooped, and she struggled to breathe. “My heart.”

  Dante lifted her into the seat of the buggy and helped Savannah climb in beside her.

  “Take your aunt home. I’ll get the doctor. I know where his office is.”

  Aunt Jane tried to straighten in the seat. “May not be there. Wasn’t in church today.”

  Dante gave Aunt Jane’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him no matter where he is and follow him to your house.”

  Dante ran to the tree and untied the reins. As he handed them to her, Savannah couldn’t hide the trembling in her hands. “Thank you.”

  Dante looped the reins around her fingers and covered her shaking hands with his. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there with the doctor.”