Distant Dreams

by Judith Pella

  “You believe me unworthy of your sister? Is that it?” He replaced the cloth. “Don’t you think it possible that I could love her?”

  “I just want to know what it is about one woman that appeals to a man over another.”

  “This is rather an intimate topic for a man and woman such as ourselves to be discussing.”

  “James, you said it yourself. We are friends and you are my teacher. If I can’t turn to you, who can I turn to?”

  “I could be marrying into your family for your fortune.”

  “Be serious, James. Can’t you give me a forthright answer? I simply wondered why you would choose my sister after all these years and with many other women available in Washington society.”

  James appeared to relax a bit. “My father said it was time to choose a wife. My mother provided me a list of suitable brides-to-be, and your sister’s name was among those listed.”

  “I see.”

  “Your name was on that list as well,” James added. “As were most of the available women in the city. Mother’s welcome-home party for me was her way of throwing me together with the eligible young ladies of society. And, so as not to appear too eager, she included many of my childhood friends. Virginia’s attributes simply outweighed the rest.”

  “What attributes?”

  “This is getting rather embarrassing.” He smiled weakly and loosened his collar a bit.

  “Then I’ll say no more.”

  After another brief silence, he asked, “Am I now entitled to ask a personal question of you?”

  She swallowed. “Well, I . . . why, yes, of course.”

  “Why have you ignored me since the night of your coming-out party?”

  Carolina shifted and looked out the window. Would this ride never end?

  “You can’t pretend I’ll go away. I’ll tell the driver to take the long way back if necessary, but I think I deserve an answer. After all, I’ve answered all your questions. You have been avoiding me for weeks.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “Oh, but it is, and you know it well.” He fixed his gaze on her and refused to dismiss the matter. “Something happened between us the night of your party, and I think it is time we talked about it. I haven’t much liked the feel of your cold shoulder. I thought perhaps it was your own embarrassment over the fight, but there’s something more. Is it because I had to cease my tutoring?”

  Carolina’s breath quickened and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She bit her lower lip again, as if it might keep the words from being pulled out from the depths of her soul.

  “Tell me, Carolina. Tell me now what it is that causes this distance between us.”

  “No,” she whispered, but it came out a whimper. “There’s nothing.”

  “You, my dear, are a poor liar.” His words were stated flatly, without emotion. Leaning forward, he narrowed the distance between them. “Tell me.”

  “You . . .” She gasped for breath that seemed not to come.

  “I what?”

  His words were so low and husky. His eyes, so compelling in the dim carriage light. Carolina fought for control but knew she was losing the battle. She would tell him once and for all that she loved him.

  He took her hand between his and held it fast. “What grievous sin did I commit that I could not help?”

  Neither one noticed the carriage had come to a stop until the door was opened by the footman. Carolina quickly pulled back her hand.

  James waved the footman away, then turned a hard serious look on Carolina. “You can’t leave until you tell me what I did. Is it because I behaved inappropriately the night of your party?”

  “My party . . . ?” What was he saying? Perhaps it had not been entirely her imagination.

  “That night was so confusing. I never meant to insult you. I only . . .” His words trailed away unfinished. In his eyes appeared again that look that left Carolina both afraid and elated.

  “What are you saying, James?”

  His inner struggle was clearly evident in his expression as he answered. “The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. Yet it seems I have. But how, Carolina?”

  She knew it was foolhardy and a great risk. She knew it would probably only deepen his confusion and perhaps even cause him to despise her. But her next words tumbled from her lips like a compulsion before good sense could stop them.

  “You asked my sister to marry you—” She lunged for the carriage door.

  James was too quick for her and caught her wrist. “Why should that come between us?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Why indeed! So, it was her imagination after all. Swallowing her wounded pride in the clear evidence that James felt nothing more than friendship for her, Carolina finished her sentence with a weak smile. “It’s nothing, truly.” She tried to sound lighthearted. “It’s just that you’ve put Mother into a mind to see us all married now. I’m put out with you for starting the whole thing. But don’t worry, I forgive you.” She then dashed for the door, leaving James in the carriage.

  Hurrying into the house she blinked back the tears that streamed from her eyes, nearly blinding her way.

  Part V

  Summer-Fall 1836

  . . . For see those smoldering embers

  That lie along the ridge;

  Oh, God, in pity save them;

  It is the railroad bridge!

  Too late to turn the lever,

  Too late to stop the train,

  Too late to soothe their sorrow,

  Too late to soothe their pain!

  —“THE CHATSWORTH WRECK”

  45

  Hampton Cabot

  Oakbridge in June was idyllic. The fluted marble pillars of the Greek revival mansion stood as support to a broad, ornate portico. The three-story mansion with its east and west wings sat as white magnolia against a valley of green. The house, over a hundred years old, had been home to several generations of Adamses. So named because of the ornately designed oak bridge that spanned a small tributary of the Potomac, Oakbridge Plantation represented southern hospitality at its finest.

  It was this vision that rose up to greet Hampton Cabot. At age thirty he was pleased with the accomplishments he’d made. As a lad of eighteen he had been taken under the wing of Joseph Adams when both his parents were killed in a fire. Adams apprenticed him to his commission merchant in New York City so that he might learn the business. When the old fellow died, Cabot handily took over the post. Nevertheless, he considered himself for the most part a self-made man. His achievements had come through honest hard work and skillful trading—at least most of them. No one need ever know of the underhanded dealings that had destroyed men who were beneath his level of marketable cheating.

  Cabot’s bay gelding began to whinny nervously and pawed at the dirt. The spirited animal obviously did not like the idle pause. “Steady there, boy,” Cabot admonished the horse. “We’ve a great deal of work set before us, and it is good to proceed with clear heads.”

  He urged the mount forward, all the while taking a mental inventory of what he saw. It had changed little since his last visit several years ago. There were vast fields of cotton stretching well behind the house and its manicured lawns. Orchards and cultivated gardens marked space southwest of the house, while to the east outbuildings of stone and wood housed the necessary functions of laundering, sewing, and smithing. Slave quarters were lined in rows well behind the main house in order to keep the ninety-some servants listed on the Adams ledgers as valuable assets. It was impossible to take it all in from his vantage point, but Cabot intended to make himself very familiar with it before he journeyed north again. Ledgers were one thing, but a visual inventory of his own was something entirely different.

  Reaching the broad portico steps, Hampton was greeted by a young slave who ran forward to take his reins. He relinquished these gladly and pulled his bags down from behind the saddle. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, but the sweetness failed to pen
etrate the focus of his thoughts. His senses were tuned into the dollar values and prestigious lifestyle of his employer’s property and possessions. Brushing the dust from his traveling coat, Hampton took up the brass knocker and announced his arrival.

  An aging Negro opened the door in greeting. The man stood slightly hunched but clearly at attention.

  “Yassuh?” he questioned, extending a heavy silver card tray toward Cabot.

  “Tell Mr. Adams that Hampton Cabot is here to see him. I am expected.” He laid his card on the tray and waited in the foyer as directed while the man tottered off.

  Cabot liked what he saw in the delicate crystal chandelier overhead. His eyes traveled around the room noting the marble-top entryway table and silver candlestick holders. On the walls were heavy gold-gilted frames surrounding tiresome portraits of one Adams or another. Cabot could care less about the stern-faced images staring down at him. He detested sentimentality.

  Dropping his gaze to the floor, he noted the fine Italian marble. The shine was enough to see his reflection and to lend credibility to the costly price Adams must have paid to have it installed. Frowning only for a moment, Cabot tucked this new information into his brain and waited for the return of the servant.

  “Come this way, Mr. Cabot, suh,” Bartholomew said, returning the receiving tray to its place between the silver candlesticks.

  Hampton was led to a first-floor study and directed to take a seat. He chose an antique throne chair, the only piece of furniture that looked capable of standing up under his two-hundred-pound frame. Stretching out long legs before him, Hampton was glad to be rid of his horse. He’d ridden the better part of two weeks, dealing with matters of business along the way and staying nights wherever it profited him most to do so. He’d won a fair size pot in Philadelphia, where he’d gambled for two days running, only breaking from the table to answer nature’s call. Yawning now, tired of waiting for Adams, tired of playing games with other people’s money, Cabot felt himself relax in the velvet-covered chair.

  “Hampton?” Joseph said, questioning the man’s sudden appearance at Oakbridge. “What causes you to leave New York?”

  Hampton rose to his feet and studied his employer for a moment. It had been nearly two years since they’d dealt face to face with each other, and time had taken a definite toll on Adams. He was grayer, but not by much, and perhaps a bit thicker in the middle.

  Extending his hand Hampton smiled. “I wrote you . . .”

  Joseph thumped his head. “So much has been happening here lately, I completely forgot. But you are welcome nonetheless. Thanks to God there is always room for guests at Oakbridge.”

  “It won’t be an imposition?”

  “Never. I’ve told you many times you are always welcome here. But now that I am reminded of your letter, there was a rather mysterious tone to it. I hope all is well.”

  “There are problems afoot, Joseph,” he said, never losing the catlike grin. “And since I wrote, they appear even more alarming. I thought we should plan a strategy.”

  “And so,” Joseph told the family at dinner that evening, “Hampton felt compelled to come directly to us and offer forewarning of the waning economy. There are growing problems in the banking industry, and I’m afraid it will consume a great deal of my attention.”

  Margaret frowned. “We needn’t discuss it at the dinner table, need we?”

  Joseph wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and agreed. “I simply wanted to explain Mr. Cabot’s arrival. I, for one, am grateful for his conscientious decision to come to Oakbridge.” Then turning to his guest, Joseph added, “Hampton, you are welcome to stay on as long as you feel it is prudent.”

  “I can be spared from New York for a time,” Hampton said, eyeing Virginia Adams with a smile. “I believe a short stay to discuss matters in complete detail would be advantageous to us both.”

  “It’s settled then and we can discuss business at our leisure.”

  Hampton glanced around the table. “Your daughters have certainly grown up since I last saw them, and they are quite lovely.” He spoke to Joseph, but all the while his eyes were on Virginia.

  Georgia tried hard not to giggle, while Virginia blushed respectably, and Carolina seemed not to even notice the compliment. Joseph smiled at Margaret, whose eyes were alight with contemplation.

  “Not to mention our two daughters in the nursery,” said Margaret.

  “And your sons . . . ?”

  “Both are away from Oakbridge,” answered Joseph. “Maine is studying in England, and York is under the employment of the President.”

  Hampton choked on his wine at this announcement. “I did not know you had an inside ear to the White House. Perhaps it will prove to your advantage once we more completely discuss the economic matters at hand.”

  “Perhaps. York does venture home as time permits, so you may well have a chance to speak with him directly. If not, it might avail us to journey into the city and see him privately. Until then, I hope you will make yourself at home and enjoy our hospitality.”

  Hampton again cast a gaze upon Virginia. “Perhaps Miss Adams would show me around the estate.”

  “This Miss Adams,” Margaret interjected, “is engaged to be married. She has little time, what with planning her wedding, to escort anyone around the plantation. However”—Margaret turned her eyes upon Carolina, and Joseph well knew what that light in her eyes meant—“Carolina would make a most congenial companion. Carolina, you would be kind enough to show Mr. Cabot around the grounds, would you not?”

  Carolina looked up startled. “I, uh . . .”

  Joseph laughed. “I fear we’ve caught her daydreaming. Our Carolina is quite a progressive thinker and dreamer.”

  Hampton eyed her incisively, then smiled. “I like progressive thinking.”

  Carolina shifted uncomfortably and turned pleading eyes upon her father. Joseph wished he could dismiss her from this new duty, but there was no graceful way in which he could. Carolina would simply have to endure this new position and make the best of it.

  “I’m sure she would love to,” Joseph said, with a wink at his daughter. “Carolina can show you around in the morning.”

  46

  Advances

  After a week of his company at Oakbridge, Carolina felt ready to run whenever the name of Hampton Cabot was mentioned. It wasn’t so much his company Carolina resented, it was the condescending way in which the man treated her. He constantly asked if she needed to rest or if the light was too harsh or the temperature too warm. What does he think of the years I’ve spent living here without his watchful care? she wondered silently. Am I some mamma’s babe to be left in the nursery for fear of overextending my delicate constitution?

  She ranted inside and wished there was some way she could escape their morning horseback ride. She’d agreed to show Hampton the series of little falls upstream, only now she prayed there’d be some excuse to cancel or at least postpone their ride.

  “The horses are ready,” Hampton said, striding into the parlor with great abandonment. In his hand was a small brown paper package, which he tucked into his pocket without a word of explanation. “Miriam is also waiting, since your mother insisted we take an escort.”

  He grinned at her boldly, making Carolina wish either he, or she, could disappear from the face of the earth.

  “Perhaps she feels the chemistry between us,” he said.

  The words were well out of line, and Carolina had little difficulty in putting him in his place. “I have studied chemistry, sir, and I recall nothing regarding human contact. Chemistry is not something I believe we have in common, Mr. Cabot.”

  “Please, I beg you, call me Hampton.”

  “I think not, Mr. Cabot.” She rose to her feet, resigned to the task ahead.

  Besides Cabot’s demeaning attitude, Carolina could not quite explain what it was about him that she found objectionable. He was a handsome man with straight blond hair and pale chin whiskers. His skin was rather flori
d, no doubt from overexposure to the sun, and his eyes were narrow, also apparently sensitive to the light. His thin lips were given to frequent smiles that somehow never seemed to reach beyond his lips to his other features.

  He was at least a foot taller than her five-foot-three frame, and she didn’t care at all for the way he seemed to use his height as an assertion of superiority. It seemed inappropriate that whenever he was nearby, he would come to hover over her, as though offering her some human shelter. James was quite tall too, but he had never used his height in such a manner.

  When Hampton moved toward her just now, Carolina could only pray that someone or something would distract his obvious infatuation with her.

  “Please. I feel we are friends,” he insisted. “We are friends, are we not?”

  Carolina tried not to grimace. “We are barely acquaintances,” she said stiffly. “Friendship is born over time. I feel, sir, that you are a bit too bold and presuming.”

  Hampton didn’t appear affected in the least. “I suppose by more languorous southern standards, I am rather fast.”

  “That is to say the least.”

  “But Miss Adams . . . Carolina.” He barely whispered her name. “You must know by now of my interest in you. Should I put off expressing that interest simply because etiquette says more time should pass between us? I thought to speak with your father and obtain permission, but perhaps you should be the one to break the news to him.”

  Carolina could only stare up at him in stunned silence. Was she misunderstanding the circumstance, or was Hampton Cabot announcing his intentions to court her? Surely it was only that and not that he’d lost his senses so much as to imagine her desirous of marriage!

  “Here, sit down. You look as though you might swoon.” He led her back to the settee, and Carolina did sit because the sensation of the blood rushing from her head was indeed making her dizzy.

  “I know this is sudden, but look here—” He pulled the brown package from his pockets. “My intentions are quite honorable. I seek only to court you and give you time to know me better. Your father has encouraged me to stay on until such time as I feel business demands my return to New York. Until then, please give us a chance.” He put the package in her hands. “This is a small token of my esteem. I was given to understand your enjoyment of books. I hope this volume of poetry meets with your approval.”