The Last Confederate (18 page)

“Let me tell you how I got saved,” Pet said quickly. She told him about the terrible time she was going through when she was ten years old. She’d heard the gospel preached, and for the first time realized that she was a sinner.

“At ten you were a sinner?” Thad asked in amazement. “I thought sinners were drunks and—and worse!”

“All have sinned and come short of the glory of God,” Pet replied. “That’s in the book of Romans, chapter three, verse twenty-three.” She began to quote scripture so fast he couldn’t keep up with it. Finally, she said, “Well, anyway, Thad, I gave my heart to Jesus, and He saved me. And that’s what it means to get saved.”

“I see,” he said, but he didn’t—not in the least. It was all jargon to him, and he thought,
I’ll just have to go through with it tonight, but no more for me!

They heard the sound of singing long before they got to the meeting. It came swelling on the air, and Thad was shocked when he pulled into the space reserved for wagons and buggies. There were at least two or three hundred. He had been expecting a crowd of fifty to a hundred people, but as they got out of the wagon and made their way toward where the
singing seemed to come from, he realized there were close to a thousand.

Pet steered him to a spot packed with people, and he saw that a rough platform had been built for the preacher to stand on. Over part of the area was a roof of brush piled on a framework of poles. Many people spoke to the Winslows, and a few of the neighbors gave Thad a greeting as well. At the edge of the crowd he saw the huge mustache of Dooley Young, and the little man gave him a big smile and waved wildly.

For over an hour they stood there, singing songs, some of which he had heard the slaves sing, but most of which he didn’t know. A leather-lunged man would sing the first line of a new song; then the congregation would repeat it, and this went on until the crowd knew the song. It didn’t seem to bother them if they sang the same song ten times, it seemed, and Thad managed to join in, trying to look less conspicuous than he felt.

Finally there was an end to the singing, and a young man of medium height but powerful build came to the center of the platform, carrying a Bible. “That’s Rev. Boone,” Pet whispered. “He’s a descendant of Daniel Boone.”

Thad had heard stories about the old frontiersman, and now looked at the man with more interest. Boone began quietly enough, welcoming them to the meeting; but soon his clear tenor voice was raised, and he began to quote scriptures as he raced from one side of the platform to the other. Thad could not follow him, but he heard one phrase over and over: “Ye must be born again!”

As the sermon was well underway, a woman to his left gave a loud cry and fell to the ground, weeping. A man standing next to her helped her to her feet and led her off to one side. “She’s under heavy conviction,” Pet whispered. “She’ll get saved pretty soon.”

That meant little to Thad, but it was a scene repeated often during the course of the sermon; and at the end, many were
gathered around the platform, weeping and crying loudly. Thad wanted to leave, for he felt a fear he had never known, and when Pet left his side to go pray with a young girl who had gone forward, he slipped away.

As he found the outer edge of the circle, he felt a hand grasp his arm, and looked around to see the gleaming eyes of Dooley. “Come to git religion, Thad?” he slurred, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath.

“I just came because the Winslows wanted me to.”

Dooley nodded and said in a voice tinged with admiration, “Well, you couldn’t have come to hear a better preacher. He’s all sorts of a feller, ain’t he now! I heard lots of preachin’, but that Boone, he really lays it to us sinners, don’t he now?”

Thad stared at him, and finally asked, “Are you saved, Dooley?”

“Naw, not yet. But I figger the good Lord’s on my trail, Thad, and ’fore long I expect He’ll tree me like a coon dawg trees a boar coon!” He smiled widely. “This is the real thing, boy. Not like that Rev. Tate you run afoul of at the Mission.”

Thad shook his head. “I guess I’m just too dumb, Dooley. I don’t know anything about all this. To tell the truth, Pet talked to me all the way here about being saved—and I don’t even understand what
that
means.”

Dooley laughed. “Well, don’t fret, boy. I’ve noticed that when God gits after a man, the feller don’t have to know much. Jest keep listenin’ to that leetle ol’ gal, and to preachers like Boone, and first thing you know, you’ll find out what it means to git God on your trail.”

Thad never knew how long the meeting lasted, for the Winslows left at ten, but Pet said as they made their way home, “Some of the people will stay all night, and start over at ten in the morning. It’s a real revival, Thad! Did you like it?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m mixed up, Pet. I’ve never been around things like this. My people didn’t go to church, and this is the first time I ever heard of things like getting saved.”

She sat there quietly. After they had ridden for a while, she put her hand on his arm, saying, “I tried to tell you too much, Thad. I’ll show you some things in the Bible. It’ll be good for you to read for yourself. And when you’re ready, God will come to you.”

“That’s what Dooley said.” He looked at Pet and added, “If your father is a Christian—and your mother and you—it’s something I need to know about.”

Pet didn’t respond, and when she did speak he could barely make out her words over the sound of the horses’ hooves tapping on the road.

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Thad!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

TOBY

Spring fell on the land in 1862 like a blow. The ground lay frozen into solid iron, sparsely covered with dead spikes of grass. But by the second day of March as Thad was walking across the field with his game bag packed with squirrels, he felt a sudden pocket of warm air touch his cheek, almost like a caress. He stopped, looked around, and was surprised to feel the earth soft under his feet. Looking around him he saw tiny emerald tongues piercing the rich brown crust. He knelt and picked up a handful of earth, feeling its warmth, marveling at the tiny white roots of the fledgling grass. Excited, he stood to his feet and walked rapidly north toward the house.

“Time to start spring plowing,” he murmured to himself. A thrill ran through him at the realization that the long winter was over. He paused at a large tree arching over the creek, remembering the day he and Pet had sat under it; she had washed the mud from his face and Thad had thanked her for teaching him to read. “Seems like a long time ago,” he mused, and his face sobered, thinking over the months that had passed.

The winter had not been a happy time for him. The war had dragged on, casting its shadow over the land. The parties still went on at Richmond, and twice there had been balls at Belle Maison when the men came home; but despite the gaiety, Richmond was a grim place. At Mr. Winslow’s request, Thad had spent some time in the city, learning the
rudiments of bookkeeping, for it was evident that the owner wanted to make him an overseer.

It was the bookkeeping that let Thad know the troubling state of the small Winslow empire. There were large debts outstanding—enormous to Thad’s thinking—but he quickly discovered that such things were common. Most planters borrowed money from the bank to make the cotton crop, which they paid off when the cotton was sold. But with the cotton still unsold for the most part, Belle Maison was plunged deeper into debt; and it was this situation that brought a crisis that darkened Thad’s life.

It had first been mentioned by Mr. Winslow in a conversation with Thad in February. The two had been working on the books in the small study, and after two hours of trying to make things balance, Winslow threw his pen down and said, “Blast it all! There’s no way to get out of this mess!”

“If the corn crop is good, and if the meat market holds up,” Thad replied quickly, “you can get out of debt next fall.”

“That’s a lot of
ifs,
” Winslow grunted. “And where’s the money coming from to pay the interest on last year’s debts? And it takes money to buy sows and yearlings.” He leaned back, fatigue lining his face. Thad knew that he was not happy with the way things were going in Jefferson Davis’s cabinet, and the burden of debt was another load that had aged him over the year.

“Could you sell some land, maybe, to take care of that?”

“No, not land,” Winslow returned. “Never sell the land—that’s the first rule.” He took a deep breath and said, “I’ll have to sell some slaves.”

His words struck Thad like a blow, for although he was aware that slaves were property, this was his first taste of handling them like bales of cotton. It left an empty feeling in his stomach. “I hate to think of that,” he said quietly.

Winslow shot him a sharp look. “I don’t like it, either, Thad. But it’s the only thing I’ve got to sell. And you won’t
like it any better when I tell you that Toby will probably have to go.”

“Why him? He’s the hardest working and the smartest slave on the place.”

“Which means he’s worth the most. Milton Speers needs some good hands, and if we’re not going to raise cotton, we won’t need so many. We’ve already talked about it.”

“What about Jessie and Wash? Will they all go together?”

Winslow shifted uncomfortably. The boy’s direct stare stirred the guilty streak that grew larger every time he sold slaves. “Speer’s got plenty of women and young ones. He needs about ten prime field hands to handle his production this year.”

Now as Thad walked slowly across the field, that scene came back to him like a fresh wound, and the first breath of spring and the green shoots of grass lost their appeal. He tried to blot out the idea of selling Toby, but failed. The huge black man had become his best friend, and he wondered how Toby would react if the sale went through. Thad was most afraid that the man would try to escape with Jessie and Wash by means of the underground railway. He had seen one slave who tried it and was caught. He had been beaten so badly that he died. Thad shivered at the thought of such a fate for his friend.

Rebekah was looking out the kitchen window, and smiled, saying, “Dan, there’s Thad with our supper. Go help him clean it.”

“Sure, Ma.” Glad to get out of churning the milk, Dan ran out the back door and greeted Thad. “What’d you get for supper, Thad?”

“A few squirrels.” Thad stopped under the big elm tree fifty feet from the house and upended the worn canvas bag. The top of the old oak table they used for cleaning game and fish seemed to be covered with the bodies of the animals.

“Good grief! How many did you get?”

“Dunno. Ought to be plenty, though.”

Dan picked up a plump red squirrel, examined it closely, and threw it down. “Right through the head!” He shot an envious look at Thad. “It’s not fair, Thad! I been shooting squirrels my whole life and the best I can do is hit ’em in the body. You never even shot a musket before last year, and now you can shoot the eye out of a gnat at a thousand yards.”

“Not quite.” Thad pulled out his knife and began dressing the squirrel. Dan joined him and in no time the naked corpses lay in a neat row, with the hides and entrails on the ground. “Any news from your brothers?”

“Ah, same old thing, Thad. The scouts say that McClellan’s raised the biggest army ever seen. Mark says all the generals think McClellan will put the men on ships and invade us by water—maybe even up the James River.” He paused and his eyes were bright. “I wish those damn Yankees would come up the James—we’d show ’em!”

Thad smiled at the boastful air of the boy, and asked, “What would we do, Dan?”

“Why, we’d put a few sharpshooters in trees along the river!” Dan grinned and waved his bloody knife in a circle. “McClellan wouldn’t have enough bluebellies to eat a whole chicken by the time the ships got to Richmond.” A thought struck him, and he slanted a careful look across at the other. “Thad, you know there’s been talk about you—about your bein’ a Yankee sympathizer.”

“I guess I heard about it.”

“That ol’ buzzard Len Oliver keeps it going! He got sore when you took our business over to Miller, so he gets even by telling everybody you’re a spy or something.” He eyed Thad carefully, then said with a casual tone, “‘Course, if you’d join up with the Richmond Blades, that’d shut ’em all up.” He waited for Thad to answer. When he saw none was forthcoming, he scowled. “Wish I could sign up! The whole dirty war will be over before I even get a shot at a Yankee.”

Thad said only, “Take these in to your mother, will you, Dan?” He divided the squirrels into two piles and put the
smaller ones back into the game bag. “I’m taking these to Toby.”

Dan entered the kitchen, noting that Belle and Pet had just come in. “Look at these!” he said. “Won’t they be good with dumplings and corn bread!”

“Where’s Thad going?” his mother asked.

“Taking some squirrels to Toby.”

“I want to send some rice to Matilda—and some of this chicken broth for Joseph. He’s been poorly.”

“I’ll take it, Mother,” Pet volunteered eagerly, picking up the iron pot.

“I’ll take the rice,” Belle offered. The two girls went out the back door, and Belle called, “Thad! Wait for us!”

They caught up with him, and as they walked to the slave quarters, Belle said, “I got a letter from Davis yesterday, Thad. He mentioned you.”

“Thought he had his eyes so full of you he didn’t see anything else, Miss Belle,” Thad grinned.

“Oh, you!” Belle smiled, adding, “He says his grandfather is about to go crazy trying to remember where he met you.”

“He got me mixed up with someone else.”

“Davis said that the old man has a mind like glue—never forgets a face.” Belle was intrigued by Thad’s refusal to speak of his past, and she nudged him a little by asking, “You must remember Captain Winslow, Thad. He’s not a man you can forget.”

Thad shook his head, and both girls saw that he was not going to respond. He changed the subject, and they continued on to the white-washed buildings, where Thad found Toby outside splitting wood.

“Got some meat for you, Toby.”