War's End,1865
Copyright© 2026 by happyhugo
Chapter 5
Maybelle was heading home, and she took Tante Marie with her. She was leaving tomorrow morning from Maybelle’s for points south to the Gulf and then on to Haiti by ship. No one here was unhappy to see her leave. I wondered about the woman, for she was different from anyone I had ever known. At least she had performed the service of keeping my brother from abusing my wife again.
Bill Travers stayed the night on the Plantation. We were up early, and as we sat down to breakfast, Bill looked out when he heard people talking. It was barely light. It was our whole black population moving around, laughing and happy. “What’s going on with them, Jim?”
“They are getting ready to go out into the fields and waiting on me. It is the time when I am giving them orders on what to do and where to do it. The older workers and the smaller children will be riding in wagons. Some of the workers will be riding in another wagon with the hand tools to bring down the pickings harvested today. That will be packed and ready to ship when Maybelle sends a wagon to deliver them to the different stores. That will be tomorrow morning.
“The vegetables are picked while still in the cool part of the day and stored in the cool cellars. It will be picked up by the delivery wagons before light tomorrow and reach their destinations before they wilt. Some will be on customers’ tables before tomorrow’s dinner. The next day is the same. This week will be different because of Gaylord’s funeral. I may have to ask them to work a half day on Sunday to make up for it, which they will do. They can still go to Church in the afternoon.”
“They will do that just because you asked them to?” Where will they be going to Church?”
“They hold it in one of the threshing barns, and yes, they will do it. They could refuse if I didn’t extend the same right when one of their people passed away during the week. The Giffords have always shown respect for the desires of our slaves, as they respect us for the work that needs to be done.
“A pastor will be here for breakfast that day. He is black and sits at our table. While eating, he will have a short prayer session for us, then spend the rest of the day with those in the threshing barn. There, his sermons last hours, and when it’s over, we provide the meat for a good meal; the colored women cook up different dishes to go with it. We are always invited to the meal, and sometimes we join them. For our selves and Godly inspiration, once a month we here at home go to a church in the nearest village.”
“This seems unusual to me from what I’ve heard about the slaves and how the owners treated them. I shouldn’t have been surprised because when they were my troopers, Corporal Jack talked about coming home when the war ended. For some reason, I have been interested. I heard those other five troopers, not of this place, asking the Corporal if they could come with him because this home sounded much better than the Plantation that had owned them before the war.”
“Could be Bill, the plantation owners are a diverse bunch and treated their slaves in different ways. Some plantation owners hardly ever had anything to do with the slaves, employing an overseer to manage them. You can guess how an overseer would act if the owner demanded more produce from him and the slaves. I myself have seen and heard of several atrocities about how some plantations were managed.”
“Are there any plantations like that here in this area?”
“The only one that I know of that is less than ten miles from here. That’s the Streeter plantation.”
“Is it a rumor or is it all true?”
“I think it is true. We have had some of his slaves come by here while trying to escape. We have suspected that some of our people helped them. Best not to ask so it isn’t proven.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because we have several caves up in the hills, and I have seen evidence where some people have hung out there for periods of time. Muriel became close to our people, and she may have had a hand in some of these escapees at times. And no, I have never asked her anything about it either. That’s why I felt confident she would be protected when I joined the Army. She did have her troubles, though, while I was gone.”
“Do you care to share?”
“No, definitely not. It has been resolved now to my satisfaction.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, Bill, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. It was just something that happened years ago, and I couldn’t do anything about it at the time.”
“I understand.
Everyone on the Plantation worked hard in their free time to get ready for the funeral. Maybelleene had time to get used to me and wanted me to hold her, especially at bedtime. My son Jim still wanted his nurse, Prissy, to care for him.
We were just so busy. I wanted to be out in the fields seeing to the crops growing. I tried not to let it bother me, but I resented having to put on a face when the guests who came mentioned my brother and how much I must miss him. Muriel squeezed my arm sometimes when she felt I might burst out and declare my real feelings.
Finally, the service was over, and Maybelle and I threw one shovel of dirt on top of the casket and left it to the blacks to fill in the grave. My father had a marble monument carved so that everyone knew where he and my mother lay. The bodies of my grandparents lay to the right.
Gaylord had a plot on the left in the next row. There would be just his name before the world; he had no issue. My plot would be next to his with Muriel beside me. Maybelle had the next plot. Her stone was already there, with the Prentiss’s stone beside hers, both with dates on them. There was room for more plots beyond the one for Prentiss, where a stone could go if and when Maybelle married again.
The bulk of the cemetery was made up of the Nigras who worked and died while belonging to the Plantation. Their stones were inscribed with their names, but on slate rather than marble. Often, the older ones contained the name of the port in Africa from which they were shipped. There was a bit of history about each person kept in a hide-bound ledger meticulously kept by the owner of the Plantation. It was a thrill for the black children to come and ask to see their names written in this giant book.
Not many neighbors came to Gaylord’s funeral. He hadn’t been out socializing since Tante Marie came, and had been to only a few socials since he returned from the Army in the early days of the war. If the neighbors came to visit, he would speak and then escape with the excuse he had work to do ... of which there was little he did.
There were few secrets because many visitors came with attendants, and these attendants gossiped with those who belonged here on the Plantation. It was obvious to the visitors who arrived unannounced that Muriel had to be called in from the fields to meet with them, who were doing the work on the Plantation.
It was the same unspoken rumors and gossip about the other plantations, where the old order wasn’t followed, where everyone knew everyone’s business. The only thing that seemed to have escaped from the fact that Muriel was raped and impregnated by Gaylord, and not me, as her husband. I thanked Maybelle for keeping these facts from the neighbors. She often advertised the fact that I was home on a flying visit, and that was how Muriel became pregnant.
Rumors abounded about the fact that all wasn’t right at the Streeter’s Plantation and that Terrance Streeter was impregnating his women slaves almost at will. It had been going on for years, even before his father passed, and the ownership came to him. However, retribution did cause his death.
I had been home for nearly two months. I worked hard every day, and my free workers willingly worked just as hard. The Nigras, now free, could buy a few luxuries at the store with the minimal money they earned. I awoke one morning and was paying a little attention to Muriel. I enjoyed the kids, and they often came in at this time. “Love, do you think we should have the kids in to snuggle this morning?”
“Not this morning, I’ve just had my bath, and I want to stay in bed a bit longer.”
“Okay.” I listened to some outside noise and then spoke, “I guess I had better see what’s going on outside. It is noisier than usual in the yard.”
“You do that. I’ll be down, and breakfast will be ready in another half hour.”
I went out onto the Balcony and could see that there were strange buckboards in the yard near the quarters. The yard was also filled with strange Nigras. I turned back and told Muriel that something was happening in the quarters. I hurriedly got dressed, went down, and out. Corporal Jack was headed towards the big house.
“Good, you’re up. All of the Nigras from the Streeter plantation are here. That is, except for the maid of Streeter’s wife. She is attending to Mrs. Streeter.”
“What happened?”
“You do know that Streeter had a half-breed slave, named Matilda, that he kept for his own use, don’t you?”
“So I have heard. I’ve never seen Winifred. Christ, she is a young wife, and I understand she is likely looking.”
“She is, and has been married only three years. She came from a small plantation in Mississippi. She’s not the problem, though. Streeter is the problem, or was. He’s dead because his concubine, or whatever she is, took a knife to him. Matilda is dead too because Streeter lived long enough to shoot her before he bled to death.”
“What brought all this about? It must be something pretty dire.”
“It was. Matilda has had three kids by Streeter. Two of them are boys, and the youngest, at fourteen, is a girl. I understand that Matilda and the rest of the help were coming in from the fields last evening when Matilda heard her little girl screaming as they got near the quarters. Matilda went charging into her quarters and into her room. Streeter had the little girl naked and was attempting to rape her. Matilda hadn’t shucked her chopping knife, and it was still with her.
“The thing is, the little girl, I think they call her Mee Mee, looks white and is a quarter breed or less. She is turning into a beautiful young woman and has begun to develop. Streeter apparently couldn’t resist. As far as he is concerned, the girl is free, but he, Streeter, paid no attention to that fact at all and never has. He still thinks he owns his Nigras like he always has. Anyway, all the Nigras he thought he owned are out in our yard, hoping you and Muriel will take them in. These people here are imagining the worst and think they will all be charged and will hang. Try to calm them down if you can. Maybe Muriel will come out and talk to the women of the bunch.”