Always Forward

by Ginny Dye

  “Did you enjoy your surprise?”

  Carrie spun around when she heard Janie’s voice behind her. “How in the world did you keep from telling me? I didn’t think it was possible for you to keep a secret that long.”

  “Matthew helped,” Janie admitted. “I wanted to write you so badly, but he convinced me you would love the surprise.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened as she interpreted the look in Janie’s eyes. “Matthew knows? All of it?”

  Janie explained George’s decision to be interviewed anonymously for Matthew’s book. “It was quite a brave thing to do,” she finished.

  “George has become an amazing man,” Carrie replied. “I’m so glad to know he is alive. I know Robert will be as well. He always had a soft spot for him.”

  “Actually, he had a soft spot for her,” Janie said wryly. “He just didn’t realize the truth.”

  Carrie decided to ask the question she had been thinking all day. The crowd had dispersed so they could talk quietly without the risk of being overheard. “Are you as jealous as I am?”

  Janie laughed, her face showing her obvious relief that Carrie was voicing her own thoughts. “Green with envy? Every day!”

  “During the war, all I could think about was hiding George’s identity.” Carrie had decided to only call him George. She was determined she would not be the one to betray his trust with a thoughtless statement during an unguarded moment. “Now I suddenly realize, in spite of all he has to hide, that his life is so much easier than ours. He can freely own a business. He can vote.”

  Janie nodded. “I think about that all the time. I long to have a voice in what happens in our country. I believe things would be so different in America right now if women had been part of the process,” she said fiercely. “And he doesn’t have to wear these ridiculous dresses. I think it would be so marvelous to wear pants every day!”

  Carrie laughed and gave Janie a tight hug. “Someday we will have the vote,” she proclaimed. “Someday we will own businesses, and someday we will all walk around in pants.”

  Janie looked doubtful. “Are all men going to disappear off the face of the earth?”

  Carrie shook her head. “No. I know it seems impossible right now, but I have to believe it’s true. Look how far we have come, Janie. You’re in medical school. You’re married to a man who gladly supports your right to vote. Black men are going to soon have the vote. Things are changing.”

  “You’re right,” Janie agreed. “They just aren’t changing fast enough,” she proclaimed. “We didn’t really have time to talk last night. Are you still all right with not being in medical school?”

  Carrie took a deep breath and laid her hand on her stomach. “I am,” she replied, happy to know she meant it. “I don’t know what the future holds, and I have far more questions than answers, but I’m all right with that for now. All I can think about is meeting the little one kicking me right now.” She smiled brightly. “It should only be about two and a half more months.”

  Janie reached out and touched Carrie’s stomach. “I can hardly wait to meet your baby,” she said softly.

  Carrie understood the wistful look on her face, but she didn’t feel comfortable asking. She knew Janie and Matthew wanted children. She also knew the pain of waiting.

  ********

  Matthew looked at himself in the mirror. “I think I look rather dashing with black hair,” he said cheerfully.

  Peter smirked. “Does that mean you have gotten used to how you look without that red beard?”

  Matthew sighed heavily. “I haven’t been without a beard in years.” He frowned at himself in the mirror, trying to accept that his hair was also far shorter than it had ever been. “I don’t even recognize myself,” he said plaintively as he ran a hand down his smooth cheeks. Wire spectacles, combined with the plain clothing of a Tennessee mountain man completed his disguise.

  “Which is the whole point,” Peter reminded him.

  “So you’re telling me you’re happy as a redhead?” Matthew demanded, trying not to laugh at Peter’s transformation. Even the beard growing on his friend’s face since they had devised their plan was a rusty red.

  “Well… I think I look better than you do,” Peter taunted as he pulled his fingers through his short red hair. “As long as it doesn’t rain and wash out the mineral dye May created for us, we should be all right.”

  Matthew nodded, hoping for fair skies. “The whole reason we have umbrellas.”

  “As soon as this masquerade is over, however, I’m dunking my head in a barrel of water. Somehow, you manage to look decent with all that red hair. I look like an idiot.”

  Matthew bit back his easy agreement with a smile, but was still disgruntled. “At least you can just dunk your head in water. It will take time for my hair and beard to grow back.”

  “Ah, the costs of journalism,” Peter retorted. “We do whatever it takes to get the story.”

  Matthew felt a tad better when he saw the gleam of admiration in his friend’s eyes. His hair would grow back. He could only hope they would discover something at the convention that would make the elaborate disguises worthwhile. “Where is Hobbs?” He was still concerned about his safety, even though the plan they had developed seemed to be foolproof.

  “He went out to meet with one of his Klan buddies,” Peter said gravely.

  Matthew took a deep breath as he saw the unspoken message in his friend’s eyes. They were having to go on faith that Hobbs wouldn’t cave under the pressure and betray their real identities. He had seemed sincere enough during his revelations and during the planning sessions, but what if it was all part of the ruse?

  Peter read his thoughts. “We have to trust him.”

  Matthew nodded. “I know. Most of the time I do, but now that we’re two blocks from the Maxwell House, it all seems a little more risky.” He thought about his and Robert’s adventure spying on the secession convention in the months before the war started. If they had been discovered, they would have been thrown out, but he was confident they would not have been harmed. He felt none of that confidence now. The stories coming in about the actions of the Klan were growing ever more violent.

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  Matthew considered the question, hearing something in Peter’s voice that indicated he almost wished he was. He had not forced Peter into this scheme, but he could feel his misgivings. “I wish I thought we could afford to have second thoughts,” he said honestly. “I’m scared, too.” He watched Peter’s eyes carefully, recognizing the relief that came with realizing he wasn’t the only one frightened. “But I’m more afraid of what will happen if the Klan continues to grow without any resistance at all. I figure if we can survive Libby Prison, then we can handle a surveillance mission into a Klan convention.” He forced confidence into his voice, hoping he could trick his mind to believe what he was saying.

  Peter nodded, but the look on his face said he was well aware of what Matthew was trying to do. “We can’t really prepare for this one,” he said ruefully. “We’re just going to have to move forward and see what transpires. At least we’ll know we didn’t sit back and allow it to happen without trying to make a difference.”

  “Always forward,” Matthew agreed. A rap at the door made him stiffen, but he forced himself to relax. It could only be Hobbs. He refused to allow himself fantasies of who it could be if Hobbs had betrayed them. He strode to the door and swung it open.

  Hobbs stepped through. “You shouldn’t open the door unless you know who it is,” he scolded.

  “Like not opening the door would stop someone,” Matthew said dryly. “Is everything all right?” He searched Hobbs’ face for signs of trouble.

  “They believed me,” Hobbs said quietly. He walked over and sank down in the chair pulled in front of the empty fireplace.

  “Thank God,” Matthew murmured.

  “No suspicion?” Peter probed.

  Hobbs shrugged. “They are suspicious of anything th
at breathes, but I think they believed me.”

  “You gave them the letter?” Matthew asked. He thought of the long hours of scheming before Thomas had actually written it.

  Hobbs nodded. “They believe I gave them enough information to make my time in Richmond worthwhile.” He sagged against the back of the chair. “They believed my story that I stole the letter when Thomas asked me to mail it.”

  Matthew sighed with relief. The letter was full of false information concerning a large shipment of clothing being transported north for the military. The shipment was actually happening, but it wasn’t going to happen the way the letter detailed. They hoped the Klan wouldn’t hold Hobbs responsible for the factory changing the shipment agenda. If the Klan believed they could inflict harm on Thomas, Abby, and Jeremy at one time by destroying a shipment worth thousands of dollars, they would continue to believe Hobbs was doing as they requested.

  “And they are agreeable with you bringing us to the meeting?” Peter asked.

  “Once I convinced them how much you hate the Cromwells and everything that is happening in the South, they said you could come,” Hobbs answered. “I vouched for you. Right now, my word still means something.”

  Matthew understood when his eyes darkened. Now that the Reconstruction Acts had passed, the Klan was even more determined to fight back—meaning they would be more diligent than ever. They might forgive Hobbs when the information about the shipment proved wrong, but they would also be watching him more closely, and they would expect more concrete results. The only way to protect him was to remove him from the situation. When the convention was over, Hobbs had accepted Thomas’ offer to head west to Oregon. He was leaving from Nashville.

  Hobbs read Matthew’s thoughts. “It’s better this way,” he said quietly. “I can’t never go back home to West Virginia, even if I thought I could make a living there. They wouldn’t let me live real long,” he said matter-of-factly. “I done some reading about Oregon. It seems like a mighty fine place to live if you like to hunt and fish. Thomas gave me enough money to get started, and I’ll get a job quick as I can.”

  Matthew gazed at him. “You sound as if you’re looking forward to it.”

  Hobbs considered his words for a moment, and then met his eyes steadily. “I reckon I am. I don’t like what the Klan is doing, but I don’t like what is happening in the South much better. I reckon I think everybody is wrong, and I think it’s gonna get a lot worse before it ever has a chance to get better. I figure Oregon is far enough away that things won’t be like they are here. From everything I can tell, it’s a different world out there. After the war, and after watching my folks and Bridger die, there ain’t nothing left here for me. I’m going to help you do this, and then I’m going to be glad to leave and never look back.”

  Matthew thought about his words, realizing how much truth there was in them. “You deserve better things,” is all he finally said.

  ********

  Matthew tried to relax as he joined the throng of men entering the Maxwell House, but every cell in his body screamed at him to run the other direction. He could almost feel the hatred and animosity pouring from the men surrounding him. Hard eyes and harder faces revealed these were men with an agenda who had no intention of being denied what they were after. He realized every man he was looking at was probably a Confederate veteran. They had lost the war, but they didn’t intend to go down without a fight to preserve the life they believed was being ripped away from them. He forced himself to keep his face and eyes expressionless, but soon realized even that would make him suspect. He allowed a glance at Peter, and then overheard Hobbs engaged in conversation with a man next to him.

  “Things are getting out of control.” The statement came from a rail-thin man who looked to be in his late twenties. His icy blue eyes glared from beneath shaggy blond hair. “The Klan is growing as big as a blood-thirsty tick, but ain’t nobody really know what is going on.”

  Hobbs nodded. “It’s time for someone to do something,” he declared. “I sure hope that’s why we’re here. It’s time for someone to take charge before things get totally out of hand.”

  “Someone needs to take charge, I reckon,” the blond man growled, “but men are only doing what the federal government has forced on them.”

  Matthew decided to join the conversation. “The South shouldn’t have to take any more abuse,” he said firmly, sifting everything he had learned through his mind. “It isn’t right that the slaves should get to vote while the brightest minds we have are kept from having a say.”

  “That’s right,” another man growled as he pulled his hat down over dark hair.

  Matthew couldn’t miss the fact that the new speaker only had one arm. “Which battle?” he asked.

  “Wasn’t a battle,” the man growled. “I was a guest of Camp Douglas up in Chicago for the last two years of the war. I got in a fight, my arm got gangrene, and they cut it off.”

  Matthew winced, but he also understood the bitterness and anger in the man’s eyes. Just as Andersonville had become notorious as a Confederate prison camp, Camp Douglas had shared the same reputation of poor conditions and high death rates. Now that the war was over, though, no one wanted to acknowledge it. As terrible as Andersonville had been, he couldn’t imagine living through a Chicago winter. Richmond winters couldn’t compare to an Illinois winter, but Matthew had still barely survived Libby Prison; not that he could reveal his being a guest there to this man.

  “At least I lived,” the man growled as he read the sympathy in Matthew’s eyes. “I watched too many men die there, but sometimes I think it ain’t as bad as what is happening now.”

  Matthew wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was sure he was supposed to know. “They’re still trying to kill us off,” he snarled. “They’re just doing it a different way.”

  “I reckon they’re finishing what General Grant didn’t. Those poor bastards at Appomattox would have been slaughtered if General Lee hadn’t surrendered. I know the government wishes he had just killed all the Rebels there. There would have been less of us to deal with.”

  Matthew tried to follow the reasoning, but even if Grant had fought at Appomattox, there still would have been far more Confederates alive today than would have died in that battle. Grant had shown compassion in letting the men return home instead of sending them to prisoner-of-war camps in the North. He swallowed a sigh of relief when the blond man responded, saving him from having to say anything.

  “The government is too busy making sure all them niggers get taken care of. They figure it’s all right if the rest of us white men just die off. Them Yankee soldiers are getting all kinds of care from the government, but we ain’t getting much of nothing. Since there ain’t no Confederate government to help us out, we ain’t got nothing. Now they’re trying to take away the little we got left.”

  “That’s right, boys.”

  Matthew looked up when a cultured voice broke into the conversation. He eyed the well-dressed man who had stepped up. His portly body said he had either never fought in the war, or had rapidly regained the weight lost by most soldiers. He also had a sharp intelligence radiating from his eyes that the others lacked.

  “Mitchell Cummins,” he said quietly, extending his hand to Matthew.

  Matthew hesitated, not sure why he was being singled out, but realized a refusal to shake hands would be dangerous. “Conrad Pickens,” he answered.

  The man didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone else in the little group that was talking. “Right now the Klan is having to operate in secrecy,” Cummins said. “In some regard, it always will, but this meeting today is essential in laying the groundwork for how we will operate in the future.”

  Matthew had a thousand questions that sprang to mind, but he knew none of them were appropriate, so he forced himself to listen.

  “Are they going to help us make things right down here again?” Peter asked. Matthew knew his voice would make it obvious he wasn’t from the hills of Tenn
essee. He had managed to mask the northern accent, but there was no mistaking he was educated and articulate.

  Mitchell eyed him keenly. “And you are?”

  “Darrell Davidson,” Peter said as he extended his hand.

  Mitchell shook it and then answered his question. “We are going to make things right again,” he promised.

  Once again, Matthew longed to know exactly who he was. Mitchell’s next comment answered some of his question.

  “We’re growing fast down in North Carolina. Some of our men spent some time in Tennessee to learn methods, and then we started recruiting. The response has been eager.”

  Matthew was sure it had been. North Carolina had suffered greatly during the war. He was certain there were thousands of bitter veterans eager to fight back.

  The blond spoke next. “All we want is the right to take care of our wives and children,” he said. “When the Yankees came through my area, it wasn’t good enough for them to win the battle. They had to destroy everything they found. They burnt all the houses, tore down all the fences, and mangled just about every piece of machinery they found.” His face twisted with a mixture of anger and pain. “I lived through the war, but now I’m watching my children starve because I can’t feed them off my land. It’s gonna take years before my farm gonna produce like it did before the war. I kept hoping for the war to end, but things seem like they’re worse than they was before.”

  The dark man nodded vigorously. “You got that right. I’m from a group down in Georgia. That General Sherman just about wiped out most of our state. I had one of them carpetbagger fellas tell me they were sorry about that, but it was the only way to break the spirit of the South.” His eyes blazed with fury. “He said it just like that. They had to break the spirit of the South. I guess they sure enough did that. Two of my buddies killed themselves last week because they couldn’t find a way to start their life again. I thought about it, but then I found out about the Klan. I owned a general store before the war started. Sherman came through and burnt it to the ground. I don’t have a way to make a living anymore, so I figure I’ll do everything I can to make things better for the South.”