American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  The Davidsons had known Veronica Beaumont from the day she was born, as her family had Seth. Though the mothers had never been close, and the fathers had grown apart in recent years, Seth and Veronica’s older brother Wyatt had been good friends in their younger years. In the last two years, however, Wyatt had begun moving in different circles, and now seemed increasingly to regard his childhood playmate as something of a bumpkin.

  The elder Davidsons finished their dance and walked toward the tables where a lavish assortment of meats and cakes, fruits and drinks, was being spread in preparation for later in the afternoon. This had not been promoted as a full barbeque in the Southern tradition. The invitations had specified “an afternoon of light fare and dancing.” It was already clear, however, that anyone would easily be able to eat his fill. The aroma of mutton and pork drifted toward them on an occasional gust of smoke from the nearby cooking pit.

  “Would you and da missus care fo’ some refreshment, Massa Dav’son?” asked a tall black butler as they approached.

  “Hello, Jarvis,” said Davidson. “Two mint juleps, please, and plain, if you don’t mind, without the bourbon.”

  “Yes, suh, Massa Dav’son. I’ll jus’ fix up two speshul ones myself.”

  They were just taking the two tall, icy glasses from him several minutes later when a greeting sounded behind them.

  “Richmond Davidson… is that you!” The voice that had spoken was clearly that of a New Englander.

  Both Davidsons turned.

  “James,” Richmond exclaimed exuberantly, his face spreading into a wide grin as he extended his hand, “what in the world are you doing here!”

  “I’m here to interview the Senate candidate Beaumont,” laughed Waters. “I had no idea you two would be here—hello again, Carolyn.”

  “Hello, James!” said Carolyn. “What a delightful surprise!”

  “You came to Dove’s Landing… and did not even let us know!” said Richmond, still grinning.

  “My apologies,” nodded Waters. “Actually, I was planning to try to see you when this was over, but in truth I had no idea how close or far away you would be.”

  “Our plantation is just on the other side of that ridge there,” said Richmond, pointing westward, where, from their vantage point on the lawn, a green tree-covered ridge of hills, with one high peak at approximately its midpoint, was clearly visible.

  “Once I arrived and saw how short a ride it was from town, I realized I was near Greenwood. If the assignment had been planned ahead of time, I could have come down a day or two earlier. As it was, it was very last minute—I barely had time to jump on a train. There was no time to contact you. As I said, I hoped to stop by later. From your different positions on slavery, I never imagined that you would be in attendance. But this is wonderful—you are here! I had no idea you and Beaumont were friends.”

  “How are things up in Massachusetts?” asked Richmond.

  “Well enough,” replied Waters.

  “How did a Northerner like you manage an invitation from our staunchly anti-abolitionist neighbor?”

  “The Globe sent me down, not only to get a feel for sentiment in Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware, but most importantly to find out how the congressional election could be affected by the last month’s admission of Minnesota to the Union. The senatorial contest between Hoyt and this fellow Denton Beaumont is beginning to attract some notice up North. The balance of power in the Senate is delicate. This is one of those races everyone is watching. As it stands right now, it appears Beaumont is likely to knock off Hoyt, who is a moderate, and give the Senate a bold new pro-slavery voice. So there is a keen interest in the outcome.”

  “Well, we are delighted to see you!” said Carolyn. “But we would have loved to put you up.”

  “I would like to have accepted. As I say, it was a very last minute thing. Actually, I haven’t traveled much in the last couple of years. My doctor says my heart isn’t what it once was and says I need to scale back.”

  “And in this case?”

  “I didn’t consult him!” laughed Waters. “I just packed a bag and dashed to the station.”

  “And your editor wrangled you an invitation!” laughed Richmond.

  “That he did. He told me to get an inside story on the Beaumont fellow. Perhaps you would grant me a confidential interview about freeing your slaves.”

  Davidson laughed. “Not on your life!” he said. “I keep well out of politics.”

  “In any event, I am hoping for an introduction to Denton Beaumont. I would like to interview him.”

  “An introduction will be easy to arrange,” rejoined Richmond, glancing across the lawn and gesturing toward their host. “Denton and I are old friends.”

  Waters followed his gaze. An odd expression of question came over his face.

  “What is it?” asked Davidson.

  “Oh… uh, nothing,” replied Waters, turning back. “I just saw a face I thought I had seen last week in Boston. But that could hardly be.”

  “Someone you know?”

  “No, only a face in a crowd. But to return to what you said a moment ago, surely you and Beaumont are not political allies?” said Waters.

  “No,” smiled Richmond. “Our friendship does not extend to politics. We are neighbors and our plantation borders Oakbriar in a number of places. And we rode together as boys.”

  “Tell me about Beaumont, then?”

  “I will say no more than that he is rather put out with me these days,” replied Richmond. “That is why I will make no official comment on the record.”

  “Is there any chance Cherity came with you?” asked Carolyn, glancing about.

  “I’m afraid not, though I would have loved to bring her.”

  “How is she?”

  “Well, growing fast, rambunctious as ever, and still talking about going west to be a cowgirl,” replied Waters. “We have decided for her to remain home next year rather than return to boarding school. I fear I am getting too old to be alone for such long periods of time.”

  “Hardly that!” laughed Richmond.

  “I am over fifty now, my friend,” said Waters.

  “You don’t look a day over forty,” said Carolyn.

  “You are still a charmer!” laughed Waters. “Nevertheless, reality compels me to admit that it is all too true. I was born when Thomas Jefferson was president. That dates me to the era of the founding fathers, and occasionally reminds me how young our republic still is. In any event, I realize that I do not have many more years left with my youngest daughter, and I want her with me for as much of that time as we do have. I am very much enjoying having her with me again. How about your three?”

  “Cynthia was married only last year,” replied Carolyn, “and now lives up in Connecticut.”

  “We’re practically neighbors!”

  “Both our boys are here,” Carolyn added. “Seth is now eighteen and was dancing with Mr. Beaumont’s daughter the last time I saw him. Thomas is sixteen and is off with a few friends. Some of the younger girls are trying to get their attention, but for all I can tell without success. But would it be possible for you to return to Greenwood and spend the evening with us?”

  “I would love to. I had planned to try to squeeze in a visit. But now that I have seen you, my schedule is so tight that it would really be best for me to catch the late train north. I’ve got to be in New York in two days where my boss wants me to interview the mayor.”

  “Will you stay over there?” asked Richmond.

  “Just for a night. My editor has me booked in at the Fairmont. But I should be back in Boston the following afternoon, just about the time Cherity gets home from a short visit to her older sister.”

  “You are not even going to see your other daughter and grandson in Norfolk?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well then,” said Carolyn, “if and when your travels bring you to Virginia again, I hope you will definitely spend a few days with us—you and Cherity!”
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  “We would be honored. Thank you very much.”

  “Please… I mean it sincerely,” added Carolyn.

  “I add my own to Carolyn’s invitation,” nodded Richmond. “You are welcome anytime, with or without notice.”

  “We will consider our invitation open ended,” persisted Carolyn.

  “Seriously, James,” added Richmond. “We have a great deal more room than we need. A serenity seems to have settled upon our grounds of late. It has made me wonder if it might have something to do with having freed our slaves and given them a share in the profits of the place. In any event, I think you would find it both invigorating and peaceful. The arboretum, especially, we find always restores our spirits. It would be our privilege to have you and your daughter share it with us.”

  “Thank you very much. We shall definitely consider it among our possibilities.”

  Thirty-three

  The ride back to Greenwood in the warm dusk was quiet. The distance between the houses of the two plantations, whose properties adjoined along several miles of common boundary, was less than six miles. Yet it lately seemed to Richmond and Carolyn Davidson like the distance between two different worlds.

  The drive back helped return their spirits to a calm and common center, though both were also uneasy, knowing that their sons had had to endure a certain unpleasantness with their peers as a result of their stand with their slaves.

  On Richmond’s part, visiting his childhood friend in such a gala, social, and political setting, accentuated the contrast between the two different paths in life they had chosen. Indeed, to all appearances, Denton Beaumont was easily outdistancing his neighbor in all the ways by which the world would judge success.

  Carolyn felt such things too. She was perhaps even more set apart from women such as Lady Daphne Beaumont than her husband was from his peers. She had never fit in here. Richmond had grown up in the area. He knew these people intimately. He had ridden and hunted and got into youthful mischief with his brother, Denton, and William McClellan from time to time, and had many other boyhood acquaintances whom he still considered friends.

  But she had come from the far west of the state. She had always been looked at as an outsider. As a minister’s daughter, she had never been familiar with this upper-class plantation lifestyle and was more than a little uncomfortable with it. She had never been a belle, and now was no more a wealthy Southern matron than Richmond himself was. Therefore, while he could mix, she could not, and the ladies of the region always treated her with that vague hauteur especially reserved for outsiders.

  She didn’t mind. She was happy. And Carolyn knew that having grown up here actually made it more difficult in some ways for her husband. The looks and condescending comments occasionally bit deep.

  “You and Veronica certainly stole the show with your dancing,” commented Carolyn as they rode.

  “Yeah… Veronica makes sure people are looking at her, doesn’t she?” laughed Seth.

  “What do you think of that, my boy?” asked the elder Davidson.

  “I don’t know,” replied Seth. “I guess I’m not too comfortable with it. It puts me more in the limelight than I would like.”

  “Get used to it!” said Carolyn. “I have the feeling that wherever Veronica goes, especially as she gets older, she will be the center of attention. I’m not sure she would know what to do with herself unless she was.”

  “What I meant,” Richmond went on, trying, as was his invariable practice, to guide the conversation toward its most significant point, “is what do you think of it with respect to Veronica herself?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Seth.

  “What do you think that tendency to draw attention reveals about her… as a person?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Seth. “Any one of those girls at the party today would have gladly traded places with Veronica. Aren’t all girls that way?”

  “Your mother certainly wasn’t!” laughed Richmond, but with seriousness. “She never put herself in the limelight. I saw a humility and gracefulness of character in her face almost the moment I laid eyes on her. It drew me, and eventually I fell in love with her—not because she was the radiant star of the show, but because of what I saw inside her… her character… the real person.”

  As he listened beside Seth in the backseat, Thomas inwardly sneered to hear his father talk so. It was just like him to use everything that came up as a chance to preach at them. He had grown sick of his father’s lectures all those years the three of them were growing up. He was sick of hearing how it was when they were young, and about how great they had been, how spiritually superior they were to everyone else, and what idiots the whole rest of the world contained. If he and Cynthia and Seth didn’t agree with every word that proceeded from his mouth, he would tongue-lash them for their immaturity. What did he think he was, anyway, some kind of encyclopedia on virtue and knowledge? Did he think that anyone cared? Did he have to lecture about everything!

  But his mother’s voice interrupted his sullen reflections.

  “And what about you, Thomas,” Carolyn asked, “did you have fun?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “It was okay.”

  In actual fact, Seth’s brother had been derided by some of his friends about the status of his father’s former slaves, and he had found the experience humiliating.

  Both sons were feeling the pressure of the stand their mother and father had taken. But they were reacting in far different ways. Seth was proud of his parents for their convictions. Thomas was coming to resent them for what he judged the absurdity of their beliefs. His resentments were directed equally toward their religion, their methods and practices as parents, and their social standards of equality between the races.

  When derisive comments were made to Seth about his father’s treatment of blacks, the indignation of sonly pride rose up within him in defense of his father. If ever there was a time when Seth Davidson was tempted toward, indeed, came close to physical violence, it was at such times. He would have taken on anyone to defend his father’s honor. Thus, he was teased less about it because his friends knew it would do no good. Their words would not sting him, but might, if they pushed him too far, turn the tables against them. For Seth was no weakling. Though his preference was not to fight, he was strong enough and quick enough that anyone considering taking him on would have been well advised to weigh their options prudently.

  Thomas, on the other hand, cringed in humiliation at the taunts and teases. Thus they were aimed more frequently in his direction. The embarrassed silence told his so-called friends that their arrows had hit their marks and encouraged them all the more. Reacting wrongly within himself, he turned blame toward his father rather than taking refuge from the criticism in the character of his father.

  Thomas saw his father as neither a refuge nor a comfort against the pains of his life, but as the cause of them. Thus, he could not see that his father had in truth taken the high ground. It was the low and mean-spirited ignorance of his friends that deserved his derision. But wrong response bred wrong response, and Thomas sunk more and more deeply into a peevish and moody irritability that had by now grown critical toward everything his parents said or did.

  Neither father nor mother had any idea the extent or depth of his resentment against the upbringing they had given him, or that, without consciously realizing it, Thomas was already mulling over various schemes that would enable him to get away from the Greenwood prison as soon as he was old enough.

  The party continued traveling east on the road between Fredericksburg and Charlottesville that passed near the Beaumont estate of Oakbriar and then through Dove’s Landing. As they jostled along, Carolyn’s thoughts, like her younger son’s, turned reflective, though in much different directions.

  Remembering the kind of person she had been when she and Richmond met filled her with many emotions, even now. Her overriding feeling, however, was always one of quiet thankfulness for sending Richmond to love h
er in the midst of her desolation. Returning to her father’s home after the tragedy that had changed her life forever, she had never expected to know love again. Whatever was left of her faith at the time hung by the slenderest of threads. In her hopelessness, she did not even care whether she believed. What did it matter? What difference did it make? What difference could it make?

  Then Richmond had walked into her life.

  Not that he was in much better shape. He was more despondent than she was! Moreover, he had no belief in God to sustain him at all, only a heart hungry for truth.

  Yet somehow, in their common heartache, they had together discovered the reality of life with God… and in the process fallen in love.

  A quiet smile of melancholy on her face, Carolyn’s thoughts drifted back to the years leading up to that day….

  Randolph was a visionary before he and Carolyn met.

  Her father called him an impractical dreamer. But his enthusiasm for the Lord’s work swept young Carolyn Peters off her feet. Having grown up in the church, she had known no other kind of life. Randolph offered adventure… spiritual adventure!

  She had always vaguely wanted to serve the Lord, especially to work with children and teach them to read. She had even thought about joining the mission field. With Randolph it seemed she might have the chance to do just that.

  But when he began talking about the untamed and frightening West of this continent, a host of misgivings rose within her. It was not at all the mission field she had envisioned.

  “But just think, Carolyn,” he had insisted, “there are people out West—settlers and trappers and explorers—who need the gospel. And Indians! There are dozens of tribes that have never so much as heard a word about Jesus.”