The Raging Hearts: The Coltrane Saga, Book 2 (17 page)

“I am not interested in all that.” He waved his hand in disgust. “Do you think I believe anything you say? You are using my people, just like all the white Southerners will want to use them. And thank the Lord I returned in time to put a stop to it.”

Kitty stepped closer, bristling with anger. “Gideon, you may as well have called me a liar, and I do not appreciate it. Just who do you think you are to come riding in here like some great messiah? Ready to incense these people into distrusting every Southerner with white skin? It’s peace we are after now, not revolt.”

“You listen to me,” he shouted, eyes rolling around wildly, his fists beating into the air about him. The others stepped back in fright, but not Kitty. She stood her ground, facing him in equal defiance. “I fought with the North. I learned a lot of things. I learned to read and write and talk proper. The soldiers took time with me. They felt sorry for me because they knew I’d been treated like a mindless animal all my life. I read the Bible, read about the man my mammy named me for, how he delivered his people. The soldiers, they told me how the white folks down here is going to hate the niggers because they can’t own them now like they was cattle. They can’t take a whip and beat ’em when they feel like it. We are citizens, too, now. We is free. We gonna stay free. We gonna take what is rightfully ours, and the government is gonna help us.”

Kitty looked at the tall, thin black boy. He was eighteen or nineteen years old. His eyes were narrowed with hatred, his thick lips set in an angry pout. Perspiration dotted his forehead, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. He glared down at her.

“I don’t think you talk so proper,” Kitty said, smiling. “I think you’re a big put-on, Gideon. I think you have made yourself believe you are some sort of savior for your people. If they listen to you, they will be making a tragic mistake.”

“A mistake?” he echoed, his voice thundering. “It will be a mistake for them to listen to people like you—hypocrites and deceivers who will use them because they are uneducated and stupid.”

“You call your own people stupid?” Kitty raised her eyebrows and smiled sarcastically. “Gideon, I think you have fallen victim to some witless Yankees who knew what they were doing when they aroused your hatred and anger. They knew you would come back here to cause trouble. Can’t you be reasonable? Let life settle into peace. Where do you plan to lead ‘your people’? Tell us about this great revelation of yours.”

“We ain’t gonna work for no white folks without gettin’ paid—”

“You are not talking properly,” Kitty interrupted. For a moment it looked as though the young Negro was actually going to strike her. Even a few onlookers gasped. He had raised his hand, then lowered it, his eyes bulging.

“We
aren’t
going to walk around with our heads down, like we are ashamed of our color.” He bit off each word, making his diction crisp and clear. “We are free souls, and we are going to live like free souls. If anyone tries to push us around, then we will take up arms if need be. The first thing we are going to do is return to the slave shacks that are still standing and take what is rightfully ours—beds, blankets, clothing. We will strip the wood from the shacks to build our own elsewhere. These people ran because their white owners told them they were going to have to take up arms and fight the North. And they wouldn’t do it. They chose to run to the swamps instead. When we ride out of here, we ride with heads high, afraid of no man.”

“You work fast,” Kitty said quietly, looking about her at the excited faces of the young black boys. They were almost trembling in their eagerness to follow Gideon. Her eyes went back to the young Negro who stood smiling down at her triumphantly. “You have only been here for a few hours, but you already have a small army ready to charge off to battle. Surely they are not all mad.”

“We ready to go now, Gideon,” Luther screamed, stepping forward and waving his arms over his head. Others did the same, till the air was filled with excited cries.

Jacob was shaking his son, yelling that he was going nowhere. “You ain’t going to go stealin’ beds and stuff from slave shacks, Luther. You goin’ to stay right here and act like you got some sense. Now we in for some hard times, sho, but things won’t get no better by startin’ another war.”

“Who rides with me?” Gideon yelled, moving toward his horse. “We go now, and we return when we have wagons filled with food and supplies.”

Kitty watched helplessly as all the young Negroes ran to gather around Gideon. Except for Luther. He struggled and screamed like an infant in the throes of a tantrum as his father gripped him tightly. It was quite a struggle for the old man, and another stepped up to help him hold on to the youngster.

“Gideon!” Kitty called out, furious now. “Tell us about this man for whom you were named. Tell us if he would have incited young people to steal.”

“The story of Gideon appears in the Book of Judges,” he said quietly, reverently. “The Book of Judges is a collection of stories and national traditions of the Jewish people dating all the way back to a thousand years before Christ was born. One such story tells that the people abandoned God to worship the local deities of their neighbors in a place called Palestine. They suffered defeat from their enemies. And the Lord, in His mercy, every once in a while would raise up strong leaders who, under His guidance, led the Israelites to victory against their enemies. This way, God was showing the little people that, despite their smallness, He was a good God, who would come around to help them in time of need.”

He paused to take a breath dramatically, smiling down at the awe-filled eyes that stared upon him. Then he cried out exuberantly, “Gideon was one of those leaders. He was called a Judge. The Lord chose Gideon to lead the Israelites when the Midianites swept in from the desert to steal their crops. The Lord came to young Gideon while he was threshing wheat in a wine press to hide it from the Midianites. The angel of the Lord came to Gideon and said God had chosen him to liberate his people. Just as I am going to deliver mine!” He slammed his fist against his chest. The Negroes sighed, overwhelmed by his vast knowledge. It was obvious that Gideon was a heaven-sent leader.

“I know of this story,” Kitty spoke reverently, and all eyes were upon her. “Gideon was not even the head of a family. His father worshipped the Baal of the Canaanites and fertility symbols. Gideon was hardly a likely choice. Yet, despite his background, he was capable of faith. When he was convinced that the call from God was real, he did something drastic, something that could easily have caused his death.”

Everyone waited, hushed, expectant. Gideon’s eyes were blazing. It was obvious he did not like Kitty expounding on her knowledge of the Bible. The Northern preacher who had told him the story had instructed him well. So had the Yankee soldiers, who said he didn’t have to go back home and be afraid of the white-trash Rebels who would still try to treat him like a slave. He was going to be a leader!

“Gideon went in the middle of the night and destroyed his father’s altar to Baal,” Kitty continued. A few cries of astonishment went up from her rapt audience. “But his father, Joash, defended his son from the angry devotees of Baal, saying that if Baal could not protect his altar against Gideon, then he was weaker than Gideon. Since Gideon had proved the strength of both himself and God, the Jews returned their loyalty and God led them to victory.

“So Gideon went out and raised an army of thirty thousand, and the Lord said it was too large an army. A victory would cause credit to go to the Israelites and not the Lord. Gideon weeded out the army. Do you know how he did this, Gideon?” she challenged him.

Gideon frowned. “That ain’t important. You done said Gideon was the chosen leader by God Himself,” he snapped defiantly.

“You aren’t talking properly again,” Kitty said sweetly, making his eyes dance with fire. “And it is important if you consider yourself the reincarnation of a great Biblical leader, and chosen by God himself.”

There was silence. All eyes were on Gideon. Finally, he mumbled, “I said it isn’t important.”

“Ah, but it is important,” Kitty went on. “The final test was the manner in which the men drank water out of a stream. If they got down on their bellies and drank directly, causing them to ignore for the moment any enemy who might be lurking about, they failed the test. But if they cupped the water in their hands and drank standing upright, alert for the enemy, they passed. Three hundred men passed the test, and Gideon was able to launch any offensive against the Midianite camp. Do you know the details of the battle?”

“I know he won,” Gideon cried. “That’s all that is important. We waste time listening to the arguing of a white woman who just wants to use us.”

She ignored the accusation. “Gideon equipped each man with a trumpet and a lighted torch set inside a jar. Secretly, the Jews surrounded the Midianite camp at night. Then, when Gideon gave the order, they smashed the jars, took out the torches and blew their trumpets. The Midianites thought they were being attacked by a much larger force, and they panicked and fled.”

“So? Gideon led his people to victory, just as I will lead mine. We’re wasting time. We have to go now and take what is ours, unless you want your bellies to swell with the rot of swamp roots till you die.”

“Wait!” Kitty called out, raising her hand. “Don’t you see, Gideon? The true Gideon, the one chosen by God, led his people to victory by using intelligence and wit, not by shedding blood and taking up arms. God told Gideon to do this. What you plan to do is entirely different. You want to ride rampant upon the countryside and take what you want by force, shedding blood if necessary. That was not the way the true Gideon of the Bible led
his
people. You have much to learn. Violence is not going to accomplish anything except to breed more violence. Haven’t you seen enough of that in the past four years? Aren’t you ready for peace?”

“I’m ready to lead my people to take what’s ours,” he roared, leaping on his horse, yanking the reins to make the animal rear. “I bow to no man, ever again. Those of you who wish to go with me, come now. The rest of you can stay here and eat swamp roots.”

“Gideon, you get yourself down off that horse!” All eyes went to the plump colored woman who stepped out of the crowd. She wore a tattered dress, and her feet were bare. Her face was lined with age and hard work. “You gone plumb crazy, boy? Your pappy and me didn’t raise you to be no troublemaker. Things is a’gonna work out for all of us. So what if we eats swamp roots for a time? They ain’t gonna kill us. Stealin’ will. Now you get down off that horse and shut your mouth and quit talking about being some kind of religious leader sent by God. The only reason I give you that name was because my mistress tol’ me to call you that. She studied the Bible like Miss Kitty here, and she told me to give you that name. I never knowed what it meant. It didn’t matter then, and it sho don’t matter now. So you hush up that big mouth of yours.”

“Momma, I been called,” Gideon cried. “You can’t stop me. Nobody can. We’re leaving.”

He nudged his horse into a slow walk, so that the twenty or so followers could keep up on foot. Nolie began to cry, and another woman gathered her in her arms as she sobbed, “That boy always was a’tryin’ to cause trouble. Never did know his place. He done fought in the war fo’ years, and now he come home to die, ’cause these white folks ain’t gonna put up with no niggers roamin’ around stealin’.”

Kitty lifted her worn muslin skirts and ran a few steps after them, calling out, “Those of you who stay will have a home on my land, I promise you. But those of you who ride out with Gideon need never come to me. I cannot tolerate those who do not want peace.”

No one turned back except Gideon, who twisted in his saddle to give her a triumphant smile. Then he began singing the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” as he led his little group away. The others didn’t know the words, but they caught onto the melody quickly enough. It wasn’t long before they were all humming as Gideon sang, like one big choir marching across the dusty field.

“I’ll join you when I can,” Luther screamed hysterically, still being held back. “Gideon, I promise you I’ll escape and come with you. I wants to be free, too.”

“Oh, Luther, Luther, you are free.” Kitty looked at him compassionately. He glowered at her. “You must understand. Gideon is only asking for trouble.”

“Others are going to follow him. He’ll have an army of hundreds of niggers, and they’ll all fight right with him to take what’s ours.”

“And what is yours?” Jacob gave him a shove that sent him groveling into the dirt. “Right now, we ain’t got nothin’, any of us, but we gonna work and have somethin’. It may not be easy. But we’ll do it with our own hands and the help of the Lord. We ain’t gonna do it with no guns.”

“You wait.” Luther scrambled to his feet, backing away toward the swamps. “You wait and see. Gideon and all those who go with him are gonna be rich. They gonna live in fine houses one day, and white folks are gonna be a’workin’ for them this time. But people like you, pappy, you gonna die here in the swamps with your belly full of ol’ swamp roots, just like Gideon say.” He turned and ran, disappearing into the great, silent wall of cypress and weeds.

Jacob’s veined eyes filled with tears, and Kitty’s heart went out to him. “He’ll change,” she said, and touched his shoulder. “He’s young, and he’s bitter, but he’ll see the wisdom of your words, Jacob, I know he will.”

“Gideon!” Nolie spat out the name, hating it. “He’s gonna cause the death of some good folks ’cause he listened to some Yankee soldiers who knew he was crazy enough to come back down here and get somethin’ started. He ain’t got sense enough to know there’s white folks jus’ waitin’ for a chance to start shootin’ freed slaves. Lord, Lord, what’s gonna happen to us? I thought when the war ended we’d all have a new life. Now I wishes I was back on the plantation, even if it means being a slave. At least I wasn’t starvin’. I look back now and see how it wasn’t so bad, not for any of us, long as we kept our mouths shut.”