by Marian Wells
With a teasing smile still on her face, she returned to her room. A frown replaced the smile when she opened the door. Crystal’s belongings were no longer spread across the room. Her valise was missing, and a note was propped against Olivia’s case. It was from Matthew, and Crystal had scrawled a sentence across the bottom: Please don’t be angry with me.
Olivia read the lines in Matthew’s hand. Truly we are sorry for leaving this way, but it seems best, quickly before we manage to talk ourselves into being logical and levelheaded. At least the parents cannot say we are partial even to you. Crystal and I will be married this morning. By the time you have decided which steamboat we are on, we will have departed for New Orleans. Naturally we will be back; we’ve left unfinished business here.
Slowly folding the paper, Olivia whispered, “Joseph is the unfinished business. Could she possibly have told Matthew about him?”
For a time, Olivia paced the room. “They’re insane—don’t they know the problems they have created?” Finally with a sigh, she rubbed her forehead wearily and cried, “What can I do? How can I go home? It would have been bad enough to face the parents with a clear conscience, but this is beyond my ability to handle.”
As she stood in the middle of the floor, she heard a steamboat’s whistle. It was a shrill, defiant blast, and it made her think of Alex and the Golden Awl. She whirled and dashed to the window, hoping for a glimpse of the boat.
“Impossible!” she whispered. “This room is on the second floor and too far from the river. Still, it could have been the Awl’s whistle. It’s past noon now, time for him to be gone.”
The thought stabbed her with loneliness, and she contemplated the emotion with a lump in her throat. Closing her eyes, she imagined Alex standing at the wheel of the Awl. His feet would be braced against the movement of the boat and he would be singing that silly ditty.
As she paced the room she thought of the song and began to sing softly. “‘Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?’”
Curling up in the chair beside the window, she thought about Alex. “Alexander Duncan, you are a strange man, with your golden earring and Golden Awl. I wish I could understand why you are as you are. Why did you kiss me that night in Boston? Why have you treated me like a pesky sister now, and why did you give me a Bible? Of all of the inelegant gifts a man would give, that is the most—”
The thought was born whole in her mind, and she contemplated it with trembling excitement as she admitted, “There’s no reason to go home now. No more than Matthew am I obligated to carry the news home to the parents. He follows his pleasure; I shall follow mine.”
****
The thought seemed right and good, and it remained so until the stagecoach deposited Olivia in front of the very dress shop where she, Crystal, and Amelia had purchased their new wardrobes. Now she looked down at her travel-stained blue serge and muttered, “Olivia, what do you do now?”
She turned on the boardwalk, looked at the crust of dirty snow, and picked up her valise. “Hack, ma’am?”
He was a fresh-faced lad with big eyes and a battered wagon. “Yes, please. Do you know where the Coopers live?”
“Amos Cooper?” he nodded. “Let me get your bag.”
The ride to the Coopers’ farm was familiar, and when they arrived Olivia noticed that the house was circled with a rim of drifted snow; in the barren landscape not a vestige of color remained, but to Olivia it seemed warm and peaceful. She was paying the lad when Sadie Cooper came down the steps. Her eyes were full of concern, but she smiled and picked up the valise.
Inside Olivia avoided Sadie’s probing look. “I’ve come back. May I stay?”
“Welcome, thou are. Come.” Olivia took the valise and followed Sadie up the stairs. In her old room, with Amelia’s belongings still spread across the bed, Olivia faced Sadie and said, “I have an idea you won’t ask questions, but I must tell you. As planned, Crystal and I left the boat in Cincinnati. But before we could make arrangements to travel home, Crystal and Matthew left me. There was a note saying they were being married and would travel without me.”
Sadie wrapped her ample arms around Olivia, “Abandoned! Tut, there child, it’s good thee came back.” Olivia was surprised by the comfort in the soft shoulder. Her tears made puddles on it.
When she backed away she was able to laugh as she dabbed at her eyes. “I didn’t expect to be such a baby about this all. Do you mind? When I started thinking, this place seemed more appealing than going home. I’ll do all I can to help.”
“We’ll find a place for you. Now, supper is nearly ready. You take care of your valise and then come down.”
Olivia thought about the last time she was in the same bedroom as she arranged her belongings. She had just finished when Amelia came into the room. She stopped; touching her throat, she slowly whispered, “Has something happened?”
“Oh, Amelia—” She shook her head. “No. I didn’t mean to alarm you. There hasn’t been an accident.”
“Then why have you returned? I didn’t see the boat.”
“I, I’m not certain why I came back; it just seemed to be the thing to do. Crystal and Matthew eloped.”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “But you can’t elope when you’ve nothing to elope from.”
“Well, I guess it was from me.”
“Left you alone? Where was Alex?”
“I suppose he went on. I wonder if Matthew told him about his intentions?”
Amelia shrugged. “Well, that’s a strange state of affairs.” She slanted a curious glance at Olivia. “I’d have expected you to go home.”
“Mostly I didn’t want to face my parents with the news, and in addition, I doubt that they will be very understanding about our leaving in the first place.”
Amelia grinned. “I’ve wondered. You just took off?”
“It was something like that.” Amelia’s eyes sparkled, and Olivia said, “We seem to be in the habit of doing and then thinking.”
“I—know what you mean,” Amelia murmured as she began to move around the room, picking up clothing and setting the room in order. Olivia watched her, becoming aware for the first time, of an underlying sadness in the woman.
Searching for a safe topic, Olivia asked, “What are you finding to do here?”
“Not too much right now. There was a group here the day after you left. In fact, Mr. Cooper found them. He’d been told Negroes were seen in the woods, so he investigated. It turned out they were looking for him. They had heard about the place from others. They’ve been helped on to Canada.” She paused. “There’s always mending to do and such. Sadie’s friends pass on clothing, and she spends time getting it in condition for the people.”
“Should we go down and help Sadie?” Olivia asked as Amelia smoothed her hair.
She nodded, starting for the door. “One thing I should warn you about.” She faced Olivia. “There’s been a horde of guests. A constant procession of preachers and people working in the abolition movement. Hope you don’t mind being preached at constantly.”
Olivia shrugged. “I don’t mind; does it bother you?”
“I didn’t realize it did.” Amelia touched her cheeks. “I’m trying my best to be a good Christian; what more can they expect?”
Olivia followed Amelia downstairs and into the kitchen. The stocky farmer came to meet her. “Mr. Cooper,” Olivia murmured, “I’m grateful for your hospitality, but surely this is a burden.”
Probing her with eyes that seemed to see far too deep, he said, “Burden? No. We will make good use of thee. Has Sadie told thee of the uproar going on?” She shook her head and he added, “From now until spring when all of us farmers will need to get down to planting and hoeing, we’re going to be having the biggest bunch of people rolling through here that you’ve ever seen.”
“Why?” Olivia asked, astonished beyond good manners.
“For a starter, politics.” He nodded toward the fireplace. “Now come and meet Brother Lane. He’s a good Quaker an
d interested in saving souls and bodies; thy soul and the black man’s body.”
She heard the chuckle behind her and turned. Although dressed in somber Quaker garb, wearing the demeanor of a parson, he was tall and thin and seemed very young. “Miss Olivia Thomas,” he said, bowing over her hand with eyes teasing and joyful. “I am indeed happy to make thy acquaintance. A lovely young lady always adds interest to the occasion.”
“And Brother Lane leaves a string of broken hearts behind him. I’ve noticed him walking quickly enough to avoid the noose of matrimony which his glib tongue lays.” Chuckling and shaking his head, Mr. Cooper led the way to the table.
Sadie placed the bowl of chicken and dumplings in the middle of the table, adjusted the plate of squash and said, “Now just take Amos’s talk with a grain of salt. Jerome Lane is a nice young man.”
Olivia took her place at the table, waited for the young parson to pray, and then asked, “Mr. Cooper mentioned politics. What else brings people out in the winter?”
Jerome Lane broke a dumpling, surveyed it, and said, “Perfect, as usual.” He addressed Amelia, “You know, she’s the best cook east of the Mississippi; west I know nothing about. You should take lessons.” He nodded toward Olivia.
She winced. “How did you know?”
Amos Cooper laughed while Jerome’s eyes twinkled. “Know the best way to find out what kind of cook a young lady is?” She shook her head, and he added, “By making a statement like that.”
“And I fell into your trap, and now you know.”
Amos was still laughing when Jerome asked, “Thou art Southern, aren’t thee?”
“Again my tongue gave me away.”
“Now I will answer thy question. I am an abolitionist at heart. A great number of the brothers are.”
“From the manner of your statement,” Olivia responded, “I see I’m judged and found wanting. And I know that statement comes out of the Bible. What you Northerners can’t understand is that we Southerners aren’t heathen.”
“Olivia,” Amelia protested, “he didn’t accuse you of being heathen.”
Her voice overlapped Amelia’s. “I’ve spent two-and-a-half months traveling with runaway slaves. I am as compassionate as anyone who has regard for their freedom. And for those who really want freedom, for those who have been mistreated, I will work for freedom. But coming from the South and having lived with contented Negroes, I must say I can’t support the idea that everyone wishes to be free.”
Jerome Lane finished his piece of chicken and looked at Olivia. “Hast thou considered the possibility that perhaps some of these people have never been taught to value themselves? With the contempt of their masters echoing in their ears, it must be near impossible to think of themselves as worthy people. Our goal is to teach that their race and color is just as much to be honored as is the white race.”
He looked down at his plate. “Perhaps our race needs this message as much as they do.”
Amos Cooper leaned forward to look at Olivia, “It isn’t to our credit that a so-called Christian nation denies the Word of God, by statute no less, to all these black people.”
Sadie shook her head and sighed, “We don’t give these people a chance to learn to read.”
Olivia stared down at her hands, “All my life I’ve heard the Bible supports slavery. Certainly I consider myself Christian. Now you are telling me that slavery is wrong. To whom should I listen?”
Amos pointed his knife at her. “Young lady, don’t listen to anyone except the Lord. Don’t take our word for it. Now if thou aren’t in the habit of reading thy Bible and asking the Lord to give thee direction, then we’ll be obligated to read to thee and pray over thee.”
“And make me change my mind?”
“Never make. The Lord himself won’t force thee to change thy mind. Though, could be, someday thou’ll regret not knowing how the Lord feels about some of these matters.”
While they were preparing for bed, Olivia asked, “Are all these guests as dogmatic as Jerome Lane?”
“Not all,” Amelia answered. “And I have the idea some of them are too busy to line up all the reasons you heard tonight. They seem more interested in people than in why.”
Chapter 32
Olivia walked into the dining room as the short, bald man sitting at the table bowed toward Amos Cooper and said, “It’s all thanks to the Dred Scott case that this year of our Lord, 1857, will be known as the year of infamy.”
The slender man at his side faced him and said, “Please to God that it doesn’t get worse; but sir, I fear this is only the beginning.”
Olivia whispered, “Has something happened?” The men jumped to their feet. “I beg your pardon,” Olivia murmured. “I didn’t realize you were having a meeting.”
Sadie came into the room bearing a pot of coffee and a platter of pastries. She beamed, “Oh, Olivia, I didn’t know thee had returned, did thee find the Tuckers well?” At Olivia’s nod, she added, “Come meet our guests. This is the Reverend Nathaniel Barker and Thomas Caffrey. Now, gentlemen, this is Miss Olivia Thomas.” She bowed and Sadie said, “Come have refreshments with us, Olivia.”
Thomas Caffrey sat down and offered the plate to Olivia. “I didn’t intend to alarm you or anyone else. Unfortunately the climate of these United States is as frosty as the weather.”
The Reverend Barker explained, “Caffrey is a newspaper man, and a very good one. He could become one of the nation’s most influential men if he would keep his mouth shut about the number one problem in the country.”
“Washington,” Olivia guessed.
“No, slavery. Without a doubt it will pull us into war. Now we are down to quibbling over when.”
“Not war, secession,” Olivia said quickly. “We’ve been hearing this for years. South Carolina started it over the tariff situation. Sir, surely you know more than I, and it’s common knowledge in the South, that the Union will make concessions before they will allow war. The South has economic problems, and we both know how vital slavery is right now.”
Caffrey poured coffee for Olivia. “From your speech I assume you are from the South.”
She nodded and picked up her fork.
“Then perhaps you can carry a message back to the people. It is virtually impossible to reach the common Southern family now.”
She put her fork down. “Sir, why is that?”
“Northern newspapers are suppressed in the South. Anything that addresses the slavery issue is prohibited. Of course, you know freed slaves don’t live in the South.”
“Sir, they do live in the South. I feel I’m being baited. Surely it’s their choice to live where they please.”
“Not theirs. In the Southern community, a free slave sends signals saying that emancipation is possible and workable.”
“But you said free Negroes aren’t living there. I’m absolutely positive they are.”
“Then I should qualify my statement. I know that after the Revolutionary War some slaves were given their freedom. This was their reward for fighting in the war. They did continue to live in the South, and their descendants do so today. In addition we all know that there is a group of mixed-blood free men, the offspring of white masters and slave women, some of whom are free.
“But, Miss Thomas, these people, while they are residents in the South, have no real freedom. Education isn’t available, neither are they seen as citizens of country or state. It isn’t correct to list them as free.”
She took a bite. When he turned to his own pastry, she asked, “You said I could carry a message. What is it?”
“That the common Southern man is losing the right to speak out; he is surrendering his freedom by default. Each day that passes there is less opportunity for recovery of that freedom. At this rate, soon a few plantation owners will be shaping not only the South, but the future of the entire Union.”
He leaned forward and peered into her eyes, saying emphatically, “I cannot believe that the South is willing to surrender its fre
edom. And I mean the South that includes all men, rich and poor. Plantation owners and the common yeoman.”
“Surrender its freedom? That is not so,” Olivia replied. “On the contrary, Sir, we are demanding the right to preserve our way of life in freedom.”
Gently the Reverend Barker said, “Freedom isn’t freedom if there’s one segment of our people who are not free.”
“I am not speaking of slaves now,” Caffrey said. “When we finish this delicious treat, I will show you a newspaper clipping, written by a resident of North Carolina—a farmer by the name of Helper. His article addresses that fact that many lower-class Southerners have been impoverished by the institution of slavery. While this saddens me, I rejoice to know there are Southerners who don’t support slavery.”
Caffrey sipped his coffee before he continued. “The time is passing quickly. Soon it will be too late to reverse the trend of unquestioning compliance. There must be change in ideology.”
“What is your objection?” she asked curiously.
“You’ve a handful of men whose self-interest has dictated the continuation of slavery, contrary to the Constitution. They are willing to pull this whole country into war to serve their interests. Will you take this message back? Ask the Southern women to rise up in protest. If their menfolk will not come to the aid of the country, they must—and quickly, before the minority shapes their lives and orders their destiny to the detriment of the whole nation.”
Olivia got to her feet. “Sir, I cannot believe that in this country of freedom, you feel obligated to preach a gospel such as this. The Bible tells us slavery is acceptable, and we know ourselves to be honest Christians.”
“I won’t quarrel with thee, my dear,” the Reverend Barker interjected soberly, “but I will ask thee, for the sake of thy soul and the continuation of this country, be absolutely certain that thee know’st what God is saying through His Word.”
“In addition,” added Caffrey, “rather than quibble about the biblical support for slavery, isn’t it more logical to examine the institution and measure its worth? Aren’t the benefits totally for the man who is becoming rich? One way that society creates bad institutions and destroys good ones is through the apathy of its people.”