The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology
THE BRIGHTEST DAY:
A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology
Stories by:
Kianna Alexander
Alyssa Cole
Lena Hart
Piper Huguley
Foreword by Beverly Jenkins
THE BRIGHTEST DAY
Copyright © 2015
“Amazing Grace” copyright © Lena Hart, 2015
“Drifting to You” copyright © Kianna Alexander, 2015
“A Sweet Way to Freedom” copyright © Piper Huguley, 2015
“Let It Shine” copyright © Alyssa Cole, 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
Table of Contents
Foreword
by Beverly Jenkins
Amazing Grace
by Lena Hart
Drifting to You
by Kianna Alexander
A Sweet Way to Freedom
by Piper Huguley
Let It Shine
by Alyssa Cole
Foreword
By Beverly Jenkins
Read by General Gordon Granger “19th of June,” 1865 Galveston, TX:
General Order #3
“The people (of Texas) are informed that in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property, between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them, become that between employer and hired labor. The freed are advised to remain at their present homes, and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts; and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere.”
When Union Army General Gordon Granger and 2,000 Union soldiers landed at Galveston Island Texas, June 19, 1865 and read General No. 3, slavery was abolished in Texas. Most African-American communities chose January 1 as Freedom/Emancipation Day because President’s Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation went into effect January 1, 1863. Others celebrated September 22 because September 22, 1862 was the preliminary day of the Emancipation Proclamation. In parts of Southern Virginia, freedman celebrated April 9th the day Lee surrendered at Appomattox while those in Richmond chose April 3rd, the date the capital of the Confederacy fell to Union troops. But the 250,000 formerly enslaved Texans chose June 19th, or Juneteenth, and their descendants still do.
The first organized Juneteenth celebration began in 1866. Because of the state’s segregation laws many gatherings were barred from public parks, so in Houston, Austin, and other places, Black Texans pooled their money and purchased land for their purposes. Statewide celebrations continued well into the mid-1880s with baseball games, parades, speeches touting pride and progress, boat rides, music and lots and lots food. In Galveston in 1883, even the prisoners in the city’s jail were allowed a day of freedom to join the celebrating.
As the years passed and Texans migrated into other areas, they took Juneteenth with them. It was successful in some areas and found no traction in others, but it soon became part of the debate initiated by those who wanted Black people to choose one universal date to celebrate emancipation.
Before the Civil War, August 1st had been such a date. Black abolitionists did not celebrate July 4th. With nearly 3 million people of African descent being held against their will in the slaveholding areas of the south, celebrating America’s Independence Day was as ludicrous as it was hypocritical. August 1st was chosen instead. On August 1st, 1834, Britain emancipated its slaves in the West Indies. All over the world from England to Canada to the pre-civil war north, the day was revered. There were picnics, parades, banners, speeches and church night watch services. Many of the gatherings were interracial like one in Harrisburg, Ohio in 1849 which drew a multi-racial crowd of two thousand people. As late as the 1980s, August 1st was still being celebrated in the Midwest and Ontario, Canada.
Why the race needed to be limited to just one day of celebration was the question the Black citizens of El Paso, Texas probably wanted to know after learning the fledgling NAACP was behind a report that advocated doing away with Juneteenth and its decades of traditions in favor of making January 1st as the day to honor emancipation.
In the end, it didn’t matter. In 1980, Texas was the first state to make Juneteenth a state holiday and unfortunately January 1st has faded from our collective memory. Juneteenth stands as the last of the African-American embraced Freedom Days and that alone makes its continued existence worthy of celebration. Legislation to recognize its significance has been introduced in both houses of Congress. The United States Post Office has been petitioned to issue a stamp in honor of the day and its history. This is its 150th anniversary year. Thanks to the people of Texas, Juneteenth has established itself across America from sea to shining sea. When General Granger read General Order No.3 in Galveston that day, little did he know what he was setting into motion.
Sources:
Black Abolitionists by Benjamin Quarles. Oxford University Press. 1972.
Festivals of Freedom: Memory and Meaning in African American Emancipation Celebrations, 1808-1915 by Mitch Kachun. University of Massachusetts Press. 2003.
Amazing Grace
Lena Hart
It’s the year 1866—the Civil War is over and slavery has ended…
Yet life for 18-year-old Gracie Shaw takes an unexpected turn when she is “encouraged” to marry a man sight unseen. To ensure the financial stability of her family, she agrees—until a handsome stranger captures her attention and makes going through with the marriage almost impossible.
Determined to start a new life far from his old one, former Confederate soldier Logan Finley boards a train headed West—to lawless territory. When he is entrusted with the duty to escort the loveliest woman he’s ever met, he realizes he wants more than just a fresh start. He wants her.
While Gracie wrestles with her desires, she soon learns that there is more to Mr. Logan Finley than she could have ever imagined. Will she find the grace within to forgive their past—or will her anger and pain blind her to true love?
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Dedication
To Ms. Beverly Jenkins—thank you for pioneering this genre and being in the forefront of its success. Here’s to its continued growth…
And to taking some of that weight off your shoulders.☺
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Prologue
September, 1852
Northern Maryland
“You’ll be free or die, woman.”
Gracie watched as the stern old woman pointed the big, long gun at her mama. Fear paralyzed Gracie where she sat on the high wagon. Tightening her thin arms around her mama’s waist, she waited to see what the angry old woman would do.<
br />
“Now you sat back down and hold on to your baby girl.”
Her mama tightened her arms around her and instantly fell back into her seat. Gracie followed her down, never breaking her hold. The angry old woman slowly lowered her rifle, and the stiffness seemed to leave her mama’s slender frame.
“But what if we get caught? Mr. Charlie gon’ whip us all good. Then he gon’ have Massa sell us down south like he say.”
Gracie had never heard such fear, such earnestness, from her mama before. Actually, that wasn’t true. She had heard it once before, a few days ago, when her mama had pleaded with Mr. Charlie not to whip her daddy. But the mean overseer hadn’t paid her mama’s pleas any mind. Her daddy had been beat anyway.
And it had been all her fault.
But tonight, with the air around them filled with fear and panic, all Gracie could do was cling to her terrified mama and keep her arms locked around her waist.
“Your massa prolly kill you and your man if y’all go back. Then he’d sell your little girl. After he beat her. Is that what you want?”
Her mama shook her head wildly. “No, no. Massa Flynn ain’t like that. Maybe…maybe if we go back, no one will know we missing?”
“Hush, woman, and quit your squealing before you get us all caught. We ain’t make it this far just so you can turn back. Now, if your baby girl can be still, so can you.”
“Moses, she just scared, is all.” The ragged words from her daddy were the first he’d spoken since they’d been riding under the guide of the moonlight. He could barely sit up straight from the lashing he’d gotten from Mr. Charlie, but he managed. “We don’t wanna go back.”
The woman they called Moses grunted. “Good. Now we got less than an hour before we make it to the next station. This part of the land is gonna be a bit bumpy, so you tell your woman she better not jump up like she did while I’m driving this thing.”
“She heard you,” her daddy rasped out. “Ain’t that right, Lynn?”
Her mama swiftly nodded, and before long, they were again trampling through the dark road, with the dry autumn leaves and fallen branches crackling beneath the horse hooves and the weight of the wagon.
The night before they’d started on their journey, her mama had told her that they would be leaving for freedom, that they would start a new life, that this old woman was the one who would take them to this “Promised Land.” Gracie didn’t know what to expect when they got to there, and when she’d asked her mama if they would be happy in this new land, her mama’s eyes had filled with tears, but she’d laughed and hugged her close. “Yes, baby, we’ll be happy,” her mama had said. “A home where we’ll be safe and together is a great blessing.”
Gracie was anxious now more than ever for them to get to this new land. Her mama was rigid with fear and her daddy was slouched over in pain. Nothing about tonight seemed like a blessing. They had left their warm cabin only to be out here, scared and cold. It wasn’t like they had it bad at their old home. Yes, Mr. Charlie was a mean, quick-tempered man, but Massa Flynn never raised a hand to them. He was a big, burly man with a funny accent and was usually smiling—unlike Mr. Charlie. Maybe if Massa Flynn had been on the plantation yesterday, he would have stopped Mr. Charlie from whipping her daddy.
The wagon went over a hump and landed hard, jostling them in their seats. Her father groaned but made no complaint. Gracie wanted to tell her mama that she wanted to turn back too. To get back to their home and into her warm bed. But she didn’t dare say a word. The way the old woman managed the horse and buggy said she was determined to get them to their destination. Besides, if her daddy could endear without complaint, she would too.
“Y’all see that light?” Moses finally said, breaking the silence in the wagon. “That light means we’re close to reaching friends.”
Gracie pulled away from her mother and peered out into the darkness toward the direction the old woman was pointing. In the distance, she saw a soft glow of light. It wasn’t the brightest beacon of hope, but that small glimmer filled Gracie with a large amount of anticipation and faith. Their new life was near, and soon they would never have to be scared or cold again.
The wagon went over another ditch. This time, they all bounded slightly from their seat. Without her mama as an anchor, Gracie slid from the wooden bench. She released a small screech as she nearly went flying over the wagon, flailing for something to grab. A strong hand latched on to her arm and hauled her back in.
“Don’t worry, little darling. I ain’t never lost a passenger and I ain’t gonna tonight!” Moses released a quick chuckle before she eased her tight hold.
Gracie peered up at the old woman as her mama gathered her in her arms. Once her heart slowed its wild beating, Gracie settled against her mama’s side and, with a soft smile, silently joined in on the old woman’s humming.
The brightest daaayyy that I can saaayyy… Coming for to carry me hooommme…
Chapter 1
June 1866
Outside New York City
“She’s a beauty, for sure, Mr. Finley. How much do you want for her?”
Logan Finley spat on the ground, taking his time before he answered. The right response was crucial in that moment if he wanted a good price for his brown beauty.
“Two hundred.”
The old shopkeeper whistled. “That’s pretty steep, don’t you think?”
“You said yourself she’s a beauty. Strong teeth. Fine bones, too. I won’t take anything less for her.”
The man made a show to think over the price, but Logan knew it was just a buyer’s ploy to get him to squirm over the potential loss of a sale. But two hundred dollars for his brown chestnut was, in his opinion, already a bargain. He hated to part with the horse, but he couldn’t make the trip west with her. He’d just have to hope he could find a suitable replacement with the money from this sale.
“Do you want her or not, Mr. Morgan? I have other offers lined up for her.” Logan didn’t, but the other man wasn’t the only one who had a few tradesmen tricks. Besides, the older man owned several local businesses in the town. He could afford it.
“Okay, Mr. Finley. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
The older man stuck out his hand, and Logan grasped it in a firm handshake. He noticed the way the man’s eyes widened as he looked down at his disfigured hand. He was prepared for the man to awkwardly pull away, as so many had done while they attempted not to stare at him with pity. The old shop keeper did release his hand, but he didn’t avoid asking him about it, as Logan expected.
“What happened there?”
Logan glanced down at his mutilated right hand where his last three digits had been severed. It was now covered in scar tissue and rough, leathery skin. He usually wore his gloves in public, but with the intense summer heat rolling in, the thick black glove had been uncomfortable. But not as uncomfortable as the sympathetic look the old man was sending him. Suddenly, he was eager to get this last sale over with.
“The war happened,” Logan finally replied, annoyed and embarrassed by the pity he saw on the man’s face. His hand was a small price to pay given the brutality of the war. Unlike his friends and his father, he was still alive, and that was all that mattered.
Mr. Morgan made a sympathetic sound and shook his head. “You’re a brave man, Mr. Finley. What a tragedy that our country had to endure such a senseless war by those damn Johnny Rebs. But we sure showed them what for!”
Logan grunted as the man slapped his back, but said nothing. It probably wouldn’t go over well with the old Yank had he known he was conducting business with a “damn Jonny Reb” and Logan wasn’t going to enlighten him. The modest savings he’d been left behind, along with the money he’d made from the assets he’d sold, had afforded him minor luxuries, like new clothes, easy meals, and temporary lodging—luxuries many of his counterparts hadn’t been privileged to enjoy. After the Confederate army had disbanded, thousands of his brother-at-arms had been left in the poorhouse, forced to wor
k menial jobs, or enter into a life of crime, just to get by.
But Logan didn’t spend a lot of time pondering or worrying about what had become of his old regiment. The war was over, and everything—and everyone—he’d known was dead, including his allegiance to the Confederacy. And all the things he had once believed in. There was nothing more for him to do but to move forward—more precisely, move westward. There, he would be able to start over and build a new life.
Eager to get going, Logan finalized the sale with the old shopkeeper and headed to the ticket station. Tomorrow morning he planned to be on the first train out of this town. He would make it to Colorado, find him a nice plot of homesteader land to settle on, and finally build a home to call his own.
With his train ticket in his breast pocket, Logan made his way back to the small lodging he’d been renting a room in these past few days, while he finalized last-minute business. As he approached the Negro-owned establishment, the irony wasn’t lost on him that he now depended on shelter from a race of people he had once been the provider for. In fact, most of the businesses in the area were owned by blacks, as were many of the local residents. But they didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them.
He watched as women and their children roamed the streets, some moving in hurried steps as they tugged their young ones along, others taking leisurely strolls or stopping to socialize. Not unlike how things had been on his farm, but now these people could go and come as they pleased. Hell, if some of the radical Confederates he encountered in the war could see them now, they would realize how wrong their views were—it was apparent the Negro could live and thrive on their own.