The St Francisville Herald
24 MAY 1923
THE WHITE LYNCHINGS OF LOUISIANA
THE KLU KLUX KLAN have warned more action will be taken to protect the citizens of Louisiana from law breakers. Last Sunday they marched through Mansura with burning crosses in protest at the lack of any progress in arresting the culprits who lynched Seymour Hamilton and Charles McIntyre.
By Tuesday evening unrest had spread to Baton Rouge, Shenandoah and St Francisville.
Governor Parker paid tribute to state troopers who have been successful in maintaining law and order throughout the state, but when questioned, Attorney-General Adolphe V. Coco was forced to admit there were no further leads in the case. Klansmen have accused law-enforcement agencies of allowing the trail to grow cold in the search for the killers.
Ex-Governor, Pinckney B.S. Pinchback, spoke from his law office in Washington DC to condemn the rumour that the perpetrators of the white lynchings of Louisiana were blacks acting out of revenge as ‘preposterous nonsense with a thinly veiled political motive’.
It has been revealed that the Brayhead Rose Plantation has debts in excess of $200,000 and will close its doors at the end of the month. Foreman Elliot Woods says, ‘This is a huge blow to us. Mr Hamilton did not inform any of the workers on the plantation that the situation was as serious as it is. We will be hoping for a purchaser able to safeguard the livelihoods of all on the plantation. There is some talk of a buyout later, when everything is settled, and we are all praying for that.’
Enquiries into the murders continue.
Epilogue
Miss Constance has started to think the Nigerian sun must be hotter than before, the rainy season longer. She never used to complain, it isn’t her nature. Now she asks for air conditioning long before she would have in the past, or for the fire to be lit, the lights to go on earlier. She asks for more pepper in her food. Bem’s careful not to cook too much, and to make sure there is something of her favourites in the dishes he prepares for her each day.
In the past she possessed an unbounded acceptance of life and the ever-changing fortunes of the people she met at her post at the mission on the outskirts of Ibadan, whoever they were, or whatever, and her advice was valued. She could be relied on to have a sympathetic approach, ‘I take the broader view,’ she would say. It was always a wise one. Now she’s failing. Bem, the houseboy, has noticed the change more than anyone. She moves slower than before, peers through her spectacles more, and she’s started to lose her once healthy appetite and keen interest in food.
Bem, although called the houseboy, is barely ten years younger than Miss Constance, but he has worked at the house since it was built, shortly after she arrived from America. When the house was completed, she had a separate smaller building put up at the back to accommodate her choice of help, only because she took the advice from the mission. Miss Constance was not at all keen on getting help in, and for a time she did for herself, but eventually she selected Bem from among the many stray waifs and orphans at the mission. She chose him because of the deep scars on his back that he had no recollection of acquiring. Bem had refused to talk to anyone for nearly a year after turning up emaciated and traumatized, begging for food at the door of the mission.
Miss Constance began teaching him how to read and write, whether he wanted to learn or not, which he didn’t at first. She was patient. She never asked him a question about himself, never asked him to speak when he didn’t want to, never chastised him for sneaking a piece of extra food.
There was something more than the scars on her hands that he recognized, the scars she covered with gloves each Sunday for service, or whenever she was out in public. She spoke oddly, quietly, and she liked being by herself. He recognized that too, and she never looked at him with sympathy. He’d liked that about her most of all because, against all the odds, it made him feel like her equal and he couldn’t figure out why he should feel that way.
She added further rooms to his quarters when he married Adeola and they started to have the children. She taught them, at school and at home, and when they were ill she took them into the guest room in her house, which was rarely used, and nursed them back to health. They all went to college in Ibadan, something that made her hugely proud. They called her Nnenna, the Igbo word for grandmother.
Adeola took over most of the cooking when the children grew up, and she shares the upkeep of the property with Bem. Miss Constance insists everything is immaculately kept, and that the walls are freshly whitewashed regularly. She is very clear about what she wants, and how she wants it done. She is mannerly, friendly, but strangely neither Bem nor Adeola really feel they know her at all, although they are deeply loyal, born of genuine gratitude for what she’s done for them and their children. For all her compassion and the care she shows to those less fortunate at the mission, of which there is a perpetual stream, Miss Constance is a very cautious, private individual who keeps her distance. They allow her to. When they feel that distance is encroached upon by over-forward inquisitiveness or lack of tact, they protect her with all the ferocity of the first line in a military defence force many a stranger has felt the brunt of.
She dresses immaculately, with now just a faint trace of lipstick. She was the first person, even before the priest, to purchase a clothes iron, which is still in use, and the attention she asks them to pay to the dusting and care of her library of books fits with the fastidiousness of her nature and her pride in the collection.
Now Miss Constance spends only a little time each day in the garden. Early in the morning, with Bem’s help and before she begins to complain of the climate, whatever it is, bushes are pruned and cut flowers arranged in the rooms. She no longer manages the mower and leaves the lawns to Bem. She is proud of her garden and insists the grass is kept well watered in the dry season and well trimmed during the wet season to discourage snakes.
Her scarred hands are only slightly arthritic. She says the heat of the sun helps. If she is expecting company she wears lace gloves, her selection of various colours laid out for ease of choice according to her daily attire in two drawers of her teak wardrobe.
Adeola always rubs her hands with aloe perryi after she does the garden.
‘Thank you, Ade. I think tomorrow we should get the ingredients for our Christmas cakes. I’m surprised we still have the brandy from last year. I noticed it in the pantry.’
‘How many this year, Nnenna?’
‘I think we did ten last year, didn’t we? My, we better start right away.’
‘Bem was asked by the Islamic high school if they could have one.’
Miss Constance laughs.
‘Well, that’s eleven. I don’t suppose they offered to become Christians.’
‘No, Nnenna.’
‘Can’t keep a cake from them for that. Can I leave the shopping list to you, Ade? And let Bem have what’s left of the brandy; we’ll get a new bottle to soak the fruit in. I suppose we need two now. He’ll know what he usually gets.’
‘What about the Islamic school and the brandy?’ asks Adeola. ‘We can’t put brandy in that cake.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, I think we can.’
Miss Constance smiles for a long time at the thought of the Islamic school eating Mrs Archer-Laing’s English-recipe Christmas cake laced with brandy.
Adeola finishes oiling her hands and turns to leave her as she is, eyes closed, head resting on the wing of the chair. It is time for her nap, which she would normally take right there under the shade of the thatched terrace roof.
‘There’s a car on the road, Nnenna.’
‘I’m not expecting anyone. Thank you, Ade. Can you turn the air conditioning on inside, please? I don’t know what the day is going to do. I suspect heat, although it was chilly in the night.’
The dust trail billows high into the still air long before the car becomes visible on the road. When it pulls up at the bottom of the drive, Ade sees it’s a taxi carrying a man and a wom
an in the back. They fan themselves in the heat. The man gets out of the car first and shades his eyes from the sun. He addresses Ade as he helps the woman out of the back seat.
‘Miss Laing? Miss Constance Laing?’
‘This is Miss Laing’s residence. May I help you?’
Miss Constance hears the exchange from the terrace, opens her eyes and turns slowly in her chair.
‘Yes? I’m Miss Laing.’
To Ade’s annoyance the couple walk past her uninvited and stride enthusiastically towards Miss Constance.
‘Arletta?’
Miss Constance hadn’t heard her name spoken for many, many years. She had never heard it spoken in Africa. There was something about the way it was said, the tone of voice, something she had held sacred in her memory all those years. She’d have known it anywhere.
‘Rochelle?’
‘Arletta, is that you?’
‘Rochelle, you’ve come? My Rochelle?’
‘Oh, Arletta! I came to see you … I had to, Arletta.’
‘Rochelle?’
The world, in an instant, is an entirely different place.
Miss Constance rises from her seat. The two sisters look at one another, studying each face that has changed so much in half a century, since one last look so long ago at the end of a dusty track in Louisiana. They fall into each other’s arms. Miss Constance weeps, repeating Rochelle’s name over and over again. Rochelle’s husband, Neville, stands behind them, twirling his hat in restless fingers. Ade notices there are tears in his eyes and bows her head to leave him in his private moment. Bem appears at the side of the house, tea towel in hand. Neither he nor his wife has ever seen Nnenna cry.
‘I’m so glad you came. Let me look at you now. Let me just look at you. My Rochelle, my dearest, dearest …’
‘I grew up, Arletta. And I went to college, just like you wanted. This is my husband Neville. Neville, come.’
Neville is the first man to take hold of Arletta in over fifty years. His embrace is emotional, warm and strong.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you at last, at long last, Arletta. A great pleasure.’
‘Ade, Bem, this is my sister Rochelle and her husband Neville. Oh my! Bring us some iced tea. Would you like that Rochelle – or a soda? Neville, come please. What would you like? Bem please, some drinks right away … quickly, please. I’ll have anything.’
Bem and Ade had no idea any family existed and it was the most excited they’d seen her in a long time, probably ever. Bem asks Nnenna if he should tell the taxi to wait.
‘Oh yes, offer him out of the heat, though, and let him have a drink too. Be sure to tell him we’ll pay him for his time if he’ll wait.’
Then as Bem turns in the drive to talk to the driver, she changes her mind.
‘No, what am I thinking! My guests, my sister will stay. Would you make sure the guest room is properly prepared, Bem?’
‘Yes, Nnenna.’
Bem knew Ade would chastise him for calling Miss Constance Nnenna in front of her guests. The excitement had made him forget himself.
‘I knew you would never get in touch Arletta. It was time to come,’ said Rochelle. ‘I had to come.’
‘I’m so glad to see you, Rochelle. Come sit with me, hold my hand. Come.’
Rochelle notices her sister moves slowly and deliberately. It is soon to be her time, that is clear.
‘You must tell me about the children too, Rochelle. Please. I know Stephen is a lawyer, and Lilith has done so well. You must be so proud.’
‘But Arletta, how do you know about the children? My Stephen and Lilith?’
‘Mrs Archer-Laing wrote every Christmas till she died.’
The dry season is not fully underway and the grey clouds coming overhead thankfully give them some shade from the sun, although it’s starting to make the day muggy. Miss Constance takes Rochelle by the arm and guides her round the path at the side of the lawn towards the shade of a thatched gazebo. Neville follows a discreet distance behind.
‘It is so good to see you, Rochelle. How I missed you, watching you grow, watching Mambo grow old.’
‘Mambo cried for you, Arletta. When she was dying she asked me to find you and to beg your forgiveness. And I’m so glad I have found you.’
Miss Constance had forgiven Mambo a very long time ago. Even before the thick night mist had swirled round the Spanish moss next to the bayou and she had held her tight as she slept her last night in America.
‘She told me everything.’
‘Did she tell you about us, how Madame Bonnet helped us. Were you shocked?’
‘She told me, and no, Arletta, I was not shocked. She was my Mambo, too. She had to help you. When she told me everything, she started from the beginning, so it was clear and plain why you did what you did. She told me all about it when I finished college. She never forgave herself for leaving you alone when you were a child. Never.’
‘I missed her something terrible when I left Louisiana. You too, Rochelle, but I ached deep down in my bones for Mambo. It never went away.’
‘She was hard on herself. About how she was when she was young.’
Miss Constance sat down and laughed.
‘Rochelle, she was a crazy woman.’
‘That’s for sure.’ Rochelle smiled and a little laugh rocked her chest. Miss Constance noticed her little sister stop briefly in her tracks when she laughed. Still doing that, just like Pappy used to do.
They sat together in the gazebo.
‘I look back and I see what she told me once, that Pappy never took his hand to her. He loved her and I couldn’t see it because all I ever did was argue. Lord, could we argue!’
‘Lord, could she argue?’
They laughed together. They were easy with one another. The years fell away.
‘Did she ever stop, Rochelle, calm down, become mellow?’
‘Yes, she did. She was proud that you had taken care of business, proud that I went to college and she stopped fighting the world.’
‘And the world changed too.’
‘And there was something left in it, something to show for her life, something to prove she’d had a life, to be proud of. She was proud of you. She told me that.’
‘She was proud of me in the end? Well, she was always proud of you Rochelle.’
‘She loved you Arletta. I’m going to stay and tell you all the things she said about you. How she loved you.’
‘I know she did.’
‘And she never regretted it. She never regretted that night.’
Rochelle opened her handbag and extracted a small pouch.
‘Here, Arletta. When Mambo was dying – it was long after she told me everything – she said she knew in her heart that one day you and I would meet again. It’s why I had to come. I was to give you this.’
Miss Constance opened the pouch her sister handed her, smiling as she did so. She knew it would contain Pappy’s pipe. She put the old pipe to her lips and sucked deeply.
‘Oh Mambo.’ Miss Constance fingered the pipe. ‘My Pappy’s pipe. Thank you, my Mambo. I guess Pappy would never have thought of it coming here to Africa. You know, Rochelle, I get the feeling she might have smoked this sometimes, sucked on it just like I used to. I used to do that, to remember Pappy.’
‘She probably did. I never saw her, but I bet she did too, because she took up smoking after you left. You keep it Arletta.’
‘No.’ Miss Constance looked pleased. ‘You give it to one of the children. I’ll be under the ground soon, and this here pipe has spent too much time in the ground already. Tell them about Pappy, so they know he saved his master’s son’s life. That he kept the cabin fire alight in winter, and shared what he grew in the ground. Tell them about their Pappy, and about this pipe.’
‘I’m so glad I came Arletta. As Mambo always used to say, we’s flesh and blood.’
‘I knew it was called the “White Lynchings of Louisiana” but I never knew the trouble it caused till somebody sent me t
he newspaper clippings about it.’
‘Somebody sent newspaper clippings?’
‘Yes. Somebody who knew I was here.’
‘Who? Have you any idea?’
‘I think so.’
‘It’s been one of the great unsolved cases in Louisiana. Never shook off the suspicion that it was revenge, and it got white folks real scared they might start getting a dose of their own medicine from blacks. Lynchings round our way came to an abrupt end with it Arletta. These lynchings became quite famous, you know.’
‘Infamous may be the word you’re looking for, Rochelle. That won’t get me a pardon. Will you and Neville stay awhile? Stay with me here. I cannot go far. Old age, Rochelle, just old age.’
‘We’ll stay as long as you like Arletta, as long as you like. We’re retired now, and with plenty of time.’
‘Won’t Neville mind?’
‘Neville is the nicest, kindest man you’ll ever have met, Arletta. He’s a remarkable person, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my husband. We’ll stay if you want us to and you’ll find that out for yourself. And he loved Mambo, they got on real fine. Did everything for her at the end. Neville says you need family round you now. After all you’ve been through, and having to leave everything behind, we want to stay with you if you’d like us to. He knows you left Mambo the money that got me started and off to college.’
‘Quince ever help like he promised?’
‘Saved like a madman to send me every cent he could. Took to wearing shiny shoes, patent leather, well, you can imagine Mambo …’
They giggled like girls.
‘Wearing her black suit and pearls. My, she looked wonderful.’
‘Oh, she got real pearls in the end.’
When they were done laughing, Miss Constance removed her glasses and wiped away tears.
‘You know, I never thought much of him, Quince, till he quit liquor.’
‘I don’t recall his drinking days, but I heard about it, mostly from himself, I must say. He was pretty honest about it, how he behaved when he was a young man. Pretty wild, the way he told it.’
What the River Washed Away Page 29