Spring Will Come (68 page)

             
Robert lay quietly, waiting.  He was fairly certain he knew what was coming.

             
Gabe and Clint came pounding back into the cabin just as Amber crawled down the ladder.  The whole family pulled up chairs around the fire.  “You want to read it, Daddy?”  Clint asked.

             
“You go ahead, son.  You brung it home.  You should get the honors of reading it.”

             
“Do you already know what it is?”  Clint asked.

             
“I’ve been hearing about it.”  His voice became stern.  “This a real historic moment, children.  This be something your people have been fightin’ for ever since we got brung to this country.  You burn this moment in your brains and never forget it.”  He motioned with his hand.  “Go ahead, son.”

             
Clint cleared his throat importantly, held the paper up, and began to read. 

             
Whereras on the twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, a proclamation was issued... containing among other things, the following...             

             
Now I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority...

             
Clint stopped reading and looked up.  “Daddy I know I be stumbling all over this.  These here some mighty big words.  I can’t figure most of them out.”

             
“Those be some mighty big words, son,” Gabe agreed, his brow wrinkled.  “I ain’t sure I can do much better than you.” 

             
There was a long pause; then Polly stood and reached for the paper.  “Will you read this here paper for us, Robert?  I reckon you won’t have any trouble with the big words.”

             
Robert wordlessly reached for the paper she held out to him.  Polly turned up the light on the lantern over his bed then moved back to her chair.  When she looked at him and nodded, he began to read.

             
......as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the United States, and as a fit and necessary measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three designate as the States and parts of States in rebellion.”

             
Robert quietly read the list of Confederate states as well as the slave-holding border states.   Then he continued, “
All persons held as slaves within said designated States, and parts of States, are, and henceforward shall be free...”

             
“Thank you, Jesus!”  Polly cried.  Then she added, “I’m sorry, Robert.  You keep on reading, boy.  Them words just be music to my ears.”

             
Robert swallowed and kept going. 
“ ...and that the Executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

             
And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

             
And I further declare and make known, that such persons of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.”

             
“That fella who brung Robert said this was coming.  I couldn’t believe it then.  He was right!”  Gabe crowed loudly.  He laughed.  “What else does it say?”

             
Robert tried to calm the pounding of his heart.  His hands were shaking slightly as he held the paper closer to steady it.

             
“And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God.”

             
“Amen,” Polly said fervently.

             
Robert lowered the paper.

             
“That be all of it?”  Gabe asked.

             
“There’s only the closing part left,” Robert replied.

             
“Read it all, Robert.  This here be a historic occasion.  I want to hear it all.”

             
Robert sighed, and continued,
“In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

             
Done at the city of Washington, this first day of January, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.”

             
Robert lowered the paper, and a deep silence filled the cabin. 

             
Amber was the first to speak.  “Does this mean there can’t be no more slaves, Mama?”

             
“That what it means, honey-child.  Sure enough, that what it means.”  Tears of joy glistened in her eyes. 

             
“That there paper say black people gonna be free from now on.  Just the way God intended them to be.”  Gabe’s deep voice rolled through the cabin.  “Our people done waited a long time for this.”  Suddenly he swung toward Robert.  “What you think about this Emancipation Proclamation?” he challenged.

             
Robert struggled to control his thoughts.  He had known Gabe would ask him.  But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of an answer.  He didn’t know
what
he was feeling.  It was a mixture of fear and apprehension.  Anger and worry.  He was glad for this family he had learned to care for, but his overall feeling was one of overpowering loss.  During the reading of that document, he had seen all he had worked to build crumble before his eyes.  A surge of anger shot through him.  

             
The family waited expectantly for his response.  Robert took a deep breath.  He knew he had to say something.  Should he say what they wanted to hear or should he be honest?  He had grown to care for these people over the past weeks, and he felt certain they felt the same way.  They had known he owned slaves from the start, and yet they hadn’t abandoned him – he chose honesty.  “It’s just a piece of paper, Gabe.  As long as the South is an independent country, the people will continue to own slaves.  There will be no United States military to enforce this.”

             
Gabe shrugged his massive shoulders carelessly.  “That ain’t nothing but a matter of time.  There be thousands and thousands of black men been waiting to help win this war.  Now that President Lincoln got some sense in his head, I reckon the blacks’ll be pouring into the army.  You ain’t seen fierce fighting till you seen people fighting for they freedom,” he stated flatly.  “It just a matter of time till we win this war and head down to set our people free.”

             
“The South isn’t going to lose its independence.”  Robert’s protest sounded weak even to his own ears.  He knew the South was struggling for its survival.  A strong influx of black men into the Union army would be another kick in the teeth. 

             
Polly walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “I can tell you real upset, Robert.  Why you so dead set against our people being free?”

             
Robert gazed back into the eyes holding his so steadily.  He tried to explain.  “It’s not that I’m so set against your people being free now,” he said slowly.  “I’ve changed a lot of my thinking in the months I’ve been here.  I’ve learned I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”

             
“Then why you so afraid?”

             
Polly had hit what he was feeling square on.  Robert made no attempt to deny it.  “I’ve lived all my life on a wonderful plantation.  My father owned it before me.   It’s called Oak Meadows.  All I’ve dreamed of since this war started was going home and bringing it back to life.  It’s my whole life - all I’ve ever wanted...”  His voice faded away and he shook his head.  “Without my slaves...”  He laughed abruptly.  “I know you must think I’m crazy.”

             
“I think fear be a mighty powerful thing,” Polly said slowly.  “I think slavery be nothing but evil, but I understand your fear.  I done felt enough of it in my time.”  She paused then looked him squarely in the eye.  “What I want to know is where the hate comes from.”

             
“I don’t hate you, Polly.  I don’t hate any of your family.  I told you a lot of my thinking has changed,” Robert protested.  He was uncomfortably aware of the rest of the family’s listening closely to their conversation.

             
“Oh, I know you don’t hate us,” Polly said easily.  “But you got a passel of hate in you, nonetheless.  I hated for so long I sure nuff recognize it.  Hate eats at your heart, Robert.   It marks you in a way folks who been there learn to recognize.”

             
Robert opened his mouth to deny what she was saying.  Nothing came out.  Instead, a vision of his father flooded his mind.  With it came a surging flood of loathing.  He slumped back against his pillow as it rushed through him.   All he could do was stare at Polly.

             
“That hate gonna eat you till there ain’t nothing left of the real Robert.  Ain’t never no good reason to hate ‘cause it mostly just hurts you.”

             
“I’ve got plenty of reason to hate,” Robert cried wildly.  His mind was screaming at him to seize control, but it was too late.  “I watched a slave kill my father.  He was a runaway.  My father went after him...”  Robert choked on his emotion.  “I was only eleven years old when the slaves in the county revolted.  My father was with the group of men who caught them.  One of the slaves killed him.  Stabbed him to death.”  Blind rage blurred his vision.  All he could see was his father lying in a pool of his own blood.

             
“Your father got what he deserved!” Clint yelled bitterly.  “That man wadn’t trying to do nothing but be free.”

             
Robert clinched his fists, a new wave of rage pouring over him as he realized afresh that he was paralyzed and helpless.  “I got even!” he cried.  “I got even!”  He knew he should shut up, but now that the dam of feelings had been released, he simply had no power to shut them off.  “Last year another group of our slaves escaped.  I went after them, but somebody with the Underground Railroad had taken them off in a wagon,” he said bitterly.  “I went back into my slave quarters and taught the rest of my people what would happen if anyone else tried to run off.”  A high-pitched laugh erupted from his throat.  He barely recognized it as his.  “The little boy I taught the lesson to didn’t make it.  Just like my daddy didn’t make it,” he said fiercely. 

             
Shocked silence filled the room.  For just a moment, Robert felt gloating satisfaction.  Then a picture of the little boy he had killed, the terror-stricken eyes gazing up at him as he had swung the whip down onto the tiny, bared back, rose before him.  That bloody, crumpled body lay lifeless on the dirt when he strode off, his anger still raging.  The terror-stricken eyes seemed to float up from the body, begging to know what this little child had done to deserve such punishment. The image bore into Robert’s heart.

             
Another picture rose up to block out the little boy’s eyes.  It was Robert’s own mother, gently rocking in her chair when he had returned from the slave quarters.  He could still hear her telling him he had become just like his father.
“You’ve got the same hardness, the same hatred in your heart.”
The words echoed in his heart, bouncing off the walls of his mind till they spun and tumbled in wild confusion. 

             
Then another vision reared up to taunt him.  It was his father.  Robert barely remembered anything about his father except seeing him lying in that pool of blood.  Now he watched as pictures of his childhood unrolled before his eyes.  His father yelling - treating him harshly - mistreating his mother. 
“You’re just like your father.”
  His mother’s accusing words floated back into focus. 
“You’re just like your father.  Just like your father!” 

             
Robert gasped as truth collided with the reality he had clung to all these years.  “Oh, my God!” he cried in a broken voice.  “I killed that little boy.  I killed a defenseless, innocent little boy!”  From somewhere deep in his gut, great sobs came wrenching forth, doubling his body as they tore through.  “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.  “Oh, God!  I’m so sorry...”  He hardly recognized his own voice.  “Please forgive me!  Please forgive me!”  Great waves of sorrow rolled through his heart and threatened to drown him, to suffocate him.