Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  June 7, 1852

  Concord, Massachusetts

  Hillside House, home of Amos Bronson Alcott and his family, was a big, lopsided frame structure built over a stone foundation around a central chimney. Peeling paint made it look dilapidated in spite of the gay flowerboxes beneath the ground floor windows. When Anna knocked, the door was opened almost immediately by a balding man with long white forelocks. “Good afternoon,” Anna said with a broad smile. “I am Anna Lagrange. This is my friend Nancy Vreeland. We have an appointment with Louisa Alcott.”

  “Louisa is my daughter,” the man said. “And you are not welcome here Mrs. Van-Buskirk-Lagrange. But Miss Vreeland may come in if she wishes.”

  Anna was stunned and took a moment to gather herself. “Very well, sir. May I ask the basis for your animosity?”

  “With pleasure,” he replied, drawing his shoulders back and raising his chin haughtily. “You once described me in your newspaper as either insane or half-witted and an ignorant and presuming charlatan.”

  It took Anna a moment, then she shook her head. “No, sir. That was Joseph T. Buckingham in the Boston Courier who said that.”

  “You quoted him in your paper and your paper is much more widely read.” He took a breath.

  “The paper may have quoted him, but I write straight news, not literary criticism.”

  “If that was not enough,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “your family’s involvement in the shameful rape of Mexico would be enough to bar you from my door. I was happy to see that your father died from his participation, but disappointed that his Excellency President Santa Anna did not execute your mother as the spy that she was.

  Anna stammered a moment, then turned to Nancy. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage.” She walked back down the path to the road, doing her best to appear calm.

  ~

  It was after dark when Nancy, accompanied by a young woman of about nineteen or twenty, who was carrying a lantern, walked from the house to the carriage. “I don’t suppose I can say anything by way of apology,” the young woman said as Anna opened the carriage door.

  “I presume that you are Louisa Alcott?” Anna said.

  “No. I’m Anna Alcott. My father wouldn’t let my sister come out.”

  “Then I thank you for your thoughts and wish you good evening.” Anna looked at Nancy. “I’m anxious to go.”

  “Yes, of course.” Nancy smiled at Anna Alcott, then climbed into the carriage.

  Anna reached across her and slammed the carriage door. “Drive on, please,” she called loudly.

  Nancy sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. “Don’t punish me for that man’s boorish behavior.”

  “I won’t. How was it?”

  “Gruesome, but I decided that you’d want me to stay, so I did.”

  “Tell me about it. Who were all those people that kept coming and going?”

  Nancy shrugged. “I only knew a few and the names I caught meant nothing. Before dinner, I was shown the girls’ rooms, then Mr. Alcott lectured me on how to raise children until dinner was served. They’re vegetarians and they make a huge production of the meal with specified topics of conversation. Tonight it was Plato. After dinner, the family staged a theatrical play. It wasn’t bad, actually.”

  “What about the Underground Railroad?”

  “The Alcotts provide a safe house for runaways, but they have no idea where the slaves come from, who brings the slaves to them, who takes them away or where they’re taken.”

  “In other words we wasted our time coming here.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry Mr. Alcott was such a bastard.”

  “Joseph Buckingham was right. He is either insane or half-witted. Before today I thought he was just a terrible writer.”

  “There was a black man at dinner who suggested that the best way we can help is to become stockholders in the Underground Railroad.”

  “Meaning: We’ll take your money but please stay away.”

  “I think that sums it up pretty accurately.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I just wrote him a bank draft.”

  “I still want to be more active.”

  “Then we’ll keep looking for a connection until we find one.”

  Anna was quiet for some time. “Or we could just forget the whole thing. I’ve been pushing you into this – if you want to forget it… Well, you know what I mean.”

  Nancy took Anna’s hand and squeezed it gently. “This is the turning point in world history when slavery will be abolished. We should take part in it, if we can.”

  June 14, 1852

  Oswego, New York

  Abraham Van Buskirk was seated across the desk from a man who had refused to offer his name. The man was dressed in an expensive suit and his skin was so black that it seemed to glow, making Abe feel pale by comparison. “After speaking to some railroaders in Concord, Massachusetts,” the man was saying, “Mrs. Lagrange and Miss Vreeland decided to become Stockholders.”

  “Stockholders - I don’t understand,” Abe said.

  “We use railroad metaphors. A Stockholder is a financial contributor, escaping slaves are Passengers who’ve obtained a Railroad Ticket, hiding places are Stations, and guides are Conductors. People like me are Stationmasters.”

  “Why did Mrs. Lagrange and Miss Vreeland change their minds about actively participating?”

  “We thought that they could best serve the Railroad as Stockholders.”

  “You thought?”

  “There must be executives to make decisions in any organization, Mr. Van Buskirk.” He smiled. “Mrs. Lagrange said that you wanted to help.”

  “Yes,” Abe said, after a momentary pause. “I live on a peninsula that splits New York and Newark Bays. On a clear night, our boathouse light can be seen from New York, Long Island or Brooklyn. I propose to buy a steam launch with enough range to…”

  “Mrs. Lagrange also said that you speak French,” the man interrupted.

  “Well, yes. At least I did when I was young. Mrs. Lagrange’s great aunt was French. She taught me. But I’m no longer fluent.”

  “A man of color who speaks French would be very valuable to us. The French Canadians, in what was Lower Canada, are much less discriminatory against people of color than are those in Canada West.”

  “I was under the impression that we were welcome in all of Canada.”

  The man shook his head. “I wish it was true but unfortunately some of the city charters exclude coloreds from practicing a trade, selling goods, fishing in public waters, and such as that.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “Yes. But, as I said, the French Canadians are much more welcoming.”

  “Assuming that I could polish my French enough to be understood, what did you think I could do?”

  “We’d hoped that you’d live there to help new arrivals.”

  “Could my sister come with me?”

  “No.”

  Abe shook his head. “I can’t leave my sister alone in New Jersey.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The man stood up and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  Abe got to his feet but didn’t accept the offered hand. “That’s it? I either do what you want or you don’t need me?”

  “If something changes we’ll let you know. Of course any financial contribution that you would like to make in the meantime would be gratefully accepted.”

  Abe turned away and left.

  June 17, 1852

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Winfield Scott was a big, tall man who was rapidly becoming a very fat man. “I know where your brother Jack is because I approved his recommendation for Military Governor of California,” he said to Anna. “Are your mother and Robert still in California with him?”

  “My mother’s in the New Mexico Territory and Robert is in what may soon become the Kansas Territory,” Anna replied.

  “What do you think of the Kansas proposals?”

/>   “That’s a question I, as a reporter, should be asking you, as a candidate for President. What’s your opinion, General?”

  “For the record?”

  “Let’s try off the record first. I’d like to know your true thoughts.”

  “My true thoughts are that it’s a dirty trick. We ceded that land to the Indians permanently. Now we’re going to take it back. It adds an entirely new meaning to the term Indian Giver.”

  She smiled. “What’s your opinion on the record?”

  “You can’t stop progress.”

  “That’s it?”

  He shrugged.

  “You’re going to need something better than that when you’re being interviewed by the hostile press, General.”

  “I rather expected you to be the hostile press, Anna.”

  “Me? No, sir. I’m on your side. Unless you pick up the pro-slavery banner somewhere along the campaign trail.”

  “Do you think I have a chance at gaining the nomination?”

  “Yes, sir, but I think it’s going to be close.”

  “How close?”

  Anna considered her answer for several seconds. “The only real issue is the Compromise and, more specifically, the Fugitive slave act. It splits the country right across the middle between North and South. President Fillmore’s pro-slavery views will get him the majority of the votes from the south. The northern votes will go to you, except on the first few ballots when New England will go to Daniel Webster. Eventually the New England delegates will realize that Webster doesn’t have a chance of winning and they’ll reluctantly come over to you. The margin between you and the President will hinge on how many northern votes he gets.”

  “That’s very astute.”

  “It’s a habit. I was active in several past political campaigns.”

  “Yes. I remember. Any last-minute advice?”

  “Actually, there is something, if you won’t take offense.”

  “Fire away.”

  “You’ve been trying to placate southern voters by tiptoeing around the compromise issue. That’s a waste of time. There’s nothing you can do to attract southern votes. Nothing. They see you as New Jersey establishment in spite of your Virginia roots. On the other hand, if you reinforce your anti-slavery position, you’ll gain a few votes from New England and the undecided northern delegates. That should do it.”

  “If I’m elected without any southern support it would be a giant step toward secession of the South and civil war.”

  “We’re only talking about the primary now,” Anna reminded him. “By November, the voters will have forgotten Fillmore and the issues may have changed.”

  “Why don’t you come to work for me?”

  Anna shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m more conservative than I was when I was a girl, but I’m still too liberal to fit into your campaign, sir.”

  “Did your husband go to William and Mary, Anna?”

  “My husband?” Anna looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Yes. Charlie graduated from William and Mary. I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know what year. Why do you ask?”

  “I ran into a nephew of his in Williamsburg recently.”

  “I never met any of Charlie’s family. He was going to resign from the Rangers…” She stopped in embarrassment as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Sorry.” She opened her pocketbook and found a handkerchief. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  June 18, 1852

  Washington, D.C.

  The cab driver reined in the horses, then bent down to speak to his passenger inside the coach. “This here is the address you give me, Miss. Are you sure this is where you be wantin’ to go?”

  Anna leaned forward to peer through the cab’s window. Nestled between two first class hotels, in a fashionable neighborhood, the brownstone building was nothing like what Anna had expected. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t go in there?”

  “Yes, Miss. It’s a famous gentlemen’s club.”

  Anna continued to peer out through the cab window. “It looks very respectable.”

  “I ain’t saying it ain’t and I ain’t saying it is. I’m just saying it ain’t a place no gentlewoman should be visitin’, is all I’m sayin’.”

  “I think I’ll be all right. Will you wait for me?”

  “Yes, Miss. You can be certain I will. But there’s no parkin’ just here. I’ll be at the park at the end of the street. Send somebody to fetch me when yer ready to go.”

  “Thank you.” Anna opened the door, stepped down and walked closer to the entrance.

  A small brass plaque beside the doorway identified the establishment only as Doña Carlotta’s. Anna pulled the bell chain and a moment later, the door was opened by a liveried man who stood in the door like a statue and said absolutely nothing.

  “Doña Carlotta Ramirez, please,” Anna said after an extremely long silence.

  “Your name, please.”

  “Anna Lagrange. My mother, Marina Van Buskirk, suggested that I call on Doña Carlotta.”

  “You are expected. Step in please, Mrs. Lagrange.” He waited until Anna was in the vestibule, then closed the door, retrieved a brass speaking tube from a hook on the wall, blew into it, and then spoke. “Mrs. Van Buskirk’s daughter is here, Madam.” He put the tube to his ear, listened, then removed it from his ear to speak into it again. “Yes, Madam.” He hung the tube back on the hook, then swept his arm toward the hallway with a deep bow. “Up the staircase, if you please, Madam. Doña Carlotta will meet you at the top of the stairs.”

  “Thank you.” Anna walked toward the massive red-carpeted staircase while trying not to gawk at the tapestries between velvet draperies in the lavishly appointed marble and mirrored hall.

  A woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was overdressed for this time of day but very fashionable. Anna had expected the woman to be her mother’s age but she was closer to her own age. “Doña Carlotta?”

  “Anna.” The woman held out her hand. “You must call me Carla.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Carla.” Anna raised the hem of her dress and climbed the steps to accept the offered hand. “This is quite a place.”

  “The clients like it, but it’s far too ostentatious for my taste.” She took Anna’s arm and guided her down the long hallway. “The building was to be a hotel but the holding company fell into receivership only days before it opened. I bought it from the bank and left the décor as it was.”

  Anna was noticing all the closed doors. “Are those rooms – never mind.”

  “How is your mother?”

  “Fine, I think. I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

  “Is she still living with that Texas Ranger?”

  Anna was shocked by the question. “Yes. That is… She and Josiah are still… I never thought of it as their living together.”

  “At their age surviving together might be a better description.” She opened the door to an apartment and stepped back to let Anna go in. “I’m not sure if Marina cares for him or if she’s just keeping him occupied so that he won’t kill your brother.” She followed Anna in and closed the door. “If it’s the latter, I hope he gets bored with her soon. If ever a man needed killing, it’s William Van Buskirk. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I don’t mind and I heartily agree. As a child I was never fond of him and after he killed my husband I’ve prayed every day for his painful death.” Anna was looking around the living room. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. What would you like to drink?”

  “Nothing, thank you.” Anna walked to the open terrace doors and looked out. “You’ll be able to see the new Capitol dome from here.”

  “If they ever finish it. Were you changing the subject?”

  Anna turned back into the room. “I suppose I was. Thinking of my brother William tends to depress me. I wasn’t aware that you knew him.”

  “Then you must not know anything, at all, about me.”

  “I know someth
ing about you. I know that when I was a girl you were hiding in a vacant house at Van Buskirk Point and wearing my clothes for several weeks. I also know that Mother helped you start this business. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.”

  “William was my adulterous lover. He set me to ruin. Your mother saved me. Simple as that.”

  “Mother saved you by establishing you as a prostitute?”

  “I’m not a prostitute and this business was my idea, not Marina’s.”

  Anna looked dubious.

  “She loaned me money and rented me the building where the Willard Hotel now stands at a reduced price. That’s all.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Maybe not. But I don’t want you to think badly of Marina. She and your brothers Thomas and Robert saved my life. Both literally and figuratively. I’ll love them forever. Especially Robert. If I had my life to live over I would try very hard to make Robert part of it.”

  “Robert?” Anna laughed.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “Robert’s disdainful of women.”

  “Some men are smarter than others. Robert’s one of the smartest ones. He avoided me like the plague, but he was always sweet and caring.” She walked to the terrace doors and closed them. “It’s already getting hot.”

  “Yes. It’s the one thing I dislike about Washington. The climate here is beastly.”

  “If we’re not going to have any refreshments could we at least sit down?”

  “Of course.” Anna sat down on the nearest chair. “And please don’t let me prevent you from having some refreshment.”

  Carlotta sat down on a couch and kicked off her little French slippers. “No. Let’s get down to business. You want to know the Washington dirt. I can provide it. What’s in it for me?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your friendship.”

  “I can’t promise you that until I know you better.”

  “Good. An honest answer. I like honesty.”