Counted corpse, p.14
Counted Corpse, page 14
Between the chimney ruins were some standing beams and a lot of decaying wood. I bent down and peered amongst the debris. I could see fragments of turned wood, maybe from chairs or tables, and some colorful glimmers that told me they might be pottery or something. “If you are going to have an archaeologist come out, have them come here,” I said.
I pinned this location onto the map and marked it “Quarter” based on my assumption that these were slave quarters, but there wasn’t anything here that was going to tell us about the who of the people that lived here. It did, however, tell us a bit about how operations worked.
We stood around my phone, and I showed how back in the early twentieth century, the aerial photos showed the fields around here were planted in corn. “I can’t be sure without more research, but I expect the field hands lived here.”
“So that they were close to their workplace,” Mary said and ran her eyes over the fields. “They would have had to step out the door and go to work. No time to even transition from home to work.”
I sighed. Nothing I could say would make this history easier, and it shouldn’t be easier. It was horrible in every way, and it was the truth for centuries in our country. I stood silent and thanked the people who had worked here for their labor.
The day was beginning to get really warm, though, and as Nick pointed out, we were moving into prime tick and snake season. So we loaded up and moved to the path we’d spotted that came from near the house out to the top of a ridgeline. There, we found more chimneys, and below, it looked like there was some sort of wall. “Maybe a garden?” I guessed.
Mika took my phone and pulled up the map and went back as far as she could with the aerials. “Looks like it,” she said as she passed the image around. “A big one.”
I sighed. “So these houses would have been for the folks who gardened and maybe who worked in the barn.” I pointed to where we could see the roof of that structure just over the rise.
Demetrius took the phone and then trailed his eyes up the path toward the west. “Is that the hill where you’ve heard there was a graveyard?” He asked Nick.
“That’s it,” Nick said. Then, he studied the path at our feet. “Maybe we should walk from here. Just watch where you step.”
Solemnly, we followed the trail up the slight slope and into the tree-line. We didn’t have to go far before we could all see this was a sacred space. Field stones were lined up in tidy rows with smaller stones about six feet further east. This was clearly a burial ground.
Veronica whispered, “Why didn’t we come up here before, Nick? Why didn’t we know?”
Nick rubbed her back. “We know now.”
Slowly, we all walked in amongst the graves. The crinkle of leaves under our feet filled the silence, and I wondered when someone had visited last. The cemetery was in good shape, at least as far as forgotten places were concerned. There weren’t any brambles growing up, and the graves looked undisturbed.
I walked further in, speaking quietly to the people buried there and telling them they were remembered. “You are not forgotten,” I said.
“Of course, they’re not forgotten,” a woman’s voice said from the tree-line beyond the graveyard.
Everyone spun and looked at the tall, thin white woman in a long linen skirt who was now walking toward us.
“These are my ancestors. I wouldn’t abandon them here.” She moved into the cemetery and began placing violet blossoms on each grave. We stood and watched her bend, rest a flower, and speak a few inaudible words at each person’s final resting place.
When she was done, she said, “I’m Hortense Beazley. Now, what are you doing on my land?”
I spun to look at Veronica and Nick, but they looked as baffled as I felt. Veronica recovered quickly though and stepped forward. “Hortense, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Veronica Benfer. I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding. This is our property.”
Hortense straightened her shoulders. “There most certainly has been a misunderstanding, on your part. These are my ancestors, and this is my land. Has been since our,” she looked at Nick, “great-great-uncle gave it to my great-grandfather.”
Nick walked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Who was your great-great uncle?”
She pointed to a grave right in the corner of the cemetery where a carved stone stood about knee-high, the only carved stone in the cemetery. “His name was Elijah Morris, and he’s buried right there.”
12
I gasped, and Hortense turned toward me. “You are Elijah’s relative?”
She nodded, and then tilted her head. “You know of him?”
I pulled out my phone and opened the family tree I’d made for Elijah’s family. “I’ve been researching his, I mean, your family for Bethel Church.” I handed her the phone, and she looked at it briefly.
“So you’re the one. Levi said he spoke to you, but you didn’t seem willing to listen to reason.” Her voice was heavy, sad almost.
“He threatened her,” Mika said, “and her son.”
My throat was suddenly very tight, and I had to take a deep breath. If I thought things were complicated before. “Yes, that’s right. He did,” I said softly.
Hortense raised her hands over her head and then let them fall. “I had no idea. I asked him to persuade you to stop your inquiries, but I never sanctioned threats. I do apologize.” She turned to Nick again. “Your brother does have a quick temper.”
Nick nodded, but from the puzzled look on his face, I could tell he was as lost as I was. Still, we were on the trail of good information, and I wasn’t about to let that go.
“Ms. Beazley, I’m Paisley Sutton. The Benfers,” I gestured over to them, “hired me to help research the people who were enslaved at BelAirre. If I am understanding you correctly, then you are a descendant of those people. Is that right?”
“It is,” she said, “even though I don’t look like most people imagine I would.” She scanned her eyes over each of us. “Perhaps we should all sit down, have a glass of sweet tea, and talk.” She turned and then looked back at us. “My house is just over this way.”
In a silent procession, we followed her down the hill to where, just below, her beautiful farmhouse sat. I’d never noticed it before, tucked as it was behind the hill from the road, but it was lovely. Simple and understated with a wide front porch lined with prolific pink peonies. BelAirre was beautiful, but this house felt comfortable, lived in.
She led us to the porch and suggested we all sit in the wicker seats and rocking chairs there while she got tea. I offered to help, but she said, “I so rarely have company. Let me wait on you, please.”
We all sat down and enjoyed the lovely view into the valley below. Fields and fence lines snaked across the scene, and I could see how I might never leave this house if this was the peaceful view I had.
A few moments later, Hortense returned with a tray and seven tall glasses of tea that were already beading up with condensation in the rising heat of the day. We each took one and quietly sipped the sweet liquid while we waited for someone to speak.
I finally broke the silence by saying, “Hortense, forgive me for being so forward, but we are trying to figure out some things related to the church and your great-great- Uncle Elijah. Do you mind if I ask you to tell me about your family line?” I smiled and hoped my question wasn’t too intrusive.
“Of course,” she said, “but first, can you tell me what you know? Forgive me, but I am a very private person, and while I think you are sincere with your motives, you can imagine that my family has not always been treated well given our lineage.” She sat back and held me in her gaze.
“Definitely,” I said. “I’m sorry. I should have begun there.” I told her the full story of the week, of how we had found Earnestine Greene’s journals and then confirmed there was a Monacan burial ground under the church’s manse. I explained how our research also led us to think Earnestine had been murdered for trying to stop the building of the manse and then how further inquiry had led us to understand that the Benfers and Beazleys were related through Nicholas the Fourth and Anne.
“You have done a lot of work, and it all seems accurate as best I know. I’d be glad to help if I can.” She paused. “But first, let me answer your question. I am Emily Morris’s great-granddaughter.”
I sucked in a breath. “She was Elijah’s sister,” I said quietly.
“Correct. She came here as an infant and was given the Beazley name, then raised here, first as a slave and then as a housemaid after she was freed at the end of The War.” She sipped her tea again. “After moving into town and taking a place as a white woman, she was very light-skinned, she married a white man, Thomas Shepherd, from Charlottesville. They lived there and raised their children, who kept the Beazley name, but then Elijah bought the land from the Beazleys and gave it to my great-grandmother, his sister, because it was easier for her and her husband to be landowners of this scale than it was for him.”
“And then the land passed from her to your grandfather and so on,” Nick said.
“Correct. One small sleight of hand to bely the firmness of racial categories, and here we are.” She swallowed. “You can see why I was concerned that people were exploring this history.”
I nodded. “You were worried that someone might try to take the land away, that somehow your claim would be undermined.”
She sighed. “I was. I am. See, I don’t know how Elijah came to hold title to this property. Nothing in our family record explains that, and so . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You are worried that he got it illegally,” Demetrius said as he leaned forward. “You need not worry. Our ancestor was law-abiding and generous.”
“Our ancestor,” Hortense said and put her hand to her lips. “We are related.”
Demetrius smiled. “Cousins,” He said. “I am Demetrius Cleveland, a descendant of Elisa Mae Morris, Elijah’s granddaughter.” He stood and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
A tear slid down Hortense’s cheek. “I’m so glad to know you,” she said. “I was under the impression that my uncle was the only other kin I had, and he is not interested – no, he’s downright disdainful of our family story, ‘the legend of Elijah,’ he calls it.”
I smiled. “Oh, it’s not legend. Your Elijah Morris was a wealthy man, and we can prove it. He bought this land clear and free; I have no doubt. This is your land, Hortense. Your family’s land.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I spoke.
Hortense looked at me, “Really?”
Mika sat forward and explained what Mrs. Stephenson had found in the ledgers. “Given circumstances, I expect Elijah did his best to keep his wealth quiet, but he definitely had it,” Mika finished, “which means he bought this land, built this house, with his own money. It’s rightfully yours.”
“What is rightfully yours?” Levi Benfer stomped up the porch steps and stood behind Hortense. “What’s going on here?”
“Levi, meet my cousin Demetrius,” Hortense said.
Demetrius stood and put out his hand to shake Levi’s. Levi just stared.
“Levi Benfer, shame on you,” Veronica said. “We met Hortense at the cemetery on the top of the hill, and we’ve been making connections between our family and hers.”
The color drained from Levi’s face. “So you know?” he said to Hortense. “I guess I should have realized you would find out.”
“Find out what, Levi?” Her face was etched deep with worry.
“That you and I are cousins.” He sighed.
Hortense furrowed her brow and then looked over at me. “Are we cousins? Is that right?”
“Technically yes, but so far back that it doesn’t matter in any way except that your family tree will become simpler a few generations back.” I was puzzled by Levi’s reaction. “Is that what was worrying you? That if Hortense found out you two were related, she might end your relationship.”
A flush spread up Levi’s neck, and then he nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Oh my goodness, you ridiculous man. Why would any such thing matter? Everyone is related to everyone somehow, and here in Octonia, well, most of us are probably married to our kin,” Hortense said with a laugh. Then, she leaned over and gave Levi a deep, lingering kiss.
The blush crowned the top of Levi’s head beneath his blonde hair as he pulled away. “I guess I am a little ridiculous, but I didn’t want to lose you,” he said.
Mary sighed deeply, and I grinned at her. She was a dyed-in-the-wool romantic if ever there was one. Given the fact that I was a little teary again, I guess I was, too.
Hortense and Levi looked like they needed a minute to discuss. The confusion and concern on Nick and Veronica’s faces told me they might be eager to have some family conversations. Demetrius was sitting quietly, but I could see Veronica’s hand on his arm. He was ready for some good family chatting, too.
So the rest of us said our goodbyes and headed back up the hill to the Gators after Levi assured us that he would get Nick and Veronica home. As I walked away, I glanced back and thought, This is what it should have looked like all along. The whole family, black and white, on that porch together.
But as we crested the hill and walked quietly through the cemetery again, I couldn’t help but think about how many people had spent so much energy trying very hard not to let that small reunion happen. Something tingled down my spine, and I took a deep breath. One mystery was solved, but this was far from over.
Once we had parked the Gators and headed back to town, I checked in with Lucille only to hear that Sawyer was in their backyard, buck naked and playing in the sprinkler. “We’ll feed him lunch and then bring him over with the hopes he falls asleep on the way. Keep you posted,” she replied.
I grinned. Even with the nap, that boy would be ready for bed early given all this excitement. And I was glad for some more work time.
As Mika and I walked into the shop, I saw Mrs. Stephenson helping a young woman pick out some baby yarn in a beautiful green, and I grinned. If I could, I’d probably have an entire wardrobe made from that soft, sweet yarn. It felt so good against my skin.
When the purchase was completed, Mrs. Stephenson joined us in the Cozy Corner, and we caught her up on the morning’s events. She actually clapped in delight at the news and said, “I’ve pulled together all the figures in a spreadsheet with references to the ledgers, so while it’s not proof until we find evidence that Elijah actually had the money, it is pretty clear.”
“Well, that’s my next stop. I’m going back to the courthouse to try and pull all the land records under Elijah’s name together. It won’t show us his cash, but if he had property that he purchased, he had to acquire it somehow,” I said.
“Good plan,” Mika said and then looked at Mrs. Stephenson, “Mind showing me that spreadsheet, while we have a lull?”
I picked up my bag as Mrs. Stephenson trotted over to get her laptop and told Mika I’d be back ASAP, hopefully before Sawyer. “Oh, don’t worry if you’re not,” Mrs. Stephenson said, “I have a spider-related craft for us to do.”
I smiled and decided to take my time then, even as I thought about how grateful I was that Sawyer and I had such a great group of people to care for us.
At the clerk’s office, I pulled the appropriate deed index and turned to the page where Elijah Morris was listed. Then, I gasped and pulled out my phone. He had almost an entire column of records in his name. The man had bought and sold a lot of land in his lifetime. I felt my pulse quicken as I got closer to the proof we were all hoping to find.
As I began to pull out the deed books and photograph the various land purchases that Morris had executed, I started to dance around in excitement, and the other researchers in the room gave me shy smiles and laughs until one brave man said, “Okay, what has you so excited?”
For a minute I didn’t answer as I weighed the reward-to-risk ratio in my head. But then, I realized that this news was going to be out sooner rather than later, and I might as well see what these land title experts could do to help. So I said, “I’ve just discovered an enslaved man inherited a lot of money from his enslaver and then used much of that cash to buy land around Octonia.”
I gestured toward the deed index. “He has almost a whole column of listings here, and now I’m tracking down the deeds.”
The man stood up. “Want some help?”
I grinned. “Absolutely.” As I watched, four other people stood from their computer terminals and came over. I divvied out the references to the deed books, and in a minute, all six of us had deed books open and cameras out.
The room soon filled with chatter as we read out names and dates and began to assemble a timeline of Elijah’s land purchases. He did occasionally sell a parcel, but for the most part, he bought lots of smaller acreage all around the town of Octonia.
An hour later, we had assembled a full list of his land holdings, and when we added the acreage, we found he owned over 1,480 acres of land, all in small parcels scattered around town. That was a huge chunk of property for anyone to own, but for a black man to have that kind of land holding in the early twentieth century was, as far as I knew, one of a kind for our rural county.
But we didn’t stop there, we then began looking at the chain of title for each of those parcels, and my new research assistants soon made quick work of that process since this was their bread and butter as title researchers. They followed the ownership of each parcel right up to today, and recorded every owner on a separate sheet of paper for each piece of land.
This process was slower and more tedious than just looking up the deeds, and it would have taken me days to accomplish what these five people finished in two hours. When they handed me their records, I could quickly see that Elijah’s land has become the property of many African American families in Octonia, and I knew that most of those families would be excited to know this bit of history.
But there were three parcels that were puzzling because, as best as we could all tell, they had never been sold. One was Hortense’s property of almost a hundred acres. The other was a five-acre plot at the back of the Bethel Church land, and I knew that parcel deserved a little further investigating. But the third piece really caught my eye because it was right at the edge of town, in almost exactly the spot that developers had been talking about putting a big box store.
