She ripped the daguerreotype in half and flung the pieces on the coals. They smoked, curled, burned, vanished.
Madeline's face glowed red in the firelight. It ran with sweat from the heat, and her anger. "In case all of you are wondering, yes, this upsets me terribly, but, no, it doesn't change anything. When the ashes are cold, we'll clear them out and we'll start building a new schoolhouse."
One of the "Negro laws" foolishly enacted by the new legislature defines a person of color as one with more than one-eighth Negro blood. So I am exempt. Somehow, my dearest, I think that will haw no effect on those who are against me.
I am convinced Mr. Gettys is one of them. Could another be that dancing master? I don't know, nor care much. They have declared war, we need to know nothing else.
I can tell you, my dearest, that I am badly frightened. I am a person of no special courage. Yet I was brought up to understand right and wrong, and the need to persevere for the former.
The school is right. The dream of a new Mont Royal is right. I will not submit. To thwart me they will have to kill me.
A Negro is allowed to buy and hold property.
A Negro is allowed to seek justice in the courts, to sue and be sued, and to be a witness in any case involving Negroes only.
A Negro is allowed to marry, and the state will recognize that marriage and the legitimacy of children of that marriage.
A Negro is not allowed to marry a person of a different race.
A Negro is not allowed to work at any trade except that of a farmer or servant without a special license costing $10 to $100 per annum.
A Negro is to be whipped by authority of a judicial officer and returned if he runs away from a master to whom he has attached himself as a servant; if under 18, he is to be whipped moderately.
A Negro is not to join any militia unit or keep any weapon except a fowling piece.
A Negro is to be hired out for field labor if found guilty of vagrancy by a judicial officer.
A Negro is to be transported out of state or put to hard labor for all crimes not demanding the death penalty.
A Negro is to be put to death for inciting rebellion, for breaking and entering a home, for carnal attack upon a white woman, or for stealing a horse, a mule, or baled cotton.
Some provisions of South Carolina's "Black Code." 1865
11
Dear Jack, Charles wrote, I am going west with a trading company for 6 mas. to a year. My partner says leave any messages at Ft. Riley, Kans. I will be in touch as soon as I come back. I hope my son will stay well & will remember me & won't be too much trouble for you & Maureen. Give him an extra big hug from his "Pa."
I have to do this because I'm not in the Army after all. I had some trouble at Jefferson Barracks. ...
A slit of brilliant light lay between the land and solid gray clouds pushing down through the western sky. The calendar still said summer, September, but the rain-freshened vegetation and the chilly air tricked the senses into thinking autumn.
Out of the woods rode the entire Jackson Trading Company, leading a dozen mules heavily loaded with trade goods. Canvas parcels held bags of glass beads in both pony and smaller seed sizes; Wooden Foot Jackson favored diamond and triangle shapes, like those that glittered and flashed on the bosom of his coat.
The trader had explained to Charles that Cheyenne women wanted beads to decorate the apparel they made. White men had introduced beads to the West, so it was an acquired liking. An older, traditional, one was that for porcupine quills, which were abundant among the Mississippi but scarce on the dry plains, where they were going. The mules were carrying bundles of quills, too.
Jackson had also stocked up on some relatively bulky items. Iron hoe blades, which lasted longer than those made of a buffalo's scapula tied with rawhide to a stick. Durability was a virtue of another item he carried in quantity — a small iron rectangle with one long edge sharpened by a file. The tool replaced a similar one of bone used to scrape hair from buffalo hide and render it ready to sew into garments or a tipi cover.
The trader said there were plenty of other things he could sell, but he preferred to carry just a few that had proved popular year after year. All the merchandise was for women, but it would be paid for by men, using the most common form of Indian wealth, horses.
Charles absorbed this along with Wooden Foot's explanation of his success.
"They's fort traders who sell the exact same goods I do, only the Cheyenries won't go near 'em. And vice versey. I been haulin' goods into the villages near twenty years."
"Don't the Indian agents regulate trading?"
Wooden Foot spat out some plug tobacco, thus expressing his opinion of the Interior Department's Indian Bureau employees. "They sure would like to, because they're mostly greedy no-goods who want the trade all to themselves. I keep an eye peeled for 'em. If they don't find me they can't stop me. The Gheyennes won't turn me in, for the same reason I still got my hair. I'm a friend."
"Who might turn into something else if you were crossed?" Charles pointed to the notched feather.
"Well, yes, they's that, too."
A cigar curled smoke up past the brim of Charles's brand-new flat-crowned wool hat. He sat comfortably on Satan, having sewn strips of scraped buffalo hide to the inner thighs of his jeans pants. The piebald was again in good fettle, though Charles took care to rein him lightly and guide him with knee and hand pressure whenever possible. Satan was responsive; he was smart. Charles hadn't picked wrong.
In the saddle scabbard he carried a shiny new lever-action Spencer that fired seven rounds from a tube magazine in the stock. His gypsy robe hid a foot-long bowie knife and a keen hatchet with Pawnee decorations, feathers, and beaded wrappings on the shaft. He was better equipped than the U.S. Cavalry, which had to put up with war surplus arms, no matter what.
The autumnal landscape, the chilly temperature, and the lowering night cast a melancholy spell over him. Wooden Foot attempted to counter it with lively conversation.
"How's that little actress? Pinin' away?"
"I doubt it."
"Plan to see her again?"
"Maybe in the spring."
"Charlie, you got a funny look. I seen it on men before. Did you lose some other woman?"
"Yes. Back in Virginia. I don't like to talk about it."
"Then we don't. Still, it's nice you got the actress, for comfort."
"She's only an acquaintance. Besides, one woman can't replace another. Can we drop it?"
"Sure. You'll soon forget about it anyway. They's lots of other things to command your attention where we're goin'." His tone said he meant perils, not amusements.
Charles wished he could forget Gus Barclay for even a little while, but he couldn't. And in the privacy of his heart he wished that his conscience would let him think in a more personal way about Willa Parker. She did capture his fancy with her striking combination of youth and worldliness, idealism and cheerful tolerance. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to accept her offer of a ticket to a performance when he got back.