The Orphan Mother Read Online Free PDF

Mariah.
    The Conservatives buzzed with a different energy, dark and angry, coiled up like snakes preparing to strike. Their eyes followed the Leaguers around town as if they were tracking them. They spoke in whispers. Some had been angry for a long time. Some were planters made poor and small by Reconstruction, their punishment for opposing the Republicans and fighting for the Confederacy. They had watched their land and slaves disappear, their houses deteriorate. Mariah could feel their anger stalking the streets, bristling against the eager anticipation of the League men.
    You couldn’t not feel it. The day was breaking open, and it was everywhere—the anger and excitement both. It would be good to be out of town this morning. Mariah thought about going up to Carnton since Miss Carrie had sent her another note, another request to return. It was time to end that nonsense. She would never go back for good like Miss Carrie wanted. She even shivered at the idea of going back just for the morning, but she never refused Miss Carrie. That would have to change. She strengthened her resolve. It was time, finally, to sever the ties.
    The farrier’s hammer clanked clearly, ringing out agreement, as if Mariah were standing right next to the anvil and not four blocks away.
    Theopolis got up to go, straightening his black trousers and tucking in his best white shirt, which Mariah knew would be a filthy mess by the end of the day. The boy has good intentions , she thought, he just needs a lick more common sense . Theopolis had been soiling his shirts since he was a boy, though, and Mariah supposed she would be disappointed if he ever stopped.
    “I don’t want to sass you, Mama. I just want you to come see me speak. It ain’t going to happen every day.”
    “I’ll come if you quit talking about it.”
    He smiled and kissed her on her forehead. Mariah smoothed the back of his shirt as he walked away from her, down the steps, and off up the street.
    A breath of windblown dandelion fluff came to rest on his hair, white against dark, as if anointing him.
    Later, she wished she had at least got up, followed him off the porch, and pulled him close enough to brush the stray fluff away, or told him he was a good man, or told him she loved him more than any child she had ever brought into the world.

Chapter 4
Tole
    July 6, 1867
    Tole wore a buttoned-down shirt he had pressed himself that morning, a vest, and a cotton cap pulled close to his ears. The fancy clothing felt restrictive and strange. He loitered near the midwife’s tiny house on Cameron Street, passing time, smelling the breeze, feeling as if the world were better than it had been—the colors fiercer, sharper, darker. Far away a mockingbird shrilled in a tree, and another answered it, echoing.
    Around him men were preparing for the rally. Colored Leaguers hurried past with their easy laughs and their drums. White men followed them with slower steps, glowering. Some Negroes shook their heads as they watched the Leaguers go by making the white men grumble and stomp their boots. They wanted no part of that and didn’t appreciate the disturbance of the peace. Eventually everyone moved off toward the square, away from Tole. He stood and watched them go, in no hurry to go anywhere himself.
    And then: there she was, sallying forth, skirt shining in the sun, carrying a basket under an arm. She didn’t see him, or feigned not to, and turned in the other direction, marching out past the other clusters of houses along the high road. Her hips swayed as she walked.
    “Missus Reddick,” he called to her. She didn’t respond, so he called again. This time she turned.
    Tole approached. “Thought I might say hello.”
    “Hello,” she said. “Forgive me for not remembering your name. I never forget faces, but names are more difficult these days.”
    “Tole. George Tole.”
    “Mr. Tole.” Something about the way she said it sounded musical. He was George after his mama’s brother who