Spring Will Come (27 page)

             
“Are you sorry you attended?”

             
“Sorry I attended?” Aunt Abby mused.  “No,” she said firmly.  “The time is here for women to have the vote.  In the beginning the women’s movement showed little interest in obtaining the vote.  They wanted control of property and earnings.  They wanted the right to divorce as well as equal opportunity for education and employment.  They were fed up with their lack of legal status, and they wanted to change the concept of female inferiority perpetuated by established religion.”  She paused.  “Many have finally come to realize we have no avenue to affect change until we have the vote.  Mrs. Anthony has reluctantly agreed to let abolitionism hold the front seat during the war, but she is determined to keep the flame lit for equal rights.”

             
“So we all have something in common,” Rose murmured.  She was not glad to hear Aunt Abby had been spit on today, but somehow it renewed her courage to know there was another segment of the population, even the white one, that had to fight for what they wanted and deserved. 

             
“We are not so very different, Rose,” Aunt Abby agreed.  “There are certain rights we should have as people.  Rights granted by our Constitution.  Rights I believe were planned for us by God.  It is too bad we have to fight for them, but since reality deems we must fight - so be it - we will fight!”

             
Rose laughed at the light of battle in her friend’s eyes.  “I feel sorry for anyone who gets in your way.”

             
“And I feel sorry for anyone who gets in
your
way.”

             
Rose reached for the hand stretched across the carriage.  It was not a hand held forth in comfort; it was a hand signifying unity in battle.  Rose clasped it firmly.  White or black, they were women.  But so much more than just women.  They were children of God fighting for all He had meant them to have in the first place.  Battle might not be a pleasant thing, but it was so much better than sitting idly on the sidelines while injustices were perpetrated.   There would always be plenty of spectators.  Rose intended to be a leader.

Dinner had just been set on the table when there was a firm knock at the door.  Rose knew they were not expecting any callers, but it would be nothing new for someone to stop by.  Humming lightly to herself, she walked to the door and opened it.  Her scream brought Aunt Abby running.

              “Rose!  What is it?” she asked sharply.

             
Rose could do nothing but stand stock still with her hand over her mouth and stare. 

             
Aunt Abby pushed by her to look onto the porch.  “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed.  “What coward would do such a thing?”

             
Rose could still only stare at the spasmodically twitching body of the headless chicken.  A pool of blood was forming under its body and soaking the welcome mat.  “Who would do this?” she whispered.  “Is it because of me?”  Stories she had heard from other blacks in the city filled her mind.  Had someone finally gotten tired of her living with a white woman and was giving a brutal warning?

             
“I don’t think so, Rose,” Aunt Abby said grimly.  “This type of thing happened before when certain men were trying to scare me away from my husband’s business.  I suspect this is related to the meeting I went to today.”

             
“What are you going to do?” Rose whispered.

             
“I’m going to do absolutely nothing,” Aunt Abby said angrily.  She leaned down, grabbed the chicken by its feet, and carried it into the house.  “I can either let this chicken be a symbol of fear for me or I can turn it into something good.  I think I will turn it into chicken soup.”   Just before she closed the door, she leaned out and called loudly, “Thank you so much for providing tomorrow’s dinner.  It was quite generous of you!”  Then she slammed the door.

             
Rose stared at her.  “You’re going to eat it?” Her hands were still trembling.

             
“Certainly.”  The angry look faded as Aunt Abby moved forward to take hold of one of Rose’s hands.   “People who want to control other people always try to do it by fear.  The only way to beat them at their game is to make them think it’s not working.  Remember what your mama said.  It’s not wrong to feel fear, but we have to work hard not to let it control us.”

             
Just then a knock sounded at the door again.  Rose froze, unable to move.  What if the person who had left the chicken was back? 

             
Aunt Abby moved forward at once, an angry light in her eyes.  “Maybe we can catch the coward this time!” she said as she flung the door open, the chicken still tightly clutched in one hand.  “Matthew!”

             
Matthew stepped in, a look of deep concern on his face.  “What in the world is going on here?  Why is there a pool of blood on your porch?  Why are you holding a dead chicken?”

             
Aunt Abby laughed weakly.  “All very good questions.  Will you give me a moment to put this chicken in the kitchen?”

Matthew leaned against the counter and listened grimly as Aunt Abby filled him in on what had been happening.  “What are you going to do?” he finally asked. 

              “Nothing,” Aunt Abby said firmly.

             
“Don’t you think she should do
something
?” Rose asked anxiously.  “I’m scared for her to be here alone.” 

             
Matthew frowned.  “That’s right.  You’re leaving soon.”

             
“I’m leaving in the morning.”  Rose paused.  “At least I was.”

             
Aunt Abby whirled to glare at her.  “I will not listen to such nonsense.  I will be fine.  I’ve had this game played with me before.   Whoever left this chicken is just trying to scare me.  You most certainly are going to get on that boat and leave here tomorrow.  I will not hear of your staying because of me.”

             
“And I could not live with myself if something were to happen to you,” Rose protested.  “What if Matthew hadn’t been around the time those thugs came after you?”

             
“And what if your boat had turned over when you and Moses were forced to cross the Potomac on your own?”  Aunt Abby retorted.  Her voice softened as she walked over to put her hand on Rose’s shoulder.  “Rose, if we allow
what ifs
of our life to control us, we would never do a thing.   The not knowing would paralyze us.  You and Moses got in that boat because it was the only way you could reach your goal.  You made the decision to take the risk and trust God with the outcome.  I have to do the same thing.  Most of my adult life has been spent fighting for basic human rights - for women and for blacks.  I counted the cost a long time ago.”

             
“But...” Rose protested, visions of harm coming to Aunt Abby clutching at her heart.

             
“But - nothing,” Aunt Abby said firmly.  “I know you love me and are concerned about me.  I give you my word I will not go out looking for trouble - but neither am I going to run from it.   I have to trust God with my life, just like I have to trust him to take care of you while you’re down in the contraband camps.  We cannot let our fears for other people keep them from doing what they are meant to do.  It would be selfish and unloving.”

             
Rose bit her lip and stared at the woman she loved like a mother.  She knew Aunt Abby was speaking the truth, but it didn’t make leaving her any easier. 

             
“I’ll keep an eye on her as much as I can, Rose,” Matthew promised.  “God sent me to her when she needed me before.  If that time comes again, God can send someone else to help her if I’m not around.” 

             
Rose shook her head resignedly.  “I’m not sure I’ll ever become very good at this
trusting
thing,” she sighed.

             
Aunt Abby laughed heartily.  “It takes years, my young friend.  I’ve been at it much longer than you, and sometimes I feel I’ve gotten nowhere.  I can trust God so easily with one thing, but five minutes later something else has me anxious and worried.  I’ve learned I have to ask myself in every situation if I believe God loves me.  If the answer is yes, then I have to choose to trust him.  It’s a daily decision.”

             
Rose listened intently.  She had a feeling she was going to have to hang on to these words with all her might in the months ahead. 

             
Aunt Abby turned to Matthew.  “Enough about me. Spit and dead chickens are certainly unpleasant, but they are trivial compared with what you have been experiencing,” she stated.  “Please do fill us in on what is happening in the war.”

             
Matthew nodded.  “I’ll be happy to do that, but do you think we can catch up over that scrumptious roast I smell cooking in the oven?  I’m starved,” he said with a smile.

             
Not until the hot meal had disappeared, did Matthew turn to the topic of the war.  “I’m sure you know Richmond is still secure as the capital of the Confederacy.”

             
“I know McClellan retreated many miles from Richmond.  I usually stay up-to-date, but I have been dreadfully busy the last two weeks.  I heard enough to know Carrie and her family were probably still safe,” Aunt Abby replied.  “That was enough at the time.”

             
“And I got a letter from Moses,” Rose added.  “He hears a lot of things.  He told me a lot of the military leadership feels the loss of Richmond is McClellan’s fault.”

             
Matthew shrugged.  “Trying to get the real story is very difficult.  McClellan is very gifted at manipulating the news he allows to leak through to the war correspondents.  Many of my fellow reporters have lambasted the President because they feel McClellan has not been given enough support.  It took a lot of sneaking around while I was down there, but the picture I received was a very different one.”

             
“I would love to hear a little truth!” Aunt Abby exclaimed.  “Please don’t take this personally, but sometimes the press makes me so mad I could scream.  It’s impossible to really understand what is going on when the news you receive is so biased.  One paper says one thing.  Another says something else.  Whatever happened to good old honesty?”

             
“I don’t take it personally,” Matthew assured her with a smile.  “I realize the press has a lot of power to dictate and sway popular opinion and actions.  As in any profession, you have individuals who are committed to the truth.  And you have those who will write whatever they are told, whatever sells the most papers, or whatever promotes their own personal agendas.   I happen to believe this war could have been avoided if the press had not been busy inflaming public opinion on a daily basis.”  He paused.  “All I can do is try to be one who tells the truth.  Or at least the truth as I can best determine it from what I have to work with.”

             
“The press also does a lot of good things,” Rose interjected.  “I know there is still a long way to go before my people are free, but the Northern press has done much to bring the true conditions of slavery to light.”