American Rebirth

by Norma Jean Lutz

  Mama and Elise wore their rubber boots and stood under their parasols, but they were still getting wet from the steady gray rain. At the capitol, a podium had been erected. While the coffin was taken inside and readied, several officials and politicians spoke eloquently about their slain leader.

  Between speeches, the bands played solemn hymns such as the “Doxology” and “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory.” Tears burned in Elise’s eyes as she listened to the sad, soft music.

  When the speeches were over, the doors of the capitol were opened, and the crowds moved in that direction. By now it was nearly noon, and Elise’s stomach was beginning to growl. Breakfast had been eaten many hours ago, but she didn’t care. She was going to say good-bye to President Lincoln.

  At long last they were inside, and she and Mama closed their parasols and shook the droplets out of their long, full skirts. It was even quieter inside than out. The only sounds were the rustle of hoop skirts and soft footfalls. Even a slight cough from someone in the crowd seemed noisy.

  “You may speak a blessing,” Mama whispered to her three children. “But remember, this vessel of clay is just an empty shell. Mr. Lincoln is rejoicing in heaven, set free from his heavy burdens.”

  The coffin was surrounded by mounds of flowers, evergreen wreaths, and drapes of white satin. Elise was near enough that she could actually see the coffin. The rows of people narrowed from the jumbled bunches into a single-file line. Peter was in front of her, Samuel behind her. Mama and Papa were behind Samuel.

  As the line moved, Elise could see the thatch of dark hair and the beard for which Mr. Lincoln was so well known. A few more steps and she could see the rugged, angular face. His face held an expression of rest and total peace.

  “Bless you, Mr. Lincoln,” she heard Peter say, “for setting the captives free.”

  Now Elise stood right beside the coffin of President Lincoln. “Bless you, Mr. Lincoln,” she said, “for extending forgiveness to the deserters and all those who started the war.”

  Behind her, Samuel whispered, “Blessings on you, Mr. Lincoln, for preserving our nation.”

  As Elise stepped down from the platform, she was weeping as she had the first day she received the news. Then Mama had her arms around her, holding her and comforting her and grieving along with her.

  That afternoon, Secretary Chase came to the hotel where the Brannons were staying and visited with them. He stayed long enough to eat supper with them in the restaurant. He filled them in on many details of the final days of the war, as well as details of the assassination of the president. The next day, as Mr. Lincoln was buried in the Oak Ridge Cemetery, the Brannons stood near the front in the crowd of thousands, right next to Secretary Chase.

  Hymns were sung, eulogies were given, sermons were preached, prayers were said. Rich green cedar boughs carpeted the stone floor of the vault. Flowers were placed in precise arrangements. Mourners carried flowers with them and heaped them on the coffin.

  At last all the ceremony was finished. An era had ended. Abraham Lincoln was at rest.

  CHAPTER 18

  Friends Forever

  As soon as Elise returned home, she saddled Dusty to ride to the Finney cottage and give Verly the special penny. When Elise rode up, Verly came running out the front door to meet her. “Oh, Elise, I’m so glad to see you. Welcome home! I have wonderful news to tell you.”

  Elise jumped to the ground and tied Dusty to the hitching post. “After all the sadness of the past few weeks, good news would be most welcome,” she said.

  The May sunshine had finally broken through and was drying up the soggy countryside.

  “The day after you left for Springfield, Papa received a letter. A special letter.” “From whom?” “His son, Simon.”

  Elise looked at her friend. She remembered how intensely Verly hated anyone who fought for the South. “What did the letter say?” she asked.

  “Since Papa didn’t know if Simon was dead or alive, that was the first great news—he’s alive, and he’s well.” Verly’s pretty blue eyes were sparkling. “He wants to come home for a visit. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It is absolutely wonderful. Milt must be ecstatic.”

  “Oh, he is. We all are.” Verly plopped down on the steps of the small front porch. Elise sat down beside her. “Just think,” she said, “now I have a new older brother as well as a new papa. I have a whole new family! Isn’t God good?”

  “That He is, Verly. That He is.” Elise had never seen her friend so joyful. Just then Elise remembered why she’d hurried over. Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she said, “I’ve brought you a little gift.”

  “A gift? For me? How kind of you.”

  “Hold out your hand.”

  Verly extended her palm. “This,” Elise said, placing the flattened penny in her friend’s hand, “is a coin that Papa laid on the track at Springfield. It was flattened by the funeral train of Mr. Abraham Lincoln.”

  Verly gazed reverently at the coin. “Thank you, Elise. Thank you for caring enough to share your special moment with me.”

  “Someday, when we are very old and we’re surrounded by our grandchildren and our great-grandchildren, we’ll have these coins as a memento of this moment in history.”

  Verly smiled. “And you know what? I bet we’ll still be friends after all those years.”

  Elise laughed and put her arms about her friend to hug her. It felt wonderful to laugh once again. “Verly,” she said, “I bet you’re right!”

  Janie’s Freedom

  Callie Smith Grant

  A NOTE TO READERS

  Though Janie’s story is fictional, her experience represents that of many African Americans following the Civil War.

  In 1861, the United States of America were anything but united. Verbal battles between the states erupted into a bloody, all-out war. Fought on America’s own soil, Northerner against Southerner, this “War Between the States” lasted from 1861 until 1865.

  Many things were disputed in the war, but the most compelling issue was the existence of slavery in America. Much of young America was built by slave labor, and this was especially true in the Southern states. Early Southern plantations provided a wonderful life for wealthy whites, but this came from the unpaid labor of their black slaves who were either kidnapped from their homes in Africa and transported across the Atlantic Ocean or born into slavery to previous generations of captives.

  Fortunately, many Americans believed that no one had the right to own other human beings. The Emancipation Proclamation was issued by President Abraham Lincoln in 1862 and went into effect on New Year’s Day in 1863. This decree was to free Southern slaves, though it was largely ignored until the war was over. (Northern slaves were freed in 1865 by the Thirteenth Amendment.)

  In the story that follows, you’ll meet young Janie, a fictitious, freed Southern slave. It’s two years after the end of the Civil War. Like many former slaves, Janie does not know where her family members are—they were separated and sold to different owners before the war began. And like many former slaves with their first taste of freedom, she finds a whole new world opening to her.

  CONTENTS

  1. Rubyhill

  2. Inside the Big House

  3. The Leather Box

  4. “I Got to Go”

  5. The Burial

  6. A Harvest Moon

  7. The Rubyhill Five

  8. Maydean

  9. Trouble

  10. Mrs. Hull’s Kitchen

  11. To the Rescue

  12. Wintering

  13. Change in the Air

  14. Christmas Eve

  15. “And It Came to Pass”

  16. Where’s Maydean?

  17. A Happy Birthday

  18. Indiana Spring

  19. Chicago

  20. New Places, New Faces

  21. Good News

  22. A Wedding Day

  CHAPTER 1

  Rubyhill

  Janie! Janie!” Aleta ran
down the main path of the slave quarters. “Come quick! There’s a carriage with horses! Something’s happening!”

  Eleven-year-old Janie stopped sweeping the dirt in front of the cabin she shared with old Aunty Mil. It was a lovely September morning at Rubyhill Plantation, and Janie had been making pretty patterns in the dirt with the broom. Inside the one-room cabin, Aunty Mil warmed herself by a fire. Janie propped the straw broom against the log wall of the cabin and trotted up the knoll toward seventeen-year-old Aleta.

  Aleta was Janie’s friend, even though they were not the same age. The older girl had taken Janie under her wing in the plantation kitchen when Janie first arrived at Rubyhill six years ago. Aleta acted like a big sister to Janie—even called her “little sis” sometimes—and that was fine. While Janie wore her hair in braids, Aleta covered her own hair with a bright scarf tied in back like a grown woman.

  “Come on, Janie,” Aleta said. “You got to see this.” She grabbed Janie’s hand and pulled her the rest of the way up the knoll, taking them both out of the quarters.

  The two ran to the front of the Rubyhill Plantation’s mansion, the place everyone called the Big House. There in the weedy horseshoe drive stood a fine carriage drawn by a handsome pair of matching gray horses. Janie had not seen such well-fed creatures in a long time, not since the war started and the master and his son rode off to fight in it. Even the Yankee soldiers who came through Georgia two years before had not ridden such fine horses.

  She shifted her attention to the carriage itself. It was made of wood and shining leather. The wheels were straight, and their black paint showed through the red road dust. The driver, a white man, sat ramrod-straight, buggy whip in hand, eyes straight ahead. He looked uncomfortable, maybe from all the sudden attention he was receiving from the former slaves of Rubyhill. Janie noticed that he also looked quite well fed. She wondered where he was getting food.

  Most of Rubyhill’s twenty former slaves joined Janie and Aleta in the front yard, standing at a slight distance from the horse and carriage. It was some sight to see, these pretty horses and their stout, white driver sitting in the sun in the middle of the fire-scorched front yard. Janie and Aleta whispered to each other, but the others stayed silent and alert.

  After nearly a quarter hour, the former slaves heard a noise behind them. Turning almost as one, they watched two men gently lead Miz Laura down what was left of the broken-down veranda stairs. Miz Laura was the mistress at Rubyhill, and she looked thin and old beyond her years. She wore a too-large, wrinkled black dress and a black straw hat that tied under her chin. Her shabbily gloved hands gripped the arms of the men flanking her as she slowly moved toward the carriage. What’s happening here? Janie wondered, but she kept silent.

  With some difficulty, Miz Laura climbed into the carriage, helped by the men who then swung up behind her. She placed a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Wait, please,” she said in a soft voice. She turned in her seat to the crowd of freed slaves.

  She took her time looking each person in the eyes, one by one. The strangeness of this hit them all; never had Miz Laura—nor any other white person—ever sought direct eye contact with the slaves. The group stood uncomfortably silent, but many, including Janie, returned her gaze.

  The woman began to speak in a weary voice. “These men are my cousins from Pennsylvania. That is where I’m from.” She paused and looked off in the distance for a moment. “It’s become painfully clear that my husband and my son will not be returning to Rubyhill ever again. My family has sent for me, and as I’m certain you can understand, I’ve decided to return home with them.” She paused again and sighed. “I want to thank you good people. You kept me from starving. I do not know how you did it. I even wonder why you did it. But I greatly appreciate it.”

  Miz Laura looked around her at the Big House, with its broken front pillars, collapsed roof, and blackened walls. She gazed at the stumps of the once-mighty oaks that had lined the long drive, the broken stone walls of the burned-out formal gardens, and the acres of overgrown fields, no longer blackened by the fire set by the Yankees but also no longer green with planting.

  “I ask your forgiveness,” she said suddenly. “I should have insisted my husband give you a better life while I could. I was wrong, and I regret it now, every moment of every day.” She stared at her gloved hands for a moment then looked at the small crowd again. “Stay at Rubyhill as long as you like. Take whatever you can use from the house or from anywhere else on this land. My men won’t be coming back. Neither will I. May God bless you all and keep you safe.”

  Miz Laura leaned back and placed one hand over her eyes. As one of the cousins draped a carriage blanket over Miz Laura’s lap, Aleta called out a blessing to the white woman. The others murmured good-byes or remained silent as the driver flicked his buggy whip and the carriage rolled down the drive in a rosy cloud of Georgia dust.

  The community of former slaves dispersed thoughtfully. Janie and Aleta waited until they could no longer see the carriage, then they walked quietly back to the slave quarters together. Finally Janie said, “What’s it mean, Aleta? Miz Laura’s never comin’ back?”

  “Looks like it,” replied Aleta.

  As they approached Janie’s cabin, Aunty Mil’s reedy voice came from the door. “What’s going on, Janie-bird?”

  Aleta waved to Janie and headed back to the yard. Janie waved back and ducked into the cabin. “Miz Laura’s cousins come got her. They’s goin’ north.”

  “Mm-mm.” This was Aunty Mil’s response to many things in life. Arthritic and blind with age, she spent her days rocking in a broken chair, trying to keep her old body warm.

  The rocker had come from the Big House. Janie had seen the Yankee general Sherman and his soldiers throw it through a glass window when they came through Rubyhill on their path of destruction. The chair had lost an arm and the tip of a runner in the process, but it still rocked. And it had a nice, thick, embroidered seat cushion.

  Janie had watched it get rained on in the yard. Then it dried out. When a rainstorm approached again, she had asked the older slaves if she could take the chair to Aunty Mil. The elders had said yes. Janie had picked the glass out of the cushion; then she dragged the chair to the quarters all by herself. At the time, it had been almost bigger than she was. Aunty Mil liked the chair and now rarely left it.

  “Wanna sit in the sun, Aunty Mil?”

  “Yes, baby girl. Thank you so much.”

  Janie helped the old woman up, dragged the chair to the dirt path outside the cabin, and placed it square in the sun. Aunty Mil hobbled out and sank onto the now-worn cushion. Janie noticed the old woman’s face was bathed in sweat.

  “You all right, Aunty?”

  “Yes. That fire in there kinda hot all of a sudden is all.” Blindness had turned Aunty Mil’s eyes light blue. Now she closed them and leaned back. “Ooh, that’s a good breeze.” She rocked a moment. “Now tell Aunty Mil all about what happened up there.”

  Janie told the old woman about the handsome carriage and matched gray horses and Miz Laura’s speech. “Mm-mm,” the old woman responded. “Change in the air.” She was suddenly fast asleep. Janie noticed that was happening a lot lately.

  Janie grabbed the broom and quickly finished sweeping the yard, swirling patterns in the dirt and thinking about what had just happened. Then she went about her daily task of finding food that Aunty Mil could eat without having to chew, since the old woman was missing many of her teeth. Janie had exhausted most of the plantation’s possible stashing places, but she still managed to find some she hadn’t remembered before.

  And although she couldn’t remember every place she had hidden food, Janie remembered the rest of the events of two years ago as if they had happened yesterday. That day was a milestone in her life, like the day her father was sold to the chain gang and the day a year later when little Janie was sold away from her mother and brought here to Rubyhill. The day General Sherman and his soldiers came to Rubyhill marked a line in the Ge
orgia clay; there was life before the Yankees and life after the Yankees. And nothing nowadays was anything like it had been before.

  Back then, a runner came panting into the slave quarters one day. He was from Bailey Meadows, a plantation several miles away, and he’d been sent to warn Miz Laura and the others that the Yankees were about thirty miles down the road and headed this way. The word was that they were stealing what they could and destroying anything else in their path.

  Miz Laura already had her many valuable things buried in the fields and gardens in case the Yankees might come to Rubyhill. Now the slaves figured they had a couple days to take care of what really mattered, and they got to work.

  First they slaughtered and cooked two pigs for the next couple days’ food. Then they scattered the other pigs into the fields and woods. They found hiding places for hams and wheels of cheese.

  Miz Laura had not given thought to the canned goods and other root-cellar items, but the slaves did. They sent the children to find places in the forest and fields to hide anything small and edible. For three days and two nights, Janie and the other child slaves carted glass jars of fruits, vegetables, and preserves out of the cellar and hid them in the nearby woods. They buried potatoes, carrots, and turnips in the dirt all over the fields. Whatever eggs the hens laid were boiled; after they cooled, the children covered the eggs in mud and tucked them into the slave-cabin fireplaces. Then they chased the hens into the woods.

  It was late on the third day when the soldiers arrived. Indeed, they took any food they could find in the smokehouse and kitchen. They took the milking cows and whatever goats, sheep, pigs, and chickens had made their way back to the barnyards. There were no horses left at Rubyhill—they’d already been taken by Confederate soldiers for the war effort.