by Judith Pella
The small gathering had barely taken their seats when a knock sounded from the kitchen door at the back of the house.
“Who could be delivering at this hour?” Edith questioned, then started to get up when Nellie appeared to announce a messenger from the Oakbridge plantation.
Joseph excused himself and followed the girl from the room, while James turned to hear Virginia describing the details of the bridesmaids’ gowns to his mother. A queer feeling came over him as he watched and listened. He opened his mouth twice to comment, but words wouldn’t form on his lips. He felt almost as though he were watching the scene of a play. It was as if he’d literally been taken from the room and placed at a distance. These people were like actors, each playing a part. The story was his life, and somehow he’d been removed from the action and decisions that were to guide its course.
“You might not know it,” Virginia was saying, “but the lace on my gown is all handmade. I’ve worked on it for nearly four years.”
“How marvelous!” Edith exclaimed and Leland nodded. “So industrious and cunning. Your daughters will no doubt cherish the gown.”
“Even more so because it has been made over from my mother’s wedding gown,” Virginia replied.
Who were these people? James found himself wondering. The faces were familiar, as was the setting, but the characters and personalities seemed awkwardly alien. Or was he the alien one who did not belong?
I can’t go through with this, he thought. I cannot marry this woman. Maybe later. When I have discovered if I can make my own way in life. Maybe after I complete my work with the B&O and join Father in his venture. Carolina’s face appeared suddenly in his mind to haunt him. Something had happened between them in Baltimore when he’d escorted her to the concert. But he’d never been certain what it was. She had seemed on the verge of telling him something important, and yet all she would say when he asked for an explanation was that she was upset that his engagement to Virginia had made her mother intent on marrying Carolina off as well. But Carolina was not such a petty person. Could that truly have been all that was troubling her? Was she still angry at him for ending their tutoring sessions? Or was she angry because he’d not asked for her hand instead of her sister’s?
He almost smiled at that notion. It was not only ridiculous, it was unthinkable. Carolina would never have such feelings for the man betrothed to her sister.
Women were strange creatures; that much he knew. He had tried his hand many times at conversing and socializing with them, and apart from Carolina Adams, whose interests went clearly beyond the realm of feminine interest, James had never felt truly drawn to any of them. Virginia Adams was beautiful, but even that seemed to have faded in his eyes during the course of their courtship. Virginia’s appearance might be lovely on the outside, but inside she was harsh and calculating. He had seen her strike a slave girl across the face for dropping her favorite strand of pearls, and he had also witnessed her belittle Carolina when she thought no one was around. These memories left a bad taste in his mouth, and the more he thought about them, the more certain he was that he couldn’t marry Virginia Adams.
Surprising the trio by suddenly getting to his feet, James decided to speak his mind. They were, after all, very privately assembled, and with both Virginia and her father here, it would work well to put the matter behind them. He searched in his mind for the right words. But before he could speak, Joseph Adams returned white-faced and shaking.
“Joseph?” Leland said, rising to his feet awkwardly. “Has there been bad news?”
“I scarcely can say the words,” Joseph replied, looking first to his old friend and then to his daughter. “Yellow fever has taken several lives at Oakbridge, and we must return immediately.”
“Is it mother?” Virginia cried out, throwing her napkin aside and getting to her feet. “Tell me, Papa!”
Joseph put his arm around her shoulder. “No, your mother is fine, at least in body. I’m afraid . . . it’s Mary.”
————
A stunned Joseph and Virginia returned to Oakbridge. Three days afterward Mary was laid to rest in the family graveyard beside the other Adams children, Hampshire and Tennessee.
Penny, still too weak to attend the services, remained in bed in a guest room where she had been moved immediately after her sister’s death. Carolina stayed with her during the funeral and watched from the window. She felt relief from the reprieve, wondering if she could have ever made it through the painful ceremony. It wasn’t her lack of faith that Mary had gone on to a better place. It wasn’t the fear of breaking down in front of everyone. It was the isolation she felt. It was the overwhelming feeling that she had no one with whom to share this sorrow.
James was there. She knew this as well as she knew anything. The Baldwins had been one of the few families to make the journey. There were only a handful of friends from the community who attended. Most of the families were keeping safely away from the area of sickness and wouldn’t return for several weeks. Others were burdened themselves by the fever and could scarcely be expected to come. But James and his parents had come yesterday, and each had done what they could to comfort their friends. Edith to Margaret. Leland to Joseph. And James to Virginia.
“What else could he do?” Carolina murmured against the windowpane. She couldn’t see James from Penny’s window, but she knew he was there among the black-clad group in the distance, taking his place beside Virginia.
Mary is dead, Carolina thought. She is dead and James will marry Virginia, and York will go back to Washington and life will go on around me, yet never really include me. What will become of me?
Perhaps everyone was right. Perhaps she should give up the foolish notions of railroads and universities. Maybe marriage to Hampton Cabot or someone else would at least free her from the misery she felt here and now. But that was a foolish reason to marry. Her father had always told her marriage was a sacred thing between man, woman, and God. It wasn’t something to consider in jest, and it wasn’t something you could rid yourself of later should you find it inconvenient.
“Did they put her in the ground?” Penny weakly called from the four-poster bed.
Carolina let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face her younger sister. “Yes,” she replied. “They put her body in the ground.”
“Won’t she be a-scared?” Penny asked.
“Afraid,” Carolina corrected. “No, because it’s just her body that is there. Mary is in heaven where the angels are.”
“Is Mary going to fly in the sky?” Penny’s weak voice questioned.
Carolina smiled. “I don’t know, Penny. If you were in heaven is that what you would do?”
Penny smiled. “I think it would be fun to fly around. I’d go really fast. Like when the boys ride their horses in the races. I’d go faster and faster and pretty soon I’d just fly up into the sky.”
“That sounds nice,” Carolina remarked. She sat down hard on the chair beside the bed. For all her youth she felt so old and tired. Even in the face of Penny’s recovery, it was hard to feel any different. Life was a most difficult adversary.
Eyes still red from crying, Miriam appeared in Penny’s room an hour later. Carolina knew that in addition to little Mary’s death, several of the slaves had lost family members as well. Dear Hannah had died also, and services had been held the night before in the Negro church. Carolina had been the only family member to attend, though she could barely contain her own misery.
“Miz Carolina,” Miriam said, coming to the girl’s side, “you gwanna need some rest. You go on now. I’s gwanna sit with Miz Pennsylvania.”
Carolina nodded in agreement and left the room. The solitude would be refreshing.
“Carolina?”
She looked up as she closed Penny’s door, and her breath caught. “James . . .” He looked as weary and sorrowful as she felt. His eyes, usually sparkling with boyish amusement, were somber and filled with concern.
“I’ve not had a chanc
e to speak with you since our arrival,” he said softly.
Carolina crushed great handfuls of black bombazine as she nervously twisted the skirt of her gown. “I know,” was all she could manage to say.
“I’m so very sorry about Mary. How is Penny?”
“Better but very weak. The doctor fears she will always be fragile.”
“Your mother seems to be taking this very hard,” James continued. “She collapsed at the service.”
“I should go to her,” Carolina said but made no move to leave.
James put his hand on her arm. “No, they’ve already put her to bed with some herbal remedy of Naomi’s. My mother is with her, as is Virginia and Georgia. I’d rather you stay and talk to me.”
Carolina felt tears form anew, and she lowered her face. “Why? Why would you rather I do that? You should be with Virginia. That’s where you belong, James.”
He frowned. “It’s only that . . . when I saw you this morning you looked so very alone. I thought perhaps you needed someone to talk to. And, maybe I’m wrong, but we have always been able to talk about such things to each other before.”
She continued walking down the corridor, and he stayed at her side. Yes, of all the people at Oakbridge just then, he was the one person she felt would truly understand her grief. But with him so close, too many other sensations were converging inside her for her to feel safe in unburdening her heart to him. Carolina stopped and couldn’t help but glance down the hall toward the nursery. Shuddering, she felt as if death’s hand were upon her.
“You were with her when she died, weren’t you, Carolina?” James said.
A full-fledged rush of tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded. She’d thought her grief had played itself out, but all at once the pain hit her again and was almost too much to bear. Her memories of Mary and her desire for someone to comfort her rushed upon her.
“That must have been terribly difficult for you,” James said.
“It was more difficult for Mother.” She tried to keep her voice steady.
“You don’t have to be brave . . . not for me, anyway.” He reached up and cupped her trembling chin in his hand.
For the last three days she had been holding back, trying hard to be strong for everyone else—especially her mother. She didn’t want anyone to worry over her. It was her mother who needed the family most. But except a few moments of private tears, she had kept it all bottled up within. It wasn’t hard now to respond to James’ gentle entreaty.
“I . . . I’ve never seen anyone die before . . . but for it to be Mary . . . so little, so helpless . . . so—” Her voice broke in a muffled cry.
“You once helped me over the death of a friend. I’d like to return that favor if there is any way that I could.”
His voice began to penetrate the fog of her grief. His touch reached something lost and forlorn inside her.
“Oh, James! She can’t be gone! She just can’t be! Mary . . . sweet, dear Mary!” Carolina’s whole body shook with grief.
James caught her trembling frame in his arms. “Just cry, dear . . .” he consoled, holding her tight, caressing her hair with his hand. “Let it all out. I’ll be here for you.”
Carolina could find no words to speak. She poured out her heart in tears of sorrow, wishing from the depths of her soul that she could change the past and bring Mary back to life. Why should little children die? Why would God turn away His face from their needs and leave them to suffer? Oh, Mary, my sweet baby sister, Carolina silently mourned. How can I bear your loss?
As if reading her mind, James whispered against her ear, “I would give anything to bring her back to you. I would give my life to ease your pain.”
The words shook her almost as much as her grief. She sobered instantly. “Don’t say such a thing!”
“But it’s true,” he insisted. With one arm still around her, he reached up with the other and wiped her tears with his fingers. “I would dry your eyes and give you back your joy, at any price. Any price.”
“Nothing can change the past.” Carolina held his gaze, wondering what it was she read in his intense blue eyes.
“Perhaps not.” Was that sorrow she noted in his eyes? Was he sharing her grief? That must be it.
“James . . . Carolina . . . ?”
Carolina jerked quickly away from James’ embrace to find Virginia coming down the hall.
“What are you doing!” The confusion in Virginia’s voice was mingled with accusation.
“Carolina broke down over Mary,” James said. “Thank God I was here. The poor dear has been keeping back all her grief.”
Virginia gave each an incisive look. Carolina felt guilty, as if there really had been more going on between her and James, as if James had been returning the feelings she had toward him. But that wasn’t so and never would be. He was but a dear friend comforting her in her sorrow.
“Well . . .” Virginia looked afraid for a minute. Then she seemed to shake off the mood, adding, “That was very kind of you, James. I am quite spent myself with grieving. I need your steadying arm as well.”
James appeared to hesitate. He looked long and hard at Carolina, still not moving.
“I’ll be fine,” Carolina managed to speak at last.
“But . . . I . . .” he stammered and looked at her helplessly.
“Thank you for caring,” she said, then pushed past him, desperate to retreat to the privacy of her room. Pausing only a moment, she looked back and saw him turn toward Virginia as she linked her arm firmly through his. They walked away together. As it should be. Without another word Carolina went into her room and closed the door.
54
The Letter
It was properly assumed that James and Virginia’s wedding would be postponed until a suitable period of mourning could pass. This was a saving grace as far as James was concerned. He’d struggled at Oakbridge to confront Virginia with just the right words, but with everyone so stricken over Mary, he simply had not the heart to bring further pain to the family.
Back in Washington and secluded in his childhood room, James knew he had to do something. He felt himself a coward for being unable to confront her in person, but he was not so much a coward to follow through with this loveless marriage of financial convenience. He was at least enough of a man to finally stand up for himself, to pursue the life he wanted. But this decision wasn’t entirely for him. He was thinking of Virginia, too, by saving her from a loveless marriage.
Still, it was highly improper for a proper gentleman to so shame a lady by breaking an engagement. Thus, it was nothing to approach lightly. If he committed such an act, it would no doubt ruin his reputation forever. No decent family would have him. Worse still, it could reflect upon his parents as well. They might be shunned from society. Perhaps his father’s business would suffer. Yet what was that to the prospect of spending the rest of his life living a monumental lie? True, it wouldn’t be the first marriage of convenience; in fact, many marriages were launched in that manner.
It was more than that. It wasn’t merely that he did not love Virginia—he actually had no feelings at all for her. And that was probably worse by far. He did not even like to be around her anymore. The thrill he had once felt at her physical charms had long since dimmed under the glaring reality of her demanding nature. He would simply have to sacrifice too much of himself to form a union with her.
And then there was Carolina . . .
The very thought of her set his entire being into such an excited yet confused state that—well, it was practically sinful to even consider marrying Carolina’s sister. But the idea of actually telling Carolina how he felt was just as appalling, though he had been on the verge of doing so many times. If he did so, Carolina would be scandalized and think far less of him than she did already. What a vicious circle!
There seemed only one course of action for him to take to break from that circle. Pen in hand, he drew a blank sheet of paper before him. He wondered how to properly word it witho
ut making matters worse. Dipping the pen in ink he began:
“My dearest Virginia, this is a most difficult letter to write—”
He stopped suddenly and shook his head dismally. He comforted himself with the fact that the time was really quite good. If ever such a tragedy as the death of a child could work for good it was now. Society would believe the marriage postponed because of the death, not canceled altogether. By the time folks began asking questions, Virginia could make it clear that she’d changed her mind. In fact, James reasoned, there would be any number of excuses she could give. Let her tell people her mother needed her, or that her own grief was too great to consider such a celebration. Let her tell them whatever she would, so long as he was no longer expected to marry her.
Still, he struggled even over the salutation. No longer desirous of deceit, he couldn’t call her dearest or regard her with anything but the formality he felt. He balled up the sheet and tossed it to the floor, finally writing nothing more than her name, and then he turned to the heart of the matter.
“I cannot make a mockery of an institution so sacred as marriage,” he wrote. “You deserve a man who can give you the life you desire—a home in the city, a sterling reputation, and an active social life. I have known for some time that I am not that man.” He read over the words. They were formal, harsh . . . but he had never been a man for flowery speeches, even on paper.
“I realize my work at this time is more important to me than anything else. I should have been more clear about this when we became engaged. My heart and interests are bound elsewhere, and therefore I feel I have wronged and misled you. Forgive me, if you can, but I must ask that you release me from our engagement. I will, of course, allow you the privilege of making this your decision so that there need not be any public shame. And I will abide by your choosing a time more appropriate to make your announcement.”
He sat back for a moment and tried to imagine Virginia’s reaction to this missive. She’d not take it well. But her social standing was important to her, and she’d do nothing to jeopardize what other people thought of her. Should she make a scene and declare it to be James who had broken the engagement instead of herself, it would only reflect badly upon her and make her the center of ugly gossip. No, Virginia would do the proper thing, of this he was certain. Nevertheless, he knew she was an unforgiving woman and might risk all that in order to take every possible opportunity to publicly degrade his faithlessness. Either way, people were going to draw their own conclusions. He would be ruined. No secret ever remained hidden forever, and even if Virginia pretended that she had broken the engagement, she, too, would suffer socially. Her own family would be completely appalled that she was rejecting yet another suitor. How long would it be before she denounced him in anger to salve her own conscience and avoid any further personal retribution?