by Jane Smiley
I was sitting on a sofa, and I have to say that I put down my book with some reluctance, as I was at the very interesting part where Elizabeth is caught visiting Mr. Darcy’s estate in Derbyshire. I saw that Papa was dressed differently than he had been down in the cellar. He was now wearing crisp black trousers, a red brocade waistcoat, a fresh white cravat, and a neatly cut black jacket. He carried a stick with a silver knob, too. He reminded me by contrast of how trim and sober a figure Thomas had made in his black clothes when I first met him. I wondered where Papa was going and whether Helen and I would be alone for supper, in which case we might have a light, quick meal, and I could then get on with my reading.
"Are you alone, then, Mrs. Bisket?" said Papa.
"Helen is in her room, if you would like me to get her."
"Perhaps later."
Papa looked bright, with something of the air of a little spinning top, but I in no way associated this with myself, and anyway, my mind was still running on Thomas, so I was entirely unprepared to hear Papa exclaim, "My dear Mrs. Bisket, I feel that you are heaven-sent to us for some special purpose, and I cannot rest until I make known to you my fervent desire to bring you into our family as my bride!" During this speech, Papa had swooped down and perched beside me on the couch, and now he seized my hand in his two little ones and stared into my face. "Do let me go on! Everything here at Day’s End Plantation is different since you came into the house. You are truly a presence! An angel, if I may say so, who brings us peace and a sense of well-being, even in these times of conflict and anxious dread. You make the two of us a family!"
"You haven’t spoken to Helen about this!" That idea especially appalled me.
"Not yet, but I know she loves you like a sister. What a short step, then, to loving you like a mother?"
"I’m but two years older than Helen."
"But your demeanor is, if I may say so, a lifetime more womanly. I don’t know your history, Mrs. Bisket, as yet. It’s my fond hope that the intimate bonds of marriage will, might, encourage you to confide in me someday...." He looked at me and hurried on. "But let’s not get too far ahead. For the moment, I feel that you have been given to us to ease our troubles! We don’t know what will happen. No one knows. Our nation is in great peril. I see no statesman, no Jefferson, nor even a Jackson, who can— d— me, Mrs. Bisket, but this Kansas-Nebraska Act was a deal made in the devil’s own kitchen, and the red men from whom the land was stolen have cursed it in perpetuity, that’s my opinion. I’ve told Harris that for years: you throw off those Indians, and they leave their curses behind! Did you know that I spent a considerable time with the Indians myself in my early days? And I never held with selling up the Cherokees and driving them off, but they got richer than some of their neighbors, and their neighbors couldn’t abide that! Excuse me!"
He got up and walked about the room, then sat down again. "On that subject, I will say only one thing: there has been enormous bungling from top to bottom; that’s all I will say on the subject right now!" He took my hand again, but I removed it. He said, "Ah, please don’t draw away. Let me believe that I have hope in my suit! Let me think that a few more days or weeks with us will persuade you to find us as necessary to your happiness as you are to mine, ours! Let me persuade myself that a longer sojourn at Day’s End Plantation will convince you that we do have a little paradise here, all the more so should you confer upon it your angelic presence!"
I have to say that these speeches made me dizzy, as perhaps they were calculated to do. Watching Papa was like watching something small and sparkling that was moving very rapidly, and indeed, he was moving all the time, either around the room or beside me on the sofa. He made me feel vast and immobile, especially when he referred to me as a "presence." At first I didn’t know what to say, as I was utterly surprised, but quickly I realized that Papa’s intentions made my position, if possible, even more precarious than it had been. I was no longer a mysterious but essentially indifferent guest, who could move off of her own volition. Now I was someone from whom Papa wanted something, wanted it with impatience and even ardor. I had become, to Papa, something that had no relationship to who or what I actually was. There was certainly danger in that situation. I didn’t think that I dared reject his suit right then and there, and I cast about for something to say. Finally, I managed, "Mr. Day, I don’t believe that you and I are truly of one mind in all things."
"Ah! You see there! Your very want of openness—which in principle I don’t disagree with, since I admire discretion in a lady—your very want of openness has prevented us from making the best use of our acquaintance here, but I truly feel that often, in these matters, it is better to act on instinct than on reason. My instinct is that we are of one mind!"
"But, sir, let’s set this, just for argument: let’s say that you and your daughter go to the Methodist church—"
"Which we do."
"—and that I have been in the habit of attending the Baptist church. Are we of one mind there? Could we be? I don’t—"
"But my feeling is that these issues will fall away of themselves! I am a Romantic! Do you know what that is? Ah, they were marvelous boys! They saw more deeply into the heart than many an older man—"
"But what if I were an abolitionist, even?"
He threw back his head and laughed a great baritone laugh. He shouted, "Impossible! Ha ha ha ha!"
And it took all my forbearance to not respond to his amusement with a declaration. I sustained my smile and finally, when he was attending to me again, said, "I am, of course, flattered by your offer. You have been unfailingly kind to me, and I am grateful for that. You will have my reply on Monday morning, at breakfast time. That is three days from now. Until then, I feel that I need some seclusion—"
"To organize your thoughts! Yes, of course, my dear." He grinned. I could readily see that he felt assured of my positive response. I knew that he and Helen would be attending a long church service on Sunday, followed by an afternoon with the Harrises. I had prepared the ground for begging off that, and it would be during those hours, between nine and six, that I would pack my bag and decamp. I thought that I might be able to sell Thomas’s watch in Independence for steamboat fare back to Quincy, or, perhaps, for enough to live on until I could get a letter to Harriet and persuade her to send me some money.
I smiled sincerely at Papa and put my hand out to him. He took it and kissed it. I was sincerely grateful to him for goading me into coming up with a plan. He stood and bowed himself out of the room, nearly dancing with delight. At supper, half an hour later, Helen asked him why he seemed so happy, and he said, "Trust me, my dear; you shall know soon enough!" He was that certain of my reply.
CHAPTER 25
I Am Recognized
Carpet bags are very useful, to carry the articles to be used on a journey. The best ones have sides inserted, iron rims, and a lock and key. —p. 316
THE FIRST THING I did was to finish my book, although I must say I did so with somewhat different feelings than I had had before Papa’s offer. I no longer felt that living with Mr. Darcy at Pemberley was the be-all and end-all of existence, and I wondered how Elizabeth, who was so witty and lively that it was easy to feel a kinship with her, would assume authority over the invisible but necessary troop of servants. I wondered how she would transform herself from a girl into the representative of an institution so large and public that strangers could appear there and ask to be shown around. Papa’s offer took away some of my gratification in the story, I must say.
The second thing I did was to ask Lorna what had become of my woolen dress. "Well," she said, "I don’ think you need dat thing! It still smells to high heaven, an’ it’s been sitting out in de airin’ shed fo’ two weeks! I had de girl scrub it an’ scrub it wi’ de soda, until de nap is ’bout worn offn de flannel, but I’ll bring it up ifn you want to have a look at it."
"I believe you. I suppose it’s ruined, then."
"Pretty near, but I don’ know. Maybe a few more days of dr
y weader will do de trick. Mos’ of de last two weeks have been awful damp."
The third thing I did was clean and oil my pistol, then pack it with the percussion caps and the cartridges at the bottom of my bag. That, too, I could sell. I should mention here that Lorna had found the money sewn into my woolen dress and returned it to me. I counted that. There were seven dollars now. The bag (I looked at it critically) was worth very little. Perhaps, as well, I could sell one of the dresses Helen had gotten from the Harrises. The green had turned out quite pretty and unusual-looking, although, of course, any dress of mine was too long in the waist and the skirt to fit most women. But first I had to get someplace where I could sell things. That would be Independence. It had taken me a day to get from Independence to here, but actually, I didn’t know how far a walk Independence was, because I didn’t know how my strength had been affected by my condition, or by my run from that fellow Master Philip. In fact, most of the events after I’d eaten some supper in Independence (or was it dinner?) were exceedingly difficult to remember, rather like sifting through a bucket of sand to find small objects at the bottom.
I did all these things, and made my plans, only by stealing little bits of time and attention from other concerns. I felt that I dared not look as if I was about to bolt, not because I thought Papa would hurt me, or hold me his captive, but because I thought he would renew his suit in ever more pressing terms. Only if he thought he had said enough would he refrain from saying more.
In this time, it also happened that we heard that Governor Shannon of Kansas had resigned his position, telling President Pierce, according to Papa and his friends, that the devils in Kansas were harder to govern than the devils in H—. This sentiment was viewed in Missouri as a judicious observation by an unbiased observer, and it was widely expected that President Pierce would try to institute military law, enrolling all Missourians who cared to join in some sort of military policing arm that would have the privilege, the right, and the duty to destroy the G— d— abolitionists once and for all. Since it was an election year, the only discussion revolved around whether the outgoing President’s party would have the stomach to support him in this most necessary course of action. As the executive arm of the government, he could do it on his own, but would he? There was talk around Papa’s table of sending a delegation of the area’s best men to advise the President on how to deal with the lily-livered members of his own party, who wouldn’t do what had to be done even though it was plain as the nose on your face. Did anyone, north or south, want the abolitionists in power? No. Would they get there? As sure as ice melts in the spring. Could they be stopped? (Fists slam down on the table.) Got to be! There was some discussion about how the abolitionists had gotten to be so prominent all of a sudden. Every man at the table could remember a time when the criminals blackguards scoundrels traitors swine pardon my language ma’am were only laughed at. No one ever agreed with them five years ago, a year ago, six months ago. It was one of the great mysteries of history how they’d scrambled up from the bottom like that.
"Well, they got in all them Germans that come over here after that revolution they had there. Them German boys got ideas of their own, d— ’em," said one.
"They hate the Germans. They hate the Irish, too. Only love niggers. You know why—it’s twisted."
Looks, then pardoning in front of the ladies. Helen turning red. Me looking at my plate.
"The question is how they got in with the Washington men."
"There’s a set of scoundrels to begin with. Lining their own pockets with both hands, don’t care where it comes from."
"Money’s at the bottom of it."
"Thayer’s cellar is stacked with gold ingots. Where do you think he got ’em?"
"Pandering to others with a fondness for dark meat? Haw haw!"
"Sir!"
"Perhaps if the ladies are finished, they might excuse themselves, so that the gentlemen can speak freely."
We blushed our way out of the room, Helen giving me a significant look, half plea, half I-told-you-so. Each day, the talk got rougher, more violent, less softened by habitual good manners.
But mostly I kept to my room, trying to avoid Papa. On Saturday night, I went in to Helen and begged off the next day’s scheme of church, followed by a party at the Harrises’. Helen smiled and gave me no protest, even though she’d been telling me for days how pleasant it was there, how delightful the victuals would be, how much I would enjoy Mrs. Harris and her sister. I knew right then that Papa had spoken to her of his offer, and I was tempted to let an intimation or two drop of my real intentions, only out of fondness for Helen, only so that she wouldn’t feel that I had thought nothing of her and her kindness and good nature when I fled. But I dared not. I smiled back at her, as if we shared some knowledge and everything might easily turn out as she expected. After that, I went back to my own chamber and changed into my nightdress. I sat there for a minute, then got into bed and blew out my candle. I knew I had done so, because after blowing it out, I lay in the dark for quite a time. Even so, before I awakened, I sensed a candle in the room, a blur of light pressing on my heavy lids. But there was no sound. I came around ever so slowly, and as I opened my eyes, the candle went out, another mystery. I must have groaned, because a hand was instantly over my mouth, a dry, strong, firm hand. Lorna’s hand. She whispered, "Hush now! I got somethin’ to say to ya!"
I sat up. She took her hand away. She was leaning toward me in the dark, sitting in the same chair she had occupied when she was watching over me, wearing the same faded dress that seemed to float in the darkness, a white kerchief around her head.
"Missy Louisa! I knows you! I do! You don’ think I do, but I do. I saw it all cleah las’ week."
I looked at her, afraid to say a word.
"You done gi’ me some money once."
"You must be mis—"
"No, I ain’! You didn’ see me, but I saw ya. You was wadin’ in a stream and you had a boy wid ya. You lef’ four dollar on a rock fo’ me."
I felt my jaw drop. I said, "Were you in a cave?"
"That war me, missy. Oh, I was cold dat day! I done swum the river and walked up de crick deah, and my draws was soakin’ wet."
"Lorna!"
"Hush, now! Massa Richard is a light sleeper, and times he get up and walk around de house ’cause he’s thinkin’ on things."
I didn’t know how not to believe her. I whispered, "It was a man in that cave!"
"No it waren’t! It war me! Two days later, de catchers got me and beat me good and put me in de shackles and everythin’, so don’ say it waren’t me, because I got de stripes to show for it! Now hush. I got somethin’ to tell ya." She gave me a firm look, then said, "You is leavin’ heah, ain’ you?"
"How did Thomas know you were in that cave?"
"Dere was a man in dat town. He done come down from Wesconsin to do things fo’ de Underground Railroad. He done bought a farm dere, by de river."
"Roger Howell!"
"Dat may be de name. I never seen de man." She shrugged that off. "I know you is leavin’, because I looked under de bed and saw dat you packed you bag, an’ I heared you beggin’ off de outin’ tomorra. Dey is gone be away all day and into de night, and dat’s a good time fo’ you to git off, ain’ it?"
I didn’t say anything.
"Well, you is takin’ me wid ya."
I gasped.
"Yes, you is. Now make up you mine dat you is gone take me, because you is. You cain’ gi’ me four dollar one time and walk away from me de nex’, dat’s what I think!"
"I can barely get out of here myself!"
"You think I ain’ got me a plan? I been plannin’ this fo’ a week, since I done seen who you is. I didn’ know you at firs’, ’cause you cut you haiah and had some men’s clothes on and I didn’ rightly believe it ware possible that it could be you, but you is a big gal. I ain’ never seen another as big as you—tall, I mean, ’cause you ain’ fat nohow—but however, I done worked it out."
"De one dat was killed?"
"Yes."
"Den dis is somethin’ you gone do fo’ him. I done made up my mine, missy, dat you came heah to git me, wheder you know it or not!"
"What’s the plan, then?"
"I ain’ gone tell you all de pieces right now. When I comes wid you breakfast in the mawnin’, I’ll tell you a little bit. But you jes’ do what I tells you, and we is gone to be fine!"
She got up and seemed, in her light garments, to drift across the floor and out of the dark room. This gave the whole episode an even profounder appearance of ghostly unreality, and in fact, if it hadn’t been for the feel of her hand on my face the first moment, I might have failed to believe any of this had happened. But it had; I must say that it woke me right up. My bag was packed, so I sat there and watched the light appear in my windows. Lorna! Lorna had claimed me! And added to that, Lorna had a plan she seemed confident about. I could put my own escape into her firm and capable hands. More important, I had a distinct sense of Thomas’s approval. He seemed to move toward me, to be more lovingly present in my mind than he had been at any time since his death. Of course, Lorna was right. Aiding in her escape was the thing I had to do for Thomas that would somehow restore him to me.
And I wasn’t afraid, not nearly as afraid as I’d been countless times before in the last year; not as afraid as when I’d escaped from the boat, not as afraid as when I’d gone into K.T, not as afraid as when I’d looked at Thomas and known for the first time that he would, indeed, be my husband. Even though aiding in the escape of a slave was, according to both Kansas law and Missouri law, a crime punishable by hanging, even though there was a war on, even though I hadn’t the first notion of where we would go and how we would get there, I was not afraid. Lorna, after all, had a plan, and I had a purpose. That was enough for me.