American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  If only the rest of the South could see the benefits of the experiment they had put into practice here at Greenwood. But apparently eyes were too blinded by self-interest to see the plain fact that this happy experiment had proved a wonderful success.

  Indeed, the situation throughout the rest of the South, if anything, had grown worse. Whatever trend the Davidsons might have hoped to set in motion by their action had seemingly been invalidated, if not reversed, by last year’s Dred Scott decision by the Supreme Court. No black man, declared the highest justices in the land, who had ever been a slave or who had descended from slaves, even if living in a free state, could ever be a citizen of the United States. Suddenly pro-slavery sentiment had been given a monstrous victory, and the contempt of those who had laughed in their sleeve at Richmond Davidson’s idiocy now appeared to be well justified. News of the financial success of his enterprise did not so readily find its way onto the pages of the Southern papers as had the scandal caused by the emancipation of his slaves. By now, relishing in what appeared to be a new tide moving in their favor, most prominent Southerners had forgotten about him altogether, or, if reminded, his name only brought a snicker to the lips.

  In certain regions, however, Dred Scott only intensified the debate, and the conflict between pro-slavery and abolitionist forces was approaching the boiling point. In border states like Virginia, where abolitionist sentiment was strong in the north and west, tension mounted monthly with uncertainty over where the great birthplace of freedom would ultimately place its loyalty.

  News of the Dred Scott decision demoralized Richmond and Carolyn Davidson for a time, though it did not lessen their resolve to continue on the path they had chosen. It seemed to undo the very thing they had tried to accomplish. They might have freed their slaves, but if they could not be citizens, what good would that freedom do them anywhere but Greenwood?

  In the backlash of cruelty toward blacks that resulted from the high court’s stand, Richmond and Carolyn worried about those who had left and were now struggling to make a new life for themselves as freedmen.

  The fact that things were going well at Greenwood did not hide mounting tensions elsewhere. Both whites and blacks were becoming emboldened. More and more runaways fled to the North every month, and more and more cruel became the white reaction to the increasing cries for freedom. Joseph had made it successfully to the North. But poor Rufus hadn’t been so fortunate. He too had left Greenwood with his eight dollars and high hopes, only to crawl back two days later, beaten to within an inch of his life and his money stolen. When questioned, the Davidsons were shocked to learn that his assailants had been mostly black themselves, though the name Wyatt Beaumont was also mentioned. It seemed that, rather than being happy for their freed brethren, the Oakbriar slaves resented them just as much as their owner resented the man who had freed them. Looks and glances and threats even became part of the Sunday ritual at the secret black gathering in the Brown house, where those who remained slaves on the surrounding plantations looked down on the Greenwood blacks as traitors, refusing to greet them or shake their hands. Even then, however, they would not betray the fellowship of black believers.

  Thus, with freedom came new fears. Though Carolyn had taught the black ladies how to buy things for themselves in the shops in Dove’s Landing, most of them were afraid to venture into town. As time went on, several of the men, and one family who had left, returned and asked to be rehired by “Master Dab’son.” They all told the same tale. “Hit be bad out dere,” they said. “Things be diff’ ert at Greenwood. Ain’t like dat nowhere else. Whites an blacks alike—dey all hates free coloreds.”

  In their more pensive moments alone, Richmond and Carolyn occasionally questioned whether they had really done their people good or ill. But there was no going back. And in the depths of their hearts they held no regrets.

  Senator Everett, who had been victorious two years before, despite his advancing age, in the race which Richmond Davidson might instead have entered, was one of slavery’s most vocal advocates.

  Even when he read Everett’s strident oratory, Richmond did not regret his decision to bow out of potential political involvement, or wish himself in the senator’s place. He was where he wanted to be, where he knew God wanted him, content not to change the world but to do his best to live out his convictions, and thus influence others by example rather than rhetoric.

  In truth, despite the puzzling ongoing uncertainty of his cousin Stuart’s legal claim—about which he had not heard a whisper in two years, for reasons he could not understand—he had never been happier.

  Events were about to come into the lives of Richmond and Carolyn Davidson, however, that would take them both in many directions they could not foresee, and involve them in events and lives that would reach far beyond the security and peacefulness of their beloved Greenwood.

  A few minutes later Richmond Davidson walked toward the house. Seeing his approach, his wife came out onto the porch.

  “Richmond,” said Carolyn, “you haven’t forgotten?”

  “No, I am aware of the time,” sighed her husband, “merely postponing the inevitable. What about the boys?”

  “They’re getting ready.”

  “Then I shall go upstairs and change… in a minute or two,” he added, sitting down on the porch seat. His wife eased onto the bench beside him.

  A peaceful silence descended. “If there was any way to avoid this—,” Davidson began after a moment, then broke off what he had been about to say with another sigh.

  “I know you detest socializing,” said Carolyn. “Notwithstanding the coolness between you and Denton, we must be good neighbors. Especially now. Eyes will be watching.”

  “I doubt that,” he laughed. “Most have forgotten us… which is fine with me. Actually, I am a little surprised we were invited at all.”

  “Do you have any idea who will be there?”

  “None. The cover of Veronica’s birthday and coming out celebration, I don’t doubt, is but an excuse for Denton to lubricate the political machinery to whatever advantage he can. I imagine most of the principle players in Virginia politics will be there, as well as a number of national figures. That is another reason I would rather stay home. I do not look forward to seeing some of those men again.”

  “I thought there was bad blood between Denton and the men who wanted you to run.”

  “Everything is temporary in politics. There are smiles and handshakes and subtle games brought out at such times to mask deeper motives and differences. I’m sure all that’s been soothed over now that his hat is in the ring. In social circles, everyone is everyone else’s friend. Probably he has made sure the press is in attendance too, which insures that everyone will be on their best behavior.

  “All the more reason for you to be there to affirm your convictions.”

  “You are right, my wise wife!” said Richmond with a smile. “It is only that I feel more and more distance between myself and other men of my position. The border is not really so far north, only a hundred miles. Why could I not have been born a Pennsylvanian?”

  “These days a hundred miles is a great distance. It might as well be a thousand.”

  “Sometimes I think we ought to sell the plantation, give our workers enough to get them started somewhere else, give Cynthia and the boys their inheritance and my cousins their coveted windfall… and move to Oregon!”

  “A radical suggestion!”

  “But don’t you sometimes want to leave it all behind and… you know, go somewhere far away?”

  “I love Greenwood, Richmond. And as appealing as that may sound, you cannot run away from your destiny.”

  “As you like to remind me.”

  Davidson smiled and kissed his wife.

  “What would I do without you to knock sense into this brain of mine when it gets tired of the fight?” he added.

  “It makes it doubly difficult knowing that we were probably only invited because of the young Miss Beaumont’s i
nterest in our son.”

  “An interest I would happily see directed elsewhere.”

  “I know what you mean. But with Denton having announced his candidacy against Senator Hoyt for Virginia’s second Senate seat this November, don’t you think he may have wanted you present simply to appear magnanimous? He might have thought that for you to be missing might be a conspicuous political omission.”

  “You are a shrewd political analyst, my dear!” laughed Richmond. “That is quite a series of deductions! In truth, I have to say that I doubt your conclusion. On the few occasions when we have seen one another recently, his coolness has been marked. He did not invite me to the announcement of his candidacy, and I am certain he wants to place as much distance between us as possible. Virginia is still a reasonably solid slave state. I imagine Denton views any connection with me as a political, not to mention a personal, annoyance and liability. As far as Veronica is concerned, I cannot imagine why she is so interested in Seth.”

  “He is as handsome as you, Richmond. And being six months younger, she has been captivated with him since they were children.”

  “It still baffles me. She could have any young man in the county swooning on her doorstep with the snap of her fingers. I’m certain her father would prefer anyone else too.”

  “But you know Veronica—she is as wily as they come, and headstrong. She wants anything she can’t have. Daphne has never been able to control her, and I doubt, now that she is eighteen, that Denton is any more successful. She bends all to her will eventually. I hope Seth is not quite so easily swayed.”

  “She is not really such a bad girl, Carolyn.”

  “I do not trust any girl with a flirtatious spirit. It is a character flaw and a sign of selfishness, immodesty, and mischief deep inside. I don’t like it.”

  “You fascinate me strangely, wife, with your strong words!”

  “I feel strongly, husband, about the wiles of young women!”

  “Well, we shall just have to keep an eye on how things develop—Come, let’s go upstairs and get ready… as you say, for our destiny!”

  He rose, offered his hand, and pulled his wife to her feet.

  “We must do something about your hair!” she teased.

  “I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” he laughed. “It has refused to lie flat for forty-eight years. It is not going to start now!”

  Thirty-one

  At first glance it might have been difficult to determine whether the occasion was primarily social or political. Young belles in expensive dresses of every color bustled in groups about the lawn, giggling and making eyes at young men who greeted each one with a chivalry that seemed beyond their years. That the invitation had specified dancing at the top of the list of entertainments, and that a small orchestra was already warming up, kept the young women at a pitch of anticipation. Their friend, however, had not yet come out of the house. She was waiting for just the right moment.

  At the same time, a glance about the grounds revealed an equal number of men, clustered in small groups with drinks in hand, the looks on whose faces indicated that the latest fashions from Paris or the latest beaux of their daughters were the last things on their minds. In a half dozen small discussions about the place, the future of the Union was the topic at hand.

  Even for a slave state, Virginia was a little far north for such a distinctively Southern gala. These sorts of things were usually reserved for the plantations of Charleston or Atlanta. But the hosts for this afternoon’s long-anticipated lawn party had spared no expense to put on a lavish affair that would not soon be forgotten.

  Much of the social elite for several hundred miles was on hand, coming from as far as Richmond, Washington, and Raleigh. The guest list included some of the capital’s most distinguished senators, congressmen, as well as several foreign ambassadors. It had been rumored that President Buchanan might make the trip, though nothing had been confirmed.

  There was no way other than the sound of one’s tongue to distinguish those of Southern roots from their Northern counterparts. And in border states like Virginia, loyalties and accents carried many subtleties and shades of contrast, and were thus sometimes difficult to determine.

  Among the guests was one who appeared alone in the midst of a crowd comprised chiefly of couples and small groups of young people. He moved about almost unnoticed, silently observing everything and everyone around him. His light gray suit had been chosen to blend in, to call no attention to its owner, a young man of perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six years, medium build, handsome in spite of thin-set eyes that took in more of his surroundings, especially people, than most observers realized. He was young but had already begun to rise high in certain circles because of his shrewd insight into character, along with a keen memory that never forgot a face or personal detail. In Georgia he often wore a wide-brimmed white straw hat, less to shade his eyes than to fit in with the genteel society in which he mingled and among whose wealthy he sought whatever opportunity his knowledge might afford him. In New York or Boston he might sport a silk top hat. But this was neither the Deep South nor the Yankee North. And noting that many men’s heads in today’s warmth were bare, he had eschewed covering a head over which was tightly combed a crop of thin but longish brown-black hair.

  Cecil Hirsch had been sent here to gather’ information. Though he was wandering about, drink in hand, apparently aimlessly, he was already at work… watching, eavesdropping on bits of conversation. Anything might prove useful in ways one could never anticipate. He had done his homework on most of the people here. So many of the tidbits of conversation had meaning for him. There were people for whom information was power, and who would pay to obtain it. Information was his stock in trade. And Cecil Hirsch never forgot a detail.

  Oakbriar, the Beaumont plantation, one of the largest and wealthiest in all Virginia—with more than fifty slaves and everything necessary for self-sufficiency—provided a distinctively old-world ambiance for an event that was as pro-slavery in tone as it was Southern in style. A few known abolitionists from the western part of the state, as well as a handful of Northerners, had been strategically invited as well.

  Indeed, both politics and high society had prompted today’s gathering. Veronica Beaumont, the lovely daughter of Denton and Lady Daphne Beaumont, had turned eighteen two weeks before and had been planning this birthday celebration for a year. In addition to marking her coming of age, the day provided a convenient backdrop to further her father’s political aspirations. He had recently announced a bid for the Senate in November’s midterm national elections, and today offered an ideal opportunity to wine and dine the nation’s powerful leaders whom he hoped would be his governmental colleagues by this time next year. Denton Beaumont’s Senate run as a staunch state’s-rights advocate and slave owner could not help but land him in the middle of a congressional debate that would decide the course of the nation’s future. He saw no reason not to start making his influence felt at the earliest possible opportunity. That his neighbor would be here was an irritating thorn in the side of his ambitions, it was true, but his daughter had insisted. And Richmond would probably keep his mouth shut and would not prove troublesome.

  In an upstairs room of the house, mother and daughter had just made the final adjustments to the expensive dress purchased in New York three months before.

  “You look lovely, dear,” said Lady Daphne, as she fussed with the bow in her daughter’s silky and glistening black hair. Veronica squirmed away and ran to the window to look out over the throng at the carriages arriving in a continual stream.

  “Where is Seth?” she said, glancing about. “It is—what time is it?”

  “A little after one-thirty.”

  “Why isn’t he here yet!”

  “I am certain he will be soon,” replied her mother.

  “If only I can get him away from his parents. That mother of his is so… I just don’t know why they won’t let him grow up.”

  “Perhaps you can help,” said La
dy Daphne with a smile.

  “That is exactly what I intend to do, Mother,” rejoined the daughter. “After one or two dances with me, I will make him forget everything!—Oh, there he is!” she added, spinning away from the window. “I am going now, Mother!”

  She ran toward the door.

  “Just be cautious around your father, dear,” said Lady Daphne as she followed her toward the stairs.

  “Why doesn’t he like Seth?”

  “Because of Seth’s father, you know that. But I am sure they will be friends again one day very soon, just like when they were young.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Veronica playfully. “I don’t intend to marry Seth’s father!”

  “You know what they say,” added her mother, “—like father like son.”

  “I will make sure Seth turns out nothing like his father. I just have to get him away from his parents long enough, that’s all!”

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, slowed and tried to calm herself, pinched both cheeks two or three times to make sure they were pink and flushed, then left the mansion with a flourish through the tall front doors. Immediately, several of her friends scurried to meet her.

  “Veronica, have you seen Seth?” asked one.

  “I just saw him from the window! He’s over there.”

  “Do you think he’ll ask you to dance?”

  “I intend to make sure of it, Julia. If he doesn’t… this is my party, so I shall ask him!”

  She continued through the gathering crowd spread out on the expansive lawns to the side of the house, with an entourage of four or five young ladies at her side, joined by others as they went, every one as beautiful as she, turning heads and gathering looks and greetings as they went.