Excerpt
A low moan escaped the lips of Marc Delaterre. He blinked hard to clear the sudden blur from his eyes. Gripping his hoe more tightly, he forced himself to think of anything else but what he was thinking. So he thought of the peas he was hoeing, of how he would cook them with onions and garlic and small pieces of bacon, and of how good they would taste. He had to stop the memories flooding his mind before he slipped further into his recurring depression.
These overwhelming melancholy attacks came upon him when he slipped, when he forgot, when he allowed those images to return and swamp him. So he concentrated on the peas and began hoeing again, careful not to not cut the tender young plants along with the invasive grass. As he slowly regained control, he took a deep breath. The smell of the freshly turned earth mingled with the faint odor of the green garden plants filled his lungs. And if he tried real hard, he could have picked out the stink of the fire debris over by the oaks, even after two years.
Duc, his eighteen-year-old son, worked the row next to him. At the moment the boy was leaning on his hoe staring off into the distance, caught in a dreamy moment of contemplation. By the unusual silence the boy kept all morning, Marc knew something was working on him. He knew too, that Duc would eventually bring up whatever was on his mind, for he knew him well.
He remembered his own dream of long ago and mused on it. His yearning had been to escape the hopeless, oppressive life of his poor village in eastern France and come to Louisiana. When he received the letter and passage money from his uncle in New Orleans, it had been the happiest day of his life.
Pa? He looked up, blinked, met the eyes of his son. He couldnt quite believe how fast the boy was growing, and growing into a mirror image of what he had been at that age; tall, dark-haired, lean and with shoulders that were a little too broad until the rest of his body had caught up and filled out.
This is supposed to be a secret, but I want to tell you anyway. I guess youll find out soon enough. Duc grinned, looking self-conscious and proud at the same time.
Marc wiped his face of perspiration, wondered what the boy had been up to and waited.
Ive joined the Knights of the White Camellia. Me and two friends. Cant tell you who they are, but theres an organization forming in Opelousas and I wanted you to know. That I joined, I mean.
A swift kick to the stomach would not have surprised him as much as this announcement did. It took a moment before he reacted, hoping hed heard wrong.
Youve gone and joined the Knights?
Yes. The proud look slowly changed to one of confusion at his fathers unexpected reaction.
Marc ran his damp sleeve across his face, tried to suppress the sudden anger that welled in him. He knew of the Knights, had heard about them, a mob of white men who wore sheets and masks and rode at night scaring Negroes, whipping some, burning others from their homes. There had even been reports too, of lynching in the northern parishes, all reported in great detail by the local paper, the Opelousas Courier.
Thats an organization of outlaws, Duc. His voice acquired a sharp edge. Theyre just like the jayhawkers who burned down Three Oaks and killed some of our people, for Gods sake.
Theyre not anything like the jayhawkers, Pa, Duc protested. The jayhawkers were outlaws and deserters and such, but the Knights here include community leaders. Youd be surprised to know who some of them are. All we want to do is keep the Unionist Party and Northern carpetbaggers from winning any more elections. We Democrats have got to take back our state. Its our glorious quest.
We Democrats. We Knights. We outlaws. And irony of ironies, not a moment ago he thought he knew his son. Had he been so enveloped in his grief that he had not noticed the boys activities? Duc was eighteen but in Marcs view, not yet a man. He had only started shaving this year.
Marcs next words came out like sharp-edged rocks. And how do you think youll accomplish that, take back our state?
Ducs voice became defensive. Well, by keeping the Negroes from voting, of course. See, the carpetbaggers and Unionists are using them to keep themselves in power, but if we keep them from the polls, they wont be able to vote. Well ride around at night before election time telling them to stay away if they know whats good for them.
Mon Dieu, son! Havent you been reading the papers? What if, when youre doing all this riding around, youre ordered to set fire to a house of frightened people, or to whip some poor unfortunate devil to teach others a lesson? Would you do it?
I dont think--
Youd better start thinking, because thats what the Knights are doing up in north Louisiana--burning houses, whipping Negroes and hanging some from trees. He wiped again at the sweat that ran down his face. I wish to God youd talked to me before you did this stupid thing.
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