Storm Clouds Rolling In

by Ginny Dye

  “What kind of president will he make?”

  Matthew peered at Thomas as they rattled down the street. “Are you already conceding defeat, Mr. Cromwell?” he asked in surprise.

  “Young man,” Thomas said, “I’m not much into playing games. You know as well as I do that a divided Democratic party has no hope of beating the Republican nominee. Our one hope lies in a united party standing with Stephen Douglas. Quite frankly, I hold no hope of that. I will do all I can to make it happen, but I hold no confidence that it will.”

  Matthew sat silently for a few moments, and then Robert repeated Thomas’ question. “So, what kind of president do you think Lincoln would make?” He wasn’t quite as resigned to the inevitability of the outcome as Thomas was, but he was curious about this man, Lincoln. He had come from nowhere. Other than the statistics of a career that had failed over and over, he knew nothing about him.

  Matthew shrugged. “Lincoln is level-headed and thoughtful. His debating ability is impressive. He is a man who loves his country.”

  “What about the slavery issue?” Thomas had raised the question foremost in Robert’s mind.

  Matthew looked at him squarely, obviously realizing how important his answer was to Thomas. “Lincoln abhors the institution but as far as I know he has no plans to coerce the South into any kind of emancipation. I don’t believe he plans to interfere with slavery. He is much more interested in how the country can be healed from all the divisions being wrought now.”

  Robert found no comfort in Matthew’s words. Lincoln may have no plans to interfere, but Robert knew the mere existence of a Federal administration hostile to slavery spelled eventual doom for the institution even though the doom could be delayed for years. The heaviness in his heart increased as he felt the clouds dipping deeper over his beloved South.

  Thomas frowned heavily and turned to stare at the streets.

  Matthew and Robert exchanged troubled looks. Quietly, so as not to break into the older man’s thoughts, they talked. “I have a friend coming to Philadelphia in July for a visit. I told her you might show her around the college campus.”

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Her?”

  “Her name is Carrie Cromwell.” He nodded when Matthew looked in Thomas’ direction. “He is her father.” Then he continued, his voice lower now because he didn’t know if Thomas knew of his daughter’s dream. “She is particularly interested in the medical college.” He smiled when Matthew raised his eyebrows higher. “Just show her around, buddy. She has dreams.”

  Matthew nodded. “I’ll be happy to be her escort for a while. Is she pretty?” Robert shot him a sharp look. Grinning, Matthew held up his hand. “No need to respond to that. The answer is yes, and you better stay away from her. Now that I know how the land lies, I promise to be just like an older brother.”

  The look on his face told Robert they would pick this conversation up later.

  With Thomas embroiled in debate with some of the Virginia delegates, Robert and Matthew were free to stroll the streets of Baltimore. They had been in the city for three days, and still nothing had been done. Any voices of reason were being drowned out by unrelenting passion. Both their hearts were heavy as they watched the seemingly unstoppable destruction of their country.

  The convention was locked on whether or not new delegates added to the Southern delegations in order to obtain Douglas’ nomination would be allowed. The northern delegates had been surprised when the southern delegates who had walked out of the Charleston convention had arrived in Baltimore. Decisions would have to be made concerning who would be voting delegates. Nothing would happen until some decision was made. At least not in the Front Street Theater. On the streets the collective temper was rising hour by hour.

  “Let’s stop for the show.”

  Robert looked in the direction Matthew was pointing just in time to see Yancey take his place on the steps of the Gilmore House. His face twisted with distaste. “I heard enough of him in Charleston.”

  Matthew took his arm and propelled him forward. “I agree it will be unpleasant, but it’s part of my job. I’ve already heard the Douglas people harping that the only way to show true fidelity to the Democratic cause is to vote for Douglas. It’s my job to hear both sides.”

  Robert relented and allowed himself to be led to the edge of the crowd of agitated listeners. The three days of inactivity had been good for no one. Passions and feelings were building to a crescendo as the days wore on.

  Yancey turned to the group and began his usual castigation of the Douglas men. His words built to a fevered pitch until he raised his arms and cried, “The Douglas men are nothing but abolitionists in disguise! They are nothing but selfish men who have buried their heads in the sands of squatter sovereignty and are now showing their abolitionist posteriors!”

  Robert looked around him with disgust as the cheers erupted. He was startled when he felt a rough hand descend on his shoulder.

  “You with us or not, boy?”

  Shaking off the hand, Robert stepped back and viewed his challenger disdainfully – taking in the coarse clothing and the gagging stench of whiskey on his breath.

  Not to be thwarted, the man moved forward and pressed his face closer to Robert’s. “I’m talking to you, boy! You don’t look like you agree with our Mr. Yancey!”

  “And if I don’t?” Robert’s voice was clipped.

  The drunken man didn’t bother with a response. He grinned as if he were delighted with the response, and then his fist shot out and connected with Robert’s chin.

  Robert, surprised by the attack, staggered back, shook his head to clear the stars, and braced for the next attack, berating himself that he had been caught unaware. He had seen violence erupting all over the city. While he was not looking for a fight, neither would he run from it. He was ready when the other man charged. Stepping aside lightly, he drove his fist deep into the soft belly exposed to him. He gave a satisfied smile when he heard a deep grunt and felt the other man go limp as he gasped for air. Gazing down for just a moment, he turned and spoke to Matthew. “You ready to move on?” he said cheerfully.

  Matthew grinned. “I’d say it’s time before anyone else decides to try their luck. I’d hate to see you litter the street with any more drunken men.”

  Backs straight, they moved on down the street, ignoring the muttering of the mob behind them. Robert found it easy to disregard the throbbing in his hand. It was not so easy to ignore his throbbing heart. It hurt to watch the events unfolding in the country he loved so much.

  The two men walked until they found a quiet spot overlooking the harbor and sat down. The dark, moonless night wrapped a blanket of quiet around them. Each man was lost to his own thoughts as the water lapped gently below them.

  “You’ll live in another country, you know.”

  Matthew looked over at his friend. “I know. But Robert, don’t give up hope yet. There might still be a way found to turn this craziness around.”

  Robert just shook his head. His hopes had dwindled in the last few days. Reality had become his bitter friend.

  “Tell me about Carrie,” Matthew invited.

  Robert managed a slight smile. He knew Matthew was searching for a way to take his mind off the troubles in the country. He also knew his friend, in reality, was no more optimistic than he was. Still, he would play his game. “She is the most beautiful girl I have ever known. But,” he hastened to add, “it’s not just her beauty on the outside. She is more alive than any girl I have ever met. She fairly glows with life and enthusiasm.”

  “And she has dreams?”

  “Yes. She wants to be a doctor.”

  Matthew whistled. “Quite an undertaking. Especially for a southern woman.”

  “She knows.”

  “And what about you, Robert?” Matthew asked. “How does that fit in with your plans for your plantation? Will she be a plantation wife?”

  “She abhors the very idea,” Robert admitted ruefully. Then he shrugged. �
��I love her, Matthew.”

  “But...?”

  “We are on opposite sides of so many things. I want plantation life. She wants nothing more than to be free of it. I believe with all my heart that slavery is right...”

  “And she doesn’t?”

  “I’m not sure she knows what she believes,” Robert said slowly. “I just know it could tear us apart. Why can’t she just see that it’s right?” Then he realized who he was talking to. “Sorry. I know you don’t share my feelings. I guess I’m talking to the wrong person.”

  Matthew hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. “Are you sure you believe slavery is right?”

  Robert looked at him sharply. “Of course I do!”

  “Then you’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it.” Matthew would say no more.

  Robert gazed out over the water. Why had Matthew’s last question bothered him so much? He knew what he believed about slavery - didn’t he?

  The showdown came at 7:00 in the evening on Friday, June 22. The theater was packed and a strange silence hovered over the crowds. It didn’t take long for the inevitable to occur. With the addition of the pro-Douglas delegates from the South, Douglas could now be nominated.

  Thomas’ heart sank from where he was watching in the gallery, as Delegate Russell of Virginia stood. He knew what was about to happen, but the pill was even more bitter to swallow when he realized it was coming from his own beloved state. Russell’s speech was brief. “It is inconsistent with our convictions to participate longer...” Most of the Virginia delegates rose and quietly left the room amidst the turmoil Russell’s words had provoked. They were followed by a large number of delegates from other states.

  Thomas frowned as he scribbled notes to take back to Letcher. The Deep South has formalized the decision made earlier in Charleston. It will not go along with Douglas under any circumstances. Thomas was sure the actions of Charleston would be imitated. The withdrawing states would form their own convention and nominate their own candidate. He continued to scribble as the bedlam roared around him. What is the Deep South doing? Instead of bringing a candidate to oppose Douglas; instead of laying issues before the people so they could be enlightened in making a choice; instead of principles discussed, what have we seen? An unrelenting war against the individual brought forth as the favorite of the nation. A war of unscrupulous politicians who want nothing more than to war against their nation. Heavy hearted, Thomas put down his pen and settled back to see what would happen next in this two-ringed circus.

  Thomas shouldered his way out of the crowded theater. All he wanted was fresh air. He had seen enough to make him sick for the rest of his life. He still could not believe a group of self-interested men had bartered away his country. It was just a matter of time now...

  “Are you ready to go home now, Robert?” Thomas asked as he joined Robert on the sidewalk. “There is nothing more we can do here now,” he said bitterly.

  “You’re right, sir.” Then Robert hesitated. “I guess I just want to see how it ends.”

  Thomas nodded reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to go home to the peace of his plantation – to enjoy his home for as long as he still had it, but he had to consider Robert as well. “Very well. We’ll stay till it’s over.”

  It was over quickly. Douglas received his nomination. So did John C. Breckinridge, nominated unanimously by the withdrawn states that were claiming themselves to be the real Democratic convention, based on sharp pro-slavery issues.

  Thomas added to his pages of scribbling. The Douglas men came to Baltimore blinded by their own optimism and confidence. They did not understand the power and desperation of the South. They were foolish enough to believe the opposition to their plans would quietly subside and disappear. They were, however, met by a spirit more intolerant than their own. At Charleston and Baltimore, the South has taken its stand. It will remain the South, separate and unalterable.

  Thomas sighed and stared out at the scenery unrolling beneath the train wheels. He was heartsick, but glad it was over. The reality was a tragedy, but at least a course had been determined. He was sure the course would lead to nothing but destruction of all he held dear, but still a faint hope persisted - that the supposedly unalterable course of events could indeed be changed.

  Robert had thrown aside his coat and was sprawled on the seat next to him. Thomas watched him carefully, and then leaned over to lay his hand on the younger man’s arm. “Are you awake?”

  Robert opened his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

  Thomas smiled slightly. “May I talk to you for a few moments?”

  Robert nodded and sat up in his seat. “What is it?”

  Thomas struggled with how to express what he was feeling. “A great darkness is about to fall on our country...” He paused as he heard the desperation in his own voice.

  Robert nodded. “I wish I could close my eyes and forget life for a while. Maybe if I forget it, all of this madness will disappear.” He sighed heavily.

  “I’m not afraid for myself. I am afraid for my family,” Thomas said quietly.

  Robert scowled. “I think I am afraid for all of us.”

  Thomas leaned forward. “If war should come… Virginia will be on the front lines just because of where we are. If war should come to Cromwell Plantation...” his voice tightened and then he regained control. “Robert, you need to know about...” Suddenly Thomas could not tell the secret he had kept all of his life - even from Abigail. He shook his head and sat back, staring out the window as he tried to pull his thoughts together. He was not old. Why was he suddenly feeling very old?

  Robert leaned closer.

  Thomas took a deep breath and turned back to the boy. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s quite alright, sir.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Will you help me take care of my family, Robert?”

  “Of course I will, sir!”

  Thomas fixed him with a steady gaze. “You realize Carrie may never return the feelings you have for her?”

  Robert swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. That doesn’t matter, though. I will help take care of your family in any way I can.”

  Thomas stared into his eyes, satisfied with what he saw. “There may come a time when neither of us will be able to defend our homes, but as long as I can...” A long pause followed. “Robert, the next time you come to Cromwell, there is something you must know about.” Then he closed his eyes and sat back.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Carrie hugged herself excitedly as the train pulled into the Philadelphia station. She could hardly believe she was actually here! Her neck was sore from craning to see everything she could on the way up. She had been determined to not miss a thing. Now that she was actually here in Philadelphia, her excitement, if it was even possible, had increased even more. She grabbed her small overnight bag and stepped off the train, instantly mesmerized by the clamor assailing her.

  “There’s my Aunt Abby!” Natalie cried.

  Carrie spun around and watched the middle aged woman approaching them. She immediately liked the strong lines of her face and the erect way she carried herself. Taller than many of the men surrounding her, Aunt Abby made no effort to make herself seem smaller. Her confident bearing said she had nothing to feel awkward about. Soft brown hair pulled back into a bun framed a pair of startling bright grey eyes. Her clothing spoke of her wealth.

  “Hello, girls! Welcome to Philadelphia.” The voice greeting them was low and melodious, with a hint of humor lurking behind the even tones.

  Carrie felt herself drawn to this woman - a complete stranger to her.

  Natalie threw herself into her aunt’s arms. “Aunt Abby! It’s so wonderful to see you! I can hardly believe I’m here at last!”

  Abby laughed as she gave the excited girl a huge hug. “It’s wonderful to have you here, Natalie.” Then she looked over her head. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” she asked in an amused voice.

  Natalie pulled back with a la
ugh. “That would be the proper thing to do wouldn’t it?” She reached out and pulled Sally forward. “This is my best friend, Sally Hampton. And this is Carrie Cromwell.” She reached her other hand out, and pulled Carrie into the circle. “She reminds me of you, Aunt Abby.”

  Abby reached out a hand to both the girls, holding Carrie’s for a few moments after she had released Sally’s. “Why does she remind you of me, Natalie?”

  Carrie looked into her eyes and knew she had found a friend. She didn’t know how to explain it - it was just a knowing that settled in her heart with surety. The older woman’s warm grey eyes sparkled with life and compassion, and Carrie knew instantly that great wisdom lurked behind the humor.

  Natalie laughed. “Because she has crazy ideas like you do. She’s not at all like me and Sally. She’s always asking questions and always doing things none of the rest of us would even consider.”

  “Is that true? Well then, Carrie Cromwell, you are most definitely welcome in Philadelphia!”

  Carrie laughed along with the rest of them. She wasn’t offended by Natalie’s analysis. She knew it was true. The idea of being like her Aunt Abby intrigued her. Suddenly, the most important thing on her mind was to get to know this woman better.

  Carrie’s chance came two days later.

  “Carrie, there’s a new art exhibit in town. We’re leaving in about thirty minutes.”

  Carrie groaned and shook her head. “Not another art exhibit, Sally! We haven’t stopped for one minute since we’ve been here.”

  “Well, of course not, silly. We may never be in Philadelphia again. I intend to make the most of it!”