A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (2 page)

“Shows what you know, smarty,” Kate replied.

Then the older girl said, “Are you glad to be finished with school, James? You've been gone an awful lot the past few years.”

“Yes, I believe I am. New York was exciting at times; Lord knows it is very different from life on a big plantation. But I am looking forward to helping Father run the business; that's what I went to school for.”

“You'll work here in the office, I suppose?”

“Yes. You know that Father forbids us to go to the compound. Of course, I'm eighteen now so it might be all right for
me
to go.”

“You'd better ask Father first. It seems pretty important to him that we stay away from there. My friend, Laura Picket, says it's because we are of the genteel class and it wouldn't be proper to be subjected to the Negro workers. She says that's why Father is so strict about it, so much so that our servants are poor whites and not Negroes like most plantation homes.”

“I don't know if I'd put much stock in what Laura Picket says, Ashton. Her father owns his Negroes; they are slaves. Our Negroes work as sharecroppers. Father explained that to me years ago. We are Christians and good Christians do not own other people. Father knows that isn't right. Negroes are just people the same as we are. Remember that, Ashton. What others do is no reflection on us.”

“Yes,” said Kate. “Now let's talk about the party.”

 “I hope you like the gift I have for you, James,” said Ashton. “I made it for you myself.”

“Well,” he said, “if you made it for me that will make it even more special.”

“I didn't make my gift,” said Kate. “But I know you'll like it just the same. It is something that you've been wanting; I've heard you mention it to Father.”

James put an arm around each of his sisters and said, “I am sure that I will be delighted with whatever I receive.”

“Oh, I do love parties,” said Ashton. “We should have a party every day.”

“That wouldn't do,” said Kate. “Parties would become boring if there were no occasions. That's what makes them so special.”

“Just the same,” Ashton replied, “parties are just grand and I never get enough of them. I cannot wait to see Jenny and Bret. Are you anxious to see the boys, James?”

“I am, for a fact. When they are here I know what it feels like to have brothers,” he teased.

“Well!” said Kate, in mock indignation. “Perhaps you could persuade Father to make a trade with Uncle Stanley or Uncle Joseph.”

James suppressed laughter and said, “Well, let me see now. Do you suppose that Father could trade one for one or would it take you both just to get one brother?” All was quiet for about five seconds, and then they both attacked with fingers prodding his ribs until he jumped to his feet and exclaimed, “White flag, white flag. I guess I'll have to settle for having cousins instead of brothers.”

At that, they all had a good laugh, and then Ashton said, “I wish Father would get home. Our guests will be here in a few hours. Let's go see if Mother needs anything, Kate.” They got up from the swing, delivered another hug and kiss to their big brother, and then went inside.

James sat down again and realized that he was feeling a bit restless. This was the first time he had been home since last Christmas, which was also the last time he had seen the other families. Uncle Stanley's son, Clark, was two years older than James. Clark's brother, Jessie, was the same age as James. Uncle Joseph's son, Franklin, was sixteen, and his younger brother, Jefferson, was fourteen.  Uncle Joseph's daughter, Jenny, was Ashton's age, fifteen. Her sister, Bret, was the youngest of all at age twelve. The three families were a close knit group; when they were together, they were as one. Maybe, thought James, he could ask his father to persuade his uncles to spend the night and extend the festivities. He was in the mood for a good long visit.

It was then he realized he was also in the mood for something else: a ride. It would be just the thing to pass the time before the party. He got up and headed for the barn to find George Lynch. George took care of all the animals and usually saddled James's horse for him. It wasn't that he couldn't do it himself, but since George had performed the task ever since James started riding, it had simply become a habit.

When he reached the barn he called out, but George didn't answer. Without hesitation, James picked up his saddle, blanket, and bridle and carried them down to the stall occupied by his horse, Star. Star was a beautiful Chestnut mare, three years old, and sixteen hands. The horse nickered softly as James approached. He led her out of the stall, and within minutes she was saddled and ready to go. When James climbed up, he could tell that Star was as ready for a run as he was. “Which way should we head, girl?” he asked. Then he had a thought—a very daring thought. Why not ride down the road to the compound? He actually shivered a bit. Was he being foolish or downright stupid? His father's only rule had always been that his family was never to go there. It was in their best interest, he said. James had occasionally wondered what harm there could be but never had his curiosity driven him to consider breaking this rule. Suddenly, it seemed almost silly. He knew that his father had nothing to hide. It was just that he was overprotective and probably thought it best to keep his family away from men the likes of Farley Tabor. In a way it made perfect sense. His father simply wanted his family life separated from the working environment.

There was, however, one significant difference now. James was a grown man. That would make his decision all right. Perhaps even his father felt differently now. After all, James had just turned eighteen that very day and his father hadn't had a chance to talk to him as a man yet. He was grown now and his father would want him to act as if he were grown; James was sure of that.

 

TWO

 

The Revelation

 

 

James spurred Star out of the barn and down to the main road heading in the direction of the compound. The excitement was building inside him. If he met his father on the road he would have to turn back. If not, he would see the compound for himself.

Star was an excellent example of horse flesh and she covered the miles in no time. James could see the buildings in the distance, and for an instant he nearly pulled the horse to a stop. But he had come this far and he would have felt weak in nature to change his mind.

When he reached the lane leading from the main road, he slowed Star to a walk. No need to go busting in, he thought. Just ride back casually as if he went there every day. The lane weaved its way back through a heavily wooded area that ended about fifty yards from the fence surrounding the compound. When he reached the edge of the woods, he turned his horse into the trees and stopped.

After dismounting and tying the reins to a sapling, he walked a few steps and stood just short of the clearing. He could easily survey the sprawling layout from his vantage point. In the foreground was a single-story building; well maintained with two windows in front, a porch closed in by a railing, and a chimney climbing up the right side. Going on comments he'd heard from his father, James figured it to be the field office. He could see his father's horse tied at the hitching rail out front. About thirty feet to the left was a similar looking structure except that there were two large wooden chairs on the porch and it was surrounded by a white picket fence with a gate. It appeared to have a pen attached to the back of it and James could hear the sound of dogs coming from inside. That, he thought, would be where Farley Tabor lives. In the distance and to the right were the machinery and ginning sheds next to the mule barn.

There were many wagons in sight, some empty, some loaded, and some partially loaded with bales of cotton. In the distance to the left, he could see four rows of small cabins, which, even from where he stood, appeared to be crude and hastily constructed. He could see several small black children playing near the cabins. Over by the sheds there were a few black men and at least one white man, but apparently most of the workers were out in the fields.

The compound covered about five acres altogether. Outside the surrounding fence, the cotton fields stretched far beyond the horizon. James was glad that everything seemed on the quiet side around the field office. If he
was
to be reprimanded for his disobedience, he preferred not to have an audience.

Still a bit nervous but nonetheless resolute, he was ready to ride in and surprise his father. Just as he turned toward his waiting horse, he heard a commotion coming from the office building. He turned back in time to see a black man seemingly catapulted through the doorway. His momentum carried him across the porch and ended with a hard landing on the ground. The man was naked from the waist up; his hands were tied behind his back. An instant later, two white men emerged from the office. They crossed the porch and went down the steps to stand on either side of the black man who was lying on his back in the dirt. One of the men was Farley Tabor. In a rough manner, Tabor reached down, grabbed the man by the head, and jerked him to his feet. With both hands he began pushing him towards two posts that stood about six feet high and maybe three or four feet apart. When Tabor had the man standing between the posts, he untied his hands. Then he re-tied one wrist to each post so that the man stood spread eagled with his hands above his head.

When this was done, James's father, who had followed along, handed something to Tabor that looked like a coil of rope. But when Tabor shook it out, James could see that it was a bullwhip. James watched in horror as his father stood with arms folded while Tabor began to use the whip on the defenseless man's back. Lash after lash was applied until the victim's knees buckled and he hung by his wrists from the posts. Thinking the two men were satisfied, James thanked God when the barbaric display ended. But it was not so. After a few minutes, Tabor began to kick the man in the side and in the back. Finally, the bloodied man struggled to his feet. And then, for James, the absolutely unthinkable happened. He saw Tabor hand the whip over to his father. In complete and utter disbelief, he watched as his father took his turn whipping the prisoner. James felt a warm, nauseating sensation come up from his stomach to his throat. For an instant he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for his father to stop. Instead he turned, fell to his knees, and vomited until the dry heaves were all that was left. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he felt weak and unable to rise. All he wanted to do was to climb up on Star and get away from that awful place.

As soon as he was able to stand, without looking back, he walked over to his horse, pulled himself astride and rode slowly back down the lane. As she had on the way out, Star wanted to run, but James made the effort to hold her back. He felt drained by his upset stomach and his head was spinning. So many thoughts were swirling in his mind that he couldn't think straight. The reality of what he'd just witnessed jumped up and smacked him square in the face. There was no getting around the fact: his father had been lying to him, apparently for as long as he could remember. The blacks that worked for his father were slaves. They were bought and paid for, worked-to-death human beings just like everywhere else in the South. They were captives, held against their will—denied their freedom. Then another thought occurred to him and his blood ran cold. He thought about the nightmare that happened when he was seven years old. Was it real? It must have been. His father had stood by while a black man was hanged from the tree behind the barn. How convenient was the fever that had afflicted him?

Then he thought about his mother. What did she know about it all? Had she gone all these years keeping ugly secrets or was she as innocent of it as James had been? What was he to do?

His birthday party came to mind. How could he face everyone and act as if nothing was wrong? At that point, he didn't give a damn about a party. All he really cared about was that slave; the unfortunate man who was being whipped by his father and that despicable Farley Tabor.

Suddenly, from behind him he could hear hoof beats on the road. James was sure that it must be his father. His first instinct was to spur his horse and stay far enough ahead that he wouldn't be seen. Then he thought about getting off the road and hiding in the bushes until his father rode past. Finally, he decided to do what he never would have guessed he'd do. He would just sit, wait, and confront his father.

It took just a short time before the horse and rider slowed down, pulling to a stop beside him. James looked up and found himself eye to eye with the man he loved and respected most in the world; the man whose face was now covered in panic. He spoke his son's name, then his chin dropped to his chest, and for several minutes, the two sat in silence. When he raised his head again James was sure his father could read the whole story written plainly on his face.

“Were you down the road, James?” he asked. James nodded his head. “Did you see?” James nodded again. More time passed in silence. James did not know what to expect. He had always imagined that if something like this ever happened his father would lose his temper and the punishment would be more severe than he'd ever experienced. So it came as a complete surprise when James realized that his father's demeanor was one of uncertainty.

“We have to talk about this, son,” he said. “Climb down and I'll try to explain.”

James wasn't sure he wanted to talk about anything, but when his father got off his horse and looked up at him, he simply couldn't refuse. They secured their horses and walked over to a fallen tree lying just off the edge of the road and sat down. At first it seemed that his father did not know how to begin. Finally, he took a deep breath and started talking.

“I want you to try to understand that I am a man who loves his family more than anything else in the world. I want you to understand that there is nothing that I would not do to guarantee their happiness and wellbeing. And I want you to understand that I was born into this way of life. Ever since I can remember, the Langdon family has owned slaves. If a man wants to be anything more than a broken back farmer then he has to accept the fact that slavery is essential to our southern way of life. I am not responsible for how things came to be James; I am just carrying on tradition. My father taught me at an early age that we live in a hard world, and if we are to survive we have to be hard as well. I wish now that I had taught you the same. I can see now that I have been a fool; a fool to think that I could make it possible for my family to live in a perfect world, sparing them from the harsh realities. I am full of regret for having lied to you, son, but I guess I always hoped that having provided well would absolve me of that sin.” Then he paused and James sensed that he was looking for a response, so he obliged.