Always and Forever

  A familiar but repellent voice sounded at their backs. “My lord, Grace, is that you?”

  A tight-jawed Grace turned to see Garth’s wife, Amanda Young Leeds. She was wearing a sunshine yellow gown that had been designed for an ingenue, a title the plain-faced Amanda hadn’t been able to claim for a decade.

  “Why, it is you!” Amanda stated with wide eyes. She scanned the very dirty Grace up and down, then gasped, “What happened to you?”

  Grace wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. First she’d been forced to endure the train ride from hell, and now everyone in town would be gossiping about her again, all because she’d had the misfortune to run into the badly dressed Amanda not more than ten minutes after stepping off the train.

  Grace finally answered the rude question by saying distinctly, “It’s none of your business, Amanda.”

  Amanda drew back as if stung. “Well, excuse me, I’m sure everyone will be quite interested to know you’re home.” And she huffed off.

  Grace shook her head, then looked at her aunts. “Can we leave now?”

  “Certainly,” Dahl responded, shooting a malevolent glance at Amanda’s departing back. “We’ve a hack waiting.”

  When Grace first entered the house, the familiar pictures, furniture and feel of the place tore at her heart. Had Lane Trent gotten his way, she would never have seen her home again. She wanted to pinch herself to make certain she wasn’t dreaming.

  Looking over her shoulder at her aunts standing so silent behind her, Grace fed her eyes on the sight of them. The night Trent and his men came, she didn’t think she’d ever see them again either. “I missed you two, very much. Very much.”

  Both aunts were teary, but gave her a smile.

  “And we missed you, too,” Tulip said, love in her eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  “Am I?”

  Dahlia said, “Well, you just go on up, get you a nice hot bath, and Tulip and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  Grace loved the sound of that. Weary in mind, body, and spirit, but thankful to be home, Grace and her babies climbed the steps to her bedroom.

  While the water heated on the grate in her bathing room, Grace slowly peeled off her soiled clothes. She planned on burning each and every item the first thing in the morning. Because she’d had to travel in cars that often sported vermin and filth, she had no idea what might be living in her clothing and had no desire to find out. Remembering Jackson’s poem in the pocket of her skirt, she retrieved it, placed it on her dressing table, then went to start her bath.

  After washing her hair three times, Grace lay in the tub surrounded by warm, scented water and soaked and soaked and soaked. When the temperature cooled, she added more hot water and resumed her reclining position. She stayed in the tub for quite some time, letting the heat and silence drain away her aches and anxieties, but when the skin on her toes and fingers began to wrinkle like dried apples, she thought it time to get out.

  Later, after she’d oiled and braided her hair, she put on a soft, clean gown and started in on the plate of food brought up by the aunts. She had to force herself to eat slowly and not devour the green beans, yams, and smoked turkey as her ravenous stomach demanded. Instead, she ate slowly. She didn’t want to be sick.

  For the first time in many days the babies seemed to enjoy the food their mama had eaten. Later, a grateful Grace lay down on her bed and savored the soft mattress beneath her back.

  She hadn’t slept on a real bed since leaving to set up the wagon train. The wagon train seemed to be a lifetime away. She’d gone through so much since then. Her unguarded thoughts naturally swung to Jackson, and she wondered where he was, what he might be doing, and if he were safe.

  Getting up, she unfolded his poem and tucked the edge of the open paper into the top corner of the dressing table mirror.

  …And when all things go well with thee,

  With smiles and tears remember me.

  Grace kissed the tips of her fingers and placed them lovingly against her husband’s written words. “Goodnight,” she whispered. “Stay safe.”

  It took Jackson nearly three weeks to travel to Austin and track down former Texas Ranger Jeb Randolph. The man had moved five different times in the years Jackson had been away, and Jackson was just happy to find him alive.

  When Jackson rode up to the small spread outside of Austin, Jeb was out front chopping wood. He had his sleeves rolled up over his meaty caramel-colored arms, and seeing Jackson, he stopped and stared.

  “Jack! Is that you?”

  Jackson smiled and dismounted. “Yep, it’s me.”

  Jeb hastened over and the two old friends embraced.

  “How’ve you been?” Jeb wanted to know, but before Jackson could answer, Jeb hollered into the house, “Mary, come on out. Somebody here I want you to meet.”

  A pretty young woman came out onto the porch, drying her hands on a dish towel.

  Jeb said, “Jack, I want you to meet my wife, Mary. Mary, this is Jack Blake, one of the finest lawmen ever to wear a star.”

  Jackson nodded at Mrs. Randolph. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Same here. You two want something cold to drink?”

  Jeb answered, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  He then beckoned Jackson up on the porch. “Come on, sit a while. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  So Jackson told him, starting with the death of his father.

  Jeb interrupted. “I wondered why you suddenly disappeared. Lane Trent, huh? Never liked him or his daddy. Dealing with them was like dealing with rattlesnakes.”

  “Well, that snake is still alive. Wanted to know if you’d help me try and cut off his rattler.”

  Jackson then related the story of his most recent run-in with Trent.

  Mary appeared with glasses of lemonade. When she departed, each man helped himself to a glass, then Jeb said, “Wish I could help, but I can’t. Those fools at the capitol took my star. I’m not a Ranger anymore.”

  “Retired?”

  Jeb shook his head sadly. “No. Black men can no longer be Rangers, Jack. It’s against the law. They took my star in ’76, probably around the same time you left.”

  Jackson found this hard to believe.

  “Time’s slipping back. They’re rewriting the laws everyday, it seems. Can’t vote, can’t testify against Whites, no matter the circumstances; can’t do this, can’t do that. Why did we fight the war?”

  Jackson stared off across the open land. Would he have to give up and swallow his quest for justice simply because he was a man of color?

  “If I were you, Jack, I’d go on with my life and let the past lie.”

  “But I can’t, Jeb. Trent shot my father down like a wild dog.”

  Jeb nodded his understanding. “I know, but what can you do? Times won’t allow you to bring him to trial. Do you have family, a wife, children?”

  A vision of Grace rose in Jackson’s mind. “Yes, a wife. Children on the way.”

  “Then live for them. Someday—and it may not be in our lifetime—times will be different. Our children and our grandchildren will be able to petition the courts and receive the justice they seek. They’ll be able to vote, Jim Crow will be dead, and who knows, maybe one of your descendants will run for President.”

  Jackson allowed himself a smile.

  Jeb looked him in the eye. “Live for the future, Jack. Don’t give men like Trent the satisfaction of lynching another Black man. Go back to your family. Get your revenge by raising strong, beautiful children who’ll give these crackers a run for their money someday.”

  Jackson knew Jeb was offering sound advice, and at this point he supposed he was ready to take the words to heart, but how many other men like him would have to go to their graves with the bitter pill of injustice in their souls until the country righted itself and gave every man and woman, no matter the color, the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? He thought about Grace again. She’d tried to tell him t
he same thing, yet his pride had prevented him from hearing her. She’d saved his life, but it hadn’t stopped him from leaving her and his children. Was she in Chicago? he wondered. Were she and the aunts just sitting down to dinner? Were his children thriving and growing? He knew of only one way to answer those questions.

  Jackson drained the last of his lemonade from his glass and stood.

  Jeb looked disappointed. “You leaving already? You just got here.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, where you heading?”

  “Up north to try and make peace with my wife.”

  Jeb smiled pleased. “Well, when you get there, give her a hug for me. And Jack?”

  Jackson turned back.

  “There’s no shame in this, none whatsoever. Given a choice between living and dying? I’d pick living every time.”

  Jackson nodded. Mounting his horse, he gave Jeb a parting wave, then headed north to Grace and the future.

  It took Jackson four days to reach Marshall. He wanted to stop off and see Iva before heading to Illinois. He decided it might be better to visit her at night, so as to avoid a confrontation with Trent, but she wasn’t at home. In fact, the way the windows were boarded up, it appeared as if she’d abandoned the place. He found that odd. Puzzled, he got back on his horse and rode over to Riley’s. Maybe he’d be able to get some answers there.

  Riley opened his door cautiously, but when he saw Jackson standing against the night, he smiled and invited him in. “Sure wasn’t expecting to see you ’round these parts again. Where’ve you been?”

  “Austin, but I’m heading back north. Wanted to say good-bye to you and Iva first before I left, but her place is all boarded up. Do you know where she is?”

  Riley shook his head sadly. “She and Davi are gone to California. After Trent went on the rampage, she had to leave. He and his thugs beat her up pretty bad.”

  “What?”

  Riley then told him the story of all that had transpired since the last time he and Jackson were together. While Jackson listened, his jaw tightened upon hearing about the terror and the fear spread by Trent and his men in their search for Jackson and Grace, and about Riley’s own beating.

  “They beat me up pretty bad, too.”

  Jackson felt terrible. He’d no idea his old friends had suffered so much on his behalf. At least Grace had been safe with M’dear.

  Riley said, “Funny thing, though. No one’s seen Trent or his riders in over a month. Some folks are saying he went into the swamp and never came out.”

  Jackson felt a chill cross his soul. “When did he go into the swamp?”

  “Rumors said a day or two after Iva and Davi left here. Why?”

  “Grace was still with M’dear when I left for Austin.”

  Riley looked worried. “You think Trent might’ve found her?”

  Jackson headed for the door. “I hope not. Lord, I hope not.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “To see M’dear.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, you’ve already proven what a friend you are. You stay and keep an eye on things here. I’ll let you know in a few days if I find out anything.”

  So Jackson rode off, heading east. He prayed with every fiber of his being that Grace and M’dear were okay. He knew William would do everything in his power to keep the two women safe, but William was only one man. Even someone of William’s immense size could be overpowered if the enemy brought enough troops. Jackson spurred his horse on. He needed to know.

  From his travels with William through the winding waterways, Jackson knew that he and M’dear had a few rafts hidden in the undergrowth in various locations, so when he entered the area, he tied up his horse and searched one out. He dragged it to the water’s edge, pushed it in, then used its long pole to move away from the bank and out into the silent water. He’d’ve preferred a faster mode of transportation, but since this slow drifting was all there was, he forced himself to be patient.

  When he finally came in sight of the spot where M’dear lived, he thought he might have made a wrong turn somewhere on the river and gotten himself turned around because there were no cabins here, but as he poled closer, the piles of charred wood came into view, and his heart stopped. What happened here? Where were the cabins, where was M’dear? More important, where was Grace?

  Even before he could maneuver the raft closer, Jackson yelled out, “Grace? Grace!”

  Once he secured the raft, he stepped onto the bank and began to call again. His heart in his throat, he looked around the silent surroundings and began to call again. Dread rising, he didn’t know what to do.

  Then William appeared with his arrows and a string of birds. “Welcome back.”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  “I took her to Louisiana and she caught a train home.”

  Jackson felt so relieved he had to sit on a stump to wait for his heart to stop pounding. She was safe.

  He asked then, “M’dear?”

  “With Jupiter.”

  Jackson knew what he meant. The woman who’d given him back his life lived no more. “It wasn’t Trent, was it?”

  “Indirectly, yes. They came that night, but it was her heart. I got her and your wife to safety and then sent Trent to hell.”

  Jackson sat up. “Trent’s dead?”

  “Yes, and so that you may be certain, I will show you.”

  They took the raft and journeyed about a mile and a half downstream. As they rounded a bend, the grisly sight of four corpses hanging from the trees stopped Jackson cold. The arrows William must have used to bring the men down were still implanted in skulls, throats, and hearts. The bodies had begun decomposing and the birds had feasted on their eyes.

  “They will serve as a warning to others,” William offered simply.

  That said, he turned the raft around and headed back the way they’d come.

  Grace spent her first week at home, recuperating and catching up on her sleep, but by the second week the boredom got the best of her, so she went back to work at the bank. She hadn’t heard from Jackson and was starting to wonder if she ever would. The aunts now knew the full story of what had happened to Grace while in Texas, and they too said prayers for his safe return each night.

  As the days turned into weeks, Grace’s stomach began taking on the roundness usually associated with her condition, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She joined a new literary society, went to church, talked to her forming babies at night about their father, and tried to keep herself busy.

  On the night of one of Black Chicago’s most famous charity events, Grace viewed herself critically in the mirror. The black velvet dress looked stunning on her, she had to admit. The empire lines effectively camouflaged her burgeoning stomach, and the almost too daring neckline would give the gossips something else to talk about besides whatever tales Amanda had been spreading about their chance meeting at the train station.

  Grace walked over to her dressing table to put on her jewelry, and as always, her eyes settled on Jackson’s poem. Where are you? she asked him silently. Her worry was fast becoming irritation. He hadn’t written or wired. Did he believe he could come back any old time and still find her waiting with open arms? Noticing that she was becoming upset, she set the thoughts aside and finished the business at hand.

  Grace had been going to the Charities Ball for over a decade now. The first one had taken place in 1865, right after the end of the war. At that time she’d been far too young to attend such an adult-oriented gathering, but her parents had gone and it had become a tradition. In those days most of the money raised went to build Black schools and to defray the costs incurred by members of the community as they agitated for the right to vote on behalf of the city’s Black male citizens because before the war free Blacks were barred from the process. The vote came in 1870, and the schools were desegregated four years later, but the need to raise money continued to be necessary.

  Presently there we
re nearly fifteen thousand Black residents of Chicago, and more were arriving everyday from the states bordering Illinois and from upper southern states like Kentucky and Missouri. Most were employed as domestics and servants and denied access to the many jobs that were available in such an industrial city.

  Grace wondered what the founder of the city, Black Frenchman Jean Baptiste DuSable, would think of the spreading metropolis that had grown out of his small settlement. She thought he would be proud of how it had risen like a phoenix after the devastating fire of October 1871. During those three terrible flame-filled days, four-fifths of the city had burned. Over thirteen thousand homes had been destroyed and three hundred and fifty thousand had been left homeless. A year later, the city was well back on its feet.

  But she thought DuSable would be saddened to see the deplorable conditions many of the race were forced to live in, and further saddened by the city’s discriminating policies. Most of the Black residents lived in mixed neighborhoods next door to Italians and Germans just as poor as they in an area framed on the north by the Chicago River, on the south by Sixteenth Street, and on the west and east by the south branch of the river and Lake Michigan, respectively. The area now being called the South Side Black Belt lay narrowly sandwiched between the railroad yards and the industrial factories east of the big, fancy homes of Wabash Avenue, and west of Wentworth Avenue.

  The low wages made it hard for people to get a leg up on life and even harder on their children. Many families had no extra money for schooling or doctors, or, in some cases, burying. Events like the Charities Ball and others were held so that the race could take care of those who needed help until they could make it on their own.

  Most of the representative Blacks also lived in mixed neighborhoods in places like Morgan Park, Hyde Park, Woodlawn, and Englewood. Many had ties to the White community by way of their services and businesses. Henderson Pratt, one of the city’s wealthiest Black tailors, was this year’s ball chairman and the event was being held at his spacious home.

  As she stepped down from the hack and paid the driver the fare there were coaches parked up and down the street. Grace could see elegantly dressed men and women making their way to the door.