Choctaw Land Company wanted. Yeah, they got plenty of money but the way I see it, it’s blood money. Marriage, I don’t think so.”
“Well,” Tim said leaning back in his chair and resting his good leg on the edge of John’s bed, “I’d marry her in the twinkle of the eye. With her money, Ole Tim wouldn’t ever have to hit a lick at nothing. I’d just sit back, drink my mint juleps and just observe that woman from morning to night and when the ole hoot owl starts his screaching, I’d be in glory land.”
“Well, you can be in your glory land if’n you want but if’n we’re to be at Hickory tonight, I need to go get washed up.”
It wasn’t long before John returned clean-shaven, hair brushed back as well as his curls would allow and wearing the only suit he owned. As they were about to leave, Mrs. Wilson stopped him on the porch. “John Wilson, you better wait up a second and let me look you over. You got to pass my inspection before you two go gallivanting.”
Embarrassed, John replied, “Mama, we been going through this ordeal ever since I was a young ‘un. Don’t you think I’m a little too old for this?”
“Not as long as you live under my roof and have a mother that cares about you like I do. Now stand up straight,” Mrs. Wilson ordered.
With Tim snickering in the background, John stood erect and then smiled down at his mother. “May I go now?”
“Not until you give an old woman a kiss.”
John bent down, gave his mother a hug and a kiss and then bounded down the steps to where his father, who had figured they were going off for a good time, had his horse saddled and waiting. John’s father, Lott, had been among the first white men to enter what was now Newton County, and he was instrumental in the organization and settlement of the Little Rock community. Lott was noted for his honesty and hard work and his reputation was beyond reproach. With his thick curly white hair, piercing blue eyes and stocky build, his presence still demanded respect.
Handing John the reigns, Mister Wilson said, “Mother said you two was going down to Hickory to some kind of a meeting. That’s a pretty far piece. What time will you be getting home?”
“I’m not sure, Papa,” John replied.
“Mister Wilson, since our place is closer to Hickory and if’n it’s alright with you, John can spend the night with me and come on home in the morning,” Tim said.
Mister Wilson nodded. “John you get on back before too late tomorrow. We got some planning to do for next week.”
While John sat in the saddle waiting for Tim to mount, Mrs. Wilson couldn’t help but admire her son. John stood over six feet tall, broad shoulders and with a frame much like his father’s when he was a young man. His hair was soot black with a trace of premature graying across his temples. Sitting tall in the saddle, she thought, some folks say he’s the most handsome man in these parts, but I say he looks like his father and that’s good enough for me. Don’t see why some pretty little thing ain’t grabbed him, but John hasn’t been the same since he returned from the war.
At the end of the war, the Confederate officials and some of the soldiers in John’s company had thought he’d been killed in battle. Mrs. Wilson never believed them and on a cold, snowy night John had quietly rapped on the door and fell into her arms half frozen. She knew the Lord had brought John home to her. Even though he had recovered outwardly, inwardly he was not at peace. He didn’t enjoy socializing with other young people like he once did and he spent too much time to himself and with his books. Mrs. Wilson was surprised to see him ride off with Tim tonight. Even though much time had passed since the war, he still seemed to have dreams that haunted him, and he would often wake up screaming. He would hardly ever talk about it. Something terrible had happened to him up there, something John had buried deep inside himself.
John and Tim waved goodbye, and when they were out of hearing range, John exclaimed, “I heard you laughing back there on the porch. I wish she’d stop that inspection routine; it’s embarrassing.”
Tim glanced over at John. “I might have laughed a little, but I’d give anything in the world if’n my mother would ever tell me she cares for me. Seeing the way you two feel about each other made me sort of jealous.”
“Tim, your mother loves you just like mine does. I can tell by the way she looks at you. She just doesn’t know how to show her feelings. Some folks are just like that.”
As the two continued their way, John had no idea of the movement that was well underway throughout the South and certainly had no idea of what lay in store for him. The events that followed the meeting at Hickory Station would forever change the structure of politics in Newton County. The lives that would be shattered were never envisioned by John Wilson on that hot August afternoon.
3
THE MEETINGS
Western Pennsylvania
The rushing water rippled over the stones and bubbled toward a large pool forming in the bend of the stream. The limbs of a large willow tree sloshed up and down as the current rhythmically nudged them. Even though the sun had been up for over two hours, a haze of misty fog hovered in the heights of the nearby hills. It was a beautiful morning.
Downstream where the water rushed from the pool and across another shallow run, a short, stout man with bare feet and trouser legs rolled up, gently reeled in his fishing line a soft tug at a time. After retrieving it, he pulled the brim of his hat down on his forehead keeping the glaring sun out of his eyes, then adjusted his glasses and made another cast out into the rapids.
Knee-deep in the stream, the man chewing a large wad of tobacco mumbled to himself, “You’re gonna get caught this morning, Big Daddy, and I bet you’ll weigh might near ten pounds, if you weigh an ounce.”
Studying the water across the way, he continued, “If you’re not under that ole willow branch, then you’ll probably be over near that big boulder, but I’m gonna get you. I hung you a few years back and let you get away, but no more.”
“Papa, say you’re gonna catch him? How many times have I heard you say that? I bet a hundred,” came a voice from far up on the bank.
“You heard me right daughter and when I do, I’m gonna carry him all over town and show him off. You just wait and see. Those folks down there will know that ole Doc Caulder can do more than just dish out the medicine.”
Lamar Caulder was indeed more than a rural medical doctor. Although he had finished at the top of his class, he chose not to practice in the larger cities where his potential for financial success was practically guaranteed. Instead, he moved to the rural western part of Pennsylvania where he was needed. Even in the small town of Gettysburg, he had earned the reputation of being an excellent doctor and his surgical skills were unsurpassed. People would come from hundreds of miles away when surgery was needed.
No sooner had he finished speaking, when he leaned forward to make another cast, stepped on a slippery stone, and lost his balance. In an attempt to steady himself, he took several awkward steps but fell headfirst into the water. Drenched and his hat disappearing downstream, he regained his balance and then just sat there in disgust.
His daughter, Lucretia, couldn’t help but laugh. “Papa, are you trying to scare the fish to death or are you just trying to baptize yourself? You know we’re Methodist, don’t you?”
Refusing
