C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
The Brannigan sisters, Lily and Amy, were, respectively, a year older and a year younger than Preston Diamond. Diamond had met the young ladies about the time of his fourteenth birthday and, through a combination of difficult events, they had become close friends. Preston had saved the life of their brother, Davy; Lily's care and willpower had kept Preston among the living when he had taken a bullet through his right thigh. The Civil War had inflicted it cruel toll upon both the Diamond and the Brannigan families. Having suffered the loss of their parents prior to the conflict, the Brannigan siblings lost one brother and nearly lost Davy when he was wounded. Preston's parents were murder victims in a heinous conspiracy of traitors. That was two long, or maybe two short years past, depending if you are living in the moment, or reliving a nightmare.
It was springtime, 1867.
Early in the morning on this clear, and mild day, Preston had left his home in Washington, DC to cross the Patowmack River and renew acquaintance with the Brannigans at their farm northwest of Alexandria. He intended to head back north from there, passing through the town of Conception en route to the farm he co-owned with his friend, a black man named Rufus Tweed.
Brannigan Farm came into view as Preston topped a tall knoll about a mile from the buildings. He paused to study the countryside. His horse, a tough five year old gelding, pranced and tossed his head; Rascal knew, but did not appreciate, the meaning of “whoa.” It had been on this hill that a couple of thieves had held up Preston Diamond and Lily Brannigan; Preston now wondered how the highwayman, who received two bullet wounds in the altercation, had fared. The small acreage below looked abandoned though Diamond could recognize a few changes.
Nearing, he knew the place had come a long way from its derelict position at the end of the war. Davy Brannigan, the oldest surviving member of the family, had a keen business mind and, after healing from a musket ball to the shoulder, had taken a contract cutting timber in the Virginia Wilderness. In a few months, Davy had hired several former slaves and soon had a thriving business. Next step: he bought the sawmill (Preston Diamond had assisted with financing) from the contractor who hired him in the first place. In another six months, Davy had paid his debt to Preston and established a steady market supplying lumber to the housing boom in Washington. To facilitate transport of his goods across the Patowmack, Brannigan bought the ferry boat at Conception Landing. Preston Diamond was given a lifetime free pass.
Davy's sisters had stayed on the farm and, for the first time in their lives, they were enjoying a lifestyle above the poverty line. In a letter to Preston, Lily had gone on at length describing the new home Davy intended to build for the family. But, at the moment, the old house still stood in the same place next to the broken corrals and weathered barn.
The first time Diamond had ridden into this yard, he had been received by a pretty lass standing at a washtub and a hidden person looking down a gun barrel. Today there was neither, but, in response to Preston's “Halloo”, Lily came round from the back of the house. She had a dirt smudge on her brow and dirt on her hands. She blushed when she saw who had come to visit. “I was just digging in the garden, Preston,” she apologized. “Please, hop down and come in. I'll make a pot of tea and fix you something to eat.”
Lily Brannigan had matured since Preston's last visit. She was a well formed young woman now and he had to force himself to keep from ogling. Lily was the first girl Preston had ever noticed from a male perspective. She had given him a kiss once and he had given her a kiss on another occasion. He would like to kiss her now.
She scrubbed the marks from her face and hands then set to work fixing lunch. “Amy has gone to town for supplies. Davy is up at the mill.” She turned to her visitor. “Life is so much better now than when you first rode in here, Preston. The war was on, Amy and I were afraid to step outside without one of us holding a rifle. Back then, I didn't think we would ever live in a civilized world again. Sometimes I didn't think we would live to see another day.”
Preston said, “Around here it seems we are headed back to normal, but I'm afraid that much of the country won't see the good years again in our lifetime. Maybe not in two lifetimes. The war ripped a big hole and there isn't enough thread to sew it up.”
Lily seemed anxious about something; Preston caught her sidelong glances and there were prolonged moments when neither of them could come up with anything to say. They ate in awkward silence, then Diamond insisted on helping with the dishes. Standing beside Lily, feeling her warmth and inhaling the scent of her hair, Preston was having difficulty concentrating. He dropped a dish and it shattered on the floor. Together they knelt to pick up the shards. Their faces came close and their eyes met. Who made the first move was hard to determine but, for the next half hour, neither of them were aware of anything but each other.
When they came to their senses, they were in the single little bedroom off the kitchen. Clothes were strewn about, blankets were askew; they lay naked and perspiring on the bed. Amy Brannigan was standing in the doorway, her entire body an expression Preston could not fathom. How long she had been there, neither Preston nor Lily could guess.
Upon seeing her sister, Lily shrieked. “Oh! Amy! I didn't… we didn't… we… I… I didn't intend that we should go this far… Please, Amy… please don't… don't tell Davy.”
Diamond, flat footed and speechless, turned his head from one girl to the other. If Lily had blossomed, Amy had ripened; she was every inch a woman, too. “What a foolish thought!” his conscience criticized, “can't you come up with something decent to say?”
Amy reached behind her back and smiled as she began to unbutton her dress. “I won't say anything if you don't, Lily.”
Rascal wanted to trot. Preston Diamond, slouching in the saddle like a wet rope, wanted to slow down. For the first ten years of his life, Preston had lived in army posts out west. One of the most vivid recollections of his youth was a trip to San Francisco with his parents. They had spent three glorious days taking in the sights, eating fantastic food and enjoying the amusements at a ginormous fair and exposition. Preston did not think he would ever in his lifetime find a more memorable experience.
He wasn't so certain about that now.
The Brannigan sisters had kept him a willing captive until evening descended, then, believing that if they were found together, they would not be able to conceal what they had been up to all afternoon, the girls shooed Preston away before their brother returned.
The freed hostage had wearily climbed on his horse and rode off perpendicular to the sunset.
Colonel Cutler Diamond, Preston's father, had been a West Point graduate and career soldier. He fought in the Mexican American War, engaged in many skirmishes and battles with Indians on the frontier and died near the end of the bloody American Civil War. Around mid century, a special assignment had led Lieutenant Diamond to Spain. In Barcelona, he met the lovely señorita, Constantina García y Ramírez. Though he nearly lost his life winning her hand, Cutler's happiness would not have been complete without the Spanish beauty. The couple were married aboard the ship in which they sailed to America and, from there, still with the army, the Diamonds travelled to the western frontier and the Pacific coast. Preston was born and a decade passed with the family living in various forts and posts. At the outbreak of the Civil War, Major Diamond moved his family back east and they settled on a small farm near the Virginia town of Conception, just a stone's throw across the Patowmack, from Washington, DC.
In the winter of '65, tragedy struck, and thirteen year old Preston was left alone.
Not long after the death of his father and mother, the young Diamond formed a partnership with the family's hired man and, for the past two years, Rufus Tweed had run the farm. Preston had moved to the city to fulfil his parents' wishes: Cutler and Constantina Diamond had wanted their son to have every opportunity for education, learning and culture; a substantial bequest ensured that Preston should not be denied in that capacity. In Washington, he lived with a retired army couple, Colonel James Unzer and his wife Rebecca. The Unzers had had no children of their own, and though they were twenty years older than Preston Diamond's parents, they treated Preston as though he were their son. Diamond grew to love the Unzers and thought of them as doting grandparents.
The braying of a mule split the darkness. Immediately, Rascal answered with a long whinny. A second mule joined in and, accompanied by a chorus of yapping dogs, announced to the world that Diamond/Tweed Farm had company. Preston saw the warm glow of lamp light through the curtained windows and soon the door burst open. A coal oil lantern preceded a thick muscled black man as he stepped out onto the porch.
Diamond shouted above the racket of the dogs. “Hello, the house, Rufus… It's me, Preston.”
In the lantern light, Rufus's toothy grin looked phosphorescent against his dark face. He hollered at the dogs to shut-up then grasped Rascal's reins as Preston swung out of the saddle. “Well now, Press, yo come on home at las'. Lordy be, lad, but yo grow'd some mo'.”
Preston shook Rufus's hand. “It's good to see you again, Rufus. I shouldn't be so long between visits. How's May-a-belle and little Constantina?”
“Dey's fine, Press, dey's fine. May-a-belle, she got some news, so firs' we put dat Rascal horse in de barn an' den yo come on in.”
As they turned toward the barn, a short black lady with a toddler clinging to her dress, appeared in the open doorway of the house. Preston could see her “news” in the form of a rounded tummy. Rufus said, “May-a-belle, it be dat Press acomin' home fin'ly.”
May-a-belle picked up the child. “Preston Diamon'! You come right on in here, I be fixin' you somethin' special.”
Rufus grinned and said, “Yo' all go on in, Press. I be taken care of yo horse.”
The Diamond home had seen a few alterations since the night Cutler and Constantina were murdered. Rufus had refused to use Colonel and Señora Diamond's bedroom when he and Preston batched, but on the day of the Tweed's wedding, both May-a-belle and Preston had talked Rufus round to moving in. The house was decorated to suit May-a-belle's taste; curtains had been changed, several pictures removed. Most of the furniture was the same. Rufus's bride kept the place as spotless as Señora Diamond had and, though May-a-belle's cooking always smelled and tasted heavenly, it was a flavour quite apart from the delicious Spanish dishes Preston's mother used to make. The cottage had a different aura now but it still had that homey atmosphere; not a house, a home.
While Preston ate supper, Rufus related news about the farm, crops, animals. Preston noted that he'd heard a second mule braying when he rode in and Rufus explained that he had bought another to work alongside Washington, the original farm mule. Tweed had purchased another cow, too. Since the war, farming conditions and sales had improved.
After the meal, Preston pushed back his chair and had begun to talk about his life in the city, when the dog and mule chorus broke out for the second time.
“My lan', we's pop'lar folks this evenin,'” May-a-belle said.
Preston saw a hint of fear in Rufus's eyes as he rose from the table. “I don' knows who's acomin' roun' dis tam de nigh'… It ain' Press, 'cause he be righ' here.”
The mules quieted but the dogs became increasingly excited. Shouts and cursing from outside could be heard in the kitchen. The Tweeds exchanged frightened glances. Preston said, “That doesn't sound like good company, Rufus. You give me time to slip out through the back window and I'll fetch up my Henry. I left it on my saddle. I'll give you the signal when I'm ready. Don't open the door before you you hear me.”
Firelight and billowing black smoke from a kerosene soaked wooden cross flared in the middle of the yard as Preston sprinted through the shadows to the barn. There were seven riders gathered near the flame and they were shouting for the black man to come out before they burned him out. To a man they were garbed in white, with tall, conical hats, hoods, masked faces, long robes and white sheets draped over their horses. Diamond had never seen the group before, but he knew who they represented: Ku Klux Klan.
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