C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
He wanted to shout; he wanted to cry; he wanted to laugh; he wanted to run away, to hide; instead, weak as a still-wet pup, Preston silently slumped in the saddle; pent up waves of strain, grief, and misery washed through his tortured soul and trickled away down into the Patowmack, leaving him atremble with utter, blessed relief. He was no longer alone.
The mare at the front was led off the boat first and she made a much exaggerated leap to clear the ramp, coming up short on the shank as the owner's firm hand kept her under control. He coiled the lead, gathered the reins and, as the bay tried in vain to dance away, swung into the saddle. The two bluecoats disembarking nodded silent acknowledgement to the Union soldiers who were now preparing to board. Neither pair offered any indication of knowing the civilian passenger now astride the troublesome mare, but Preston would have bet his gelding and saddle that they did.
The man with the beard swung his mount close enough to the ferryman to drop a coin in the outstretched hand, then expertly backed the green-broke mare away and turned her toward Preston. “Excuse me, young man, could you direct me to a Mr. Tweed? I believe he lives in, or near, Conception? I have an urgent message for him.”
“Yes, sir, I know a Mr. Tweed. If you'd like to follow me, I can take you to his house.”
“How very fortunate.” Waving a gesture with an open palm, he said, “Lead on, my good fellow.”
The flighty young mare rolled her eyes and tossed her head, eager to be shut of the barge. Rascal, still full of energy, had to be held back too, as the riders started off. Preston noticed that the bluecoats who had been on the boat swung into their saddles and followed behind at a distance.
Out of earshot of the ferry, Preston blurted, “Uncle Lyss, I was coming to find you!”
Ulysses smiled and said, “It was a lucky chance for us to have met just there. I recognized your horse first, I was there when Cut… when your father bought him.”
When the youth didn't respond, his companion continued, “I am sorry, Preston. There has been so much killing… so much death over the past four years… even so, I cannot find words to express my deepest sorrow at your loss. It won't help to know that I share your burden, for I loved your parents with all my heart. Cutler Diamond has been… and always will be… my true and trusted friend.”
“One of the killers is still alive, Uncle Lyss! Mother shot him, but he got away. He's a Captain in Union Army, he's….”
The pair had covered the short distance from Conception Landing to the edge of the village. No one was nearby, but Grant held up a hand. “Hold on, Preston, the streets have ears in Virginia. Wait until we are through the town before telling me your story. Is there any reason to avoid being seen with me and,” he jerked a thumb to indicate the followers, “those two behind us?”
Preston reined in. Though he could think of nothing specific, he said, “I know a longer way that misses the town.”
Once out of view of townsfolk, the restless young horses were allowed a faster pace. Preston led the group a circuitous route along a treed lane and out into an open field along the south and west sides of Conception. The mounts were slowed to pass through an untracked brush-choked stretch, then given rein as they broke out into the open. Soon the path connected with the wagon road that angled toward Diamond farm; the riders pulled rein again and slowed their horses. The soldiers were tagging along, but they had lost a little ground.
Grant patted the neck of his mare. “I've always been a fool for buying a good horse even though I can't afford it, but this one, Socks, was worth every penny. I intend to keep her for a long time.”
Preston said, “Papá bought this horse for me. His name is Rascal.”
Ulysses's kind eyes looked deep into the powder blues of the young Diamond. “Okay, Preston, if you feel up to it, I need to hear the entire story. If, at any time, you want to stop for awhile, that's alright. We can continue later. But I must know everything you can recall.”
Grant's face reflected his emotions as he listened to the boy's grim and gruesome nightmare. Tears welled up in the General's eyes. Shadows of dark anger flitted across the swarthy features and the soft kindness Preston had known so well returned when the narration was complete. The horses had made their way along the wagon track and turned down Diamond Lane. Uncle Lyss remained silent as the pair rode into the yard.
In the distance, the ring of an axe sounded as they neared the farm; now, about a half mile northwest, from the direction of the river, Rufus could be seen leading Washington toward home. The mule was in harness and had a limbed log in tow. First the mule, then Rufus, saw the riders coming into the yard. Preston took off his hat and waved it high in the air. Rufus waved back and Washington brayed his welcome.
Preston said, “Rufus bringing home a log of ash for firewood… I've asked Rufus to become a half-owner in the farm. It's too late to change my mind, but do you think I did the right thing, Uncle Lyss?”
Ulysses thought a moment. “I don't believe you could have found a more honest or capable partner, Preston. I think it is an excellent idea.”
For the first time since seeing Ulysses, Preston thought of the letter and the will. “I know you witnessed my father's will. Could you do the same for an official record of Rufus owning the farm?”
Grant said, “Well, I'm not an official in that capacity, however, I believe my signature may carry some weight. Of course I will witness it for you.”
The riders reined up in front of the barn and swung down from their saddles.
Reaching in his pocket, Preston withdrew the envelope. “This is the reason I was coming to find you… I thought you were too busy to come to me…”
General Grant accepted the letter and motioned to the two escort soldiers who had stopped their horses at the edge of the yard. As they rode near, he said, “Ride up to that higher ground, there, and there,” he indicated first one and then the other, “and keep a lookout. The man headed this way with the mule knows we are here. I shall be in conference with this young gentleman for a few hours. I intend to be on that ferry going back across the river this evening.”
“Yessir.” They saluted and rode in the direction of the ridge.
Preston said, “If you like, I'll see to your mare while you read Papá's letter.”
When Preston emerged from the barn where he had tied the mounts, Grant was staring at the paper but did not appear to be reading. He looked up. “Your father has written two letters, Preston. The first is dated four years ago, after the start of the war. In it he has requested that I look after you and your mother in the event of his death. Being the thorough man he was, he also allowed for the possibility that your mother would not survive him. So… young man, as per your father's wishes, you are in my charge until you are grown up. I can never be the father you have known, but I swear on Cutler Diamond's name that I shall honour his trust.”
Before Preston could answer, the jingle of traces announced that Rufus had reached the yard. Grant said, “We'll say hello to Rufus, then you and I can continue our discussion. I have more questions now and even fewer answers.”
The black man was overjoyed to see “Missah Grant.” He wore a smile as wide as the Patowmack as he pumped the General's hand. Ulysses was obviously pleased to see his former slave as well. Rufus said, “I's gwyne put dis mule in de co'ral, den I be fixin' sum grub fo' yo's… An' it sho' good t' see yo back home so soon, too, Press.”
Rufus insisted upon taking a lunch to the sentinels on the ridge. In his absence, Ulysses and Preston talked. Grant had many questions about the night of the murders and the army's subsequent investigation. Preston had told Grant nothing about his own adventures after the army left.
“When I received your message, the one from 'Lieutenant Tweed,' I was shocked. The report of your father's death had stated that you and your mother had died the night of the raid. It is war time, but our soldiers should have been much more vigilant in their investigation. Colonel Diamond was a highly distinguished officer; he and his family deserved a better effort from the Union Army. I shall have questions upon my return to Washington.”
“I hid from them, Uncle Lyss. I was afraid. I didn't know if they were after me, too. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight… but I saw a bluecoat ride away that night.”
“Now, you heard the name Wiley? You saw his insignia? Those men with Captain Wiley… they were not in uniform? They weren't soldiers of either army? How do you know they didn't have uniforms?”
“The detail that came and took Papá and Mother away buried the killers on the far side of our yard. I dug them up. They were brothers.
“Uncle Lyss… I… I've been on the trail of Captain Wiley. He has to pay for what he did to my mother and father.”
“Preston, for God's sake, lad, you are thirteen years old. You can't go hunting armed killers.”
Diamond corrected, “I turned fourteen today or yesterday, Uncle Lyss.” Then he told the rest of the story.
Grant's jaw sagged, his eyes opened wider as he listened. The boy kept the killing of the intended horse thief, Rufus's part in the second raid at Diamond farm, and the saving of Davy Brannigan, a Confederate soldier, to himself. When Preston had finished, Grant shook his head in disbelief. “So, there are four dead men, two of them Union soldiers, buried in a corner of your yard? You… a boy… granted, the son of Cutler Diamond, but still a boy… You have killed three men?”
Preston was glad he hadn't mentioned shooting the ruffian who tried to steal Rascal. Now he said truthfully, “Yes, Sir.”
Grant slipped a hand inside his coat and extracted the two letters from Cutler Diamond. Opening the second, he said, “I have wondered at times about the deaths of our officers, but I have been too preoccupied with battle to delve into it. What you have told me, and what Colonel Diamond has written in this report, now removes all doubt from my mind.”
“There's more….”
“What? What else, Preston?”
Diamond squared his shoulders and looked straight into General Grant's eyes. “I found a wounded soldier, I took him to a farm and they patched him up. He told me that he saw a Union officer aiming to kill a Union colonel. It was Colonel Unzer, I know of him because he was Papá's friend, too. But the soldier shot the traitor who was figuring to shoot Colonel Unzer.”
Grant interrupted, “Hold on a moment. This fellow you found wounded, shot an officer of his own side?”
“No, Sir. He shot a Union officer, Sir. He… the man I saved… was a Confederate soldier.”
Grant chuckled. “I know exactly what you are thinking. Trust me, in your shoes, both your father or I would have done the same thing.” He added, “And, you don't have to call me sir.”
Preston excused himself for a few minutes, then returned with his father's most recent journal. He also brought a pen, ink and a sheet of paper. “Uncle Lyss, if you could tell me what to write, I'll make up a paper for Rufus being half owner of our farm.” Indicating the journal, he said, “This book shows that Papá knew there were traitors in the bluecoat Army. Maybe you will find something in it that I missed.”
After General Grant wrote his signature on the document, he perused Colonel Diamond's journal while Preston read the two letters. The original letter, as Ulysses had said, pertained to the guardianship. Cutler Diamond, well aware of Preston's thirst for learning, wanted his son to have a well-rounded education. He did not suggest that the boy should follow in his father's footsteps, for Cutler believed the life of a soldier would not satisfy Preston's inquisitive nature. “…encourage him to learn something about everything that takes his fancy, from the work of tradesmen, to law and politics. Give him access to arts, language and culture, for he has been denied this during his early life in forts on the frontier…”. The latter sentence reflected the wishes of Constantina Diamond, for she had wanted her son to realize the noble lineage of his Spanish grandfather. Colonel Diamond had ended the dissertation with a reference to the the will and estate for which Ulysses had been named executor: “In the event that Preston should reside under your roof, Lyss, use a portion of his inheritance to ensure that your own children have the same opportunities.”
The second letter echoed Colonel Diamond's conviction that a conspiracy had developed. Cutler had written the message knowing that he may not be alive to deliver it in person. He had not sent it via messenger lest it should be intercepted, thus alerting the conspirators. Again he expressed concern for General Grant as well as President Lincoln.
Ulysses stopped reading the journal as Preston placed the letters on the table. “Your father had orders to meet me in Washington. He came home on leave to await my return. I could not join him at the appointed time, so I sent a messenger. It would have been that dispatch rider who found you and brought you into the house that morning.”
Rufus knocked on the door, then entered noiselessly. Preston held up the freshly inked deed. “It's official, Rufus, you are a half owner in Diamond/Tweed Farm.” He pointed out Ulysses writing. “This signature will look the same as the one on your emancipation paper. No one will question it.”
Grant stood and shook the black man's hand, and with a warm smile, said, “Well, Mr Tweed, you aren't a free man anymore… you're a farmer. And in my limited experience that isn't freedom.”
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