Read Online Through the Storm by Beverly Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverly Jenkins
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Union blue, but others were being forced by the army command to join the fight. They were being drilled, taught tactics, then sent off to war. Because slave owners forbade Blacks to handle firearms, most of the freedmen soldiers were hopeless on the firing range. They knewnothing about sights or triggers or the difference between a sixteen shot Henry and a musket. Some of the commanders were tolerant and patient, or as patient as men could be knowing that their green troops could be thrown into the fight at any time. Other officers, those with no patience and even less experience, tried to whip the recruits into shape with bullying and insults. When their soldiers proved unprepared for battle, the officers blamed the new Black soldiers rather than their own incompetence. Prejudice and incompetence tended to play havoc with Raimond’s temper, so he made a point of staying away from the drill grounds as much as possible when such commanders were on site.
He hadn’t had many problems with prejudice here lately, although that wasn’t always the case. Many of the White soldiers had made it clear they were fighting for the Union and fourteeen dollars a day—not to free slaves. Raimond did not like the attitude, but tolerated it as long as the men were not disrespectful to his face, didn’t countermand his orders or refuse to carry them out. Those who did were put in their place no matter what their rank. Raimond was a major in the U.S. Army, perhaps the only Black major outside the state of Louisiana. His grandfather and the other members of the Louisiana Native Guard, or the Corps’d’ Afrique as they liked to call themselves, had saved Andrew Jackson at Chalmette during the 1812 war. Having been free all his life, and well educated, Raimond did not have the temperament to suffer quietly the slings and arrows of White soldiers who couldn’t even read their own names.
Sable worked from sunup to sundown washing the clothes of soldiers, campers, and the garishly painted whores who made their living following the soldiers from post to post. It was bone-aching work. Even though it was nearing the end of September, the days were still hot enough to make standing over a boiling vat filled with lye, water, and laundry seem like a trip into perdition. The first night, her arms ached so badly from the strain of lifting her weight in wet laundry, she could barely raise her arms to feed herself. She was so stiff the next morning, she could hardly move. Her hands were red and chapped from the harsh soap, and she knew they would only get worse, but she did not complain; for the first time in her life she was earning a wage. Her success in this new, free world rested in her own lye-reddened hands. She’d promised Araminta she wouldn’t squander her freedom, and she intended to keep that pledge. The sacrifices made by Mahti and the Old Queens also meant much to Sable, and she couldn’t think of a better way to honor them than by working diligently and making her life count—as long as the work didn’t kill her first.
She felt lucky to have a job. As the soldier who’d processed her had hinted, there were few opportunities for women here, and women with small children had even less choice. Only a few were lucky enough to find someone who’d watch over their offspring while they hired themselves out to the army or to the locals as laundresses, cooks, or seamstresses. Most were relegated to monotonous, uneventful days of waiting for their men to return.
None of the other women in Mrs. Reese’s employ had offered Sable a hand in friendship, so during the day she kept pretty much to herself. At night, she lay on her threadbare pallet and remembered those she’d left behind. She wondered about Vashti and little Cindi, and most of all she wondered about her sister, Mavis. Would they ever see each other again? Sable missed her very much. Mahti too.
On the fifth morning in camp, Sable saw Major LeVeq approaching the laundry area
He hadn’t had many problems with prejudice here lately, although that wasn’t always the case. Many of the White soldiers had made it clear they were fighting for the Union and fourteeen dollars a day—not to free slaves. Raimond did not like the attitude, but tolerated it as long as the men were not disrespectful to his face, didn’t countermand his orders or refuse to carry them out. Those who did were put in their place no matter what their rank. Raimond was a major in the U.S. Army, perhaps the only Black major outside the state of Louisiana. His grandfather and the other members of the Louisiana Native Guard, or the Corps’d’ Afrique as they liked to call themselves, had saved Andrew Jackson at Chalmette during the 1812 war. Having been free all his life, and well educated, Raimond did not have the temperament to suffer quietly the slings and arrows of White soldiers who couldn’t even read their own names.
Sable worked from sunup to sundown washing the clothes of soldiers, campers, and the garishly painted whores who made their living following the soldiers from post to post. It was bone-aching work. Even though it was nearing the end of September, the days were still hot enough to make standing over a boiling vat filled with lye, water, and laundry seem like a trip into perdition. The first night, her arms ached so badly from the strain of lifting her weight in wet laundry, she could barely raise her arms to feed herself. She was so stiff the next morning, she could hardly move. Her hands were red and chapped from the harsh soap, and she knew they would only get worse, but she did not complain; for the first time in her life she was earning a wage. Her success in this new, free world rested in her own lye-reddened hands. She’d promised Araminta she wouldn’t squander her freedom, and she intended to keep that pledge. The sacrifices made by Mahti and the Old Queens also meant much to Sable, and she couldn’t think of a better way to honor them than by working diligently and making her life count—as long as the work didn’t kill her first.
She felt lucky to have a job. As the soldier who’d processed her had hinted, there were few opportunities for women here, and women with small children had even less choice. Only a few were lucky enough to find someone who’d watch over their offspring while they hired themselves out to the army or to the locals as laundresses, cooks, or seamstresses. Most were relegated to monotonous, uneventful days of waiting for their men to return.
None of the other women in Mrs. Reese’s employ had offered Sable a hand in friendship, so during the day she kept pretty much to herself. At night, she lay on her threadbare pallet and remembered those she’d left behind. She wondered about Vashti and little Cindi, and most of all she wondered about her sister, Mavis. Would they ever see each other again? Sable missed her very much. Mahti too.
On the fifth morning in camp, Sable saw Major LeVeq approaching the laundry area
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