Love by Dawn (2 page)

Tears formed anew in her eyes. She moaned and
dragged herself to the lake to splash cold water on her
sleep-crusted eyes. That refreshed her somewhat. She studied the
sore blisters on her hands and recalled the pain of yesterday’s
events all over again. But there would be no crying now. Some
bitterness towards her father erupted when she recalled the past
week before this nightmare. How long had her father been selling
slaves? She was ashamed and loved him in one heartbeat. The memory
of how she had begged her father and brother not to go was still
vivid in her mind. Why did Hunter insist on joining this time? He
was not yet seventeen and all ready in trouble, if not dead. And
she, only eighteen, was now left alone to fend for herself, but she
could manage. Hadn’t she had been doing it all every time her
father went away for long periods? Even taking care of her younger
brother wasn’t a hardship.

Casey sighed, thinking of Hunter, knowing she
had to find out if he was still alive. Her father said he was
captured, not killed, so there was hope. But could she find him
before something dreadful happened to him? Abolitionists did not
take pity on the slave dealers they captured. She tried to think of
better times, when her mother was alive, when she and her brother
played near the woods. Although, times had always been hard and
though they were very poor, she never complained. Her mother had
been very beautiful but as time went on, the hardship took its
toll; she grayed prematurely and her thin body didn’t stand as
straight as it had when she was younger.

Her mother was an educated woman who had
lived in Boston. Her family was well-to-do. Her father met her when
he went to visit a cousin and it was love at first sight. Maisie’s
family hadn’t been happy, especially when her father brought her
south to live in the wilderness. His ambition was to farm. At
first, the land was prosperous until a drought destroyed all their
dreams and it went from bad to worse. He did anything he could to
keep his family from starving. Then the bickering started and her
mother became ill, but up to her last days, she tutored her
children from the books she had brought with her from home. Now it
was all gone. Casey almost laughed at that notion. She really
didn’t lose anything of value except her brother.

No
, she scolded herself,
he has to be
alive
.

TWO

Wild Creek Bend, Georgia. April 1st,
1865

Hunter Walsh was the main topic of
conversation between Blake January and Davis Pits. The man sat
ridged in his chair, trying again to reason with Blake. “I’m sorry
son,” Davis Pits said for the third time, “we cannot let him go.”
Blake sat in the deserted fort and raked his hand through his thick
hair, totally frustrated. He knew the kid did wrong, but he was
young and he didn’t feel good about all of this. But Davis Pits, an
abolitionist, was right; selling slaves was morally wrong. Men died
for that cause, hadn’t they? And who better than he should know
this.

He had joined the Union Army and fought with
the North, against his own cousin and his own family beliefs. His
father owned slaves but he always treated them fairly. But be that
as it may, Blake had his own ideas about slavery.

Davis Pits snorted, “I can’t let one dirty
slave seller go even if he’s just a kid. I know I’m being harsh by
making an example of him, but… hell!” he pounded the desk with his
fists. “This damn war is almost over and all our countrymen dead
and those bastards are still selling slaves. Treating human beings
as if they were trash! Abolitionists have been widely denounced and
abused for years. Mobs attack us in the North and Southerners burn
antislavery pamphlets.”

He let out a frustrated
sigh. “We’re doing the right thing and still this travesty
continues.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet
Stow
had become one effective piece of
propaganda but here, in this backward town people are still against
our freeing slaves. Knowing that the war is lost to them, makes
ignorant men very hostile towards us.”

Blake’s shoulders sagged heavily with
frustration but he had to admire Davis Pits for what he stood for.
Although, he was not a young man anymore, he didn’t show his age.
Built solid, he kept himself in good shape. Tall in stature, with
all-white hair, his face was free from wrinkles and he could pass
for a forty-year-old man.

He would never have become involved with Pits
if it weren’t for a favor his father owed the other man. His mind
returned to his past. After drifting, since he was sixteen, he had
fought in the war a short time. While Blake was off fighting in the
Civil War for his beliefs his father had made a pledge with Pits
and now he had to honor the promise. A leg wound relieved him of
his duty and when he returned home, he found his father was
paralyzed on his left side. After he recovered from his injury, his
old man begged him to find Pits and help him free slaves, since his
father could no longer work with his friend. Blake had first balked
at the idea, but fighting with his father only upset the man more,
causing his right side of his body to convulse.

After his father had a stroke, Blake had
reluctantly come to an agreement with the old man only to pacify
him. Because his earlier refusal to become a doctor nearly broke
his father’s heart, it made him feel as if he were responsible for
the stroke. Never would he have followed in his father’s footsteps,
no matter how the old man wished it so.

Blake carried a lot of guilt; no one, not
even his mother could convince him otherwise, that he was not to
blame. So, to ease his conscience, he finally relented and said he
would help Davis Pits for six months. And now, he found himself in
the man’s company, repaying a long overdue debt, finding himself
caught up in a situation he didn’t enjoy.

He stopped pacing knowing Pits wouldn’t
relent; he just wished that it wasn’t his bullet that had grazed
the boy. That didn’t sit right with him, not at all. And to make
matters worse, that kid, locked in the back room reminded him of
his cousin, Jason St. Andrew who was wounded in the war when
shrapnel from an explosion rendered the young boy sightless in one
eye. Now, like adding salt to the wound, he had to take the
prisoner to the Amy post if only to appease the man. But, as an
afterthought, he might be doing the kid a favor; no doubt the boy
would get himself into more trouble, anyway.

Blake was sure the army wouldn’t do anything
to him. In fact, upon his arrival, he would suggest that they hold
the kid in the barracks if only to keep him from going back to his
foolish ways. Davis Pits was too angry to reason with, so he’d take
the prisoner to the fort and be done with him. He believed that
Hunter would be better off taking his chances with the army than
out there where he’d probably be killed the next time. Helping the
boy escape only entered his mind for a fleeting moment and besides,
he figured that the journey out west might do him some good also.
It’s been awhile since he spent time in the wilderness. And Pits
was making certain that the boy would be out of reach for anyone
with a mind to free him.

“I hold you totally responsible,” Davis Pits
said as he shuffled papers on his desk.

Blake slumped into a chair and nodded,
remembering the events that led up to the boy’s capture. Right
after he hooked up with Davis Pits, the abolitionist heard of
slaves being brought here to the old deserted fort. They laid in
ambush waiting for the men to arrive with their cargo.

The wagon was loaded with
Negroes, chained and huddled together. He saw women and children,
looking half-dead. He and other men rushed from the bushes, gun’s
drawn; there were three slave dealers, all looking like farmers. A
shot was fired and Blake returned fire, then he heard
someone howl and fall. Flashes of gun power lit up the darkness
making it hard to defend oneself. Beside him was Davis Pits, who
fired his gun, killing another, but he saw someone ride out from
there and disappear into the thickets.
One dead
and one injured, Davis Pits ordered his men to unchain the slaves
after finding a key on the dead body.

Blake would never forget the lost look in
the eyes of those people and the confusion when they were set free.
One woman’s dark face would be imprinted on his brain for a long
time. She clutched a small child to her chest, her black eyes
looking up at him with fear and gratitude. He sensed that if she
wanted to say something, but turned and followed the others. They
were led by two of Davis Pits’ men into the dead of the night. He
wondered if they were really doing the Negroes a service. Many
would wind up being caught again, or starve as they looked for a
way to escape the territory. Some had families to find, others had
no place to go but up north, with no money or jobs. Snapping out of
his disturbing musings, he watched Pits shift in his chair. Blake
nodded in agreement and said he would take full responsibility and
deliver the boy, but after that, he promised himself to give up his
wondering days. He was tired of this life and wanted to establish
some roots.

After the papers were
signed, Blake extended his hand, receiving a warm, firm hand in
return. “I’ll leave now, Sir. Been a pleasure knowing and working
with you these past months,” he lied with a straight face.
He had hated every minute of this and was certain Davis Pits knew
it.
He hoped his face did not reveal the white
lie and quickly said, “The story of how you saved my father’s life
from a gunman’s bullet has been told so many times, I know it by
heart. My mother and I owe you much gratitude and I was happy to
help my father fulfill his promise to work by your side, helping
free slaves.” The part about gratitude and freeing slaves was the
truth.

“Your father and I go back many years, since
he first started practicing doctoring,” Davis Pits declared. “He
saved many slaves who had been beaten and whipped. I am glad to
have known his son.” He shook the man’s hand reflecting gratitude
in his dark eyes. “Take care and when you see Josh again tell him
he should be proud of his son no matter what he does. Sorry that
you and your father have not been close these past years because of
your decision not to be a doctor, but you are your own man. Thanks
again and take care of yourself out there.”

Blake nodded and left. What a mess! He was
as enthusiastic about this as when he had a wisdom tooth pulled. It
seemed to him now that not only had he lost the tooth, but all his
insight too. It was time to take his money from his trust fund and
purchase a piece of land in Georgia and build a home. He was still
a young man of only twenty, but he didn’t want to wait much
longer.

The brightness of the noon sun made him
blink when he stepped outside. His palomino, Checkers, was saddled
and waiting. Shading his eyes he saw the young prisoner being led
over to him. He was slouched on a black mare, his hands tied to the
saddle horn. The bandage around Hunter’s head had telltale blotches
of blood where he had been grazed. Nothing serious, Blake knew, but
he still felt badly. No one bothered to clean the prisoner up; his
face still had mud on it from the fall off his horse. His shirt had
signs of dried blood also and his pants were torn over the left
knee. Again, Blake did not like this and was remorseful. This was
definitely all wrong even though Pits believed he was right.

Once more, he thought about freeing Hunter,
but again he believed this was for the best.

He mounted Checkers, grabbed the mare’s reins
and led his prisoner out of the run-down fort. The hot sun stayed
on their backs as they trotted a while, then slowed the pace.
Although he assumed the kid was in some pain, he was in no hurry to
get to where he was going. Surely the prisoner had a good size
headache at least, but the boy never complained. Hunter Walsh was
stubborn, he never talked the whole while he’d been interrogated.
But the kid was brave and he had to admire him for that.

They camped by a lake that night and Blake
untied Hunter’s hands to allow him to wash up and relieve himself.
He then informed Hunter where he was being escorted to and no
further words were spoken by either and he didn’t mind. He was
never one for idle chatter anyway, although he did wonder if his
prisoner had a family.

Hunter had plenty to say to the tall cowboy
but decided he probably be wasting his breath. Though a few times
he thought he saw some compassion in the other man’s eyes. Why was
he being led like a lamb to slaughter? Selling slaves wasn’t a
hanging offense. Yes, those self-righteous men were known to beat
up on slave dealers when caught but none were jailed or killed
except in gunfire, like the night he was wounded. Just his luck the
abolitionists were gun happy men. He settled down assuming that
when he was left at the fort, he’d be sent back home. But you can
be sure he wouldn’t do that again. It hadn’t occurred to him about
what he was doing, he had never before seen darkies in that
condition: the frightened look in their bleak eyes, the whimpering
of women and children.

Dead God, he had lost all respect for his
father at that moment. Being raised in the woods far from reality,
he had no idea, only heard stories from his mother. How some men
were whipped and mauled by dogs. How woman were raped by their
owners to produce light skinned children. But they were only words.
That awful night he saw for himself the horror of those words.
Hunter swallowed the despair in his throat as terrible regrets
assailed him.

So ashamed for his actions, he believed he
deserved whatever was waiting for him.

THREE

Casey sighed. She was tired when she reached
the post where she knew the slaves would be brought; glad she had
overheard her father talk with Hunter the night before they left.
It was deserted now, but there had been men here only a short time
ago, the campfire was still smoldering. She searched the empty
barracks for some kind of clue and was just about to give up when
she spotted a piece of paper on the floor. It was part of a journal
on what had taken place here. Her eyes scanned at the first few
lines where it said that a prisoner was taken to Fort Tate.