Clay said nothing to that, but he knew she was offering him an excuse to miss the event. That was not to be the case. He grew well rapidly, and when the day of the wedding arrived, he was there.
It was a big wedding, held in the Bentons’ church in Richmond on Saturday morning. Clay felt like a fool, and his face was pale as he walked in with his family, but he had steeled himself for the affair. He did it so well that later he could remember little of the ceremony. He remembered going by to congratulate the couple, but it was a mechanical sort of thing. He shook Gideon’s hand and even kissed the cheek of the bride, but the stares of the onlookers kept him stiff and unthinking.
“Thank you for coming, Clay,” was all that Gideon said, and Melanie was too tense even to say that much.
As quickly as he could, Clay made his escape, avoiding the reception. As he rode out, Bushrod Aimes said to Taylor Dewitt, “Well, there goes Clay to get drunk. Bet it’ll be a stem-winder this time!”
Clay, however, rode straight home and changed his formal attire for more simple dress. He caught up a large bundle that was in his room and went at once to his horse. Balancing the bulky package on the saddle horn, he rode along the road, thinking of the wedding and wondering how he’d ever be able to deal with the thing. His accident had brought some sort of catharsis to the bitterness that had driven him, but as he rode toward the backwoods, he knew that nothing had really changed. He was like a man who had caught a wild beast in some sort of trap and was holding the door for his life. He feared that if he relaxed for one instant, the wildness that had raged in him would burst out.
The air was keen, and he forced everything from his mind as he drew near to the Yancy place. The one thing that had sustained him for the past week had been the pleasure he had found in going through the old books he had read as a child. His parents had been lavish with books, and Clay rediscovered some of the pleasures he had known in the stories of Washington Irving. He read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle, and he knew that they would be a delight to Melora. He also found a copy of Gulliver’s Travels, with gorgeous illustrations of the little people in the land of Lilliput and the big people in Brobdingnag. He included this book, knowing that though Melora would not understand the text for some time, she would devour the pictures. The same was true of Pilgrim’s Progress, which he reread from beginning to end in one day’s sitting. It brought back the days when his mother would gather them all at the end of the day and read of Christian and Faithful and how they came to the Celestial City.
He had sorted out at least twenty books and packed them into a box, and now as he drew up in front of the Yancy cabin, Melora came sailing out the front door, shadowed by the other children. She didn’t speak, but her eyes were bright as diamonds, and when he stooped down to kiss her, she threw both arms around his neck and held on with all her might.
“Told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” Clay straightened up, and when he saw the Yancys come to stand on the porch, he grinned. “Came to settle my bill with my favorite nurse.”
It was a fine hour, taking the books out one by one and showing them to the family. Buford stood with his back against the wall, his wife beside him, and though neither of them said much except to exclaim over one of the books now and then, there was a brightness in their expressions. They led a hard life, eking a living out of the earth; to see the pleasure on Melora’s face was meat and drink to them.
When all the books were laid out on the table, Clay turned to the other children and asked, “Do you all have birthdays?”
Royal, age eight, stared at him as though he were dimwitted. “’Course we got birthdays!”
Clay laughed and said, “Come with me.” He led them outside and took some small packages out of his saddlebag. “Happy birthday, all of you,” he said, and he winked at Buford as they all tore into the presents.
“Mighty nice of you, Mr. Rocklin,” Buford said, nodding.
Clay cocked his head, then reached into the saddlebag, coming out with something he handed to Yancy, and he said, “Happy birthday to you, too, Buford.”
Yancy stared down at the revolver in the calfskin holster.
Slowly he pulled it out and held it in one hand. It was one of the new Colt .36 pistols, with a five-shot cylinder. They were rare as yet, and frightfully expensive. Buford Yancy lifted his eyes but could not say a word, for he well knew that he would never in years of work have earned enough spare cash for such a weapon. Finally he said, “I thank you, Mr. Rocklin.”
Clay laughed it off, saying, “Small enough gift for saving my worthless hide, Buford. Now this is for you, Mattie.”
Digging down into the other saddlebag, he pulled a bulky package out and handed it to the startled Mrs. Yancy. Winking at Buford as Mattie carefully untied the string and opened the package, Clay said, “Probably won’t be worth a dime to you. I picked it out myself.”
Mattie stared down at the folds of rich silk, green and crimson, in the package. She touched some of the buttons that Clay had gotten the clerk to include, then said without looking up, “It’s right nice, Mr. Clay.”
Clay wanted to ease the moment and said quickly, “Well, Mattie, if you’ll make me a glass of that sassafras tea you do so well, Buford and I will go try out this new pistol. Then, Melora, you can show me how well you can read some of those books.”
It was a fine day, and as Clay rode home at dusk, he wished that his own life were as simple and uncomplicated as that of Buford Yancy. But when he lay down on his bed late that night, he felt the magic of the afternoon slipping away. And as he tossed on the bed, he was plagued with bad dreams. Finally he got up and went to the window to stare out. The night was cloudy, and the oaks, stripped of most of their greenery, lifted clawlike branches to the dark skies. A rising wind keened around the house, then came to stir the tree outside his window. The branches clawed at the house and seemed to be trying to get at the sleepers inside. The moon slipped from behind a cloud, touched the tops of the trees with ghostly silver, then was covered as ragged clouds moved to cloak its brightness.
Clay stared out at the darkness for a long while, thinking of what might come. Finally he took a deep breath and went back to lie down on his bed—but he found no sleep that night. He lay there until dawn, and when the first rays of the morning touched his window, he rose and dressed with a heaviness of mind and spirit, finally going out to meet the day.
CHAPTER 6
A VISIT TO WASHINGTON
The snowflakes that fell on Washington on Election Eve of 1840 were heavy and larger than dimes. They fell on the Potomac so thickly that the river was like a moving white highway. By noon the streets were carpeted with a blanket six inches deep. The snow glittered like diamonds as Gid and Melanie sat in a carriage that carried them across town.
“It’s beautiful, Gid!” Melanie exclaimed, taking in the glistening spires of churches that flashed in the sunlight. “Even the ugly old buildings look like palaces!”
“Too bad we can’t have Washington covered with snow all the time,” Gid answered. He put his arm around her and gave a hearty squeeze. When she looked up at him, he said, “I enjoyed my honeymoon.”
A flush rose to color Melanie’s cheeks, but she lifted her lips for a kiss, then pulled him close, whispering, “I—I did, too!”
“Why, you shameless creature!” Gid laughed. “Weren’t you taught that women are supposed to be passive and free from passion?”
Melanie pushed him away, laughter edging her voice as she said, “I’ll try to be more formal in the future, Mr. Rocklin.”
“Don’t you do it! Stay just the way you are, Mellie,” he said, smiling at her. Then he looked down the street. The horse was forging his way steadily along, and the driver was carefully keeping his eyes turned to the front. “There’s the house,” Gid said, then frowned and shook his head. “I wish we could have our own place here, but it wouldn’t make sense since we’ll soon be at our first station.”
“I don’t mind, Gid,” Melan
ie said quickly. Their honeymoon had been brief, and it would not have been feasible for them to get quarters. Gideon had to return to West Point in a few days, and there was plenty of room at the Rocklin home, a large brownstone in the downtown area.
They drew up in front of the house, and the driver got down to retrieve their luggage. As Gid helped Melanie down, the front door opened, and Pompey, the Rocklins’ butler, came down the snow-covered steps. He was a lanky, limber man with skin the color of chocolate and a pair of merry brown eyes. “I been ‘spectin’ you, Mistuh Gideon,” he said happily, nodding his head. “Welcome home, Miz Rocklin!”
It gave Melanie a queer pleasure to be called by her new name, and she smiled warmly, saying, “Thank you, Pompey. But I think there’ll be one too many ladies named Rocklin, so you can call me Miss Melanie.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will certainly do so! Now—” Taking the bags from the driver, he said, “I got a big fire in the parlor, so you two go on in. Delilah will be bringing you something hot to drink right away!”
A few minutes later, the pair were sitting on an upholstered sofa in front of a blazing fire, drinking hot chocolate brought to them by Pompey’s wife, Delilah. The beverage was almost the same color as the plump servant who beamed on them as they both exclaimed that it was the best chocolate they’d ever had.
“We’ll have the good silver and the Dresden china tonight, Delilah,” Gideon’s mother said. “And be sure there’s plenty of food for our guests.” When Delilah left, she smiled, adding, “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked a few people for dinner tonight.” The ivory-colored dress she wore was exquisitely tailored so that her extra pounds were not evident. Her hair was carefully and tastefully done, framing her round face in an attractive fashion.
“I warned Mellie we’d have company,” Gideon said, grinning at his wife. What he’d actually said was, “Brace yourself, Mellie. My mother loves to give dinners. I think she’d give a dinner to celebrate the end of the world!” But now he went over to his mother and gave her a hug. “Who are we having tonight? Can’t be a politician. They’ll all be drunk.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Gideon!”
“Fact. The losers because they lost, and the winners because they won.”
“You know it’ll take at least four or five days to get the votes counted,” his mother chided. Then she turned to her new daughter-in-law, saying, “I know you’re tired, Melanie, but I did want you to meet a few people. Amos is so excited, Gideon,” she said quickly. “You’ve heard of Charles Finney?”
“The famous evangelist? Of course I have. Don’t tell me he’s going to be here?”
“Yes! He’s not speaking as much as he used to, now that he’s teaching at the college in Oberlin. But he came to Washington just to preach at our church, and Amos persuaded him to have dinner with us.”
“He’s a pretty stout character, from what I hear,” Gideon said cautiously.
“Oh yes, indeed!” Mrs. Rocklin agreed, her brown eyes alive with excitement. “I don’t think you’ll be bored.” Then she glanced at Melanie with a sly smile. “There’ll be a surprise for you at dinner, my dear! I think you’ll like it very much.”
She refused to say more and left at once to attend to the details. “I wonder what she’s got cooked up for you, Mellie?” Gid mused. He put his back toward the fire, soaking up the warmth, and shook his head. “I told you how it would be. Mother is kind, but she lives from one party to the next. I think she’s the most sociable person I’ve ever known.” He came over and sat down beside his wife. “If you get tired of all her parties, we’ll get you a place of your own until I graduate.”
“Oh no, Gid!” Melanie took his hands and held them. “I’ll enjoy meeting your friends. And after all, it’ll be good training for me, won’t it? I mean, we’ll always be moving from post to post, and an officer’s wife has to know how to handle people with tact, doesn’t she?”
“Well, Mother can get pretty bossy,” Gid said but kissed her and grinned. “Do you good to learn how to hold your own with a strong personality.” A thought came to him, and he added, “I’m looking forward to dinner. From what I hear of Rev. Finney, he’s a potent sort of clergyman. Wouldn’t put it past him to have us all on our knees.”
“Oh, Gid! Don’t be silly!”
They went upstairs and rested. Later in the afternoon they drove around the city, Gideon pointing out the sites of interest. They returned to the house just in time to dress for dinner. Melanie wore a powder blue dress, and Gid wore a dark blue suit. As she straightened his tie, he said, “Wonder what Mother’s surprise is. Hope it’s not something to do with more parties. I don’t intend to waste all the time I’ve got left at boring dinners.”
But Mrs. Rocklin met them at the foot of the stairs with a triumphant light in her eyes. “Now you step into the library, both of you.”
Gid allowed Melanie to go first and heard her gasp, “Ellen!” in surprise. He stepped into the large high-ceilinged room in time to see Ellen Benton being embraced by Melanie.
“There!” Mrs. Rocklin cried. “I knew you’d be glad to see your cousin, Melanie!” Then she turned to her son, and there was a slight hesitation in her manner. “Gideon, look who came to escort Ellen from Richmond.”
“Hello, Gid.” Gideon turned to his left, shocked to see Clay standing with his back to the wall. There was a sardonic light in Clay’s dark eyes, and he looked thinner.
“Clay!” Gideon said quickly, going at once to shake his hand. “By George, I’m glad to see you.” That was the truth, for bad reports had come from Gracefield of Clay’s behavior. And they were not false, Gid decided as he clapped his cousin on the back. The unmistakable signs of excess marred his handsome face, and he looked thin and drawn. But Gideon was smiling. “Can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve come!”
Melanie had disengaged herself from Ellen and came at once to greet Clay. Putting out her hand, she smiled nervously, saying, “Yes, it is good to see you, Clay. I hope you can stay for a while?”
“I’m just a delivery boy,” Clay said with a shrug. “Your father didn’t want Ellen to make the trip to Washington alone and asked me to escort her.” There was no ease in his voice, and it was obvious to all of them that he was stiff in his greeting to Melanie.
“I engineered the whole thing, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Rocklin spoke up. “I thought it might be good for Ellen to spend some time in Washington with you, Melanie. When Gideon goes back to West Point, it’ll be lonely with just us old folks here.”
Ellen said, “It was good of you to invite me, Mrs. Rocklin.” She looked very stylish in a green woolen dress that showed her figure to good advantage. She stepped close to Clay and lightly put her hand on his arm, adding, “Of course, I couldn’t have come if Clay hadn’t offered to bring me.”
There was, Gid saw, something possessive in Ellen’s manner. He didn’t know the young woman well, but the thought came to his mind that James Benton should have had better judgment than to trust Clay on such a mission. But he said only, “Well, now we can have some fun! I’ve got two days, and we can turn this town on its ear before I have to go back.”
At that moment a knock at the door sounded, and Mrs. Rocklin said with some agitation, “That must be Laura and Amos with Rev. Finney. I’ll go let them in myself.”
Gideon winked at Clay, a wry light in his eyes. “Did you know who our dinner guests are, Clay?”
“No.”
“The evangelist Charles Finney. He’s pretty outspoken on the slavery issue, and he’s made an ardent disciple of my brother-in-law. That’s my mother for you, I’m afraid,” he added, shaking his head in mock despair. “She brings in Clay Rocklin, a dyed-in-the-wool Southern planter, to have dinner with two abolitionists!”
Clay suddenly grinned. “Well, I hope we don’t destroy each other, Gid.”
“Just nod quietly and grunt every once in a while, Clay,” Gid urged. “That’s all I ever do at Mother’s dinners. Makes life easier.”
&nb
sp; They waited somewhat awkwardly, but soon Mrs. Rocklin came in, shepherding her guests. She introduced Ellen to the Steeles, then said, “This is Rev. Charles Finney.”
Finney was the most famous preacher in America, with the possible exception of Rev. Beecher of Boston. He was a tall man, spare of form and with the most commanding eyes a man could possess—a pale blue that seemed to burn with energy. He listened to the names, then spoke in a firm but restrained voice, seeming rather less than his reputation. He was a lawyer by profession, who had undergone a dramatic conversion to belief in Jesus Christ. At once he had begun to preach, and his meetings had grown so large that few buildings could hold the crowds that came to hear him. He was not, however, universally admired—many traditional ministers deplored some of his practices.
The group went to dinner, and during the meal Stephen asked Finney about the opposition he had encountered. “Rev. Finney, I hear your methods have considerable opposition from your fellow ministers, but I don’t know exactly what they oppose in them. They call them ‘New Measures,’ I understand.”
Finney said evenly, “Why, some people call them that, Mr. Rocklin, mostly those who oppose them.” He began to speak of his ministry, and it was obvious that he was not a ranting preacher, for he spoke fluently and well. Clay, who was not enamored of preachers as a breed, was impressed as the man said, “I pray for people by name in the service. After the sermon is over, I ask those who feel a hunger for God to come to the Anxious Seat.”
“The Anxious Seat?” Gideon asked, puzzled. “What is that?”
“Why, just a chair or bench,” Finney replied. “When God begins to work in a sinner’s heart, there will be anxiety. It’s God’s way of drawing sinners to Himself.”
“What happens when people go to—to the Anxious Seat, Rev. Finney?”
Finney gave a sudden smile, which made him look much younger. “Usually nothing dramatic, Mr. Rocklin,” he said. “A minister or a believer will pray for him and read him some of the Bible. And then one of two things will happen—either he will repent and be converted, or else he will run away from God.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 9