The Hanging Tree

When South Carolina plantation owner Samuel Worthington liberates his slaves, he offers them some land in exchange for their continued service. His best worker, Jeffrey, accepts the deal and begins building a life for his freed family. But upon Samuel’s death, everything changes. His son, Jake, alters the agreement, setting in motion a destructive pendulum that swings relentlessly for generations to come. Inhabited by ghosts of a dead rice plantation, the fertile land serves as a battleground in the war between greedy, ruthless men, and the spirits of its rightful owners. ‘You’s on my land.’

Two plantation families, both torn apart by injustice and bigotry, branch out away from their roots and struggle to make it into the early twentieth century. Through World War I, Prohibition, and the modernization of America, the South Carolina land and its ghosts remain common ground in a prolonged chess match between the two clans. Unfortunately, neither family can ever fully prosper unless all the stray pieces find their rightful place and balance is restored, but justice proves elusive in the shadow of America’s darkest social blemish.

KUDOS FOR THE HANGING TREE

In The Hanging Tree by Michael Infinito, the Worthington family in South Carolina frees its slaves at the end of the Civil War. The patriarch, Sam Worthington, gives his slaves parcels of land in payment for their service while slaves. One slave, Jeffrey, accepts and stays to work on the plantation. But when Sam dies, his son Jake takes over the plantation and kicks the ex-slaves off their land, hanging Jeffrey and his wife and murdering all but one of their children, setting off a chain of events that destroys the plantation owner’s family and leaves behind a legacy of death and violence. The book follows both the Worthington family and the family of Jeffrey’s one son, Nat--who escaped the carnage in South Carolina and fled north--through many generations, haunted by bigotry, injustice, revenge, and the outraged ghosts for whom there has been no justice, only tragedy. The story is heart-breaking, detailing the awful persecution the Blacks suffered at the hand of White men both north and south, and the injustice that no amount of retribution can ever repay. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

The Hanging Tree by Michael Infinito is not an easy book to read. It chronicles the story of Sam Worthington’s family from the end of the Civil War when the slaves were freed to the early 1920s. Sam himself was a good man, and he not only freed his slaves but he paid them for their services as slaves, offering them small pieces of land on his plantation. Only a few of them accept, but one who does is Jeffery. He builds a small cabin on his land next to a huge maple tree. But the maple tree becomes his hanging tree once Sam dies and his bigoted and narrowed-minded son Jake takes over. Jake wants the land back and when Jeffrey refuses, he and his family are murdered, with the exception of Nat, who manages to flee. He makes it out of the state and the story follows his family through the years, along with the Worthingtons. But Jake's sins are visited on the heads of his children and his son-in-law, who builds an inn on Jeffrey’s land that is haunted by all who die in the two families. Infinito handles the subject with sensitivity and compassion, creating a chilling, spine-tingling thriller that’s hard to put down. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I would like to thank my friends and family for all the support they’ve shown through the years. A special mention to my parents, Jewell McMurry Cartwright and Michael Infinito, and also to acclaimed author, Lisa Regan, for her continued encouragement.

I would also like to acknowledge the professional staff at Black Opal Books. Thanks for believing in me.

I’d also like to mention my loyal readers. Without them, none of this would be possible. My heartfelt appreciation to all.

The Hanging Tree

Michael Infinito

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2016 by Michael Infinito

Cover Design by Jackson Cover Design

All cover art copyright © 2016

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626944-79-4

EXCERPT

‘Set him free,’ the eerie voice said, but who and what was it referring to?

Sarah concentrated, hoping the eerie words would materialize one more time. They never came. Then, out of the blue, she remembered something the sheriff had mentioned weeks earlier. The day we ousted Conrad, you said something about arresting a Black boy in the graveyard. I never got to ask you about him.

It weren’t no big deal. Some young colored fella was caught snoopin’ around the inn. Conrad had him arrested for trespassing and vandalism.

Did you think he meant any harm to the property?

Sheriff Burton scratched his chin. To tell you the truth, the boy seemed scared. I don’t think he wanted to hurt nothing. He might’ve gotten off if not for his crazy story.

What did he say?

Said part of this here land belonged to his family, and that your own granddaddy passed it along to his kin. Any nigra claiming to own a White man’s land is gonna go straight to jail ’round these parts.

What happened to him? Sarah feared the worst.

He’s doing seven years in Columbia, probably breaking rocks.

Dear God, I’ve got to get him out of there!

Now hold on, missy. If you go trying to get a convicted Black boy released, your name ain’t gonna be worth a dang no more. If you think people gonna call you crazy for burning up your own hotel, you just wait and see what happens--

I don’t care about my name. My family’s own freedom lies in the balance.

This book is dedicated to all the people who have struggled and died in the name of freedom and equality. May their battles never be forgotten.

Chapter 1

June 1865, Horry County, South Carolina:

Lucas, an elderly plantation slave, approached his much younger counterpart in the midst of a lush farm field. Massa says we free men, Jeffrey, he exclaimed.

What crazy talk’s gotten into you, old man? Jeffrey asked, wiping the sweat from his sun-blazed mahogany skin. He’d been working hard, feverishly picking collard greens all morning.

Jeffrey Worthington grew up a second generation slave, born and raised on a large rice plantation north of Charleston, South Carolina. An ox of a man, he stood six-foot-four, with a sharply chiseled physique. At the young age of twenty-six, he had become plantation owner Samuel Worthington’s, most valuable worker.

I just saw Massa Worthington up at the house. He says the war is over and we all free men. The sixty-one-year-old Lucas flashed a hearty smile, his short, snow white hair and stubbly beard glistening in the midday sunshine. Lucas’s days of working in the arid fields had ended a decade earlier. Samuel Worthington had lightened up the elder slave’s work load considerably, allowing him to simply act as a messenger most of the time.

Jeffrey halted his crop picking. Ain’t never gonna be a free Black man in South Carolina, you old fool.

It’s true. Go ask massa yourself if you don’t believe me!

If we so free, then why you still callin’ him massa?

Don’t be such a jackass, Lucas said, aggravated by the younger man’s attitude. You know it’s just a name we grew up sayin’. Massa Worthington ain’t like the other plantation owners. When we was sick he let us stay in bed. He never once hit me or called me bad names in my whole life. He’s treated us just fine.

But he’s still your massa, Jeffrey argued. You couldn’t pack you a bag and tell him you was goin’ on a trip.

’Cause if we did leave, someone would think we’s runaways and probably hurt us real bad. Massa’s always kept us safe.

Safe ain’t free, old man. Samuel Worthington may have treated us better than the other plantation owners, smiling and callin’ us by name, but behind closed doors I’s sure we was always just dirty nigra’s to him.

I know that little boy of his is a hateful soul, but I think you got the rest of the family wrong, Lucas argued. Besides, it don’t matter no more, anyhow. We’s free to go.

Where you gonna go, you crazy old coot. Just ’cause some Yankee President says we can leave, there’s thousands of folk ’round here who’d cut us down in our tracks if they saw us on the street. We’d die before we could make it up north. And even if we did get out, what’s a collard-pickin’ rice farmer gonna do in New York or Philadelphia?

As big and strong as you is, I think you afraid of freedom, Jeffrey Worthington. Of all the men I know who could make it out of here, you’d be the one.

I ain’t afraid for me, fool. Jeffrey appeared angry. I gots Esther and Lewis to think about. Lewis is still a baby, and Esther ain’t in good enough health to run off from here. You all alone, Lucas. You don’t have those worries.

The elder slave’s eyes became glossy. You didn’t need to remind me about my girls, he said somberly.

Sorry, old friend. Sometimes I says things without thinkin’. That damned fever hurt lots of folks around these parts.

Lucas wept. I miss my family.

Jeffrey embraced the old man with a sweaty hug. I know you do.

Anyways, the reason I come down here was to tell you to stop working, Lucas said, putting an end to the tender emotional moment.

Massa Worthington will be angry if I don’t pick my share. I can’t stop now.

Massa’s the one who sent me out here to get you. He wants to see all of us slaves in the main house right away.

He gonna shut the whole plantation down?

That’s what he sent me to say. And he didn’t even tell me to do it--he asked me if I wouldn’t mind runnin’ out here. Lucas smiled. I almost said ‘no’ just to see how he’d act.

And you say we goin’ to the main house? I only been in there one time.

Everyone, ’cept for the young’uns and mothers.

Jeffrey threw the collard leaf he’d been holding into his basket and left it sitting in the hot sun. Then he went around the plantation with Lucas, gathering up all the other slaves who had been busy working. After completing their task, Lucas and Jeffrey, along with twenty-two men and thirteen women, slowly marched toward the Worthington family home.

***

The main house stood as a magnificent white building, encompassed by tall columns, complete with a second floor wrap-around deck. The bottom porch, full of brightly painted rocking chairs and a few suspended bench swings, also encircled the entire structure.

A thousand foot long dirt drive led up to the mansion, shrouded in the shade of majestic oak trees, their branches adorned with streaming locks of Spanish Moss. For all but a few of the approaching slaves, an up-close view of the Worthington residence was a sight they’d never before seen.

Jeffrey and Lucas led the procession along the driveway, feeling more and more out of place with every footstep. Thirty-five Black men and women nervously marched behind them as they entered the strange and unfamiliar world of the White man.

Chapter 2

As the entire labor force of the plantation neared the mansion’s front porch steps, Samuel Worthington emerged from the residence, his wife, Ella, by his side. Worthington, a thin man, standing just over six-feet tall, rarely ventured from his massive estate. When he did, the Southern gentleman always dressed in fancy garb, his dapper appearance complimented by a chest-length gray beard and an expensive looking, wide-brimmed hat.

Welcome to our home, Samuel said loudly, holding his arms high as an inviting gesture. My wife and I are proud to greet you today as neighbors. No longer shall the word ‘slave’ be uttered on this land.

Ella shook her head in agreement. Seven years his junior, she could have easily passed for Samuel’s mother. In recent days, missing back molars had crafted a sunken crater in her already thin cheeks, while deep lines continuously etched further into her abundantly freckled skin. A good-natured woman at heart, she bore Samuel two children--twelve-year-old Jake, an arrogant boy whose quick temper often found his backside on the receiving end of a willow switch, and nine-year-old Tanya, a pleasant little girl who fought constantly with her rambunctious brother.

Today I’ve summoned you here to discuss your future plans, Samuel continued from the top porch step, peering out over the bewildered crowd. Bear in mind, no one has to stay and listen to me. Ya’ll free to do as you wish. As most of you know, I wasn’t in favor of the war. Too many good men died on both sides--White and Black included. Thanks to President Lincoln, God rest his soul, our great nation remained united, the way our forefathers had intended. The scourge of enslaving our fellow man has ended, and I, for one, am ashamed that my family name will be linked to the practice in the annuals of history.

If you’s so ashamed, then why you let it happen? a large toothless man asked from within the group, garnering the support of several other Black men.

There are no excuses before God, Mister Abram, Samuel replied. "I’ll surely be judged by our Almighty Savior in the afterlife. As to your question, I will tell you that sometimes the world around us dictates what we must do to survive. With all the plantations in the South selling their crops on an open market, there would’ve been no way for me to keep this business working without your help."

Help is something we does ’cause we want to do it, Jeffrey pointed out. No matter what you says, we was owned by you just like we was dogs.

I’ll never be able to make amends, Jeffrey. Samuel hung his head, unable to face the former servant. All I can say is I never meant to treat you bad. In my heart, I felt like I was protecting ya’ll from the world outside this land. There are evil people who would kill a Black man on sight in South Carolina.

I say you was a kind massa, a plump, middle-aged woman bellowed.

Please, Mabel, the word ‘massa’ is no longer a part of this plantation, Ella Worthington firmly stated, surprising Samuel with her quick support. You may address us as Mister and Missus Worthington.

Well then, Mister Worthington, sir, why did you calls us all to your house? Jeffrey asked, acting as the impromptu group leader.

One at a time, I intend to meet with the head of every family on the plantation. Just as ya’ll need to move forward with your lives, my own family must also face an unknown future. I want each and every one of you to know there’s an opportunity to stay on and work here, not as a slave, but as an employee.

You go first, Jeffrey, old Lucas insisted, gently pushing his young friend toward the porch steps.

He’s a good man to start with, Samuel agreed.

Jeffrey tentatively climbed the front porch steps. Upon reaching the top, Worthington shook his hand.

Let’s go inside, Jeffrey, he said. Would you like a cool glass of tea?

No sir, mas--I mean Mister Worthington. I’s okay with just some water if I can fetch me some.

My wife will pour you a glass while we retreat to my study. Are you ready to go inside?

Jeffrey seemed nervous. I guess so.

Samuel held the door, allowing Ella and Jeffrey to enter first.

In a few minutes, I’ll return for another man, he said to the crowd. Ya’ll decide amongst yourselves who wants to be next.

He walked into the house and shut the door, leaving the thirty-plus member group of ex-slaves scratching their heads in disbelief.

While Ella darted off toward the kitchen to get a glass of cold water for their guest, her husband led Jeffrey into a huge room, filled with walls of packed bookshelves and an impressive oak desk. Two children sat in the middle of the study, playing a card game on the hardwood floor.

You young’uns aren’t supposed to be in here, Samuel stated. This is my work room.

I’m sorry, Father, Tanya replied, quickly rising to her feet.

You kickin’ us out so’s you can talk to a filthy nigra? Jake asked sarcastically, taking his time getting up.

Worthington marched across the room, ashamed by his son’s lack of respect, and, without hesitation, slapped the boy across the face. Don’t you ever say that word in front of me again, he warned.

Nigra, nigra, nigra, Jake said defiantly, showing little fear of his father.

Samuel slapped him harder.

No more, Jeffrey stated loudly, stepping between the father and son. Let him say what he gots to say. I don’t like seein’ no children hurt.

Yes, Father, listen to your stinky pet, Jake said sarcastically.

Little Tanya ran out of the room, the escalating confrontation too much for the timid girl to handle. Before Samuel could respond to his son’s latest remark, Ella entered with a glass of water.

What’s going on here? she asked, seeing the enraged look on Samuel’s face.

Father’s treatin’ nigras like they people, Jake replied.

Ella quickly put the glass of water down and grabbed hold of her son’s ear, dragging him away from the two men. You need to learn you some manners, she scolded, pulling him out of the room at a painful pace.

I’m sorry, Jeffrey. Someday, he may understand, Samuel said.

It’s the world he lives in, mas--Mister Worthington. I can’t blame it all on the boy.

You’re a wise man, Jeffrey. Now maybe we can get down to business.

Worthington seated himself behind his desk, whilst Jeffrey remained standing. Please join me, he said, directing the ex-slave toward an empty chair.

Not used to being treated as an equal, Jeffrey tentatively sat his sweaty body on the fancy, hand-carved furniture piece.

Samuel removed his hat. First things first. Like some of the other people who’ve grown up on this plantation, you’ve adopted my family name as your own.

It’s the only name I ever known, Jeffrey replied.

And you’re welcome to remain Jeffrey Worthington, if you so desire, or you can choose a new name, one of your liking.

I like’s Worthington just fine. I’s too old to learn anything new.

Then we can move on. Do you have any plans for the future?

I has a wife and a baby, sir. I gots nowhere to go. I’d likes to stay here and work if I can.

That would make me very happy. You’re a true leader in the field, and that’s what I need to remain in business during these changing times. The only problem I see is money. I’m almost broke, so I couldn’t give you cash. I propose something else.

What is it? Jeffrey asked.

We do like we’ve always done. You become my plantation manager, overseeing all field production. I’ll still provide you with food, and you can hunt as much game as you need.

So we all still gonna be slaves then?

Nonsense, Samuel stated. You’ll be the boss. People in the field will take orders directly from you. I won’t get involved. If they’re sick, or tired, and don’t want to work one day, then it’ll be up to you to make changes so the plantation can function.

Not to be disrespectful, sir, but that don’t sound like much of a deal to me. Sounds like my days is gonna be harder than before, and even though I’s a free man, I still don’t have nothin’ of my own.

That’s where you’re wrong, son. The old man smiled. Over yonder, next to where you live right now, I have five hundred acres of wooded land that we don’t use for anything but hunting and firewood. I’m going to pay ya’ll by deeding out property and giving you some crop shares. I’ll offer each family five acres if they’ll stay on as workers, and I’m going to give you ten if you’ll be my field boss.

Ten acres? You ain’t joking? What could I do with the land?

You can cut down trees, build a home, grow crops--whatever you’d like. The land will be yours until you sell it--no joke.

Can I haves the piece I already live on?

We can surely work something out, but I’m not sure why you’d want to stay where you are. I’m offering you some much nicer property. Wouldn’t you like to live near everyone else instead of being all alone out there?

There’s a big ol’ maple tree growin’ behind my shack. My daddy’s buried next to it. I don’t wants to leave him behind. A tear formed in the corner of Jeffrey’s eye.

Then we’ll make it so you can stay put. Also, when Lewis grows up, if he wants to work with you, I’ll add acreage onto your land.

Then I accepts your offer, Jeffrey said.

That’s what I hoped you’d say. Samuel extended his hand to the former slave.

Jeffrey didn’t react at first.

It’s okay. You can shake my hand, the plantation owner assured him.

After an awkward moment, the two men shook, sealing the deal in good faith.

Now, if you don’t mind, could you ask Lucas to join me? Worthington asked, politely.

Whatever you say, Mas--Mister Worthington, sir, Jeffrey replied, walking away with hopes of a bright future.

A short time later, Samuel Worthington had a similar discussion with old Lucas, followed by the rest of the ex-slaves. All of them but one decided to stay on and work for land.

Chapter 3

March 1880, Horry County, South Carolina:

Momma, why is Daddy crying just ’cause a White man died? sixteen-year old Lewis asked, staring outside at Jeffrey, through an open window of the family’s newly constructed pine cabin.

Because Samuel Worthington was a decent man, Esther replied, joining her son at the window.

The short, rotund woman watched her husband in the distance as he sat on the ground in front of three crudely formed gravestones, sobbing under the shade of the majestic maple tree.

He didn’t act this bad when Lucas died, did he? the boy asked.

You was just a little one back then. You can’t remember how your daddy cried.

Lucas had passed away less than two years after receiving his land. Because he had no heirs, Samuel Worthington gave the old man’s property to Jeffrey. Out of respect to his beloved friend, Jeffrey buried Lucas under the maple tree, next to his own mother and father.

Where’s your little brother? Esther asked, closing the shutter to give her husband some privacy.

He’s out playin’ in the woods, the tall, lanky boy replied.

Well, as long as Nat don’t mess with your daddy, I guess he can keep on for a spell, she said, breathing heavily, a result of chronic asthma. Nat entered the world four years after Lewis. A large baby at birth, his delivery had nearly killed Esther.

He and Lewis were complete opposites when it came to body structure. While Lewis had reached a height of almost six-foot by the young age of twelve, and now stood at a towering six-four, Nat was ten inches shorter and twice as wide across the shoulders as his slender brother.

What’s gonna happen to us now that Mister Worthington died, Momma? Lewis asked.

I’s not quite sure what you sayin’, son, she replied.

Who’ll run the plantation? I’s supposed to start working for my own land this year, and Nat’s almost old enough to farm the rice fields.

I reckon things will keep stayin’ the same. Jake Worthington will probably take his daddy’s place.

If Mister Jake owns the plantation, things won’t be the same, Lewis assured her.

Why you sayin’ that, son?

’Cause Daddy told me Mister Jake is filled with hate. Can’t someone else take over?

There ain’t no one else, Lewis. Ella Worthington passed away right before Lucas died, and that sweet sister of Jake’s drowned in the river the very next year.

I just got me a bad feeling about this, Lewis said, shaking his head.

Aww, now you don’t worry yourself too much, boy. Jake Worthington ain’t as nasty as he used to be. A wife and three young’uns has done him some good. He knows how important family is.

I’s still scared, Momma.

Well, you listen to me, boy. Mister Jake can’t run this plantation without your daddy. You gots nothing to be ’fraid of. Now git on out of here and find your brother. I’m fixin’ to put some food on the table.

Yes ma’am. Lewis immediately headed toward the door.

And stay away from your daddy, she added.

After acknowledging his mother’s final command, Lewis ventured into the woods to find his younger brother. A short time later the entire family sat down to a somber meal, where they prayed for the soul of Samuel Worthington--a decent man who had championed human equality in the latter years of his life.

Chapter 4

May 1880, Horry County, South Carolina:

After a grueling two months under the watchful eye of Jake Worthington, Jeffrey had become frazzled, both mentally and physically. Jake didn’t think the plantation was being productive enough, therefor he put himself in charge of the workers, demoting Jeffrey back to being a full-time laborer.

Although the former slave wanted to take a stand against Jake’s new policies, he bit his tongue, choosing to let the tyrant-like, young Worthington treat his family and friends as if they still belonged to the plantation.

One night in mid-May, Jeffrey and Lewis came home after a long, grueling day in the fields. Jeffrey could barely walk, having been driven so hard by Jake Worthington. Nat ran out to help his brother carry their father into the house.

Good Lord, Jeffrey, that Jake ain’t gonna stop till he squeezes every bit of life out of your old body, Esther complained, watching the boys guide him to a chair. We’s free people. We should leave this place.

And go where, Esther? Jeffrey asked, taking some deep breaths.

I hear things is okay for Black folk up in New York, she replied.

We’d be lucky to make it to North Carolina, he argued. And if we gots that far, it would still take us months to get up past Virginia. You think they gonna welcome us in those states?

Well, you can’t go on like this, Lewis stated. The man is killin’ you, Daddy.

I don’t want no more talk about it tonight, Jeffrey said sternly. I’s gonna work here till I die, so’s the family can always stay on our land.

Ain’t no little piece of land worth dying for, Nat interjected.

That’s where you wrong, boy. Jeffrey stared into his younger son’s eyes. "I already told you ’bout the old days, and how we was treated. You and Lewis gonna tell your children about my life, and they gonna keep adding to the story long after we all gone. One day I hopes your great-great grandchildren will be able to sit beneath that big ol’ maple tree and know how they came to own this land. Now, likes I said, let’s put an end to this crazy talk and eat us some supper so’s we can rest up for tomorrow."

But, Daddy--

Nat, you best listen, Esther chimed in, feeling that her younger son was being disrespectful. Your daddy said no more, and he meant it.

Neither of the boys pushed the subject any further. Jeffrey and Lewis cleaned up, later sitting down with the family to a hearty meal of squirrel meat and collard greens. After supper, the two working men turned in for the evening, while Nat helped his mother tend to the dirty dishes.

By eight-o’clock, all four of them had retired to the comfort of their beds, savoring the peaceful confines of their cozy cabin.

A short time later, a loud yell pierced the serenity of the quiet night, instantly waking the sleeping family members.

Jeffrey Worthington, you best get your ass out here!

Huh--what? Jeffrey asked, sitting up in bed.

Don’t make us come in there after you, the familiar sounding voice bellowed.

Is that Jake? Esther asked, rubbing her eyes.

Sure ’nough sounds like him, Jeffrey replied. I gots to go see what he’s callin’ me for. He left the bedroom, putting his pants on in stride. Esther followed right behind.

Jeffrey, you in there, boy? Jake Worthington asked again, his voice becoming progressively louder.

I’s coming, Mister Jake, Jeffrey yelled.

You’d better get your ass out here, now.

Lewis and Nat, both startled by the commotion, joined their parents in the main room.

What’s he want, Daddy? Lewis asked, recognizing Jake’s voice.

I’s not sure, son. You’d best be on your toes.

He sounds like he mad at you, Nat added.

He ain’t gonna show his face, Jake, another voice blasted through from outside. He ain’t nothing but a Black coward.

Who’s that other one? Esther asked her husband.

Jeffrey turned to his sons, completely ignoring Esther’s question. Boy’s, I wants you to run away from here right now, he demanded, a look of fear washing over his face. You heads north and never look back.

But, Daddy, I--

Damn you, Lewis--you listen to me when I tells you to do something. I’s your daddy. If you don’t do as I says, I’ll put a whippin’ on you.

What’s wrong, Jeffrey? Esther asked, having never seen her husband act so scared.

I’m giving you one more minute, Jeffrey, Jake yelled, his loudest outburst yet.

No more questions, Jeffrey said sternly, addressing Lewis and Nat. I says go, and I mean now!

But they’s my boys, too, Esther cried, prompting a tearful outburst from Nat.

Jeffrey gazed deep into his wife’s eyes. Although no words were exchanged between them, she suddenly saw everything crystal clear. Do as your daddy says, Esther stated, further confusing her two children.

I’s goin’ outside to see Mister Jake now, Jeffrey said, eyes glossy. You boys give me and your momma a hug and then be on your way.

Lewis and Nat ran up and embraced their mother and father. After an emotional moment, Jeffrey headed for the front door.

You’s two go out the back and don’t turn around, he demanded, eyeballing his boys one last time.

Yes, Daddy, Lewis said, pulling his brother away toward the bedroom, leaving Esther blubbering alone in the main room of the cabin.

Seconds later, Jeffrey nervously opened the door and stepped onto the front porch.

Chapter 5

From their position in the woods, Lewis and Nat could clearly see the entrance of the cabin, where their father stood on the porch, shirtless, in front of three men on horseback.

Who is they? Nat whispered, wondering why two of the men were wielding shotguns.

The one in the middle is Mister Worthington, Lewis replied. I ain’t never seen the others before.

Lewis, Daddy told us to run away. We’s best not stay here, Nat pointed out.

I ain’t goin’ nowhere. He might need me.

Then what can I’s do to help? Nat asked.

I wants you to do as he says, Lewis demanded. You start heading north, and when I sees that everything’s okay here, I’ll catch up to you.

But I don’t want to go alone, Nat begged, trying to keep his voice down.

Lewis pointed northward. You get a move on, boy, and don’t stop until you sees me on your footsteps. If you gets any louder, they gonna hear us.

I’m sorry, Lewis, Nat said softly. I love you, Brother.

Lewis tried his best not to let any tears show. I loves you, too. Now go.

Nat reluctantly said goodbye, walking away into the dark woods with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Lewis remained behind a row of bushes, keeping a close eye on Jake Worthington and his two henchmen.

***

Boy, it done took you a long time to get your ass out of the house, Jake Worthington, said, anger in his tone.

I’s sorry, Mister Jake. I was getting me some rest so’s I could be ready for tomorrow, Jeffrey replied, not recognizing the two armed men flanking the young plantation owner.

At twenty-seven, Jake Worthington bore a striking resemblance to a youthful version of his father. But, as Jeffrey quickly learned in the time following Samuel Worthington’s death, the young, thin man with the wide-brimmed hat and long, dark hair, shared none of the late plantation owner’s good-natured characteristics when it came to human decency.

That’s why I’m here to see you, Jeffrey, Jake stated, placing a freshly rolled cigarette between his lips.

Why ain’t you alone? Jeffrey asked, highly suspicious of the two strangers.

These are my cousins. Jake lit his cigarette, being careful not to ignite his bushy beard in the process. I hired them to help me rebuild this plantation. Our production has fallen way off.

We’s workin’ as hard as we can, Mister Jake. I’s not sure if we can make any more than we makin’.

Jeffrey saw Esther about to exit the cabin, so he shut the door in her face, signaling her to stay inside

I beg to differ, nigra, the hulking cowboy on Jake’s right barked, shotgun pointed skyward.

This is my, cousin, Henry Johnson, Jake stated, He’s what we in Horry County call a trouble-shooter.

Henry looked to be an imposing figure. Hefty, and sitting tall in the saddle, the long-bearded man wore black from head to toe, topping it off with a matching cowboy hat.

Pleased to meet you, Mister Henry, Jeffrey said, receiving no response, wondering if the sudden chill he felt was just a result of the damp night air.

And this is his brother, Clyde, Jake said, pointing to the man on his left. He’s my new employee motivator.

Although Clyde Johnson sat few inches shorter than Henry, the stubbly-faced cowboy shared the same muscular build and nasty expression as his sibling.

Pleased to meet you, also, Mister Clyde, Jeffrey said, once again offering his greeting, fully knowing the sentiment wouldn’t be reciprocated.

Clyde gazed spitefully into the former slave’s eyes, responding only with a spit of chewing tobacco and a grunt.

Now, we’re going to make the Worthington Plantation the highest rice-producing plantation in South Carolina, Jake continued, cigarette smoke billowing from his mouth. The first thing we’re gonna do is fix some of my father’s mistakes. Ya’ll workers have gotten soft. My father promised you land in exchange for your services, but I don’t think ya’ll have upheld your end of the bargain.

I works hard, Mister Jake, Jeffrey argued.

You have a younger son who stays home all day, and a wife who does nothing but cook your supper. They could be in the fields making us some production, Jake said.

The boy’s getting ready to work, and my wife is sickly, Jeffrey pointed out. You’s a daddy to three babies, yo’ self, Mister Jake. Surely you knows how hard it can be to ask a young’un to work when they ain’t ready.

You comparing his three beautiful little girls to your Black boy? Henry Johnson asked angrily.

No, sir, I woulds never do such a thing. Ain’t no baby of mine as good as Mister Jake’s young’uns.

Damn straight, Clyde agreed, opening his mouth for the first time.

"This ain’t about my family, Jake said, anger etched upon his face. The first step in making this plantation more productive has to do with land ownership. As of tomorrow, all the deals my father made with ya’ll workers are null and void."

What you mean by that? Jeffrey asked, hampered by his limited education.

I mean you’re living on Plantation land again. If you don’t want me to kick your ass off the property, then ya’ll had best step it up. Your wife and son will need to start working.

But this is my land. I owns it, Jeffrey protested.

You don’t own shit, Henry stated, making the shotgun