by Ginny Dye
“That’s true for me, too,” Carrie admitted. “My primary motivation is helping the Navajo Indians while I finish my requirements for my degree, but I’m also trying to figure out who I am without Robert.”
“You’re an extraordinary woman,” Captain Marley said. “When I realized you were the woman from Mark’s tale about the escaping plantation belle, I remembered everything else he told me.”
Carrie couldn’t hold back her laugh. “The escaping plantation belle? I wish my mother was still alive to hear that. She quite despaired of me ever becoming a belle. To even hear me called one would be balm to her soul.”
“Your mother would be very proud of you,” Captain Marley insisted. “You’re beautiful, even after two weeks on the trail. You are an expert horsewoman, and from all I hear, a brilliant doctor. Not to mention you operated as a surgeon during the war.” He paused. “I suspect you were all those things before you fell in love with Robert.”
Carrie smiled sadly, though touched by his words. “I was eighteen when I met Robert. We married during the third year of the war when I was working at Chimborazo Hospital. He was my biggest supporter. I miss him,” she added softly. She was tired of talking about herself. “And you? You said you have a daughter. Are you married?”
“I am,” Captain Marley said. “Sally and I have been married for six years. I have three beautiful daughters. They live in Independence. When Sally realized I was determined to work with the Indians, she insisted on being close enough for us to still be a family as much as possible.” He smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I miss them more than I can say. I plan on serving for two more years, and then we’re going to return home to Vermont. I don’t want to completely miss my girls growing up. I lost so much during the war years,” he said.
Carrie understood. “What will you do in Vermont?”
“Run a business,” he said. “My father owns a hardware store there. I grew up working with him. I was in the process of taking it over when the war started. He supports what I’m doing, but I know he’s more than ready to retire. I’ve told him and my mother we will he home in two years.”
“They will be thrilled to have you back.”
“That’s true,” Captain Marley replied. “It will be good for the girls to have their grandparents, too.”
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as they talked.
Carrie was surprised when he raised his hand to signal it was time to stop and make camp. “I may actually survive this experience if I can ride every day,” she said with relief.
“Celeste is yours any time you want her,” Captain Marley promised.
Chapter 21
Abby welcomed the blast of warm air when she opened the door to the house after a long day at the factory. The spate of warmer days that teased of spring had been swallowed by a brisk cold wind from the north. All the snow had melted in the last few days, but ominous clouds on the horizon told her there would be more on the ground by morning.
“Ready for some hot tea, Miss Abby?”
Abby smiled broadly. “That sounds wonderful, May. Thank you.”
May nodded, a curious light in her eyes. “I’ll bring it into the parlor where your guest is waiting.”
Abby raised a brow as she picked up the stack of mail on the foyer table. “My guest? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Which is why I’m hoping you will find me a welcome surprise.”
Abby wheeled around as the deep male voice sounded behind her. “Peter Wilcher!” she cried, dropping the mail to clasp his outstretched hands. “You are certainly a welcome surprise! And I see you haven’t lost any of that New York accent.”
Peter’s dark eyes danced with fun under his thick, dark hair. “And here I thought I was beginning to sound like a Southern gentleman. You have quite dashed my hopes.”
“It’s best to face the truth about things,” Abby joked. “It keeps one from false expectations.”
Peter laughed. “I just put some more wood on the fire. I’m glad you’re home.”
“As am I,” Abby answered. “Give me a moment to sort through the mail. I am expecting something from a friend up north.” She flipped through it quickly. There was no letter from her friend Nancy Stratford, but her eye was caught by handwriting she did not recognize. Her eyes widened when she saw the return address. “This is from Oregon.”
Peter stepped closer. “Hobbs?”
“I certainly hope so.” Abby hung her coat and stepped into the parlor. It was her favorite room in the rambling three-story brick home on Richmond Hill, and the blazing fire made it cheerful and welcoming. She settled down in a comfortable chair and opened the letter, knowing Peter would be as curious about the contents as she was. A smile split her face. “It is from Hobbs!” She read the single sheet quickly, before reading it aloud.
“I’m not much a one for writing, but I want you to know I made it to Oregon. I was able to join a wagon train because of the money Thomas gave me. There were some real hard times, but we finally made it. It took us six months, but we got here right before snow closed down the last mountain pass.”
“He must have gotten there in November,” Peter mused.
“It sure enough is pretty out here. I’ve never seen trees so big in my life. I got hired on at a hardware store here. I miss farming, but this is a good job for me because of my leg. I hope to get a job with the railroad whenever it makes it this far. They are working on connecting it to San Francisco right now. I got me a room over a restaurant, so it always smells good and I don’t got to worry about eating.”
Peter chuckled. “That sounds like Hobbs.”
“I got to tell you I am real glad to be out of the South. Seems like most everyone out here is looking for a new start, so I got a lot of good company. Please give everyone my greetings. Thank you for helping me start a new life out here.”
Abby set down the letter with a smile. “I’m so relieved he made it safely.”
Peter nodded. “I’m glad he seems to like it out there. I know he made his choices, but walking away from his life in order to help us expose the KKK was a big thing. I’m glad he doesn’t know that it didn’t seem to have had any impact at all.”
Abby sighed. “It’s getting worse?”
“It’s getting worse,” Peter confirmed. “Have there been more attacks on the plantation since the Harvest Festival?”
“Not that I know of,” Abby assured him.
“And Matthew is really on a wagon train to Santa Fe?” he asked dubiously. “Never mind that he grew up in the mountains of West Virginia; he’s been a city boy for a long time now.”
“Yes,” Abby said quietly. “Thomas and I received a telegram that was sent the night before they left Independence.” She couldn’t stop the wave of sadness that engulfed her. “They are on the Santa Fe Trail.”
“You miss them,” Peter said sympathetically.
“I miss everyone,” Abby admitted. “It’s hard to believe Carrie, Janie and Matthew are on a wagon train, and that I won’t hear from them for months. I got a letter recently from Rose, but I hate knowing she, Moses, and the kids are not on the plantation anymore.” She shook her head and managed a rueful laugh. “Ignore my self-pity. I’m afraid I’m not handling this change very well.”
“Would you like a distraction?”
“I would love one.”
The front door opened, causing the lanterns to cast flickering shadows across the room.
Thomas’ voice boomed through the house. “I’m home, dear.” He strode into the room, stopping short when he realized she was not alone. “Peter Wilcher! To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Peter stood and clasped his hand. “I thought that with Matthew out rolling across the country in a wagon train, you would appreciate a little inside news on Washington politics.”
May appeared in the door with Abby’s tea and a plateful of scones. “I’ll bring you some tea as well, Mr. Thomas. Dinner will be ready in about an hour.” She eyed their guest. �
��You’ll be joining us for dinner won’t you, Mr. Peter?”
“If my hosts will have me. I already know that anything you fix will be better than what I can get at my hotel.”
“That’s a given,” May said as she sniffed.
Abby laughed. “There is no false modesty in this house. And, of course, you will stay for dinner. If we’re going to pull every piece of information from you that we can, the least we can do is feed you.”
Thomas chuckled as he reached for a scone. “From what I can tell, there is never a dull moment in Washington these days.”
Abby interrupted before Peter could answer. “Before Peter starts, you should know we received a letter from Hobbs today.” She pulled it out of the envelope and read it again, feeling the same joy she had earlier with the realization that Hobbs had been granted a chance to begin anew.
“Good for him,” Thomas said. “It would have been quite impossible for him to stay in the South. I’m glad there are still parts of this country where a man can start over.”
“Our president may have to think about going to Oregon,” Peter said ruefully.
“Impeachment?” Thomas asked keenly.
“Impeachment,” Peter agreed. “February twenty-fourth, 1868 is a date that will long be remembered because it is the first time Congress will have voted to impeach an American president.”
Abby leaned forward. “Do you believe it will actually happen? Will they actually impeach him?”
Peter shrugged. “The charge they are impeaching him on is rather weak, in my opinion, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. The majority Republican Congress has long wanted him out of office. They may well have the votes to make it reality.”
“Do I understand correctly that the grounds for impeachment was the president replacing Secretary of War Stanton with General Grant?” Thomas asked.
“No. Many people believe that, but the grounds are bigger than that. The Radical Republicans wanted Stanton in office because they know he will comply with the Reconstruction policies. To make sure that happened, they passed the Tenure of Office Act last year. Johnson vetoed it, but they overruled him.”
“Just like they have with everything else,” Thomas muttered. “If I didn’t despise the man so much I might actually feel sorry for him. As it is, I can only hope Congress succeeds.”
Peter nodded. “I agree. The Tenure of Office Act requires the president to seek the senate’s advice and consent before relieving or dismissing any member of his cabinet. In actuality, the act was written specifically with Stanton in mind.” He paused for a sip of his tea. “There was a loophole in the act, though. It permits the president to suspend such officials when Congress is out of session. That’s what Johnson did. He asked Stanton to resign, but the secretary declined. That was when he suspended him and replaced him with Ulysses S. Grant.”
“But Grant left office last month,” Abby said.
“That’s true,” Peter agreed. “When Congress passed a resolution on January seventh that they were in disagreement with Stanton’s dismissal, Grant wrote his resignation letter and left. I suspect he was anticipating that result. Stanton moved back into his office. It got a little crazy, though, because Grant didn’t bother to tell Johnson he was leaving.” He smiled thinly. “Our president was not pleased.”
Thomas chuckled. “I imagine he wasn’t.”
“What happened next?” Abby asked. “This is as good as a dime-store novel!”
Peter smiled. “It is certainly high drama. President Johnson believes the Tenure of Office Act is unconstitutional so he decided to ignore it. A month ago, he offered the post to Lorenzo Thomas. General Thomas didn’t want the job, but somehow Johnson convinced him to take it so he could make a test case against the act. He appointed Thomas Secretary of War on February twenty-first and ordered Stanton’s removal from office.” He grinned. “This is where it gets really good. General Thomas delivered the notice to Stanton personally, but Stanton refused to accept its legitimacy, and also refused to vacate his position. Instead, he barricaded himself in his office and ordered Thomas arrested for violating the Tenure of Office Act.”
“Oh my,” Abby murmured.
“Thomas asked if he could be brought to the White House to let President Johnson know he had been placed under arrest. I think Stanton probably realized the arrest would allow the courts to review the law about the Tenure of Office act, and he wasn’t sure the courts would uphold it, so he dropped the charges against Thomas and went after Johnson for violating the act.” Peter shook his head at the absurdity of it. “Three days later the House of Representatives voted one hundred twenty-six to forty-seven in favor of a resolution to impeach the president for high crimes and misdemeanors.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is a quote from Representative Kelly of Philadelphia. Sir, the bloody and untilled fields of the ten unreconstructed States, the unsheeted ghosts of the two thousand murdered negroes in Texas, cry, if the dead ever evoke vengeance, for the punishment of Andrew Johnson. ”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think President Johnson ever understood how strongly the country feels about Reconstruction.”
Peter grimaced. “Our president has quite an over-inflated ego. Once he sets himself on a course, he is reluctant to let facts or the truth stand in the way. He thinks he has the power to make things happen simply because he is president. I suspect he is finally waking up to just how wrong he is.”
“Will the vote be there to actually carry out the impeachment?” Abby asked.
“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, “but I can guarantee you that whatever dreams Johnson had of running for re-election are dead.”
“What happens if Johnson is impeached?” Thomas asked. “Since he replaced Lincoln, there is not a vice-president.”
“That’s a very good question,” Peter responded. “His replacement will be the president pro tempore of the Senate. Traditionally, it is the most senior member of the majority party.”
“Benjamin Wade,” Thomas said.
“That’s right. Wade is one of the most radical Republicans.”
“Which means impeachment will be difficult,” Thomas mused. “While the entire Congress voted to move forward, surely there are moderate Republicans who are going to have to think about what it means if Benjamin Wade becomes president.”
Abby sighed. “It’s all just a game, isn’t it?”
“Politics?” Peter asked. “I suppose it is, but it is a game with very high stakes. My initial disdain for politics has been tempered by the reality that it mandates the country I live in. That means that in many ways it mandates the life I live. President Johnson’s policies have led to the rise of the KKK. I can never forget that because it impacts the lives of so many people I love. Just because I’m not black doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care as much about the horrors of the KKK.” He paused for a moment. “I have learned that if human freedom is denied to anyone in the world, it is therefore denied, indirectly perhaps, to all people.”
“Which is why we can’t remain silent,” Abby said. “The choice to remain silent in the face of evil or violence merely encourages that behavior.”
Thomas was watching her carefully. “Something is bothering you, dear. What is it?”
“Isn’t the state of our nation enough?” Abby asked evasively. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about what was bothering her.
“It is,” Thomas agreed, “but I suspect it is something more. I understand if you prefer not to talk about it.”
Abby sat silently for several long moments. As she stared out the window, she saw the first snowflakes from the approaching storm float down onto the magnolia tree. “Do you believe God put Andrew Johnson into office?”
Thomas sat quietly for a moment, surprised by her question. “Do you?”
“I didn’t,” Abby replied, “but now I’m not sure.” She sighed heavily. “I ran into an old friend today while I was doing some shopping. She is in tow
n from Philadelphia on business for the bank, and I accepted her offer to have lunch.”
“And she told you that President Johnson was God’s choice for president, and that we should support him no matter what,” Peter said.
“Yes,” Abby replied. “How did you know? Do you agree with her?” She couldn’t imagine that he did, but perhaps he was not being honest about his true feelings.
“No,” Peter said bluntly.
“Why?” Abby had been struggling with the issue ever since she had left lunch.
Peter smiled. “Did I ever tell you that I almost became a minister?”
“Really?” Thomas asked. “What happened?”
“Nothing earth-shattering,” Peter assured them. “It just wasn’t the right fit for me. I did, however, learn a great deal. The issue of Andrew Johnson becoming president is one that many Christians would disagree on.”
Abby nodded eagerly. “I’ve always considered myself Christian, but I find I can’t believe that God would put Johnson into office. I’ve thought about Lord Cromwell, and all the Irish and Scottish he was responsible for killing. How can that be God?” She looked back and forth between Thomas and Peter. “I remember my father telling me about Vlad the Third.”
“Who?” Thomas asked with a raised brow.
“He was a prince of the Ottoman Empire in the 1400s.”
“You studied the Ottoman Empire when you were growing up?” Peter asked in astonishment.
“No,” Abby said, “but my father did. He was quite obsessed with it, actually. My mother hated it when he talked to me about what he was learning, but he did it anyway.”
“So I’m assuming Vlad the Third was not someone to be proud of?” Thomas asked
“You would be correct,” Abby replied. “He was one of the most tyrannical leaders in history, not only because so many tens of thousands of people were killed during his reign, but also because he delighted in violence and torture.”