Jasper County: Book 1 and 2

By Cortez Robinson

This unforgettable volume combines the two novels written by
Cortez Robinson. Enjoy your travels with me, as we journey back to a turbulent period of American History.




Jasper County
Part One & Two

Jasper County breaks the stereotype of the Civil War era with an array of men and women who have much to lose and much to gain in the beloved red soil of Georgia. But their common love of the land and hatred of Yankees cant bridge differences born of class, money, and race.
Jasper is home to plantation owner Frank Arlington who has a benevolent attitude towards his slaves, partly because he secretly loves Sara Brown, his house servant. His nemesis, James Fallen, is a bigoted small town lawyer, ever resentful of Arlingtons chronic disrespect.
When Arlington gives 40 acres of prime bottomland to George Brown, his illegitimate son by Sara, the local farmers are enraged.
Fallen, courts their anger through the White Knights, a secret society that helps citizens, when the law wont.
And that is just the beginning. Murder, a savage war, and a fractured family at Arlington plantation ensue. The civil war is a tempest that ignites the best and worst in all characters

Cortez Robinson

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477285022

Cortez Robinson

I was raised in New York City. I attended public school. While attending Central Needle Trade High School during the day time, I attended Manhattan Med Assistance School at night, for trainning in the profession of Radiology Technology. After graduating from both schools, I enlisted into the Air Force. I spent four years as  Tecnologist. During this time I was assigned to many Air Bases to set up Radology departments. After recieving a honorable discharge, I worked at many hospitals in New York City. In 1977 I moved to Fresno, CA where I presently reside. I retired in 1997 and began writing Jasper County. During this time I attended the local writting classes provided by the City of Fresno. The writting of Jasper has been a wonderful experience for me, a journey through life and the difficult times endured by many in the 1800's.  

Book preview

JASPER

COUNTY

BOOK 1 AND 2

CORTEZ ROBINSON

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2012 by Cortez Robinson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/26/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8503-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8502-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920245

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Part One

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Part 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

But thanks be to God, which gives us victory

through our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 Cor 15: 57

Dedicated To my parents and wife

Jeffrey and Omega Robinson

Barbara Ann Bryant-Robinson

Special Thanks for your support.

Members of Fellowship Baptist Church.

Members of New Beginnings Community Baptist Church.

Lanora Lanter & Saturday Writers Group.

Bobby & Shyrelle Burrell

Shakinah Davis

Charlese Green

Ray & Barbara Johnson

Freddy & Dan Atkins

Louise Graham

Margaret Nelson

Thaddeus Robinson

Charlotte Watson

_______________________________

JASPER COUNTY

_______________________________

Part One

By

CORTEZ ROBINSON

Prologue

Sara balanced on a stool and carefully ran a feather duster over the books in her master’s office. She couldn’t read but ran her dark hands lovingly over the soft goatskin covers. Sara placed the duster on the shelf, pulled out a volume, and traced the raised gold lettering with her finger. Opening the book, she rubbed the marbled end papers, then buried her nose between the pages and sniffed the special scent of paper, glue, and ink.

She heard a noise behind her and leapt off the stool. Turning, she saw Frank Arlington watching her silently from the office door. He gaped at the outline of her strong young legs against the thin material of her dress.

Sara, he whispered as he stepped into the room.

Suh, I didn’t mean ta… she murmured apologetically.

Come here, he demanded. He staggered across the room, sat heavily in a chair by the fireplace, and then stretched his long legs out in a V. His polished black riding boots caught a glint from the embers in the hearth.

She came to his chair and smelled bourbon. Sara shyly handed him the book. I’m sorry, Masta. I didn’t mean no harm. To her astonishment he grabbed the book and threw it on the floor. She flinched as he raised his hand toward her, but instead of striking her he abruptly moved her dress up her thighs.

Stunned, Sara pushed his hand down. I ain’t dat kind of woman.

I know. For a brief moment they stared at each other.

Not meanin to be bold, suh, but I think ya had a little too much whiskey tonight. Maybe ya miss yo Miz Alma. She be back tomorra.

Arlington reached up and grabbed her. She struggled to get free of him but his big white hands circled her legs.

No, suh! she groaned. Don’t do me like dat.

He forced her legs apart. Holding her in a vise-like grip, he leaned over and began kissing her.

Sara looked up at his soft black curly hair as he kissed her. There was something so tender about him that caused her to stop struggling. She placed her hand around him, and then felt heat waves move from her legs to her belly.

With a slow rotation of her hips she began swaying side to side. She moaned, then feverishly kissed him.

I’ve waited so long, groaned Arlington. Raising her dress above her waist he pulled down her undergarment.

She was moist, excited and ready as she spread her legs to allow him to penetrate her.

They rolled back and forth in the chair, as she yelled, More, more, don’t stop.

Arlington closed his eyes for a moment, then in one graceful sweep, stood and lifted her lean black body against his chest. With her dress trailing behind like a bridal train, he swept her up the staircase to his bedroom.

He placed her gently on the covers of the four-post bed and then stood in the dressing room doorway unbuttoning his shirt. Sara lay gazing up at the chandelier then over at the dark dresser that held his hairbrush and boot hook. She glanced at a huge portrait on the opposite wall. It was the image of Alma Arlington.

Sara buried her face in her hands and began to cry. She shouted at Arlington, Why did ya do dat?

He disappeared for a moment. When he returned his shirt was gone and he wiped his hands on a white towel. I wanted you, he replied simply.

Why now? A long time ago ya whupped another man for trying ta take me!

I’d never allow scum like James Fallen to touch you.

Now ya hurt me yoself.

Arlington sat on the bed. You weren’t acting like I hurt you a minute ago, he whispered with a gentle smile.

Sara brushed her tears off her face. I betta go.

You’ve just arrived, now you want to leave?

I cain’t stay here, she thrust her arm toward the portrait, Dat is starin at me.

Arlington glanced at his wife’s image. Her head tilted at a defiant angle and her eyes judged him. He scowled and murmured, She used to be so strong. He jerked his head as if shaking off a fly. Would you prefer to go to another room?

No, her eyes still be watchin.

Arlington stood and walked to the picture. He reached up and removed the portrait from the wall, then leaned the gilt frame with Alma’s face against the wall.

There! Neither you nor I will be bothered by the picture.

He looked up and down Sara’s dark body in the rumpled gingham dress lying against the white bed cover. He sat down again and stroked her. I’ll always take care of you, Sara. What ever you want or need, just ask me.

Sara rolled away ready to bolt. Across the room, his strong shoulders, long legs, and his soft pleading smile appeared in a full-length mirror on the wall. His reflection made her pause.

She watched as his thick forearm encircled her waist and pulled her back into his arms.

This time she did not resist. He held her firmly, kissed her earlobe, her eyes, and finally placed his lips on hers. Heat rose off Sara’s skin again. He stretched the full length of his body on top her. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Their bodies melted into a swirl of dark and light.

Close to dawn they woke in a tangle of sheets and blankets, but Arlington still wanted more of her. In a sleepy voice, he implored, Sara, stay. I need you near me.

She hesitated and almost let her head drop back on the softest pillow she had ever felt. But with the cooing of a mourning dove in the eaves, the reality of their circumstance rushed back. They looked at each other. She was slave; he was master. Sara reached out and touched the curl over his ear, stood up, slipped her torn dress over her head, and tiptoed out the door.

Chapter 1

A spring rain drenched the red dirt of Jasper County, Georgia, and then bullied its way south towards Macon. A gust caught the mineral scent of freshly plowed cotton fields and the pitchy aroma of Georgia pines. It drifted across the veranda of Arlington Plantation where Frank Arlington leaned his 6-foot-2-inch frame against a whitewashed pillar, taking the weight off his left leg. He surveyed the width and breadth of his land and sucked in the distinctly southern fragrance of his wealth. Inside the house behind him, his wife, Alma, called his daughter for supper.

Frank struck a match across his trousers and lit a cigar. He added the rich tobacco smoke to the departing breezes and watched the gate for the arrival of his visitor. Frank pulled his father’s gold watch from the pocket in his vest. He clicked it open and checked the time. It was after five o’clock. James Fallen had sent a message that he would be there for dinner, but Frank was damned if he was going to let the scoundrel invite himself to a meal at his table. Arlington wanted his legal services not his friendship.

Down by the main gate Earl waved up at his master, signaling Fallen’s arrival. Arlington saw the stout rider making his way south from Jasper along the Seven Islands Stagecoach Road. The road created the eastern boundary of his land and was the direct link to cotton markets on the Ocmulgee River. Frank tucked his watch away, gave Earl a single wave back, and turned abruptly through the front door into the foyer. He crossed the polished oak floor into his study and closed the doors behind him. He intended to let Fallen pace the front hall before he let him know why he’d been summoned to the home of one of the richest men in Jasper County.

At five o’clock, Frank watched James Fallen look around his study. The lawyer’s eyes opened wide at the furniture upholstered with leather, the bookcase that reached to the ten-foot ceiling, and the French doors that opened onto a back terrace blooming with daffodils and crocuses. Watching him from behind the desk, Frank gestured to a chair. Hello, Fallen. Sorry for the delay. Frank noticed small beads of perspiration trickle down the lawyer’s jowls into his collar.

Fallen, settled into the chair across from the desk. His gray wool waistcoat strained at the buttons. He gazed up at the portrait hanging in a gilded frame behind the sideboard. Stern eyes glared back under thick white eyebrows. That your father? he asked pointing to the large painting.

It is. William Arlington was one of the first settlers from Virginia. His parents’ original cabin is in the slave quarters now.

My daddy came later, after the 1812 war. He was a loader up at Holland Mills. He worked to his bone to get me some schooling. I studied in Virginia, you know, Fallen replied.

I know, said Arlington. You’ve bettered yourself by becoming a lawyer, Mr. Fallen. I respect that and I need your services. I’ll pay you well.

Fallen grinned tightly and it pushed his jowls back in a curve around his tie.

Indeed, Mr. Arlington? What services do you require?

I need clear titles to my land… to protect it from Yankees when the time comes.

Fallen stood half way out of his chair, then sat down and took several deep breaths.

Surely you’re not suggesting the Yankees can whup us?

Frank shrugged. War or no war, win or lose, when the dust settles, I plan to have clear title to every inch of Arlington Plantation.

Fallen pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Well, of course, Mr. Arlington, that’s only prudent. He looked around the room again as he wiped his thinning hair. But I don’t rightly know how much land you own. He coughed up a chuckle. You own the best bottom land in Jasper County, sir.

Frank laid his hands down on a neat pile of papers on his desk. I own one thousand acres outright, but I need the deed to five hundred more. My father had the bill of sale from, he picked up a sheet off a stack of documents on the desk, Chester Weaver, but no deed.

Fallen, nodded. He was Jed Weaver’s grandpa. He came upon hard times because of personal problems along with, a terrible drought.

While placing the papers in front of Fallen, Arlington said, I know. I’ve had the area surveyed from the swamp to Seven Islands Road and from Bear Road to Indio Road. Here’s the survey and bill of sale. Jed still homesteads the last 25 acres.

Fallen took the papers, sat back, thumbed through the pages with his thick fingers, and scowled. The county clerk will have to draw up a new title and Judge Wigley will have to sign it.

Arlington nodded.

The judge and the clerk don’t come cheap.

I’ll pay you well and throw in some for Wigley and the clerk.

How much are you offering?

I’ll give you Two hundred fifty dollars, another One hundred for the judge, and fifty for the clerk.

Well, well… Fallen licked his lips, his face set in the same tight grin. He pulled on his collar and then adjusted his coat tails.

Frank knew most of Fallen’s clients paid him less than twenty dollars, if not potatoes and rabbit meat. The lawyer finally sat still and added, I’ll do it, but I’d like twenty acres by Indio Road for my trouble… as well as the cash.

Arlington answered abruptly, Land is not in the deal.

Then increase my share to three hundred.

Neither man spoke for several minutes. Frank broke the silence, smiled, and said in a near whisper, Well, Mr. Fallen, it looks like I’ll have to find a lawyer down in Macon.

Fallen lurched out of his chair and reached across the desk for Frank’s hand. No, no! We have a deal, sir. I’ll talk to the judge and you shall have your deeds.

Frank stood up as Fallen pumped his hand. He pulled it out of Fallen’s damp grasp and wiped his palm on his trousers. One more thing!

Yes, Mr. Arlington.

I want Wigley to deed 40 acres of that bottomland between the swamp and Bear Road to my man, George Brown. The survey is in with the other papers.

The lawyer gasped But he’s a nigger, Mr. Arlington.

I prefer to call them Negroes and I’ll thank you to do the same. George has earned his freedom. He’s done good work for me selling cow hide to shoe factories up north.

And that lot’s next to Jed Weaver’s place. Why are you doing that? Questioned Fallen.

That’s my business, not yours.

Not meaning any disrespect, there’s only a few free nig… Negroes in the whole county that own land and that’s too many for most of us. He’ll squander that good soil, mark my words.

Arlington took Fallen by the arm and walked him toward the study door. I think he’ll grow a bumper crop of cotton. Do you have a problem with that?

Fallen stuttered, No, no, not me, Mr. Arlington, but Jed won’t be too happy about it.

Frank opened the door. Well, that’s Jed’s problem, isn’t it? He put his hand on the small of Fallen’s back, felt the roll of fat under his coat, and gave him a little push. Goodnight, Mr. Fallen. Come back with my deeds.

What about sup… Fallen started to say, but Frank closed the door before he heard the end of the lawyer’s sentence.

He sat back down at his desk and turned his chair so he faced the terrace and the wide lawn in back of Arlington House. The sunset cast a pale light on the expanse of spring grass. Several budding golden-rain trees grew down near the white fence that separated the lawn from the pasture. His mother had planted those trees when the house was built in 1820. Their yellow blossoms graced the fence line all summer. Richer than gold, she’d said every morning as she opened the parlor drapes. The real gold, thought Frank, is in the cattle grazing on the other side of the fence and the cotton growing down in the bottomland.

Arlington heard footsteps out in the hall. Ellen swung his office door wide open. Her dark hair was loose and curled around her shoulders. Her frock was simple blue cotton and her shawl trailed off her shoulders. Arlington grinned at his youngest. Ellen always moved with restless abandon even though she was now a young lady. It pleased him as much as it exasperated Alma.

Supper, Daddy, Ellen called to him.

You know you’re not supposed to disturb your father in his office, Alma scolded behind her.

It’s all right, Alma. I’m done. Frank followed them to the dining room. His slight limp made his boots tap an uneven rhythm on the wood floors.

The long mahogany table was set for three. The house girl Jessie stood by the kitchen door in her starched apron. As soon as Frank pulled out the chairs for his wife and daughter and settled at the head of the table, she brought a tray of sliced ham and greens and offered it first to Alma, then Ellen, and then Frank. First greens of de spring, Masta, she said pleasantly.

Thank you, Jessie. He heaped a full spoonful on his plate. You know I love greens.

Why were you visiting with Mr. Fallen, Daddy? asked Ellen

He’s a dreadful man, added Alma. His education does not obscure his lowly origins.

I’m getting the deeds to Arlington Plantation in order. I believe we’ll be in trouble with Yankees soon. He paused and glanced at Alma. And I’m making sure George gets some land down near Bear Road. Alma took in a quick breath.

Ellen put her fork down and looked between him and her mother. Are you giving him his freedom? I thought he was so necessary in the town office.

Frank cleared his throat and took a sip of water out of the crystal his mother had bought Alma for a wedding gift. He’s been back for a year and it’s time. But Fallen’s not the man for that. I’ll draw up George’s papers in Macon.

Alma avoided his gaze. George was born on the plantation and childhood friends with Claire, Ellen’s twin sister. When it was time to end their youthful familiarity, Alma and Frank sent Claire to school in Washington, D.C., and Frank sent George to study business in Chicago. What else did she know? Frank wondered as he watched his wife nervously pick at her food.

Don’t you like that idea, Mother, asked Ellen.

Alma touched her napkin to her lip. Your father tends to business. I don’t know what arrangements are best.

Mother, you’ve known George since he was a baby. You must have an opinion.

Alma glanced at Frank then back down at her uneaten food. George is a good man. I’ve known some shiftless free Negroes. I’ve also known a few very good ones. She lifted her head with a slight cock and continued, When I sang at the theater in Atlanta, my piano player was a highly honorable free man.

Frank chuckled. That was your finest hour, my dear. That’s where we met, Ellen.

Why haven’t I ever heard you sing, Mother?

It’s not befitting the wife of a gentleman.

I was no gentleman at the time. I was a fool and a gambler.

But you were quite handsome, Mr. Arlington. Alma’s eyes moistened and her blush put some color in her pale cheeks.

I’d lost all my inheritance and…

Alma interrupted him to say, You were grieving your father’s death, dear.

He waved his hand. No excuse. I squandered my legacy and was one card away from losing Arlington Plantation. Never get involved with a shiftless man, Ellen. Lucky for me your mother began to sing on the little stage above the hall. We all stopped our gaming for her entire show.

Alma patted her bun, now laced with gray. I had a soothing voice.

When I picked up the cards again, I drew the king of diamonds. I had a winning streak a mile long and won enough to come home a prosperous man. I vowed never to gamble again except on the soil and the weather and the strong bodies of Arlington slaves. I also knew a lucky charm when I saw it so I went looking for your mother and proposed to her that very night.

I was entranced by him, Ellen. He was the strongest, most confident man I had ever met.

Ellen leaned on her arm and yawned, then said, Oh, I’ve heard this story a thousand times.

Alma dropped her head and picked up her fork. And it was a long time ago. She pushed at her greens and nibbled a small piece of ham.

Jessie took their dinner plates and brought in slices of pecan pie for desert. Alma waved hers away.

Frank watched her closely, then asked, Not feeling well again, Alma?

She pushed back her chair and said, I am a bit tired… Jessie; go get Sara, and have her meet me upstairs with some of her elixir?

Yes missus. Jessica disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen.

As Alma left the table, Frank noticed that she had dressed elegantly for dinner. The dark blue silk shimmered in the candlelight, but it also made her look pale. She was slight under the best of health. Now she looked waiflike. He turned to Ellen. Your mother does look weak. Did she get out today?

Ellen shook her mane of dark hair. I don’t think so. I was off riding.

Were you alone?

She grinned. Yes Daddy. As a matter of fact, I was down near Bear Road. I stopped in at the Weaver’s for a drink of water.

He frowned. Those are not our kind of folk.

I like them. I met Mrs. Weaver and her daughter Mary, also met her brother, Jay.

I’d rather you not ride there again. Mr. Weaver is a difficult man and he shows little respect for women.

What do you mean?

Frank dropped his napkin on the table, then cautioned, You just take my word for it. I know what’s best and I’m telling you not to ride over there again. Now I have work to do. I’ve got to send a letter to a Mr. Malley, from Boston. He wants to purchase some cowhide for his shoe factory. Check in on your mother before you go to bed.

Arlington walked through the dining room doors to the hall. He glanced back at his daughter who scowled after him in the dim light.

Chapter 2

Alma rested on the settee in her bedroom, and listened to the wind rattle the cottonwood branches against her window. She put her feet up under a throw and lay her head back on the arm. She heard a light knock. Come in, Sara, she called.

The door opened and Sara entered balancing a small tea tray in one hand. She wore a calico blouse and a skirt without an apron. She had a piece of cotton cloth wrapped around her head. She was a strong Negro woman with piercing coffee-colored eyes that always unnerved Alma. She set the tea tray on a side table and Alma stole a glance at her, looking for the familiar scar that ran across the slave’s high cheekbone. Sara looked over at her but she quickly dropped her eyes.

Feel poorly, Missus? asked Sara. Her voice was gentle but there was no warmth in it.

Yes, Sara, I’ve had another day where I can’t lift my head an inch off the pillow.

My potions sometimes help with dat. You’ll surely feel betta in the morning. Sara poured her brew into a cup and brought it to Alma. The mistress sat up a little and took the cup.

Sara, she asked between sips, please brush my hair.

I’m not a house servant, Missus, I might not do it jus right. Sara said this every time and Alma answered, as always, I’ll pay it no mind. My silver brush is on the dressing table.

Sara fetched the brush and pulled a chair behind the arm of the settee. She pulled the pins out of the mistress’s bun and her salt and pepper hair fell across the upholstery.

After a few moments of quiet brushing, Alma asked, Did you hear that Mr. Arlington is deeding some land for George?

My boy be a lucky one. He works hard for Masta Arlington.

How old is he now?

He be about twenty.

Almost time for him to take a wife.

Sara grunted in neither agreement nor disagreement. She kept a slow rhythm as her strokes brought a shine to Alma’s hair. Alma sipped her tea.

Sara asked, Do you hear from Miss Claire?

She wrote last month. She finished her nursing training you know. Alma sighed. She feels the need to be useful. That has always been her way, caring for stray animals ever since she was big enough to go outside.

Sara chuckled. Yep. She and George usta bring back the sorriest creatures from de swamp. Three legged salamander, dat bird with a broken wing and scrawny kittens. It’s a wonder we didn’t all get de plague.

What does George want to do, Sara?

Dat fool wants to own his own land. No harder work on God’s earth.

Cotton has been profitable all these years, though.

And now de shoe leather doin de job. Sara took the brush back to the dresser. If I comb any mo, yo locks be turnin to glass, Missus.

Thank you, Sara. Her servant filled her cup again. The scars on Sara’s back were a few inches away from Alma’s eye. Her chest constricted with the old fear that had once consumed her: the thought of Frank with Sara, alone in his study. After she gave birth to the twins, he started calling his servant in there almost every night after dinner. Was it for counsel about activities in the quarters as he said, or was it for a tryst? She never knew for certain. He’d shut the door solidly behind him and Alma didn’t have the courage to open it. Her jealousy had slowly overwhelmed her gentility. She had no control over her husband. She had once been a singer, free as a bird, but since becoming mistress of Arlington Plantation and raising her two infants, she felt as if her wings were clipped and Frank no longer found her intriguing. Her only power had been to torment Sara. Alma worked the slave to the bone and found everything wrong with her efforts. Then one day when Frank was in town she went too far.

That day, she yelled at Sara, Did you scrub the halls? I told you to complete your duties before my husband arrives!

I doesn’t recall yo tellin me dat. Ya told me to do de windows. Sara put down the bucket she had used to wash the sills.

I’ll not tolerate you sassing me!

I ain’t sassin, Sara murmured.

Scour these halls now! Sara lowered her head and walked away. Alma yelled, Don’t walk away from me till I’m finished with you!

Sara turned; her eyes narrowed. I be gettin de mop.

Alma walked up to her and slapped her.

Sara didn’t flinch. She slowly lifted her arm and then abruptly smacked Alma back with an open palm.

Hurt only in pride, Alma fell to the floor, began kicking like a child, and screamed, Nigger wench! You’ll pay for this!

Sara stared at her with disgust then kicked the wash bucket and sent suds flowing around the writhing Alma. She strode out the door, off the porch, and down the road to the quarters.

As soon as Sara was gone, Alma stopped crying and ran to the kitchen. Jessie, Alisha the cook, and Hiram the stable boy were sitting at the table. She ordered Hiram to fetch Jed Weaver from down on Bear Road. Jed was the closest white man she could think of.

Are ya sure, missus? warned Alisha. Masta don’t do business wid dat man. Not even buy apples from de wife’s orchard.

Are you questioning my order? I told Hiram to fetch him. Now go, boy.

Alisha and Hiram exchanged a look but the stable boy did as his mistress ordered. When Jed arrived with his friend Don Brand, Alma took them in the parlor and gave specific instructions on how to deal with her uppity house nigger. She handed Jed a good portion of her household allowance.

Frank later told Alma what happened in the quarters. Jed took the riding crop off his saddle, and he and Don snuck down to the last cabin. They crashed in the front door and stood before Sara.

What y’all want! she asked coldly.

Jed lurched forward and grabbed her hair. Shut up, nigger! You’ll never sassy another white woman.

She tried to twist out of his grasp but Jed was too strong. She kicked and yelled while Don bound her hands with rope. Jed finally slapped her until she sprawled on the dirt floor. Don tossed one end of another rope over a roof beam. He paused a moment as the rope swung in front of his face. He looked at Jed and said, You suppose we doin the right thing? Everybody knows Arlington don’t whup his slaves.

Mrs. Arlington gave us an order and cash. That’s good enough for me. Jed pulled Sara up by her armpits, lifted her onto her feet. He clutched her blouse and ripped it off, exposing her breasts. He grinned and began to slap them.

Don yelled, We’re here to whup her. That’s all.

Jed sniggered, What! Are you a nigger lover? Why you care what I touch on her.

Don shrugged and tied the rope to Sara’s bound wrists. He pulled on the other end until Sara’s feet slowly rose up from the floor. Sara pleaded with the men to release her.

Jed pulled his crop out of his boot and struck the first blow to her back. The second blow ripped her flesh, leaving a long curved gash that dripped blood.

Sara moaned and grit her teeth. Jed raised his crop again and again until her back was a bloody messes and she could only tremble and whimper. He stepped back, sweating, to appraise his handiwork.

What the hell are you men doing? asked a voice from the porch.

Don turned to see Frank Arlington in the doorway. He jumped away from the rope and Sara fell with a loud thud.

Please. Masta, help me, Sara begged in a hoarse whisper.

Jed dropped the crop and Don tried to run. Arlington grabbed him, threw him down, and kicked the smaller man in his ribs, and then he leaned over and hit his face. He pulled Don to an upright position and struck him over and over until he collapsed. Frank raised his boot and stomped on his stomach. Don passed out.

Cut the ropes unless you want the same. Arlington snarled at Jed who was cowering near Sara. Jed slowly cut the ties at Sara’s wrist. Don woke up and moaned in pain. As Arlington leaned over Don, Jed crouched low and tried to scuttle past him out the door. Frank stepped back, twisting to catch him. As he lurched around, his left heel caught on a loose floorboard and he went down hard on his knee. He groaned and clutched his lower leg, which bent at an odd angle. Jed paused in the doorway. Seeing that Arlington was down he ran back in, yanked Don by the arms, and dragged him out of the cabin.

Arlington crawled over to Sara, picked her torn blouse off the floor and placed it over her exposed breast. He lifted her into his arms. He gently wiped her face with his handkerchief.

Sara, I’m sorry, so sorry. This will never happen again to you or anyone on my plantation. He dabbed at her cuts but they kept bleeding. I’ve got to get the doctor to treat your wounds.

I be afraid for de baby, she moaned.

Frank stared at her. What baby?

I be wid our child, Masta. Sara clutched his sleeve in terror. Maybe Miz Arlington knows and dat’s why she sent dem men.

Alma did this? His fists clenched and unclenched in rapid rhythm. He finally said, Get some rest. I’ll get you a doctor. When he tried to get up his knee buckled under him. Several black faces peered in through the door.

You alright, Masta? one asked.

No! Get some hot water and rags for Sara, he ordered. Someone get a buggy so we can get a doctor.

The next morning Alma opened the drapes to see Frank being helped up the road from the quarters by two field hands. His leg was wrapped in a full splint. At the house, the men handed him a wooden crutch and supported him up the steps onto the porch of Arlington House. He slammed open the front door yelling, Alma! Alma, get down here now!

Alma started down the curved stairway in her dressing gown.

Frank, don’t yell. The twins are sleeping. What happened… ?

He lurched toward the stairs, his face wracked with pain. When he reached her he dropped his crutch, grabbed her arms, and shook her.

You have no authority to order any slave to be whipped, he roared. I do not whip my slaves. This is Arlington Plantation and I do not abide cruelty.

But Frank! Look what she did to my eye!

Frank leaned back and squinted at Alma’s cheek. I can’t see a thing. Are you telling me Sara walked up to you and hit you, for no reason?

She sassed me; I hit her. We can’t allow those people to sass us and not be punished.

For that you had her tied up and beaten like an animal? Weaver tore her up. She’ll have scars forever. And just so you know the full extent of your folly, I got hurt throwing them out and my leg might never work proper again.

Frank, I’m sorry but I’m your wife! Don’t take the side of that nigger woman!

His face reddened, the muscles in his jaw tightened, the vein on his neck popped out, and his eyes were dark caves. He clutched the banister for support. You need to see how it feel you ignorant woman. He hit her face with the back of his hand. She fell hard against the railing, her long hair entwined in the stiles. Think about that next time you order a beating, he snarled.

When she turned back to look at him, her fury matched his. How dare you strike me? You’re bedding that wench and I know it!

The great hall of Arlington House became utterly silent.

His face reddened with anger as he shouted, The woman is pregnant you fool. He didn’t wait for Alma’s response. Picking up his crutch, he hobbled to his office.

Infuriated, Alma stared at him, and then crawled back to her room weeping.

After a few weeks, Frank arranged for Sara and Earl Brown to jump the broom. He’d had an extra room added to their cabin, where George was born six months later.

Now George is twenty, Alma marveled. She reached out and held the black woman’s hand. You’ve helped me through so many evenings like this.

I’ve been midwife to Arlington folk fo bout thirty year now. I guess if’n I can’t help you through a bit of the vapors, I ain’t worth much as a healer.

If you ever need my help, I will do all within my power to help you.

Sara remained quiet. After a few seconds she stood to leave, but Alma continued to hold her hand.

Sara, there is more I have to say. I’ve been thinking on it these many weeks you’ve been so gently tending me. Alma took in a deep breath. I deeply regret having you whipped. What I did was an evil act. I’ve lost many nights of sleep regretting my mistake. She placed her forehead on Sara’s hand. Can you forgive me?

Sara pulled her hand away, turned away from Alma. She suddenly pulled her blouse above her head. Her naked black back glimmered in the candlelight. Alma gasped. A ten-inch raised scar curved from Sara’s shoulder to her mid back. Another scar slashed across her ribs. Discolored small welts were peppered down her spine.

Alma placed her hands over her eyes. She sobbed and closed her eyes.

While placing her hand on Alma’s shoulder, Sara dropped her cultivated house servant voice and drawled, Miz Alma, de scars will always be wid me. No one should be tied and beaten like an animal. Why ya had me whupped? Only you know dat. All I know, I always done my best. But de scars won’t let me forget what ya did and what ya can do any time ya want.

Alma wept quietly on the settee. Sara pulled her blouse down then shrugged. But I got ma George and ma Earl. Dey soothes ma soul. Ya’ll want us ta be good Christians so I try to forgive ya, Missus. Sara paused. But I neva forget.

Chapter 3

The wind lurched down the main street of Jasper. In the last light of day, Fallen pulled his horse up at the front of Ed’s Barber Shop. He eased his heavy body carefully out of the saddle. Boy, git your good-fer-nothin hide over here, he hollered at Ed’s slave who sat on the boardwalk in front of the shop. Fallen despised riding and cared less for tending to his animal. He tossed the reins at the ten-year-old and ordered, Take this nag to the livery stable.

Yes suh, Mista Fallen. Fallen watched the boy and the horse battle the wind until they disappeared around the corner.

Fallen, yanked down the back of his pants. He preferred doing business in his office above Ed’s. He liked to lean back in his comfortable leather chair, hook his thumbs in his vest pockets, and listen to the endless stories of folks who had been cheated or were cheaters, who had been robbed or were thieves, who held important documents or sought them. Then when he got tired of watching the meek of the earth beg for his services, he clambered down the back stairway and joined the small club of white men who spent most of their days lounging across from Ed’s single barber’s chair. They called themselves the White Knights and swore to redress offenses against the common white men of Jasper County like themselves.

Fallen had enough of lawyer work for one day and went directly into the shop. When the bell on the door announced his entry, brothers Al and Carl Cranston looked up. They sat with their long legs stretched into the middle of the barbershop smoking while Ed read a newspaper in the barber chair. What I want to know, mused Al, nudging Carl with his bony elbow, Is why a bald man is a barber. What could he possibly know about hair?

Ed ran his hand over his perfectly round, polished head. That just shows how truly ignorant you are, Cranston. I am a barber because I am the only one who doesn’t need a haircut. Who would cut my hair, if I had overgrown greasy weeds like you?

Probably that chubby wench at the Star Tavern you see once a week.

Oh no. I save her for more important matters.

Carl sniggered, We know ya do, Ed. We can hear you taking care of those matters all the way out at our place, across the river. Ed snorted and retreated behind the Jasper Gazette.

Fallen kicked Carl’s legs aside and set himself down in a chair next to Al. Damn, I’m sore. It’s gotta be ten miles out to Arlington’s.

Carl grinned, revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth. I believe it’s only four…

Well, it felt like ten. Gusts nearly knocked me off at the Seven Islands Bridge. Coming and going. And Arlington didn’t even have the manners to invite me to supper.

What did Arlington want, Jim?

Good Lord Almighty. I’ve got some news for Jed Weaver that he’ll take to like a cat takes to water.

The men waited for the news but Fallen pulled out a small black book from his pocket. He read out loud: James Fallen, Arthur Wright, Will Carter, Al and Carl Cranston, Jess Miller, Ed Barrister, and Don Brand… I believe we’ll soon add Jed’s name to the WK. He snapped the booklet shut, looked at the Cranstons, and grinned.

Carl stomped his foot. Come on, Fallen. Quit holdin out on us. What’s happening?

The lawyer leaned forward, hands on his knees. Not only did Arlington make me mad with his bad manners, he also thinks the Yankees are gonna win the South.

Say it ain’t so!

Yep. He wants to update his deeds so the Yanks can’t take his land when they railroad through Georgia.

Can’t be!

Maybe he’s just worried cause he can’t fight with that gimp leg of his, suggested Ed.

Fallen shook his head. That’s no reason. If he believed in the South, he’d know he could count on men like us. Fallen sat back and crossed his arms over his girth. But that isn’t the worst.

Ed snapped, Quit playing Abe Lincoln in the courtroom, Fallen.

Arlington is giving some of Weaver’s old land to his nigger George.

The barbershop regulars were stunned into silence. Al jumped up. Jed’s down at the Star. I’ll git him. And he raced out the door into the wind on Main Street.

Are we gonna let the nigger live on that land? Carl asked.

Ed and Fallen exchanged a shrug. Ed said, Let’s think on the situation.

We’ll take action when the time is just right, agreed Fallen. If Arlington got wind of us making trouble, all my goodwill with Sheriff Smith and Judge Wigley would count for nothing. I know better than anybody that money talks louder than pure justice.

The door blew open again and Al led Jed Weaver into shop. Hey, fellas, muttered Jed. Ed’s black boy snuck in behind them and squatted in the corner.

Wait till ya hear this, Jed. I swear; it beats all.

Well sure, Al, but make it quick. I come all the way down here but I’d like to git back to the Star. He was unsteady on his legs and his eyes were red and bleary.

Ed got out of his chair and picked up a kettle on the potbelly stove in the corner. Jed needs some coffee. He poured dark liquid into a tin cup. It’s lukewarm but it’ll shake him up a bit. He handed the cup to Jed.

Jed took a sip, dribbled a little down his chin, and grimaced. Rotgut! Is you trying to kill me at an early age Ed?

Drink some more and have a seat, Weaver. You need your wits to hear this news. Ed pushed him into the barber chair.

Jed squinted and squirmed in his chair, as Fallen began to speak, We’ve got good news and some bad.

I’m partial to the good, chuckled Jed.

We all are, ain’t we, boys? Fallen, nodded to the men next to him.

That’s the truth, mumbled Carl.

Fallen continued, We’d be honored if you’d join our club. The White Knights.

Jed looked confused. I heard about you fellas. Don’t ya patrol the runaways? I don’t have any slaves. He swilled the coffee and tried to stand up. Ed pushed him back in the chair.

I don’t have a slave, added Al. But we believe in our Southern ways and we hate uppity niggers.

Ed shrugged. I’ve just got the boy, Christian, over there. He helps me sweep the shop and such.

Yes, suh, piped up the boy. Boss even teachin me letters.

Hush, boy, snapped Ed. That’s for business.

Fallen waved it off. Chasing runaways is just one of our services, Jed. We like to think of ourselves generally as protectors of those who can’t take care of themselves.

I’m all for that. What do I have to do?

Just swear on the Bible to stand by yer brothers here.

Sure. I can do that.

And swear to secrecy.

What’s to be secret about?

Well, sometimes citizens need to answer the call when the law won’t. So we need to watch each other’s back, Fallen answered.

Jed rubbed his stubble and tried to clear his head. I’m kinda fuzzy right now. I best go home and talk to Annie about it. She’ll tar and feather me if I do something stupid. I suspect I’m in enough trouble over the drink already. I shudda been plowing today but the wind jus blew me into town. He chuckled.

Speaking of plowing, that brings me to the bad news.

Did Annie come for me?

No, but Arlington dragged me out to his place to pass on a bit of regrettable news.

Are runaways headed for my place?

No, but a free nigger is gonna be too close for comfort.

Whadda ya mean?

Fallen, moved closer to Jed, then softly said, Frank Arlington is freeing his nigger George and giving him 40 acres of old Chester Weaver’s land.

Jed shook his head. That cain’t be. That’s right next to me. Why would Arlington put a nigger next to me?

I believe it’s because it’s good land.

It’s a slap in the face, Jed, said Carl solemnly.

Al shook his head sorrowfully slow. It’s a sad day fer Jasper County.

Weaver sat in silence, but as the news burned through the liquor, his face flushed and he gripped the armrests. My best land is right next to the boundary line. I’ll have to work right next to him.

Carl spit into a bronze spittoon which rang like a bell, then he looked at Jed to say, Something needs to be done, don’t it?

Jed lurched forward out of the barber chair. That land rightly belongs to me anyway. Everybody knows old man Arlington took advantage of my granddaddy when he was down on his luck. I’ll kill George before the air blows his nigger stink on my land.

Al and Carl caught him and held him up.

Fallen stretched out his legs, then said, Ed, fetch your Bible. We’ll get George and we’ll get the land back. Jed, the WK is here for you.

Reaching into his pocket, Fallen removed a coin then flipped it to Christian and said, "Go git us a bottle from the Star, boy. We’re going to celebrate.

Chapter 4

New York

1841

New York? pondered young Michael as he arrived in America on a tall ship. His real name was Michael O’Conaughly, and his father had dispatched him to relatives in America. It was a long journey from Ireland and not his choice to leave. His mother died in childbirth before he was three years old. She had been terribly malnourished from the famine and his infant brother was stillborn. At twelve years old, he was average in height but thin. His brown hair had a red tint in the sunlight. Often other kids teased him because of his gawky body. He preferred not to fight but his foes exploited his meekness. His means of self-defense was to hide in corners by himself, reading, dreaming, and avoiding bullies.

Michael knew he was on this journey because his father wanted to marry their neighbor, Widow Kathleen O’Hara. She had five mouths to feed and Michael was not her priority. Also, Kathleen preferred he not be around her oldest daughter, Caitlin. After finding them kissing in the pantry she felt suspicious of Michael.

His father wrote to Michael’s Aunt Rebecca Callaghan who had immigrated to Boston with her husband and infant daughter a few years earlier. When she agreed to take Michael in, the boy was booked on the S.S. Emma Pearl from Dublin to the port of New York.

Michael stayed on deck as much as possible during the crossing. He hated the coughing and moaning and stench of the crowded quarters stuffed with seasick immigrants. When the ship landed, He was ruddy from the sea air but thinner than he had ever been. As he stood in front of the immigration officers at the dock, he was suddenly afraid he wouldn’t be allowed to stay, but they checked him all over for disease then signed his papers as Michael Connelly. The officer told him to hurry along so Michael grabbed his papers with the misspelled name and rushed through the gates. The docks were jammed with thousands of Irish, Germans, Swedes, and others who sought refuge just like he did.

Michael looked around in horror wondering how he was going to recognize Aunt Rebecca whom he hadn’t seen since he was a toddler. He only vaguely remembered that she had bright red hair and a stout body. But moments after he set foot on American soil he heard a lush Irish brogue call out, For certain you are my own dear nephew Michael! He turned and found himself in the embrace of a voluptuous redheaded woman in a green shawl that made her equally green eyes pop out under red eyebrows.

Yes, it’s me, he acknowledged shyly when she released him. Standing next to his aunt was his cousin Margaret. Though younger, Margaret was bigger than he was, raised on a rich American diet of beef and wheat instead of potatoes and greens. Margaret looked like her mother in every respect, especially the penetrating green eyes. Cousin Margaret stared at him and blurted out, What a bony fellow! Are you sick?

Hush, child, ordered Aunt Rebecca. The boy has been at sea for weeks eating nothing but that ghastly salt pork? He must be famished and he smells rather like… well, we’ll clean him up and fatten him up in no time. Come along. The coach is a few blocks away. She shooed them along like a