by Ginny Dye
Marcus nodded. “It was just him. I got him out in time.”
Hobbs, obviously dazed, swiveled his head and stared at the boxes strewn across the loading platform. “What happened?” he managed to ask in a husky voice.
Jeremy explained briefly.
Hobbs stared at the mound of splintered crates, and then turned back to eye Marcus. “You saved my life,” he muttered.
Marcus shrugged modestly.
“Why?” Hobbs demanded.
“Why?” Marcus looked confused.
“I don’t get it,” Hobbs sputtered, his mind spinning as he tried to absorb the reality of what had happened. “Why did you save my life?”
“It seemed like a life worth saving,” Marcus responded.
Hobbs could think of nothing to say in response to that. If the roles had been reversed, he was quite sure he would not have put himself in danger to save Marcus’ life.
Jeremy knew it was time for him to bow out. He shook Marcus’ hand firmly. “Thank you.”
Hobbs struggled to sort through his feelings. Somewhere in the midst of the shock over what had happened was gratitude that he had not died. It would have seemed somehow wrong to have survived four years of war only to die under a mountain of clothing crates.
“Did you figur’ I would let you die?” Marcus asked quietly.
Hobbs considered the question, but he was too tired, too shocked, and too shaken from near-death to consider his answer. “I would have let you die,” he said bluntly.
Marcus shrugged. “That don’t surprise me none.”
Hobbs blinked at him, trying to decide how to respond.
“Do you hate all of us?” Marcus asked.
“Niggers?” Hobbs shot back, somehow incensed by the fact he was being forced into a conversation just because this man saved his life. Somewhere in his mind he knew it didn’t make sense, but he had been pushed to his limit. He scowled when all Marcus did was shrug in response to his angry question. “Yep. I reckon I do.”
“Why?”
Hobbs’ angry eyes caught the debris scattered all over the loading dock. The reality of how close he had come to death struck him again. It also seemed to deflate his anger. “I don’t really hate you,” he muttered. Speaking the words released something in him. He met Marcus’ eyes squarely. “I hate what is happening in our country,” he admitted. “I done lost everything I ever known. The way I see it, I’m only going to keep losing things. It ain’t right.”
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “I reckon I know how you feel.”
Hobbs was at a loss for words again. “You do?” he finally managed.
“Yep. You don’t want to lose the only way of life you ever had, but the war sure seems to have taken care of that for you. The flip side of that is that I sho ‘nuff don’t want to keep living the only way of life I ever knew. I had it better than most, since I was free, but there be millions of freed slaves that don’t ever want to go back to living that life.”
Hobbs, even though everything inside him was fighting what he was hearing, realized coming so close to death had released something within him. He nodded reluctantly. “I guess I can understand that.”
“Figuring out what to do is a problem, though,” Marcus stated. “Seems like everyone wants something different. And they want it so badly, there’s folks willing to kill for it.”
Hobbs stiffened, remembering the letter in his pocket. There was no way Marcus could know about that. “What are you talking about?” he asked. He wondered how much Jeremy had told Marcus, and then decided Jeremy had probably told him everything and asked Marcus to keep an eye on him.
Marcus looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, and then evidently decided to tell Hobbs what he was thinking. “I had someone come to my house last night,” he said in a grim voice that matched his eyes. “They was running away from Tennessee.” His voice hardened even more. “The Ku Klux Klan got them.”
Hobbs didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.
“They weren’t black folks,” Marcus added.
Hobbs blinked. “They were white?” He had heard of the Klan going against white Unionists, but why would they have ended up at Marcus’?
“They looked white,” Marcus replied.
Hobbs considered his words. It became clear in an instant. He tried to remember the word he had heard Jeremy and Marietta use. “They were mulatto.” He couldn’t think of anything to add, because he was too busy trying to figure out why Marcus was telling him about it.
“Yep. The man was a little darker, but he didn’t have no trouble passing. The Klan found out and decided to teach them a lesson. They came out to their little farm about a week ago. First they broke their way in and raped the woman. Told her if she was gonna act like a white woman that she ought to know what it was like to be with a white man. Then they beat her till she was almost dead.”
Hobbs battled with his feelings. Marcus’ face held almost no expression, unless you counted the blazing fury in his eyes.
“They held the husband and made him watch,” Marcus ground out in a flat voice. “Then they took him outside, tied him to a tree, and went after him with a whip.”
Hobbs winced, but there was still a part of him that thought they had probably deserved it. It was time for everyone to understand whites were in charge, and that blacks who tried to pass as white were dangerous to the country. Those lessons had been drilled into him by his connections with the Klan.
Marcus’ eyes narrowed in contempt, as if he could read his mind. “That could have been Jeremy and Marietta,” he snapped. “Would you been okay with that, too?”
Hobbs caught sight of Jeremy watching from the door at the end of the loading area. He thought of Jeremy’s courtesy toward him, in spite of his beliefs. He thought of Jeremy and Marietta’s easy laughter and warm conversation during meals. He thought of the love the newlyweds shared. He thought of Thomas’ relationship with his half-brother. As one thought after another spiraled through his mind, they collided with the new belief he carried. Collided, and then almost against his will, collapsed. His beliefs lay shattered at his feet like the remnants of the shipping crates scattered across the floor.
Hobbs took an unsteady breath. “No,” he said huskily, his voice trying to catch up with the rapid changes in his mind. “I wouldn’t have been okay with that.” The simple statement released the last cords of hatred that had bound their way around his soul. He took another deep breath and held his hand out. “Thank you for saving my life, Marcus.”
Marcus regarded him for a long moment and then reached out to shake his hand. “Like I said, I reckon it was a life worth saving.”
“Not really,” Hobbs muttered. He had done the right thing in thanking Marcus, but his problem was far larger than that.
********
Matthew and Peter had arrived, and dinner was on the table, when Hobbs finally returned home after a long, exhausting day. The work had been tiring, as always, but it was the turmoil in his mind that had sapped him of all his energy. He breathed in the aromas of May’s fried chicken, more certain than ever before that he didn’t deserve to eat at Thomas Cromwell’s table.
“Hello, Hobbs,” Jeremy called. “Come on in. We’re just getting ready to start.”
Hobbs searched his mind for an excuse not to join them, but his stomach kept him from verbalizing the few weak ones he came up with. He wondered what Marcus had told Jeremy about their conversation, and then remembered Jeremy had left the factory not long after the mishap to take care of some banking business. He didn’t remember seeing Jeremy return, so he may not have had any conversation with his production manager. Hobbs wasn’t sure if he was sorry or relieved.
Matthew smiled broadly when Hobbs pulled out his chair and sat down. “Good to see you, Hobbs.”
“You too, Matthew,” Hobbs said warmly, and then smiled at Peter. “Did y’all get into town today?” He sincerely liked both the men.
“We did. Both our newspapers sent us do
wn to report on the reaction to the Reconstruction Acts.”
Hobbs, even though something inside had changed, was still surprised when there was no immediate flash of anger. Instead, he felt the belt of worry tightening even more in his chest. He saw the surprised look on Thomas’ face when he had no immediate response. “I see,” he finally murmured because he knew everyone was watching him.
Matthew continued speaking as if there was no tension in the room. “We know the vigilante groups are gearing up to fight back, but we seem to be running into brick walls about what their plans are.” He summoned a smile for May when she carried in a basket of hot biscuits. “No one in the world makes biscuits like you do, May.”
“You better not be telling Miss Janie that!” May snorted.
Matthew chuckled. “Janie would tell you that just about anyone can make biscuits better than she can.”
“I believe I would give her some competition,” Abby murmured, her smile turning into a laugh when May nodded her agreement.
Thomas turned the conversation back to more serious matters. “I’ve been doing some reading on secret societies. It seems like the Klan, even though they are more organized than other vigilante groups, isn’t really doing much that is original.”
Marietta looked up from buttering her biscuit, her red hair gleaming in the lantern light. “What do you mean?”
“The Ku Klux Klan is working to have a hierarchy that thrives on secrecy and vague political aims, but they are far from the first,” Thomas explained. “Back in 1849 there was the Order of the Star Spangled Banner. It was a secret society started in New York City to protest the rise of Irish, Roman Catholic, and German immigrants.”
Peter nodded. “I’ve done some reading about them, too. My first mentor at the newspaper told me they were opposed to all immigration, but they were especially against Catholics, who they thought of as dangerous voters under the control of the Pope. They were convinced that allowing Catholics into the country would destroy America.”
“That’s absurd,” Marietta sputtered. “Every single one of them was an immigrant themselves.”
“Unfortunately,” Abby said, “that doesn’t stop people from wanting to look down on others. Too many people fear something simply because it is different from them, and they fight to find a way to feel superior.”
“Yes,” Thomas added. “They believed the Catholics would wipe out Protestantism.”
“The English were equally afraid of Irish Catholics—the reason they tried to wipe them out,” Matthew replied.
“Thanks to my ancestor, Lord Cromwell,” Thomas said heavily. He raised his hand when he saw Abby open her lips to protest. “I realize I had nothing to do with it, but I also can’t sit back and watch when something happens here just like it.” He shook his head. “The Order of the Star Spangled Banner believed they were nativists, and based many of their beliefs and actions on that.”
“Nativist? What is that?” Jeremy asked.
“They used the term Native American to refer to white people with a relatively established history here, especially those who were born here in the United States,” Thomas explained.
“Even though they were all immigrants?” Abby asked in astonishment. “How could they call themselves nativists? At the most, the vast majority of them had only been here one generation.”
“For the same reason you mentioned earlier, dear. So many people want someone to look down on or someone to persecute. They decided to go a step further than just a secret society, however, so they turned the religious differences between Catholics and Protestants into a political issue.” Thomas’ eyes darkened. “The Order was very active during elections in the fifties.”
“When Catholic immigration reached a new high,” Peter observed. “It was five times greater than a decade before. Most of them were poor immigrants from Ireland and Germany who crowded into tenements.”
“Like Moyamensing,” Abby contributed. “Until Biddy stepped in to help, crime rates soared.”
“It happened in almost every large city,” Thomas added. “The Order was determined to fight it. I don’t agree with their methods, but I do recognize there was a serious problem and no one seemed to be stepping up to solve it.”
“What happened to the Order of the Star Spangled Banner?” Jeremy asked.
“They developed a large organization revolving around secret codes, handclasps, and rituals. Whenever someone, especially a reporter, asked them a question they claimed they ‘knew nothing’. Horace Greeley, the editor of the New York Tribune, heard this same thing so many times that he named them the ‘Know Nothings.’ ”
Peter nodded. “The Order decided to push their agenda on a political platform. They formed their own party called the American Party, though they were known popularly as the Know Nothings. In 1854 they actually carried a lot of elections. They tapped into people’s fears and bigoted ideas about Catholics. People were afraid the Catholic immigrants were going to take something away from them so they swarmed into the party. It grew from about fifty thousand to more than a million in just a few months.”
“That was only thirteen years ago!” Marietta said. “I would wonder why I hadn’t heard more about it, but I was just a child.”
“I knew about it,” Thomas said, “but it is only recently that I decided it was important to know more because I see so many similarities to what is happening now. The Know Nothings formed a chapter in San Francisco that opposed Chinese immigration and made life miserable for anyone of Chinese descent. They also elected a mayor of Chicago that barred all immigrants from city jobs. And that was only the beginning.” His voice grew disdainful. “They used religion to pit immigrants against each other so they could strengthen their party. They were really quite successful in winning many elections,” he said ruefully. “Nativism became a new American rage. They had Know-Nothing candy, Know-Nothing Tea, and Know-Nothing toothpicks. However dangerous their agenda, I can’t deny they managed to tap into a deep emotional vein in the country.”
Peter stepped in. “Most of the party’s growth came from rapidly expanding industrial towns in the North because Yankee workers faced direct competition from the new Irish immigrants. The new members of the party looked down on wealth and elitism, and were focused on elevating the working man.”
“I can understand how they felt,” Jeremy said reluctantly. “Were all the voters native Americans?” His voice made it clear he found that difficult to believe.
Thomas snorted. “Hardly! The Know Nothings so castigated the Catholics that new German and British Protestants who had just immigrated joined the party in droves. They were looking for someone to hate, and for a way to appear more powerful in their new country.” He paused. “However, in all fairness, the Know Nothings weren’t all bad. If they had been, they wouldn’t have gotten so much popular support. They opposed slavery, supported an expansion of women’s rights, wanted to regulate industry more carefully, and they wanted to improve the status of working people.”
“I can see why they were popular,” Abby said.
“Don’t be fooled,” Thomas said sourly. “To make sure they got their way in cities where they weren’t popular, they had no problem starting riots and rigging the ballots. Very few people saw the whole picture of who they were because they were masters at painting the picture they wanted to be seen.” He paused. “They tried to get me to join their ranks, but there was something that didn’t feel right, and I wasn’t political at the time—I just wanted to run the plantation. I knew nothing about the secret society that had spawned much of it, but they didn’t have as much of a hold in the South as they did in the North.”
Marietta raised her eyebrows. “You never hear about them anymore, though. Thirteen years is not a long time. What happened?”
“There was a lot of infighting,” Thomas said, “but I believe Abraham Lincoln put his finger on it. Even though he never openly fought them because he didn’t want to lose their vote, I saw a portion of a letter he
had written.” He walked into the study for a moment and returned with a book. “You should hear this.”
“‘I am not a Know-Nothing — that is certain. How could I be? How can anyone who abhors the oppression of Negroes be in favor of degrading classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that “all men are created equal.” We now practically read it “all men are created equal, except Negroes.” When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read “all men are created equal, except Negroes and foreigners and Catholics.” When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty — to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.’”
“I loved that man,” Abby said quietly. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
A long silence filled the room. Jeremy was the first to break it. “I fear what is happening in our country now that his voice has been silenced. President Johnson, with his commitment to white superiority over blacks, has allowed things to be set in motion that will most likely take generations to resolve. I believe our country would be completely different right now if President Lincoln had not been assassinated.”
“I think you’re right,” Matthew said somberly. “Though our country is legislated by Congress, the presidency is a powerful thing. Congress, and the people of the country, can fight back against it, just as we are, but the things Johnson has put into motion can never be undone. I’m afraid our country will be paying the price for a long time to come.”
When he finished speaking, the only thing that could be heard was an occasional owl hoot and the sound of barking dogs not yet let in for the night.
Thomas cleared his throat. “The Know-Nothings virtually disappeared as a party, but that doesn’t mean the sentiments disappeared. One of their members from right here in Virginia, George Bickley, formed the Knights of the Golden Circle.”
Abby raised her brows. “That’s one I have never heard of.”