Child of the River Page 6

  “Need anything from town besides your trunk?”

  “A bottle of rose water and please call for my mail.” Dayme collected scattered papers, dropping some on the floor. “Wish I was going. I get so bored out here that I could just die.”

  “I’m sorry,” his voice showed genuine concern. “This trip is strictly business. We’re going downriver on a two-man raft. It’ll be a hard trip.”

  “I meant,” Dayme replied with an icy chill in her voice. “I meant I’d like to go in alone. I certainly wasn’t hinting to go with you. I miss people comin’ and goin’…white people. It’s so…so dismal and bleak out here. No entertainment whatsoever.”

  Farrington couldn’t help wondering if the girl was lonesome for the soldiers who frequented the upstairs parlor at Macy’s Tavern, yet he concealed those feelings and spoke cheerfully. “Larkspur’s halls will be filled with happy people again. There’ll be parties…ladies and gentlemen of the gentry….”

  “They’ll play hell!” The exasperated girl laughed in his face. “Those times are over!”

  Wincing, Benjamin replied. “Please, such oaths are not unbecoming to a….”

  “Lady? You’re dreaming again. Face it. Larkspur will never be the same. Nothing will.” She started for the door with an armload of papers and books. “I suppose you’ll be seeing Holly?”

  The sarcasm in her tone caused him to flush. “I suppose so when I go for your trunk.”

  “Of course.” She smiled sweetly. Her skirt swished through the doorway. “Don’t forget my mail,” she called over her shoulder. She hurried up the steps of the curved stairway, biting her lip to smother the temptation to tell Benjamin that she would leave Larkspur the moment she found out where in Texas her kinfolks settled.

  With Congress stacked against the South, there was no doubt that the Emancipation Proclamation would be ratified soon. Benjamin was most concerned about Smythe’s late night visit and the meeting of The Order of the White Rose.

  Logan tied the raft to the dock and pointed to layer after layer of gray clouds resembling soft rolls of cotton quilt batting that had been smoked in a fire. “Wind’s still in the south. About three days o’ south wind and it's gonna pour down.”

  Benjamin purchased two mares, a sorrel and a bay, and led them to the gazebo in the park where Logan waited. He dreaded explaining the situation but felt he must before someone else did. “I have an overseer’s job open, Logan. Do you want it?”

  “You’s joshin’ me. You ain’t gonna let me be the boss man is…uh…am you, Mista Ben?”

  “If you don’t want the job, I’ll give it to Josephus. It’s your decision.” Benjamin shrugged nervously, unaccustomed to this line of conversation with former slaves. “Understand?”

  “Guess so,” the man replied soberly. “Whatever you want me t’ do, I’ll do it. You want me t’ oversee, then I’ll oversee. Whatever you say.”

  Benjamin handed the reins to the sorrel to Logan. “My overseer must be properly mounted. Don’t get mixed up in politics. It’s your job to personally kick any politicking black man’s ass off Larkspur.”

  It was near midnight when Benjamin was initiated into the secret organization. Members straggled into the meeting in a clump of trees in a draw outside of town. The men drifted out of town about bedtime to avoid arousing suspicion from the militia. Plans were carefully laid to try to regain control by various methods…sabotage, intimidating Negroes from the polls and through legal channels. Benjamin’s suggestion of putting on a benevolent public face was well taken. “We must not only control the freedmen who didn’t run away but gain their confidence. Make them realize how much they need us in order to survive. We can play on their poverty under the federal government with small handouts to rally them to our side. We must work for changes in the law at the government level.”

  Prices were inflated, and much of the money Logan and Cassie saved went for breeding stock. The price of a fattened hog was outrageous. But Benjamin, too, was tired of black-eye peas. He bought four mules, four brood sows ready to pig and three milk cows, one of which was fresh. The new wagon was partitioned, and the squealing hogs were crowded to make room for immediate supplies and Dayme’s trunk. The cows, calf and the bay mare were tied on behind. Benjamin drove the rig and allowed Logan to ride the sorrel mare. He grinned at the envious looks from Negroes lined up at the Freedman's bureau. He pulled the reins alongside Peters’ General Store. The proprietor was sweeping the boardwalk in front of the establishment.

  Mr. Peters cleared his throat. His voice was strained. “Sorry, Benjamin. Had to stop all credit since Confederate money went bluie. I treat everybody the same. I’d go out of business fast if.…”

  “Don’t apologize. I will pay cash for my order.”

  The grocer was still dubious. “Not with Confederate….”

  “It isn’t. Genuine gold pieces.”

  The man’s countenance brightened and he rubbed his palms together. “Well, now, what do you need?”

  “Whatever you can let me have…some coffee for sure.” Benjamin chuckled. “Cassie is making the most terrible concoction she calls make-do coffee.” He sauntered around the store, gathering up items. “I need a couple of Winchesters. The damn Yankees cleaned out my gun cabinet.”

  “Nobody said I could or I couldn’t,” Peters said in a confidential tone. “Don’t know if it’s legal or not to sell guns since the Yankees took over.”

  “The second amendment is still in force. It hasn’t been repealed.”

  “Just the same, it’s best for a man in rebel gray not to have it in plain sight. I’ll wrap ‘em in tow sacks and stick ‘em down under the flour.”

  Fingering the ladies ready-to-wear, Benjamin pulled a pretty blue calico dress with matching bonnet off the rack. “How much?”

  “Why, Benjamin,” Mr. Peters exclaimed. “I didn’t know you got married.”

  Benjamin’s face flushed. “I didn’t. It’s for my house guest, Miss O’Malley.”

  “Oh,” Peters replied quietly.

  Sitting in a rocker behind the counter, Mrs. Peters dropped a stitch in her knitting. She peered over pinch-nose glasses and raised an eyebrow.

  “Women look at the ready-made clothes,” the grocer told him, “but nobody seems to buy. Haven’t got the money. Most are still wearing black mourning cloth. It’s the cheapest. I’ll make you a good price on that dress, twenty-percent above cost.”

  Benjamin replaced the dress on the rack. “It was a whim.” He knew he shouldn’t squander money on non-essentials. He gathered up the rest of the supplies, still thinking about Dayme wearing his mother’s ill-fitting dresses the fleeing servants left. He figured those in her trunk were probably all fluff, silk and feathers. Again, he took the dress off the rack. “What’s one blue dress?” he said on impulse.

  “Are you planning to marry Miss O’Malley?” Mrs. Peters blurted in a shrill, crackly voice. She ripped some of the purling from the sweater.

  “No, madam,” Benjamin replied tersely. “She has no kin here. My friend, Lawrence Barnes, was her fiance. I buried him on Lookout Mountain. I promised to look after the girl.” He hoped that satisfied the gossipy old biddy’s curiosity. He’d always wondered how a nice man like Clifton Peters could have such a hateful, trouble-making wife. He didn’t overlook the long nosed, skinny woman’s knowing glance.

  “It’s so sad,” Mrs. Peters crackled as she put the knitting aside. “About Dayme’s father, I mean. Talk around town is that the man was dead drunk when the store burned. Poor child. It’s a Christian deed taking her out of that flesh pot down by the river.”

  Benjamin bristled. His voice was crisp and cool. “Miss O’Malley was not a member of the brothel, madam. She worked as a waitress and singer for room and board. It was honest work in these troubled times.”

  “Oh? Talk is she lived upstairs in the brothel with the…uh…others.”

  “Anything else you need?” Mr. Peters’ embarrassment showed.

  “No.” Ben
jamin felt like slapping that knowing smirk off the woman’s face. “Miss O’Malley is a lady, Madam,” he snapped. “I came for supplies, not to discuss an innocent girl’s character. Good day!”

  Pulling his collar up to retard the brisk cool wind blowing now from the southwest, he yelled to Logan as he boarded the wagon. “We’ll be lucky if we don't get drenched before we get home.”

  “Yes, Suh. That wind feels like it’s straight off a hail cloud.”

  Chapter 5

  Meanwhile at the plantation Dayme shivered as she hurriedly dressed for breakfast. She rushed downstairs to the first fire in the downstairs fireplace that season. The warmth felt good, but the room looked even more dismal without sunshine.

  “Chilly weather ain’t gonna last long, child,” Cassie told her. “Day or two and we’ll be wishin’ for it again. Summer ain’t near over.”

  After a breakfast of scrambled eggs without the cornbread and honey that Cassie kept insisting was good for her, Dayme started playing the piano. She sang softly, making up the words and the tune. Her voice was almost a whisper, for the words were private.

  “Take my hand and go with me to-mor-row

  Set our hearts free…

  Let’s leave it all behind,

  The pain and sor-row;

  Come and go away with me….”

  The girl stopped singing long enough to jot down the words and music, then continued plunking out the tune and singing softly. She didn’t hear the door open when Cassie stepped inside. She paused, feeling a presence in the room. An embarrassed pink crept into her cheeks.

  “Such a pretty song, Miss Dayme. I never heard it afore.”

  Abashed that anyone listened, Dayme quickly folded the cover over the keys. “I made it all up,” she said quietly.

  “All them pretty words? You made it all up? My, you is smart, child.” The servant woman watched the girl ascend the stairs. She shook her head muttering, “Poor child. It’s a shame how she’s taken with Mista Ben.”

  Later on that same afternoon, the spotted hound let out a series of gruff barks, alerting the household that a stranger approached. Peeking through the curtains, Dayme saw a lone rider coming down Larkspur lane, a Union soldier. At least, he’s white and somebody to talk to with news from town, she thought.

  The soldier tied his mount to the hitching rack and walked confidently up the portico steps and rang the doorbell. Cassie didn’t like the color blue and it showed in her eyes and her voice when she answered the door. “Ain’t nobody home ‘cept me ‘n Miss Dayme. Mista Ben ain’t home. You might’s well ride on.”

  The soldier beamed. “Could that be Miss Dayme O’Malley? From Macy’s saloon?”

  Cassie didn’t appreciate the smile on the man’s face. “Yes, Suh,” she replied dubiously.

  “Well, now isn’t that nice. Tell her that Sgt. A. A. Miles wants a few words with her. We’re investigating a murder back down the road.”

  “A murder! Ain’t nobody at Lawkspur knows nothin’ about no murder. Miss Dayme don’t know nothin’ about it”

  “Fetch her anyway. We have other business.” The sergeant’s tone was brusque. “A routine matter, I assure you.” He removed his cap, revealing a shock of oily, rusty blonde hair.

  The woman grudgingly obeyed and started up the curved staircase. “Wastin’ your time,” she grumbled. “We minds our own business out here.”

  A disappointed and disgusted look spread across Dayme’s face when she heard it was Sgt. Miles. “Of all the soldiers in Vicksburg, why him? I can’t stand that man. He gives me the creeping willies,” she told Cassie.

  The ruddy-faced soldier smiled, revealing dirty, wide yellow teeth. His squinty, light brown eyes had the same leering glint that she had come to despise when he made a pest of himself at Macy’s. Dayme’s voice was cold and flat. “Cassie said you're investigating a murder. I know nothing about that. Who was killed?”

  “A Negro deputy sheriff, ma’m,” Sgt. Miles replied as he looked her up and down. “Bear with me. I must inquire. It’s my assignment.”

  “Well you did, and I know nothing about it so you can leave now.”

  “I didn’t think you were personally involved but I have a few more questions, if you don't mind.”

  “I do mind,” she snapped. “Please go.”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a request. It’s an order…an order from headquarters.” He rubbed his throat indicating thirst. “Could I please have some water?”

  “Get the sergeant a drink,” Dayme told Cassie.

  “Yes’m.” Cassie was tight-lipped on her way outside to the kitchen that was connected by a vined walkway. “Miss Bess’d be clawin’ ‘n beatin’ the lid o” her coffin,” she muttered, “if she knowed a damn Yankee soldier set another foot in Lawkspur! Wish Mista Ben’d come on back. He’d get rid o’ that bastard ‘n fast!”

  Seating himself in Benjamin’s favorite chair, the soldier tossed his cap to a nearby table. “My mission is two-fold. We’re doing a head count on freed men who stayed on the plantations. How many full-grown black men do you have here?”

  “None! I'm a guest. Take that up with Mr. Farrington,” she replied icily.

  “When do you expect him?”

  “Today,” she snapped, her green eyes flashing.

  Sgt. Miles ignored her anger. “Surely you know how many,” he prodded. “Save another trip.”

  “Five men with wives and children,” she told him reluctantly. “Total of thirty-one, including two elderly men.”

  The soldier scribbled on a tablet. “Their names?”

  “Logan, Ike, Luke, Lazarus and Josephas and their families plus the old men, Mose and Rufus.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Logan went to Vicksburg the day before yesterday with Mr. Farrington. The others are working. Cleaning up debris around the stable and the orchard.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Cassie entered. She slammed the water on the table beside the man. “Anything else, Missy?” She looked from one to the other, sensing that the girl was upset.

  “No. The sergeant will be leavin’ soon.”

  “I’s gonna feed the chickens some table scraps. Won’t be gone but a minute. Jus’ long’s it takes t’ go to the chicken pen ‘n back.”

  Sgt. Miles gulped the water. He followed the servant to the door and opened it for her. “Thank you, dear lady.”

  “Harrumph!” Cassie grunted and slammed the door behind her in the soldier’s face. “That Yankee ain’t up t’ no good,” she mumbled. “Needn’t be sweet talkin’ me!”

  Dayme arose and started toward the door. “State your business and get out of here. If there’s nothing further….”

  “Oh, but there is.” The man grabbed her with beefy hands and pulled her against his chest. “I want you, my pretty.”

  “You beast! Let me go!” She struggled to free herself but he was stronger. He kissed her brutally. She kicked his shins and managed to pull her face away from the stench of his garlic-scented breath. She bit the blood out of the man’s arm to force him to loosen his grip.

  If anything, the pain of the bite and the struggle heightened the frenzy of the crazed soldier’s excitement. There was a glazed expression in his beady brown eyes.

  “No!” Dayme fumed and backed away to put a chair between them. She was frightened and trembling. “Won’t you ever understand? I will not have you pawing me! Don’t touch me ever again!”

  Miles snickered and sneered. “Always the little touch-me-not…always the little teaser. That’s what excites me most about you, darlin’. You always play hard-to-get. Every time I thought I might get to you, you disappeared out of my reach…but not this time.”

  Furious and frightened, Dayme picked up a heavy brass vase, daring him with it. “Now look here, soldier. I’m not and never was what you think. My job at Macy’s was strictly singing and waiting tables…that’s ALL!” She raised her chin defiantly. “I am a lady!”

  The soldier th
rew back his head and guffawed. “Ladies don’t work in saloons, and they don’t live in brothels.” He laughed again. “That’s a good one…a lady. Come on, girl. You’re teasing me again. I’ll pay double what Tom Macy paid. Word has gotten around you’re his private stock. What are you doin’ out here, baby? That rebel captain can’t match my bid. Bet he’s not hung like me.”

  “Leave me alone! Get out! Don’t you dare lay a hand on me or I’ll scream. The servants will come to my rescue.” She threw the vase but the man dodged.

  “Aw, really? You just told me they’re out of earshot. Scream all you like. Nobody’s here but you and me and that fat old servant woman.” He grinned as he pulled the key out of his pocket to tantalize her. “That door is locked, darlin’. It’s just you and me.”

  A chill raced through the girl’s body. She hoped changing the subject would catch the man off balance and divert his attention. “What do you want to know about the Murder?”

  Sgt. Miles looked surprised. “Found a body in the woods near the railroad crossing. He’d been lynched. Best our medics can tell, been dead about three weeks. Know who did it?”

  “Certainly not. What would I know about a lynching?”

  The soldier sneered. “Like the rest of the rebels…wouldn’t tell if you knew.”

  “That’s right!” Dayme spit out the words. “So why don’t you get the hell out of this house!”

  He grabbed her and slung her down on the blue velvet davenport. “Not until I get some lovin’,” he panted through gritted teeth. He covered her protesting mouth with a wet, slurpy kiss. His stinking breath was hot and heavy, and his eyes hardened with a vulgar crazed stare. “One piece…just one piece of Miss Touch-Me-Not before I'm transferred.”

  “Let me go, you beast!” Dayme’s fingernails dug trenches in the man’s face, but her feminine strength was no match for the burly soldier. He wrestled her to her back and started tearing her clothes.

  “Wanta fight first? Want me to take it away from you? All right, baby…you asked for it.” He struck the girl in the face with a fist, bruising her left cheekbone just below the eye. She began to whimper, struggling with all her might.