5. That is a graduation diploma from Wilberforce University

Where we meet Atlas Reed

Atlas Reed’s large, dark fingers pressed the delicate papers down on the wood desk. “I regret that you have been swindled, Mr. Timmins.”

Atlas sat behind the large desk that was the focal point of his small, wood-walled office. The Timmins’ sat in the two chairs on the other side of the desk, their backs to the large window that looked out onto Main Street.

“I told you that man was no good,” Ophelia Timmins said with a nod of her head at her husband and a confirming slap of her large palm on her large thigh swathed in yellow homespun. A gaily-colored handkerchief covered Ophelia’s braided hair, and a dusty, brown, coarsely-woven wrapper swathed her stout body. A swaddled infant nestled in the crook of her arm.

Artemis’s broad-brimmed hat sat on his jean-covered lap. No fat on him, and close, deep-set eyes gazed out of a long, thin face.

Sweat pooled in the clay dust that coated skin the color of Mississippi soil. Beyond the window, their two young children, neither appearing older than ten, stood on the boardwalk looking up and down Main Street.

At least they were young, Atlas thought, as he looked from Ophelia to Artemis. The Timmins’ were likely in their late twenties or early thirties, and both looked to be strong and healthy. Atlas figured they maybe had as good a chance as any who came to the Territory if they could make it through the winter, if they knew how to farm, if...

“Said he was a reverend, too.” Ophelia directed the last remark at Atlas. “You would think our own people would look out for us.”

“I am sorry that you crossed Gunther’s path,” Atlas said. “He is well-known throughout Texas and the Territory as an unscrupulous character.”

Ophelia cast a close and suspicious eye upon Atlas. “He had a picture on his wall just like that one.” She threw a scathing look at the wall behind Atlas.

Atlas turned and looked. There was a time when just a glance at the framed certificate would fill him with such pride and hope. Now, everything was so much more complicated. As he turned back to Ophelia, he explained. “That is a graduation diploma from Wilberforce University, the first Negro-owned and operated college in these here United States.”

The Timmins’ eyes latched on to his and stayed there.

“I earned a bachelor’s degree in the Classics in 1882. Then I went to be a schoolteacher in Mexia, Texas. I felt the need to help our people, Mrs. Timmins, not prey on them as Colin Gunther does. I met him in Mexia, and, unfortunately, I believe that is where he saw my diploma and learned how to make one of his own.”

“Huh,” Artemis said.

“What’s the classics?” Ophelia asked.

“Greek, Latin, Homer, Plato.”

He had seen the Timmins' blank stares many times.

“It doesn’t matter.” Atlas’s students in Mexia had been eager to learn anything, and he had been eager to lead them through a classical education. But, to his surprise, he found himself struggling to see the sense of carving out time to teach the history of ancient Rome and the Renaissance when the children were tired from the work they had done that morning and would go home to do that night, and what might truly advance their opportunities were basic lessons in math, English, reading, comprehension, deportment, and hygiene. Even he had no time or energy at the end of the day to read his beloved Homer and Milton because he spent most of his evenings counseling parents on how to read and sign the documents needed to clarify the legal status of their marriages, siblings, children, property, and not so occasionally, their freedom. Like the Timmins. They needed help, for there were many, black and white, willing to take advantage of their inexperience and ignorance.

“The study of Latin was particularly helpful when I began to pursue a career in law in Texas.”

“The fella at the livery —,” Artemis said.

“Grady Washington.” Atlas nodded his head.

“He said you were a lawyer, and you could help us.”

“Unfortunately, Colin Gunther is not only a fraud, but he is a nomadic one. I will write a letter to him on your behalf, but he will surely no longer be at this address.”

“I can’t do nothing to get the money back? Or put that paper toward another lot?” Artemis asked, only the faintest thread of hope tilting the last syllable up.

Atlas shook his head. “Nothing practical. I will tell the sheriff about this, but you are not the first person Gunther pretended to sell this land to. Someone has already filed a claim for this lot with the Land Office in Destry. Two years ago.”

Artemis shook his head and looked down at the hat in his hands. “That was all the money we had.”

Atlas watched as Ophelia gave Artemis a long look. “Not all,” she said after a moment.

“Pretty darn near,” Artemis said, his eyes on the infant.

Ophelia nudged him gently with the arm holding the baby. “He fooled me, too,” she said.

As down as they were, without even thinking, Ophelia lifted Artemis up. “I believe I can help you,” Atlas said.