Rebel Page 7

  Drake asked through his inner rage, “So, Atwater didn’t shoot him dead while his wife and child looked on?”

  Something crossed Boyd’s face that might have been regret, guilt, or shame but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “He didn’t kill nobody. And even if he did, what business is it of yours?”

  “Daniel’s mother works for me.”

  Again, a fleeting something played over the skeleton-like face.

  Ennis spoke into the breach. “Sticking your nose where it don’t belong may make you gator bait, too.”

  Drake knew Ennis was part of a ragtag supremacist group called Protectors of the South made up of illiterate poor White men like himself determined to turn back the clock. Drake looked him in the eyes. “But then Atwater would have the noses of my brothers and the Army in his business. You think Atwater would enjoy that, Boyd?”

  Ennis received a sharp look from his father before Boyd settled his attention back on Drake. “Go home, LeVeq. Nothing to be found here and don’t let me catch you on Atwater land again.”

  Drake was well aware that if Meachem were of a mind to kill him and Solomon he could, and their bodies, like Daniel’s, would never be found. Rather than be the source of Julianna’s grief, Drake offered the overseer an almost-imperceptible nod. Reining his horse around and hoping they wouldn’t be shot in the back, he and Solomon rode away.

  Dusk was falling. Solomon headed home. Julianna and Erma Downs were acquainted through St. Augustine’s Church, so Drake stopped by her house to tell her about the murder.

  Upon hearing the news, Julianna wiped the tears from her eyes. Beside her sat a solemn Valinda.

  Julianna said, “Erma and I met right after she received her free papers. She saved every spare penny for ten years, hoping to buy his freedom, only to have him drafted during the war, and now this. She has to be heartbroken. Have the authorities been contacted?”

  “I’ll do that in the morning. Sol and I went to the swamp to try and retrieve his body but Meachem ran us off.”

  “Will these hatemongers ever leave the race alone so we can live?” Julianna shook her head with disgust. “Is there anything I can do for Erma or her daughter-in-law?”

  “I’ll ask and let you know.”

  “Okay,” she replied softly. “Tell her I send my condolences. I’ll light a candle for Daniel’s soul.”

  “I will.”

  “And please be careful tomorrow. Some people aren’t going to like you bringing the matter to the authorities.”

  “I know but I owe it to Erma and her family to try and get him some justice.”

  “I agree, but again, be careful.”

  He nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave the women his goodbyes and departed.

  Thursday morning, Drake approached Merritt in his office before the doors opened for the day. The lieutenant was shaving with the aid of a small mirror he’d tacked to the wall.

  “I need to speak with you,” Drake said.

  Merritt paused and turned. “About?”

  “A freedman was murdered yesterday for refusing to sign a work contract he found unfair.”

  Merritt eyed him as if trying to determine how soon this conversation might be swept away. He resumed skimming the razor over and around his beard and sideburns. “As you know, we encourage signing whether they believe it’s fair or not. They must work.”

  “Not under conditions that are a substitute for slavery.”

  “We don’t control the wording.”

  “But we should stand for a man murdered in front of his wife and seven-year-old son.”

  Merritt exhaled with what sounded like temper and frustration. He removed the last of the soap from his face with the water in the basin, then dried himself with a small towel. “All right, I’m listening. What happened?”

  Drake relayed what he knew, adding, “This is the same Liam Atwater who ran workers off his plantation after the harvest last year to keep from paying them what they’d earned in wages.”

  “And he was warned not to do it again.”

  “But not warned against murder.”

  “What is it you want me to do, LeVeq?”

  “Have him arrested.”

  “Were there witnesses?”

  “His wife and son.”

  “I mean White witnesses?”

  Drake’s jaw hardened. “I’m sure his overseer was there.”

  “But you don’t know that for a fact.”

  “No.”

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Taken to the swamp and left there.”

  “So, you have no credible witnesses and no body. The police are going to want at least one part of that answer, if not both.”

  “Are you saying you won’t advocate he be charged with murder?”

  “I’m saying, based on what you told me, there’s nothing the Army can do. Now, there’s a line of living freedmen at the door waiting to be served, so you should go to your desk.”

  Drake didn’t know why he’d bothered. He knew Merritt wouldn’t care. Swallowing his rage, he said, “I’m taking this up the chain of command.”

  “Good luck with that, but don’t expect to have a desk when you return. Volunteer or not, I just gave you a direct order. Ignore it, and your services are no longer welcome. And I’ll take that up the chain of command.”

  Drake offered a bitter chuckle. A two-word phrase came to mind, but instead of voicing it, he turned and walked out of Merritt’s office. Pausing at his desk, he picked up his valise, and left the Freedmen’s Bureau for the last time.

  His quest to find someone willing to stand for justice continued at the office of the Bureau’s regional commander.

  “He’s ill, and not taking appointments at this time,” Drake was told by his aide.

  “When is he expected to return?”

  The aide shrugged.

  “Then who may I speak to instead?”

  “Your local commanding officer.”

  “He refuses to support charges being brought.”

  “Then I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Frustration rising with each breath, he went to the local authorities, only to be told, “A niggress can’t testify against a man like Atwater, so until you get someone who can, nothing we can do.”

  Last year, the city police, aided by men of the fire department, marched on and assaulted the attendees at a Republican convention. When the violence ended, thirty-four Black men lay dead. He knew they weren’t going to help Erma and her son, but he wanted to exhaust all possibilities.

  In the meantime, to keep from riding to Atwater’s place and shooting him on sight, Drake went home and fired up his forge. Once the flames reached the proper temperature, he donned his protective mask, apron, and gloves, and pounded his anger into scrap pieces of iron until it became too dark to see.

  As he lay in bed the following morning, his mood was as grim as it had been the night before. Seeking justice for Allie’s murdered husband had not only been fruitless but had cost him his position with the Freedmen’s Bureau. In a way, he was angry at himself for leaving the freedmen’s fate in the hands of men like Merritt. On the other hand, slinking back to his desk like a whipped dog and capitulating to Merritt’s order meant Daniel’s death hadn’t mattered, and he’d have had to live with that unfair truth for the rest of his life, just like Allie and her son. Drake’s great-grandfather Dominic had saved an island’s entire population from being re-enslaved. The least a current LeVeq could do was stand up for the life of one man. He could only imagine what Dominic would do to someone like Atwater, but Drake and his brothers had Dom’s blood in their veins, and that pirate blood ran true.

  His partially built house had no working kitchen yet, so most meals were cooked out of doors on a grill made of iron and bricks. When he left his bed, he found Erma standing over the grill that held a coffeepot and a few skillets. He knew she was still grieving
, so he hadn’t expected her to be tending to her duties.

  “Morning, Miss Erma.”

  “Morning, Mr. Drake. Did you find any help for my Daniel?”

  He shook his head. “Not so far.”

  “You probably won’t ever.”

  He knew she was right, and it fanned the embers of his anger. Pulling in a deep breath to keep it from having its head, he asked, “How’re Allie and Bailey?” He’d yet to see them this morning.

  “Sad. She wants to go home to Texas and be with her family. I’d like them to stay here with me, but she’s determined to leave, so I’m giving her my blessing. Nothing’s going to bring Daniel back to us, but maybe she can find peace for her hurt with her folks.”

  “How’s she getting there?”

  “She has two brothers living nearby. They’re going to drive her home. They’ll be leaving in a little while.”

  That he hadn’t been able to bring Allie the peace she deserved weighed heavily on his heart. He hoped leaving Louisiana would help salve her grief so she could begin adjusting to life without her husband.

  Erma pointed to the skillets. “Get you something to eat. I heard you hammering last night.”

  “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep anyway. You pounding on that iron sort of made me wish I knew how to do it. Might have helped me let go of some of this pain.”

  He thought about helping her find some peace of her own. “Do you want to go visit your sister for a while?” Her sister, Lena, resided in one of the neighboring parishes.

  “I thought I might. Will you be all right if I go?”

  “Of course. I can always cook for myself or eat at Julianna’s until you return. Stay as long as you need to.”

  Eyes now wet with tears, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  They’d gotten to know each other fairly well in the three months she’d worked for him. She was a hard worker, had a pleasant personality, and could cook up an outstanding pot of gumbo. “When do you want to leave?”

  “Would today be too soon?”

  “No. Do you need me to drive you there?”

  “Would you?”

  He nodded. Making sure she arrived safely would let him feel as if he’d done something to make her grief more manageable.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m sure. If all goes well, I’ll be back here by nightfall, so it’s no trouble. You go and pack what you want to take, and we’ll leave after I’ve eaten.”

  Tears filled her eyes again. “You’re a good man, Mr. Drake. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She left him to the silence of the morning. He poured himself a cup of chicory-flavored coffee, put some of the bacon and eggs from the skillets on his plate, and sat down on a crate to eat.

  Dusk was just falling when he returned home. He and Miss Erma hadn’t encountered any trouble, but he’d worn his uniform and armed himself with a rifle and pistols just in case. There were increasing incidences of supremacists on the roads intent upon showing the former slaves they were no freer after the surrender than they’d been before. There’d been beatings and draggings, lynching and murders. It was his hope that Allie and her brothers would arrive home safely. He didn’t worry much though. Both men were war veterans and heavily armed. Any supremacists looking for easy prey would not be met with smiles.

  Drake made breakfast for himself the next day and decided he’d pay his mother a visit. He wanted to see how she and Valinda were faring and if the Sisters had assigned Valinda to another school. Truthfully, he just wanted to see the schoolteacher and her smile. After yesterday, he needed some beauty in his life. That she was pledged to another continued to be a disappointment, but he’d live with that.

  First though he had an appointment with Fred Kirk, an elderly landowner who lived nearby. Drake and his men had converted an old stable into a two-stall carriage barn for him, and payment was due today. Kirk wasn’t the most honest individual. He had a reputation for offering partial payment and sometimes no payment at all to the tradespeople he hired. He’d promised Drake he would honor his bill, but in case he didn’t, Drake went to his shed to get an item that might come in handy and placed it in the bed of his wagon.

  Drake drove onto Kirk’s property and proudly surveyed the newly constructed barn. It was made of brick and had a flat wooden roof, and small windows had been added to two of the outer walls so the interior would have light. He thought he and his men had done a good job. After parking his wagon, he walked up to the front door and knocked.

  Kirk, who resembled an old turtle, answered the summons. “Morning, LeVeq. You here for your money?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Drake took the bills and counted them. He paused, eyed the old man, and counted the amount again. “You’re short.”

  Kirk raised his chin, showing off his scrawny neck. “It’s what I think the work is worth.”

  Drake held on to his temper. “You gave me your word. The men who helped me build that barn expect to be paid in full.”

  “You’re a wealthy man. You can foot the rest.”

  Drake had been warned by some of the other builders in the area not to take on the job, but Drake had a soft heart. Kirk swore he’d pay and blamed not being able to hire anyone else on their holding grudges over past misunderstandings. “I need you to pay me what I’m owed, Mr. Kirk.”

  “That’s all you’re getting, LeVeq, so be on your way.” With that, he gave Drake a smirk and closed the door in his face.

  Outdone, Drake stood there for a moment, then growled softly, “Oh, I’ll be on my way all right.”

  Walking to his wagon, he reached into the bed and lifted out a sledgehammer. After rolling the carriage inside a short distance away for safety, he returned, hefted the big sledgehammer, and took a mighty swing. He broke the windows out first. The sound of shattering glass was a symphony to his ears, and he smiled. His next target was the brick wall on the left. It was well-built, and didn’t succumb easily, but Drake didn’t care. He kept swinging.

  Moments later, Fred Kirk came running up as fast as his ancient legs would carry him and yelled, “What are you doing!”

  Drake stopped. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” And resumed the destruction.

  “You can’t do this!”

  Drake ignored him. The rhythmic thunder of the sledgehammer filled the air with mortar dust and shards of red brick. And did wonders for his still-angry soul. “You might want to step back out of the way.”

  “Stop this!” he screamed.

  Drake didn’t. His campaign soon destroyed the bricks supporting the wood framed roof, and it slumped down like a jilted lover.

  “I’ll pay!”

  “Too late.” Drake started in on the right wall.

  It took him almost an hour to leave the barn in shambles, and when he was done, he eyed the piles of shattered bricks, glass, and wood, and mentally gave himself a pat on the back. Kirk, whose misery had mounted with each loud crack of the hammer, didn’t appear pleased at all.

  Drake stretched his sore arms, then handed him back the money. He’d pay the men out of his personal funds. “Au revoir, Mr. Kirk.”

  He walked to his wagon, tossed the sledgehammer in the bed, and drove away.

  Chapter Seven

  Julianna’s driver, Sam Doolittle, guided the carriage through the slow-moving traffic down Canal Street, and Valinda, seated next to Julianna, wondered if they’d ever reach the convent. There were wagons, teamsters, people on horses, people riding cows—something she’d never seen back home—and crowds of people of all colors, shapes, and ages in the street and on the walks. The Sisters of the Holy Family sent a message last evening asking Valinda to stop in. She just hoped she could get there before nightfall.

  “After we drop you off, I have some business to attend to,” Julianna said. “When you’re done at the convent, meet me at the Christophe for lunch. Sable will be joining us as well.”<
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  Valinda hadn’t seen Sable since the evening of her welcome-home celebration. Thinking back on that day made the faces of her attackers rise in her memory, so she quickly focused her mind back on the present.

  “Do you remember how to get to the Christophe?” Julianna asked.

  “I do.”

  Traffic came to a halt.

  Mr. Doolittle said, “Ladies, looks like somebody lost a load of wood up ahead. We may be here a while.”

  Valinda sighed. They were only a short walk away from the convent and she didn’t want to be late. “Julianna, I think it might be faster if I walk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Valinda nodded. “I’ll meet you at the Christophe.”

  Leaving the carriage behind, she set out and became a small fish in the sea of people moving through the Quarter. Her passage was filled with the singsong calls of vendors, and music from the saloons that never slept. She edged by women carrying piled-high laundry on their tignon-covered heads, and soldiers in Union blue. Freedmen in homespun clothing walked beside well-dressed Creoles in expensive suits, while the cacophony of conversations in multiple languages created a music all its own. The longer she stayed in New Orleans, the more she loved its vitality and energy. As she rounded a corner, she came face-to-face with her attacker, Walter Creighton. Alarmed, she jumped.

  “Well,” he sneered. “Look who we have here.” His nose was distended, his eyes bruised and almost swollen shut. “You owe me, you little bitch.”

  “I owe you nothing. Now, move out of my way.” They were on a crowded walk. Not even he was stupid enough to harm her in full view of so many people.

  “Next time I see you, ain’t going to be no pretty French boy around to keep me from spreading your legs.”

  Fighting her revulsion, she tossed back, “I’ll let him know you send your regards.”

  He flinched. She pushed by him. Heart racing, her legs shaking, she resumed her journey.

  She finally reached the convent, but the meeting didn’t last long. Due to pressures from the Creole community, the convent would no longer be enrolling freedmen or their children in their schools. As a result, her services were no longer needed.