Finding Mercy

by Cindy Kelley

  “Something I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to find the office of the Freedmen’s Bureau,” she said.

  He nodded, then pointed. “Through here, third building on your left.”

  With her evidence in hand, she found the windowless office without a problem. It was nondescript, furnished with four wooden desks and straight-backed chairs. A map of the United States hung on the wall. The eleven Southern states that had seceded were colored gray. Two men behind desks looked up at her entrance. One of them stood and smiled.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” Charlotte answered. “I’m looking for Mr. Akerman?”

  The man looked momentarily disappointed, then inclined his head to the other man at a desk behind him. “Right there.”

  Lucius Akerman was a timid-looking man. Slight of build, he wore round, wire-rimmed glasses that balanced on a nose seemingly too narrow to hold them up. He stood as Charlotte approached the desk.

  “Mr. Akerman?”

  He nodded. “That’s right. What can I do for you?”

  Charlotte looked around nervously. “I’m from Darien and was told you were the man to see about filing a … a complaint.”

  Akerman gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Miss …?”

  She sat. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s for our official use only.” There was a stack of files on his desk that he pushed aside to find a pad of paper. He had a pencil stuck behind one ear, which he pulled free. “Anything you say to me today will be in the strictest of confidence.”

  “Charlotte Chapman,” she said.

  The man who’d greeted Charlotte turned and looked at Akerman. “Heading out for a smoke, Lucius.”

  Akerman nodded, then turned back to Charlotte. “What is the nature of your complaint, Miss Chapman? Rude behavior from the Negroes? Possible theft?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not here to complain about them. I’m here to register a complaint on their behalf.”

  He raised his brows, put down his pencil, and looked at her. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” She pushed the papers she had across the desk toward him. “I suspected some merchants in Darien were treating their colored customers differently than their white patrons. Charging them exorbitant interest on their purchases, doubling and sometimes tripling the prices of the goods.”

  “You mean they charge the white customers less for the same product or service?”

  “That’s right.” She indicated the paperwork. “I’ve made copies of the transgressions and the stores in which they occurred. I also believe some of the landowners made arrangement to take too much of the profits from their sharecroppers, and are charging them outrageous prices to lease the land. They won’t make any kind of a profit at all with the way things stand.”

  Akerman took his time perusing the figures in front of him. Charlotte fidgeted in her chair, nervous, wishing the whole thing were over. She wanted to bring the injustice to light without standing in the light herself. Finally, Akerman looked up from her evidence, took off his glasses and stared at her.

  “May I ask how you obtained this?”

  “I … borrowed the ledgers from the stores, copied their figures, then returned the books without the knowledge of the shopkeepers.”

  “You must feel very strongly about this,” he noted.

  “Strongly enough that you’ll see I brought the figures from our own plantation, Mr. Akerman. I can’t ask you to clean house at other plantations if I’m not willing to do the same thing at ours.”

  “And your family? Are they supportive in your … endeavors?”

  “They don’t know I’m here,” she said. “And as I stated earlier, I’d like my name kept off the official paperwork.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see to it. Now, when someone comes in with a complaint, we call them outrages. Outrages are generally filed by Negroes themselves when they feel as if they’ve been mistreated, cheated, are feeling threatened,” he said. “Our job here at the bureau is to investigate the accusations, try to bring justice to the situation.”

  “Good. Yes. That’s why I’m here.”

  “My point is it’s rare to have a white woman come into this office and file an outrage on behalf of the black community.”

  “Are you saying I can’t file the complaint?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. I applaud your willingness to bring such a terrible situation to our attention.”

  He frowned and tapped his pencil on the desk. “What to do … what’s our best course of action here …?” He finally nodded as if to affirm his own decision. “I think we need a meeting. Get everyone affected—the Negroes—assembled in one place so I can talk to them and explain the situation. We want to warn them about what’s going on, tell them how to protect themselves from such unfair business practices.”

  “We?”

  “I think it would help to have you there, Miss Chapman. They could see someone of your place in the community is on their side.”

  “I really wanted to remain anonymous, Mr. Akerman,” she said.

  “And so you will. But I fear they won’t assemble if you’re too scared to be there.”

  She reluctantly agreed. “Makes sense.”

  “Good,” he said. “Do you think you can get the word out about the meeting?”

  “I suppose …”

  “It has to be done quietly—we don’t want any trouble. Let’s say four days from today. Friday at midnight?”

  “All right. Where?”

  “That’s a problem,” he said. “We don’t want to call attention to ourselves by meeting in a public place.”

  “There’s an abandoned farm near our property,” she said. “The Crowley place. Perhaps in the barn?”

  “Yes. Sounds perfect for our situation,” he said. “And may I say I applaud your courage and conscience, Miss Chapman. Not many young women would care so much about a subject that has little to do with their daily life.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Akerman. And thank you for your time. I feel so much better knowing I have the bureau behind me on this.”

  Charlotte walked out of the office, feeling considerably lighter than she did when she arrived.

  Lucius Akerman watched Charlotte walk out the door. He looked down at the stack of papers on his desk and was astounded at all she’d uncovered.

  Akerman’s office mate walked back through the door with his cigarette planted in the corner of his mouth. A stocky man in his midthirties was with him.

  Akerman looked up from the papers. “That was her.”

  The stocky man lifted a brow. “When?”

  “Four days from today,” Akerman said. “Give you enough time?”

  “Yeah. I’ll head to Darien directly,” the stocky man said. And without another word he turned on his heel and left.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  At six o’clock sharp, the family came together for supper. They settled themselves in chairs and made small talk about the warm weather and the sudden influx of fruit flies Juba had been battling in the kitchen of late.

  “It’s disgusting,” Victoria said. “Bugs in the house means someone is not doing their job.” She arched a brow at Biddy who was holding the tray for Rose as she slipped plates in front of the family. Biddy averted her gaze and Victoria continued. “It’s not as if we’re overrun with fresh fruit. Where on earth do they come from?”

  “It doesn’t have to be fruit,” Beau said. “Any rotting vegetable will do.”

  Charlotte had no appetite at all. Her stomach was a nervous mess, and she was wishing away the evening so she could get her task over and done with. Hoping to maintain the much-needed secrecy about her plan, she’d journeyed in the dark to the colored camp a few nights before to
tell the farmers what she’d learned about the practices of some landowners and merchants. The men she spoke to weren’t surprised at her revelations—they’d long suspected they were being cheated—but they were surprised she wanted to help. Once they learned she’d be there, they’d promised to get the word out about the midnight meeting at the old Crowley barn. In six hours I can put in an appearance at the meeting, and then let the bureau take over.

  “Charlotte? Are you even listening to me?” Victoria said.

  Charlotte turned her attention to her sister. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I want to go to Savannah with you and pick out fabric for next season’s dresses,” Victoria said. “We’ll make a real trip out of it. Supper in a fancy hotel, a special fitting at Madame Boucher’s Shop to see the latest fashions from Paris. It will be fun!”

  Charlotte frowned. The last thing she could think about was dresses. “I don’t know …”

  “Oh, please, Char! We need some fun. We deserve some fun!”

  Their mother caught Charlotte’s eye and smiled. “She’s right, dear. You should plan a trip to Savannah for nothing but fun.”

  Charlotte forced herself to smile at Victoria. “Fine. Plan the trip.”

  Victoria puffed up with delight. “A sisters’ outing,” she said. Then she immediately sobered and looked at Suzanne. “Of course, you’re invited too, Mother.”

  Mother slipped her fork under a fluff of potatoes. “Thank you, darling, but I think I’ll pass. There is always so much to do here.”

  Biddy and Rose entered with another tray, this one with dessert. Biddy slid the tray across the sideboard, knocking over a candlestick. The noise startled Charlotte and she dropped her fork, which then clattered noisily onto her plate.

  “Sorry, missus,” Biddy said.

  Their mother waved a dismissive hand at Biddy. Beau looked at Charlotte. “You seem a little edgy this evening, Char. Everything all right?”

  Charlotte picked up her fork and lied to her brother. “Everything is fine. Absolutely fine.” At least I pray it will be fine … and maybe this time tomorrow evening, I’ll have nothing on my mind but new dresses. She started to eat as if she actually had an appetite.

  The hours ticked by so slowly Charlotte thought she’d go mad from waiting. Finally, at half past eleven, while the rest of the house slept, she crept down the back stairs in the kitchen and let herself out. She made her way around the house, and then started toward the stables. She was sure Lucky would be excited to go on a midnight ride.

  The night air was warm but pleasant. The humidity that plagued the days seemed kinder in the dark, and she moved along at a fairly brisk pace. She hoped to get to the barn a little early. Go over with Mr. Akerman how he planned to present the evidence, and how they would substantiate her claims. Then she’d have done what she set out to do. It was now up to the Freedmen’s bureau to confiscate and comb over all the books of the merchants and the plantation owners.

  She walked along the red clay road lined by massive trees on either side. Gossamer bits of moss floated down from the thick canopy of branches above, and the glow from the full moon cast dappled shadows across the ground. The hem of her skirt swept over the packed earth with a quiet swish, swish, swish. Halfway to the stables now, she picked up the pace, anxious to get in the saddle and share the rest of the journey with Lucky.

  The men came out from between the trees, on either side of her, appearing like ghostly apparitions in white hoods and robes. She stopped walking, more transfixed by the sight than frightened. But it didn’t take long for the fear to take hold as she scanned their garish outfits, the holes in the masks where faceless men looked upon her in the moon wash. They operate in secret and are very violent …

  One of them stepped toward her. “Late for a stroll, ain’t it, Miss Chapman?” His voice had purposely been made low, forced into a baritone that sounded unnatural.

  Charlotte swallowed, prayed her own voice wouldn’t betray how frightened she was. “I like to walk at night.”

  “Goin’ someplace special?”

  “No,” she said. “Just walking on my own property. Property you are all trespassing on. Please leave.”

  With an unspoken cue, the men converged on her. So close she could see their eyes in the recesses of the hideous white cloth they had over their heads. She swiveled her head to look behind and could see they’d closed ranks. She was enclosed in a circle.

  “What do you want?”

  “What d’ya think?” one of them asked.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea …”

  Another white-robed figure took a step toward her. He lifted his finger and pointed in rage.

  “We know about your little meeting,” the man with the baritone voice said. “We know what you been doing in town.”

  His voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She felt chilled in spite of the warm air.

  “Let me pass,” Charlotte said with conviction emanating from pure fear.

  “This ain’t no place for you.”

  “I said, let me pass.”

  “You need to disappear like you did before—only this time don’t come back.”

  “You can’t force me to leave,” she said.

  “You need to understand, if you don’t do what we say, we’ll hang you till you’re dead, dead, dead.”

  There was low chuckling all around the circle. Charlotte felt sick.

  “Please. Please let me go home,” she said.

  “You go home,” the baritone voice said. “Pack your bags and get out of Darien before sunrise. Otherwise, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

  They turned and moved back through the trees. Charlotte had to remind herself to breathe as she turned and headed back toward the house.

  Charlotte was packing when her mother knocked on the door and entered. She was wearing a robe, and her eyes looked sleepy and confused. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to leave,” she said.

  Mother looked at a few dresses folded on the bed, the jewelry box. She moved toward Charlotte. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was supposed to go to a meeting last night at the Crowley farm,” she said. “Agent Akerman from the Freedmen’s Bureau was going to be there, and … several of the Negro farmers …”

  “What happened?”

  “Some men were waiting for me.” She shuddered. “They wore hoods over their faces, white robes.”

  Mother looked shocked. “The Klan … here. On our property.” She touched Charlotte’s arm. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  “No, but they threatened me.” Charlotte shook her head. “How did they know? Who could have told them?”

  “It’s been said they have eyes and ears everywhere,” her mother said.

  “Once I leave, things can go back to the way they were. Everyone will be safe then.”

  “We can’t let them win, Charlotte. We need to take a stand.”

  Charlotte raised her brows, and studied her mother. “I appreciate your … sentiment, more than I can say, but my mind is made up. I just need to go.”

  Charlotte’s mother pressed a handkerchief to her nose, sniffing back the tears that threatened. “What can I do to help?”

  “Tell Beau and Victoria how sorry I am. That I’ll miss them dearly.”

  Her mother wrapped her arms around Charlotte. “I’m so sorry it’s ended like this,” she said.

  Charlotte held tight to her. “Me, too, Mother.”

  Charlotte made her way, one last time, to the colored camp. She climbed the broken steps that led to the house where Isaac lived. She knocked on the door and then entered. It was the first time she’d ever stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, cramped, and very musty. Isaac stood across the room as if he were expecting her.

  “I knew you’d come,
” Isaac said.

  “How did you know …?” But as she moved toward the boy, she noticed a woman sitting in the corner of the room.

  “Chessie?”

  Chessie’s hands rested on a dirty tin box in her lap. “Me and you need to have a talk.”

  “There’s no time. I have to leave.”

  “Isaac, hurry an’ git Biddy for me.”

  With a nod, Isaac hurried out the door. Chessie looked at Charlotte. “You might wanna sit.”

  There was something in her tone, her demeanor, that made Charlotte do as she said. She found a chair across from Chessie, trying to still her panic over the ticking clock.

  “You done changed. I didn’t believe it. Maybe I didn’t wanna believe it ’cause I been nursin’ my anger so long it felt good to hold it. But I seen what’choo been up to. I know ’bout the meetin’. And I know some bad men stopped you from gettin’ dere.”

  “How?”

  “It ain’t pleasant to tell you, but Miss Suzanne never cared much for you. Hated the way yo’ daddy doted on you. Hated that yo’ daddy never got over Miss Marie. She had her chil’ren siding with her. They was jes plain mean to you whenever yo’ daddy was away.”

  Charlotte frowned. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”

  Chessie was adamant. “No. It’s in da here and now. One day yo’ daddy come home unexpected an’ he heard ’em being real ugly to you. The longer he been gone wit da war, da more dat ugliness grew. He heard and seen enough dat day to tell ’em all to git out of his house.”

  “What?”

  “He tell Miss Suzanne she and her chil’ren better be gone when he get back. He say Chessie will stay here with Charlotte. She stays—you go.”

  “And then he died,” Charlotte said.

  Chessie nodded. “Dat’s right. And you left.”