Chapter Eighteen: Sadie.

The earliest memories Sadie had were not all pleasant memories, but were dark, ugly, and painful. Throughout her thirty-four years those memories would invade her dream states and awaken her in a cold-sweat and panic.

And this morning had been one of those times. She was caught up in a vivid dream, trying frantically to break out of it, aware she was dreaming and fighting to wake up to end the horrors of it. Fragments of the same vivid dream often repeated and haunted her.

But the dreams were not fantasy, they were reality. She had been only four-years-old when a White man had come into their home, a small one room shack on the Taylor Hills plantation. She had been sleeping on the floor in a corner, a piece of a blanket partially covering her. Loud voices awakened her and she was immediately overcome with fear. In the dim light, the man stood over her father, who was on the floor, his arms raised to protect the blows of a thick piece of wood, hitting, hitting, blood spattering, her father's pleading, crying out. Soon his sounds changed to moans. Her mother, huddled nearby, was screaming and sobbing unable to do a thing to save her husband from the brutality coming from the White man.

Sadie pulled the blanket to her face, not wanting to watch but afraid not to. She wanted to move to her mother but knew she could not. She dropped the blanket from her face and looked to the window but an escape seemed impossible.

She didn't understand what was wrong, why this man was beating her father. She silently cried out to G.o.d to stop it.

Minutes later her father's moans stopped and the man moved to her mother. He ripped her mother's clothing off and then climbed on top of her. Sadie knew he was hurting her mother, but at that young age did not fully realize what was happening. All she knew was her mother was crying and her screams were stifled by the man putting his hand over her mother's mouth. Soon it was quiet and the man stood up. He leaned over and picked up the piece of wood and hit her mother in the head several times.

He threw the wood across the room and then turned toward Sadie. Frightened and terrified, she curled into a ball and pulled the blanket tight around her. In the next moment she could smell the foul odor of the man as he pulled the blanket from her and dropped onto her, straddling her small body.

The pain was excruciating. She wanted to cry out, beg him to stop but her voice would not come out. Within moments, it was over. He stood, turned, and walked out of her home.

Sadie had not moved from that spot for a long time, afraid the man might be outside. It was only when she heard the voices of those who lived nearby that she was able to move and go for help.

Her parents were buried on the lower end of the Taylor Hills Plantation and on that day, the first wife of Lawrence Taylor took her home and allowed her to live in the mansion with the other housemaids. For a long time, Sadie reacted in fear any time a White man came to visit. Mrs. Taylor had a.s.sured her there was nothing to worry about as Mr. Taylor said they would all be safe. Rumor among the plantation Negroes was that Lawrence Taylor had killed the White man.

Sadie hoped that was so. She wished only that G.o.d had acted sooner.

As she grew older she learned to trust Lawrence Taylor and even respected him. That is, she respected him for a time. When she was thirteen, her girlish figure suddenly changed into one of a young woman, b.r.e.a.s.t.s full and noticeable, even in the plain cotton blouses she wore. Lawrence Taylor noticed, too. At every opportunity, he would fondle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It terrified her and she was helpless to do anything about it. Finally she told one of the older Negro women and her words to Sadie were, "You just never mind, honey. Don't turn away from him. Let him have his pleasure."

It was not the type of consoling she expected or wanted from someone she believed to be older and wiser.

Sadie was sixteen when Mrs. Taylor died and it worried her that Mr. Taylor might then need more "pleasure."

And he did.

Two months after his wife died, Sadie was in his bedroom making the bed when he came into the room, watched her for a moment, and then grabbed her and pushed her onto the bed. She tried to shut out of her mind what was happening. It was no use. She would never forget the violation, the pain of it, and during those minutes she flashed back to the memory of the White man raping her mother. That was the first time Taylor violated her to that extent, but not the last.

Thankfully, a few months later, Taylor began courting White women and apparently he found his pleasure with them, and then a few years later he married Madeline.

In the kitchen, Sadie began preparations to cook breakfast. She put wood in the oven, added small pieces of chipped wood and lit the fire. After she was sure the fire had a good start, she picked up the wheat flour sack from the pantry and went to the drainboard where she scooped flour into a large bowl to make biscuits.

She wanted to forget her nightmare and all the memories it brought but it refused to leave her mind.

But something else was bothering her, too, and she did not know what to do about it. Maybe that had been why she had the nightmare this morning, she decided. She feared Lawrence Taylor. Not for her own safety but for the safety of his wife, Madeline. He could be a violent man and she was unsure if Madeline knew that about her husband.

Sadie was deep in thought as she rolled out the biscuit dough and did not hear Lawrence Taylor enter the room.

"Where is my wife?" he asked, his voice somewhat gruffer than usual.

Sadie, startled, turned around. "I b'lieve she went ridin', sir."

The expression on his face was one of irritation. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. "She should be back." He returned his watch to his pant pocket. "I will be in my study. Bring me a cup of hot coffee."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Taylor." Sadie hurriedly wiped her hands on a towel, and moved to the coffee pot to prepare it. "Coffee'll be ready in a few minutes, sir."

Taylor nodded and abruptly turned and left the kitchen.

Sadie shivered and said to herself, Madeline, honey, you best get yourself back here, and quick.

About the time the first batch of biscuits came out of the oven, Sadie caught sight of Madeline, through the kitchen window, riding near the orchard in the direction of the barn.

Sadie knew where Madeline had been on her recent early morning rides. She didn't need Nicholas's suspicions that Madeline's horse had not been ridden hard or for the length of time Madeline would be out riding. No, Sadie knew. She could see the sparkle in Madeline's eyes and the rosy blush to her cheeks when she returned from her early morning rides. Madeline was meeting the handsome young Lieutenant Edson.

And Sadie prayed that Lawrence Taylor would never find out.

Madeline sat on the bench at the end of her bed and removed her riding boots. Sadie had prepared her bath. Madeline had noticed Sadie had been unusually quiet this morning but when she asked if anything was wrong, Sadie insisted all was just fine.

She undressed and slid into the warm bath, welcoming the relaxing water. She reached for the soap and lathered up, caressing her body, imaging she was again experiencing the warm and soothing hands of William Edson. G.o.d, how he made her feel like a sensual woman. She never dreamed she was capable of such deep emotional expression. She had never had anything even close to that deep emotion and sensuality in her relationship with her husband. Lawrence was not a tender lover. In fact, he was an indifferent, mechanical lover, as she now discovered after making love with William. As her hands moved across the curves and ins and outs of her body, she savored the sensual feelings, sighing and moaning at the pleasure, and reliving her stolen moments with William.

She soaked a little longer in the tub before stepping out and toweling off. She put on her undergarments and went to the closet and chose a dress, a simple one, yet beautiful. Beautiful, a word she now loved hearing from William. She felt beautiful when with him, really beautiful.

Before she stepped out from behind the hand-painted divider separating her bathing area from her sleeping area, she ran her fingers over the luxurious and ornate hand painted design. The divider was imported from Europe and Lawrence had paid a princely sum for it as he had for most furnishings in his home. She definitely was living in luxury, but now she knew it all meant nothing to her.

d.a.m.n, she thought, what am I doing here? She sighed, knowing she may be stuck here for years to come. She hated this war! She had wanted to go home to Iowa, but now, she wanted to go home with William, wherever that might be. She was in love. And she had no idea what she was going to be able to do about it. She feared William would be leaving any day. Their time was coming to an end and she could hardly stand to think about it.

She stepped beyond the divider and went to her desk. She had something important to do, even though feeling somewhat guilty about it. William had inadvertently given her some information about Confederate troop movement to the north. She had to get the information into the proper hands, and had to do so immediately.

As she began to write, she whispered, "Please forgive me, my dear William."

Within the half hour she sent Sadie on her way to Mrs. Montgomery's with a basket of jam and biscuits and a message for General Meade.

Chapter Nineteen: Thursday, the 27th Day of August 1863.

Carrollton, Louisiana Dear Companion, It is again I write you a few lines to let you know where we are and how I am getting along. I hope this may find you all enjoying good health and pleasure. We are six miles above New Orleans and have been for several days. I think from the appearance of things we are to go to Mobile, AL soon. I expect we will go around by water. It seems as though the Western army has all the hard work to do but a few more hard battles and it will be played out unless recruited. I do not pretend to say the Rebs can stand a siege. The best of their army was as badly used up as ours was but such a siege at Vicksburg is death on both armies.

When we pa.s.sed Port Hudson I was surprised to see such a looking place. I did not see any town whatever and to look at the place it looked like it was of no account to us or the Rebs. We did not stop at the place so I could not tell much about it. Dry goods and fishes of all description are tolerable cheap.

Yes, that was sad news about our cousin, Nelson. May he rest in peace. You didn't say, but I want to know what token or symbol you folks had before Nelson died. Did it come in a dream?

I was glad to read in your last post that you were all well. Nothing gives me more pleasure in life than to hear such. Health is the foremost thing in life. Without it there is but very little pleasure and what is a person unless they can enjoy some pleasure. Without health they are one of the most miserable creatures living. I have tolerable good health at the present time.

We have one of the most beautiful camps I ever seen. It is as nice and green as ever you have seen on the Iowa prairie. Although it is level, it is nice and dry and has the appearance of a healthy place. It is kept very clean as the boys and girls gather up all the trash and stuff and it is thrown away by the soldiers and that keeps all the filth away. Citizens say it is very healthy here at Carrollton. They say it is a great deal healthier than at the city. I would rather live here than any place I have seen this side of Keokuk, Iowa. We have a breeze here all the time which makes it very pleasant. It is tolerably cool here at night. I can bear a blanket most every night. It is not as warm here at night as it is in Iowa summers.

You talk a great deal about furloughs. If you knew as much about furloughs as I do you wouldn't write so much about it. Furloughs are hard to get. When I can get a furlough I will come home and see you. All but the boys from our corner will not get to go home. All the balance does. I must say it, you and Bill Thompson's wife are considerable alike, always Ding Donging to come home on a furlough. I would like to come home and want to go as bad as you want me to come. You need not take any offense at this. I thought I would let you know that furloughs cannot be had whenever a person wanted one.

I want you to write me about the draft in Iowa and whether they are doing anything with it and how people stand on it and whether Randolph Bennett has a notion of war yet and how they are getting along by this time, and whether Turner has the rheumatis yet. I would be glad if this war was over with, so we could all go home. From the appearance of things at present I cannot see how it can last much longer. Where the Rebels have been enforcing their conscript law, citizens have been escaping it as much as possible. There are seventeen or eighteen deserters here from Mobile.

We heard news a few weeks ago about the draft riots in New York City. The poor and others doubted the wisdom of the war and even hate President Lincoln. I think it was the commutation fee and exceptions that caused the problem. It was unfair to take it out on the Negroes.

It was good news to hear that Lucinda is doing tolerably well now. I know it was hard for James to not be given a furlough to go home. Let me know how Benjamin does before the judge. Pap wrote me with news of that.

I must quit my scribbling for you will not believe half I have written. So no more at present.

From your loving husband, Silas

Chapter Twenty: Alan Vance.

The courtroom spectators were silent as the bailiff held out the Bible. For a moment she stared at it.

He instructed, "Please put your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand."

Although fl.u.s.tered and nervous, she obeyed.

He continued, "Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

She replied, "Yes, I do."

The bailiff removed the Bible, turned and walked to the table opposite the jury box.

She lowered onto the wooden chair, her legs shaking. Her eyes swept over Benjamin seated at the defense table and beyond him to the people sitting in the gallery. A few faces she recognized, many others she did not. Every chair was filled. Others stood along the back wall of the courtroom.

The Judge cleared his throat and leaned forward in her direction and said, "Please state your full name."

"Lucinda Anne Garrison."

Allan Vance rose from behind the prosecution table, adjusted his wire rimmed eyegla.s.ses, brushed back his thinning hair and approached the witness box. He stopped three feet out, looked at her intently then said, "Mrs. Garrison, I realize this may be uncomfortable for you, as you claim to be a victim here, but you will have to excuse me if my questions seem insensitive. Do you understand?"

Lucinda nodded.

Judge Patterson again cleared his throat. "Please answer out loud, Mrs. Garrison," he instructed.

"Yes, your honor." She turned from the judge and looked directly at Allan Vance. "I understand."

One corner of Vance's mouth turned up slightly. He said, "Good. Now, you are married, is that correct?"

"Yes, I am."

"And what is your husband's name?"

"James Garrison."

Vance asked, "You are a school teacher, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Garrison, he is a teacher also?"

"Yes. We have our school, the Learning School."

Vance moved away from the witness box and walked toward the jury box, his back to her as he said, "I understand Mr. Garrison is away at war. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"He's been gone a long time-"

Defense attorney, Jonathan Matthews spoke up. "I object, your Honor."

Judge Patterson replied, "Overruled. Please answer the question, Mrs. Garrison."

"He's been gone several months."

"And how many months might that be?" Vance asked.

Lucinda replied, "Since October of '62."

Vance nodded and strolled back toward her, then said, "I see." He paused a moment, adjusted his gla.s.ses, which had slid down his nose a bit. He walked alongside the witness box and leaned on it.

Lucinda automatically moved further back into her chair, trying for distance between her and Vance. She saw that same curl of the corner of his lip, and his eyes held a look of satisfaction. He knew he was intimidating.

Vance, his arm now extended and pointing to Benjamin Storm seated at the defense table, asked, "Do you know the defendant, Benjamin Storm?"

"I do."

"And how do you know him, Mrs. Garrison?"

"He's family."

Vance moved away and turned toward the jury. "Oh. Blood family?"

Lucinda was aware all eyes in the gallery were on her. "No, he is of my husband's relatives."

"Is it true, Mrs. Garrison, that you were married once before you and James Garrison married?"

"Yes, I was for a short time."

Vance turned back toward her and walked slowly toward the witness box. "Is it true that your first marriage ended in divorce?"