there by ourselves. We could end up in big trouble,” Frank replied.
Taking a sip from his glass, Hendon said, “We won’t be by ourselves. There are plenty of men ready to do what it takes. As I taught you in school, revolutions are always carried on by a minority. The vast majority don’t want to get involved, especially if it becomes violent. We’ll get the men.”
“What about John, Fessor? You think he’ll run?”
“I’ll have to talk to him. I’m not sure he’ll go along with the Klan. I think he’s a good man, maybe too honest for his own good and you know he’s always been idealistic. If he’ll run, he’ll win. How about you talking to him about it or better still get your sister to speak with him? They have been seeing each other a lot.”
“I don’t know, Fessor. Me and John speak, but we’re not close like we used to be.”
“You boys have got to forget what happened between you. Time’s passed and there’s nothing you can do about it. You need to make amends.”
“Easy to say but I don’t think it’ll ever happen. I guess the breech is just too wide. Suzanne will be the one to convince him if anybody can. She adores the ground he walks on,” Frank said. “She’d marry him tomorrow if’n he’d consent. Heck, she’s probably sleeping with him now. She may be my sister, but she’s one beautiful woman and he’s human, ain’t he?”
“Frank, you know as well as I do that John isn’t doing any sleeping with her, but to change the subject, do you think he’d leave his parents’ farm?”
“The Wilsons ain’t nothing but small time farmers. Suzanne’s been trying to talk him into expanding or coming to work for us. He could be our foreman or bookkeeper. Who cares, all she wants is a man in her bed and a father for her children. He could marry her and do nothing. We got more money than we’ll ever spend in my lifetime and with me investing into the railroad business, I need someone I can trust to help me run things.”
“He probably won’t do it, will he Frank?”
“I’m not sure, Fessor. He says that he won’t work for no Olliver and he won’t be no puppet on a string. He just says that he’d rather be a smalltime farmer. You know what I say? I say that his pride is keeping him from being one wealthy man. I think he’s crazy as hell. What do you think?”
“I think he does things his own way, and I also think he would make the state of Miss’sippi one hell’ova politician if we can get him to run and teach him the art of compromise somewhere along the way.”
All of a sudden the Professor noticed two women making their way down the stairs toward the bar. “Frank, you see that tall red-headed woman who just came in? I was hoping I wouldn’t run into her tonight. That is one fine woman. I could turn down most, but sir, I will not neglect her. I’ll see you in the morning or sometime next week. Lord forgive my sins.”
5
COURTSHIP OF A POLITICIAN
January, 1869
Several weeks after the meeting in meridian, john’s parents were enjoying a late afternoon, relaxing and reading in front of a warm fire while John and his brother-in-law, James Robinson, were down behind the barn working.
During the winter months farmers in east central Mississippi had less work than during the growing season. They would maintain and repair farm equipment, take care of their livestock and split wood for fence rails and fireplaces.
Mrs. Wilson, hearing an approaching rider, eased the curtain back and peered outside. “Looks like John’s got a visitor, Lott. A pretty one, too.”
Rising from his chair, Lott replied, “You talking about Suzanne?”
Grabbing their wraps, the two made their way down the open hall to the front porch to welcome the young woman.
“Afternoon, Suzanne,” Mister Wilson said. “What brings you out on a cold afternoon like this?”
Smiling she replied, “I’m just out riding and I thought I’d better check on John. He hasn’t been over to see me lately and I was getting anxious to see him.”
Mrs. Wilson, feeling Suzanne was a little too forward, responded, “I don’t rightly know what John’s been up to lately but I’m sure he tries to see you when he can.
Suzanne sensed Mrs. Wilson’s disapproval and replied, “I’m sure John’s been working hard, but I really do need to see him.”
Suzanne thought, need to see him is an understatement. If determination and willpower can prevail, I will marry that young man. And if I have my way, my husband will serve in the Mississippi legislature come next year. He won’t be doing any more farming around here.
For the next few minutes, Suzanne and the Wilsons shared small talk and since they seldom left home during the winter, Suzanne informed them of all that had happened lately in the county. Before long the conversation turned to politics and Suzanne told them that Frank was hosting a dinner at their home and some prominent politicians were to be present. She invited them to attend.
Lott couldn’t believe they had been asked to the Olliver home. He had known the family for over thirty years and had never set foot on their property. He and Frank Senior had come to the Mississippi territory as young men and Frank had done some things Lott knew were illegal and immoral. It seemed that Frank and he had been at odds about one thing or another as long as they had known each other. When Frank got killed, Lott felt for the family, but it certainly made life easier for him. Lott knew Frank Olliver was behind his brother Jake’s death, and even though he could not tolerate the man, he never let his feelings stop his children from associating with the Ollivers.
“You sure you want us to come?” Lott asked.
“We certainly do and I think we have a little surprise for that son of yours. Where can I find him?”
Lott pointed down to the barn. “He and James are down there splitting wood. Go on down if you like.”
Suzanne kicked her horse in the flank. “Good seeing you. Remember, Saturday week, six o’clock.”
As Lott watched Suzanne leave with her long black hair flowing behind her, he remembered a time when his brother returned after several days with the most beautiful Choctaw woman he had ever seen sitting behind him. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair and her long bare legs took his breath away. In many ways, Suzanne reminded him of her. Enough of that, he thought.
“She’s a pretty girl, ain’t she, Lott,” Mrs. Wilson said, looking over at her husband. “She reminds you of Hatta, don’t she?”
Turning, he placed his arms around her. “Woman, you been living with me too long; you even read my mind.”
“You loved her, didn’t you,” she whispered, watching Suzanne as she rode toward the barn.
Lott squeezed her tightly. “She was my brother’s wife and I cared for her like a sister. Hatta was an unusual and attractive woman, but you stole my heart. Sarah, I loved you the minute I saw you and with the depths of my heart. Don’t you ever doubt my feelings.”
She stretched
