Furthermore, the inhuman flogging that poor Nate Gibbons had endured—and not one of his fellow slaves would forget the sight of his open gashes and slow-oozing wounds—had had its effect. Despite rumors to the contrary, half of them thought Nate dead, and took no pleasure in the thought of suffering Nate’s fate, either whipping or death. Slade would not take the whip to one of them himself. Whether it would be called an ethical scruple, it would be hard to say, but at the point of picking up a whip against a fellow black man, Slade drew the line. Beaumont seemed almost to respect him for it. Yet one word from him was sufficient to put the whip into the hand of one of the white men who would be more than happy for an opportunity to prove to their boss that he had none of Riggs’s qualms in the matter of severity.
Slade’s addition to the Beaumont coterie of slaves, hired white men, and overseers had precisely the effect Denton Beaumont had desired. Grumbling and discontent among the slaves, to all appearances, settled down. At least they kept any grievances to themselves.
Now that Riggs had ingloriously been sent back to town and was working along with his son at the depot for pennies, whatever grumbling went on came from the white quarters, whose occupants were less than happy to see a big “free nigger” usurp the position of leadership several of them had hoped to get after Riggs’s firing. Their position was complicated by the fact that from the start of the new arrangement, Beaumont seemed to take, if not a liking to the man-beast, then a certain evil pleasure in having him around and knowing everyone was terrified of him, blacks and whites together. As often as not these days, Slade could be seen at Beaumont’s side whenever the latter went out on the estate, a hulking bodyguard and team of oxen all rolled into a single man. In time it almost seemed like Slade had an invisible power over his master as well as his fellow slaves.
Whether loss of the election had diverted Denton Beaumont’s lust for power into a need to make yet more visible the iron grip of his rule at Oakbriar, or whether Slade’s constant attendance stemmed merely from the practical desire to maintain control in the best and most efficient means possible, the fact was, his presence changed things. A few of the white men spoke amongst themselves of quitting. But where would they go? Beaumont paid them decently and they knew well enough that neither the Davidson nor the McClellan plantations needed men. So most remained where they were and kept their grousing to themselves.
If her husband’s mortification was keen, at least he had plenty to keep himself busy. But Lady Daphne’s world had crumbled around her at his loss of the election the previous November. True to what the young man Cecil Hirsch had intimated, she had begun to pack her bags for Washington. And while Denton was away voting on election day, she had spent the morning making out a preliminary guest list for her first party, which she planned to host within a month of their arrival in Washington.
Her grief since that time was deepened in the knowledge that certain damaging reports and quotes had been published about her husband which, it was thought, had begun to turn the tide in Hoyt’s favor. There were several damning accounts but two worse than all the rest.
The first alleged that, as recently as during his candidacy, Beaumont had been on the verge of hanging one of his slaves. Lady Daphne was not in the habit of reading newspapers, especially political articles. But in the months leading up to the election she had perused anything having to do with her husband, secretly hoping to find her own name mentioned, even some reference to the enhanced social prestige of the capital that was sure to accompany their arrival the following January.
To discover instead, not at first her name but evidence enough, in her own mind, of things she had said, was so shocking as to send her into a near faint. She groped for a chair and sat down, hoping against hope that an untimely word from her own lips would not cost Denton the Senate seat.
Denton ranted at first. But after some time had passed he thought little more of the disparaging articles that had begun to appear in Virginia’s newspapers throughout the fall months, nor of selected quotations here and there that, taken in their implied context, cast him in an unfavorable, even at times an unseemly, light—presenting the image of a man who did not seem the genteel sort to represent the good people of Virginia in the august chambers of Congress.
But as the tide had begun to turn back in Hoyt’s favor, he had taken them more seriously, fuming and cursing, and turning his attention toward what—more importantly, who—could be the source of such-and-such a quote that had been so twisted and contorted and made him appear so much different than he really was.
But then, just a week before the election, had come the most crushing blow of all. A front page headline in the Gazette read: “Is Candidate’s Wife Secretly Teaching Slaves To Read?”
Beaumont stormed up the stairs, paper in hand, to confront his wife in a wrath of scarcely suppressed fury.
“What do you know about this!” he demanded, throwing the paper into her lap where she sat. Stunned by his tone and expression, Lady Daphne took the paper, trembling, found the article with the help of his finger jabbing at it in her face, and proceeded to read the incriminating words:
Rumors have been circulating for some time in Spotsylvania County, Virginia, of a clandestine school for slaves. Now information has recently come to light linking such reports with the wife of a prominent landowner in the region of Dove’s Landing.
According to reliable sources, when asked about the rumors, Lady Daphne Beaumont was quoted as saying, “It is definitely true. They are being taught to read, how to buy things and use money.”
Could the mysterious teacher of slaves be none other than the wife of senatorial candidate Denton Beaumont himself, whose plantation Oakbriar is located just two miles from the town where the rumors began, and who seems intimately acquainted with the details of the affair?
If so, it would seem to cast strange light on the candidate’s role as county Commissioner, in which his chief duties entail tracking down runaway slaves and returning them to their rightful owners.
Has a case of conflict of interest and illegality surfaced just a week prior—
The words on the page before her eyes began to blur. Lady Daphne’s face went ashen. She glanced up. Denton was staring straight into her face with a look more threatening than any she had ever seen.
“But… but…,” she stammered, “…it’s not true, Denton.”
“Of course it’s not true!” he thundered. “It’s an outright lie. And I want to know how it comes to have your name associated with it!”
A choking dryness in Lady Daphne’s throat made an immediate response impossible. As she struggled to find something to say, her husband rescued her from her plight.
“It obviously originated at Greenwood,” he growled. “The double-crossing hypocrite! All Davidson’s talk about supporting my candidacy! I was a fool not to see something like this coming. And so close to the election when it’s too late to head off the damage. How did Hoyt possibly manage such a story? What I want to know is how they come to have a quote from—”
He stopped, suddenly recalling the conversation around the dinner table from some time before.
“Of course!” he said to himself. “That day Veronica came home from Greenwood with all that tomfoolery about teaching slaves. Were they using her to bait you?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean, Denton.”
“Did you talk to anyone about Davidson’s wife and all her nonsense with their darkies? Did you and Veronica ever discuss the matter again?”
“Uh… no, Denton,” answered Lady Daphne.
“Where is Veronica?” said Beaumont, concluding that his wife could have had nothing to do with it. “I’ll see if she knows anything.”
He grabbed the newspaper back, turned, and strode from the room, leaving behind his trembling wife who realized that only a technicality in her answer to his questions had prevented a lie escaping her lips.
Beaumont succeeded in getting no more information out of Veronica tha
n he had her mother, other than confirmation of the fact that she had heard straight from Seth that it was indeed Carolyn Davidson who was teaching Negroes to read. Beaumont’s obsession with the untruth of the basic charge of the article kept him from looking further into the matter of the incriminating quote, which he took also for a fabrication. Lady Daphne was thus left as the only one who knew the full truth of the affair. And such she left it.
It turned out that Virginians wanted their elected officials neither too harsh toward slaves, for the sake of their national influence and reputation, nor too lenient, for the sake of proudly protecting the bastion of the South. Now reports were swirling that Beaumont might be both. Worse, he might have skeletons to hide in closets that pointed in both directions at once. Confusion and uncertainty about a candidate, especially concerning an emotionally charged issue like slavery and the treatment of Negroes, and just a week before the election, could prove lethal.
And such it did. It was far too late for most of Beaumont’s denials even to reach the state’s newspapers, much less turn the tide of his now plummeting support.
When news reached Oakbriar by special messenger two days after the election that the first results were going badly, and then the day following that Hoyt’s reelection was assured, the blow had been devastating to the Beaumont household.
Lady Daphne hardly knew what to do with herself after that dreadful day. Ever since, she had guiltily guarded the terrible secret that she had blabbed to a stranger about her husband’s temper toward their darkies and Carolyn Davidson and her slaves. The personal blame she carried added a horrifying sense of sickening dismay to the death of the Washington dream… the knowledge that she had been the cause of it.
“But, Mama,” said Veronica one day, trying to cheer up her mother after she had bemoaned that they would never become part of the Washington social scene, “we shall just substitute a wedding for your Washington party. You can still invite all the same people. I will let you invite whomever you want!”
From where she sat, Lady Daphne glanced up at her daughter.
“Whose wedding, dear?” she said in a faraway voice.
“Mine, Mama!” giggled Veronica. “As soon as I can arrange it.”
“That’s nice, dear… of course,” said her mother. In her mind, Veronica was still a little girl playing little girl games with nice little boys. She had no idea just how serious those games were about to become.
Forty-five
Scully Riggs had just finished loading a wagon full of supplies from the afternoon train when he glanced up to see Seth Davidson ride by in a buggy pulled by an auburn thoroughbred.
The thought that Veronica Beaumont was so friendly with the son of a nigger lover drove him into a frenzy of angry jealousy every time he saw one of the Davidsons.
Riggs stood up, straightened his back as he wiped the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. He stared after the buggy making its way down the street with Seth inside it like he thought he was the most important person in the world.
The high-and-mighty Davidsons… he hated every one of them!
The day would come, he thought, when he would make Veronica his one way or another… and get rid of Seth Davidson for good.
Seth rode on, pulled up in front of the Dove’s Landing Bank, got down, and went inside.
Scully Riggs cinched up the ropes over the load, hitched up the team, then climbed aboard. Suddenly his pulse quickened. There were Veronica and her mother coming out of Baker’s mercantile! He flapped the reins and yelled to his team.
“Hello, Miss Veronica,” said Scully a minute later, reining the two workhorses to a noisy and dusty stop alongside the sidewalk.
“Oh, Scully…,” said Veronica, looking toward him blankly.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he added to Veronica’s mother, then turned again to the object of his primary attention. “I’m just on my way out to Oakbriar with a delivery. Weren’t scheduled till tomorrow, but the train come in a little early so I got it all loaded. Maybe I could call on you later, Miss Veronica, since I’ll be out your way.”
“I don’t think so, Scully,” said Veronica, disgusted at the very thought of Scully Riggs coming to call on her. “We’re going to be in town for a while.”
“How is your father, Scully?” asked Lady Daphne. “Why do I never see him anymore around Oakbriar?”
“Uh… he got fired, ma’am. I figured you knew.”
“Oh, no… my goodness—I am sorry. What is he doing now?”
“He’s working at the depot like me, ma’am. He don’t care for the work much, but like he says, it’s a job.”
“Give him my regards, then, Scully.”
“I will… thank you, ma’am. Bye, Miss Veronica.”
Veronica said nothing. Scully whacked the leather against the backs of his team, and jostled off down the street.
“Why did you say that, Mother?” said Veronica when he was gone.
“What, dear?” asked Lady Daphne.
“All those questions about Scully’s daddy. Who cares about him anyway? And to give him your regards—goodness, Mama… what if someone heard you!”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with it, dear,” said Veronica’s mother. “The man worked for us for years. He sat in my kitchen and ate with us many times.”
“They’re trash, Mama, that’s what’s wrong with it. You can’t be too friendly to their kind—people will get the wrong idea.”
They continued along the boardwalk.
“Oh, Mama, there’s Seth!” Veronica suddenly exclaimed, then dashed off in the direction of the bank as quickly as femininity and her long dress would allow.
Seth paused momentarily outside the bank. Now that he had conducted his father’s business, he had forgotten what it was his mother had asked him to do for her in town. Then he remembered and turned toward Auburn Flame. As he reached the buggy, he saw Veronica walking hurriedly toward him.
“Hello, Seth,” she said.
“Hi, Veronica,” Seth replied, glancing about behind her. “Are you in town alone?”
“No, Mother and I—”
Suddenly she stopped and put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh… I’m… I’m feeling faint!”
“It’s probably the sun,” said Seth, taking her arm as Veronica clutched and leaned against him. “Let me help you to my buggy. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the shade.”
“Oh… thank you, Seth,” sighed Veronica weakly.
He led her to where the buggy sat, then helped her step up and inside. “Oh, yes… this is much better,” she said, drawing in a breath. “I think I will recover now… how can I ever thank you, Seth… except I do think I feel a headache coming on,” she added.
“Stay here as long as you like,” he said. “I have another errand to do for my mother. Do you mind going along with me?”
“Not at all, Seth.”
“Good,” he said as he jumped up and sat down beside her. Moments later they were bounding along the street.
“There’s your mother,” said Seth, glancing up the street.
“Yes… I’ll meet her later,” replied Veronica. “Right now I just want to sit here in the shade.”
Veronica gave a little wave as they passed. Lady Daphne’s eyes followed Seth’s buggy with a look of bewilderment. Where was Veronica off to now?
Five minutes later Seth came out of Baker’s holding a small package. Veronica still sat in the Davidson buggy looking very pleased with herself. As Seth walked back to join her, he saw three of her friends walking away from the buggy tittering, casting glances back as they went and giggling amongst themselves. He climbed aboard.
“My headache is getting worse, Seth,” said Veronica, her expression showing suffering. Again she put a hand to her forehead. “Would you mind terribly… I hate to ask, it’s such an imposition, but Mother is going to be in town much too long, and… and would you mind taking me home?”
She paused and glanced into his eyes with a pa
ined but innocent expression. “But of course,” she added, “if you’re too busy…”
“Oh, no… sure, I guess,” said Seth. “I’m done with both the things my mother and father asked me to do. I don’t suppose it will matter if I’m a little late getting back. What about your mother?”
“I told Sally to tell her I wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to ask you to take me home.”
Satisfied, Seth called to Auburn Flame and the buggy bounded into motion. As they approached her friends, Veronica scooted a little closer to her squire, gently slid her arm through his, and leaned her head against his shoulder. As they passed, she stole a glance at the three girls out of the corner of her eye and cast them a wily smile.
As soon as they were out of town, Veronica’s faintness disappeared. No more mention was made of her head, though she continued to sit close and lean against Seth as if for support. They arrived at Oakbriar some fifteen minutes later. Seth pulled the buggy in front of the house, jumped down, then turned and offered Veronica his hand. She took it daintily, then stepped to the ground. He led her up the porch to the front door.
“I, uh… guess you’ll be all right now, huh?” he said, turning to walk back down the steps.
“Oh, Seth,” said Veronica, “please don’t go just yet. Mother is still in town and… I need someone—”
She glanced up into his face with big, sad, drooping eyes, then let them flutter a time or two as if she were fighting back tears. “—to take care of me,” she added.
She turned the latch and went inside, leaving the door open behind her and Seth standing where he was.
“Beruriah,” he heard her call, “would you bring us two plain juleps—Seth and I will be on the back porch.”
Tentatively Seth stepped inside. He saw Veronica’s dress just disappearing from the other side of the entryway toward the kitchen. She paused and turned back.
American Dreams Trilogy Page 36