Storm Clouds Rolling In

by Ginny Dye

  Carrie laid her head down on her knee and groaned. Why couldn’t she be like her other friends? They were excited about the prospect of someday running the plantations that had been in their families for more than a century. They simply took their position in life for granted. Why couldn’t she do the same? Her life would be so much easier. Neighbors wouldn’t look at her askance when she did something - like galloping down the main road - that didn’t fit their mold of social acceptability. Why did she have to be so different? Maybe if she tried harder she could make herself be what everyone expected her to be.

  For long minutes she allowed her despairing thoughts to sweep over her. This battle had raged in her heart for two months now. She had to come to some kind of resolution. The turmoil was eating at her heart and mind. She was tired of the flaming thoughts of discontent that kept her awake at night. Finally she raised her head, her eyes once more searching the depths of the river. The tossing waves seemed darker and higher. Her eyes moved to the east - towards Richmond, where she saw a mass of boiling clouds coming closer. Another spring storm was on its way. In the short time she had sat there the advancing cumulus had blotted out most of the sun. Only one bright spot tossed on the river. Carrie fastened her eyes on the defiant spot - it seemed to be enjoying its moment of rebelliousness. The clouds danced across the sky in a vain attempt to block it out. Just as it seemed they would succeed, the little spot swirled away to light on another tossing wave. Carrie watched carefully. If the little spot could have spoken she was sure it would have laughed and told her of the fun of defying the surrounding sameness. It brought her hope. She may be the only one of her kind but she didn’t want to change. The rest of the world could be clouds - she wanted to be a bright spot that defied the surrounding sameness. Of that she was sure.

  Having made that decision she leaned back against the tree that grew behind her boulder. She wasn’t like everyone else. She would accept that. But what would it mean for her? Where would it take her? What price would she have to pay? What was she going to do? A low rumble of thunder drew her eyes back to the approaching storm - back toward Richmond. Did her future lie in the bustling city she loved so much? Would she find the answers to the questions she couldn’t voice yet? The questions that created a churning and stirring she could not deny?

  A distant bolt of lightening and the impatient stamp of Granite’s hoof broke her from her reverie.

  “Lands, Granite! We have to get out of here. I’m barely going to make it to dinner on time as it is. If I get home all wet I’ll never be ready on time. Rose will have my skin!” She pulled Granite over to the border and mounted, then turned him quickly. “Let’s get out of here, boy.”

  That was all Granite needed. It was his job to get them home. It was Carrie’s job to dodge the flying limbs and leaves as the storm moved ever closer. Carrie cast a last longing look at the clearing as they flew down the trail. She hadn’t found the answers to her questions but at least she was looking at them straight on. And she had reached one major milestone. She knew she wasn’t content to just fit in. She was different and no one was going to force her to fulfill the status quo. She was still eighteen, carefree, the wealthy daughter of a plantation owner, and almost late for dinner.

  All thoughts flew from her mind as Granite ate up the distance to home.

  TWO

  “Thomas! Where is Carrie? I sent Rose for her but she came back and told me she hadn’t returned yet. I demanded to know where she was but Rose pretended ignorance. I’m sure it’s pretended ignorance. I think she’s hiding something from me and just doesn’t want me to know. You really need to do something about it. Those two are just much too close. It’s not right!”

  Carrie stopped in her tracks as her mother’s strident voice floated through the open door. Wrapping her arms around her drenched body to control her shivering, she stood still on the porch and listened. She hated to eavesdrop, but she was curious – why was her mother so upset? This sounded like something more than the usual impatience with her wayward daughter.

  “I doubt Rose is hiding anything from you, dear. It’s very likely she doesn’t know where Carrie is. She’s probably gone to one of her secret places. She’ll be back.”

  Carrie smiled at her father’s calm response. He had few defenses against her beautiful mother. Abigail’s soft blond hair and blue eyes still had the power to draw him in and he loved her fiercely. He had often tried to explain to Carrie that her mother couldn’t help it that her whole life was the plantation house and its efficient management. She simply had no ability to understand her spirited daughter. It was obvious now that his attempt to calm his wife was a futile one.

  “Secret places,” she snorted. “Thomas, when are you going to realize our daughter is a woman now? She’s eighteen for heaven’s sake! It’s high time she quit running off to secret places.” The sarcasm dripping from her voice left no doubt as to the contempt she felt. “There’s a lot of work to be done around here. I’ve worked hard all day to get ready for our company tonight. And where has Carrie been? Down in the slave quarters this morning visiting Sarah and now off gallivanting around the plantation somewhere. Robert Borden will be here in less than twenty minutes. Where is your daughter?” she asked in a decidedly exasperated voice.

  Carrie watched, glad they had not yet seen her, as her father walked over to where her mother stood looking out the window at the sudden shower that had exploded minutes before. He laid his arm across her shoulder. “Carrie will be here, Abigail,” he said soothingly. “She’s never late when she knows we have company.” He paused. “There is something else bothering you.” His flat statement invited her to share whatever it was.

  Carrie leaned in closer and held her breath. She knew she should be racing upstairs but she had to know what was bothering her mother so much. Several moments passed before her mother spoke again.

  “I had tea today with Lucy Blackwell.” Abigail’s voice was deeply troubled. “She thinks there is going to be a war.” Her voice caught and then she whirled to stare up at Thomas. “I told her that was pure nonsense. I’m so tired of people and their crazy talk about the South seceding and there being war. It’s spring. Why can’t we just enjoy it?”

  The demanding tone in her voice could not cover the desperation. Her mother had grown up on a plantation further up the James River in Goochland County. She had never known anything but wealth and ease. Even when their own fortunes had been in jeopardy it was Carrie in whom her father had confided. He told her he didn’t know how Abigail would have responded and he didn’t want to alarm her. She had never known how close the plantation had been to real trouble.

  “You know Lucy Blackwell is nothing but a gossip,” Thomas said firmly. “She also overreacts to the smallest things. The Union is going to remain, Abigail. Virginia will never secede. Why, our country got its start just a few miles from here down in Jamestown. Richmond served as the capitol of our country during the Revolution. We’re Americans. We always will be!”

  Carrie could stand it no longer, even though the forced confidence in her father’s voice made her want to listen longer. Her shivering was now uncontrollable and if she were to be ready in time for dinner, she must go in. She stomped her feet to make it seem as if she had just come onto the porch, then swung the door open and dashed in. She immediately headed for the sweeping staircase that led to her room.

  “Carrie Cromwell!” her mother gasped. “What in the world happened to you?”

  Carrie tried to look remorseful. “Oh, I’m just a little wet, Mama. Granite and I didn’t quite beat the storm.” She couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. “But what fun we had! We almost beat that old storm. And the rain felt so good. It’s quite warm you know.” Barely taking a breath, she whirled and headed for the stairs. “I don’t have much time, Mama. I have to go upstairs and get ready. Rose will be waiting.” She cast an impish smile at her father and started to dash up the stairs.

  “Carrie Elizabeth Cromwell!”
>
  Her mother’s strident voice stopped her flight. When she called her by her full name, it was best to pay attention. Carrie fought to control her impatience and turned to face her mother’s wrath. “Yes, mother?”

  Abigail stood in silence for several moments, almost as if she was savoring this rare opportunity for control, however small it may be. She stared in blatant disapproval at her daughter’s sodden condition. “I had tea with Lucy Blackwell today. Louisa sent her best to you.”

  Carrie stared at her mother. She had stopped her to tell her that? She didn’t know what to say, so she simply nodded. The name Louisa Blackwell did not conjure up pleasant thoughts in her. She and Louisa, the same age, had grown up together but had never gotten along well. Carrie found the other girl petty and childish, with a nasty tendency toward temper tantrums if she didn’t get her way. Her simpering ways were nauseating. The tension had grown between them as they matured.

  “She couldn’t join us for tea because she was working too hard, the dear thing.” Carrie simply stared at her mother as she paused for what Carrie knew was theatrical effect. “She is quite looking forward to having us all over for the tournament and for the ball tomorrow. There was so much to be done today. She had been up since early in the morning, supervising all the house slaves in the preparations. Her mother told me that she is such a help, especially since dear Lucy hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

  Carrie wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. Time was ticking away and her mother was chattering about the Blackwells. She caught a glimpse of Rose peering around the stairwell but didn’t dare look up at her. Her mother paused and Carrie knew she had finally led up to where she wanted to be all along and was now ready to fling the final arrow.

  “Lucy Blackwell told me how sorry she felt for me.” Her mother’s eyes tightened and began to glimmer with anger. “She told me how sorry she was that my own daughter wasn’t more of a help - how distressed I must feel because you were determined to shirk your duties and responsibilities around the house.” Her smooth voice had taken on a sharp edge.

  Thomas attempted to break in. “Abigail......”

  Carrie held up her hand to silence him. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, Mother. But I really must get ready for dinner. I’ll be down soon.” With those cool words, she turned and walked sedately up the rest of the stairs.

  Carrie felt her mother’s eyes boring into her back and could imagine the flabbergasted look on her face. As she reached the top of the stairs she heard her mother’s voice.

  “Thomas...,” Abigail’s voice trailed off helplessly. “What should I do about her?”

  “Do about her?” Thomas asked casually. “You have quite a lovely daughter. She’s bright and has wonderful manners. I don’t think you need to do anything about her.”

  Carrie wanted to hug her father as she turned down the hallway to her room. Her mother’s voice floated after her.

  “We’ll discuss our spoiled daughter later. Right now we have company coming and I have a few more things to check on. I only hope Rose can work another miracle!”

  Rose was indeed working another miracle. She had not been able to get Carrie’s hair dry, but the ringlets escaping the bun she had created worked to make Carrie’s flushed face even more becoming. The tangled heap of wet clothing in the middle of the floor could be taken care of later.

  “Oh, Rose,” Carrie laughed. “You should have seen Mama’s face when I came in the front door.” Then she sobered. “She looked so serious before she caught sight of me all wet - almost like she was scared. I hope everything is alright.” She paused as she remembered what her mother had said. Now that she was not shivering on the porch she was remembering the fear in her mother’s voice. “Father seemed to be okay - so it couldn’t have been anything too serious.”

  Rose was obviously too busy to respond. Her hands flashed as she put the finishing touches on Carrie’s hair.

  Carrie’s thoughts drifted toward the unpleasant confrontation in the hallway. She knew she was a disappointment to her mother. She had tried for so long to be what her mother wanted. Her honest heart examination at the river had simply revealed that she could never be someone she wasn’t - no more than her mother could stop wanting her to be what she could not be. Carrie struggled to push down the hurt crowding for space in her heart and focused on the evening ahead.

  “Who’s Robert Borden, Rose?”

  Rose stepped back and looked at Carrie in disbelief. “You’re asking me that question. You’re the one supposed to let me know what’s going on.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Carrie scoffed. “You know better than me what’s going on most of the time. I know how the grapevine works.” She smiled up at her friend. “Now come on. I know he’s coming for dinner. Who is he?”

  Rose just shook her head. “All I know is that I’ve got less than five minutes to get you in that dress and ready to appear as a proper young mistress. I aim to do my job. Stand up here and let me get this beautiful dress on you.”

  Carrie wanted to argue, but she knew Rose too well. Her friend wouldn’t talk if she didn’t feel like it. She stepped around her soggy riding garment on the floor and moved to where Rose was waiting. Obediently she lifted her arms while Rose slipped the yellow satin gown over her head, taking care not to disturb her hair. She stood still while Rose’s flying fingers nimbly latched all the buttons, and then moved over to stand in front of the full length mirror behind her vanity.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Carrie. I think you look plenty good enough for that Robert Borden!”

  Carrie laughed and whirled around. “I knew you knew who was coming. Robert Borden? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”

  “Maybe not, but your Mama went to great pains to get him here. Seems she and his Mama grew up real near each other, up there in Goochland County.”

  Carrie listened carefully. “Borden... Of course,” she murmured. “Anna Borden. I’ve heard Mama talk about her. Not in years, though. When her husband died they seemed to drift apart. I never did know how her husband died. What else do you know?”

  “I know you’re going be in a heap of trouble if you don’t get downstairs and be ready to receive your company. Now get going!”

  Carrie nodded and began to move toward the door. “Wish me luck tonight. I’m going to do my best to not do anything to shock Mama. I don’t think her heart can take another one today!” Laughing merrily, Carrie ran down the steps into the welcoming foyer below.

  “Quite the place isn’t it, Manson?” Robert Borden was immediately taken by Cromwell Plantation. It was so different from his brick plantation home thirty miles up the river. He was entranced by the gleaming white of the three-story white house surrounded by columned porches on all sides.

  “Yes, sir. It’s quite a place.” Manson’s voice was noncommittal. Robert didn’t expect more. He was courteous to his slave, but the carriage driver knew he didn’t expect him to carry on a conversation. He just wanted him to do his job. Manson did it well.

  Robert Borden was glad to be here. As far as he knew Mistress Cromwell had no idea he had finagled his mother into resuming communication with her old friend just so he would receive this invitation. The courteously written note he had received from Abigail Cromwell simply mentioned she would love to welcome the son of an old friend when he was passing through. He had managed to be passing through quite soon; less than a week after hearing from Abigail Cromwell he had received the invitation from Louisa Blackwell inviting him to the tournament and ball at her plantation. He’d had no mind to accept until he realized the proximity to the Cromwell plantation. It was Thomas Cromwell he wanted to connect with. The growing madness in the country was causing him to seek out those he knew to be of like mind. All the information he had received told him Thomas Cromwell was a sensible, intelligent man who loved the United States.

  As they drew closer to the main house, his attention was once more drawn to its beauty. The whole beautiful mansion seemed
to be embraced by the towering oaks surrounding it. The fresh green of the early spring leaves made the gleaming white even brighter, and they offered added softness to the already graceful lines of the old house. Huge boxwoods lined the dirt drive leading to the house, their glistening wetness unmarred by dust because the earlier rain had washed them clean and settled the road. Smatterings of pink and white dogwood, along with brilliant purple lilacs, added their color to the beauty. Thomas took a deep breath and prayed he hadn’t come all this way on a long goose chase.

  Carrie arrived, breathless, in the foyer just as the sound of carriage wheels and hoof beats met her ears. Her mother’s stern look was softened by her father’s equally loving one.

  “You look lovely, Carrie.”

  Abigail softened. “Your father is right. I can’t believe there has been such a transformation from the wild child I saw just minutes ago.”

  Carrie grinned, relieved her mother was willing to put her anger behind her, even if it was just because their company was almost there. “You know Rose works magic.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house. Together, the three moved out onto the porch to meet their guest. The rain had stopped, and the sun was beginning to peek through again. Carrie looked around in delight. She couldn’t help wishing she could head out on Granite again. The world was always so incredibly beautiful after a storm. Quickly she glanced up, then lowered her head so her mother couldn’t accuse her of being inattentive of their guest. She had just needed to assure herself that the sky was the same brilliant blue it always was after a spring storm.