The Silver Highway

by Marian Wells

  “That Douglas was oiling his own political wheels. But more important than that is the effect it has had.” He paused, picked up his father’s letter opener, and studied it. “It’s had a significant impact on the thinking of the North.” Glancing at his father, he added, “About slavery. They are no longer apathetic. In the final six months I was there, I heard more voices raised, saying ‘slavery must go,’ than in all time previously. Father, I have a very strong feeling this is going to be an issue that can’t be legislated out of existence or compromised in any way.”

  His father’s face was still. Carefully he said, “You appear to have made a decision.”

  Alex took a deep breath. “I’m not certain. You’ve known for years that I don’t live comfortably with slavery. And I know I’ll not let Mallory groom me for a political role for the cause of the South, which is the furtherance of slavery.”

  For a moment his father gripped the arms of his chair, then he settled back with a sigh and tapped the newspaper. “Nevertheless, the Kansas-Nebraska Bill has opened up the possibility of slavery in all states. That is a plus for us. Each state will have the right to decide for itself. Let those who oppose slavery voice their desires, all fair and square, and we’ll see who has his way.” His chuckle of glee overlapped Alex’s statement.

  “You don’t think there’s a possibility that being pig-headed about it will split the Union?” Alex winced as he said the words. The idea that had dogged his thoughts was out.

  He watched his father carefully rearrange the papers on his desk as he said, “Alex, If you’ve read this paper then you know the sentiment of the South, as well as her power. Take the Charles Sumner incident. He should have known better than to use those inflammatory labels on Southern gentlemen.”

  “Surely Southern papers have reflected the insolence displayed by our Southern gentlemen,” Alex said heavily. “When Preston Brooks was readmitted to the Senate, he was presented with a number of gold-headed canes. But that isn’t the end of the inflammatory statements. With the Republican nomination of Colonel Fremont, Governor Wise of Virginia stated that if Fremont were to win the presidency, he would personally, with his militia, march on Washington and seize the Capitol and the National Archives. Father, there’s enough red blood in Northerners to get riled over a statement like that.”

  “Son—” He leaned across the desk and with flashing eyes demanded, “Are you afraid to fight for a cause you believe in?”

  “I’m not afraid to fight. I just want to be fighting for the right cause. Right now I’m having doubts.”

  Alex was nearly to the door when his father added, “The first thing you’ll need to do is pass your final examinations.”

  With his hand on the knob, Alex said, “Not until I’m certain that is the way I want to spend the next year. Meanwhile, until I make up my mind, I’m taking Caleb and heading for Louisiana. I want to put the boat back in running order. Might take it up the Mississippi to see an old friend of mine. I’m ashamed of this, but I didn’t get around to telling him goodbye before I left Boston.”

  ****

  Carrying the letter, Olivia wandered through the house and into the kitchen looking for Matthew. At her question, the cook straightened and pointed her knife toward the back door. “He headed out just a few minutes ago. Was wearing his riding togs.” She called after Olivia, “Now missy, don’t you go riding in that dress.”

  Matthew was at the stable. There was an ebony face lined along beside his as he lifted his mare’s foot. “That shoe is nearly off. Take care of it, Ned.” He glanced up at Olivia and nodded. Spotting the letter, he asked, “What do you have?”

  “A letter from the cousins. Feel like escorting me to Natchez? You’re invited, too.” She added, “It’s from Lynda. They will be celebrating her birthday with a week of merrymaking. A ball on Friday, proceeded by a trip on a boat, proceeded by a fox hunt on Monday.”

  “Fox hunt!” Matthew snorted, “Aren’t we getting uppity in our old age!”

  “Now Matthew, if it were your idea, you would think it grand.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said hastily, “I’ve every intention of going and enjoying myself enormously. It just takes me by surprise, the plain Jane cousins putting on such airs. My guess is they don’t want to risk having another old maid on their hands.”

  Olivia grinned. “Be nice to me, or I’ll tell Mother you called her favorite niece an old maid.”

  “Might add, a sour old maid.”

  “Matthew, just for that you must devote yourself to her.”

  “When will all this take place?”

  “Not until June, which gives you time to order new finery!”

  He gave her a playful shove. “And for you to steal my old dungarees for bareback riding. I heard you fussing about Mother taking the liberty, while you were in Boston, of discarding the last pair you confiscated from me.”

  Olivia studied the letter. “I can hardly wait. But it’s three months away. She must be excited too, writing this early. Also, she said you are allowed to bring a guest if you so desire. I think she means male. Too bad that nice Henry boy is gone for the summer.”

  She lowered the letter and looked at Matthew. “You’ve missed school terribly this year, haven’t you? What do you suppose happened to that Alexander Duncan? He hasn’t even written to you and it’s been ages—nearly a year since he took off like that.”

  Matthew threw a quick glance at Olivia as they walked back to the house. “Why do you care?” he asked, “You’ve given me a million reasons why you don’t like him. Which is strange considering you’ve met him only once.”

  “But don’t forget, he made a terrific impression on me that one time, with his tie crooked and that terrible ale on his breath.”

  Matthew’s face came close to Olivia’s. He lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm, you were close enough to smell that! Olivia, I shall tell Mother.”

  She poked his arm. “He talked incessantly about himself.”

  “What did he say?” She shrugged and Matthew added, “Olivia, you’ve neglected no occasion to ask about Alex. Shall I tell Mother to stop pushing that big, fat, old farmer on you, telling her that you are already in love?”

  “Fat! Thaddeus isn’t fat, he’s—you are baiting me.” She stopped in the path and watched Matthew.

  “You look very serious,” he said soberly. “Tell me, is it Alex?”

  “No, I’m wondering about you. Why did you decide you wouldn’t return to school this year?”

  “I—I really can’t say.” Glancing sideways at her, he added, “Maybe it had something to do with last year. You know Alex and I had time to do plenty of talking. Maybe we talked ourselves out of every illusion we had.”

  “Illusion? Matt, say what you mean—I don’t understand.”

  “Well, for one, we saw a completely different version of life. Life the Northern way isn’t so kind to Southern ideology, namely slavery. It made both of us shuffle our thoughts a bit. Alex seemed to be leaning more toward abolitionist thinking about the time he disappeared. Wouldn’t surprise me if he surfaces in their camp. Me? I didn’t want to be indoctrinated, which was nearly the way our talks were leading. Olivia, there’s plenty wrong with the system, but it’ll take a stronger man than I am to make any changes.”

  “Oh, Matt, I can’t believe you’re serious. But anyway, I agree. I can’t see you in any role except as a comfortable Southern gentleman. Certainly Father would prefer that.”

  “Maybe we are no long gullible children,” Matthew brooded. “Olivia, when you strip away the illusion, you have to replace it with something. Might be neither Alex nor I could find a replacement.” He turned to grin at her. “Now how is that for a lecture from an elder brother?”

  “Do you think Alex is dead?”

  He shook his head, “No. I think he just got tired of it all and shipped out on a steamboat bound for Africa.”

  “Why for Africa?”

  The grin faded from his face. “I don’t know. I th
ink at heart he’s a do-gooder. Where else would a fellow from South Carolina go?”

  “Matt, you are impossible.”

  He poked at the grass with his foot. “Livie, honestly, what did you think of all the talk floating around in Boston?”

  She stopped in the path. Thinking back, slowly she said, “I was astonished at the things I heard. They said very bad things about the South, but I was even more astonished at the hard criticism they had of themselves. Don’t they have a sense of brotherhood?”

  “Just maybe in the North brotherhood means being responsible for your brother to the point of arguing, begging, even being certain he’s got his head on straight.”

  “I think you are talking about religion, not politics.”

  “Is there a difference? Thought is thought.”

  “Is that all religion is, just thought?” He shrugged and strode ahead. She followed him into the house, calling, “But in the end, I believe we will be seen as right. Certainly we have more compassion for people.”

  Chapter 12

  The March rains had given way to sunshine. The warmth of the Louisiana sun was welcome on Alex’s bare back as he scraped flaking varnish from the hull of the little sternwheel steamboat. Hearing a step behind him, Alex looked up. His arms loaded with cans and bags, Caleb grinned down at him. “Looks mighty fine. You intend stripping off that pretty name? Who was Sally Belle?”

  Alex shrugged. “It was there when we bought the boat.”

  Caleb reached out to stroke the bare wood. “Found a boiler man who’ll come out as soon as we get it afloat. Want I should go to scrapin’ too? There’s a powerful lot to be done on that boat.”

  Alex stepped back to look at her blistered length. “All one hundred and twenty feet of her needs scraping and varnish.” He grinned at Caleb. “I’m getting anxious to try her out. If the weather holds fair, we should be putting the last coat on her about the end of April. If repairs on the engine are easy, and the boiler doesn’t need to be replaced, we’ll be on our way soon. Hopefully we can be moving up the Mississippi by the end of May.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Me? I’m no steamboat man, but I don’t like the looks of the paddles. They seem wobbly like.”

  Alex sighed, pushed his hair off his forehead and said, “Caleb, take that can of grease to the engine room. Careful, don’t rock her off the skids.”

  Alex went back to his work. When Caleb rejoined him, he picked up a scraper and dragged it along the bow. “Does come off right smart.” He paused dreamily. “My, New Orleans is pretty—tulips and all just blooming their hearts out.” He chuckled. “The young ladies are all blooming out in spring colors too. Alex, you ought to be in town getting acquainted with them ladies instead of sticking out here on the mudflats. It’s not like you need to be running your pappy’s cotton patch; that Jim ’pears to be a good overseer.” As an afterthought, he added, “He don’t mistreat the field hands none.”

  Alex threw Caleb a startled glance and then ducked his head to sight along the curve of the bow. “Thanks for being concerned about my love life, but to tell the truth, I hadn’t felt a lack. Guess I’d rather be scraping old varnish.”

  In a minute, while the scratch of Caleb’s scraper spurred him on, Alex asked, “Caleb, are you married?”

  “No, suh. Just as well. You folks keep me hoppin’ around.” He added hastily, “And that’s just fine with me.”

  The morning sun positioned itself overhead and the only sound was the swish of the scrapers as they worked. When Alex straightened and stepped away from the dry-docked boat, he flexed his shoulders and sunburned arms while he studied the line of green separating the mudflats from the cotton fields.

  The mudflats had created a border along the western edge of the fields, while its eastern edge was filled with old oak, redgum, and osage-orange. As he squinted into the sun, a rabbit hopped across the high ground and a flock of ducks rose from the marshy pond.

  “Man, oh man,” Caleb muttered, “that drake would make good eating.”

  Alex turned to look at the black man, only then conscious that Caleb’s words had replaced his contented humming. “Pretty tune you were humming—what was it?”

  Caleb ducked his head apologetically. “Was ‘Steal Away’—to Jesus,” he added quickly slanting a glance at Alex.

  “Steal away,” Alex said slowly as he flexed the blade of the scraper. When he abruptly raised his head, he caught Caleb’s eye. “Is that one of those songs that’s supposed to have a double meaning?”

  Caleb fixed his eyes on the ground. “Guess so.”

  Alex shifted his feet. “Look, I’m not down on you for having thoughts like that.”

  Caleb straightened his shoulders, “I’m not; and suh, I’d rather be slave than cheat. You folks treat me good, and I try to be honorable.”

  Alex sighed with resignation. Caleb’s words uncorked painful thoughts he had been avoiding. He recalled the Boston harbor incident with the runaway slave—Burns was the slave’s name. Strange how the man’s expression had carried its own message; even now it brought to mind words like demeaned and hopeless. Alex examined the sore spot in his own heart, the one that had grown there after exposure first to Mallory and then to the abolitionist, Garrison. At times he wondered if he would ever be able to shake those memories.

  Glancing at Caleb’s bowed head, Alex took a deep breath and asked, “Don’t you have a desire to be free?”

  The man shuffled his feet. Finally lifting his head, he said, “Even given all the druthers? Yes.”

  “What are the druthers?”

  His face twisted strangely before a slight smile appeared. “That my master decide I’m the best slave on earth and leave me a million dollars and a big plantation when he die.”

  Alex tried to laugh with Caleb.

  ****

  On the day they began laying the varnish on the boat, using broad, long strokes, Caleb asked a favor of Alex. Conscious of the rhythm created by their days of shared labor, Alex put aside his brush and turned to face the slave. “You want me to read the Bible to you? Why?”

  “I don’t know how to read, and I want to learn some verses.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and added, “You have a Bible in your room; I saw it. See, back home I heard a brother talk about something, and I want to learn it.”

  Alex thought about the Bible. It had been a gift from his mother just before he left South Carolina. They both recognized it as her frantic attempt to bridge the widening gulf between him and his father. He recalled the wall of hostility his Northern thoughts had created. Between the gesture Mother made and the expression on Father’s face, I nearly pitched that book in the fire, he mused, wincing as he thought of all the budding ideas he had tossed away in the angry moment. Garrison and Whittier had generated a lot of thoughts, coinciding with his passion to change the South, starting at his own doorstep.

  He visualized his father’s face and admitted he dare not consider his desires. In the next moment he thought of Caleb. Where did family loyalties end and this strange responsibility begin?

  He looked up and saw the eagerness on Caleb’s face. “Caleb,” he said slowly, “do you know that the Caleb in the Bible was known as a man of great faith?”

  Caleb nodded as he spoke, “Yes, suh, and I think it would do me great good to be like him.”

  “Then,” Alex said, “tomorrow I will bring the Bible with us. It seems more fitting to read it here, with the ducks squawking, the fish jumping, and the wind blowing through the gumtrees.”

  “And the sun shining on us all.” Caleb beamed at Alex, and in a rush of words confided, “I want to learn Psalm forty and have you read to me in Deuteronomy, the fifteenth chapter, about all it means in the Psalm.”

  “All it means?” Alex questioned, “Are you telling me your brother said Deuteronomy explains the Psalm?” Caleb nodded and Alex pursed his lips. “It could be just his own ideas, but we’ll take a look.”

  The next morning, just outside his door, Alex discovere
d Caleb armed with bread and meat, tucked in with more turpentine and new brushes. With an eager grin, he waited. His dark eyes darted to Alex’s hand. Returning his grin, Alex said, “I didn’t forget. Did you remember the coffee?”

  “No suh,” Caleb grinned happily, “but if you stack it on the turpentine, I can carry it.”

  By ten o’clock Alex sensed Caleb’s fidgeting. Grinning at him over the tip of the bow, Alex said, “Aren’t you glad this boat draws just three feet of water?”

  “If you going to take it on the Mississippi in the middle of summertime, ’tis best. Otherwise you be spending your life on a sandbar.” Caleb paused, adding, “There’s less to varnish.” Alex saw the question in his eyes.

  “Let’s rest in the shade. I’m about to have sunstroke.”

  Caleb sprang for the Bible, saying, “The sun dries the varnish fast.” He tried to appear nonchalant as they found a log to serve as a seat and pulled it into the shade.

  “Now what was the Psalm?” Alex asked as he opened the black leather book.

  “Forty, that’s a certainty. Now about the chapter in Deuteronomy, I’m not too clear on that. But it’s the one that starts out about having a servant, and poking a hole in his ear.”

  For a moment Alex watched his slave over the top of the book. Caleb’s eyes were honest and eager as he asked, “Would you point out the words?”

  Still busy with his thoughts, Alex found the place and read with divided attention as he pondered the effect of the words on Caleb. Nearly halfway through the Psalm, Caleb lifted his hand. “That’s it, suh, read it again, about sacrifices.”

  Alex searched for the words and heard them for the first time. “‘Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; mine ears hast thou opened: burnt offering and sin offering hast thou not required.’”

  “That’s it,” Caleb said, leaning forward to touch the print. “That’s just what Jam said. It’s talking about the Lord Jesus, telling all about Him coming to die for us. Now look over in Deuteronomy.”

  Alex looked bewildered. Caleb poked at the book. “In the front of the book, pretty close to the beginning.” With his head nearly obscuring the page, Caleb’s finger moved to the number. “Fifteen. I know my numbers. Now go part way down. What does that say?”