to their additional family expectations.
Jake had wanted a house full of children, so he gave Homer his full attention and love often to the point of neglecting his wife.
It was now 1850, and fall was in the air. The Wilsons were almost done with their harvesting of cotton, corn, and wheat. Work was beginning to slow down so the families could spend more leisure time together and the men had time to venture into the woods to hunt squirrels, rabbits and raccoons.
One of the family treats was a Saturday afternoon ride visiting neighbors. This gave the children a chance to play with each other, a chance they seldom saw during the summer and early fall months due to their farm work. The excursion always ended at Walker’s store where the family would purchase supplies for the next week, see if any mail had arrived and watch the arrival of the four o’clock stage from Meridian.
It was just such an afternoon as this, when the family pulled up to the front of Walker’s store. Before the wagon had come to a complete stop, the children bounded out of the back and scrambled up the steps to see who would be the first to ask about the mail.
“Lott, Hatta and me is going to step up the road a piece to visit Mrs. Walker and Rebecca. You come get us when you want to go home. Okay?” Sarah said, as she began walking toward the Walker’s house.
“That’s fine. Me and Jake got a few things to do and we’re going to sit the stage out,” answered Lott. “Jake, you need any help with them jugs?”
“Naw, there ain’t but about twenty of ’em,” replied Jake who was already making his way up the steps with two jugs in each hand and one under each arm.
“Walker, you in there? Get yore back door open, and let me store some of this precious water ‘fore I decide to drink it,” laughed Jake.
“Yeah, come on in. I been waitin’ for ya,” Mister Walker said, holding the door open and giving him a low bow as Jake struggled to work his way through the narrow opening. “Jake, you know folks ain’t hittin’ the jug as heavy as they used to. I think religion’s gettin’ to them. Preacher Jones laid a sermon on us last Sunday ‘bout the evils of liquor, and he even made me feel guilty,” stated Mister Walker.
“Hell, Walker, you can’t believe everything a preacher says. We had one in Savannah that could drink you and me under the table,” replied Jake, as he headed out toward the wagon to get another load.
He stopped at the door, paused as if in deep thought, and turned to share his revelation. “You let a preacher show me in the Bible where it says you can’t drink liquor. He can’t. It says you just don’t overdo it, don’t drink in excess. That’s in Matthew 20:14. Walker, them preachers going to ruin this community.”
“Jake! Get out here. I want to show you sump’n,” Lott said who had been sitting on a bench on the front porch of the store, but was now standing and staring down the street toward the blacksmith’s shop.
“What’s got you in a stir, Big Brother? I ain’t seen you this disturbed since you chunked that piece of wood at me.”
“Jake, you see that wagon down there. It had a bunch of Negroes in it, and one looked like that Toby from back then.”
“So what. I don’t see nothin’ and so what if’n it is?” answered Jake disappointed that Lott’s excitement was only about a wagon load of Negroes.
“Jake, there ain’t s’pose to be no slaves ‘round here and Toby ought to be in Louisiana. I’m goin’ down there and see what’s goin’ on.”
“Damn Lott, you know you just a busybody. You know there’s some slaves here’bouts, and I heard ole Frank was bringin’ them in to work his fields. You ain’t going to stop slavery here,” Jake said, trying to catch up with his brother.
Reaching the wagon, Lott could see five Negroes inside preparing to load a box of plow heads and Toby was among them.
“Toby, that you ain’t it?” questioned Lott, pushing the door open so he could get a better look. “What ya still doin’ here in Coon Tail?”
“Yessuh, it’s me and I lives here now. Master Ollivah done brought me back. It’s been a long time since I see’d you Wilsons. You need sump’n?”
“Naw, we don’t need nothin’. We just meddlin’, that’s all,” replied Jake, bored with Lott’s questioning.
“Toby, how many slaves Frank got down here?” continued Lott.
“I don’t rightly know, Mist’ Wilson. Maybe, twenty or so. I don’t knows ‘bout no countin’,” Toby said, uneasy about answering Lott’s questions.
“Twenty!” exclaimed Lott. “I knowed he was a no good scoundrel. I had a feelin’ he was going to do sump’n like this.”
Suddenly a large, heavyset man appeared from the back of the shop carrying a whip in one hand and a keg of powder under his arm. Jake recoiled recognizing the type of person approaching them. He had seen them in Savannah. This man was a slave overseer.
“You niggars get that wagon loaded ‘fore I takes the hide off yore back,” stated the man, ignoring the Wilsons. “We gotta get this gear back ‘fore dark.”
The man stepped up on the wagon wheel, settled himself on the seat and then stared directly at Lott. “I heard what you said ‘bout Mister Olliver, and I think it best you keep out of his affairs. These here niggars is slaves and it ain’t a damned thing you can do about it. I also know who you is and know yore reputation. I guess you is Lott and the big ugly one over there is Jake. Just remember the name Jason Talbert and if’n you is smart, you’ll stay out of my path and leave my niggars alone.
Jake had about all he could stand of Talbert and started walking toward the wagon.
“Man, I’ve had all yore mouth I can take. You need to be taught some manners,” Jake said, as he rushed over to the wagon.
Quickly, Talbert pulled a revolver from his coat and pointed it directly at Jake’s forehead.
“Lott Wilson, you get this idiot out of my way or I’ll blow his brains out in the streets,” warned Talbert.
Lott hurried over to Jake and pulled him back toward the livery stable.
“Jake, let’s just drop it. It ain’t worth you gettin’ shot over. I’m the one who started the whole thing.”
The wagon pulled away from the stables and headed south for the Olliver farm.
“Talbert!” shouted Jake, “this ain’t over. One day I’m going to show you how I dealt with yore sorts in Savannah.”
“I hear ya,” answered Talbert, the wagon now approaching Walker’s Store. “You just keep fightin’ with the boys, you ain’t ready for a man yet.”
The children came running from the store to see what was causing the commotion. Homer was the first to reach the street and almost ran in front of Talbert’s wagon.
He jerked the reigns quickly to the right to pull out of Homer’s path. He was surprised at what he saw. At sixteen, Homer was tall and handsome but did not resemble the other children of Scotch-Irish descent. His hair was golden but he had large brown eyes
