G. Garabaldi.
Puzzled but intrigued, Veronica set out for the restaurant ten minutes later.
When she arrived, Garabaldi sat down behind his desk, his expression serious.
“My predicament is this,” he said. “I again find myself in the position of needing to get an extremely delicate letter to my friend Wyler. Time is somewhat pressing—actually, extremely pressing. If you would consent to delivering it, as you did before, I would pay you two hundred dollars for your trouble.”
“Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed Veronica. “Goodness, Mr. Garabaldi—that’s more than my husband makes in a month! What could possibly be so important as that about a letter?”
“Unfortunately, that I am not at liberty to say. Of course, if you are too busy…”
“No, it’s not that.”
“I could get someone else. I simply thought, as you seemed to enjoy the trip before, that I—”
“Yes… I did. And thank you, Mr. Garabaldi… I am glad that you thought of me. I will do it.”
Veronica left Garabaldi’s in a more subdued mood than she had entered. It was not that she minded secrets, even having secrets from her own husband. She had always thrived on secrets. But now she realized that Mr. Garabaldi possessed secrets he was keeping from her. That wasn’t quite such a comfortable a position to be in. When it came to secrets, Veronica was accustomed to holding all the cards.
The two hundred dollars, however, was sufficient inducement to encourage her to overlook the fact that she didn’t really have any idea what she was getting herself involved in.
Fourteen
The troops came to Greenwood almost without warning. It was toward the end of the first week of September, 1862.
The first premonition anyone had that suddenly the war was about to intrude more closely was the sound of distant thunder coming from somewhere east of Dove’s Landing. The faint dust cloud rising from the same direction indicated the movement of troops and what were obviously hundreds of horses. But as he watched and listened in the field with a small crew of workers, Sydney LeFleure had no way to judge whether the soldiers on those horses wore the Union blue or the Confederate gray.
Ten minutes later, suddenly a small detachment of six Union soldiers galloped out of the woods and across the planted field toward him. Sydney stood and relaxed the hoe in his hand, and waited.
The men rode straight toward him and reined in. One of the six urged his horse a few steps forward.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked.
“I am,” replied Sydney, stepping away from the group.
“Where is your overseer?” said the man, glancing about at Sydney’s laborers, about a dozen men and a handful of women, all Negroes with hoes in their hands where they stood between the rows of ripening tobacco.
“I am the foreman of the Davidson plantation,” said Sydney.
Obviously surprised both by Sydney’s self assurance, and his impeccable Jamaican accent, the man continued to look about at the rest. “You are in charge of these slaves?” he said.
“We are all free wage earners,” replied Sydney. “There are no slaves on the Davidson plantation. And yes, I am in charge.”
“Well, we appear to have stumbled into an interesting situation. I would like to meet your owner.”
“We are about a mile from the house.”
“Then if you don’t mind, would you take me to him? Do you have a horse?”
“Yes, sir—over by the wagon,” said Sydney, gesturing toward the wagon in the distance that had brought them to the field.
Richmond was on the roof of one of the black cabins with Isaac and Aaron Shaw repairing a few loose boards when Sydney’s wagon clattered into the midst of the collection of houses. Richmond looked up at Sydney’s approach, and saw six riders in blue following him. He set down his hammer and waited.
“Richmond,” said Sydney, reining in and looking up to where Richmond sat on the roof, “these men are from the army…. They asked to meet you. This is my boss,” he added to the man on the horse behind him, “Richmond Davidson.”
The man rode forward and looked up to Richmond sitting on the roof.
“Mr. Davidson,” he said, “I am Colonel Garner, second in command to General Irvin McDowell of the United States Army.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Colonel,” said Richmond. “What can I do for you?”
“The general has asked me to find a suitable location to garrison his men for several days. I would like to inspect your house to see if it would serve as temporary headquarters for the general and his staff. Your man here said you have no slaves?”
“That is right,” replied Richmond, his brain spinning at this sudden development. Twelve fugitives had arrived within the last forty-eight hours and the plantation was bursting at the seams with Negroes! He crept across the roof and began slowly climbing down the ladder, his mind working quickly.
“Sydney,” he said, moving slowly and deliberately, “would you please run up to the house and tell Carolyn that I am bringing some men up?”
Grasping his meaning well enough, Sydney jumped to the ground and dashed toward the house. Richmond reached the ground and began walking, still slowly, in the same direction. The six soldiers followed. By the time they reached the house, Sydney, Carolyn, Chigua, Cynthia, and Cherity had managed to get all their guests out of sight.
During the time between Colonel Garner’s leaving them half an hour later and the general’s appearance two hours after that, they managed to frantically relocate everyone to the black village, which was now bulging far beyond its capacity. At the same time they made hasty preparations to move as many of the runaways as possible with all due haste along the nighttime railroad to the North.
The days following General McDowell’s arrival at Greenwood were more hectic than any since the start of the war. Though they feared no reprisals from discovery of Greenwood’s clandestine fugitive-hiding activities, they saw no good that could come from it. Though they assumed Union soldiers would be sympathetic toward the effort, they knew too that word of it could far too easily spread and become widely known, and ultimately endanger them and whatever runaways might be here. That McDowell’s staff was pleasantly surprised at the gracious treatment they received from the Southern Davidsons, kept too many probing questions from surfacing.
Anticipating the need to use the brute authority of their obvious military advantage to enforce their right to commandeer what they assumed to be an enemy plantation, General McDowell and his senior staff came brusquely into Greenwood as they had on a number of previous similar occasions expecting everyone about the place to make things difficult for them. They were hardly prepared to be welcomed with tea and coffee and sandwiches and cake set out in the parlor for them.
“I must say, Mrs. …uh, Davidson,” said the general, “this is very gracious of you, hardly what we are used to.”
“God seems to have blessed us with an unusual number of… guests recently,” said Carolyn as she poured the general a cup of coffee, “—mostly entirely unexpected. We try to make everyone who comes to Greenwood welcome—whatever the color of their skin or their reason for being here.”
“Would that also include the color of their uniform?”
“Of course—though you are the first Union soldiers we have seen.”
“Well we certainly appreciate your Southern hospitality. But surely you must be personally loyal to the Confederacy?”
“We try to be loyal to America,” rejoined Carolyn. “One of our sons is in the Confederate army. Our other son is a photographer attached to the Union army. And our son-in-law is a lieutenant in the navy, also for the Union.”
“That must make it very difficult for you.”
“It is difficult to be a mother in wartime. But I am glad to have my daughter with me.”
“Her husband, you say, is a Union officer?”
“That’s right.”
“What is his name?”
“J
effrey Robert Verdon… Lieutenant Verdon.”
“I would like to meet your daughter and find out where her husband is assigned.”
Just then Richmond entered with a few more of McDowell’s men whose horses he had been helping them attend to.
“Your wife outdoes herself with hospitality, Mr. Davidson,” said McDowell.
“She outdoes herself in all ways, General. I am the most blessed and fortunate of men.”
General McDowell would not have the opportunity to meet Cynthia just yet. As her parents were sitting down with his men for tea and coffee, she and Cherity and Chigua were frantically trying to find beds or cots or corners for everyone in the cottages of the black village, and keep the children inside and out of sight.
Sydney found Cherity seated in one of the houses with three black youngsters scrambling alternately in and out of her lap as she tried to keep them still long enough to finish a story.
“Richmond managed to sneak in a quick word with me,” he said. “He told me to ask you to ride over to the Brannons, tell them what has happened, and ask—”
“Sarah… goodness!” exclaimed Cherity to the girl squirming in her lap. “Try to be still just a minute more. I’m sorry, Sydney, what were you saying?”
“Richmond wants you to tell the Brannons what is going on here and ask if they can take our overflow as soon as possible. He wants me to try to get a group organized and out of here tonight if I can.”
“It’s half a day’s ride there and back,” said Cherity.
“That’s why he’s sending you,” smiled Sydney. “He says you’re the fastest rider for miles around.”
“You know what they say about flattery, Sydney!”
“He really did say so,” laughed Sydney.
“But it’s already midafternoon.”
“He said for you to spend the night with the Brannons and get on your way back here at first light. But,” Sydney added, “he said to take the pistol with you, and to take the long road around south from here until you reach the road west.”
“Well, you heard Mr. LeFleure,” said Cherity to the three children. “As soon as I finish the story I have to go.”
“Please, Miz Waters,” pleaded the little girl, “jes’ one more!”
Cherity laughed. “Maybe one more short one. Then I must go and you will need to stay here with Mr. and Mrs. LeFleure and be as quiet as you can.”
“Oh, one more thing,” said Sydney, turning back from the doorway. “Some of the soldiers are busy about the barn and workshop. So we won’t be able to use the loft like we sometimes do. Richmond just said to watch yourself around them. Most of them are young men who have been away from home a long time, if you know what I mean. You are a very pretty young lady.”
“Thank you, Sydney,” nodded Cherity with a smile. “I will be careful.”
The comfort and hospitality at Greenwood proved such that McDowell’s staff stayed on longer than expected. With his army encamped comfortably and safely on the high flat meadow below Harper’s Peak, and each of McDowell’s officers with a room of his own on Greenwood’s expansive second floor, and being served meals and treated to every kindness as if they had stumbled into a luxury hotel, none was anxious to leave.
McDowell found his lengthy talks with Richmond invigorating and challenging. He also had the chance to observe much about the place, and though he did not suspect the true reason why so many Negroes were coming and going and why the place was such a beehive of activity, he was able to see clearly enough the underlying foundation of Greenwood’s pulse of life—that people of all racial backgrounds were living and working together in harmony. They all seemed to like and respect one another! He had never witnessed anything like it.
What was this place? he wondered. Who was this man called David’s son? And why did he treat his enemies and those less fortunate than himself with such kindness? Whence sprung this remarkable fountain of life?
Before two days were out he realized he could not keep what was going on here to himself.
One of McDowell’s men who was not able to enjoy as lengthy a stay as he might have liked was the first man Sydney had met. Before daylight on the third day, with a small escort chosen specifically for speed, Colonel Garner was on his way back through Confederate lines to Washington.
Abraham Lincoln perused the brief letter a second time, then glanced up at the uniformed officer who had delivered it personally from one of the president’s most trusted generals.
“So General McDowell seems to think I ought to meet a certain plantation owner in Virginia,” he said. “Tell me, Colonel, have you met the man?”
“I have, Mr. President,” replied Garner.
“Do you share the general’s sentiments?” asked Lincoln.
“I do, Mr. President. He will shatter the common image we in the North have been led to expect concerning Southern plantation owners. Just how unusual he is you will have to determine for yourself. Speaking for myself, I find him one of the most remarkable men I have ever met.”
“That is saying a great deal, Colonel.”
“Indeed it is, sir.”
“How does the general propose to get me there?” smiled Lincoln wryly. “If McClellan cannot enter Richmond with a hundred thousand men, does he suppose they will let me through alone?”
“Begging the president’s pardon,” rejoined Garner, “but General McClellan was something less than forceful against Lee’s inferior army.”
“I do not need to be reminded of the general’s temerity, Colonel. He is single-handedly making me old before my time. I would relieve him of command if I thought it would not demoralize the troops. Unfortunately his men love him.”
“Perhaps his failed assault on Richmond may yet prove useful,” said Garner.
“How so?” asked Lincoln.
“Returning to your question, Mr. President,” said Garner, “General McDowell suggested that I propose the following, that you travel south along the east of the Potomac with a small secret escort, then cross the river east of Fredericksburg where we still have many vessels returned from Richmond. We still control the river, Mr. President. You could be spirited across and moved south of Fredericksburg inland toward Columbiasville and to the Davidson plantation almost invisibly. There are almost no Confederate troops between the Potomac and Columbiasville.”
“A daring plan. If I were captured, it could cost us the war.”
“General McDowell does not think the danger so great as that. Nor do I, Mr. President. It is the route I took to get here and I saw scarcely a hint of troop activity and covered the distance in two days.”
“And General McDowell thinks I would benefit from meeting this man.”
“Very much, sir.”
Carolyn Davidson awoke suddenly. It was the middle of the night.
“Richmond… Richmond, did you hear that?” she whispered.
Again came the sound that had awoken her. Someone was knocking on their bedroom door!
Richmond came to himself and sat up in bed. The knock sounded again.
“Mr. Davidson… please, sir… Mr. Davidson—wake up, sir. It is Colonel Garner.”
Richmond shook his head again to clear out the remnants of sleep, then stood, turned up the lantern, threw his robe about him, and went to the door.
There stood Colonel Garner, whom they had not seen for several days, in full uniform, lantern in hand.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir,” he said. “Would you and your wife please dress quickly and then accompany me downstairs?”
Richmond closed the door and looked at Carolyn.
“You heard?”
“Yes,” said Carolyn. “What is it all about?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea. But I think we had better do as he says.”
A few minutes later they appeared at the door.
“Before I take you downstairs,” said Colonel Garner, “you must give me your solemn promise never to divulge what you are about to see. Too much danger for
too many people could result if word of it leaks out. No one must ever know.”
“As far as my conscience allows it,” said Richmond, “you have my word.”
Carolyn, too, nodded her assent.
“Knowing what manner of man and woman you are, and what a pledge of conscience means to you, I will take that as sufficient. Come with me.”
The colonel led the way along the corridor and down the stairs to their own parlor where they were surprised to find two or three lanterns burning and several men inside. The moment they walked into the room a gasp of astonishment burst from Carolyn’s lips.
“Ah, here are our hosts now,” said McDowell, walking toward them. “I apologize for the secrecy and further inconvenience to you after all your kindnesses, but it really could not be helped. Mr. and Mrs. Davidson, may I present to you the president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln.”
Unknown to Colonel Garner or General McDowell or any of their men, even as their highly secret entourage had pulled up to the front door of the plantation house, half a mile away, Sydney and Chigua LeFleure had just embarked on an equally secretive mission about which no president nor general would ever know.
A second group of fugitives were silently on their way to meet their next conductor east of Dove’s Landing, having no idea that the tall white man every Negro in the South considered the savior of their race was little more than a stone’s throw away.
It was an hour or so after a late breakfast on the following morning when at last the meeting for which the president had traveled deep into the heart of the Confederacy got under way. The door of the Greenwood sitting room closed. Richmond Davidson and Abraham Lincoln were at last left alone.
“I am sorry for this inconvenience to you and your family,” said Lincoln.
“Think nothing of it, Mr. President.”
“So… I have been informed that you voluntarily freed your slaves.”
“That is correct.”
“Then tell me, Mr. Davidson, why did you do it?”
“Because it seemed to me the right thing to do, Mr. President. It seemed the right thing to do as a Christian.”
American Dreams Trilogy Page 124