LITMIR.BIZ

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ruin. The high platform that enabled the judge to declare the winner was still standing, but vines and small saplings suffocated the structure. The track still visible between the thick interwoven weeds tempted riders to test their skill and horses’ speed in an afternoon race. Such a moment brought John Wilson and his Negro friend, Andy, to the track.

      As the riders sped around the far end of the track, birds nesting in the low branches fluttered away to safety while squirrels scurrying around on the ground scampered up the trees.

      “Heahhh! Heahhh!” shouted John as he leaned down near his horse’s neck while glancing back at Andy less than a half-length behind him. “Push ‘em! Push ‘em hard!”

      The horses rolled up dust as they raced down the backstretch like a storm out of control; nothing could stop them. Making the north turn of the track, Andy called out, “Gonna take you this time, Mist’ John. We’re gonna outrun ya!”

      With both men leaning low and forward on their mounts, they made the last turn and came galloping down the final stretch, the horses’ manes thrashing their faces as they raced toward the finish line.

      “I’m gonna kick ‘em,” Andy shouted as their horses were now even.

      “Do it!” came the reply.

      With a loud scream and a kick in the flanks, Andy edged forward and crossed the finish line. Knowing he had just triumphed over the finest rider in the county, Andy raised his arms in celebration and cantered his horse around the track once more. John followed closely behind him. As they approached the starting point, they pulled their horses to a stop and dismounted.

      John extending his hand and exclaimed, “Dadgummed good ride Andy. That buckskin can sure ‘nough run, can’t he?”

      Andy shaking John’s hand and smiling from ear to ear replied, “Well, you gave me the best hoss, what’d you expect?”

      “I thought I could still beat you. I thought I could still out ride you but I sure couldn’t,” John answered.

      “Let’s take ‘em down to the creek and let ‘em cool off a bit before we head for the house.”

      The two men led their horses across a wooded area that bordered the track, worked their way down the steep bank that led to the creek, then turned them loose to water. As the horses wandered around in the creek, they knelt down to dip up water in their hands and after washing off their faces, they also quenched their thirst.

      “Touch of fall in the air, Andy,” John said, looking west to where the sun was setting. “Can’t believe the summer’s about gone.

      “Shore ‘nough is, Mist’ John. We’ve had a good one too.”

      With the horses watered, they remounted and made their way up the bank toward home. As they leisurely rode through the woods Andy said, “You think these here hosses is as good as them your daddy and Mist’ Jake used to run?”

      John thought for a moment then replied, “They ran pretty good today but it’s hard to say. You know when Sherman came through here, they stole most of the herd. We only saved a couple of ‘em and those were some fine animals them Yanks took.”

      “They pay you for ‘em?” Andy asked.

      “Pay for ‘em,” laughed John. “I just told you they stole ‘em.”

      The two rode quietly for a few moments, occasionally glancing up in awe at the huge branches of the massive oak trees that had covered the woodlands for centuries. Then Andy said, “You know that war done a lot to us folks. Mister Lincoln went and freed all of us but he shore didn’t tell us what we s’pose to do or where we s’pose to live. I heard tell he was gonna give us a piece of land and a mule, but I ain’t seen none of it. I feel mighty good though. You and Mister Wilson up and give my family eighty acres of land and a fine house to live in. Yes sir, we done just fine thanks to your kindness, and for Mister Lincoln, I ain’t seen nothing he promised us.”

      John ducked his head as a low limb of a dogwood tree almost took his hat and replied, “The president got killed. If’n he’d lived you might have seen some of those promises come true, and we didn’t just up and give you the land. You worked for it. We didn’t have money to pay anybody and we needed workers. We told your daddy that if’n you would work for us for two seasons where we could hopefully get back on our feet again, then we’d give you the land. We got the farm back in good shape and y’all earned your land; we didn’t give it to you.”

      Pulling his horse closer to John, Andy said, “Mist’ John, you Wilsons is good, God-fearing folks. I’m just glad you took us in. Some white folks ain’t so kind to us, but I did hear that an outfit called the Freedsman Bunch is trying to help us. They s’pose to be trying to settle some of us on land and even maybe start us a school. Lord have mercy, John, I might even learn to read one of these days.”

      “It’s the Freedman’s Bureau,” John replied. “I’ve heard a little about that, but I ain’t heard nothing about any schooling.”

      Spurring his horse across a rippling stream, Andy said, “You know I’ve also heard that there is even some colored over in Jackson sitting in the Capital. Is that true?”

      John nodded. “That’s right, they’s over there making laws for the state of Mississippi right now.”

      “Great heaven to mercy, I can’t believe what all’s happening with my people. There they is sitting in there and making laws and weren’t long ago we was all nothing but slaves for the master. Mist’ John, why don’t you go over there and make the laws. You’d be a good ‘un.”

      John smiled over at Andy. “I’ve read a lot about the law system but I don’t think that’s for me. You know, my parents ain’t as young as they used to be, and I’ve got the responsibility of taking care of ‘em. You know, I get by just fine working the place and enjoying every day the good Lord gives me.”

      John hesitated for a moment, pulled his horse to a stop and motioned for Andy to stop. “Andy, there’s things that happened to me during the war I can’t explain.”

      “What’s you talking about Mist’ John?” Andy asked, adjusting himself in the saddle and wondering what John had on his mind.

      “Andy, it might not make sense to you, but something happened to me up in Pennsylvania.”

      John thought for a moment and continued, “I feel that I got killed there during that terrible battle and by some strange means, I’m alive.”

      Disturbed by what John had shared with him, Andy shuddered. “Mist’ John, I’m not sure I want to hear no more ‘bout that story. Sounds like you believe you is a haunt or sump’n.”

      Afraid that he had upset Andy, he reached over and patted him on the back. “I ain’t no haunt, Andy. I’m just saying something happened to me up there that I can’t understand. I still have dreams that bother me, and it’s always the same one over and over that troubles me. I just can’t free myself from it and until I can, I can’t seem to be able to get on with my life.”

      Thinking back, John could still hear the clash of arms, the loud screams of horror, the smell of burnt gunpowder and the pleas of men gasping for life. Disturbed with his thoughts, John quickly forced his mind back to Andy’s suggestion and said, “I think I could be a good politician, but it’ll never happen to me. Nobody is gonna elect me to any office.”

      Andy gave him a serious look. “I’d vote for you and I know a lot more folks that would too, black and white. I just wish I could do the voting.”

      “Andy, the government’s given you the right to vote. You can be a voter. That is, as soon as the state accepts the amendment and makes it a part of the state constitution.”

      “I don’t know nothing ‘bout no constitution but someday I want to do some voting.” Andy exclaimed. “You shore ‘bout that, Mist’ John?”

      “I’m sure you can,” John replied as he pushed his

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