Sycamore Promises

by Paul Colt

  “We don’t have many comforts to offer,” Mason said. “A seat at the table is the best we can do.”

  “Thank you. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “This isn’t about the farm again, is it?”

  “Not unless you’ve changed your mind about selling.”

  “I’ve not. So, then what is it?”

  “We’re organizing a militia to defend Lawrence.”

  “Defend Lawrence from what?”

  “Missouri men are raising a large force. They’re calling it a posse under Sheriff Jones. Whoever heard of a posse approaching a thousand men?”

  “A thousand?”

  “We believe. Worse still, our dithering governor may give it the legitimacy of calling it a territorial militia.”

  “Why attack Lawrence?”

  “The governor considers our free-state opposition to his pro-slavery legislature a rebellion. He feels compelled to put it down in the name of law and order.”

  “But we’ve only chosen to express our rights.”

  “It would appear one man’s right is another man’s rebellion. Unfortunately, the man in power comes down on the side of rebellion. He can’t raise enough opposition to our cause in Kansas, so he turns to Atchison and his Missouri ruffians. We expect them to march any day now. Will you join us?”

  Micah drummed the table with his fingers. “I suppose I must.”

  Clare gasped.

  “What about my man, Caleb?”

  “The runaway? You’d arm a black man?”

  “Caleb is free. And, yes, I’d arm him.”

  “It’s not for me to say, but I’d advise against it. There’d be plenty on our side who’d not take kindly to the idea. Opposition to slavery is one thing. Arming them is a mite more equality than most folks are inclined to condone.”

  “They’re wrong about that.”

  “It’d only make trouble; we’ve got enough of that already. Are you with us or not?”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” He rose. “We’ll see you in Lawrence as soon as you can get there.” He turned to the door, giving Clare a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

  Clare waited for the door to close and Thorne’s footsteps to climb up the ridge.

  “You’re going?”

  “I must.”

  “But, Micah, it will be dangerous.”

  “Clare, sooner or later the slavery question must be settled for Kansas and the rest of the country. We have a duty to stand for high moral purpose.”

  “What will you tell Caleb?”

  “The truth.”

  “You are going to defend his right to freedom, but he is not welcome to join you.”

  “He’s welcome to join me. It’s others that don’t welcome him. I don’t agree with it, but that’s the truth. The good book says there’s a season: ‘A time to every purpose under heaven.’ ” He crossed the room and took her in his arms.

  “I don’t like that man. He looks at me.”

  “What red-blooded man wouldn’t?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know.” He kissed her.

  Lawrence

  December 2, 1855

  Micah walked to Lawrence on a cold, blustery day. Snow snakes skittered along the rutted road on a gusty wind, gathering drifts. The fortifications he found surprised him. Between Lane, Jennison, and Montgomery, they’d recruited a force of some five hundred men. They’d built a defensive perimeter of mounded barriers linked by a network of trenches and rifle pits. Eldridge House stood at the center of the defense with the six-pounder prominent in her upper turret. Micah found Thorne in the hotel lobby with Lane.

  “Micah, glad you’ve come.” Lane extended his hand. “The festivities should begin any day now. Jones’s column was last seen a day’s march east of here. We’ve prepared a nice reception for them.”

  “It seems so. Where do I report?”

  “Doc Jennison has the east flank; Montgomery holds the heights on Mount Oread to the west. My men man the center to our south. I’m keeping a reserve to reinforce any breach or defend to the north should they attempt an envelopment. You may join Mr. Thorne’s reserves.”

  “The men are camped behind the hotel,” Thorne said. “We’ve taken over the stable for shelter. I see you’ve brought your own weapons. Are you equipped with powder and shot?”

  “I’ve some. If it comes to a fight, I shall need more.”

  “The hotel storeroom serves as an armory. Come this way.”

  A thick blanket of rumpled-felt cloud rolled off the western plains, laden with the heavy scent of snow. Jones led a column some twelve hundred strong north along the wagon road to Lawrence. He drew a halt as two horsemen galloped down the road from the west. The scouts drew rein to report.

  “I’d say they’re fixin’ to fight, Sheriff. We got ’em outnumbered, but they’re dug in around that Eldridge House. Three, maybe four, rings of earthworks. Looks to be a cannon in the top turret of the hotel.”

  “They built the damn thing with the intent of a fortification. Very good then. Stay by in case I am in need of a messenger.” He rode on.

  They reached Lawrence as dusk fell. Jones centered his line on Eldridge House southeast of town. He sent two hundred men east and west under the command of two of his most experienced deputies. They made camp and lit fires for warmth and to show the strength of their numbers.

  Night came with a cold, hard wind and light swirl of snow. Micah found Salmon Brown sheltered with the reserves in the stable. The men huddled together for warmth, unwilling to risk fire in the flammable confines of a stable. Word spread on light clouds of steam. The governor’s Missouri men had arrived.

  “Rumors say they’s a lot of ’em,” Salmon said.

  “Let’s go out front and have us a look.” Micah rose.

  “Owen, you stay by and keep us a place. This barn’s pretty near full-up.”

  Owen needed no encouragement to stay out of the cold. Micah led the way around to the front of the hotel. Campfires too numerous to count half-ringed the town from the river to the dark peak of Mount Oread.

  “Makes you wonder if they’s anyone left in Missouri,” Salmon said in a whisper of steam.

  “They rush us come morning, it’s gonna make for one powerful fight.”

  “Father said it must come to this—it’s God’s will.”

  “Sure looks like it. You scared, Salmon?”

  “Fool not to be.”

  Up Massachusetts, the jangle of harness chain announced the approach of a carriage. The driver drew rein in front of Eldridge House. Charles Robinson stepped down from the driver’s seat beside a black-cloaked figure. They mounted the boardwalk step. Caught in pale window light, the dark-cloaked figure revealed himself—Governor Wilson Shannon.

  “What’s he doin’ here?” Salmon said.

  Micah shrugged.

  Robinson led Shannon inside. James Lane greeted them.

  “We’ve a room upstairs where we can talk.” Lane led the way up the stairs.

  Jennison and Montgomery eyed the governor suspiciously.

  The room was furnished with a small table, chairs, and a sideboard laid with a crystal decanter and glasses.

  “Brandy?” Robinson offered.

  “On a night such as this? It’s a must.”

  Robinson poured. He handed glasses to Shannon and Lane.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen.” He set the decanter on the table at his elbow. “Governor, thank you for coming. We have a situation here cool heads must resolve before blood is shed.”

  December 3, 1855

  Dawn brought more snow. Jones passed his glass over the earthworks. Men could be seen moving among the trenches. Rifle pits bristled with sharpshooters. Lane had put up a stout defense. We try to march on that town, a lot a’ men gonna die. He snapped the glass closed. “Messenger!”

  “Rider comin’. Looks like a flag of truce. Hard to tell in the snow.”

  Lane moved up the trench to his forward p
osition. A gray specter resolved out of the swirling snow. The rider drew rein at the perimeter wreathed in steam.

  “Got a message for James Lane from Sheriff Jones.”

  “You found him.”

  “The sheriff says there’s no need of sheddin’ a lot of innocent blood here. Hand over those responsible for the Coleman cabin raid, and he’ll take his prisoners and depart with his posse.”

  “Like he done justice to the man who killed Charles Dow? You tell Jones—”

  “That will be enough, James,” Robinson said. “Governor?”

  “This is Governor Shannon. I have a note for Sheriff Jones.”

  The wind roared out of the west, driving blinding white torrents of snow. Visibility deteriorated to the point the messenger had difficulty finding his way back to Jones.

  “I have a note from Governor Shannon.”

  “Shannon? What’s he doin’ there?” Jones read the note.

  “What’s the governor want us to do?” a man nearby asked. “Die on them earthworks or die out here in the snow?”

  “Man’s right,” the messenger said. “You cain’t fight nature like this and expect to win.”

  “Mount up, boys. The Governor says we’re headed back to Franklin.”

  Sycamore

  Candlelight flickered on the frosted window. Outside the wind howled; snow swirled white devils in a wild winter dance. Miriam held the book toward the halo of light, moving her finger across the page as the words came to her.

  “You goin’ read that book all night, girl?”

  She glanced toward the sleeping pallet in the darkened far corner.

  “I got a spot’s all warm for you here.”

  “You do, do you?”

  “I do.”

  “I seem to recall you said that once before.”

  “I did. I seem to recall you findin’ no fault in my warm.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t, did I?”

  “No fault a’tall.”

  “Wellst if you’s to put it like that, there’s a little somethin’s been on my mind.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, what that be?”

  She closed the book and stood. She lifted her night shift over her head and smiled into the darkness behind her. She snuffed out the candle and crossed the room, her promises frosted in gray window light and orange ember glow. He pulled back the quilt to receive her. She wriggled into hard-muscled warmth and was gathered into his arms.

  “Mmm. That is warm.”

  “See what I told you? Now what might you have on your . . . mind you said?”

  “I been thinkin’.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “What ‘uh oh’?”

  “When you be thinkin’, it usually end up begettin’ big things.”

  “No, I been thinkin’ ’bout begettin’ a little thing.”

  Caleb propped himself on an elbow and caught a dark glimmer in her eyes in the low light. “What sort a’ little thing you begettin’ to think about?”

  “A little thing like Elizabeth.” She kissed him soft and sweet. “It’d be so nice and easy to.” She kissed him hard.

  “There you go again, begettin big ideas.”

  “Um hmm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  * * *

  Lawrence

  January, 1856

  The Eldridge House polling station did a brisk business this election day monitored by Lane and a few of his men. They came in orderly lines, placed their ballots, and left. Charles Robinson, head of the Free State party, stood by, an intent observer. They’d dispatched Montgomery to the east and Jennison to the west to set up similar monitoring at polling places across the territory. This time they meant to aggressively ensure the votes taken were the votes of Kansans. The precautions proved unnecessary. Both Governor Shannon and Atchison had satisfied themselves that the legitimate territorial legislature had been chosen by the previous election. The election being conducted by the free-staters was both unnecessary and illegal.

  The votes were counted and consolidated over the course of the next two weeks. When all the votes were tallied, Kansans elected a free-state legislature by a wide margin. That legislative body would elect Charles Robinson governor. Kansas would now have two legislatures and two opposing governors.

  The White House

  Washington City

  January 20, 1856

  A snow storm boiled out of the Blue Ridge, swirling down the Potomac, snarling street traffic in the city. Pierce gazed at a white wonderland beyond his office window as he pondered the problem at hand.

  “Secretary Davis is here, sir.”

  “Send him in.” Pierce stood to greet his secretary of war. “Jefferson, thank you for coming on short notice and under such difficult conditions.”

  “A good soldier gets an urgent summons from the commander in chief; what more is there to do? Let me guess: it’s about that election in Kansas.”

  “It is. Have a seat.” He handed Davis a telegram. “Governor Shannon’s report.”

  Davis read the cryptic communique. “What do you propose to do about it?”

  “I’ll address Congress, of course. We have a state of rebellion on our hands. I’ll make the case to Congress and the people that such lawlessness is not to be condoned. It is incumbent upon us to ensure the exercise of lawful authority. Governor Shannon will doubtlessly need the assistance of your department to maintain order.”

  “I was afraid that’s where this was headed. As we’ve discussed, Mr. President, the use of federal troops in domestic matters raises serious constitutional questions.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that speech before. Unfortunately, we can’t spare the luxury of indulging it in this case.”

  “Can’t the governor raise a local militia to enforce the law?”

  “Not in sufficient force.”

  “You’d think a territory with sufficient popular support to elect a legitimate legislature would be able to raise a militia to enforce the will of the people on the losing side.”

  “Come now, Jefferson. You’re a southerner. Don’t be naive.”

  “If my observation seems naive, perhaps we have a different problem.”

  “You know the problem as well as I. You’ll make the Fort Leavenworth command available to Governor Shannon as we discussed.”

  Davis confined his misgivings to a scowl. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Capitol Hill

  Washington City

  January 24, 1856

  The chamber rose, dark-suited legislators framed in the tawny, wood-paneled glow of soft light spilling from tall, even rows of windows. Applause died out to the echoes of the speaker’s gavel.

  “Honorable gentlemen, I give you the president of the United States.”

  Pierce climbed the podium to another round of restrained applause. He acknowledged the pro-forma enthusiasm with a smile and wave. The appearance of such popularity, dutifully reported by the press, could do no harm to his bid for re-nomination.

  “Please, please.” He held up his hands in a feeble appeal for quiet that served only to encourage his side of the aisle to carry on. At last, members began to take their seats. Order spread over the chamber as the starched convocation settled in their chairs.

  “Gentlemen, I come before you today on a matter of grave concern. There exists today in our Kansas Territory no less than a state of open rebellion. By now you have heard the reports. Certain factions in Kansas have sought by unlawful election to establish legislative and executive offices in opposition to the territory’s duly elected legislature and duly appointed governor.”

  Some restless muttering and uneasy postures could be heard in the northern and northeastern delegations. Pierce continued in seeming disregard.

  “Kansas now claims two territorial governments with opposing governors and capitals: one established by the rule of law, the other asserted as a platform for insurrection against lawful governing authority. These lawless usurpers and assemblies must disband and disperse. Shoul
d they fail to resign their fraudulent claims, the legitimate territorial governor shall be within the right of law to call out local militias to put down their rebellion.”

  An undercurrent of disagreement rippled through the assembly.

  “Radical extremists have seized the controversy as an opportunity to advance their cause by lawless means. Governor Shannon has asked for our support in putting down this rebellion and restoring order. I have asked the secretary of war to make sufficient federal troops available to the governor and his appointed magistrates and militias so as to restore the rule of law and bring this uprising to a swift and just end.”

  Southern Democrats rose to applaud. Their northern colleagues followed in somewhat restrained support. Northern representatives affiliated with other party interests sat in stunned silence.

  He means to use federal troops buzzed from incredulous mouth to ear.

  Fort Leavenworth

  Kansas Territory

  January 28, 1856

  Strong winter wind howled around post command, driving drifting and snow snakes before it. It rattled the windows and whined in the eaves, challenging the potbelly stove in the commandant’s office to beat back the chill. A knock at the door brought Colonel Edwin “Bull” Sumner up from the warmth of his coffee cup.

  “Telegram, sir.” The fresh-faced trooper with a German accent snapped off his salute and extended the transcribed message.

  Sumner accepted the foolscap and returned a resigned salute. “That will be all, Corporal.”

  The trooper turned on his heel and left the cramped office.

  Sumner lifted a brow at the war department sender line. He cut to the bottom of the page—J. Davis’s signature had his attention. He scanned the cryptic lines, closed heavy lidded eyes, and let the meaning sink in. He read the lines a second time, jaw muscles bunched behind a full-face beard shot through with gray. A cousin to abolitionist Senator Charles Sumner, Bull Sumner had his own sympathies. They had no standing in this. The orders were clear: support Pierce’s pro-slavery governor no matter the will of the people, much less the sentiments of his own conscience. They intended to use federal troops to uphold and defend the ill-gotten result of a corrupt election. He was but a simple soldier, no constitutional lawyer. Still, he’d learned enough of the separation between civil and military authority to know right from wrong. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, the barest hint of steam tracing his breath. The orders were clear. He re-read a phrase: ‘unlawful insurgency.’ Unlawful indeed. Who here is on the wrong side of the law? He had his orders.