Shifted By The Winds (63 page)

Peter stared at him. “Nothing?” he asked with disbelief. “I know I’ve been preoccupied, but I should know this.”

Matthew shrugged, his frustration deepening as he thought about what he had learned regarding the aftermath of the riot. He had written articles, but they had been buried in the crush of news about the election. “It gained the attention of Congress long enough for them to use it to malign Johnson’s policies. They set up investigations that clearly revealed the truth about the murders that took place during the riots, but our government ultimately left it up to Tennessee and Memphis to mete out justice.” He clenched his fists as he thought about the horror he had witnessed during those days. “Of course, they did nothing. There have been no indictments, and Memphis has refused to pay to rebuild anything that was destroyed.”

“And the government let them get away with that?” Peter gasped.

“General Grant tried to change the outcome. When he sent the findings of the committee, he included a letter recommending the army arrest and hold the rioters until the Memphis civil authorities agreed to prosecute them, and he also urged that the government force the city to pay restitution.”

“That sounds right,” Peter said. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Matthew growled. “General Grant sent it on to Secretary of State Stanton. Stanton promptly passed it off to President Johnson. Instead of making a decision, our president sent it on to Attorney General Speed.”

“So he could avoid responsibility,” Peter snapped.

“Or at least try to,” Matthew responded. “Speed’s reaction was predictable. He said he found the actions against the blacks reprehensible, but that he saw no legal basis for army intervention, and no legal basis to force Memphis to pay restitution. He sent the papers back to Johnson, who had Stanton file them.”

“In a very dark place, most likely.”

Matthew sighed. “That’s the crux of it.” He shook his head. “Men who were there during the riot have either resigned or been reassigned to get them out of Memphis. There is virtually no one left who was there during those terrible days. It just all seems to have disappeared,” he said bitterly. He knew those days would never leave the minds of those who had been attacked.

Peter joined him in a long silence. “What happened to the little girl Moses took home?” he finally asked.

The question elicited a smile from Matthew. “Felicia is one of the brightest little girls I have ever had the privilege to know. Her parents were murdered, but I believe Felicia will be a powerful voice in black rights when she grows up.”

“Dare I ask what is happening in New Orleans after the riots?”

Matthew gritted his teeth. He wished he could push the terrible memories of the New Orleans violence from his mind, but they still haunted him at night. The nightmares were diminishing, but he didn’t think he would ever lose the vivid images of coldblooded murder all around him. “It’s worse.”

“Worse?” Peter echoed hollowly. “Is that possible?”

“A grand jury was called just two days after the riot. They indicted every man, white and black, who was a leader in the convention for the black vote. That is, those who were still alive after the massacre,” Matthew seethed. “None of the police, nor one white citizen, was charged.” He understood Peter’s total silence. What could you possibly say in response to such blatant injustice? “On top of it, the Republican congressmen who encouraged the leaders of the convention to move forward all denied doing so, and most of them denied having any knowledge of it at all.” He couldn’t control the shudder that rippled through him in the wake of the raw memories this conversation was unearthing.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said numbly.

Matthew forced himself to shake off the sense of futility that had almost made him walk away from journalism entirely. “It wasn’t all for naught,” he managed. “The riots, and all the articles that were written, painted a clear picture that the South was willing to take any measures necessary to make sure the former slaves would be denied freedom and equality.”

“All the articles in the Southern papers after the New Orleans riots only confirmed that truth,” Peter observed.

“Yes,” Matthew replied, biting back his anger. “There was a barrage of editorials making it very clear that the riot was a ‘
salutary warning that the South would never submit to Yankee rule
.’ ” He drawled the words in a very passable imitation of a New Orleans accent, and then scowled. “The editorials convinced northern voters that the South has refused to accept the verdict of their defeat in the war.”

“And now we have a new Congress. Would it be crass to say that perhaps the riots were not in vain?”

“I suspect it would be to those who lost loved ones and have seen no justice,” Matthew said, “but I am objective enough to acknowledge that President Johnson may have succeeded if the riots had not jolted the American public awake.” He continued to gaze at the Capitol. “It was a terrible price to pay, but I am doing my best to focus on the possibility of change, because I know it’s impossible to rewrite the past.” He was grateful for Peter’s silence. It was taking every bit of his mental energy not to fall back into the horrors of that day in New Orleans.

Peter finally broke the silence. “Things will be different now. The South may have attempted to restore slavery in substance, if not in name, but everything has changed. This election has ensured Congress can override any vetoes that Johnson might impose. I have spoken with many Congress members. They are moving forward with the Reconstruction Acts that will bring control back to the government. The South is to be divided into five military districts. Each state will be required to accept the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments.”

Matthew nodded. He was thrilled the South would be forced to grant freedom and political rights to the blacks, but he had seen too much during the riots to believe it would be a simple process. The government could force a political mandate, but they could not change attitudes. His earlier exhilaration had been swallowed by searing memories of the unreasoning hatred he had seen on white faces during the riots.

“What are you thinking?” Peter finally asked after it became obvious Matthew wasn’t going to respond.

“I’m thinking,” Matthew said, “that things will not change as long as people don’t have to bear the consequences of their actions. The country can pass laws, but they can’t change hearts.” He continued to speak slowly, his words taking shape as he spoke. “The police in both Memphis and New Orleans have faced no consequences for what they did. That reality is going to embolden others who want to use their same tactics. The government has practically said that they will squawk about the riots, but they will take no action to punish those who participated.” He shrugged. “If every one of those police who murdered blacks was sitting in jail, others would at least stop to think before doing the same thing.”

“It’s going to be different,” Peter insisted. “The new Reconstruction Acts will ensure that.”

Matthew wished he could be as certain as his friend, but he knew how difficult it was to mitigate hatred. Still, he would allow Peter his hope. Maybe someday he would share it.

“Can I change the subject?” Peter asked.

“Please,” Matthew said, eager to think of something else.

“When are you going to marry Janie?”

Matthew stiffened. He didn’t really want to talk about that either, but he had opened the door to the conversation. “When she’ll have me,” he finally said. He could tell Peter was staring at him, but he didn’t take his gaze away from Lady Liberty.

“Is there a problem?” Peter pressed after a long silence.

Matthew sighed and forced himself to relax. Peter knew about the abuse Janie had suffered during her marriage to Clifford. “No,” he said. “She just isn’t ready.” Most of the time he understood that, but there were moments when his loneliness was so intense he didn’t think he could stand it. Being out of town was almost easier than being two doors down from her. The realization she was so close, but still not his, was sometimes more than he could bear. He knew they had only been engaged for less than three months, but he had waited so long for the right woman that he was impatient to have her by his side all the time. By his side, and in his bed.

“Living through the war and surviving prison makes you long for the nicer things in life,” Peter murmured.

“Yes.” Matthew was grateful for Peter’s understanding. His friend was the only one who could come close to comprehending what he had endured during his two stays in Libby Prison. “I promised her I would be patient,” he muttered. “I will continue to try—however much I am failing.”

Carrie couldn’t resist bouncing on the seat as the carriage navigated the heavy traffic clogging the streets leading to Moyamensing. “We’re almost there!”

Michael glanced back at her with an indulgent smile. “Let me guess. You would rather get out and walk.”

Carrie grinned back at her friend. She had been so happy to discover Michael was free for the two weeks she and Abby were in town. They had hired him to be their driver during the whole period. Long conversations between the three of them had deepened their friendship, and helped Abby gain a greater understanding of the neighborhood they were about to enter.

Michael looked to Abby for help. “Has she always been like this?”

“Ever since I’ve known her,” Abby replied, “and her father assures me she was always this impulsive, and impatient, and
wonderful
,” she said warmly.

Carrie stuck her tongue out at Michael. “Can’t you drive this thing any faster?”

Michael laughed. “Sure, I can drive it as fast as you would like, but first you’ll have to get out and make all the traffic and people disappear.”

Carrie heaved a heavy sigh and sank back against the cushions. She knew Michael was right. They had been in Philadelphia a week. This had been their first opportunity to drive into Moyamensing.

While Abby had taken care of business in her factories, Carrie had met with Dr. Strikener, who had asked her why she chose not to simply send a letter explaining the circumstances. He had laughed heartily when she shared Abby’s challenge, and told her she had a very wise stepmother—something she couldn’t agree with more. He understood her decision completely and had loaded her down with books and materials she could study over the winter, teasing her that she might be ready to be on the faculty when she returned. Her situation treating Morah with arnica was discussed at length, and Dr. Strikener took pages of notes while they talked, explaining he would use the experience in one of his classes that winter. He had also written her a letter of introduction to Dr. Hobson, the homeopathic physician in Richmond, assuring her Dr. Hobson would be honored to offer any assistance he could. The two men had been friends for years.

When Carrie had returned to the house, she thanked Abby profusely for challenging her to come back to Philadelphia. Staying on the plantation would not have harmed her application to the homeopathic college, but she certainly would have missed out on so many opportunities, and she sensed she had gained a deeper respect from Dr. Strikener.

Meanwhile, Carolyn Blakely and two other homeopathic students had eagerly accepted Janie’s offer of housing. They had moved in the night before. It was wonderful to have the house full of laughter and talk again, and knowing Janie would not be alone in the house had done much to ease Carrie’s mind about her decision to stay on the plantation.

“Mrs. Carrie! Mrs. Carrie!”

Carrie, deep in her own thoughts, had not even realized they had entered Moyamensing. She laughed as two children ran up to the carriage, their faces split with wide grins. “Sonya! Collin! How are you?”

“We’re doing real good,” Sonya cried. “There ain’t anybody sick from cholera at all!”

Carrie felt a surge of satisfaction. “I’m so glad,” she said. She quickly introduced Abby to the children. “Sonya and Collin were among my first patients,” she explained before she turned back to them. “Are you two in school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Collin answered proudly. “We been studying hard just like you told us to.”

Sonya’s eyes narrowed. “Does Miss Biddy and Miss Faith know you’re coming? They ain’t said nothing about it. I was real surprised to see you.”

Carrie shook her head, giving them a conspiratorial wink. “It’s a surprise,” she said as she put a finger to her lips. “Can you keep it for me?”