All Things New (21 page)

“How is Otis?” Mother asked him. Was she truly concerned, Jo wondered, or did she simply want her driver back?

“He’s a strong young man. I stitched up a laceration in his scalp, and I think he’ll be fine. He had no gunshot wounds or broken bones, thankfully. Some of the others weren’t as fortunate. But you shouldn’t expect him to drive you anywhere for a few days.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Josephine asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

The doctor shook his head. “No, but it was obvious he had been beaten just like the other men I treated last night. They’re afraid to confide in me, I suppose because I’m white.”

“I’m ready to leave, Dr. Hunter, if you are.” Jo wanted to flee this house, her family.

“Won’t you please come with us, Eugenia?” the doctor asked.

“Not today, if you don’t mind. I have so much to do. Another time?”

“Certainly.”

Once Josephine was alone in the carriage with Dr. Hunter, she decided to confess her fears. “I . . . I can’t be certain but I think my brother Daniel was involved last night. He didn’t come down for breakfast this morning, and I noticed just now that his jacket reeked of smoke. He hasn’t been himself ever since he came back
from the war and . . . and I’m not sure what to do. If the authorities come . . .”

“There won’t be any arrests. If your brother was involved, he was one of dozens. Our young men are restless, trying to adjust to being home again. And in many cases they face huge new responsibilities—with women to care for and no resources, no money. They’re angry and frightened. Their world has been turned upside down and they don’t like it.”

“None of us do. That’s hardly an excuse for violence.”

“You’re right. But those young men have been through hell together, fighting together, living together. And so they’re finding strength in what they know—guns and violence. Your brother grew to maturity in the middle of a war. His civilized life was interrupted. It’s much too easy to make scapegoats of the Negroes and blame them for the war. They make easy targets because they’re powerless and vulnerable. I don’t condone what your brother and the others are doing, by any means, but I do understand what has led to it.”

“What’s the answer? How do we stop the violence?”

“The young men need good leaders, men they respect who can direct their energies toward something more productive. They’re never going to accept the Negroes as equals, but maybe they can at least reach a compromise with them and learn to work together, the way they’re doing at Harrison Blake’s plantation.”

The two plantations were close neighbors, and the carriage arrived a few minutes later. Josephine climbed down as the doctor untied the wheelchair, but he stopped her before going inside. “Josephine, wait. The reason I asked you to come today wasn’t to help me physically move Harrison. It’s because you’re good for him.”

“Me? That can’t possibly be true. To be honest, Dr. Hunter, I can’t stand him. It requires all of my patience just to stay in the same room with him. He’s so bitter and nasty and ill-tempered—”

“I know, I know. But you’re the only person besides me who has the guts to stand up to him. He needs that. If he’s fighting with you and me, at least he’s fighting and not giving up.”

“You mean . . . you
want
me to argue with him?”

The doctor smiled. “Well, he doesn’t exactly give you a choice, does he?”

“I have been worried it’s unladylike to talk back to him. I can’t imagine what Mother would say if she heard me.”

“You are very much like your mother, Josephine. You have her great inner strength and courage, although you show it in different ways. I hope you’ll continue to visit Harrison.”

Josephine felt very confused as she went up the front steps to the house. Was she truly as strong as her mother? And if so, could she summon the courage to stand up to Daniel and risk being ostracized in the community? Her thoughts were interrupted when Mrs. Blake came out to greet them. Then there was a flurry of activity as Dr. Hunter carried the wheelchair into Harrison’s room. “I’m not going to lift you in and out,” the doctor said. “I’m going to teach you how to get into the chair yourself with just a little help.” He made Harrison sit on the edge of the bed, and while the doctor held the chair steady in front of him, he instructed Harrison to brace his hands on the arms of the chair. For once he wasn’t fighting their efforts or being abusive, but he remained quiet and sullen.

“Now stand up, pivot around, and sit down.” Harrison followed the doctor’s instructions, landing in the chair with a grunt.

“What if he falls?” his mother asked.

“You can call one of your servants to help him.”

Harrison was as thin as a sapling and couldn’t possibly weigh very much. Josephine remembered him as a stocky, broad-shouldered man before the war, strong and solidly built. Now Dr. Hunter, who was a much smaller man, could lift him in his arms and carry him. The doctor could have conducted a lesson on the human skeleton by pointing out Harrison’s protruding bones. Yet Harrison didn’t evoke pity in Josephine the way that Lizzie had this morning, creeping into the dining room with tired, red-rimmed eyes. Or the way Roselle had at the loss of her school. Jo wondered why not.

“As you get stronger,” Dr. Hunter continued, “you’ll be able to push the chair yourself by turning the wheels. But today I’ve asked Josephine to push you.”

The chair barely skimmed through the bedroom door. Jo wondered how Harrison felt to be out of that dreary bedroom, his self-imposed prison, for the first time in months. “Where would you like to go?” Josephine asked. But Harrison, who hadn’t spoken a word since she’d arrived, didn’t reply.

“I think you should take him outside,” Dr. Hunter said. “The rear entrance should be easier to manage than the front.” Josephine wheeled him down the short hallway and through the door to the back porch. The doctor maneuvered the chair down the three short steps by tipping it backward and thumping down each one. “We’ll get some boards and make a ramp so you can roll the chair in and out. This is just the beginning, Harrison. As you gain strength, you’ll eventually be able to get rid of the chair altogether and use crutches.”

Harrison still didn’t reply. Behind his back, the doctor motioned for Jo to push him across the yard toward the barn and cotton fields. It was hard work since the ground was rough and uneven, but she wouldn’t give Harrison the satisfaction of hearing her complain.

“Isn’t it nice to be outdoors in the fresh air?” she asked. “The sun is so warm and comforting.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No. Most people enjoy being outside in such lovely June weather. I’m surprised you don’t, too.”

“I served in the army, in case you’ve forgotten. I lived outdoors in all sorts of weather for nearly five years. What’s nice is to have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in at night.”

She paused beneath the shade of a maple tree, watching the workers laboring in the distant field. “Do you enjoy being contrary, Harrison?”

“You ask such idiotic questions! You have no idea what it was like for us.”

“Why don’t you tell me, then?”

“You couldn’t handle it.”

“Try me. Tell me what you remember about going into battle.” She didn’t think he would take the bait and was surprised when he began to talk.

“I remember how dry my mouth would get from tearing open the powder cartridges. How I would be dying of thirst but couldn’t stop for a drink. And the weariness—it was bone deep. It wasn’t courage that made us wade into enemy fire or stand beneath an artillery bombardment, but sheer fatigue. After a while you become indifferent to danger. You just don’t care what happens anymore. Dying seems like a welcome escape from the horror.”

“Another soldier told me that he became so accustomed to death it seemed inevitable, that he felt like a walking dead man.”

“He’s right. You even become used to seeing bloody arms and legs scattered all around you, heads without bodies, torsos without heads. Then one day you look down at a mangled, disembodied leg and you realize it’s your own.”

“Now you’re deliberately trying to shock me.”

“You asked for it. . . . For the last two years of the war, most of us were just waiting for our turn to die. I wasn’t surprised at all when I was hit. It seemed long overdue.”

“But you didn’t die. You’re home again. And now when you see your house and all your beautiful land, doesn’t it make you grateful to be alive?”

“No. I don’t have the will or the energy to start all over again. The only thing you’re accomplishing with your stupid meddling is to set my mother up for disappointment. Our way of life depended on slavery. We can’t make a profit on cotton if we have to pay our laborers. I know it and the other planters know it, too. This plantation can never be restored because I can’t make enough money to run it the way I used to. It’s impossible.”

“So instead you’re giving up?”

“Should I foolishly go through all that hard work knowing it will never pay? Or maybe you want me to take up a new profession? I’m not qualified to do anything else and neither is your brother or any of the other planters and their sons. Your mother and mine—and you—expect the impossible from us.”

“That’s not true. I keep telling Mother things will never be exactly the same, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t rebuild
what we can.” For a moment she thought of the story Alexander had told her to read in the Bible and how Job eventually got back twice as much as he had after God finished testing him. If only that could come true in real life. But the Bible was nothing but fairy tales.

She watched a lone rider gallop down the road, and, as if thinking of him had made him appear, Alexander Chandler arrived at the plantation.

“There’s that ridiculous Yankee,” Harrison said. “I wish you would tell him to go away and never come back. I don’t need him checking up on my workers.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” She pivoted the chair and started to push it toward the front of the house, but Harrison reached around behind him, grabbing Jo’s arm.

“No! Stop right here, Josephine! Stop!” He was so upset that she did what he said, halting abruptly and nearly jolting him from the chair. “I have nothing to say to that man. Take me back inside.”

“I don’t know why you hate Mr. Chandler so much. He isn’t like the other Yankees, you know. He came here to help, not to take advantage of us. I’m sure he could use your advice and assistance with the planting and so could your workers.”

“Take me back to the house. I don’t want to be anywhere near him—and neither should you. I see you talking to him all the time, and you need to stop. If you keep cozying up to him, you’re going to ruin your reputation.”

“Cozying up!” Jo started to defend herself and her odd friendship with Alexander, hating that she’d been ordered to stop talking to him—by Harrison, of all people. Then she realized it would make matters much worse for both her and Mr. Chandler if she tried to defend herself. She turned the chair around and began moving toward the house. They were close enough to Alexander to see the white bandages on his hands, so she decided to tell Harrison what had happened.

“Did you know that some men attacked the former slaves last night and broke up their camp in the woods? Two men were shot
and one of them died. Then the Negro school was set on fire and it had to be closed.”

“It’s none of my business—or yours.”

It suddenly occurred to Jo that Harrison could become one of the good leaders the doctor had said were sorely needed. Harrison had served as an army captain during the war and most of the local men had been under his command, including Daniel. Harrison owned one of the area’s most prosperous plantations, which made him a man of influence in the community. “You could make it your business to get involved,” she told him. “You could speak up on the Negroes’ behalf. The other men respect you.”

He gave a short laugh. “I don’t even respect myself; how can I expect it from them? Look at me. I have women and Negroes running my plantation. They literally push me around whether I want them to or not. Is it any wonder I no longer feel like living?”

“Do you agree it’s wrong to treat the former slaves that way? To beat them up and shoot at them and kill them? To burn down their school?”

“You have the gall to ask my opinion, Josephine? After running roughshod over all my wishes for the past month? You won’t even allow me to take control of my life or my death and now you ask my opinion? And you ask me to speak up for
Negroes
, of all people?”

“Harrison, please.”

“What do you expect me to do? About the Negroes and their school?”

“Talk to my brother and the others. Make them see that what they’re doing is wrong. Tell them to stop, to make peace with their former slaves and get their crops planted. Haven’t we had enough war and killing? Where did it get us?”

“You expect too much. People don’t change overnight. And around here they’ll always believe that slaves must be kept in their place.”

“But we have to change because the laws have changed. Look at your new workers laboring out there. They’re willing to start over . . . Why can’t we? Please help me, Harrison.”

“Since you and the other women want to be in charge, why don’t you do something about it yourselves? But if you really want things to get back to normal, then you need to remember
your
place in the order of things and let the men be in charge. That means living with our decisions.”

She pushed him the rest of the way to the house, too furious to speak. She got the doctor to help haul the chair up the stairs, then left the house again, hurrying to meet up with Alexander before he reached the cotton field.

“I heard what happened last night,” she said, out of breath from running. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, just some burns.” He spoke in a rough whisper that sounded painful.

“You’ve lost your voice.”

“It’s hoarse from the smoke.” He pointed to his workers, bending to plant cottonseeds. “I came to see if they were all right and . . .” He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment before turning to look at Josephine. “That’s not entirely true. I came because I wanted to see you and to tell you I won’t be coming back to this plantation for a while. I have to rebuild the school.”