by Ginny Dye
“Do you think people really knew?” Simon asked.
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
“Who President Johnson really was,” Simon clarified. “Did he have everyone so fooled that they truly did not see the man he is?”
Thomas’ face grew very thoughtful. “I think there is not an easy answer to that question,” he finally said. “The Republican party believed Johnson would help unify the vote for Lincoln because Johnson was a Unionist. They were right about that, but I don’t think they looked deep enough to see the danger.” He paused thoughtfully. “I believe politicians always reveal who they truly are. Oh, in some ways they will say whatever they believe they need to in order to get elected, but I think the real person always comes through. If,” he qualified, “people are willing to look hard enough to discover the truth. There were so many things Johnson said as a senator from Tennessee that showed his beliefs. It was easier not to pay attention, but in the end, the problems we are facing now are because people were too lazy to recognize reality.”
Moses knew he was right. “It is imperative that blacks have the vote,” he said suddenly. “I know it is only right that women have the vote, too, but if blacks miss this opportunity it is going to make things even more horrible for my people because we will have absolutely no voice to stop the atrocities that are happening now.” His mind filled with the conversation he’d had with Rose when she returned from New York. He gazed at Abby, and then turned his eyes to Marietta. “I’m sorry I feel that way.”
Abby smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, too, but I certainly understand why you feel the way you do.”
When he turned to Marietta, she was looking at him with a scowl.
“I have no desire to be a sacrificial lamb,” she said.
Moses knew she was trying to temper her anger, but her eyes were snapping fire. “I understand.”
“Do you?” she snapped. “Rose and I had a conversation when she was on the way back from the convention. She told me about the moment she looked around the room and realized every woman in that room was as enslaved as she had ever been, because the government refused to allow them control of their own lives. I am tired of having no control. Rose realizes things are going to get even worse for black women if they are refused the vote while their husbands gain that power. You can’t possibly know what that is like.”
Moses took a deep breath. “That is true,” he admitted. “There is no way I can know what it is like to be a woman, but I do know what it is like to love my wife with every fiber of my being. I know what it is like to want my two daughters to have the best world they can possibly have.” He stopped to form his next words, knowing they were important. “The best solution is for everyone in this country to have the right to vote, without regard to race or gender, but I understand that is not possible right now. If that is true, then I at least want to have a voice in trying to make that right—in making the world better for the women in my life that matter so much to me.”
Marietta stared at him for a long moment before she released the breath she had been holding. “And I only wish every black man who will get the vote would be like you, Moses, but I already know that is not the case.” Her face hardened. “I realize women are not going to get the vote now because we have absolutely no voice in the arguments for and against. We can have our conventions, and we are certainly making waves, but the men in Congress are determined to block it.” She turned to lock eyes with Abby. “Do you disagree with me?”
Abby returned her gaze steadily. “I would give just about anything to be able to, but no, I believe you are right. That does not mean, however, that I intend to give up fighting.”
Thomas reached over to take his wife’s hand. “I would give just about anything to assure the female vote. I believe this country needs the voice and the perspective of women. Without it, we are rather one dimensional.” He cocked his head. “You told me about the woman who accosted you and Rose on the train. Are there quite a lot of women like that?”
“A growing number,” Abby admitted. “I find it inconceivable that there are women who truly wish to abdicate their life to men, but I know they find it equally inconceivable that I wish to make all my own decisions, and that I want to have a say in what America becomes.”
“They’re idiots,” Marietta said with an indignant snort.
Jeremy chuckled. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I agree with my wife. I have doubts of a happy marriage if I did not believe as she does.”
“You would have no marriage at all if you didn’t agree with me,” Marietta said hotly. Somehow she forced a smile. “The women in my family have been fighting male arrogance for a while. My grandmother and my mother have been deeply involved in the women’s rights movement since it first began. They are devastated by this latest turn of events. My grandmother wrote me recently and told me she had always believed she would live long enough to vote in a presidential election. She no longer believes that.”
Moses thought about her words. “Do you believe if black men weren’t getting the vote that women would be?”
Marietta considered his question, and then shook her head. “I wish it were that simple. I also wish I believed black men are getting the vote because people believe it is the right thing, but I believe it is mostly a political move on the part of the Republican Party to gain the vote of a million black men. If they do, they can almost certainly block the Democratic vote in many elections.”
“It’s not quite that simple, either,” Abby protested. “I do believe there is political motive, but I also believe the abolitionists who have fought to end slavery are willing to use that motive in order to finish this battle in the only right way—by giving blacks the right to vote. There are many, many people who want to do the right thing.”
“Then I wish they would see fit to do the right thing for women, too,” Marietta retorted. She quickly held her hands up in apology. “I’m sorry. I know the people around this table are not the enemy.”
“Passion seems to always get America into trouble,” Thomas said ruefully.
Laughter riffled through the room before Jeremy turned to Moses and Simon. “Will black men vote?” he asked bluntly.
“They’ll vote,” Simon responded. “They’ll vote in the same way white men vote.”
Jeremy raised a brow.
“I believe he means there are black men who won’t vote just as there are white men who don’t vote,” Thomas said. “He’s right. There is not a man in this country, of either color, who does not have strong opinions about how things should happen, but there are a lot of them who merely want to voice their opinion or complain. They don’t want to take the time to vote, or they simply don’t believe their vote will matter.”
“Every vote matters,” Jeremy stated.
“It’s more than a vote,” Marietta added. “It’s a person’s way of saying they care about what happens in America. It’s a way of saying you have an opinion that you believe matters.” She paused as she stared into the flame of a candle flickering on the table. “I also want to believe it is a statement that a person cared to be become educated enough to even deserve to have a vote.”
“Well said,” Abby agreed. “I would like to add that a vote is a statement that every single person who ever holds an office is important. That every single person has the power to change the course of this country for generations to come. Voting is a privilege, but first it is an awesome responsibility.”
Her words hovered in the air. There seemed to be nothing more to say as each of them contemplated what the future was going to hold.
********
The lines had begun to form at the First African Church at seven o’clock the next morning. Moses had been sure to be there with Felicia first thing. They munched on a basket of biscuits and jam that May had fixed for them while they waited four long hours for the doors to open. He and his daughter talked while they waited.
“This is a real important time, Daddy,” Felicia said, her
serious eyes scanning the growing crowd.
Moses knew she was scanning for trouble. His brave daughter was determined not to miss this historic event, but he knew she was also frightened of what might happen. In the only world she had known before she’d come to the plantation, crowds had meant a riot where defenseless blacks were being slaughtered. She only seemed comfortable when her hand was tucked securely into his. Talking would keep her mind off the growing crowd. “Tell me why,” he invited.
Felicia looked up at him indulgently. He was sure she knew what he was doing, but she obliged him with an answer. “Now that Congress has taken over Reconstruction, every Confederate state has to rewrite its constitution before it can be readmitted to the Union and have their political rights restored.”
Moses bit back a smile when he saw several nearby people turn their heads to see who was giving such a clear answer. He understood their surprised looks when they realized the speaker was a young girl.
“The new constitutions have to reflect our freedom,” Felicia continued, “and they also have to ratify the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments. This one is especially important to our people because it is going to decide the Republican platform going into the constitutional convention later this year.” She took a deep breath and looked around, her eyes slightly alarmed by how the crowd was continuing to grow. “Where are all these people coming from, Daddy? Don’t these men have to work?”
“We do.” The answer came from a wiry man standing close to her at the beginning of the line. “Most of the men you see right now came from the tobacco plants. Our tobacco worker societies informed all the factories that we was coming to the convention today. They had no choice but to close up.” His voice was full of deep satisfaction.
Felicia grinned. “I bet they didn’t like that.”
“Probably not,” the man confided with a smile, “but things ain’t gonna be the same now that we’re free. We got rights.”
Felicia looked around again, but now her gaze was calculating. “There are people in Washington that won’t like this,” she told the man.
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
Moses hid a smile as other listeners leaned in to hear what his daughter had to say. He stuffed down an uncomfortable feeling that he was watching the emergence of a powerful woman who would constantly put herself at the forefront of danger. He had always known Felicia was special. All he could do was protect her to the best of his ability, and encourage her to be all she could be.
“I read about this,” Felicia said confidently. “There are two parts of the Republican Party. There are moderate ones who believe delegates should dictate the policy of our party. Then there are the ultra-Radicals who believe decisions should be made by mass meetings where everyone has a say.”
“That’s the only right way to do it,” a woman snorted. “If we want things in the South to ever be right for the black folks, we got to make sure them white men who enslaved us can’t vote, and we got to make them give up their lands so we got a chance to build a life of our own.”
Felicia turned to her with a warm smile. “I agree there should be mass meetings,” she answered.
Moses was aware Felicia had made no stance on whether she agreed with the ultra-radical position. She was simply affirming the right of everyone’s voice to be heard. He hid another grin. His daughter was already becoming quite a little politician. It would be the world’s loss if she didn’t have the right to vote and govern when she grew up just because she was a woman.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Felicia continued her discussion with the woman. “National Republican leaders know the power of the radicals rests on the black popular movement here in the city. That bothers them because they know they will actually have little say in making party policy.” She grinned. “I don’t know a man alive who would be happy with that. Politicians will be less happy.”
Moses couldn’t stop his chuckle this time.
The wiry man eyed him. “This your daughter?”
“She is,” Moses confirmed.
“She always been this smart?”
“For as long as I’ve known her,” Moses agreed. Felicia’s story was her own to tell.
When they were finally able to enter the church, Moses knew many of the thousands clogging the streets would not have room to crowd in. He suspected there would be some kind of meeting held outside for the ones who were not allowed to enter.
********
When he walked back out, he knew the country was in for a bitter battle. Though he knew many Richmond blacks truly felt this way, he suspected the passion vibrating through the building for the last several hours had been brought on by heated rhetoric from speakers determined to promote their agenda. The crowd, frustrated by all they had experienced since emancipation, was easy to sway to their side.
Moses was silent as he and Felicia pushed their way through the buzzing crowd. He overhead many conversations as people who had been inside explained the proceedings to those who had not been able to enter. It didn’t take him long to realize the outside proceedings had echoed the interior ones.
Thomas and Abby were waiting for them when they arrived home. A tray of tea and cookies perched on the table next to the porch swing.
Moses sat down, took a glass of tea, and drank deeply.
“That bad?” Thomas asked.
Moses shrugged. “Perhaps it was that good.” He really wasn’t sure.
“Felicia?” Abby asked.
Felicia gave a succinct report. “The Ultra-Radicals had their day. When it was all said and done, there was almost complete support for the radical program that includes disenfranchisement for anyone who supported the Confederate cause, and also the belief that Confederate lands should be confiscated and given to the blacks.”
“Why does that make you frown?” Abby asked gently.
Felicia met her eyes squarely. “Because the people at that meeting don’t understand what they did. Instead of finding a way to make things work for everyone, they just want to punish anyone who played a part in making them slaves.”
“And you don’t think that is good?” Abby probed.
“I don’t think they understand the backlash,” Felicia answered. She shook her head. “I wish they did more reading because they would realize their stubborn position is going to make white people angrier, which means they are going to make life more miserable for everyone.” Her voice wavered. “It made me very sad because I felt like the leaders really were using the people there to support their own agenda. Everybody seems to be after just one thing…”
“Power,” Moses finished for her. She had easily explained the turmoil he had been feeling since the first few moments of the convention. He totally understood why people were so angry, but he didn’t believe they comprehended the best path to helping them attain the freedom they wanted. He finally found the words he was looking for. “They are pushing white Americans up against a wall. No one likes to be up against a wall, and they already have everything in place to fight back.” His mind filled with stories of vigilante atrocities. “They are going to fight back just as hard as we are fighting.”
“And in the end everyone loses.”
Moses looked up as Matthew walked up the steps. They locked eyes as a silent message passed between them.
Things were going to get much worse before they got better—if they ever could.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carrie had discovered it was impossible to be consumed with grief when she was surrounded by a dozen foals prancing through the pasture with their heads and tails lifted high. She longed for Robert to see the results of his careful breeding, but the thought no longer brought nothing but searing agony. It was easy to envision the pride and pleasure shining on his face if he had been standing beside her. The nights were still endless, but the days had become almost bearable.
Amber clambered over the fence and joined her.
“There is a gate,” Carrie reminded her gently.
“It takes too much time,” Amber explained. She giggled as All My Heart trotted up and pushed her with her beautiful head. Amber pretended to ignore her. All My Heart snorted and nudged her once more, a little harder this time. Amber giggled again and wrapped her arms around her filly’s neck.
Carrie watched with something approaching awe. She wondered if the little girl was simply more resilient than her, or if she had dealt with her grief better in the beginning, so she was able to laugh sooner. She remembered Biddy’s letter telling her that everyone grieved in their own way, and decided it didn’t matter.
“All the foals are leading now,” Amber announced.
“They are,” Carrie agreed, feeling the same pride she saw shining on Amber’s face. “Robert would be so proud of you.”
“You helped,” Amber reminded her with a glow of pleasure. “Robert would be real proud of you, too.”
Carrie’s heart caught for a moment as she envisioned the look of pride on Robert’s face that had so often been there for her. She saw the look of sudden anxiety gleaming in Amber’s eyes.
“Was that the wrong thing to say, Carrie?”
“No, honey,” Carrie murmured as she stroked All my Heart’s shining neck. “Robert would be proud of both of us.” Just the fact she could say his name was a victory.
“There are men coming to see the new babies, aren’t there?” Amber asked, obviously relieved she hadn’t said the wrong thing. “To buy them like Mark and Susan did?”
“There are,” Carrie agreed. “They will be here in a month, after we have weaned the foals from their mamas.” She understood the frown on Amber’s face. “I know the weaning is a very hard time,” she said softly.