Shifted By The Winds (28 page)

“Then you’re going to have a real hard time accomplishing it with your attitude,” Moses responded blandly.

Robert bit back a smile as fury flared in Perry’s eyes. He wasn’t concerned about violence, so he was content to watch things play out. If he was asked his opinion he would give one, but it was more interesting to watch the sparring between Moses and Perry. He didn’t know Perry well enough to know if he would ever move beyond his prejudices, or just stay mired in the beliefs of a life that was gone forever.

Another long hush filled the porch. Bullfrogs sang their night song, accompanied by an occasional hoot owl. Horses whinnying and snuffling added to the chorus. They heard Hope’s sharp cry for several moments, but it died away quickly, followed by John’s easy laughter floating through the open window of the children’s bedroom.

In spite of the intense conversation, Robert felt an easy peace fill his soul. He thought of Carrie trapped within the noisy confines of bustling Philadelphia. He missed her, but there was not one iota of him that wanted to be anywhere else. After the terrible years of the war, he wanted nothing more than to live in peace. He had a sudden image of just how quickly it could all disappear if he didn’t sell the horses, but he pushed it aside immediately. He was learning not to worry about things he couldn’t change. Every youngster on the farm was coming along quickly in their training, and they were exhibiting the excellence of their sire and dams. That was all he could expect for now.

Perry’s voice broke the quiet. “We’re here to decide whether we want to sell Blackwell Plantation, or come back here.” He turned to Robert. “What do you think?”

Robert shrugged. “I’m a horseman,” he responded. “You should be asking Moses. He’s the farmer. He runs every single part of the operations on the plantation.”

Perry stared at him with hard eyes for a long moment before he reluctantly turned toward Moses. “What do you think, Moses?” The words, delivered with bitterness, seem to have been wrung from him.

Robert continued to watch quietly. He could tell by the angry set of Moses’ shoulders that he wanted nothing more than to stand up and walk into his home, but he continued to rock as he stared out into the darkness. Robert had no real clue of how difficult this conversation must be for his friend, but it was one that was going to have to take place many, many times if the South was ever going to change.

Moses finally finished chewing his ham biscuit, wiped his mouth, and turned to Perry. “You could probably sell it, but you won’t get much for it. The prices are severely depressed. There are northerners who will buy plantations, but you won’t get a fair price. They figure they have you over a barrel.”

Perry’s face tightened. “They do,” he spat.

Moses met his eyes. “Not as much as you think. Oh, it would be difficult to bring Blackwell Plantation back, but it could be done.”

“How?” Perry shot back. “I have nothing to work with.”

Moses nodded. “Not many southerners do. How much land is there?”

“Almost three thousand acres,” Perry responded.

Moses sat silently for a moment as he mulled it over. “You don’t need all that to make the plantation profitable if you handle it correctly.”

Robert watched as anger once more narrowed Perry’s eyes. In a different situation, Moses would not have gotten away with suggesting a white man might not handle something correctly, but there was nothing Perry could do when he was a guest sitting on the porch of Cromwell Plantation. Once again, a feeling of sympathy and amusement rippled through him.

“Which would be how?” Perry snapped.

Moses pretended not to notice the mounting anger. “You could sell off five hundred acres of your land and still have plenty to work. Selling the land would give you working capital to rebuild the plantation.”

Perry blinked. “You said no one would give me a fair price.”

“I said no
northerner
would give you a fair price. I happen to know some men who would.”

Robert smiled, glad Perry was not looking his way. He had talked through all of this with Moses that morning. He had grave doubts it could work, but it would be interesting to see what happened.

“Who?” It was obvious Perry’s desperation was forcing him to push beyond his resistance to ask advice from a black man.

“I happen to know a group of ten men with money enough to buy fifty acres each at a fair price. I also happen to know they would be willing to work on your plantation in return for wages and a share of the profits.”

Perry seemed to freeze. “Black men?” he finally ground from between his clenched teeth.

“Yes. Ten men from my old unit.”

Perry slammed his fist down on the table beside him and bolted to his feet. “You are suggesting I sell parts of Blackwell Plantation to niggers who fought against the South? And then hire them to work in the same ridiculous way you are running Cromwell Plantation? Are you insane? I would rather die first.”

“Well, I hardly think you’ll die, but I’m pretty sure the plantation will,” Moses responded as he rose to his feet. Perry was not a small man, but Moses towered over him, his massive size diminishing the furious cotton ginner. He turned to Robert. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

Robert shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said blandly. “It sure will be a shame to see Blackwell Plantation snapped up by some northern carpetbaggers, but it might just be the best solution. They’ll probably be easier to get along with as neighbors.”

Perry gaped at him, his eyes almost wild with fury. “You agree with this insane plan?”

“I agree that nothing will ever be the same in the South,” Robert responded, forcing his voice to remain calm even though he was every bit as disgusted as Moses. “Except the sanctity of southern hospitality.” Robert watched as the meaning of his words sunk home.

Perry took a slow, deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I realize I am a guest in your home.”

“Yes, you are,” Robert answered. “But you are also a guest in Moses’ home.”

Perry’s eyes bored into his before he turned to Moses and bowed stiffly. “My apologies. I’m afraid I was out of line.”

Moses nodded, his black eyes still snapping with anger. “Apology accepted.”

Perry stepped to the edge of the porch and stared out into the darkness. A half-moon was just beginning its dance along the treetops on the horizon. Its glimmering light outlined the horses, bringing them to life in the darkened pasture as they grazed or slept.

Robert welcomed the silence, hoping the peace of the night would work its way into Perry’s heart. He knew the man was desperate. He also knew Moses’ solution was the only thing that would save Blackwell Plantation.

Perry finally turned back to look at them. “Will the men work for me?”

Moses shook his head. “Not now,” he answered gravely.

“Why not?” Perry demanded.

“Because I’ll tell them not to,” Moses said. “These are good men who have been treated badly all their lives. They don’t need more of it.” He drained his glass and placed it on the table. “Good night.”

The only sound for a very long time was the slap of the screen door when Moses disappeared into the house.

Robert was the first to speak. “You and Louisa are welcome to stay for a while, Perry.” He interpreted the look on Perry’s face. “Moses agrees.”

“I don’t know that we can do that,” Perry snapped.

Robert shrugged. “It’s up to you, but Blackwell isn’t exactly livable for Louisa and your son.” Perry opened his mouth to refuse, but the truth of Robert’s statement hit home.

“I understand your feelings far better than you realize, Perry.”

As the moon slowly rose above the trees, Robert told his guest about the long journey that had completely changed his feelings about blacks and slavery. Perry listened intently, but his face revealed nothing of his feelings.

When Robert finished with his story, Perry settled back in his chair. “That’s quite a tale,” he finally murmured. “I’ll admit I have absolutely no ability to understand it, and I can’t imagine that I would ever come to the same place.” The anger was gone from his face, replaced with an almost sad resignation. “Everything I’ve ever known is simply gone.”

Robert had been disgusted with Perry’s earlier reaction, but his sympathy for him now was just as strong. “Give it some time, Perry. You might be right. You also might be wrong. You can’t take Louisa and Jasper to Blackwell Plantation right now. They will be safe and cared for here. Consider yourselves guests for as long as you need.”

“Why?” Perry asked bluntly. “Why would you do this? And why would Moses be okay with it?”

Robert thought back to the months he had lain paralyzed in Gabe and Polly’s bed. “Because someone once did it for me. There has been enough hatred, Perry. I know it’s going to take a long time for things to change, and I don’t think the change will come easily. I also know the only thing I have any control over is my own actions. I can’t control what happens outside the gates of this plantation, but I can definitely make sure I don’t respond to things with the same hatred and bitterness boiling in our country right now.” He paused to let his words sink in before he stood. “You and your family are welcome to stay. Think about it.” He was almost at the door when Perry spoke.

“Thank you, Robert. We will stay until I can figure things out.”

Carolyn was waiting outside the Homeopathic College when Carrie pulled up in the carriage the next morning. The sun was up, but tucked behind a thick blanket of gray clouds. A brisk breeze carried the briny smell of the ocean through the city streets, but the smells of bread and pastries from surrounding bakeries were doing their best to cover it. The streets teemed with delivery wagons moving at a slower pace than they would be by mid-afternoon. The sidewalks were full of women carrying baskets full of produce and bread, and men carrying satchels as they hurried toward their jobs. Summer’s release on the city seemed to have brought everything back to life. Even the colorful blooms in the city’s flowerboxes seemed to be glowing with a greater joy as their heads tossed in the wind. Carrie was grateful for the light jacket she had grabbed on her way out.

“You look exhausted,” Carolyn said cheerfully after she had settled into the seat.

Carrie grinned. “My body is exhausted, but my mind is more exhilarated than it has been in a very long time.” A glance in the mirror before she left had revealed tired, blood-shot eyes—the legacy of a night spent reading and studying. She had not gone to sleep until almost four o’clock that morning, and was grateful she had asked Janie to wake her.

Carolyn hesitated. “I thought you might have someone else with you.”

Carrie shook her head. “Janie supports what I’m doing, but she had a major exam today. Even if she leaves, she wants to walk away with integrity. She’ll be waiting for me tonight to get every bit of information she can.”

“And Janie is…”

“We worked together at Chimborazo Hospital during the war. Janie is one of my closest friends. I am quite sure that one day we will open a homeopathic practice together.”

“And the others?” Carolyn pressed. “Didn’t you mention having more housemates who are all medical students?”

Before Carrie could answer, her new friend leaned forward and gave directions to the driver. She frowned, thinking about her reply. “In truth, I don’t know what to expect from them. Any woman willing to go to medical school has more than a touch of rebel in her, but two of the three also have fathers who are physicians. I’ve chosen not to say anything at this point, but I know that will have to change soon when I take action. All I cared about last night was learning as much about how to treat cholera as possible. I’m missing classes today, but I simply don’t care.” She knew Carolyn would understand her passion to help dying people.

“And did you learn what you needed to know?”

Carrie grinned happily. “I did!” She glanced toward the road. “Are we headed toward the dispensary to pick up veratrum and camphor?”

Carolyn eyed her with approval. “We are if you can tell me what they do and how you are going to use them.”

“Veratrum is created from the hellebore plant,” Carrie responded promptly. “Sarah called it Indian poke or itch-weed. It grows in swamps, low grounds and moist meadows. There wasn’t a lot of it on the plantation, but we were able to collect enough to make powder we used in an ointment for itches when people came down with bad cases of poison ivy.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Indian poke is extremely poisonous, but the symptoms it evokes if ingested are very similar to the cholera symptoms of nausea and diarrhea. Veratrum is a very diluted form of the plant that almost immediately stops the symptoms.”

“Why?” Carolyn asked.

“Because like impacts like,” Carrie answered quickly. “You told me yesterday that homeopathic remedies are like a weakened or killed disease similar to what the patient already has. In this case, cholera. The remedy primes the person’s immune response so the body is prepared to deal with the real thing.”

Carolyn nodded her approval. “Good. If veratrum will deal with the cholera symptoms, why do you want to also buy camphor?”

“Veratrum is the right remedy for every person in the cholera hospital because the disease is so advanced, but for people who have not yet started exhibiting symptoms, veratrum would do nothing but make them gravely ill. If a person is starting to exhibit illness, but is not yet vomiting or having diarrhea, then camphor is the correct remedy. It is also very effective in making sure people who are around the illness will not get it. It can be used safely in either case.”

“And how is it given?” Carolyn pressed.

Carrie felt a flash of satisfaction that she had learned the answers to all Carolyn’s questions. She might be exhausted, but her almost-sleepless night had been worth it. “The patient should be put to bed immediately and kept warm with hot bricks to the feet if necessary. Two or three drops of the camphor should be given in tepid water every five to ten minutes until they improve.”

“And if they can’t swallow the water?”

“Then you can wet a cloth with camphor and apply it to their nose,” Carrie replied.

“How do you know if it’s working?”

“If the patient starts to perspire and become warm, that’s good. They should start feeling better pretty quickly. If they don’t respond, or if they start vomiting, have diarrhea, or have spasms, then veratrum is called for. The results of veratrum treatment, when used correctly, are very quick.” She had a vision of the nearly comatose patients in the cholera hospital but pushed it aside. She knew what she needed to do for now.

Carolyn grinned. “Excellent. Did you get
any
sleep last night, Carrie?”

The warm light of approval in Carolyn’s eyes meant even more to Carrie than Dr. Wild’s approval had during the war, because she was now certain homeopathy was the best way to treat most illnesses. If a man lost a leg, surgery was called for, but other illnesses would be best treated in a natural, homeopathic way. Her deepening understanding during the long night of study had confirmed she was finally on the right path. “I’m fine,” Carrie assured her.

After a stop at the dispensary, the carriage rolled into Moyamensing. Carrie could feel sorrow and grief permeating the air. Gray faces and shuttered eyes spoke of fear and loss. The streets were still busy, but people were almost silent. No children seemed to be in sight. She didn’t know if it was because the children were in school, or because they were ill in bed. Her lips tightened as she thought of all these people had suffered. She wanted to lean forward and urge the driver to go faster, but she knew he was navigating the clogged streets as best he could. And really, she didn’t know what she expected to do. She simply had hope she could make a difference.