Reconstructing Jackson

by Bush, Holly

  Reed sat silently, knowing from the dart of the boy’s eyes he remembered the day clearly. “How old are you?”

  “Mama wasn’t sure. She couldn’t count. But Pa said I was about ten.”

  “Your father wasn’t around, or did he not know his numbers either?”

  “He and Ma married each other the first day we left Louisiana. He was from another plantation.”

  * * *

  Belle stood at the door to Reed’s office and prayed. Let him see fit to help this boy, dear God. The two of them were talking and looking at a map. Belle backed up silently. An hour later, she worried Nathan would anger or tire Reed. She went to his door and saw Nathan stretched out on the floor looking at an atlas. Reed was working at his desk. She cleared her throat. Nathan turned his head, smiling and jumped up to follow her. He closed the book and returned it to the shelf.

  “Stand still, Nathan,” Belle said as the boy fidgeted. She had enough of the gingham from her curtains left to make him a shirt, and she was measuring him.

  “What’s this?” Reed asked.

  Belle’s head flew up. “I … I had spare cloth from the curtains, and I’m going to cut him a new shirt.”

  “Out of that?”

  “I’m done with curtains and cut a few squares for a quilt. This piece is extra.”

  “For God’s sakes, Belle.” Reed saw Belle swallow and Nathan inch to her. “Yellow gingham? Ten-year-old boys don’t want shirts made of yellow gingham.”

  Belle put her arm around Nathan. “The other piece is flowered. I’m going to make a cushion with it to match the curtains.”

  Reed wheeled forward impatiently digging in his vest. “Here.” He handed Belle a coin. “Go get some flannel. And a piece of denim for pants.” Reed turned his chair sharply and shouted over his shoulder. “If the boy’s going to stay with us, I don’t want him dressed in gingham.”

  Belle’s hand flew to her mouth. “Did you say he could stay? Reed?” She hurried after him. Reed faced the desk and would not turn.

  “Do not say one more word, Belle. And if you’re in danger in any way, he goes.”

  Tears filled her eyes. This man, for his gruff ways, touched her in a way she had never known. Whether he gave in for the boy or for her didn’t matter. She only knew that his cold manners and grim mood hid a man that was special in so many ways. She had worried over living with a man. Worse now, would be the thought of not being with Reed. She missed his touch at night and the easy way they had settled in with each other. His heart is touching mine, she thought, even if he’ll never know. “I love you, Reed.”

  * * *

  Reed’s back stiffened. Her words rattled through his head, bouncing from one improbable explanation or denial to another. Visions of his mother’s serene smile, Belinda’s face and the feel of his Mammy’s hugs tumbled in and out of his mind. The sound of his brother’s laughter and the surgeon’s saw as it whittled through his leg blew through. Reed’s eyes closed. There will never be a sound sovivid in memory for a lifetime such as those words spoken from the lips of my wife. Not an image, full of feminine warmth from a childhood long ago or the shy smile of a young girl leaning for her first kiss would ever again curl around him when life threatened. The countenance he would see, the sounds he would hear, the comfort he would seek would forever more be Belle and her words.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later Belle received the message that Nathan would be moved that night. She wondered if his father lived. The boy plagued her with questions, but she found she didn’t tire of him. He hung close to her, often touching her skirt absent-mindedly as they talked.

  Belle was sure somehow Nathan would be fine. With his father or in Chicago. What worried her most were her husband’s sullen stares. Reed swung from answering Nathan’s questions to nearly biting his head off in reply. She knew Reed was angry, but he hadn’t hit or threatened her. She had made a decision, and he had acquiesced, albeit grudgingly. When they made love, he held her face, staring hard, and Belle was convinced some thought nipped at him, but he would not yield. Reed insisted she locked the door when he left for the courthouse. He made her practice shooting with his pistol.

  Of one thing Belle was sure. She had been right. Nathan needed shelter. And she would not back down. Not to Reed, not to anyone. Her husband had married a meek woman who only dreamed. She had become more. Belle’s yearnings for a house and husband had been fulfilled. She could read and write well now. Belle held her head high in town, in front of other woman. She had faced Reed’s parents and told all. The image she saw in the mirror each day gave her confidence. And that confidence gave her a freedom she had never known.

  Belle didn’t sleep that night, waiting for Beulah. She heard a whistle and crept from her bed. Reed rolled over, sleeping. A black-draped Beulah stood at her kitchen door.

  “It’s time,” Beulah whispered.

  “Did you find Amos?”

  The hood nodded. “Not a minute to spare. Get the boy, Belle.”

  Belle woke Nathan. She pulled a pair of heavy socks on his feet and laced his shoes. “Come on, Nathan. It’s time to go.”

  “Is my father here?”

  Belle smiled and nodded. “Pull this coat on. I don’t know where you’re going, but it might be cold.” She held the lapels tight. “Be good, Nathan. Keep up with your studies.” Her smile was bittersweet.

  “Thank you, Miss Belle. I won’t forget you. Or Mr. Jackson.”

  Belle kissed his forehead and hurried him to the back door. Her head snapped up to shouting outside. Eerie lights danced in the windowpanes. Belle pulled the door open against the wind from a storm brewing. A tall, dark figured lashed and struggled against ropes around his neck and back while men on horseback laughed and taunted him. Torchlight illuminated his face. Amos Black. Belle saw shadows running near the woods behind her house. One man on horseback followed. Beulah blocked her doorway.

  “Dear God in heaven,” Beulah whispered.

  Belle and Nathan watched as the woman marched forward. A masked man charged her. Beulah dropped to the ground violently with his kick.

  “Belle,” Reed shouted. “Belle.”

  She stood frozen, rooted in the doorway holding Nathan behind her.

  “Belle, get my gun.” Reed wheeled into the kitchen bare-chested. “And lock the door.”

  The men had Amos now. He fought kicking and swinging his fists to no avail. A rope looped around his neck. As the other end of the rope swung over a tree branch, Amos looked to the house. In the moonlight, Belle saw his look of abject terror. Pure brutal fear. Nathan had seen as well. A gunshot erupted as Amos was yanked high. Belle gagged and lurched. Nathan tried to pull out of her arms. She held him fast. Her eyes went to Beulah, lying on the ground, a gun held limply in her hand.

  * * *

  Reed pulled Belle and Nathan away from the door. “Get in the house, Belle,” he shouted. Her white face and wide eyes turned his way and hurried past him inside. Reed leveled the shotgun at the man tying Beulah’s hands. “Leave her be,” he shouted.

  The man looked up to Reed’s shouts, and Beulah grabbed for him wildly. His mask fell away from one side of his face. Reed could have sworn it was Belle’s brother Jed. Reed raised the gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, but he had aimed high to miss Beulah. The man’s mouth curled into a smile as he stood and hooked the other end of the rope around his saddle, swung a leg over his horse, digging stir-ups and dragging Beulah behind. Reed watched her body bounce over stone and ground as the man gathered speed. “Sweet Jesus.”

  The men on horseback melted into the night. The only sounds remaining were the whistle of the wind and the creek of the branch Amos Black swung from. Nathan ran head long into the darkness. He jumped at the feet of his swinging father, crying. Reed sat in his chair, breathing hard.

  Two riders galloped hard into the yard and Belle cried weakly for Nathan. Reed leveled his gun.

  “What happened here?”

  Reed saw a tin star. �
��Men on horseback. Four, maybe five just hung this man. They’ve a woman hog-tied, dragging her.”

  “Shit,” the sheriff said.

  “Nigger?” the man mounted beside him asked and spit.

  “I don’t take kindly to lynching mobs,” the sheriff snapped to his deputy. “And I don’t care what color the skin, men don’t drag women on my watch. Let’s ride. Did you see who it was?”

  “No,” Reed said unwilling to insert himself or Belle in this violence anymore than they already were.

  The sheriff thundered away. Belle ran to Nathan.

  “My Pa, they hung my Pa,” Nathan shouted hysterically. Belle picked him up and carried him into the house.

  “This is why I didn’t want the boy in our house,” Reed shouted as he wheeled into the kitchen. “For this exact reason. I sat in a wheelchair and watched my wife and home threatened as a man’s hung in my side yard,” Reed ranted and screamed and pushed dishes from the table. “Powerless in this chair.”

  Reed’s chest heaved and he closed his eyes. Willing himself to cease shaking. Willing the past away. Defeat and weakness poured over him. A cripple unable to defend himself or his wife.

  * * *

  Belle listened to Reed’s curses and prayed for Beulah. Nathan sat trembling in her lap, and then she heard the sound of horses.

  Reed went to the door, his shotgun, now over the arms of his chair. “Stay inside.”

  Belle did not know if she could move if he had asked her. She feared the house could burn down around her, and she would sit rooted to the hard chair, holding Nathan. She would jump in her seat, now and then, as the sound of Amos Black’s neck snapping reverberated in her head. Surely the look on his face would haunt her until the day she died. She looked up when Reed touched her hand.

  “They’ve found Beulah. The sheriff sent the deputy for Jim Lowell, but it sounds …”

  Belle stood, put Nathan in her chair and drew a blanket around his shoulders. She pulled her shawl around her as she ran out the door.

  “Where are you going?” Reed shouted. “Get back in this house.”

  Belle looked at him. And at Nathan now huddled under a blanket. There was nothing to say. Belle caught up with the sheriff on the road leading out of town.

  “Go on home, Mrs. Jackson. This ain’t a sight fit to be seen by no one,” he said from his horse.

  “Where is she?” Belle asked.

  “Your husband’s fit to be tied right now. Git on home.”

  Belle walked past his horse.

  “I’m telling you …”

  Belle whirled on him. “Where is she?” she screamed.

  The sheriff nodded ahead in the moonlight.

  Belle saw a lump of black in the middle of the road. She ran until she stood over Beulah. A twisted mass of broken, beaten woman lay on the road. Deathly still. Belle dropped to her knees. “Beulah,” she whispered as she picked up a bloody hand. “Beulah.”

  One eye trembled open. “Belle,” Beulah hissed.

  “Beulah, hang on. The doctor’s coming.” Beulah’s face was a mass of torn flesh. Her left shoulder twisted under her, and the arm attached, cracked backwards at her elbow. Belle could feel tears course down her face, and she wiped them hastily with her hand. “Dr. Lowell’s coming.”

  Beulah moved her head from side to side. “Come closer,” she whispered.

  Belle bent down, inches from her face. Beulah’s breath came in short gasps.

  “My brother, Belle. Get word to him. Tonight.” Beulah coughed weakly.

  Belle heard Reed’s shouts and horses in the background. “I’ll go to Brother Freeman.”

  Beulah’s eyes widened. “Nathan.”

  Jim Lowell pushed Reed in his chair and stopped within inches of Beulah’s twisted body.

  Jim Lowell knelt on the other side of Beulah. He looked up without hope.

  “Nathan,” Beulah said louder. “You’ve got to care for …” she gasped.

  * * *

  Reed watched the black woman struggle to breathe. Struggle for life. And in her last moments, she thought only of a small boy. Not herself, lying on a dirt road in a pool of her own blood. “Don’t worry about Nathan, Beulah.”

  The side of Beulah’s mouth lifted. “Mr. Jackson, is that you?”

  “Yes, Beulah.”

  “Sorry to have brought this trouble to you.”

  “Don’t, Beulah,” Belle said.

  In a burst of clarity and strength Beulah focused on Belle and Reed, bringing her good hand to Belle’s face. “You have the faith, girl. You’ll be fine.” Her hand dropped and confusion wracked her face. Blood bubbled from her mouth. “Mr. Jackson are you there?”

  “I’m here, Beulah.”

  “Have the faith, Mr. Jackson. Let Him lead you to the light. He’s leading me even now. Do ya hear?”

  “I hear,” Reed said.

  Beulah hummed softly while Jim Lowell and Belle held her hands. The woman’s chest shuddered, and her eyes rolled. And then there was silence. Dr. Lowell closed her eyes.

  “Come on, Belle,” Reed said softly. “Stand up.”

  The Ames’s carriage rolled to a stop. Henry, Mary Ellen and Reed’s parents stepped down.

  “Oh, my God,” Mary Ellen shouted when she saw Beulah. Henry pulled her into his arms and stared at Beulah and swallowed.

  Lily Jackson’s lip trembled as she put a hand under Belle’s elbow and helped her daughter-in-law to her feet. Buford Jackson stood near the carriage.

  “Henry,” Dr. Lowell said. “Can we use your carriage to get her back to town?”

  Henry nodded. The men came forward to lift Beulah. His father hesitated.

  Belle screamed at him. “Don’t you dare put your filthy hands on her.” She beat her fists on his chest. “You’re the reason she’s dead. You and your kind. Don’t you touch her. You’re not fit to wash her feet.”

  “Control your wife, Reed,” Buford shouted.

  Belle’s hair flew wildly, and her eyes revealed the hatred she felt. Reed could hardly censure her hysteria after what she’d witnessed tonight.

  Mary Ellen grabbed Belle’s arm. “Come on, Belle. Let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  Mary Ellen led her into her kitchen. There sat Nathan. His eyes clinging to her. Would she prove herself worthy of what she recognized now was Beulah’s love? As she lamented the murder of Beulah, this child dealt with the death of both parents and the unhinging of his young life. Belle held out her arms, and he flew to her. No deathbed wish would be honored more. As Beulah gave unselfishly, she would as well. It was the legacy Beulah had bestowed on her.

  Belle rubbed Nathan’s back and sought to convince herself and the child. “Everything will be fine.”

  Nathan looked up. “Miss Beulah’s dead, ain’t she?”

  Belle nodded. “We’ll be alright, Nathan.”

  “How am I going to get to Chicago? Miss Beulah had it all figured.” Nathan’s eyes were fearful.

  Belle knelt down. She saw Reed and Jim Lowell come in the kitchen. “Don’t worry,” she said to the boy.

  “The sheriff is going to get Amos Black’s body down and take him and Beulah to Brother Freeman,” Jim Lowell said.

  Beulah’s words rang in her head. “Beulah wanted me to get word to Brother Freeman. I think she was afraid for him.”

  “The sheriff said he’d stand guard himself at the Freeman farm at least until the funerals,” Reed said. “Henry went with him. No one wants more trouble.”

  Belle nodded.

  Dr. Lowell saw Mary Ellen back to the hotel and Reed, Belle and Nathan sat alone in the kitchen. The only sounds they heard were the men struggling to retrieve Amos Black.

  “I’m going to make some coffee, Belle,” Reed said.

  Belle shook her head and dried her face. “No, I’ll get it. I’ve got to do something.”

  “My parents are leaving tomorrow.”

  Belle said nothing.

  Reed tilted his head. “It was an ugly scene t
o be sure, but I’m not sure my father deserved your accusations.”

  Belle whirled on him. “He deserved it all and more.”

  * * *

  Silence reigned. Reed’s mind whirled back to scenes of carnage he had witnessed on the battlefield. When men are brutal and risk all and in the doing, they deny their own humanity. Wager their home, their life and often their self-respect. But his father had not begun the war, nor influenced life in this small town. “Although it grates on me to defend him, I don’t see how you can blame my father for Beulah’s death.”

  “You said your father beat slaves. He admitted to us some plan to get them back.” Belle faltered. “His life is to blame.”

  “He should hardly bear the brunt …”

  “We all bear the guilt. He more so with his hatred. You and I and everyone else when we turn a blind eye.” Belle dropped her head. “I’ll not do it again.”

  “What do you mean, Belle?” Reed asked.

  “Beulah never shied away from anything. Whatever the risk. She had faith to meet the devil head on. To do what is right. Not easy. Like teaching a dirt poor farm girl to read. And giving me my self-respect as well. I won’t do less. It would tarnish her passing. She’d died fighting for what she believed,” Belle said.

  Reed stared at his wife. However he disagreed, however simple her reasoning, she had more courage than a troop of soldiers combined. And his own cowardice blared forth in stark contrast. Where did her nerve come from? Certainly not learned at the knee of her father. Was it always there? Waiting to be parried? Willing itself to be patient until the blade had been honed? He did know her resolve was to be admired.

  “She did at that. Beulah was the most dignified, righteous Negro I’ve ever met.” Reed met his wife’s eyes. “I was honored to know her.”

  * * *

  The funerals were to be in the afternoon. Although Reed, privately, had no wish to attend, he would not let Belle go alone. For she had been at the sink early washing and cooking while a black dress hung on a hook, and Reed knew he would not sway her. Belle helped Nathan dress and wiped his face.

  She turned from the sink at noon. “It’s time.”