Glimmers of Change (49 page)

As they followed the arresting party down the street, they saw black faces peering from windows but all the doors stayed securely closed. They could hear crying children, but the mob of whites had melted away. The streets were empty until they reached the intersection of Main and South and found another crowd of whites clustered around a tall man on horseback.

Matthew moved closer, recognizing the city recorder. “Surely Lieutenant Clifford is not handing over those men to Creighton,” he muttered.

“Who is he?” Robert asked.

“He’s the city recorder,” Matthew said dismissively. “He records the minutes of city meetings and makes them public. He has no authority, but he tries to make people think he does. Eaton tells me he has a violent hatred for the black citizens of Memphis.”

“I have prisoners,” Clifford said crisply.

Creighton stared at the two men. “They are policemen,” he said gruffly.

“Do you accept custody of them?” Clifford asked. His face revealed his relief that he had found someone authoritative-looking to pass them off to.

“Certainly,” Creighton responded, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face when Clifford handed them over and turned away to rejoin his troops.

Matthew watched as Creighton waved his hands, ordering the immediate release of the policemen, who sneered at Clifford’s back and turned around to grin at Creighton. Matthew clenched his teeth with fury, reminding himself that no one was getting away with anything because he was going to make sure every bit of this was in the country newspapers.

Creighton stared after Clifford with a smug expression and then rose in his stirrups to address the crowd. “Our policemen are free,” he called. “I promise you that no man brought before the Memphis courts for carrying a weapon will be punished.” His face settled into hard lines as he stared coldly at the soldiers watching from a distance. “It’s not over,” he yelled. “I’m going to kill every nigger I can find!”

Matthew watched Clifford stare at the crowd and then turn away. Fury pulsed through his veins, but he also realized Clifford’s small unit of soldiers could not defend themselves against a crowd this size if they were to turn violent again.

By one o’clock, the streets were calm and completely empty. The blacks, fearing for their lives, refused to come outside.

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, but he still started at every noise, peering around the streets for renewed signs of violence.

“It’s not over,” Robert said bluntly, reading his thoughts.

“No,” Matthew agreed. “It’s not.” He stared around the streets. “But it seems to be calm for now. Let’s go find Eaton and tell him what we know. I also want to send out some telegrams while things are quiet.” He turned toward downtown, still aware of the pressing weight of hatred swirling in the air around him.

Moses climbed to his place on the wall and stared out over the city. Felicia had finally fallen asleep, watched over by a neighbor woman who stepped forward to care for her the minute Moses led her into the barrack housing the refugees. Emma, a petite woman with sorrowful eyes, had pulled Felicia into the midst of her own four frightened children. Her husband was one of the members of the Third. He had risked his life to go out into the city to bring them back. He had been one of the lucky ones.

Everyone was more relaxed now that the gunfire had stopped, but Moses was still tense. He leaned back against the wall, staring down into streets that were totally deserted. He could only hope the residents would stay sequestered in their homes.

Now that things were calm, at least for a while, he had time to think. His mind traveled back to the fire at the schoolhouse. He thought about all the things Rose had said afterward and how hard he had fought against her belief he was meant to be a leader. He thought of all the years of abuse as a slave. His mind filled with images of men slaughtered in battle, their bloated corpses staring up at him. He had fought for freedom. He had paid the price. Now he just wanted to run the plantation, be with Rose, and raise his children.

Then had come the invitation to accompany Matthew to Memphis, followed by his compulsion to stay in the fort. The last several days had given him a clear understanding of what he and every black in the country was going to be up against now that they were free. His massive fists clenched as he realized there was not one black in the South who was truly free — every one of them was bound by hatred and contempt. They were bound by men determined to keep them in the same condition they had endured as slaves.

Rose’s words from the night of the fire haunted him.
You’ve been a leader from the day I met you, but I never saw it quite so clearly as I saw it tonight. Our people need you, Moses.

He also remembered his response that night. “I don’t want to be needed,” he whispered into the somber air, knowing somehow that it no longer mattered what he wanted. His people needed him. Equally important, he needed to know he was not merely standing idle while other people fought the battle for
his
rights. He wanted to someday look John and Hope in the eyes and assure them he had fought for them to have a better life. The war had been a series of battles — the rebuilding of their country was going to be another long series of battles. Somehow he knew it was going to last much longer.

It had been a lack of leadership that allowed this riot to happen. It had been a lack of leadership that denied protection to thousands of freedmen the government had pledged to protect. It had been a lack of leadership that allowed hundreds of police and rampaging white men to take control of Memphis. It had also been a lack of leadership that resulted in scores of black people venturing forth from their homes to their own massacre. No one wanted to step forward and claim control because it meant even more risk.

You’re meant for more, Moses.

Moses no longer questioned the truth he felt flowing through his soul. He simply accepted it. As he looked down on the streets still littered with dead bodies — people were too afraid to come out to move them — he realized he and his family might pay a heavy price for his decision to become a leader for his people, but he was no longer fighting it.

By the time he climbed down from the wall, he had made another decision as well.

The first fire began at two o’clock. A black schoolhouse was burned to the ground. An uneasy silence settled on the city for several hours. Violence erupted again at ten o’clock. Clusters of white men roamed the city, intent on arson and destruction. Bands of soldiers, woefully undermanned, were unable to squelch the violence.

By the end of the long night, every black church and school had been burned. Dozens of black homes and shanties had been scorched. More dead bodies joined those already beginning to bloat in the streets.

When the sun finally rose on May 3, 1866, the Memphis riot was over.

Carrie couldn’t resist bouncing on her bed in excited anticipation as she waited for Janie to finish dressing. A warn breeze flowed through the window, carrying the odd mixture of coal-laden fumes drifting up from the city and perfume from the flowers that were now in full bloom around the house. She had gotten used to it, but it still made her long for the pure air of the plantation. She had been up since dawn, dressing carefully in the soft yellow gown Abby had insisted would be perfect. Ever since the telegram had arrived from Robert telling her everyone was safe, she had been able to relax. She was horrified by the riot in Memphis, but her relief that all of them were safe had erased her fears.

Their first nine days in New York had passed in what seemed to be a blur. After four cases of cholera had been reported, there had been a surprising reprieve, with no one else falling sick. While no one believed the city would get off so lightly, the Metropolitan Board of Health was taking advantage of the opportunity to continue sanitizing every area they could. The warm weather was delightful, but it would also make the spread of the disease that much easier.

Carrie and housemates, along with the rest of the medical students who had come to New York, spent long hours accompanying students from the New York Medical College for Women as they attended classes, toured their hospital, and met with the few open-minded male physicians in the city. She knew Dr. Benson’s influence had made much of that happen. Her head swam with all she had learned, but the stimulation was thrilling. Instead of ending each night exhausted, she simply wished for longer days so she could learn even more.

She smiled softly as she thought of the day Abby had arranged for her, Janie, and the rest of her new friends to have a long dinner with Dr. Clemence Sophia Lozer, the charismatic woman who had founded the New York Medical College. This trip had convinced her that Abby must know every woman of influence in the country.

Carrie had sat fascinated as Dr. Lozer spoke of being orphaned at age eleven, married at seventeen, and then widowed at twenty-four, suddenly left on her own to care for her little family. She had opened a school for young ladies, drawing her clientele from families of the highest social standing in New York. Her passion for medicine led her to close the school and overcome many challenges to earn her doctor’s degree and open the college so other women could follow in her footsteps.

As Carrie gazed out at the early morning sky, cumulus clouds piled on the horizon, she hoped her own passion would push her through any obstacle that got in her way, but she was also acutely aware of the massive sacrifices made by women over the last two decades that enabled her to be in school at all. She prayed that what she was doing would help open the doors wider for the women who would follow in her footsteps. The very idea that there were women who would follow after her was both exhilarating and terrifying. She longed to create a legacy worth following.

Swinging away from the window, she stopped bouncing and looked at Janie. “You look beautiful,” she said, suddenly impatient to get on with the day. She could hardly believe she was attending the Women’s Rights Convention. “Let’s go!”

Janie smiled patiently and continued to position her blue, feather-festooned hat. Her matching eyes twinkled merrily. “Bouncing around on the porch won’t get us to the meeting any sooner,” she said calmly. “Paxton said he would pick us up at eight o’clock. We still have almost an hour. I see no reason to hurry. Nancy said breakfast would be served in thirty minutes.”

A sharp rap on the door made Carrie spring up, thrilled to have a distraction. “Florence!” she cried when she opened the door, pulling the laughing redhead into the room before she had a chance to open her mouth. “You look beautiful.”

Florence raised her head and pretended to float around the room, her soft green dress rustling around her. “I prefer to think I look like a woman who deserves the right to vote,” she said loftily.

Carrie waved her hand. “Every woman on the street of New York looks like that,” she announced. “We just have to get these hard-headed men who think they are superior simply because of their sex to realize it. Surely it will happen soon.”

Abby sailed in the door just in time to hear her. “Don’t count on it,” she said matter-of-factly. “The battle for abolitionism was drawn out much longer than I would have ever imagined, but I believe the battle for women’s rights will take even longer.”