American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  Yet the brain of the Virginian had been anything but fallow. The seeds that had been planted, both in North Carolina and in Boston, had germinated in the fertile soil of his heart. Now the shoots sent out from those seeds were growing in many directions he could no longer ignore.

  Shortly after his tense ride and discussion with Denton Beaumont, he had written to Frederick Trowbridge and, with kind regards and sincere thanks for their consideration, said that it was his decision to decline their offer to make him a candidate for a seat in the U.S. Senate. The matters of his plantation, his family, and his personal life, he said, required a more complete level of his attention than would be possible should a Senate bid prove successful. Again he recommended his friend and neighbor Denton Beaumont for their consideration.

  He heard nothing in reply, nor was he aware of the level of annoyance his declining the offer aroused. There were those who had gone to considerable trouble to gather so select and impressive a roster with which to welcome Richmond Davidson into the upper echelons of Virginia’s political elite. It never entered their considerations that he might actually decline. They took his doing so as a personal affront upon all those who had been present at the meeting where the offer was presented. Did the man not realize how things stood: They were not merely asking him if he was interested… they were telling him that he had been chosen. It was his duty to accept, for the sake of Virginia and the South.

  Frederick Trowbridge tried to take the news as calmly as possible, for he had always considered Richmond a friend. Jefferson Davis, however, was furious. The secretary of war vented his wrath on whoever would listen, especially on Trowbridge, since it had been his idea in the first place, declaring that if he had anything to do with it, Richmond Davidson would never find himself with an opportunity to hold public office again.

  All this, however, took place beyond the ken of Davidson himself, who remained content with his decision. He did not receive a reply to his letter from Trowbridge or from any of the others. Nor had he again seen his neighbor after their chilly parting.

  In the early months of 1856, news reached him that an aging former congressman from Virginia by the name of Everett had been named as the senatorial candidate put forward and favored by the political hierarchy. Why his friend had been passed over, Richmond Davidson had no idea.

  But his mind dwelt little on such matters. Once his own decision was made, he put politics behind him as much as was possible. His thoughts, rather, continued to focus more and more on the events of his two days in Boston the previous spring. Most of the speakers, on both sides of the issue, had recited the same arguments that were now familiar to most serious, thinking persons in the country. It seemed to Richmond that both sides sought more to justify existing positions than discover overspreading truth that would lead the nation out of the quagmire of increasing conflict. What had lodged most deeply in Richmond’s mind, however, was the statement made by his onetime acquaintance Wingate.

  “This matter, as is true of all matters of an ethical nature,” the English theologian had said, “concerns far higher truths than what might be allowed technically by the letter of the law. Certainly, the letter of imperfect law gives rise to the justifications of many actions and positions that do not reflect God’s deepest intent. Jesus himself spoke of divorce in such a way, indicating that while it may in fact be allowed by the law’s letter, it was yet an abomination in God’s sight and had not been intended by God from the beginning.

  “We observe precisely this dichotomy between God’s original intent and the lesser ‘allowances’ that human sin and human law have made inevitable, even sometimes necessary, in a multitude of institutions and human ethical dilemmas,” Wingate had continued. “Whenever justification is one’s objective, it is not difficult to find ample basis for such no matter what one’s position. The politics of your nation, and the fundamental principle of what you call the right of states, may well validate the institution of slavery according to your Constitution and the law of your land. That is not for me to say one way or another, especially as I am a mere observer to your unique constitutional system. In like manner, the Bible itself would seem to justify and validate opposing sides of many issues, divorce and slavery certainly among them. However, I would ask in all seriousness and sincerity, are there higher considerations to be weighed? And what, I would ask further, is the highest such consideration of all?

  “So then,” he had concluded, “for the true Christian individual—seeking not his own will but God’s will, seeking not mere justification for a position according to human reasoning or constitutional analysis, but seeking God’s highest original intent, seeking not what a law may allow but what it may intend at its foundation—the question becomes, not a matter of what may be justified, even allowed in Scripture or allowed by your Constitution or by law… but what is right?

  “What did God purpose from the beginning? Ignoring the many arguments with which we are familiar and which we have heard again this evening, I believe the question reduces to a far simpler equation of truth: What is right? What did God intend when he created man in his image?

  “Any moral or ethical dilemma can be resolved, in my view, by examining it prayerfully and personally through just this lens—the lens of God’s eternal and perfect intent. When decisions are called for, though they may involve thorny conundrums of great division and debate, inquiring what is God’s intent will clarify the most fundamental issues of any matter. Then every man and every woman must live out their own answers to those questions as God gives them the strength and courage to do so.”

  Wingate’s talk had so lodged in his mind that he had written to his new acquaintance James Waters to obtain as much of it in writing as the journalist had been able to transcribe. As he read and pondered the quotations Waters had sent, Richmond Davidson found himself more and more unsettled. He was not so much convicted of wrong-doing in the matter of ownership of slaves, but disturbed that he had not brought the question of God’s eternal purpose into his considerations. Why had he found it so comfortable to accept the status quo simply because he was a Southerner and because slaves had been part of Greenwood as long as he had been alive—and for years before that? Why had he accepted it without question? Why had God’s design and intent not risen to prod him toward a more prayerful reflection of his own position?

  Suddenly such questions began to loom large in his consciousness.

  He had always been a compassionate man to his slaves. He had grown up in the system. After inheriting the plantation, he had thought of nothing more than continuing his father’s practices while being as kind as possible to those under his charge. He and Carolyn had gradually tried to improve the living conditions and skills of their slaves. He had installed a water pump for their cabins. He made sure their food and clothing allotment was more than adequate. He did not work them harder than he was willing to work himself alongside them, which he often did. He had no overseer, but saw to everything himself. As his sons grew into teenagers, he planned to add more and more supervisory duties to their shoulders as well. Seth had recently turned sixteen and Richmond had begun bringing him into more specific positions of oversight. The blacks all thought the world of Seth for he treated them with equality and respect. In spite of laws prohibiting the teaching of slaves, he and Carolyn provided a few simple books and what other small luxuries lay in their power to give them. Carolyn taught the women about childcare and hygiene. She not only read aloud from the Bible and taught them how to apply its teachings, she met privately with those who desired it and gave reading lessons in hopes that one day they could read the Bible for themselves. Richmond knew her doing so was against Virginia law, and that presumably she could have been arrested for it.* But they had discussed it, and concluded that they must obey God’s law of love and justice above man’s law, which was clearly unjust. If they were punished by man, then so be it.†

  Their blacks may technically have been slaves, yet in a very real sense, Richmond a
nd Carolyn Davidson considered them part of their extended family.

  All these measures, however, did not address the fundamental question precipitated by his trip to Boston—the question of freedom.

  Wingate’s talk was not the worst of it. Nothing at the symposium had jolted him so deeply as the stunned expression of shock and disbelief in James Waters’s voice when he exclaimed, as they rode through the chilly night together, “You own slaves!”

  Waters’s reaction had returned to him many times since, forcing him to reconsider the implications of his position in a completely new way.

  How could a Northerner, Richmond thought, who did not even acknowledge God, view slavery as an abomination, while he himself, a professing Christian, had never examined its deeper implications, or even inquired of God what might be his mind on the matter?

  Something was wrong. Wingate’s words would not leave him: What is right? What did God intend from the beginning?

  Did God intend for one human being to own another? That was the question on which everything hinged.

  Sixteen

  Phoebe Shaw was not able to turn away the attentions of Elias Slade forever, nor did she want to. She was at that age where vulnerability and stupidity combine, causing the attentions of a man older than herself to outweigh consideration of a man’s character obvious to everyone else. It was not long before Phoebe no longer sat at the Bible readings beside her mother but instead disappeared when the day’s work was done, often not to be seen again until after dark.

  Everyone in the slave village knew she was with Elias Slade. But none dared say a word. By now every man, woman, and child among the Davidson’s slaves had more than good reason to fear Slade. Some said he hid a knife under his bed. No one doubted he would use it if provoked. If Phoebe couldn’t see what kind of man he was, then she deserved whatever trouble he brought her.

  And it came soon enough. By the middle of March it was clear enough that Phoebe Shaw was in a family way. She was growing plumper by the week and no one doubted that Elias Slade was the cause of it. Now that the deed was done, he showed less interest in her. Phoebe became sullen and downcast, as much from guilt as from the shame of giving herself to such a man. Though none of the other slaves could be said to shun her, neither did they go out of their way to show her kindness. The friends of her childhood avoided her.

  Nancy was beside herself with grief and anger, toward both her daughter and toward the father of the child growing inside her. Thus far she had been able to prevent Malachi from confronting Elias, but how long she could do so was questionable. With the righteous anger of a protective father, he seethed with silent fury that would have exacted its revenge on Slade at first opportunity. The other men would gladly have helped him. Together they might have overpowered the big man and slit his throat. But every man of them knew that the master abhorred violence. No matter what Slade had done, they loved their master too much to incur his wrath by bringing the cloud of murder over Greenwood.

  So they continued to avoid him, and Slade kept silent, while Phoebe and Nancy took to crying themselves to sleep.

  Because of Phoebe’s absence from the readings and Nancy’s reluctance to tell her the cause, it was not until after it was no longer possible to keep it a secret, that Carolyn learned of the girl’s condition. She went straight to the Shaws’ cabin, where she found Nancy alone.

  “Nancy,” said Carolyn, “I just heard. Is it true?”

  The black mother’s eyes filled with tears that were all the answer Carolyn needed. She walked across the floor and took Nancy in her arms.

  “Oh, Miz Dab’ son, I knowed I shud tell you,” sobbed Nancy. “But I jes’ din’t hab da heart. I’s feard ob what you an’ massa’d think.”

  “Don’t say another word, Nancy,” said Carolyn gently. “We will think nothing ill of you, I promise.”

  “I’s afeard massa’d sen’ my Phoebe away.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Nancy. I told you, there is nothing to worry about from the master or me. But I have to know who it was, Nancy. You know how my husband and I feel about these things?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Who was it, Nancy?”

  Nancy turned away and stared down at the ground.

  “Was it Elias Slade?”

  “Yes’m,” said Nancy, nodding slowly. “I don’ know what ter do—how’s my Phoebe gwine tell her young’un ob da ribers an’ da legends er dose ol’ books when her mind’s filled wif a bad’n like Elias Slade?”

  “What’s that?” asked Carolyn with a confused expression.

  “Oh, nuffin, Miz Dab’son. My heart’s jes’ sore ’bout what’s ter become ob poor Phoebe, an’ I wuz jes’ thinkin’ back on sumfin’ Malachi’s mama used ter tell me afore she died, dat’s all. But I jes’ don’ know effen I can keep from hatin’ dat awful man, Miz Dab’son. He’s a right bad’n.”

  Anger filled Carolyn’s heart. She did her best not to let Nancy see it, then turned and left her. She had to tell Richmond.

  Whatever was to be done about Slade, it was obvious they had waited too long.

  Carrying an extra shirt and pair of trousers, Elias Slade walked into what was known as the big house a few steps behind Moses, who ran the master’s errands and had summoned him and said the master wanted him and for him to bring whatever belongings he possessed. Moses knocked on the back door. They were shown inside by Mrs. Davidson, who led the way to her husband’s study. There Moses left them.

  Richmond Davidson was seated behind a large oak desk. Carolyn closed the door behind her as she left the office, leaving the big black man and his owner alone.

  Slade was not surprised at being called before the master. He had been expecting it for weeks. He knew the consequences for the kind of things he did. But he saw no reason to change. The anger burning inside him was stronger than the desire to avoid punishment. This was not the first time he had gotten a girl pregnant, nor would it likely be the last. Whippings were part of it. He knew it. But he had reason to think that the whipping he would receive today would not be as bad as most. Master Davidson was one of those white men a slave encountered once in a while, a white man with scruples. The fact didn’t make Slade hate him any less, he just found it curious.

  “I have tried to be a good master to you, Elias,” Richmond began.

  Slade stood looking down at the floor, unrepentant and unfeeling, and said nothing.

  “Have either I or your mistress been unkind to you, that you would betray our trust such as you have with Phoebe?”

  Still he did not answer.

  “All right, then,” Richmond went on. “I waited before bringing you to see me until we had a chance to question Phoebe. My wife has spoken with her. Phoebe has admitted that you did not force her and that she is as much to blame as you are. So I see no grounds for any unusual punishment other than to tell you that you should have known better than to take advantage of a girl so much younger than yourself. Every man has a conscience, Elias, though I have not seen that you have made a habit of paying much heed to yours. It is my hope and prayer that the day comes when you will learn to do so. In any event, it appears that I should have listened to mine sooner, otherwise this might have been avoided. Carolyn also questioned Phoebe concerning her feelings. Phoebe says that it is not her wish to be your wife. So now I must ask you, what were your intentions when you sought her out and became involved with her? Was it with the thought of marrying her?”

  Slade stood silent.

  “Answer me, Elias.”

  “No, suh,” Slade finally said sullenly.

  “And is such your intent now?”

  “No, suh.”

  “I see,” nodded Davidson. “I thought such to be the case, but I had to be certain.”

  He paused, drew in a breath, then picked up a paper that was lying on top of the desk.

  “Can you read, Elias?” he asked.

  “No, suh.”

  “Then you will just have to trust me and take my word for
what I am about to tell you. This paper I have here is a legal document which I have signed. It states that I am, as of today’s date, releasing you from my ownership and am giving you your freedom.”

  He handed the paper to Slade, who took it and looked at it, though without comprehension.

  Davidson opened one of the desk drawers and removed several bills.

  “Along with that document,” he said, “I will give you eight dollars. You are free to use it however you like and to go wherever you wish.”

  He rose and handed the money to him. “Now if you will come with me, my buggy is hitched outside. I will take you into town and from there you will be free to go wherever you wish. Only do not return to Greenwood. As you are a free man now, I will have grounds for having you arrested for trespassing if I see you on our property again. In addition, the law reads that you must leave the state of Virginia within one year. If you do not, you may be reenslaved.”

  He led the way out of the office and outside. Slade followed without expression. He uttered not a word during the entire drive to Dove’s Landing.

  When the two parted, gratitude was the furthest thing from Elias Slade’s heart. His parting glance toward the man who had just given him what every Negro throughout the South dreamed of was filled only with contempt.

  Seventeen

  Upon leaving the house Carolyn Davidson could not see far among the trees. She knew, however, that she would find her husband somewhere in the midst of the two-acre cultivated plot on the slope behind the plantation house where they developed their love for growing things. They called it simply the arbor, though the enclosed area represented far more than a mere garden retreat and arboretum. Many might have considered their effort and expense over shrubs, ornamentals, dwarf trees as well as peach and magnolia and other flowering species, ponds, paths, flower beds, tree-lined pathways, and roses, a waste of energy that could have been devoted toward more productive uses. Indeed, such would say, the two acres could have been planted with a lucrative money-making crop and to use it otherwise was foolish. But for Richmond and Carolyn Davidson, the hours spent in their beloved arbor were essential to happiness in the midst of the rigors of plantation life.