Child of the River Page 9

  “Will my family be paid wages?” Josephus probed. “Like the workers Logan hires? Take old Ike here and Luke. They got a heap more younguns than me or Lazarus. More hands t’ hoe ‘n pick.”

  The man has a point, Benjamin conceded to himself as he pondered how to answer. “A small matter to be worked out. I’ll think on that. But, no, nobody gets paid day wages in addition to share-cropping money and the land.”

  Small matter, hell, the tall black man thought. He ventured to mutter, “Lucy and my two boys can’t put out as much work as Ike’s bunch.”

  “Mista Ben’s a fair man,” Logan told him. “He does things accordin’ to the law. He’s makin’ a lawyer hisself.”

  Benjamin smiled wistfully. He again stared out the window, seeing fluffy white clouds floating in the ice blue sky and wishing the South had won. He felt blocked on all sides. “That was a long time ago,” he said quietly, “when I packed up for college. Lots of muddy water has spread over Dixie since that fine day.” He coughed and cleared his throat, choking on the problems that faced him. Dealing with Mum’s death should be enough, he thought. And I have to find Molly. Then there’s the responsibility of that little strumpet I brought to the plantation. Whatever will I do with her? Finances. Regaining control of the Negroes. When will it end?

  “After the cotton is picked, hauled downriver and ginned, the profit will be divided, after expenses, of course. You men will divide one-fourth of the profit. The fewer workers we hire, the more money you’ll pocket. To answer your question, Josephus,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Day workmen will fill in the gaps between family sizes…one other thing, you’ll be needing surnames. Miss Dayme will explain that when she’s feeling better. Tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want t’ do no fawmin’,” Rufus said, chuckling. “Not with the miseries I got in my back. Ain’t able to pick no mo’.”

  “You old coot. You haven’t hit a lick at a snake in the cotton patch in nearly a decade.”

  “I’s just funnin’, Mista Ben,” the elderly Negro said in a quavering voice. “Jus’ funnin’.”

  Benjamin wasn’t in a funning mood. “You and Mose will feed the cows, slop the hogs, repair things and work the grounds for your keep. You’ll get room and board and a small wage. That don’t mean you can drag-ass. You’ll have to earn it. Both of you are getting so lazy you won’t fight the gnats off your asses. That’s over.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Have to. It’s the law of the land.”

  It was done. Explaining minute details was finally over. However, he decided to add a commentary. “In the past, we Farringtons cared for all your needs. Mums nursed you when you were sick. She taught you Christianity and chastity to the young women. She read the Bible to you every Sunday.”

  “She was a kindly woman,” Mose agreed. “I’d a died if the Missus hadn’t bathed my fever when I had the smallpox.”

  “Union law says coloreds are a free people,” Benjamin continued. “Being free is wonderful but not as simple and easy as you folks might imagine. Under slavery, all your needs were met. We Farringtons paid the bill. Now, you’ll just have to worry with the rest of us where your next meal is coming from.”

  “How “bout the times old Big Black River comes roarin’ across the land,” Mandy inquired. “What if it washes out the cotton?”

  “That’s called free enterprise, Mandy. No crop…no money. A chance free people have to take.” He glanced from face to illiterate face and sighed deeply. ‘I’ll take you people into town in the wagon for papers at the courthouse. The men will have to register to vote.” Heaven help us all, he mused. They can’t even read a ballot.

  Southern pride prompted still another comment. “You darkies aren’t the only ones the government freed. The Emancipation Proclamation on the Congressional docket frees me, too. Free of the responsibility of taking care of you bums.” A lump in his throat caused his voice to crack and his deep blue eyes misted. “Get out of here.”

  Chapter 8

  “Why Benjamin Farrington! I can’t accept this! You know better!” Dayme scolding emerald green eyes bored into his. It made him feel foolish for the gift he offered. Maybe he even felt ashamed for the harsh words that first night. She hoped so.

  “I…I want you to have it. There’s no….”

  Dayme thrust the blue calico dress back to him. “You know quite well that a lady can’t accept anything as personal as this dress! You…with all your courtly manners, I’m surprised at you. Did you fail to read that chapter in your mother’s precious etiquette book? You know…the one you told me to read?” She lifted her head proudly. “No thanks. The dress is lovely but here, take it.”

  The man was puzzled and at a loss for words. “I…I didn’t mean to offend,” he stammered. “Please keep the dress. No strings are attached. You need it. I didn’t mean to imply….”

  “No?” Dayme’s hand slid off the railing as she stepped off the bottom stair. Her regal air soon dissipated, giving way to deep-seated anger. “If you believed Sgt. Miles…that I encouraged him,” she said icily, “why did you fight for me?” Not waiting for an answer, the girl’s voice rose in crescendo and she flailed her arms in an outburst of temper. “You bastard! You think I’m a whore! Admit it! You think I led him on.”

  “I think nothing of the sort.”

  “You do, too!” She was about to cry. “You…you insinuated it that first night when you told me my mother’s house is not a brothel’!” she mimicked. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you, for heaven’s sake. Not a lily white, virtuous man like the honorable Benjamin Atwood Farrington! Not the male counterpart of the Virgin Mary! The key word here is Farrington. You consider yourself better than me, you…you egotistical ass!”

  Though her angry words cut like a whip, it was not the time, he decided, to even attempt to correct or even mention the bad language that flowed from her pretty lips. Actually, he reflected a new respect for the girl for coming to her own defense even though it was weeks overdue. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. He shrugged his shoulders and his countenance resembled a little boy caught stealing cookies. “I was wrong. What can I say? All I can offer is the lame excuse that I was upset, not thinking straight. Forgive me, my dear. It was I who almost lost control.” His deep blue eyes smiled down at her, suddenly causing her to feel warm and bubbly inside. Especially when he said, “You’re a beautiful woman, so beautiful that if I wasn’t in love with Molly or hadn’t made the promise to Lawrence, I would find it difficult not to court you myself. Any red-bloodied man would want to hold you. Who could help it?” He took both her hands in his and she was completely under his spell. “Come now. Let’s be friends.”

  His disarming smile and complimentary words soothed the girl’s vanity. “Friends,” she replied, returning a smile. She caressed the soft material of the dress and smelled its newness. “Will you let me earn it? I could help Cassie with the housework or perhaps help Mose and Rufus with the weeds?”

  “Certainly not!” Benjamin told her crisply. “That is out of the question! Out! Out! Out! I’ve been degraded enough of late but that is a little much for my craw. That would finish off my pride for good. Here.” He shoved the dress into Dayme’s hands. “Take it, please. I didn’t mean to start a war. I only want you to have it.”

  Dayme raised her chin defiantly. “I can’t afford it then. I have my pride, too. I can’t keep living off your hospitality. It isn’t ladylike to be a kept woman, either. Been thinkin’ about goin’ back to Vicksburg…getting my old job back.”

  Reading the resignation in her determined eyes, he knew he had to do something and fast. He had to keep the girl at Larkspur for her own good until other arrangements could be made. He hoped some good man would eventually come courting. Or did he? The reason became more and more confusing. He had come to depend more and more upon the girl for companionship, feminine companionship to offset the absence of his mother. She bolstered his morale. Is that the only reason? he wondered. She is the absolute opposite
of Molly, but there is something appealing about this girl. I can’t define it. One thing for certain, he thought, I don’t want her to leave. There has to be a plausible excuse for keeping her here. Perhaps building up her self-image will keep her content. He made a spur of the moment decision. “You’ve been teaching Logan. Would you consider starting a country school for coloreds here on the plantation? Classes have already started in town. It’s a wonder somebody didn’t get on my case before Lt. Stewart. If you insist on working, teaching is an honorable profession for women. Perhaps some of the neighboring plantation owners might send their blacks.”

  “Oh, Benjamin,” the girl exclaimed. “Do you mean that? Will they let me teach without my high school diploma? I ain’t qualified.”

  “The school burned. So did the records. Who’s to know the difference? The coloreds don’t need to learn much. The simple basics will be sufficient. You’ll receive a salary, small as it may be plus room and board.”

  “Room and board….”

  “I insist.”

  Dayme held the dress up to her and looked at her reflection in the cracked reception room mirror. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I couldn’t have chosen a prettier frock myself.”

  The Negroes were eager to learn and excited about the prospect of the plantation school, most especially Josephus and his family. All were thrilled about voting rights and wages, as well. That is, with the exception of Josephus. He figured Benjamin would end up with near slave labor at the least, in spite of the sharecropping arrangement and the promised acreage. He didn’t trust the man one bit.

  The predawn assembly on the veranda was held by lantern light. It would be a long, tiring trip to Vicksburg. The group would have to spend the night in town. With only one team to pull a wagon, it would take three trips to take them all in. Benjamin curled up with a pillow in the swing while Dayme addressed the group. “If you really want to learn, I can teach you,” she explained. “Classes for children six through twelve will be held in the mornings. Evening classes for workers thirteen years up will be conducted after supper.

  Ya’ll have Christian names but you must have surnames in order to register for work contracts. The men will register for voting papers, too. That’s why you were hustled here so early this morning. Many freedmen are taking the names of former masters. Therefore, since you were Farrington slaves, Mr. Farrington has graciously offered his name.”

  “I like that,” Logan replied with a wide grin. “Logan Farrington. How “bout that? Miss Dayme, how do you spell Farrington?”

  “F-a-r-r-i-n-g-t-o-n.”

  “F-a-o-g---uh, F-a-g-r….” The old man scratched his head, looking puzzled. “You know, Missy, that “Farrington’ is a hard son-of-a….” The man looked embarrassed for the word that almost slipped. “Gonna be a heap harder t’ spell than Logan.”

  “The children o’ Israel were slaves to the Pharaoh but none of ‘em took up his name,” Josephus spoke up. His voice carried a veiled accusation.

  Bristling, Benjamin sprang up erect in the swing. He had a frown on his face. Dayme exchanged glances with him, silently asking him to let it go. “No,” she replied gently, “I guess they didn’t, Josephus. Surnames began in several ways. The son of John, for example, would be John’s son…hence, the name Johnson. Sometimes, a name is derived from occupations such as Carpenter, Smith or Miller. Others from locations and some so downright ridiculous they must o’ been pulled out o’ thin air.”

  “Then, my name will be Floyd,” Josephus declared decisively. “Papa’s name was Floyd. I don’t want t’ be called ‘Josephus’ no more neither. I’m just plain old Joe to my folks and my friends. Put me down as plain Joe Floyd.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Benjamin growled crossly. “My mother gave you your Christian name. Your name is Josephus, boy, and don’t you forget it!”

  The big black man met Benjamin’s angry eyes without flinching. Though the muscles on his jaw tightened, his voice remained calm and controlled. “Mr. Farrington, I ain’t no boy. I’m a man…a black man. I ‘member when you’s born.” He nodded his head in agreement. “I know Mrs. Farrington named me. God rest her soul. I don’t mean no disrespect f’ your mama. But my own sainted Mammy called me Joe. Since the freedom act, reckon younguns what’s born t’ black folks can be named by they own folks from now on.”

  “Watch that smart mouth of yours, Josephus.” Benjamin’s jaw jutted out in anger, and he opened and closed his fist. “I’m still the boss around here.”

  “The Good Bein’ knows I ain’t disputin’ that. But accordin” to the law, a man should have the right to pick out his own name.”

  Watching the sparks fly between the two men, Dayme intervened in an effort to settle the dispute without stirring up further discord. Silently pleading with Benjamin, she excused herself from the group to speak with him alone. “A name is a name is a name. What difference does it make? That’s what we’re here for…to choose names.”

  “That smart-ass makes me downright uncomfortable,” Benjamin replied doggedly. “He’ll be a troublemaker. I can feel it. He talks calm and halfway respectful and yet, that boy has been accusing me without saying a word ever since I returned. He’s the only one of the pack who calls me Mr. Farrington.”

  “Let it go…please. Just let it go.”

  Finally, the man gestured that he wouldn’t interfere although he certainly wasn’t happy about it. He figured if all took his name it would be simpler to round them up when slavery was restored.

  “It’s Josephus’s prerogative to be called Joe Floyd,” Dayme continued. “Who’s next?”

  “What do prerogative mean, Miss Dayme?” Josephus asked politely.

  “A privilege or a choice.”

  Josephus smiled and repeated the word twice as his arm slipped around his comely wife. “I like that word. Put my wife down as Lucy instead o’ Lucinda. That’s my prerogative.”

  Benjamin snorted and abruptly went into the house.

  Since Pap’s carryin’ the Farrington name, I reckon me ‘n Ike oughter be called the same “cause we’s fam’ly.” Luke made the decision and Ike nodded his approval.

  “Lazarus?”

  “Ain’t that I don’t like the Farrington name, Missy, but seein” as how I ain’t no kin t’ Logan’s bunch, later on down the line might get all mixed up an’ turn up with a bunch o’ crazy younguns,” he reasoned, “if too many is named the same.”

  Dayme giggled, amused at his logic. “That’s a distinct possibility.”

  “What do you think about ‘Patson’? Paw’s name was Pat. Put me ‘n Rachel down as ‘Patson’.”

  Hoary haired old Mose, held his side as he spoke. “Jus’ call me Mose Late. “mancipation come a mite late for me.”

  Dayme frowned, concerned about the old man. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes’m. I’m fine,” Mose lied.

  The oldest in the group was well past eighty but still in fairly good health. “The Good Bein’ seen fit t’ color me black,” Rufas said in a quavering voice. “Way I come into this ole world and that’s the way I’s goin’ out. I’s black. Always was black, always will be. Nothin’ gonna change it. Name me Rufus Black.”

  “It’s done,” Dayme told the group. Hurry now. Get the wagon loaded with food, firewood, pans and quilts.”

  About that time, Benjamin stepped back outside with an authoritative tone. “Get the chores done…now! It’s almost sunup.”

  When the horde of Negroes scurried to do the chores and load the wagon, Benjamin sulked for a time before he told Dayme, “I don’t know if this school is such a good idea,” he grumbled. “I think Josephus had enough education this morning. His interference caused some not to take my name.”

  “Aw, Benjamin, give it up,” the girl interrupted impatiently as she gathered up papers. “It’s the law. Accept it. Either you pacify that law with a country school or the Yankees will insist you bring them to town. Who will work the fields then?”

  “Many white children are n
ot in school. They’re begging on the streets or working the fields. Three-fourths of the next generation won’t be able to read or write. They do slave chores before they’re five years old.”

  “I know, but if their skin is black,” Dayme reminded him softly, “they have a right to an education, so states the law.”

  “To hell with the damn law!” Benjamin stormed.

  “Yes, sir!” Dayme walked briskly up the portico steps. “You’re the boss.” Her voice was icy cold. “If you don’t want the school…fine! I’ll pack my things and ride in with them.”

  “Wait….” Benjamin caught her by the elbow and pulled her around to face him. A thrill raced through her body at his mere touch. She managed to hold her own even though her insides felt like jelly. “Don’t go,” Benjamin pleaded. I want you to stay.”

  Her well-controlled voice was crisp and determined. “I refuse to be kept. The school would occupy my time and give me a feeling of accomplishment. You should try it sometime…sittin’ around and doin’ nothing. It’ll drive a body crazy. You’re a stubborn man, Benjamin. Schoolin’ the coloreds is in your own best interest.”

  He was not convinced. “The more they learn, the harder they’ll be to control. It’ll give them the big head. Look at Logan. He thinks he’s as smart as Charles Darwin. One educated generation of field hands and planters will have real trouble on their hands.”

  “That’s rubbish! If you plan on ever finishin’ college and gettin’ your law degree, somebody here needs to know how to correspond and conduct business in your absence, silly! Don’t be a fool. Don’t abolish the school before it’s even started.” She shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. All Josephus wanted to do was choose a name. Just like all coloreds are doing all over the South.” Her green eyes flashed impatiently. “Seems a bit petty to me for you to get mad about it. Downright childish.”