The Freedom Star Part 4

"No, I'm going down to Milton to work for Mr. Day in his furniture business."

"That rich nigra with the big brick house?" July shook his head. "They say he owns his own slaves."

Mama Rose scowled. A stocky woman, she had been midwife to every birth on the McConnell farm, white or black, for the last thirty years. "The Lord don't look kindly on them white men buying and selling the African, what's he to think when he sees a brother putting his own kind in chains?"

"It ain't right, Mama Rose. That's for certain." July raised a trembling hand toward the heavens. "That nigra gots to get his self right with the Lord."

"Amen," the small group replied.

"It's a confusion, sure enough, a black man owning his own kind," Isaac said. "But I got no say in that, no more'n I got a say in what Ma.s.sa McConnell tells me to do. All I knows is Mr. Day's gonna be teaching me furniture, then I'll be able to hire out on carpentry jobs, same as Pa."

Isaac turned to July. "Reckon I'll get up there to Richmond town one of these days. If'n I does, I'll fetch you one of them penny post cards so you can see Richmond for yourself."

"That'd be mighty nice." July poked the coals with his stick and watched as sparks drifted skyward.

Chapter Six.

October 1860 Gaslights cast a pale glow across the quadrangle. Ten minutes until curfew. Henry hurried toward his dormitory. What an evening-the Napoleon Club-only the best students belonged. Professor Robertson said it was his riding that got him invited, but only this one time, so he could hear the discussion on Napoleon's tactics at the Battle of Eylau. Clever, using his dragoons that way to save the center of his line . . .

He turned the corner of the south barracks and leaned into a swirling wind. As he pa.s.sed a row of bushes along the side of the building, someone grabbed him from behind. He struggled to pull away, but his attackers held him tightly. A figure emerged from the shadows and punched him in the midsection. Henry buckled. His captors yanked him to his feet. Another punch landed.

"I hear you southern boys like your slaves so much you sleep with them. Is that right, McConnell?"

A fist pounded his stomach. Henry gasped.

"Hey, secessh, you been poking your n.i.g.g.e.rs? You buying your fun on the auction block? Maybe you cotton pickers think mounting horses and mounting pickaninnys is all the same."

A boot caught him below the belt. Henry doubled over.

"You're too stupid to make it in this man's army, McConnell. Stick to your plow horses and n.i.g.g.e.r women."

The hands let go. Henry dropped to the ground, drawing his knees to his chest as footfalls faded across the quad. He sucked in a deep breath and struggled to one knee. Ribs . . . broken? Standing on wobbly legs, he rested his hands on his knees. Finally, he straightened and limped to the barracks, staggering up to his third floor room. He opened the door, then slumped against the jam, clutching his side.

Edward looked up from his studies. "What in the h.e.l.l happened to you?"

"Got jumped."

Grabbing Henry under his arms, Edward led him across the room and lowered him onto his bunk. "Who did this?"

"Some of your Republican friends, I reckon-caught me down by south barracks."

"You see any of them?"

Henry shook his head. " They wore hoods."

"And gave you a good whupping, I see." Edward pulled off Henry's shoes. "Must be the night for shenanigans. The word is, two boys from Vermont also got jumped by some of your South Carolina friends."

"They're not my friends."

"Just the same, Henry, I warned you."

Henry struggled to sit up. "Dammit, Shepherd, this isn't the West Point I signed on for. d.a.m.n the politicians. d.a.m.n the abolitionists." He threw his shoe against the door. "d.a.m.n those secessh b.a.s.t.a.r.ds too."

_____.

The large dining hall filled with eager cadets. Henry ran a finger under his starched collar. "Never figured I'd be looking forward to some dandified dress ball. I wager Belinda will be first to arrive and she'll be looking for me." He elbowed Edward and pointed to the doors at the far end.

The rural Hudson River basin yielded few women of culture, so the belles of New York City came up river on a packet steamer for the monthly cotillion.

"Got your eye on that little blonde from New Jersey?" Henry said.

Edward brushed the front of his tunic. "Do you think she's sweet on me?"

"Calm yourself, Shepherd. Last month you were more nervous than a preacher caught with a jug of elderberry wine."

"You'd best worry about that Towers girl, McConnell. There's a mess of cadets who picture her on their arm. You'll be lucky if you get one dance." Edward nudged Henry. "Look, here they come."

A sea of pastel poured through the double doors. The corps of cadets let out a cheer as dozens of young ladies demurely gathered along the far wall.

Belinda's pale yellow dress set off her raven black hair and caused her to stand out from the crowd. Henry made his way behind the line of cadets, maneuvering as close as he could.

A captain, one of the tactical officers, marched to the center of the floor, snapped to attention, and faced the corps of cadets. "Gentlemen, these ladies have unselfishly consented to grace you with their company this evening. I trust you will repay their kindness with conduct befitting future officers of the United States Army." The captain nodded to the orchestra conductor.

The scuffling of feet drowned the opening notes of a waltz as cadets dashed across the floor in search of dance partners.

Henry raced too, sliding to a stop in front of Belinda, his left arm c.o.c.ked behind his back and his right hand extended. Bowing, he gazed into her eyes. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

She blushed, accepting his hand with a curtsy. Henry twirled her onto the dance floor with a purposeful grace born of long evenings of secret practice with Edward.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Belinda." His stomach tightened, reminding him of his recent beating.

"Why, Henry McConnell, I do believe you have found your talent for moving in three quarter time. The ladies present, and especially their feet, will be most appreciative of your newly discovered penchant for the waltz." Belinda squeezed his hand and gave Henry a teasing smile.

Henry floated across the dance floor, hoping she couldn't feel the pounding in his chest. They shared small talk. She returned his attentions with flirtatious laughs. When the music ended, a pattering of applause rose from the room.

A tall cadet strolled across the dance floor, heading straight for Belinda. Henry cut him off, stepping up to Belinda and extending his hand. "I would be honored to share the next waltz with you."

"Henry, you are quite forward, aren't you? But I would be delighted . . ." she curtsied and took his hand.

As they whirled to the music, Edward clumped past with the young blonde in tow. He appeared to be attempting some variation of the box step as he stared at his feet and counted, "One two three, one two three . . ."

When the music ended, Belinda turned to Henry. "I must spend time with others. It would be improper for a lady to save all her dances for one gentleman." She batted her eyes.

"Would you care for some refreshment first?"

"Why, yes. Thank you." She fanned herself with her hand. "I am as dry as can be."

Henry went in search of the punch bowl, no doubt already spiked with a covert addition of rum. He found the table festooned with cups, plates and pastries. After ladling fruit punch into two cups, Henry maneuvered through the crowd to where he had left Belinda.

A rousing polka ended and Belinda and another cadet whirled off the dance floor, laughing as they high stepped together. Henry caught Belinda's eye. She rushed to him, pulling her dance partner by the hand. "Henry, you do know George, don't you? He dances a wonderful polka!"

Henry nodded at Cadet Wheatley. "We are acquainted." He turned away from the taller cadet and held a gla.s.s out to Belinda. "Here's your punch. I hope you find it refreshing after such vigorous exercise."

She gave Henry a reproving frown, then turned toward Cadet Wheatley. "George, I do thank you for a most enjoyable dance. Now don't be a stranger. I would be so disappointed if we could not share another polka." She tilted her head and curtsied. Cadet Wheatley returned the bow and stepped away.

"Now, Henry, I declare, you are exhibiting all the annoying symptoms of genuine green-eyed jealousy. You must allow me my polkas."

Henry drained his cup, then took Belinda's, setting both on a table along the wall. "Let's dance."

Henry whirled Belinda into the center of the swirling crowd. Silent and purposeful, he concentrated on matching his steps to the music.

"Henry, it is so warm in here. I must have some fresh air. May we go outside?"

"With pleasure." Henry guided Belinda around the dance floor until they reached the end of the long hall. There they exited through the double doors. A few couples danced on the flagstone patio. Others shared quiet conversation or talked in small groups. Laughter cut through the stillness of the cool evening.

"Is there no place without interruptions?" Belinda asked.

He pulled at his collar, swallowed hard, and pointed. "Yonder is Flirtation Walk."

"I suppose you must go there often?"

His face warmed. He wiped his damp palms on his coat. "Never been out there. The rule is, cadets aren't allowed on Flirtation Walk without a lady on their arm."

"Will I do?" She hooked her arm in Henry's.

He smiled. They walked in silence until they came to an overlook on the cliffs above the wide Hudson River. Moonlight painted a white swath across the dark waters below. Without the protection of the trees, the air turned cool.

Belinda shivered and snuggled against Henry. "Chilly . . ."

He put an arm around her shoulder.

"Like back there between you and George." She gave him a questioning look.

"That? Just a difference of opinion."

"Really?"

Henry took his arm from her shoulder and leaned against the stone wall. "Some don't care much for us southerners. All this political talk has folks riled."

"Henry, are you a Lincoln man?"

"I'm a soldier."

"And you are from Virginia." Belinda stepped back and seemed to study him. "You don't own slaves, do you?"

"My family's owned slaves for more than a hundred years," he said. "It's a natural and honorable economic system."

"It is so cruel . . ."

"Nothing cruel about it. We take good care of our nigras. We feed them, clothe them, give them homes. They're a right happy lot. Folks up here are making an issue out of simple property rights."

"But Henry, they're not just property. Those are people. They have rights too. Why, how'd you feel if you were sold off at some auction?"

"You ever meet a nigra?"

Belinda shook her head.

"They're different. Good folk, mind you, but most are a mite slow, like children."

"I read in Harper's Weekly that all they need is their freedom-"

"Do you know what would happen if all those slaves was to be set free?" Henry said. "They'd starve-that's what. They don't have the means of making a living on their own."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Last month you mentioned a friend back home, Isaac, I believe you called him. Is he one of your coloreds?"

Henry rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure, his mama's our cook, best cook east of the Mississippi."

"Is he a helpless child?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Well, is he smart?"

Henry leaned against the wall. A cloud drifted in front of the moon, momentarily darkening the overlook. "Isaac reads some, does figures too." Henry chuckled. "You should see him work long division. He figures numbers in his head faster than old man Crowley down at the mercantile can do with his pencil."

"He doesn't sound helpless, Henry McConnell."

Henry poked at a stone with his boot. "Isaac and his folks are different. They're like family and he's like a brother. Florence and Abraham, that's his mama and his pa, they've been with us since before I was born. They don't know any other way, and they don't want to be set free. Where would they go? Besides, they like it where they are."

Belinda tossed a pebble over the cliff. "Henry, have you ever asked Isaac what he thinks about that?"

"It's getting late." He took Belinda's arm. "I need to get you back before your ship sails."

Belinda stood fast. "Henry McConnell, you and your coloreds present me with a dilemma. Whatever will become of my standing in New York society if you don't change your prehistoric views?"

"New York society be d.a.m.ned." Henry turned and began walking back to the dining hall. Belinda ran to catch up, taking Henry by the arm. He looked straight ahead as they walked on in silence. Just before they reached the patio, Belinda pulled him to a stop. "This might be our last private moment until next month," she said. "I don't want to say *good-bye' without giving you something to remember me by." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.