Mankillers

“It arrived a few days ago. Sarah loves it. A music box with the William Tell Overture. To remind her of their ru

Gus smiled. “He asked me to extend his best wishes to the two of you. Added that if you hadn’t married her, he would have.”

Buck laughed. “Then I’m glad I got there first.”

“Confidentially, my friend, I suspect he is too. I can’t imagine him with a wife. That’s not the kind of danger he relishes.”

#

Sarah had been to many barbecues over the years but always as a guest. This time she was the hostess and was amazed how gratifying it was to be the lady of the plantation.

Ruth came up beside her. “You certainly look happy.”

“Oh, Momma, I am. All the troubles of the past seem like a bad dream now. I just wish Poppa could be here.”

“He’s in your heart, so he is. In mine too. And he’s happy for you beyond measure.”

The two men returned from Asa’s backyard and joined them. Sarah had the satisfaction of knowing Buck didn’t drink. As for Gus, if he’d had more than a thimble-full of the contents of his hip flask, it was a lot.

“I wish you could see the glow on your face, sweetheart,” Buck said, taking her hand. “I’ll certainly arrange more barbecues, if they make you this happy.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that.”

“Is it the good news about Asa and Rebecca? He’s over the moon.”

That glow her husband had mentioned pulsed inside her. “You should be too.”

“With you I’m always . . .” His words slowed and faded.

She gri

“You’re not telling me—”

She nodded.

“But . . . you said . . . you couldn’t—”

She leaned closer to him and whispered, “Even the best doctors are sometimes wrong, dear.”

He seemed to be holding his breath. “You . . . You’re . . . sure?”

She nodded again. “Dr. Meyer confirmed it yesterday.”

For a moment he appeared paralyzed, then wrapped her in his arms and murmured in her ear how much he loved her.

All at once she realized their guests had stopped talking and were staring at them. She blushed which only encouraged them. Smiling and laughing, they started clapping. When Buck and Sarah finally released each other, people came forward with their congratulations and best wishes.

After a round of toasts, the white folks retreated to their food, drinks and games. Several minutes later the servants quietly approached and shyly extended their best wishes as well. Among them were Gibbeon and Janey. Despite the happy sentiments, however, Sarah sensed that Gibbeon was troubled about something, and Janey looked worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I needs to speak to Mr. and Miz Grayson, ma’am,” Gibbeon mumbled, his head bowed.

Sarah eyed Buck. This sounded serious.

Miriam, who was standing a few feet away talking to the minister, came forward. “What’s the matter?”

Leaving a group of men on the other side of the pit who had been joking about something, Gus joined them. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Grayson, sir, Miz Grayson, ma’am.” Gibbeon hesitated. “Janey and me wants to get married, and we ax your permission.”

Miriam shot her husband a crooked smile, then reached forward and took Janey’s hand in one of hers. “Y’all don’t need our permission, girl.”

“You’re not slaves anymore,” Gus reminded them. “You’re free. You can do whatever you want.”

Miriam took Gibbeon’s hand as well. “And you have our blessing. May you love as long as you live and live as long as you love. Be fruitful and multiply and fulfill the Lord’s covenant.”

Janey bit her lips as tears rolled down her face. Gibbeon’s eyes were glassy.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed to say in a broken voice.

Behind them the group of servants who had been watching, let out a whoop, encircled them, and quickly ushered them away, laughing and jabbering.

Asa and his wife joined Buck and Sarah. “It’s been quite a day,” Rebecca remarked.

Sarah was quickly surrounded by the other women, all offering advice, all bubbling over. Buck too was receiving unsolicited counsel on the joys of being a father, accompanied by a great deal of back slapping and ribald snickers. Sarah was listening to a friendly disagreement about the best methods to handle colic, when she noticed her husband had left the group and was walking leisurely toward the chinaberry tree.

#

Daylight was waning, but the sun was shining in Buck’s heart. He was going to be a daddy. Job was going to have a little brother or sister.

Clay, I promise to be a better father to them than ours was to us.

This was the happiest day of his life, yet there was still so much sorrow and pain he had to leave behind, so much of the past he needed to overcome. But as Ruth commented one day, a man without memories learns nothing.

Many of his memories he would cherish forever. Like the pride in his father’s eyes the day he presented Buck with his first horse. The quiet satisfaction he’d felt in nursing a sick colt. The pure joy he experienced when he read to Emma, knowing she was listening to every word. The day he took Clay down to the creek and watched him catch the biggest catfish in the county that summer. The pride on Asa’s face the first time they’d saved a wounded soldier’s life together.

Like when he and Sarah locked eyes in the dining salon of the Shenandoah. Rabbi Cohen’s approval when Buck first learned the power of listening. The expression on Gibbeon and Janey’s faces today when they realized they were truly free.

Best of all, when Sarah told him he was going to be a father.

Buck hadn’t understood the full meaning of the words the rabbi had spoken at Jacob Greenwald’s funeral, but he found them consoling nevertheless.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

Buck walked over to where Emma’s cabin had once been. Only ghosts remained.

At the top of the knoll where the old chinaberry tree proudly stood, he turned and gazed at the estate that lay before him. His heritage. Job’s heritage and soon another’s as well.

Like him, the tormented countryside had buried its dead. New homes were being constructed. Not as pretentious as their ancestors, but infused now with hope.

It had been almost two years since the war had ended. Two years since a sniper had taken his brother’s life. The mankiller who’d started a killing spree was now also a relic of the past.

The avenue at Jasmine remained unchanged. Mighty oaks stood sentry over a graveyard where once a defiant mansion hunkered down. The rubble of a way of life, grand and cruel, had been cleared away, but at what a price. Hundreds of thousands of men dead. Tens of thousand more maimed. Thousands of families homeless and mourning. Livelihoods destroyed.

Yet the country’s boundaries were unchanged. The Union had been preserved. The nation’s borders remained as they had been before the fighting. No new lands or treasures had been gained. A great man had been lost.

A rustling sound tore Buck from his reverie. Sarah was by his side. Her fingers found his. She smiled at him and in that smile he saw all the sadness and love and joy he felt.

He continued on up toward the chinaberry tree, Sarah by his side. Emma’s horseshoe was permanently fastened to the wrought-iron gate now. He stood and gazed at the lonely grave, then lifted his eyes to read the name deeply etched in the coarse bark.

EMMA

Under it someone had added three words from an old familiar spiritual.

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