“William Nichols plans to get himself arrested and challenge the legality of the star car system in court. We’ve been given rights, but no one knows what these rights really entail, so this is one way of testing.”
Drake was impressed. “Do you think the court will hear his case?”
“If he gets arrested, I’m not sure the courts will have a choice but to hear it.”
“Did he say when he plans to do this?”
“I’m led to believe it will be soon, so keep your ears open. We’ll support him however we can. Any thoughts or questions?”
When no one spoke up, Rai added, “Now for some humor. Former slave owner Elwood Reynolds wants me to ride out to his place and talk to the freedmen there because they’ve moved into his house.”
Archer chuckled. “What?”
Rai nodded. “He has Black families living in his kitchen, parlor, den, and yesterday a family of five moved into his bedroom. They told him their labor built his place, so they were partial owners.”
Drake said, “They have a point.”
“I agree.”
“Are you going to go?” Diggs asked.
“No. I told him I have no authority, and since the Army has already said they won’t evict them—they said they can’t spare the personnel—he’ll have to work it out on his own.”
All over the South, the former masters were having a hard time adjusting to a way of life that no longer put them on the top rung.
Rai said, “Our most serious concern this evening is Liam Atwater. Drake, would you fill everyone in, please?”
Drake took a few minutes to tell the story and finished with, “His widow and son are owed justice.”
Council member and Republican politician, Kennard Guyton, a longtime friend of the LeVeqs, said, “Killing us has always been akin to killing flies to him. The number of people who died on his place yearly easily surpassed every other slave owner in the area.”
Atwater owned an enormous sugar plantation, and working sugar was by far the most brutal work a slave could be assigned. Most died by the age of twenty-five from infections caused by the serrated leaves, snakebite from the venomous snakes lurking in the fields, and heat exhaustion from having to stir the cane down to syrup in vats heated underneath by flames—vats often positioned in the hot Louisiana sun.
Rai said, “We’ve all heard Drake’s story. All in favor of seeking justice for Daniel Downs’s widow and child, raise your hand.”
Each man complied.
Valinda opened the French doors and stepped out onto the bedroom’s veranda. There was a cooling breeze and the night was alive with the sounds of insects and the faint chorus of calling frogs. She took in a deep breath and felt herself relax.
A messenger from the Sisters arrived after dinner bearing a wire for her from Cole. He and Lenny had docked in Maryland and were making their way to New Orleans by train. He estimated it would take three, maybe four days at the most. She was happy to have him safely back on United States soil and couldn’t wait to see him to hear all about Europe and how the business quest had gone. His pending arrival also meant she’d be leaving New Orleans much earlier than planned and she wasn’t sure what to do about her conflicted feelings. Could he be convinced to stay?
She slapped at a mosquito feasting on her arm for dessert. She returned to her musings, but was soon distracted when Drake’s face shimmered over her mind’s eye. The more she vowed not to think about him, the more she did. She thought back to that moment when she asked that he not kiss her, and part of her was disappointed with the stance she’d taken. It didn’t care about her commitment to Cole, or any of the other barriers she’d erected against Julianna’s bear of a son. It wanted to know what a kiss from him might feel like. Would his lips be hard? Soft? Would the kiss be chaste or have the power to make her melt in the way his words did? She had no answers. The only certainty was that she was sliding down a slippery slope in his direction and couldn’t find a handhold to stop her progress.
She slapped at another mosquito buzzing around her neck, and another that bit her through the sleeve of her gray satin wrapper, so she went inside. The doors had screening though, so she left them open to the breeze and night songs while she sat on a chair in the darkness. She enjoyed the large bedroom with its beautiful furniture, especially the big tub. With Julianna’s permission she’d treated herself to a bath a short while ago and wanted to take it home if she did return to New York.
It was a silly thought, because she doubted she and Cole would be able to afford a place large enough to hold something so big after they married. People of color were relegated to living in some of the most crowded and least cared-for sections of New York City. None of her acquaintances had a home with room to house such a luxurious tub. And yet, living in the five rooms above her grandmother’s seamstress shop made Valinda and her sister, Caroline, believe they were relatively wealthy growing up because there’d always been food on the table and their father was employed as a barber in the shop owned by Cole’s father. Not until adolescence when she began attending Mrs. Brown’s School for Proper Girls of Color did she encounter girls from families with true wealth—girls whose family employed drivers for the carriages that brought them to school each day; girls who lived in places like Boston and Philadelphia with families rich enough to allow them to board at the school; and girls who arrived with furniture for their rooms, including wardrobes filled with dresses. Val had never owned more than two pairs of shoes at one time—one for every day and the other for church and special occasions. At Mrs. Brown’s, she met girls who possessed five and six pairs of shoes, and an equal number of coats and gloves. She wondered how their familial wealth measured up against the LeVeqs’. She knew that when she and Cole married they’d never even come close. Having a tub like the one in the bathing room would be the stuff of dreams.
As she closed the doors and got into bed, she didn’t dream of luxurious tubs. Instead, she dreamt of being chased by a pack of feral dogs.
She was running, heart pounding with fear while trying to keep ahead of the snarling, growling pack at her back. Their long, loping legs quickly closed the distance and she was knocked to the ground. Screaming and twisting to get away, she grabbed the neck of the closest animal to keep its foaming fangs from sinking into her skin. The dog’s features shifted into the face of attacker Walter Creighton and it smiled evilly. She somehow broke away and was on her feet running again. They gave chase, baying like maddened bloodhounds. Julianna frantically beckoned to her from where she stood on a porch, but the dogs were between them, so Val kept running. The dogs vanished. A wagon appeared. Her father jumped down from the seat. There was fire in his eyes as he wrapped her wrists together tightly with the rope in his hands and tied a lead from the rope to the back of the wagon. He ran back to the seat. Beside him sat a man. He looked at her. Before she could put a name to the vaguely familiar face, the wagon pulled off and she stumbled and fell to the ground. Being dragged over the rough ground, she yelled that her father stop. He didn’t. Crying out, she tried to undo the knots but couldn’t. She managed to get to her feet only to lose her balance again, and again. Exhausted, she surrendered and was dragged away like a broken doll.
She woke up, shaking. Putting her hands to her sweat-damp cheeks, she drew in a trembling breath. Little pieces of the nightmare floated back. The man with her father. She was certain she knew him, but his identity remained locked behind the door of her mind. She suddenly remembered her sister being in the dream, too. Caroline had been seated high in the boughs of a live oak, watching with tears in her eyes. Leaving the bed, Val walked into the bathing room, splashed water on her face, and took in another deep breath. She crawled back into bed but lay awake until dawn.