Wealthy Black Southerners

By Patrice Edwards

Through a collection of stories from slaves and slave owners in the United States, Wealthy Black Southerners brings to light the tragic past of freed slaves, hardworking landowners, farmers, politicians fighting against injustice and many more vivid characters.

Linked through the tragic retelling of America’s dark past in the South, *Patrice Edwards* weaves a narrative that explains the complexity of the burgeoning colonies throughout the 1800s. This work of historical fiction draws inspiration from true events of the Ku Klux Klan, the amnesty bill and the Civil War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrice Edwards
• Release date: Jan 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005620486

Patrice Edwards

Patrice Edwards is the New York Times bestselling author She was named a Publishers Weekly Flying Start. Edwards was born and raised in Mississippi. She was a bookseller before shifting to children’s publishing and has worked at a literary development company and a creative writing website for teens and as a book reviewer of children’s and young adult novels. In 2015, she received the Emma Award for Author of the Year.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

1838, Drew Rhos leaned back in his chair, a glass of alcohol in hand, in his two-story Greek revival home in Cherokee County, Alabama. It was going to be his last day in that house. He was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the Cherokee Nation, but he was not particularly a Cherokee.

Drew was born of his father, David Rhos, an immigrant from Scotland.

Drew inherited the house, a house that had a contrasting foundation, the older portion that consisted of stacked stones laid flat on the ground, while the exterior wall was made of wood weatherboard. The cornice was sealed and had decorative molding joining the large gabled roof and wall.

Like the foundation, he was a man born mixed of blood, mixed between the two contrasting worlds; Drew was a symbol of what can happen when two people come together.

A house of great significance and extravagance held his family. The first floor alone contained nineteen windows and seven doors: two being a set of French doors and two being a set of sliding glass doors. The second floor contained only one less window and two exterior doors. There were four chimneys, with two containing a fireplace on the first floor. The one, he sat in front of contained a cut-stone fireplace, the right side being a mirror image of the left with a cut keystone and the large stone mantle.

Father! Drew turned to one of his sons. That son had black charcoal hair wrapped into a ponytail, which complemented his sun-touched eyes. His skin was pale, not as much as his wife’s, and his features reminisced Drew’s. Though that made Drew proud, it also meant that his son, like all his children, was distinguishable from other White people.

In a way, Drew desired for his children to live free, and they did, but their struggle in society was always going to be something they would have to deal with. They would deal with it less because they were not exactly Cherokee, but the ones with keen eyes could tell.

It was not like with Drew Rhos, who had black hair, with lighter tan skin tone, and dressed in a buttoned-up shirt, pants, and shoes. It was easier to see he was partially Cherokee, and that was enough for them to make him a part of their culture.

There was a benefit to it since he was more ingrained with the White society due to his father’s status. His mother connected him to the heritage that would be a stain on his life, but he never hated his mother. Love was a fickle thing, so Drew offered a lot of love to his children, knowing it was in short supply in this world.

Drew laid down the glass of drink and glared in caution, What it is, my son?

The law is here.

Drew frowned. It was not like he had any problem with them, and he shouldn’t, but they were visiting him directly was not a good sign.

He nodded at his son, Okay, thanks for telling me. They are inside?

Ahh… no, I left them outside. I am sorry, I should have let—

Drew raised his hand to silence him, It is fine. I will see them, thank you, you are excused.

His son gave a saddened nod before leaving his father to his confused trail of thoughts. Drew hummed briefly before standing up. If all was well, they were looking for a criminal or just warning him of something. Drew knew little about what was going on in the area unless he went into town.

The slaves were not affluent, so he could not send them. Drew walked out into the hall, passing the well-furnished bedrooms and down the square stairs that curved into the front center section foyer, which the main entrance opened into. He glanced into the dining room, which contained a wooden mantle painted white.

Drew never saw his wife and continued onto the front door. Opening it, he revealed two law enforcers wearing blue coats and trousers, a black top hat, and a scarlet waistcoat standing on the porch.

Drew asked, Can I help you?

The enforcers glanced at each other before one of them held up his hand with the eviction paper in front of Drew.

What is this? Drew asked.

We posted many warning papers on the door many days before to warn you to move.

They had? Drew knew nothing about this, and he had a good feeling they were lying. If they had, someone would have seen it. Drew decided to act ignorant to see how these men would play this.

Why?

One of them got visibly upset in the face while the other proclaimed with much infliction, The treaty of 1828. You’re an Indian, you need to leave here.

That treaty confirmed the borders between Mexico and the United States of America. The sad part was that it was used by the government to remove the Cherokee people from their land by giving it away.

He knew all about it, and there was no need for a notice, as a part of the Cherokee nation had been fighting it tooth and nail. The backstabbing affair perpetrated against them was not going to stand, and there was no way he was going to leave his home.

That law had been implemented ten years ago, for it was 1838. The Cherokee had lost the fight two years prior when their petition was denied, and the president ratified the treaty. They probably came to exact that order right now. How was he going to rebuff these men? Drew’s eyes shifted to take in the black-skinned slaves lingering near the wagons under the Alabama State Champion sugar maple tree, while others carried grain from the fields, moving under the large black Spanish oak in their desperate attempt to give themselves a moment of reprieve in their damning life.

Speaking as a Cherokee might not work, for he looked like them; maybe he could speak from another angle.

Drew said, I’m as white as you are!

The upset one shook his head then pointed to Drew’s face.

You’re one-eighth Cherokee, you’re Indian, you have to move!

Drew scoffed, Move where?

Out west. Now get the fuck out!

Drew contested, My father, David Rhos, built this house with his bare hands.

The other enforcer twirled and gestured with a wave of his arm behind him, That’s a lie. Your slaves did!

Drew glanced out at the slaves staring up at the house, intrigued by the argument spewing out onto the lush land they desired to run him from.

Being one-eighth Cherokee, he was regarded as a full Cherokee and, as such, was required, under the terms of the treaty of 1828 to make a valuation of all his property.

Drew shouted, I’m not moving! He slammed the door. Drew stepped back and breathed out, hoping they would go away, but that was hoping for too much. The door shuttered on its hinges as they slammed against it in an attempt to knock it down.

Drew watched the door as his children poured out to see what the commotion was. He turned to them and gestured aggressively.

Go back to your rooms, now!

The children turned around and out of the room.

A muffled shout came from one of the enforcers, We are going to take the slaves. They cost more than your house anyway!

They would not dare! Rhos unbarred the door and stood on the porch.

Don’t touch my shit!

The law enforcers rushed him, their hands reached as he tried to shut the door, but they grabbed Rhos and knocked back the door against the wall.

Falling over, they jumped on him, and the irate one wrapped his arm around his neck, choking him.

Drew cried in haughty breathes, I can’t breathe! They threw him down on the ground.

Leave him alone! That was his wife, Polly. Drew turned to the side, seeing her with her black hair, pale skin, and a plain white dress—a symbol of the white purity that would never be afforded to him. Drew gritted his teeth when his children swarmed behind her.

The pain of their restraint cracked into his resolve and crushed his spirit. Polly and his children’s widened eyes mixed with the sorrow of their birth sunk it further into the abyss.

One of the law enforcers demanded, Are you going to comply or have your children see this? Drew hid his face from them.

Rhos said, Alright, do as you wish.

A pain riveted up his back, and he winced. I don’t hear you.

He damn well heard Drew, but Drew decided to push his pride to the side.

I’ll yield, alright?!

The pressure on his back and neck were gone and replaced with a strong tug that pulled him into a standing position. He saw his kids standing close by, crying. They handcuffed him.

Rhos said, Don’t worry, I’m fine. As Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Cherokee Nation, we won’t lose our house. I will find a way to change this.

After his arrest, he was carried to the station and officially served his notices affirming the eviction from the house. He had one day to leave, and the men promised to return. If he had not left, they would force him out.

As much as he said he would fight it, Drew knew it was the end of the line. He left the unfair house of the president’s goons and made contact with other Cherokee members. They were leaving; fighting it was no longer an option.

They have an army outside the limits. They’re coming for us tomorrow, his friend, a pure-blood Cherokee, said as Drew stood in the office across from him. Drew passed his eyes over the packed cartons, and sadness ripped through him at the admission of defeat.

Listen, you better get a head start. They aren’t going to be kind to you if they see you there.

That’s my home. Drew shook his head.

He sighed and looked out his window by shifting aside the curtain.

I don’t know what to tell you, but that isn’t our home no more. A home that hates you and despises you isn’t a home. We need a new place we can truly call ours.

Drew nodded his head and held back a tear, Yes, I agree. It’s hard to accept, though.

His friend turned away from the window and glared at Drew, No man would ever want to accept that. I’ll see you in the west?

Without a doubt.

Rhos went home for the last time. The slaves gathered toward him as if awaiting his decree.

Selling them was not going to be possible, so he called the overseer and said, Bring all of them out here. Wait for me.

He nodded his head and ran off to the fields to gather the ones working hard through the madness that ensued on them that day. Drew glanced around in dying elation as at this pastureland. It had so many large hickories, black walnut, and oak trees. He was never going to see all this beauty again. He nodded in sadness and walked up the path to the house.

Drew stepped inside to see sacks of food and predicted the reality that awaited him.

Drew! It was Polly; she embraced him and kissed him on his chin. He wished he could help her through this tragedy.

His eyes moved over her head to regard his children.

Will we be staying, Father? one of his children asked.

Drew came out of the embrace, No, we have to leave. His children turned away with lowered heads. Polly had tears coming out of her fluttering eyelashes.

Drew wrapped the back of her head with his arm, Don’t worry about it; we’ll be fine. Okay, we’ll get through this. Okay?

Drew came out to the slaves gathered on the wagons, under the shade of the trees, standing in the wading grass strands of the fierce gale. He released them, much to their shock, and he was sure they were unsure of what future held for them.

This had been their life for so long, they had known nothing except this, and it was likely they could never adjust to this. Drew could relate. He met up with his family and stocked their carriages with their belongings, leaving behind their most precious thing in this world, a place to call home.

The horses were restless as if they never wanted to leave. Drew reined them in, and after the children were placed within the carriage, he stood with Polly for the last time to stare at the house. The slaves left long ago, their destination unclear to him, for their fate mattered little to him.

Now, he had to think about himself and his family, for the road was laid thick with mystery. The journey was going to belong, and that frightened Rhos. He carried his family across the decrepit land, cracked mud devoid of moisture. He rode over once lush land into the dry savannahs with yellow grass froth of emotion and life.

The journey soon weighed heavy on them, for his children struggled with rationing food, the hot days, the suffocating cold of the nights. The dapper sheen along the few rivers they saw gave them some hope, and they learned with the rarity of water streams came the shortage of water for weeks at a time.

The hope they had for what lay ahead died and became a daily gloom that murdered their dreams into dripping sweat upon the dry earth. Cherokee that stayed behind determined not to leave their homes had a rougher outcome, for the army came and their removal was swift and cruel to the point of legend.

Called the trail of tears, it spanned half the country and was a truly large migration that carried thousands across the land, resulting in many dying in the army’s desire to get their task over with as quickly as possible.

So, the marches lasted all day, even into much of the night. No kindness was afforded to the Cherokee, for they never had any love for them anyway.

At the point of a bayonet, they were removed from their homes and forced to march into the deadlands, their feet buckling under the strain. Their life was a torment, a true nightmare Drew was glad to have avoided if only to rest an hour or so between unrelenting drives into the wild.

It was still a cruel expedition for him and his family, so much so that by the time the Cherokee nation reached the west, Drew died of natural exhaustion from the United States of America’s brand of justice in 1840 in the forlorn land of what would be Oklahoma.

Drew made sure his family was protected and carried there in safety. Time passed, and his family grew on that land, finally making that their new home. As his father had done for him, he had done for his children. Passing on the legacy was his duty, and he had achieved that goal at least in his death.

Following the removal of Drew Rhos from the house, the next confirmed owners of the property were Bill W. and Tia McFarlane, who were granted the land in eighteen forty-five by President Jimmy K. Pole under land patent number sixty-two ninety-two.

CHAPTER TWO

1839, Bill and Tia got their bags out of the wagon.

Tia stretched her legs, Glad we’re here finally at our beautiful house. She kissed Bill. The shippers had a wagon full of Black people in chains.

One of the shippers asked, Where do you want me to put these things?

Bill answered, Just put them over there at the shed nearby. I’ll deal with them later.

Tia warned, Be careful with Tom; he’s the most expensive one.

He bought Tom Tankersley in Virginia from his former slaveowner with the last name Tankersley; the boy was around ten years old. Tia picked up the newspaper from the ground. She shuffled through the paper, looking through it.

She smiled, Your name is on the Free White Person list!

Bill smiled, Oh, we are so darn lucky! They headed to the house.

A few years later… in the master bedroom, Bill lay on the bed sick. Tom was helping Tia to care for Bill. Tom brought in the newspaper and gave it to Tia as she sat in a chair next to her husband’s bed.

She read the newspaper, Tom, the light is kind of low. Go get some more candles.

Yes, ma’am.

Tia talked to Bill,