Chapter Eleven
Bourbon County: 1862

It was a sweltering July afternoon. Pamela Carr sat on the porch with a glass of sweetened tea, fanning herself with a newspaper from the pile she had been reading. The War for the Preservation of the Union – or the War for Southern Independence, depending upon one’s point of view – had been raging for more than a year now, with no end in sight. At present, the Kentucky papers were full of John Hunt Morgan’s daring raids across the state. Capturing towns, destroying supplies and railroad bridges, Colonel Morgan had caused much consternation among the Union troops gathered in the Commonwealth and divided reactions from the citizenry. Even Pamela was divided, whether to be proud or ashamed of her mother’s cousin. Bold hero or shameless brigand? Like the War, it seemed to depend on one’s point of view.

She wondered that he had not approached Lexington, his home town, or Paris, the home of many of his relatives, but last reports had him headed north with a thousand men, apparently intending to cross the Ohio towards Cincinnati.

It was nearly sundown – she would have to go prepare supper soon, one of the many tasks she had taken over after Aunt Elsie’s death two years ago. She dreaded cooking in this heat, but all-in-all, she much preferred housekeeping to the spoiled life she had led before learning of her father’s straits. She felt. . .real now. Solid.

As she stood, she heard the pounding of horses’ hoofs on the road leading up to the farm. As they grew closer, the din became nearly deafening. She had never heard so many horses galloping at once. She flung open the front door and called shrilly, “Daddy! Come quickly! Something’s happening!”

Lucian dashed out to the porch at her call, arriving at the same time that a cavalcade of men, horses, wagons and buggies tore down the road to the farm. A tall man in shirtsleeves and gray trousers, carefully groomed mustaches framing a pointed beard, led the troop almost up to the farmhouse steps. Lightly springing from his horse, John Hunt Morgan swept Pamela a low bow. “Greetings, cousins,” he grinned broadly.

Lucian crossed his arms as Pamela stood flabbergasted. “Why are you here, John?” Lucian asked.

“I’m in need of horses,” Morgan said, stroking the neck of the sorrel gelding he had ridden. “I had to leave Black Bess behind – and, well, you do raise the finest horseflesh in the Bluegrass.”

Another man, disheveled yet handsome, rode to Morgan’s side. “Are we stopping, John? We need to care for the wounded.”

“Hello, Basil,” Pamela greeted Basil Duke. “We haven’t seen you since Rebecca’s funeral.” Rebecca Duke Morgan, who had died the previous year, was Basil’s sister and Morgan’s wife.

Basil nodded curtly. “Well, Morgan?”

“I’ll help,” Pamela offered. “You men discuss your business.” She threw her father a glance – he had not uncrossed his arms and was glaring at Morgan sternly. “They’re hurt, Daddy,” she offered by way of explanation.

Lucian nodded. “Of course, dear. I suppose it’s the Christian thing to do.” He jerked his head toward the house. “Come in, John. Best not to discuss matters out here.”

Pamela escorted Basil to the pantry to gather supplies for tending the wounded as Lucian led Morgan into the study. Lucian summoned Mr. Butler to serve the Confederate officer a drink. “How about some of our whiskey?” Morgan asked. “I haven’t tasted a good Kentucky bourbon for months.”

Lucian nodded as Mr. Butler poured. “It’s not ‘our’ whiskey, anymore, John,” Lucian said. “The Federals seized the distillery the moment you began your little campaign.”

“’Little’?” Morgan fumed, seating himself. He threw one muddy leg over the arm of the chair and sipped his whiskey. “Ah, that’s fine,” he sighed. “I’ll have you know that I’ve taken five towns, destroyed over a hundred thousand dollars worth of supplies and ammunition, and raised more than three hundred men for the Southern cause. I’d hardly call that little.”

Lucian waved a hand. “I don’t intend to get in a quarrel with you, John. Why have you come here?”

“I told you, I need horses. I’ll pay top dollar, of course.”

“I can’t let you have them, John.” Lucian seated himself behind the desk. “They’re promised already. The buyer will be here to pick them up in a day or two.”

“I’m sure they’ll do more good with me than with the Federals,” Morgan said drily.

Lucian jerked erect. “How did you know?”

“Let’s just say I keep an ear to the ground,” Morgan said. “Now what will it be? Me or the Yankees?”

“They’re not Yankees,” Lucian said. “It’s the Seventh Kentucky Cavalry – a good Kentucky regiment of good Kentucky men.”

“Traitors!” Morgan bellowed, slamming down his glass. “Fighting for those who have invaded our homes!”

“Might I point out,” Lucian said mildly, “that Kentucky was neutral until the Confederacy decided to breach our neutrality? And that some good men might feel that the Union is worth fighting to preserve?”

“You may,” Morgan said, “but no one can be neutral in this fight – you must know that by now. So which side are you on, Cousin?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Slaveholder.”

Lucian winced. “Why are you doing this to me, John? You know that if I sell you those horses, I’ll be branded as a sympathizer. There’ll be reprisals.”

“Then I shall take them,” Morgan said, “and save you the trouble, since that’s what you fear so much.”

Lucian gasped. “You’ll ruin me, John. You know how close to the brink I am. Leave your wounded – we’ll do that much for you, but take your men and ride out of here. Leave us in peace, please.”

Morgan tapped his fingers on the desk. “That’s something I’ve never understood – you’ve a positive genius for business. Everything you put your hand to thrives, yet you’ve been up to your ears in debt as long as I’ve known you. Do you gamble? I’m fairly certain it’s not drink.”

Lucian began to laugh weakly, then threw back his head and roared. “Genius? That’s rich. There’s only one thing I’m good at – I’ll show you your genius.” He waved a hand at Mr. Butler, standing in the corner like a statue. “There’s your genius.”

Morgan turned around and regarded the dark servant. “I haven’t time for your jests, Lucian.”

“It’s none of your business how I found myself in this hole, or what I’ve had to do to try and dig myself out,” Lucian said. “Losing the distillery is as big a blow as I can absorb right now. I can’t let you have those horses.”

Morgan stood, straightening his collar. “You leave me no choice, then, Coz. Tell the Federals I stole them – it’ll be true enough.” He strode out the door.

Lucian leapt up to follow him. “John!”

Morgan whirled. “That’s General Morgan to you!” he snapped.

“General? You’re a General already?”

“Brigadier General. Acting,” Morgan conceded. “Never mind. This discussion is over.” He strode out to the porch. “Where’s Basil?” he demanded.

Basil Duke appeared as if by magic. “Here, General,” he said.

“Round up the horses,” Morgan ordered. “All of them.”

“Not my brood stock,” Lucian protested. “And the foals. . .”

“All of them,” Morgan snapped. He mounted his horse and rode off toward the pastures.

“Baz,” Lucian said, grabbing Basil by the arm before he could mount. “Can’t you stop him?”

Basil shook his head. “It would be like trying to stop a comet.”

“You’re worth ten of him,” Lucian said. “Why do you follow him?”

Basil stared at him. “Don’t you know? Can you really not see it?”

Lucian shook his head. “No. He’s a popinjay.”

“He’s a man above all men,” Basil said. He gestured toward the horde that followed Morgan. “Any of us would give our lives for him. Many of us have.” He mounted then. “I begin to pity you, Lucian.”

Pamela returned then. “Will you leave the wounded, Basil? Many of them are too weak to travel.”

“General Morgan has ordered that we take everyone with us. We can’t risk letting anyone fall into the hands of the Federals.”

“Why?” Pamela asked. “They don’t make war on the wounded.”

Basil reached down and squeezed her chin. “So charmingly innocent. Too bad none of us may remain so.”

Pamela jerked away, frowning. “I’m no baby.”

“No, you’re the full flower of womanhood,” Basil said gallantly. “Many thanks for your aid, dear.” He rode off to join Morgan.

“What’s happening, Daddy?” Pamela asked. Mr. Butler had joined them on the porch, and soon the grooms and field hands had gathered around as well.

“We’re being raided, Pammy,” Lucian said wearily.

“By John? But, but, he’s family!”

“I’m afraid I’m not Gray enough to suit him.”

Pamela looked up into his face, thinking he had never looked so gray before, but she understood what he meant.

“What are we going to do, Mr. Carr?” the head groom asked. “They’re taking the horses.”

“Nothing,” Lucian said. “We’re no match for a thousand armed men.”

They could only stand and watch while Morgan and his men stole the life’s blood of the farm. Morgan turned and waved his bullet-riddled hat at them as he left, riding Lucian’s prize stallion, and soon the deafening hoof beats had died away.

“Go to your cabins,” Lucian said to the men. “I’ll be out to talk to you later.” He looked so weary and old that no one had the heart to argue.

Pamela and Mr. Butler followed him into the study. He sat down behind the desk and laid his head on his arms. Pamela was afraid, not for herself – well, not much, she admitted – but her father’s despondency was like a deep dark well.

“We’ll manage somehow, won’t we, Mr. Butler?” she asked. “We’ve been in dire straits before.”

“There’s no money,” Lucian muttered, his words muffled in his arms. “The mortgage payment is due at the end of the week. The sale of the horses would have more than covered that. Now, there’s nothing. It’s a house of cards – it will all collapse now.”

Pamela bit her lip. “All?” she whispered.

“Tell her the truth, Lucian,” Mr. Butler said. “If you won’t, I will.”

“What truth?” Pamela demanded. “What don’t I know? Daddy?”

Lucian was silent, so Mr. Butler spoke. “It’s not your father’s fault, Miss Pamela. Your grandfather left the estate heavily in debt. Underwater. Far, far, far underwater. It was only your father’s promise to pay that kept the creditors from seizing everything after the will was read.”

“And I’ve paid and paid and paid, and it all comes to nothing,” Lucian said. He looked up then, eyes reddened. “I’m sorry, Butler – I know I promised you.”

“And you’ve done your best, I know,” Mr. Butler said gently.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Pamela demanded.

“I didn’t want to sully Father’s memory for you,” Lucian said.

Pamela snorted. “You’d rather I think you were profligate instead of him? Sometimes you’re too honorable, Daddy.” She pounded the desk. “We have to do something. We can lose the farm, but we can’t let them take the people.”

Lucian looked up at her and smiled sadly. “Now you do understand. It always was about the people.” He looked at Mr. Butler. “May as well tell her the rest.”

Mr. Butler waved his hand. “If you wish.”

Pamela raised an eyebrow. “More secrets?”

“Butler here is. . .” he hesitated, “. . .my brother.”

“Oh,” Pamela said weakly. “I see. And you promised him. . .that he’d never be sold?”

“That none of them would be sold.”

“Well, then, we must keep that promise,” Pamela said. “We must think of a way.” She furrowed her brow. “You could free them.”

“They’d be seized,” Lucian said. “Or I would have freed them a long time ago.”

“Not if they join the Army. The Union Army, I mean. Not as soldiers, but they’ll protect freed laborers. I read it in the paper.” She brightened. “We could all join the Army. I could be a nurse.”

Lucian stared at her a long moment. Then he jumped up and kissed her on the forehead. “You are brilliant, my dear.” He opened the desk drawer and took out a stack of paper and began writing. “If ever there was a time for bold action, this it it.” He looked up at his brother. “Butler, here’s your chance to choose whatever name you please. I know you’ve always hated the one my father gave you.”

“Butler, will do,” Mr. Butler said. “Jacob Butler.”

“Not Carr?” Lucian asked, disappointed. “And why Jacob?”

“From the Bible, Daddy,” Pamela said. “He had a son named Benjamin.”

Jacob’s face grew grave at the name of his lost son, but he merely nodded. “It’s what suits me, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir,’” Lucian said.

“All right, Lucian,” Jacob answered.

Lucian smiled and finished writing the writ of manumission. He handed it to Jacob with a flourish. “You’re a free man now. If we can make it stick.”

“We will,” Jacob said firmly, tucking the writ away inside his shirt.

Lucian turned his hand to writing out more writs. When he had finished, he picked up the papers and bottle of ink, motioning Pamela and Jacob to follow him out to the slave cabins behind the house.

The men were loitering about the yard, silently, with hangdog expressions. Lucian paused a moment, then strode into the midst of them. “Men.” He stopped and cleared his throat, uncertain where to begin. “Men, we’ve been together a long time – you’ve all served me well and I hope you have no complaints of me.”

There was a murmur among the men. “No, sir, you been right kindly.”

“Well, I hope so,” Lucian said. “I’ve tried.” He raised his voice. “Morgan’s raid today has dealt us a severe blow. The truth is – the truth is – that my father left me deeply in debt. So deep that in almost twenty years of trying, I haven’t managed to climb out of that hole.”

“Are we gonna be sold?” the head groom asked. “Because if we are, you can stop with the speechifying.”

“Bear with me,” Lucian pleaded. “No, I am not going to sell you. In fact,” he waived the pile of writs, “I intend to free all of you. Right here and now.”

There was an even more excited murmur from the men. Lucian held up his hand. “There is peril in this – my creditors are likely to try to seize you, but my daughter,” he grinned at Pamela, “has come up with what I think may be the only possible solution. Tomorrow – “ he looked around at the gathering twilight, “she and I are going to go join the Union Army. The Union has promised protection to any freed slave who signs on to work for them, so I recommend that all of you go with us. I know some of you have wives and children at neighboring farms – what you do after today is your decision, but if you want to keep your freedom, I see no other choice.”

The men took a minute to consider this. “You’re sure there’s no other way?” the head groom asked.

“I see none,” Lucian said. “The truth is that we live in uncertain times – Morgan’s raid today has brought it home to us. If the South wins this war, it’s likely that you will all be enslaved again. I intend to do my part to see that that doesn’t happen. But I have no guarantees. None of us do.”

“What is Mr. Butler doing?”

Jacob spoke up. “I throw my lot in with Mr. Carr. I’ll be joining the Army as well.”

“Would someone bring me a table and chair?” Lucian asked. One of the field hands did so, and he sat down to write. “One more thing,” he said hesitantly, “Mr. Butler here is my brother.” He looked around at the men, who exhibited no surprise. “It’s likely that some of you could make the same claim. I know these things are not usually spoken of, but I want you to know that I am not ashamed of it. Of you. All of you will be able to choose what name you want put on these writs, and if any of you will take the name of Carr, I will consider it an honor.”

The men filed by as Lucian put their names to the writs – some few took the name of Carr, some took names such as Washington, Jefferson or Adams, one even took the name of Lincoln.

“You’re all free now,” Lucian said. “You may go visit your wives and children – you may go do whatever you wish. All I ask is that anyone who is going with us pack your belongings and be ready to go at sunrise.”

“We should harvest the kitchen garden,” Pamela said, “and there’s the smokehouse – I hate to think of it all going to waste. Perhaps we could have a feast?”

“Good idea,” Lucian agreed. “If anyone would help my daughter, it would be greatly appreciated. Bring your families back here if you wish. There’ll be plenty for everyone.”

Mr. Butler and the head groom helped Pamela harvest the vegetables from the garden while others of the men raided the smokehouse and built a fire in the yard. Some men left and returned later, wives and mostly grown children in tow. They gathered around the fire and partook of smoked ham, beef and fresh tomatoes and squash from the garden. After supper, some of the men took out instruments and began playing – soft, plaintive, wistful songs.

Pamela felt a wave of melancholy wash over her. The men were free, for which she was happy, but the life she knew was over. Her father put an arm around her waist and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Pammy. I wanted to do much better for you.”

She wrapped an arm around him. “Don’t be sorry. I only wish you had told me all the truth a long time ago.” She gazed into the fire. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, dear.”

“You seemed so proud to acknowledge Mr. Butler – Jacob – as your brother. Why was it so hard to acknowledge Daisy?” She nodded at Jacob across the fire. “I don’t like to speak of it in front of him, I know how it still pains him. But I wondered.”

“You still miss her, don’t you?”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder where she is, what she’s doing, if I’ll ever see her again.”

Lucian breathed in deeply. “Jacob being my brother – well, that’s my father’s shame. For all I tried to shield him, it’s not the same. Azalea – she was my shame. And Daisy the remembrance of it. I so wanted not to be like my father.” Lucian clenched his fists. “I have no idea how many of the slaves born on this farm were his children, but a good number, I’m sure. It’s shameful enough to own a woman, much more so to use her in such a fashion. I swore I never would, and then I did. The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve wondered why we didn’t own any women – except for Aunt Elsie, and Daisy, of course.”

“I didn’t want to be a breeder of slaves, Pammy. The women that were left me, I tried to find reasonably good homes for, nearby so they wouldn’t be separated from their husbands, but I wanted no more slaves born on this farm.”

She looked up at him. “Are you an abolitionist, Daddy?”

Lucian snorted. “No. At least not the pamphlet-waving sort. But I do think it’s wrong – look at Jacob. He’s a better man than I am. It was a sin to own him.” He straightened his shoulders. “And now I don’t anymore. Whatever happens, I’m no longer a slaveholder. And that is some cause for rejoicing, even if it’s not the way I wished for it to happen.”

The head groom approached them. “The men were wondering if you would favor us with a song, Miss Pamela,” he said shyly.

“Of course,” Pamela said. She walked to the center of the yard, lifted up her head and began to sing.

“The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.

“The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy and bright;
By 'n' by hard times comes a-knocking at the door,
Then my old Kentucky home, goodnight.

“Weep no more my lady
Oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For the Old Kentucky Home far away.”

Her voice broke and she could not continue. She went and stood beside her father. Lucian had tears in his eyes, too, but neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.

No one slept that night. When the fire burned down, they all went to pack their belongings. At dawn, they loaded everything they were bringing with them onto a wagon and hitched up the plow mules. None of the men chose to stay behind – as Lucian had said, what other choice did they really have?

Lucian and Pamela climbed aboard the wagon, the men walking alongside as they set out on the road to Paris. Pamela did not look back. It was better so.