Black, White, and RED All Over, part 10 -- Ironwood Hamilton from #freewrite in an extended story!
Again, HUGE thanks to the @freewritehouse for making me the adoptee last week -- here is part 10 of "Black, White, and RED All Over," the special extra content that was supposed to last a week, but just couldn't quite get wrapped up ... yet we are literally in the countdown to the end... all things are revealed in part 11 and explained in part 12, but first, if you have time to get totally caught up, here are parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine!
Don't have that much time? Here's a quick summary! The coming of the confrontational Lofton County Free Voice newspaper and its demand for release of ten years of records of incidents and arrests involving the county's Black citizens has completely upset Lofton County, VA and infuriated all but one of its police departments: Tinyville's, led by Captain Hamilton. Since he knows the anger of most of his colleagues, their sudden compliance alerts him, Lieutenant O'Reilly, the captain's one equally conscientious counterpart in Big Loft, and the principals of the Free Voice that something is very wrong. In parts 7, 8, and 9, everyone is on a voyage of discovery of what is about to happen -- in part 10, the preparations are made and the countdown to the final confrontation begins in earnest, right after my little dividing graphic...
Wednesday night: “A council of war in 2019,” Captain Lee said darkly to his cousin Captain Hamilton. “Well, those who insist on war surely will have it. It is inevitable.”
“I would tell you to calm down,” Captain Hamilton said, “but you are calm and nothing could be calmer than death.”
“Death passive, or death active?” Captain Lee said without missing a beat.
Captain Hamilton didn't answer that, knowing there was no need to encourage that line of thought in his cousin. Lieutenant O'Reilly's wide green eyes were commentary enough.
The young lieutenant had no idea what had set Captain Lee off, but it was apparent that somebody somewhere had made a mistake, a mistake like rolling along at 22.5 knots through the North Atlantic in a ship named Titanic. No one would ever have intentionally run their ship up on an iceberg, had they known it was there. In like manner, no one with a innate sense of self-preservation would ever have triggered Captain Lee, had they just known the danger.
“Here we go,” Captain Hamilton said, dialing in the number for the call. Captain Lee sat to the right of him, Lieutenant O'Reilly to the left, which unconsciously mirrored the formation of Mr. Varick, Mr. Harrison, and Mr. Stepforth, with Mr. Turner calling in from his home.
The conference call lasted three productive hours. Captain Hamilton marveled at the spectrum of personalities, with Nathan Turner on the hot end and Harry Lee on the cold, and the perfect balance it produced. The free sharing of information because of the needs of the moment; their discovering together the meaning of what that information meant to crimes past, present, and future, and their working together to create a response that covered all the ground – it was draining, it was terrifying, and it was wonderful.
“I'm so glad I took your advice to get my will done, Captain,” Lieutenant O'Reilly said.
“I am too, but, if we do this right, maybe none of us will need to exercise those wills.”
Finally, Captain Lee cracked a thin smile.
“At least we won't be outnumbered this time. I like Mr. Turner and I believe he will do a fine job on his part.”
“You like him?” Lieutenant O'Reilly said.
“Yes. It has always been about life and death; he has the appropriate emotion for a man whose people have been attacked and harmed. You are not supposed to take it kindly, Lieutenant O'Reilly, if you are a man, and not every man is as even-tempered as your captain. I understand Mr. Turner entirely.”
“He would be mortified to know,” Captain Hamilton said.
Captain Lee's smile widened.
“I won't tell him, Captain Hamilton. As we have had to grow beyond our prejudices, he must have time to mature as well. We must not play too hard with these younger men.”
Lieutenant O'Reilly jumped, and Captain Hamilton got next to him in time to keep him from falling.
“Present company excluded, of course,” Captain Lee purred. “You are being properly trained by the right man, Lieutenant O'Reilly. Have no fear at all. If we survive the weekend, you will only be aged by your first taste of real law and order.”
As Captain Lee left to begin his drive back to Big Loft, Lieutenant O'Reilly stared at him with a mix of fascination and horror. Captain Hamilton chuckled, a chuckle interrupted by the scream of a child in the street. The two Tinyville police officers ran outside to see a little boy running up the street being chased by an angry flying something. Captain Lee had turned around, his eyes wide and then narrowing. The little boy passed him – the angry flying something did not, as the Big Loft captain snatched it right out of the sky and then put his hand in a rain barrel in the next instant.
The little boy ran back, astonished.
“What'd you do – kill it?” he said.
“No,” said Captain Lee. “I slowed her down, but I won't let her die.”
And he scooped the half-drowned carpenter bee out of the rain barrel and put her in the sun to dry.
“We only kill when there is no other choice, little man,” he said gently. “I could have easily killed her, but it was not necessary for me to do that to help you.”
“You're a nice man,” the little boy said, and ran up and embraced his rescuer as his mother finally caught up. The mother caught the brilliant warmth of the smile the little boy's sweet affection had surprised in his rescuer, and slowed almost to a stop, dazzled.
“I must be seeing things,” Lieutenant O'Reilly said, rubbing his eyes.
“That's Harry Lee for you,” Captain Hamilton said softly. “Openly expressing his desire to off some folks in one minute, catching a carpenter bee in the next minute without killing it, could catch a wife and a ready-made family in the next minute, and that's just in one hour. Mr. Turner is more open in his great passionate life, and Captain Lee more reserved and compressed, but they are very similar. Life has also been too vivid and too painful for them to handle easily – unjust deaths, grief, rage, PTSD – similar profiles.”
“But what about … that?”
Captain Lee shook his head as he turned and went back inside.
“Women and children always know, Lieutenant. Little Byron Berrier doesn't see the marble front; no little child ever has. The widow Berrier saw it in how calmly Captain Lee handled that bee, but, her son having pierced the veil showed her the treasure past the calm mask. If given opportunity, most women in her position would hang on a long time in hopes of gaining such a prize … and it looks like she might have a ghost of a chance because of her secret weapon.”
“What?
“Her son.”
Sure enough, Captain Lee and the little Berrier family were passing back down the street, the little boy on the captain's broad shoulders enjoying a ride, and the captain and Mrs. Berrier enjoying pleasant conversation.
“Captain Lee loves children,” Captain Hamilton said, “and would make as fabulous a stepfather in a case like that as he would a father. My wife is trying to pray him into a second marriage... we'll see what happens to this carpenter bee connection.”
By this point, Captain Lee was down the street getting Mrs. Berrier's groceries into the car while she strapped her son into the car seat he was supposed to be in instead of poking a stick into a hole in a telephone pole – a hole that of course had contained a carpenter bee. That little boy still managed to get an arm out a window to wave as his mother drove off, and Captain Lee stood waving back, his glorious full smile still on his face as he turned around to walk back to his car, and thus past the police station window, through which Lieutenant O'Reilly stared with even more fascination and horror.
Captain Hamilton let it ride. After all, they were still looking at Captain Lee's great-great-great-uncle that way, too...
Thursday, day: All around the Gilligan House, the county looked like it had finally come to terms with the Black population, and started hiring its contractors to fix things up. No fence went up, but a whole bunch of digging was going on in the yard – septic tank replacement? – and new grass was brought in and laid over the the spot – just to the side of the front door when done. Inside, the clatter of hammers and the creak of crowbars and the smell of WD-40 were everywhere. The broken window was, notably, not replaced.
A group of men came out of the woods onto the back yard of the house, covered in cobwebs but smiling. The significance of this would not be understood until the second issue of the Lofton County Free Voice came out on Saturday.
Thursday night: Just after dark, a secretive conference of fighting men met, and an argument about location got heated – and cooled – because of the natures of the two men arguing it:
“Look, man, you're no general over here, and I don't care who your uncle was!”
“I'm not giving orders, just suggestions.”
“And you can keep your suggestions to yourself – your family ain't been telling Black people what to do since Arlington finally came into its own as a clearly marked graveyard, and don't you forget that!”
“People are racist. Geometry and bullets aren't. Forget my infamous name, and draw that formation out on paper.”
“You draw it, since you're the one that has the problem with it.”
“As you wish … your formation, as I understand it.”
“That's it.”
“Look at what happens if you draw straight lines across the field of potential engagement, here, here, here, and here.”
“Well, I'll be … I hadn't accounted for friendly fire. Well, even a stopped clock is right twice a day!”
“Even if the clock's name is Lee, Mr. Turner.”
“Well, don't quit with the non-racist geometry now, man. Draw something better with all that West Point education you have.”
“As you wish … here is a better formation, and here are the lines of intersection.”
“Much better. I see it … I see how the other way would have been a disaster, too.”
“Oh, this way here will be a disaster, for the other side if they push it. The idea is to have it be a disaster only for them.”
“I like this idea. Your non-racist geometry is welcome any time, although you're still not invited to the cookout.”
“What do you mean? I would not miss Friday night for the world.”
“Not that cookout.”
“After all, you can ask any nephew of Grant how much my family loves a cookout.”
“Not that cookout in the Wilderness, or that picnic at Cold Harbor either – you're not supposed to have jokes, Captain Lee.”
“I'm not that marble statue, Mr. Turner.”
“I see that. Noted.”
In the Hamilton home, Captain Hamilton completed the last of his semi-public rituals before a serious deployment. Lieutenant O'Reilly and a bunch of his other friends were at the house for “provisions and prayer,” and the captain and lieutenant were prayed over by his friends and their families. Captain Lee slipped in toward the end of that, and said a prayer that surprised Lieutenant O'Reilly for its passion and expressiveness. After that, the friends and family had dessert, and then slowly departed to their homes, with Captain Lee and Lieutenant O'Reilly leaving last.
Captain and Mrs. Hamilton eventually put the happily clueless littlest ones – Ilene, Allison, Ira, and Agnew – to bed, and spent the evening with those who had different degrees of understanding of 'Dad's serious night tomorrow.' Ironwood Jr. teleconferenced in. A family prayer, and a blessing upon all the children from their father, and they all, from the youngest to the eldest, went to bed calm and confident in the Lord, and knowing their father loved them.
That left Mrs. Agnes Hamilton, to hear what she had heard many times before.
“I have my insurance policies fully paid up, and I have faithfully kept up the additional savings account. I will be taking care of you, Aggie, no matter what happens. If you find a good Christian man who is willing to be a good stepfather to our children as well as a husband to you, just know I think that is the best thing you can do. You don't need my permission because death breaks all obligation you have to me, but just know: I don't take it as a betrayal.
“Junior is prepared now to take up the mantle of holding the business together with you; he and I discussed what will be necessary for the rest of the year. I also made up a list of orders and invoices so you won't have to think too much to keep things going.
“Just know this, Aggie: I love being here with you and the family, but I'm going to love being in the presence of the Lord even more. If tomorrow I go home there, grieve my not coming home here, but then move on. Get on with your life, and enjoy it as much as you can. Don't hold a torch for me.
“Lastly, my love, the choice is yours … this night, what do you wish to remember me by?”
Mrs. Hamilton began to weep.
“My mind says that I'd love to sit around with you and listen to some nice music and drink lemonade and go down memory lane, because the last thing I would need as a widow is to be a widow with a new pregnancy. But if you are no more of this earth after Friday, and there is just one more chance of your legacy being in the earth through me ...”
“I've left enough insurance so that you and the rest can manage that 12th child, Agnes … and if I make it, I'll be back early Saturday to raise him or her!”
“I just love you so much!” Mrs. Hamilton said. “Don't you know that's why you have 11 children? I've always had to let you go … but I've been glad to make sure that you stay, too!”
“Oh, so that's what's going on! It's not because I'm irresistibly handsome?”
“That certainly doesn't hurt, but that isn't the reason! If you worked some regular job I would have been happy for us to tie some things and snip some others after Addison, but the chance to be constantly reminded of you in the faces and ways of our many children has sometimes been my only earthly comfort. I have missed you and will miss you so much!”
“You know, for a Yankee girl, you're very Southern traditionalist in your views about your man.”
“Which is why you picked me!”
“Indeed,” he said, taking her into his arms. “That's not the only reason, and I certainly would have considered stopping before 11 if I didn't feel the Lord could make it work for us, but I remember what you told me before my first deployment: 'Please don't leave me with just a memory.' Not that many women really want children nowadays, and to be frank, not that many men want that much responsibility, but all I know is responsibility, and so...”
“And so we have had a wonderful, crazy life, founding Hamiltown and taking it on the road,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “I wouldn't trade for anything.”
Captain Hamilton pulled his wife close, and kissed away her tears.
“I wouldn't trade either, and I don't intend to trade on Friday. But, just in case, let me leave you with a memory and more. Do you know what I really wanted to do on our wedding night, but I was afraid I would scare you?”
“What?”
Captain Hamilton picked his wife up and gently carried her to their room, closed the door, and then ripped his wife's gown and underclothes from top to bottom, clean off.
“There. That's better.”
“Yep, that would have terrified me then,” she said, “but I still would have liked it!”
“Well, now you have the memory, and you're about to get the rest ...”
Lieutenant O'Reilly went to bed early, exhausted by all the work and all the interactions. He was too young to have rituals anticipating death, but he had sense enough to know he had a better chance of staying alive if he were well-rested.
Captain Lee went home and went through his rituals: he laid out his will, which named his beloved cousin and best friend Captain Hamilton as his primary heir, and laid out letters to his remaining immediate family and the family Lee, which was an entirely different prospect. He then laid out a special letter to the Morton family, of no account to Virginia but of great and dear account to him. He also laid out his requests for his funeral, including having his cousin Robert Wright Lee IV officiate, and Mrs. Hamilton to sing. He also left the next three months' rent for his landlord, so that his family would not have to hurry in cleaning out his apartment.
Lastly, Captain Lee took off the thin gold chain that he had worn around his neck for 27 years, a chain that held the amber ring he had given his wife, Vanessa. She had died with their son in childbirth when she, and then-Cadet Lee, were only 18 years old. He never wore that ring when he knew the next day's work might cause him to shed blood. She had not lived to know that part of his life save on the one occasion he had needed to defend her, and he had never regretted that.
When he went to bed, Captain Lee smiled. This had been the fifth time in two years that he had laid out things for his survivors, but the first time he had not picked up his revolver, loaded it, put it to his head, and then stood wrestling with the Spirit of God about pulling that trigger until the Spirit won the contest. This time, there was no need to wrestle.
“I am getting better,” he said. “Lord, I thank You for sparing me in every way that You have done so, and being my Light in the midst of the darkness that has settled on me so often in these 27 long and terrible years. You are my Strength in my great weakness, my Song when all I want to do is weep – my Savior, in this life and the next, the One Who gives me peace, and rest ...”
He felt it coming just a second before it happened; deep, restful sleep overtook him.