All Things New by Lynn Austin
“Enough! We’re agreed,” Daniel said. “So what’s the plan?”
She listened in horror as her brother and the others discussed how they could murder Alexander Chandler in his bed tonight, then set fire to the bureau office, leaving no evidence. Their plan shocked her. Alexander hadn’t done anything to deserve this. The war was over. He was no longer their enemy. How could her brother kill an innocent man, just to hide his own guilt?
Josephine stood and hurried into the house, determined to run downstairs and stop them. This was wrong! She would find out who the other men were and let them know that she had heard their plot. They wouldn’t get away with it.
But when she reached the stair landing she halted, remembering her recent argument with Daniel and how furious he had been with her. She remembered lashing back at him in anger and realized then it was her fault that he had learned of the arson investigation. If they murdered Alexander, it would be her fault.
Daniel and his friends would never listen to her. Her brother had been outraged by her friendship with a Yankee, and his friends would be outraged, as well. If they knew she had overheard them, they would detain her here while they completed their plan.
She had to warn Alexander. He needed to run. Now!
Jo hurried back upstairs to her room. It seemed to take forever to wiggle into her clothing, her body damp with sweat and fear. She was finally dressed—but now what? She couldn’t run all the way into town by herself in the middle of the night. Nor could she go by horseback. The stables were in plain sight of the porch, where the men were still plotting. Someone else would have to warn Alex, but who?
Lizzie. She would know who to send. She and Otis were Alexander’s friends, too. Josephine slipped out the back door and hurried down to Lizzie’s cabin. The night was feverishly hot and humid, the air as thick and suffocating as wet cotton. Even the insects rasped their complaints. She knocked on Lizzie’s door and called softly to her.
“Lizzie! . . . Lizzie it’s me, Josephine.”
A moment later the door opened and Jo felt the heat billow from the cabin as if she had opened an oven door. “Missy? What’s wrong?” Lizzie’s bony face glistened with sweat. She looked disoriented and frightened, and so did her husband, Otis, who appeared in the darkness behind her. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Jo averted her eyes from his lean, bare chest.
“Please! I need your help. I just overheard Daniel and his friends talking, and they’re planning something horrible.”
“Oh, Lord, help us!”
“Not against you, Lizzie . . . they’re going after Alexander Chandler and the Freedmen’s Bureau. Please, someone has to go into town and warn him to get out of there. He needs to hide!”
Lizzie glanced all around, her eyes wide with fright as she whispered, “Step inside, Missy Jo, so nobody hears you.” She opened the door wider, and Josephine entered a Negro’s cabin for the first time in her life. Lizzie closed the door behind her.
The single-room house, airless and stifling, smelled of woodsmoke and sweat. Lizzie’s children lay on the floor in a row like logs, with no mosquito netting to protect them. Their bare arms and legs glistened with one of Lizzie’s smeared concoctions to keep the mosquitoes from biting. Josephine could hear the insects’ high-pitched hunger and see a wispy cloud of them hovering over the sleeping children.
“Now say that again, Missy?”
Josephine told her what she’d overheard of the patchy, whispered conversation. “Please! You have to go into town and warn Mr. Chandler. They’re planning to kill him!”
Otis let out a deep groan like a man in pain. He shook his head. “We can’t, Missy, we can’t. Much as I’d like to help him, you know we ain’t allowed out after dark. There’s a curfew on all us colored folks. Massa Daniel and his friends will string me up for sure if they catch me out on the road or in town this time of night.”
Josephine had forgotten about the night patrols. She couldn’t ask Otis to risk his life for a white man, even though Alexander had set up the bureau to help the former slaves. Tears filled her eyes. “But I don’t know what else to do! They’re going to kill him!”
“When they gonna do this?” Lizzie asked.
“Now! Tonight! They’re planning it right now. Someone has to stop them!”
“Well, it ain’t gonna be my Otis,” Lizzie said. She linked her arm through his as if locking a chain, and Jo knew by her uplifted chin that she would never give in. “Now, I sure hate to see anything happen to Massa Chandler because he’s a good man. But if Otis or any of our folks try and warn him, those white men will do the same thing to us that they’re planning for him. Otis ain’t going and that’s that. He has a family to look after.”
“It’s gonna have to be you, Missy Jo,” Otis said. “Them men won’t hurt you.”
“But . . . but I can’t go!”
Lizzie’s chin seemed to jut out even further. “Why not?”
“All alone? I-I’m too scared!”
“Well, how do you think we feel?” Lizzie asked. “We’re scared half to death every single day of our lives.”
Josephine looked into Lizzie’s eyes—maybe for the first time in her life—and saw the terror she hid behind her tough façade. No doubt she was remembering the beating Otis had already suffered.
“Time’s wasting,” Otis said. “If them men are gonna do this before sunrise, then you don’t have much time. They riding horses?”
“Yes.”
“Best way is for you to take the shortcut through the woods.”
According to Daniel, a pack of dangerous, homeless Negroes still camped out in the forest between here and town, in spite of the night riders’ efforts to dislodge them. Josephine shuddered and shook her head. “Those woods are too dangerous for a white woman, even in daylight.”
Otis looked at his wife, and she finally nodded. He slowly pulled his arm free from her grip. “I’ll go with you that far, Missy Josephine, but I can’t go into Fairmont or onto the roads. I’m sorry.”
Jo couldn’t breathe. It would be dangerous for both of them. She longed to run back to her room and climb into bed and tell herself that this had all been a very bad dream. But she couldn’t stand by and let them kill Alexander. She would be as guilty as Daniel and the others.
Otis put on his shirt and his broken-down shoes, making the decision for her. “Let’s go, Missy Josephine.”
The night was so dark, the woods so thick that she could barely see where she was going. Josephine couldn’t remember ever being so scared. She not only feared the woods and the dangers it hid, but she was terrified she would arrive too late. Alexander would die, and it would be her fault. Otis strode along the path so quickly she had to jog to keep up with him. And as badly as she longed to stop and catch her breath, she grew frustrated with him for stopping every few minutes and looking around, listening.
“We have to hurry, Otis! Why do you keep stopping?”
“I’m listening for their horses. They might take this shortcut, too, and I’m scared of the night patrols. They catch me out at night, they’ll do a lot worse than beat me this time.”
Josephine didn’t want to believe that her brother would hurt Otis if she was with him. But she’d heard him plot to kill Alexander, and he was a white man. “I’m so scared, Otis. If the riders get there before us, they’re going to kill him!”
“Are you praying, Missy Josephine?”
Otis took off at a trot again before she could reply, but the truth was that she hadn’t thought to pray. She hadn’t prayed in months. Why bother when God didn’t seem to hear her or answer her? Otis glanced over his shoulder as if to see if she was still behind him and said, “I’m praying, too, Missy Josephine.”
Oh, God, please, she began to silently beg—then stopped. What had Alexander said about praying? He’d said that God couldn’t answer if she prayed for something that was contrary to His will. Surely it wasn’t God’s will for Alexander to die, was it? Or for her brother and the others to commit
Heavenly Father . . . The words brought tears to her eyes, reminding her of her own father. He had been stern when he’d needed to be but was also kind and loving, willing to give Josephine whatever she asked for if it was something that would do her good and not harm. And surely that was the way her heavenly Father was, too. She finally understood what Alexander had been trying to teach her: God couldn’t answer her prayers during the war if it meant harming His other children, the slaves.
All at once, Josephine knew that God was with her and Otis in these dark, terrifying woods, and she silently cried out to Him as His child. Heavenly Father, please help us. Please help us get to Alexander in time to save him. He’s trying to help the Negroes, Lord. He loves you, and he’s trying to obey you by coming here and loving his enemies and helping us rebuild. She gripped Otis’s shirttail, laboring to keep up with him as her tears fell faster, blinding her. I love him, Father. I love Alexander Chandler and I know you do, too, and I don’t want anything to happen to him.
The maze of trees began to thin as they finally reached the other side of the woods. They were almost to town. Otis stopped again, but this time Josephine was grateful for the chance to rest. She was unaccustomed to so much exercise and she was exhausted, her clothing drenched with sweat from the heat.
“This is as far as I can go,” Otis whispered. “I’m sorry, but there’s too much open space from here on into town.”
The night was so dark that Jo couldn’t see any familiar landmarks. She didn’t seem to be anywhere near the road. Could she do this all alone?
She had to. She didn’t want Alexander to die. “I’ve never been to his office, Otis. I’m not even sure where it is.”
“Stay on this path until you get to the railroad tracks, and—”
“Path? What path?”
“This is the trail that Rufus and Roselle and the others take to school. See it?” Josephine had to bend down and peer carefully at the ground in order to see the narrow dirt track that led out of the woods and through the weedy, overgrown field. “Keep your eye on that trail and it’ll take you all the way to the railroad tracks. Then turn and follow the tracks to the office. It’s a little brick building behind the train station.”
She looked up at him, wishing she could beg him to go with her. Tears choked her throat. Otis reached out and tentatively laid his hand on her head, then closed his eyes. “Oh, Lord, please watch out for Missy Josephine and guide her the rest of the way. Help her to get there before them men do. And, Lord, please keep Mr. Chandler safe. Amen.” He opened his eyes again and removed his hand. “You’ll be fine, Missy Jo. The good Lord will be watching over you.”
“Thank you, Otis.” She gripped the fabric of her skirt in her fists, lifting her hem so she wouldn’t trip, and took off as fast as she could run in the dark, careful to keep her eyes on the trail. She hadn’t run far when a sharp pain knifed her side, but she ignored it and kept running. The horses could cover the distance into Fairmont much faster than she could, even with Otis’s shortcut.
By the time Josephine finally spotted the railroad embankment she could barely breathe. She stumbled up the gravel rise and turned toward town, following the tracks. Otis hadn’t said how far she would have to follow the tracks, but at last she rounded a curve and saw the church steeple and houses silhouetted in the distance, including the long, low roof of the train station. Behind it was a small, two-story brick building, its back room damaged by fire.
Josephine slid down the embankment into the ditch beside the tracks and paused for a moment, panting for breath. She listened, like Otis had, for the sound of horses as she emptied the gravel out of her shoes. It was hard to hear anything at all above the pounding of her heart and her labored breaths. She waited until she was certain there was no sign of her brother and the others, then stood and sprinted across the open space to the Freedmen’s Bureau office. The fire damage made it impossible for Alexander to lock the back door, so she hurried inside, dodging around the burned debris. Daniel could get inside just as easily.
She groped her way down a narrow hallway, not waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and came to a set of steps that led upstairs. “Alexander!” she called up to him. “Alexander, wake up!” She was so breathless, so frightened, that she could hardly get the words out. She pounded on the hollow wall of the stairwell, praying he would hear her. Her brother and the others could likely hear her, too, if they were outside, but at least Alexander could defend himself once he was awake. “Alexander! Please, wake up!”
Had the men beat her here? Was he already dead? She started up the steps, pounding on the wall with both fists, calling his name. She finally heard thumps and rustling noises above her, then a voice: “Who’s there?”
She collapsed onto a stair with relief. “Alexander, it’s me—Josephine. You have to get up! It’s an emergency!” He came to the top of the steps looking sleep-tousled. He had pulled on his pants but wore no shoes or shirt.
“Josephine! What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
“They’re coming to kill you! You have to get out! Right now!”
“What? . . . Who’s coming?” He looked half asleep, and she could tell that her words weren’t making sense to him.
“I don’t have time to explain. Grab your gun and your shoes and get out!”
“I don’t have a gun. Let me light a lamp—”
“No!” she cried out as he turned to go back in his bedroom. “No lights! You have to leave! Now!” He stared at her in sleepy confusion, and in the momentary silence Josephine thought she heard a horse whinny. She plunged up the stairs and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward her. “Please, Alexander! They’re coming to kill you and burn down your office. They’re on their way. They’ll be here any minute. You have to run! Before it’s too late!” The tears she had been holding back all this time began to fall.
He stared at her as if finally comprehending her words. “Okay, okay . . . Let me get my boots . . .” He ran into his room, and she heard him rummaging around.
Please, dear God. Please give us just a few more minutes to get away.
He returned a moment later with his boots on. He was shoving his arms into his shirt. “What’s going on, Josephine?”
“There isn’t time to explain. We have to get out . . . No, no, the front. Use the front door.” She was certain she had heard another horse whinny out back.
He led the way into his office, then stopped for a moment to look around. “There are some files I should save—”
“There isn’t time!”
“But the schoolbooks. I won’t let them burn again.” He picked up a wooden crate and dumped its contents onto the floor, then scooped up a stack of books piled on his desk and dropped them into the crate. Josephine pitched in, grabbing a second stack of books.
“Now, please, Alexander! Go!” She ran to the door ahead of him and opened it a crack to peer out, fighting the instinct to bolt out of the office as fast as she could run. The dirt road in front of the building looked deserted. So did the main street in front of the train station. Josephine spotted an alcove behind the station, where a baggage wagon was parked, and pointed to it. “Over there! We can hide there. Now run!”
She plunged out into the darkness, lifting her skirts, trying not to trip over her leaden feet. She felt like she was in a nightmare, trying to run and not being able to move. Alexander was behind her and moving even slower, burdened down with the heavy crate of books. A dog began to bark nearby, sending up an alarm, but at last they reached the alcove and sank into the shadows beneath the baggage wagon, breathing hard.
“Josephine, what in the world—”
“Shh!”
Two men had come around from the rear of the Freedmen’s Bureau in the dark, crouching low. They went up to the door that she and Alexander had just fled through—the door they had foolishly left wide open—and looked all around. “If they find you, they’ll kill you,” she whispered.
She wondered
Josephine reached for his hand and gripped it tightly as two more figures appeared in the open doorway. They must have searched the house and found it empty. All four men stood still for a moment, studying the deserted rail yard. “We can’t stay here,” Josephine whispered. “They’ll search the rail yard.”
“Where can we hide?”
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “The church. Or the cemetery behind it if the door’s locked.” They left the box of books behind and crawled through the bushes surrounding the building until they were out of sight of the office. Two more dogs began to bark, giving them away as they ran the short distance to the church, trying to stay hidden behind trees and bushes and fences, stumbling, praying, holding hands as they ran.
“Not the front door,” Josephine whispered. “There’s a side door that leads to the vestry.” Please let it be unlocked, she silently prayed. Please keep us safe.
The door was unlocked. Josephine exhaled in relief and felt a sliver of hope. God had answered all her prayers, so far. He had been with her, helping her, helping them. She closed the door behind them and stood still for a moment, catching her breath. Their eyes met, and in the next moment she was in his arms and they were holding each other tightly.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t know how or why you came for me, but thank you.”
His arms were around her. Alexander was safe now, and so was she. Josephine closed her eyes, longing to stay here with him forever. But she could still hear dogs barking a warning in the sleeping village, so she slipped out of his arms and tugged his hand again. “Come on. We still should hide.” She led him into the sanctuary, and they sank down together behind one of the pews in the choir loft, hidden from view.