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                             CHAPTER FOURTEEN

                                THE ROAD & A LOST SON

   On the morning of February 28, 1825, the sun was just topping the ridge to the east.
Becky, Mary, and Sarah were busy preparing the last big breakfast on our old wood stove.
Thirteen-year old Harriet was taking care of Willie T. and Nancy Jane.  William, T.J.,
Jack, Simpson, Fudge, Buckeye, and I were busy hitching up the oxen and saddling the
horses. Simpson rounded up the two milk cows and tied them to the back of the two lead
wagons.
   As we pulled the wagons ‘round to the front yard, Becky came to the porch and yelled,
“Theo, I know what you’re tryin’ to do. You’re tryin’ to get away from here without a
single rockin’ chair.” She quickly picked out the four best chairs and pushed them to the
steps and said, “Put one in the back of each wagon. They’ll be the first thing off eva’ time
we make camp. I don’t plan on sittin’ on any cold wet ground.” As I loaded the chairs, I
lied and said, “You got me wrong, Becky. I was just waitin’ for you to pick out the ones
you wanted.”  
   After a big breakfast of grits, eggs, ham, biscuits, and gravy, we started loading the
younguns in the wagons. Becky, Mary, Sarah, and Harriet stood in a little huddle on the
front porch, hugging each other and crying. Eight-year old Simpson, looked at them with
a puzzled expression on his face and asked, “Grandpa, what they cryin’ for, don’t they
wanta’ go?” I answered, “Yeah, they’re just a little sad, they’ll be all right once we get
started.” 
   I drove the lead wagon with Becky on the seat by me, Buckeye was right behind us in
the second wagon. Jack’s wagon was third. His mother, with Nancy Jane in her lap, sat
beside him. Harriet was in the back of his wagon tyring to calm down an excited four-year
old, Willie T. Fudge drove the last wagon with Simpson on the seat by him. William on
Charcoal, and Sarah on Hickory, led the procession while T.J., mounted on Bama,
brought up the rear.
   After ‘bout two hours, we caught sight of the church, and we were all astonished at the
number of wagons and people already there. The churchyard was packed, and there were
even wagons out by the edge of the main road. Julius, mounted on his big bay mare, rode
out from the yard to meet us. He said, “Y’all just follow me, Papa. We’re tryin’ to get the
wagons organized into family groups.” Julius led us to the main road and then west of the
church where he had saved space for us behind his and Margaret’s wagons.
   When we were finally in place behind William’s second wagon, Julius rode up by my
wagon and said, “Young G. has two wagons, but there was no reason for him to
backtrack up here. We’ll pick them up at their place and put him and Elizabeth right in
front of the train.” Wiley and Amy were right behind us with their wagons, then behind
them in order were Harris and Mary, then Dempsey Hatcher and Charity.  
   By sundown, Julius, with the help of William, T.J., Wiley, and Harris had all the
wagons in the right traveling order and ready to pull out the next morning. I took great
pride in the leadership abilities of my boys as I watched them work together.
   Julius sent T.J and Sarah in the church to light the lanterns as we rounded up everyone
and got them inside for a meeting. Julius went over all the procedures we were to follow
on the trip. He also unfolded a large map and pointed out all the planned campsites. Most
of them were at military forts. His map showed there were forts from Augusta, Georgia all
the way to Mobile, Alabama. These forts were spaced about fifteen or twenty miles apart,
or about a day’s journey. The government built them in 1811 through 1814, when the
Federal Road was laid out. They were constructed for protection against Indian uprisings
that were supposedly inspired and supported by the British in the War of 1812.
   In addition to seeing all our old kinfolks, we became acquainted with a bunch of other
families that night. I was disappointed when Theo T. informed me that his brothers,
Thomas and Solomon, weren’t with him. He said, “Theo, it was one of the hardest things I
ever had to do, pullin’ out with my family and wavin’ goodby to all my other kinfolk.” 
   Julius asked Sarah to set up a roster at one of the tables so each family could put down
their names, along with the names and ages of their children, the number of wagons and
the number of Negroes with them. When the meeting was over, the list read as follows:                                
   Theophilus H. and Rebecca Bledsoe Goodwin, children: Thomas Jefferson (19) and
Sarah (22). two wagons.
   William and Mary Turner Goodwin, children: Harriet (13), John M. (12), Simpson (7),
William Theophilus (4), Nancy Jane (10 mo.). two wagons.
   Julius and Margaret Kinnard Goodwin, children: Aquilla Miles (12), Theophilus J. (10),
Mary Ann (6), Myrick (3). four wagons. 10 Negroes.
   Wiley and Amy Bledsoe Goodwin, children: Caroline (14). four wagons. 12 Negroes.
   Harris and Mary Bogle Goodwin, children: Warren (19), Mary L. (17). one wagon.
   William and Elizabeth Goodwin Andrews, children: Wyche (4), Rebecca (2). two
wagons. 10 Negroes.
   Dempsey and Charity Goodwin Hatcher, children: Jackson (9), Elizabeth (7), Rebecca
(4), Dempsey, Jr. (2). one wagon. 
   Young G. and Elizabeth Wright Goodwin, children: Jasper Thompkins (2 mo.) one
wagon
   Theophilus T. and Nancy Bramblett Goodwin, children: Solomon (32)and wife Nicy
and two daughters, Frances and Mary.  Thomas (30), Joshua Richard (25), Rebecca (21),
Milberry (19), John (22), Theophilus T. Jr. (17).  four wagons.
   Mark Jr. and Tabitha Parsons Goodwin, children: John (21), Thomas (20), Mark, III
(18), Elizabeth (17), James (14), Sally (13), Nancy (11), Peter (9), Joseph (7). four
wagons. 10 Negroes.
   Thomas and Cassandra Goodwin Hays, children: Mary (18), Harriet M. (9). four
wagons. 12 Negroes.
   Amos and Elizabeth Hays Little, children: none. one wagon.
Goodwin and Nancy Jackson Woodson, children: none. one wagon.
   Daniel and Sandal Goodwin Jackson, children: none. one wagon.
   Ira and Mary Ann Goodwin Portis, children: Mary Ann (18), Joseph Pernelle (17),
Solomon Wilder (14), Samuel Goodwin (12), Maria H. (13), David Young (10), John
Wesley (6). four wagons.  20 Negroes.
   Joseph and Alcy Parsons, two wagons.
Adult children of Joseph and Alcy Parsons listed below:
   Samuel and Tobitha Goodwin Parsons, children: Theophilus Parsons and his wife
Temperance Goodwin Parsons and three children, Milberry, Casa Ann, and Tabitha. 
Three wagons. 
   Littleton and Sarah Parsons, children: Not listed. two wagons
  William and Sarah Parsons Nabors, children: Not listed. one wagon.
   John and Polly Cox Parsons, children: Not listed. one wagon.
   Isiah and Mary Burchfield Parsons, children: Not listed. one wagon.
   Joseph, William, and James Parsons. Wives and children not listed. three wagons.

Totals: Over 100 people ---- 46 wagons----77 Negroes.

   I told Sarah to go ahead and add Young Goodwin’s and Elizabeth Andrews’ families,
even though they wouldn’t be joining us until later. 
   We told everyone beforehand to sell off or give away all their pigs, goats, and chickens.
The only stock we wanted were the necessary milk cows. Any other stock would only
slow us down, and everyone complied. We should’a added dogs to the list. I must’a
counted at least twenty huntin’ dogs running in and ‘round the wagons and barking at
each other, the people, the oxen, the horses or at anything else they found interesting.
   It was well after dark before we got all the younguns fed and bedded down that first
night. With all the strange sounds from the woods and the subsequent barking and howling
of the dogs, I’m sure no one got much sleep that night.
   At the break of dawn the next morning, the whole camp was stirring like a beehive with
people building fires, cooking, milking, and hitching up their teams. We were well on our
way toward Edgefield when the sun finally began to show itself behind us as it rose above
the eastern horizon. 
   William had purposely left a space in the back of his second wagon for a mattress, so
Willie T., Simpson, and Nancy Jane would have a place to stretch out, take naps and play
during the long days ahead. All the first morning, Willie T. and Nancy Jane stood, holding
on to the tailgate, waving at us. You could barely see Nancy Jane’s head above the
boards. Willie T. tried to climb over two or three times, but Simpson pulled him back.
   When Sarah came back to check on us, Becky stopped her and said, “Go on up yonder
and tell Mary, that Willie T.’s gonna fall out a’ that wagon and kill himself, if she don’t get
back there and straighten him out.” Sarah rode on up by the wagon and pretty soon we
saw Mary making her way to the back. I don’t know what she was saying, but from the
way she had a’ hold of Willie T.’s shoulders, I’m sure she was laying the law down to him.
He didn’t try to climb out the rest of the day.
   A little before noon, we passed through Edgefield, and were at Young G.’s place. Sure
enough, like Julius said, he, Elizabeth, and Jasper were waiting for us on the main road.
Sarah, at the head of the train, motioned for them to pull their team on the road right in
front of Julius’ first wagon. We didn’t even stop or get a chance to speak to them, we just
kept rolling. Young had his horse already saddled and tied to the back of the wagon. Julius
sent his Negro, Jake, up to the front to take over the driving for Young, who stepped out
of the back of the wagon right onto his horse and rode on back to talk to us.
   When the sun was almost directly overhead, Jake and each successive wagon began
pulling into a large stand of big oaks by Tobler Creek. I stopped Julius as he rode by and
asked, “Why are we stopping? We must have six more hours of daylight.” He answered,
“Well, Papa, we don’t want a bunch of dead oxen, milk cows and horses. I plan to rest
and water ‘em ‘bout noon eva’ day for ‘bout half an hour. Besides that, some a’ these
women and younguns can’t hold their water all day and need to take a short walk in tha’
woods.” I said, “You sho’ right ‘bout that. My eyes are beginnin’ to float right now.”
   Becky and Mary had fried up an extra buncha’ cornbread and fatback at breakfast and
wrapped it up in a clean flour sack. Through a mouth full of cornbread and fatback, I said,
“Becky, this stuff sho’ does hit the spot. Y’all ort’a make a practice a’ cookin, some a’
this extra eva’ morning.” Becky, answered, “Lord a’ mercy, Theo, you surprise me
sometimes the way you don’t pay attention to things. Why you think I had y’all pack that
barrel a’ salted down sowbellies and that big barrel a’ corn meal? You ain’t a’ goin’
hungry.” I replied, as I took another big bite a’ cornbread, “Praise tha’ Lord fa’ a good
wife!”
   T.J. and I swapped places, and I rode out front with Young, Julius, and Sarah the rest
of the day. As we walked our horses at a slow pace, Julius said, “You know, Young, I like
your idea of keepin’ four or five riders ‘bout a hundred yards out front and another four or
five the same distance in the back. We sho’ won’t have any sudden surprises that way.”
Young sorta’ broke down his false sense of security when he replied, “Yeah, but if we get
attacked by any renegade Indians, they gonna come outta tha’ woods on each side a’ tha’
road, not from tha’ front or back.” 
   Right at sunset we pulled off and set up camp by Sweetwater Branch. A lot of us
thought Julius and Young were being a little too cautious when they had us circle up the
wagons on a grassy plateau. With the tongues overlapping, all the wagons formed a circle
of ‘bout fifty yards in diameter. Not until they told eva’body to herd all their stock inside
the circle, did we realize that the primary reason was to corral the stock inside with plenty
of grazing. They didn’t have to be tied or watched, and they were less likely to be stolen.
   That night around the campfire, I turned to Julius and asked, “Where’d you pick up
that idea of circlin’ tha’ wagons?” He answered, “It’s an old military tactic we used when
we were on our way to and back from the Indian wars in Alabama, back in 1813. It
protects your stock as well as your hide. It’s easier to post guards at different points on
the circle and to defend yourselves in case of an attack.” 
   Ira Portis walked over to our fire and sat down to talk a spell. William asked him, “Ira,
don’t you worry ‘bout some a’ ya Negroes runnin’ away on a long journey like this?” He
answered, “Oh, no, we’ve always treated them with respect, and keep ‘em well fed. They
seem to be happy with us. Besides that, they all know if they run away down here, they’ll
probably be captured by the Indians. They’ve all heard of the inhumane way the Indians
treat their slaves. They’re deathly afraid of ‘em.” 
   Julius and Young asked for volunteers for night guard duty and had more than enough
to post two guards all night on four hour shifts. With the number that volunteered, they
would be on guard duty only every fifth night. Even though I’m not too sold on this
military stuff, I did rest more comfortably knowing there were always two armed men
patrolling outside the wagons.
   The second of March, we were up at dawn and on the road by sunrise. We passed
through the village of Hamburg and were crossing the Savannah River on a brand new
wooden bridge that was completed last year. None of us had ever seen buildings as big as
those on the western shore of the river. In fact, Augusta was the biggest town we would
pass through on our entire trip. There were two of those big paddle wheel steamboats
docked down the river from us. 
   The children were so excited at all the sights and the big bridge, I was worried that the
ones walking might fall over the railings. After we made it across, we stopped for our
noon break. We couldn’t have picked a better place to stop. All of us were fascinated with
the bridge, the river, the buildings, the stores and people. We stayed there for almost an
hour before we got back on the road.

   We covered ‘bout ten more miles before the sun disappeared and set up camp by a
small stream in a fairly thick stand of oak, sweet gum, and hickory trees. It was dusk when
we finally finished watering the stock, milking the cows, and building campfires. Becky
was down by the creek, washing up when she spotted a big patch a’ new sprouting poke
greens. She came back to the wagons and said, “Mary, you and Harriet come on and help
me pick and wash some a’ these poke greens down by the creek.” 
   They came back later with a bucket full of the leafy green weeds. I asked, “Becky,
what y’all gone do with that mess a’ weeds? You ain’t got time to boil a mess a’ greens
out here in the woods.” Becky answered, “Oh, hush up, Theo, just let us worry ‘bout
supper.” Becky fried a big pile a’ bacon while Mary fried a bunch a’ cornbread. Becky put
the greens in a big wooden bowl and dropped the hot bacon grease all over ‘em. Wadn’t a
spec a’ them greens left when we finished eatin’. 
   I asked Becky, “Where’d you learn ‘bout those things? They sho’ was good.” Becky
said, “You mean, you never heard a’ poke salad?  Mama used to make it all the time when
we was growing up back in No’th Ca’lina. Don’t know why I never made it for y’all
before. Guess I sorta’ forgot about it.” I replied, “Well, from now on, I’m gonna be
keeping my eyes peeled fa’ some eva’ time we make camp.” 
   We were up before daylight on March third, due to a passel a’ dogs jumping some kind
a’ cat or other varmit. By the time the dogs’ owners were able to call them off with their
ox horns, it was near time to get up anyway. Young and Julius planned to camp that night
at Fort Wilkinson on the Oconee River. They said it was about a twenty mile trip, so it
was just as well we got an early start. It was right at dawn when we finally got all the
wagons on the road. Julius, at the request of the women, agreed to rest for a day when we
reached the fort. They wanted to do some washing, both clothes and bodies. Some of
them had been on the road for ‘bout four weeks now and needed to rest themselves as
well as their stock.
   I told Becky, “That extra day on the Oconee will give me a chance to look up Uncle
John and Aunt Amy Myrick. I understand they only live four or five miles southwest of the
river.” As we left Warren County and approached the town of Sparta, Becky told T.J.,
“Ride on into town and find William and Elizabeth and tell ‘em we’ll be there in ‘bout half
an hour.” T.J. was off like a flash at a full gallop.
   Sure enough, after we passed through the village of Sparta, with what seemed to be the
entire population on the street, we found Elizabeth, William, Wyche and Rebecca waiting
for us on the west side of town. They had two wagons. William was on horseback, with
his Negroes, Jake and Simon, driving the wagons. We took our mid-day rest there by a
swiftly running clear water stream. We were surprised to find Elizabeth was pregnant with
her third child. She said they figured it would be here in about two or three months.
   After we were back on the road, Becky began shaking her head, turned to me and said,
“She sho’ is big and the way that youngun is sittin’ so low, we just might have to deliver
that baby ‘fore we get there.” I replied, “Well, we got enough women with us that’s
experienced in birthin’ babies, I don’t think that’ll be a big problem.” She said, “I suppose
you’re right, but it still worries me.”
   William Andrews rode on up to the front of the train and talked to Julius a few minutes
and then rode back by our wagon. He said, “I told Julius ‘bout the general merchandise
store at the crossroads just before we leave Hancock County. I figure some a’ y’all may
need some extra supplies. Those folks from No’th Ca’lina have been on the road ‘bout
three or four weeks now and prob’ly need some things. Julius agreed with me, so we’ll be
stoppin’ for a few minutes.” 
   ‘Bout mid-afternoon we came to the crossroad. There was a huge store located ‘bout a
hundred yards off the road on the northwest corner. I know the owner must have thought
he was being invaded when he walked out front and saw this entourage converging on his
store. He was a short, fat man, with a balding head, fringed in gray. He greeted Julius and
Young as they dismouted with, “Y’all must be the Goodwins. I’m Joshua Grimes, and I’m
sho’ glad to meet you. Mr. John told me y’all would be along any day now.” 
   As Julius shook his hand with a puzzled look on his face, he asked, “Who is Mr. John,
and how in the world did he know we were coming.” “Mr. John Myrick, y’alls kin. He’s
the owner a’ this place. I’m just lookin’ out for it ‘til he can get somebody permanent. The
man who was runnin’ the place for ‘em just pulled up and took off for Alabama few weeks
ago.” Young said, “Well, don’t that beat all? We had no idea Uncle John had gone into the
store business. I thought he was strictly a farmer.” Grimes replied, “Yeah, he bought the
place from a William Wilson back in 1817. Wilson and a bunch a’ other folks got the fever
and lit out for Alabama. Young fellow, yo’ uncle is into just about eva’thing in this neck a’
tha’ woods. He’s the biggest land owner, cotton planter, preacher and politician in these
parts. He told me y’all was to get anything y’all needed at just what it cost him.” 
   After listening to their conversation, I walked into the store. It was stocked with just
about every item a person could think of. What was supposed to be ‘bout a fifteen minute
stop turned into more than an hour with everyone browsing around and buying some
needed supplies and some pure whimsical purchases. As I walked out, I said to Grimes, “I
plan to visit with John a little while tomorrow. Where is his place from the fort?” He
answered, “Don’t you worry ‘bout findin’ him. Soon as I leave heah, I’m headed down to
his place to tell ‘im y’all got here. He’ll more’n likely be up there by daybreak. He’s sho’
anxious to see y’all.”   
   It was just about dark when we got to Fort Wilkinson. The soldiers had been
forewarned of our arrival by our outriders. When we got to the front of the fort, the gates
were already open, and the soldiers motioned for us to pull the wagons to the inside of the
fort. Seems there had been an attack yesterday by ten or fifteen renegade redsticks on a
farm between the Ocmulgee River and Fort Hawkins. A detachment of cavalry was still
out searching for them. 
   Later, after we had settled in, Julius confided in me, “The fort commander said they
have been troubled on rare occasions by these small raids. Said this is the first problem
they’ve had this year.” I asked, “Well, should we stay here until they round them up or
what?” His reply, “No, the colonel said it was only a small band, and he figures they’ll
have ‘em by tomorrow. It’s very unlikely that a splinter group like that would take on a
train the size of ours anyway.”    
   Julius continued with, “When he found that I was a general in the South Ca’lina Militia,
the colonel told me a lot of things I wasn’t aware of. The government is in the process of
closing Fort Hawkins, and they have only a few soldiers at the fort now. Since this attack,
he plans to send ‘bout thirty of his best cavalry down there just to be on the safe side. He
said they’ll coordinate the transfer with our travels just for our protection.” Then, with a
broad grin on his face, Julius asked, “I think that’s very considerate of him, don’t you,
Papa?” My answer, “You’re damned right, I do, son”. ‘Bout that time, I felt an elbow jab
into my ribs as Becky exclaimed, “Theo, watch yo’ mouth, them younguns ain’t asleep  

yet, an they hear eva’thing you’re sayin’.”
    Before we even finished breakfast the next morning, I heard the creaking of the heavy
fort gates. I walked around the wagon in time to see two riders and a fancy carriage,
pulled by a matching pair of grey geldings come prancing into the fort. As they got closer,
I recognized Uncle John and Aunt Amy Myrick in the carriage and walked out to meet
them. Two of his boys were on the saddle horses. 
   When he saw me, Uncle John shouted, “Grimes told me y’all got heah last night. I was
afraid we’d be too late, and y’all would be hitched up and gone.” I said, “No, we planned
to stay over today just so we could come see y’all, but now we can just visit right here.
Y’all get down. Come on and sit down in these rockers here.” I helped Aunt Amy down,
and she gave me and Becky a big hug saying, “Lordy, Becky, it’s been nigh on twenty
years since we’ve seen y’all. It sure is nice to see you, but why in the world did y’all
decide to pick up and leave that beautiful place y’all had?” John said, “You remember
these two men here, don’t you?” I said, “I know they’re your boys, but I can’t rightly
figure out which ones.”
   James and Goodwin immediately stepped forward and introduced themselves.
Goodwin said, “We met y’all when we were on the way to Georgia ‘bout twenty-one
years ago, remember?” I replied, “I sho’ do. Where’d y’all leave all those pretty sisters? I
guess they’re all married by now.” Amy said, “Yeah, Theo, they all married fine husbands.
All our boys are married with families too. It gets sorta lonesome ‘round that big ole
house these days.”
   As we all went over by the fire, Becky said, “Let me fix y’all some breakfast, we just
got through eatin’.” Amy said, “Naw, we got straight up from the table to come over
heah, but that coffee sure does smell good. I’ll pour myself a cup if it’s all right.” Becky
quickly pulled four more cups out of the wagon and filled them. 
   Becky, Amy, John, and I occupied the four rockers, and the rest of our children and
grandchildren stood and sat around on the ground. They met T.J. for the first time, since
he was born a couple of years after they visited with us. After they had met all our
daughters-in law, sons-in-law, and their great-great nieces and nephews, Amy said, “Now,
since y’all are going to be heah all day, I want everyone of you to come to our house for
dinner. I’ll send James back home to tell Sukey, our cook, to prepare for a big crowd.
You know our house is only about four miles downriver.”
   The women graciously declined, saying they had to wash clothes and bathe the
children, but several of us did accept. The wives of Theo T., Mark Jr, Young G., Julius,
William, Wiley, and Harris insisted they go. Margaret, Julius’ wife, put it best when she
said, “Julius, I’ve been cooped up so close to you the last four or five days, I need some
breathing room. Now you go on. I’ll look out for the younguns.” Becky, T.J., Sarah, and I
also accepted.
   After John and Amy had brief visits with their other kinfolk, we all left the fort. Becky
and I rode in the carriage with two saddled horses tied behind. We didn’t want anyone to
have to drive us back. Becky was a good horsewoman, even though it had been years
since she had ridden. The other nine were on horseback. It only took about thirty minutes
before we pulled into their place. It was one of the biggest homes any of us had ever seen.
Becky and I were both astonished at the huge white columns that came into view as we
proceeded up the oak bordered drive. As we continued, Becky kept whispering, “It’s so
beautiful, so beautiful.”
   When we came out of the canopy of oaks, the drive made a huge circle. The opposite
side of the circular drive ran the entire length of the balcony covered porch. There were
two Negro women working in the multicolored flower garden which covered the entire
center of the drive. As we pulled up to the front, an elderly Negro dressed like a preacher,
came down the steps and proceeded to help Amy and Becky out of the carriage. 
   John said to him, “Jackson, get some of the boys out here and have ‘em take all these
horses to the barn and unsaddle ‘em. Make sure they have plenty of feed and water.”
Before Jackson could get the “Yassa” out, John continued, “Did James get our message to
Sukey?” Jackson, with an exaggerated nodding of his head said, “Yassa, Missa John, he
sho’ did, an she got dem kitchen niggas wukin’ like bees. She know y’all got kinfolk
comin’, so she jus’ tryin’ to outdo herself. I ain’t to say dis braggin’ on her a’tall, but y’all
sho’ gon’ have yo’selves a fine dinna’.” 
   When we all walked into the parlor, we were astonished. None of us had ever been
surrounded by so much finery, from the highly polished wooden walls to the exquisite
furniture and draperies. Facing the entrance was a wide staircase of polished mahogany
that led to a large balcony overlooking half the parlor and winding to the right of the
staircase out to the front porch balcony. On the lower floor, to the right of the staircase
was a massive dining room separated from the parlor by huge double doors. To the left
was the large parlor which extended to the end of the house.
   With his mouth open, T.J. just stood there in the middle of the room, staring in one
direction and then the other. Trying to be nice, he blurted out, “Y’all sho’ got some purty
curtains, Aunt Amy!” Sarah, poking fun at T.J., admonished him in an equally unrefined
manner, “They ain’t curtains, you dummy, they’re drapes. Ain’t you got no learning?”
   Aunt Amy took Becky and Sarah on a tour of the house, while Uncle John gave all the
menfolk a tour of his plantation operations. His pride and joy seemed to be the ox-driven
cotton gin. He got so excited just talking about it, he had two of his Negroes hook up
some oxen and show us how it worked, even without the cotton. We went around back of
the barn, outbuildings, and Negro quarters, and saw nothing but open fields as far as the
eye could see. The fields were covered with ox-drawn plows, Negroes, and dust.   
   John said, “You know I started twenty years ago with a hundred acres a’ cotton and
have increased it eva’ year. Since I had the gin put in five years ago, I can’t clear the land
fast enough to plant the cotton I’d like to. We cleared another two hundred acres last
summer, so we’re plantin’ twelve hundred acres this year.”

T.J., never known for reserve or tact, exclaimed, “Gaaa-lee, Uncle John, you must

be rich by now! How much y’all clear on that much cotton eva’ year?” 
After a long silence, I said, “T.J., you ought not ask questions like that. It ain’t polite.”
John quickly said, “That’s perfectly all right, Theo. The Lord’s blessed us, and I’m proud
of what he’s done for us. T.J., if cotton prices stay where they were last fall, we’ll clear
well over a hundred thousand dollars.” Hearing that, and in his youthful exhuberance, T.J.
slowly took of his hat, leaned his head back, and looking up at the sky, screamed,
“Whew-eee! One a’ these days, I’m gonna make that kinda money.” 
Julius, picking at T.J., said, “Havin’ taught you in school all your life, T.J., I know
you’re smart in mathematics. There isn’t anything you can’t do with numbers, but that
won’t earn you much money. Knowin’ how you dislike farmin’, just tell me how you’re 
gonna make it?” T.J. retorted with a touch of sarcasm, “Well, General, it sho’ won’t be
the army, and it won’t be pushin’ a plow, 
but you can bet yo’ ass I’ll make it.” At that, John, burst out laughing and then a
thoughful look covered his face as he said, “You know what, T.J.? I just believe you will.” 
About that time we heard the dinner bell ringing, and we started back to the house. I
didn’t realize how big the dining room really was until everyone was seated. There were
fifteen in all, and still room for more. The preacher in Uncle John really began to come out
when he starting saying the blessing. He must’ve prayed over that mountain of food for
fifteen minutes before we were able to eat. I’ve only seen such a variety of food in one
other place. That was at our monthly dinner on the ground meetings at the Golden Grove
Baptist Church. Uncle John’s blessing stood up with some of the better sermons I ever
heard back there.
After dinner, we were all sitting out in the veranda at the end of the porch, smoking,
chewing, sipping tea and talking when T.J. said, “Aunt Amy, this sho’ is a nice addition
y’all got here on the porch. I ain’t never seen a porch built like this.” Sarah couldn’t resist
and said, “There you go again, T.J., showing your ignorance. This ain’t a porch. It’s a
veranda.” T.J. retorted, “Well, excuse me! I never learned all a’ yo’ fancy words, but
whatever it is, it sho’ is a nice sittin’ place.” Amy just smiled, looked out over her glasses
and said, “Thank you, T.J. It’s one of our favorite places.”
As we all talked about old times, the Goodwins in general, and future plans, Uncle
John sat quietly in his rocker as though he was in deep thought. Aunt Amy finally said,
“John, what in the world have you got on your mind? You’ve been sittin’ there in a daze
ever since dinner.”
Uncle John stood up and started slowly walking in small circles, still in deep thought.
He finally said, “Eva’ since we were talkin’ out in tha’ field this mornin’, a thought has
been in my mind, and I don’t rightly know how I should bring it out. I don’t want to
offend anybody, especially my beloved kinfolk, but here it is anyway. I’ve got a good store
business, and I’ve got to find an honest man to take care of it for me. Ole Joshua is good,
but he’s only there until I find someone. None a’ my boys or sons-in-law want anything to
do with it, so I’ve been in a dither for the past six weeks over what to do with it. I’d be
better off if I could just sell it outright, but it makes too much money.” 
Aunt Amy interrupted with, “John, these folks aren’t interested in your business
problems. Can’t this wait until later?” Uncle John continued to walk and said, “No, Amy,
no it can’t. Just hear me out. Every year, when we float our cotton down to Savannah, we
load the flatboats with a year’s supply of goods for the store. They have to be inventoried,
priced, and sold. Detailed records have to be kept, and I just don’t have time to do it
myself. If I can find the right man, I’m willin’ to give him ten percent of the profits. A man
in that position last year alone would have earned a little over five thousand dollars.” 
All of us were floored when he turned to T.J. and said, “Son, I only met you today for the 
first time, but I think you have what it takes to handle the job. If it’s all right with Becky and 
Theo, the job is yours, and you can live right here with us.” In the midst of the long awkward silence, 
I could see that T.J. was really thinking. He said, “Uncle John, I’m deeply honored, but I’d better go 
on to Alabama. Papa’s gonna need my help with the new farm.” John said, “Again, I don’t want to offend
anyone, but I’ve thought that problem over, and I’ll give ya papa one of my best field
hands or give ‘im the money to buy one when he gets there.” Although there were fifteen
shocked, speechless people on the veranda, the conversation now seemed to be solely
between Uncle John and T.J. T.J. turned to me and Becky and said, “Well, what’a y’all
think?” 
Becky surprised me when she answered, “T.J., you’re our baby boy, and we’ll always
love you, but you’re a grown man now, and a decision like this has to be yours.” T.J., with
a look of maturity I’d never seen before, turned to Uncle John and said, “I saw two
Negroes workin’ at the store, doin’ the heavy loadin’, cleanin’ up and such. Do they work
there all the time?” John answered, “One of ‘em does, the other one was there to do some
repair work on the roof.”
T.J. scratched his chin, thought for a while and said, “I can’t rightly take the job you
described, Uncle John. I need some future to look foward to.” Then he smiled and said,
“I’ll be the best darn storekeeper you eva’ had for twenty percent and a statement in your
will that I get the store when you die.” Uncle John burst out laughing for the first time
since dinner, grabbed T.J., gave him a big hug and said, “You’re just the kind of business
man I need. You’ve got the job. We’re gonna make that big money you were talkin’ ‘bout
this mornin’.” 
We awoke early the next morning to the sound of thunder. We quickly covered the
wagons with tents and hitched up the teams. As we pulled out of the fort behind the
cavalry, it started to rain. As we watched T.J. mounted on Bama, take the turn south
toward his new home, Becky, through constant sobbing, said, “Theo, we’ll never see him
again, I just know it.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN                                                                                                                BACK