Among the Fair Magnolias Read online

Emily said good-bye and turned to walk to the Big House. Mother had asked her to come home promptly from school today because Thomas was coming to dinner again. Mother was hoping for a proposal. Emily was not.

  Anna stood in front of the oval mirror, admiring her new violet dress with its lace ruffles that brushed the floor. “Emily, it’s perfect! My first new dress in so long. Thank you.”

  Emily accepted her little sister’s quick hug with gratitude. At sixteen, Anna was stunning and smart. She deserved to look beautiful. Emily was not interested in catching the eye of any young man. Besides Leroy. Perhaps Thomas would take notice of Anna tonight.

  She heard her mother ascending the staircase and hurried to survey her wardrobe, hoping to find something Mother considered suitable.

  “Don’t you look lovely, Anna! Where did you get this dress?”

  “Oh, Mother, Emily bought it for me from the teaching salary she gets from the Missionary Aid Society. Isn’t it the loveliest thing you have ever seen?”

  Mother gave a glance at Emily. “Did you buy yourself a dress too?”

  “Oh no,” Emily said dismissively. “I still have several fine dresses to choose from.”

  “Indeed?” Mother said, but she couldn’t conceal the irritation in her voice.

  Throughout dinner, Emily noticed approvingly, Thomas gave Anna admiring glances from across the table. Anna was strong of spirit and character, but not like Emily. She would never go against her parents’ beliefs and wishes. She could be the wife that Thomas deserved.

  The wife that Thomas deserved.

  Who was she to decide such a thing for him? Emily castigated herself for once again trying to control something else that was out of her control, for running ahead of reason. Ahead of reason and ahead of faith. Yes. Hadn’t she seen enough damage done through love triangles? The Bible served up many stories, as did history. Jacob with Rachel and Leah. Anne and Mary Boleyn vying for Henry VIII. Did she dare entangle her sister in sentiments with Thomas? She scolded herself. No matter that Thomas admired Anna. She knew, they all knew, it was Emily he loved.

  And what shall I do about that, Lord? I suppose you have in mind something a bit more noble than buying a dress for my sister.

  She had no intention of breaking Thomas’s heart. The Lord would have to give her a better idea. And soon.

  After dinner, Emily walked with Anna and Thomas and her parents out to the gardens, where late-summer roses were in bloom. Off to the left, the view of the cotton crops was a mirror of white. Father put an arm around each daughter. “If the good Lord desires, we’ll have a fine crop this year. I see it there spread across the fields, by God’s mercies.”

  Emily wondered herself. Before the war her father’s plantation had been one of many to contribute to the seven hundred thousand bales of cotton produced in the South. But the last two years, the total production was only a quarter of that, and the plantations were close to ruin.

  Tomorrow Leroy and Sam and Tammy would head with the other freedmen to the fields, as sharecroppers instead of slaves, and work long, hard hours to harvest the cotton.

  She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to see Thomas standing beside her.

  “My dear friend, my dear Emily.”

  She felt her body stiffen at his gentle words, then relax as his hand took her by the elbow and guided her along a path in the rose garden.

  “Do you know the memory that kept me going at times during the war?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “It was of you and me galloping through these fields as mere children.”

  Emily laughed. “Yes, those were lovely times, weren’t they? We were invincible back then. Those rides seem to belong to a completely different life.”

  “It would give me great pleasure if we could take a ride together again. Would you consider reserving next Saturday afternoon? For a ride and a picnic?”

  “That would be lovely,” she answered before she’d thought better of it.

  “Yes, it will be just like old times.” But he looked at her so intently that she was afraid to think what that meant.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OF COURSE EMILY COULD NOT TURN DOWN THOMAS’S REQUEST for a ride together. How many afternoons had she spent riding with him across dusty fields picked clean of cotton—laughing, carefree?

  Before the war.

  She closed her eyes and was only fourteen, galloping at full speed on her bay mare, Brandy, while Thomas pulled ahead, laughing, on Trooper, his steel-gray gelding, perhaps the most beautiful horse Emily had ever seen.

  And here he was again, riding beside her on Trooper. The dappled gray gelding had a flaxen mane and tail. She had never seen another horse with the same distinct coloring. Trooper arched his neck under Thomas’s tight rein. Then, as Thomas loosed his hold, the gelding shook his head so forcefully that his whole neck vibrated, and his mane, that magnificent flaxen mane, danced in all directions.

  “He weathered the war well,” Emily commented. “He is still as beautiful as the first day I saw him.”

  “He’s the smartest horse on the planet. And the bravest, Emily. He saved my life a dozen times.” Thomas patted the horse’s neck, and Trooper threw his head in response, almost as if he understood what Thomas had said. Emily caught Thomas’s eyes and saw they were not laughing, not happy. They held a deep sorrow in them, something almost akin to dread.

  “He’s faithful. That’s why I am the only one to ride him. He knows I trust him.”

  She could not bear to let Thomas live with whatever memories were haunting him. “Come on, friend!” she called, nudging Brandy into a trot and then a canter. “Catch me if you can!”

  Within a moment Thomas had taken the lead, bent over the gelding’s neck, the flaxen mane whipping in his face and Emily following behind. She stopped worrying about his hinted proposal and thought only of the kindness and mischief that had once been in her friend’s eyes when they rode together. She wondered if she would ever see that again.

  Later they sat together on the blanket, the picnic Gladys had so carefully packed half eaten. Thomas’s posture seemed more relaxed, and yet she knew he was not at ease. She was pestering him with her incessant questions. She should stop this conversation, but she could not. Why must she always bring up the subjects that divided them? Why, when she longed to see her friend rediscover some tiny bit of joy in life? But the words were already out.

  “And you believe in the Klan? You cannot possibly support terrorism, Thomas. Barbarism. Butchery.”

  She felt her face flush, her temper flare. She closed her eyes momentarily, tried to pray for the ability to hold her tongue. She hated her rash, insensitive words, especially as she saw what they did to him.

  “Emily, I have lived through a war that was only that. Barbarism. Butchery. I will spare you the details, but you saw it yourself as a nursemaid to the wounded and dying. You saw what we soldiers did to one another.”

  He glanced at her, and she thought she saw tears in his soft blue eyes. He turned and stared out into the field. “I stood on a hill in Virginia and watched a Union boy, a boy younger than myself, Emily, fire point-blank at my brother. I watched the bullet rip Joseph apart, and then I watched myself take careful aim and fire and kill that Union boy. I killed five men that day. Five boys, really. I shot them down, galloping on Trooper.” Thomas met her eyes. “I wanted some sort of holy vengeance, I suppose. But it did me no good. I could not bring back my brother. He died in a puddle of blood with a swarm of gnats around his head. I could only cradle him there when the battle was over, and cry. And know that I was a murderer as sure as anyone else.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes so quickly that she could not stop them, and soon they were streaming down her face. Without thinking she reached over and took Thomas’s hand. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for making you recall such painful memories.”

  He didn’t respond to her touch; he sat stiff and almost cold, almost as if he were in a trance, or worse, as if he were relivi
ng the scenes from that day over and over again in his mind.

  At last he withdrew his hand from her grasp and whispered, “No, Emily, I don’t approve of the Klan. And yet sometimes I wonder, am I any different from them? Sometimes I wonder if my hate is as strong as theirs. Sometimes I am afraid of what I became during the war.” Now at last he looked straight into her eyes. “And I wonder if that man still lives inside me in some deep and godforsaken part of my soul.”

  Emily stared at the ceiling in her room, the hour long past midnight. She could not stop thinking of Thomas’s eyes, of his voice, broken, almost afraid. “Forgive me, Lord,” she whispered into the night. “I injured him. I did not mean to. I cannot seem to learn temperance. I cannot stop this mouth of mine from spouting all that runs through my head.”

  She thought of Miss Lillian—her quiet wisdom, her firm convictions, her peacefulness. Yes, Emily trusted God, sought to obey Christ. She was obeying him, she told herself. She was caring for the freedmen, speaking up for their rights. And yet, her zeal was fueled by a righteous anger. She did not feel peaceful.

  She got out of bed and fell to her knees. “I want your peace, dear Lord. I want to do what is right out of love, not hate. I confess I do hate the Klan. I hate them all, and I hate the terror they have brought on this region. I don’t know what to do with this hate, Lord. I simply have no idea.”

  She got up from her knees and returned to bed. She saw Thomas’s sorrowful eyes, and then she thought of Leroy’s eyes and the pride and determination that shone in them. She did not know which made her more afraid.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question that is rather personal, Miss Lillian?”

  The older woman looked around from where she was stacking books and smiled. “Of course not, Emily. Ask away.”

  “How did you learn temperance? And peace? And wisdom? How did you gain these qualities? Or perhaps you possessed them all along?”

  Emily wasn’t prepared for Miss Lillian’s hearty laughter. “Forgive me, Emily. I suppose you are the first person to assume I have those qualities. Thank you. I can assure you that my husband never said such a thing about me.”

  “You’re married?” She had always thought of Miss Lillian as a spinster and couldn’t imagine that she would have left her husband in the North to come and serve the Negroes.

  “I am widowed. Years ago.” She was silent for a few moments. “My dear husband put up with many things, one of which was my being so very opinionated about slavery. Not that he didn’t oppose that evil. He, too, was against slavery and fought for the Union as a colonel. He was killed in battle in 1863.” She looked off, lost in thought.

  “I’m so sorry to hear it.”

  Miss Lillian turned to face Emily. “Yes, it was dreadful. But I shan’t go down that path today. You asked how I learned temperance and peace and wisdom, and I will tell you that the good Lord put me with a man who modeled these things to me. Somehow, after living together for so many years, they rubbed off on me, I suppose.”

  “Ah. So I will have to wait to find that kind of husband.”

  Miss Lillian laughed again. “Not at all. God will teach you in his own way and in his own time. He chose my husband to show me how sharp was my tongue, how quickly I could injure the one I loved the most. I believe the Holy Ghost began his work on me in this realm after I had hurt my husband so deeply.”

  Emily didn’t dare ask how Miss Lillian had hurt her husband. She could see that she’d spoken truth by the stricken look in the woman’s eyes. After a long silence, Emily asked, “What was his name?”

  “His name was Benjamin.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No, we were never able to have children. And so I have adopted all of these into my heart.”

  Emily had a hundred other questions she longed to ask Miss Lillian, but the older woman simply said, “You keep asking the Lord to teach you wisdom and temperance and to give you his peace.” She cocked her head. “You know, his peace doesn’t feel like the peace we naturally get when it’s a lovely day and all seems well in the world. His peace comes in the midst of the hardest days. It’s something a bit mysterious and supernatural. Ask him for that peace, Emily.”

  After she left Emily thought for a long time about Miss Lillian’s comments. She had hurt Thomas. She had to make it right. She would figure out a way to have gentle, kind words, even if in the end they would perhaps break his heart. And she would ask for that special kind of peace. Miss Lillian said it was supernatural. Emily didn’t know if she had ever in her life experienced something like that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OF ALL THE PROGRESS THE NEGROES HAD MADE SINCE Emancipation, the church was their shining star. Once, many slaves throughout the South had cowered in the fields before dawn on Sundays, afraid of their masters’ wrath if they were caught in worship. Others had sat silent on the back rows of the “white churches.” Now they exercised the freedom to worship in their own churches in their own way, with buoyancy and joy. It seemed to Emily that they worshiped with their whole bodies and souls. She wished that a little of their enthusiasm and fervor could spill over to the white Methodist church her family attended.

  She should not have gone to their church that morning, but she could not stop herself. Maybe prayers, even fervent ones, could not change a heart that was lovesick. She told herself that she simply wanted to listen to the Negroes sing. In reality, she wanted to hear Leroy preach; more than that she simply wanted to see Leroy, fresh back from his time in Atlanta.

  So intent was she on her thoughts that she didn’t notice Sam standing at the door watching her approach until she was nearly at the church herself.

  “You ain’t got no need to be here, Miss Emily. Go on home and git ta yur church now.”

  “But I want to hear Leroy’s sermon.”

  Sam came to her, his brow a mass of wrinkles, his long, thin fingers pointing down toward the Big House. “Miss Emily, ain’t nothing good a comin’ of you staying with us. We be jus’ fine worshipin’ the Lawd here in our little church. You go on now.”

  She nodded and left the front porch of the reconstructed church building. But as soon as Sam went back inside, she stopped and retraced her steps, hiding on the side of the clapboard building, listening until she heard Leroy’s voice floating out of the opened window.

  “. . . And so we is like those Israelites following that mighty warrior Moses to the Red Sea, yes, we is! And we is heading to our Promised Land, ain’t we ever! Amen!”

  A chorus of amens rang throughout the packed church, where over eighty Negroes crowded to worship.

  She listened to Leroy’s strong, solid voice, closed her eyes, and pictured herself out in the fields as a young teen, picking cotton beside him. The war had forced her into the fields, and she had happily complied to be near her friend.

  “You be the toughest white woman I ever did know,” Leroy had said back then.

  When Emily had frowned, he put back his head and laughed. “Ain’t nothin’ but a compliment, Miss Emily. You knowed that. You out here workin’ in the hot sun like us slaves. Ain’t right.”

  “We’re the same, Leroy. Before God we’re just the same. And when this war is done, you’ll see. You’ll be free, and you will be able to choose whatever work you want. You’ll be as free as I am!”

  He had laughed at her and shaken his head and simply said, “My, my, Miss Emily, you shore does have a big imagination.”

  Not only was he free, Leroy had become a preacher among the freedmen as well as a delegate. That meant he also could be considered as one of the next political candidates. Emily heard Leroy again saying that it was impossible for him to separate religion and politics. A preacher had a duty to protect the political interests of his people. Emily thought of Washington and shivered.

  Leroy’s voice rose stronger, and anger spilled into it. “I was in Atlanta, and I’ll tell you what happened. They’s taken away our rights. Forced us out of the politics. The General Assembly conservati
ve Democrats—and even some of the white Republicans—have taken away the offices of our three black senators and twenty-five black representatives. Expelled every one of them, even those who were only one-eighth black!”

  Emily heard murmurs and protests of “It cain’t be true!”

  “It is true, my brothers and sisters. And I was there to hear the speech that Henry McNeal Turner gave in Atlanta on September 3, ‘On the Eligibility of the Colored Members to Seats in the Georgia Legislature.’

  “Mr. Turner is a finely educated Negro, one of the three black freedmen elected as a representative to the Georgia State Legislature. I wish you coulda seen him, standing up so tall and proud and confronting those otha representatives with his eloquent words.”

  There was a pause, and Emily strained to hear through the silence. Papers rustled, and then she heard Leroy’s voice again.

  “I will read you a part of Mr. Turner’s speech. This is what he said: ‘The scene presented in this House, today, is one unparalleled in the history of the world. From this day, back to the day when God breathed the breath of life into Adam, no analogy for it can be found. Never, in the history of the world, has a man been arraigned before a body clothed with legislative, judicial or executive functions, charged with the offence of being of a darker hue than his fellow men.’ ”

  “Amen! Amen!” Emily heard the fellow freedmen and women saying over and over.

  Leroy continued to read, “ ‘Never in all the history of the great nations of this world—never before—has a man been arraigned, charged with an offence committed by the God of Heaven himself.’ ”

  There was a roar of approval. Emily felt sick to her stomach. Leroy’s voice resounded with eloquence and conviction. She could well imagine him making a speech like Mr. Turner’s. And she heard the fury in his voice, the holy righteousness.

  She left the window and hurried up to the Big House, where she would join Father, Mother, and Anna for a carriage ride to the Methodist church in town.