The Dixie Widow

by Gilbert, Morris

  But her eyes were begging for help and assurance, so he plunged in. “Belle, I’ve got to talk very straight to you. You may hate me for what I’m going to say, but God has given me a love for you—not just as a man for a woman, though that’s there, too—but that other kind of love that a man can have for another person.”

  His voice was low, and seemed to rake along Belle’s nerves, and she shuddered. His hand was still on hers and she knew he could sense her weakness. Two forces pulled at her: the strong impulse to shake him off, to insist they hurry on home. It was the same power that had driven her to hide behind a facade that shut out everyone. Words throbbed in her mind: Don’t listen to him! He wants you to be something you can never be!

  The other force was something new—an intense desire to listen, to let him bring her out of the darkness that had blighted her life for years. She loathed herself. And something within her cried: This is your last chance!

  Davis’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Belle, I hated you after Lowell died. You and the South. I wanted to kill you all.” The memory of his past brought pain into his eyes. “And then by some miracle I wound up in the hospital. God met me there. He was so gracious, Belle! I didn’t find Christ the day the chaplain spoke of forgiveness, but it was a first step. I called on Him later, in the middle of Oak Street in Washington—and Jesus Christ came into my life.”

  Belle closed her eyes and whispered, “I’ve heard that so often—but what does it mean, Davis? How can a man who died two thousand years ago come into your life?”

  With deep compassion he said, “That’s part of the miracle, Belle. The greatest miracle of all is that God became a man, and His name in the flesh is Jesus. None of us can really understand that, no matter how learnedly we may speak of it. God in man! It’s too big for us, Belle, and so is the other miracle. In somewhat the same way that God put himself into a human body, Christ will put himself into us if we will let Him.”

  “How can I—after what—I did!” Belle began to sob in great choking cries.

  “You committed adultery?” he asked. “So did the woman at the well in John four, but Jesus forgave her. The woman in chapter eight of John was taken in the very act of adultery, yet Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn thee.’ You see, Belle, you think your sin is worse than anyone else’s, that you’re not as good; therefore God doesn’t love you. But that’s not true! If you could believe just one of the hundreds of God’s promises to us, you would see how much He loves you. Romans five says: ‘But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ Can’t you believe that, Belle? Christ died for you! He commendeth His love, He proved it by dying for you.”

  He spoke earnestly about the cross, and she wept until it seemed as if her body were torn in two. “Belle!” he encouraged, “stop doubting God. Just ask Him to save you. That’s all I did—that’s all any of us can do. I’m going to pray for you, and I want you to pray for yourself. Just call out to Jesus as if you were drowning and He were standing there watching you, waiting for you to call!”

  Davis prayed, softly and loudly. Time went by and he was conscious only of his strong desire to see her surrender to God. Tears flowed as he poured out his heart for Belle.

  Then slowly, quietly he became aware of the silence around them. Belle had stopped crying, and her eyes, no longer filled with pain and guilt, were alight with wonder and joy.

  “Belle?”

  She felt weak—as if she had just come through a long illness and the world seemed distant and fragile. But she had a peace in her heart unlike anything she had ever known. Her lips parted and she asked, “Is this what it’s like? I feel so—so free, Davis!”

  He threw his arms up in a shout of joy and wrapped them around her. “Yes! Yes, Belle, that’s what it’s like! Like coming out of a dark, foul prison into a room filled with clear light!”

  She touched her cheek tentatively. “Will it last, Davis?”

  “Yes! It will last, Belle. You’ve come into the house of God—and you’ll never leave it!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE WHITE KNIGHTS

  “She’s a different girl, Rebekah,” Sky commented. The two were sitting outside the kitchen watching Belle playing a game of Red Rover with the children. “Never thought working in a school would make her so happy.”

  “It’s not that,” Rebekah said. “It goes much deeper. The school is just an outlet.”

  “Yeah, I know—but that schooling thing really helped Davis get the confidence of the church—and it’s given new life to Belle.” He frowned, “Of course, it’s been hard too . . .”

  She nodded. The school had been so successful that even Asa Moody and a few others couldn’t protest the pastor’s time spent on the project. For it had brought new people into St. Andrew’s—not just the Youngs and their relatives, but townspeople who couldn’t believe a graduate of Yale University would drive into the country to teach a bunch of ragged children.

  Dooley Young’s conversion played a major role in the church’s attitude. He had been soundly converted, and was now one of the most visible—and audible—members of St. Andrew’s. What he lacked in theological knowledge, he made up for with energy and enthusiasm. He took scripture quite literally, and was known “to go out and compel them to come in”!

  On the first day of school, Davis and Belle were flabbergasted to see thirty-two children, ranging from age five to eighteen. The teachers attacked the project with enthusiasm.

  Soon several members of St. Andrew’s caught the fire and volunteered to help in any way.

  Asa Moody dragged his feet at first. But when he saw what effect the school had on the church and the publicity it brought St. Andrew’s, he began underwriting expenses.

  Things flowed smoothly until Toby broached a touchy subject. The former slave had helped a great deal with the physical needs of the school, and it was natural he would think of his own people. But the question caught Davis off guard on his way home one day.

  “Mistuh Winslow,” Toby said, hailing him from the roadside, “kin I talk to you?”

  “Why, certainly. What is it, Toby?”

  “I been thinkin’ ‘bout my boy, Wash.” He bit his lip, struggling for words, then looked Winslow right in the eye and declared, “I wants my boy to learn how to read an’ write.”

  It dawned on Davis that he himself had not given one thought to the black children. No one had. Of course there were fewer blacks because many had left for the North, but looking at Toby, Davis felt a flush of guilt for not having anticipated the need.

  “Well, I don’t see why we can’t do something about that, Toby,” he replied. “We’ve got plenty of room around here, empty buildings that could be turned into another school—and the church members have been willing to help.”

  Toby’s eyes mirrored his unbelief. “Dey won’t be so quick to he’p black young’uns,” he prophesied.

  That, Davis soon discovered, was an understatement. The first explosion came when Asa Moody roared at Winslow, “What! Why, you can’t be serious, Pastor!” He had been sitting behind his desk at the bank where Davis had cornered him, and he shot up from his chair. “In the first place, that’s the job of the federal government—and they’ll take care of it! In the second place, if you do a fool thing like that, you’ll lose most of the goodwill you’ve built up since you’ve been here.” When Davis stubbornly insisted that he was going to do it, he saw another side of Asa Moody. The big man’s eyes narrowed, and he said in a steely voice, “Winslow, remember your promise to the church? If they didn’t vote to keep you on after six months, you’d leave?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, you start a school for black kids, and you can pack your bags. I’ll vote against you myself!”

  Most of the church members had not been so adamant, but the Sunday after the black school started, the attendance was down by at least one-third. Moody had immediately called a meeting, where Davis was confronted by six o
f the leading men of the church—all handpicked by Moody, to be sure. After a stormy two-hour session, Moody had left with an ultimatum—get out of the business of educating black children, or be prepared to find another church.

  Toby came to him, his face stiff. “Reverend Winslow, I knows you done yo’ best—but dey ain’t no need fo’ you to git yo’self run off. I ‘spect we bettuh close de school.”

  “Like blazes!” Davis Winslow looked up at the giant black and said, “I’ll see them all in—in China before I close that school!”

  The Winslows, of course, stood behind him. However, at supper one night an unpleasant fact was mentioned. They had been talking about the future, and Mark remarked, “Well, if we get kicked off Belle Maison by Asa Moody next month, it’s pretty plain that the black school will go as well.”

  “We’re not whipped yet, Mark,” Sky stated. “I’ve made applications for loans at several out-of-state banks.”

  “If we can’t get a loan from our local bank, Pa, how can we get one from people who don’t know us?”

  His logic was hard, but Sky was not deterred. “I’ve asked the Lord to help us keep this place, and I believe He will—but if not, I’ll put you in a wagon, Rebekah, and we’ll hit the trail to Oregon.”

  “We did it once,” Rebekah smiled fondly. “And you’re as good a man now as you were then.”

  Belle said little, but the next day she broached the subject to Davis. They had sent the pupils home, and were now sitting outside the spring house, watching the swifts fly around the house. “Davis, what if we do get evicted? How would that please God?”

  He looked at her sharply. She was not angry, only puzzled. “Well, you do something else, Belle. This is a big world, and we serve a big God. If He wants to put the Winslows someplace else, you can bet that place will be just the ticket. You know what the Bible says: ‘All things work together for good to those who are the called according to his purpose.’ ”

  “I guess I just don’t know what His purpose is,” she smiled faintly.

  “Neither do I for the most part. But we’ll find out soon enough. It looks pretty grim, but one thing is certain: When things get bad enough, they can’t get any worse.”

  But things did get worse three days later. Sky woke up one morning to find a note pinned by a knife to a tree in the front yard. He pulled the knife free, opened the note, and read: Get rid of the nigger-loving Yankee preacher and his school—or we’ll come calling. It was not signed, but at the bottom was a poor drawing of a helmet with a plume, and under it was written The White Knights.

  His eyes blazed and he stalked around the house, rage filling him as it had not done in years. He slowed his steps, trying to calm himself as he approached the school and walked inside. “Reverend Winslow,” he said, “will you step outside for a minute?”

  Davis was conjugating the verb “to eat” for a small group. He handed the chalk to the oldest girl, saying, “Caroline, see how far you can go with this verb.”

  “What is it?” he asked when they were outside.

  Sky handed him the note and watched carefully as he read it. Davis handed it back, saying, “I’ve got quite a collection of this sort of garbage.”

  “You’ve gotten them too?”

  “Ever since the school started. That didn’t surprise me, but I didn’t think they’d threaten you.” He studied Sky’s angry expression. “It may be best if we move the school—leave you out of it.”

  “Not likely!” Sky snorted. “I almost wish they would come calling, Davis. I’d like to pull a few masks off and see what kind of men hide behind them—but I guess I already know.”

  “Are you going to tell your family?”

  “Yes. They’ve got a right to know what’s happening.”

  That evening after supper, Sky told them. He had sat at the meal, enjoying their banter, and the family’s discovery of Belle’s new joy. Finally, he leaned forward and said, “I hate to bring a sour note, but there’s something I need to warn you about. This morning there was a note pinned to the big oak in front of the house.”

  Mark lifted his head and demanded, “What was it, Pa? The White Knights?”

  “Yes. I wanted you to know, because they may come for a visit.”

  “I hope I’m home, Pa!” Tom exploded. “I’d like to furnish the reception.”

  Dan remained mute, rebellion evident in his face. He had been away from home often, several nights at a time, and Sky was fairly certain his son had been with Beau.

  “What’ll we do if they come, Sky?” Rebekah asked.

  “Have to see how it goes, I guess,” he replied, sadness edging his voice. “Not all knights are bad men. Just misled. But some are troublemakers filled with hate left over from the war. They’re the ones who’ll raise the ruckus.”

  “They made one of their ‘visits’ two nights ago to Little John’s cabin,” Thad said. Little John had been one of the Winslow slaves. He had taken his wife and four children to a cabin on the old Speers plantation.

  “What happened, Thad?” Mark asked.

  “They came after dark and pulled Little John out of the cabin. Said he was getting too uppity, so they tied him to a tree and whipped him. Told him the next time he’d get a bullet.”

  “Oh, how awful!” Pet cried. “They wouldn’t really shoot him, would they, Papa?”

  “May come to that,” Sky replied. “But if they come here, I want you young firebrands to show some judgment. Don’t open up on them and start another war.”

  They said little about the note from the knights for the next few days, but Dan became more withdrawn. Belle noticed it, and found him staring out of the parlor window one rainy day. She pinched his arm playfully. “Dan, you ought to find yourself a sweetheart. You need something to worry about. How about that McClain girl, the one with the big eyes. I think she’s going to give some man a lot of grief. Why don’t you have a try?”

  Dan turned swiftly, picked her up and carried her across the room and set her on the high mantel over the fireplace. Grinning, he admonished, “You talk too much.”

  “Dan! Let me down!” she pleaded.

  “Nope. Stay there until you improve your manners,” he commanded, walking away.

  “Oh, Dan, please don’t leave me up here! I might fall!” she begged. The mantel was narrow and she kept her balance only by pressing back against the bricks.

  He laughed, reached up and plucked her down. “That’s the way to treat a talky woman, I guess.”

  She looked up at him, taking in the fine blue eyes and the trim strong body. “You are a handsome old thing,” she smiled. “You can do a lot better than Ellie McClain.”

  He sobered, and said quietly, “Guess my prospects aren’t too good, Belle. Another month and I’ll be leaving.”

  “Oh, Dan, it may not come to that. Father may get a loan that’ll tide us over.”

  “I hope so, Belle—but I’m leaving anyway. Going to Texas.”

  “Texas! Why Texas?”

  “Better than here.” He grimaced bitterly. “Don’t tell the folks. I haven’t said anything to them.”

  “Does it have anything to do with this White Knight business, Dan?”

  “No. But I think Beau and the knights are right and the folks are wrong.”

  “What about whipping Little John?”

  “Oh, that may happen, but if enough good men take part, they will make sure everything is done right.”

  She put her hand on his arm, saying gently, “Dan, I hope you don’t go. I hate to see the family breaking up. There’s Mark going to work on the railroad, and now you’re talking about leaving.”

  “Guess the war ruined everything for us, didn’t it?” Then he looked directly at her and asked, “What about you, Belle? What’ll you do?”

  She knew he was curious about her sudden happiness, and she said with a trace of embarrassment, “I’ll be all right, Dan. After I lost Vance I just crawled into some kind of black hole and told the world to leave me alone.”
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  “You’ve sure changed,” he commented. “Is it that Yankee preacher?”

  She flushed and hesitated. Slowly a smile softened her lips. “He’s been a big help to me, Dan. He helped me find my way back.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “Oh, Dan, I don’t know!” Belle exclaimed. “I’ve just got my life pulled together. I was so far from God and so unhappy, and Davis showed me how to find Him. It’s too soon to talk about things like that—and, anyway, we were talking about you, not me.”

  “I’ll be leaving, Belle,” he shrugged. “I feel out of place around here.”

  Three nights after this conversation, the White Knights struck.

  Belle and Davis had spent all evening going over plans for the school. Since it had been so late, he decided to stay over. Belle went to bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  She awakened instantly out of a deep sleep by the sound of several gunshots in the distance. Jumping out of bed, she ran to the window and saw a glow in the east. She heard others calling down the hall, and threw on her clothes and raced down the stairs just as her father and the other men left the house.

  “What is it?” she asked her mother.

  Rebekah was pulling on her coat, and paused only long enough to say, “Trouble at the quarters.” She left, and Belle hurried after her. Davis was ahead with her father, and when she glanced back, she saw Pet and Thad running out the door.

  The moon was full, casting a golden light over the pathway leading to the quarters. As they came closer they could hear the horses stamping and blowing and men calling out.

  As she dashed past the hog lot, Belle saw the flicker of torches immediately behind the small rows of cabins lying in a shallow hollow. When she reached the crest, she paused, restrained by Rebekah and Pet.

  Between the rows of cabins facing each other, men on horseback were drawn up in two rough lines—all bearing torches and wearing white hoods with holes cut for eyes. Six men had dismounted and two of them watched as the others dragged a black man across the yard.