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Chapter Seventeen
As spring merged into summer, Val melted in the heat. Her sister, Caro, had settled into a small town in California and opened up a small seamstress shop. From her letters, she seemed to be happy and Val was happy for her. Drake said they’d go and visit sometime next year.
Her school was thriving. They lost a few children due to their parents needing them in the fields, but she made sure they were sent home with the extra books from the third order of readers Julianna had delivered. Now each student, both child and adult, had a copy of their own. The parents of the children who had to work in the fields promised their children would return to school in the fall.
Having always been a baseball fan thanks to her late grandfather and his love of the game, she had Drake and Hugh field a nine-man team each. They used the open field by the school to stage the game. She sold tickets at a penny a piece to freedmen and a dime to everyone else. Many people showed up and the game went well until some carpetbaggers in the crowd began taunting some of the Republicans and a brawl ensued. Some people demanded a refund, but she refused. The money went to pay for school supplies for some of the freedmen.
Val didn’t hear anything from her father after his departure and she and Drake had a talk about Cole and Lenny. He understood why she and Cole had wanted to marry. He praised her for her loyalty to her friend and revealed that he had a cousin in Cuba who took male lovers, but the family didn’t care. The cousin was one of the best boat builders on the island and the only person Rai trusted to build his ships.
The supremacists continued their violence against the freedmen. There was talk of Congress working on deals that might pull the Army out of Louisiana altogether. Everyone was convinced people of color would truly suffer if that happened, so they prayed the politicians wouldn’t leave the race adrift.
Val’s favorite student, Miss Delia, died the day after the Fourth of July. As she’d requested the funeral was held on the school grounds. Her grandson, Micah, had no other family, so Drake hired him as a laborer, and until he got on his feet, Julianna let him live in the small apartment above her coach house.
Drake began work on their house. He hoped to have it finished and ready to move into by the New Year.
In late September, Valinda was floating on air as she left the apartment of the midwife. She couldn’t wait to tell Drake her news. Thinking about how he might react, her musings gave way to surprise as she was suddenly grabbed by her arm and found herself face-to-face with her nemesis, Walter Creighton.
He smiled nastily. “Come on.”
He propelled her forward and dragged her down the walk. She screamed, “Let me go! Someone help me!”
He gave her a strong shake and snapped, “Shut your mouth!”
She swung a fist that landed on his shoulder. He reacted with a raised fist of his own but was distracted when she pointed and said, “There’s my husband! He’s coming to send you to hell!”
Eyes round, he froze. As his head swiveled in the direction she pointed, his hold on her arm slackened, and Val broke free and ran.
“Stop her!” he cried. “She took my money!”
Val moved as swiftly as she could through the crowd filling the walk. Apologizing each time she slipped by people who greeted her sudden appearance with cries of surprise, she moved ahead. She knew if Creighton tried to forcibly do the same, a good citizen was going to protest being shoved aside by a man of color. And sure enough, when she took a quick look back, he was apologizing to a stout angry man in a suit while simultaneously attempting to keep her in sight. With him occupied, she thought it a good time to cross the street, so she stepped down, hiked up her skirt, and wove her way through the steadily moving traffic of horses, carts, buggies, and cows. Creighton took off after her. She ran over to an old farm wagon driven by an elderly Black man. “Sir! Can you give me a ride, please? Someone’s after me.”
He immediately slowed just enough for her to climb up to the seat. He then slapped the reins on the back of the mule to keep in pace with the rest of the traffic.
“Thank you!”
A glance back showed Creighton running to catch the wagon and due to the traffic’s snail-like pace, he was gaining ground. “He’s still coming. Do you have something I can defend myself with?”
The driver said, “There’s a shovel and a pickax in the bed underneath those blankets, if that’ll help.”
Val crawled into the bed. The blankets were near the back gate. She chose the shovel. The wagon stopped. Her eyes jumped to the stalled traffic behind them and saw the sprinting Creighton’s triumphant gap-toothed grin.
“Got a funeral up ahead, little lady. We may be here a spell.”
The procession’s mournful but celebratory music barely registered as she focused on Creighton’s progress. He was almost upon them.
“You going to be okay back there? I’m too old to be fighting for your honor.”
She replied through her anger, “I believe so, but in case something happens, the man after me is named Creighton. My husband’s name is Drake LeVeq.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Creighton was now only a few feet away. She picked up the shovel and rose to her feet with it hidden behind her skirt. He latched onto the back of the wagon, quickly clambered up the gate, and she swung the shovel with enough fury to make the crowd at a baseball game erupt with a mighty cheer. He fell back onto the street. Not caring whether he was dead or alive, she tossed the shovel aside and retook her seat.
The old man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Abraham Lincoln.”
Stunned, she chuckled. “Valinda LeVeq.”
“Freedmen’s Office said I could name myself anything I wanted after Freedom, so this is what I chose.”
