the CSA, Cincinnatus could see why Luther was willing to lay his life on the line to get rid of the nearly. During the Great War, plenty of Negroes joined the Confederate Army to win citizenship for themselves. Plenty more would have this time around, if only Jake Featherston had let them. That urge to prove himself-that feeling you had to keep proving yourself-stayed strong in Negroes on both sides of the old border.
Cincinnatus didn't want to think about Jake Featherston, not at his daughter's wedding. He looked around the church. The Changs had gone over with Achilles and Grace and their grandchildren-who, in Cincinnatus' considered and unbiased (of course!) opinion, were the brightest and most beautiful grandbabies in the whole world.
And there were a few whites, as he'd told Joey Chang there would be. They were doing their best-some doing better than others-to be friendly with the colored people sitting around them. Cincinnatus smiled to himself. The whites were a small minority here. They were getting a tiny taste of what Negroes in the USA went through all the time.
But it was better here than it ever had been down in the Confederacy. Not good, necessarily, but better. Cincinnatus had experience with both places. He knew when he was better off. He'd voted here. His children had graduated from high school. Maybe his grandchildren would go to college. Down in the CSA, back before the Great War, he'd been unusual-and an occasional object of suspicion-because he could read and write.
A burly young man whose shoulders strained the fabric of his tuxedo jacket came up. His name was Amos Something-or-other. He was one of Calvin's friends, and the best man. 'Wedding procession's forming up,' he said.
'That's us,' Elizabeth said. Cincinnatus couldn't very well tell her she was wrong.
Amanda seemed ready to burst with glee. That was how the bride was supposed to act on her wedding day. Calvin didn't look ready to run for his life. For a groom on his wedding day, that would do.
The organist struck up the wedding march. Down the aisle everybody went. A photographer fired off one flashbulb after another. Yellow-purple spots danced in front of Cincinnatus' eyes.
Up at the front of the church, he and the rest of Amanda's supporters went to the right, those of Calvin Washington to the left. The minister did what ministers do. After a while, he got to, 'Who giveth this woman?'
'I do,' Cincinnatus said proudly.
Amanda and Calvin got to say their 'I do' s a couple of minutes later. Amanda's ring had a tiny diamond on it. Tiny or not, it sparkled under the electric lights. It shone no brighter than Amanda's smile, though. The kiss the new husband and wife exchanged was decorous, but not chaste.
Down the street three doors to the reception, Joey Chang's good beer was highly unofficial, but also highly appreciated. The minister drank several glasses and got very lively. Cincinnatus hadn't expected that. Preachers were supposed to be a straitlaced lot, weren't they? But if this one wanted to let his processed hair down, why not?
One of the white men congratulated Cincinnatus. 'Your daughter's a pretty girl, and she seems mighty nice,' he said.
'Thank you kindly.' Cincinnatus was ready to approve of anybody who approved of Amanda.
'This is a good bash, too,' the white man said. 'People get together and have a good time, they're all pretty much the same, you know?'
He seemed to think he'd come out with something brilliant. 'I won't quarrel with you,' Cincinnatus said.
'And you've got to tell me who makes your beer,' the white man added.
'That fella right over there.' Cincinnatus pointed to Joey Chang, who held a glass of his own product. 'His daughter's married to my son.'
'Well, how about that?' the white man said, which was safe enough under almost any circumstances. 'Stir everything around, huh?'
'Why not?' Cincinnatus waited to see if the ofay would go any further.
But he didn't. He just said, 'How about that?' again.
Good, Cincinnatus thought. He wanted no trouble, not today. He never wanted trouble, but he'd landed in some. He wouldn't worry about that, either. This was Amanda's day, and it should be a good one. He smiled. He wanted her night to be better yet.
XX
'You! Pinkard!' After Jeff Pinkard got convicted in the Yankees' military court-kangaroo court, he thought of it still-U.S. personnel replaced all the Texans at the Houston jail. He hated those sharp, harsh, quick accents.
'Yeah?' he said. 'What is it?'
'Get up,' the guard told him. 'You got visitors.'
It was only a week till they hanged him. 'Yeah?' he said again, heaving his bulk off the cot. 'Visitors?' That roused his curiosity. The only person he'd seen lately was Jonathan Moss, here to tell him another appeal had failed. He had none left-the President of the USA and the U.S. Supreme Court had declined to spare him. 'Who?'
'You'll find out when you get there, won't you?' The guard unlocked his cell. Other men in green-gray stood by with submachine guns at the ready. If Jeff got cute, he'd die a week early, that was all. And nobody'll miss me, either, he thought miserably. When you were going to hang in a week, self-pity came easy.
He went down the hall in front of the guards. Was getting shot a quicker, cleaner way to go than the rope? He didn't want to go at all, dammit. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't done anything to deserve killing.
When he got to the visiting room, he stopped in his tracks. There on the other side of the wire were Edith and Willie and Frank, and little Raymond in his wife's arms. All of them except Raymond started to cry when they saw him.
'Aww,' Jeff said, and then, 'You shouldn't have come.'
'We would've done it more, Papa Jeff,' Willie said, 'only the damnyankees wouldn't let us for a long time.'
'We're here now,' Edith said. 'We love you, Jeff.'
'Yeah, well, I love y'all, too,' Jeff said. 'And a whole fat lot of good it's gonna do anybody.'
He went up to the mesh that separated him from his family. He pressed his hands against it as hard as he could. They did the same thing on the other side. Try as he would, he couldn't quite touch them.
'It's not right, Papa Jeff,' Frank said. 'They got no business messin' with you. It was only niggers, for heaven's sake.'
'Well, you know that, and I know that, and everybody down here knows that, too,' Jeff answered. 'Only trouble is, the Yankees don't know it, and they're the ones who count.'
'Can't anybody do anything?' Edith asked.
'Doesn't look like it. Oh, people could do something, but nobody wants to. What do you expect? They're Yankees.'
His wife started crying harder. 'It's not fair. It's not right. Just on account of they won the damn war…What am I gonna do without you, Jeff?'
'You'll do fine,' Jeff said. 'You know you will.' What am I gonna do without me? he wondered. That, unfortunately, had no good answer. He was going to die, was what he was going to do. 'And don't you worry none about me. I'll be up in heaven with God and the angels and stuff.'
He didn't really believe in heaven, not with halos and harps and white robes. Playing the harp all day got old fast, anyway. But Edith was more religious than he was. If he could make her feel better, he would.
She went on crying, though, which made Willie and Frank snuffle more, too. 'I don't want to lose you!'
'I don't want it to happen, either, but I don't have a whole lot to say about it,' he replied.
'You've got a baby. You've got me. You've got my boys, who you raised like you were their daddy,' Edith said.
All of that was true. It cut no ice with anybody up in Yankeeland. The Yankees went on and on about all the Negroes he'd killed. As if they'd cared about those Negroes alive! They sure hadn't wanted them going up to the USA. From what he heard, they still didn't want Negroes from the CSA going up to the USA.
They were going to hang him anyhow. They could, and they would.
