American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  Again Seth nodded.

  “Only thing we can do, then, is go after him and kill him ourselves.”

  “You’d never catch him,” said Seth, “even with that bullet of yours in his arm. The man possesses superhuman strength. We’d never catch him now. And we can’t just ride into Oakbriar, ask to see him, and then shoot him. That would be murder.”

  “I don’t know about that. But if he’s going to be executed for this, it will have to be you that does it.”

  “I’ll ask my father what to do,” said Seth. “But he will never go along with murder, justified or not.”

  “Well, whatever you do, my involvement in the affair cannot be known of. No one must know that I came along this road. The proximity is too close to your father’s plantation. You talk it over with your father and mother, but no one else. Make up whatever story you want about how you got away from that big darkie’s knife… but I was never here.”

  “What about Slade’s gunshot wound?”

  “He won’t talk. His kind never do. He doesn’t know who I am anyway and didn’t get any better look at me than I did him. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll die from it, though from what you say, I doubt it. All right, I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Seth glanced up with a forlorn expression. But consolation in time of grief was not Weldon Southcote’s forte.

  “What you do about that man I shot is your own affair,” he said, climbing back up onto his wagon. “I should have aimed a little lower and to the left. But it’s done now and he’s gone, and I’ve got to be well away from around here before the day advances and I’m seen. You get yourself home, son… and quickly.”

  A minute or two later, Seth heard the clattering and clanking of Southcote’s wares as he eased his rolling merchandise emporium around the Greenwood wagon, used to take six persons to freedom the night before, that had now become a hearse.

  Slowly he rumbled away, and Seth was left in silence.

  Weeping on and off the whole way, Seth reached the outskirts of Greenwood then went the long way around, so as to avoid the black houses, and straight to his home. He would have his mother and father know first so that they could be with him when Nancy Shaw was told. He dreaded to think what the reaction among their blacks toward Phoebe would be to learn that her continued and secret relations with Elias Slade had cost her father his life.

  He walked to the door, his eyes filling with tears again. Carolyn let out a scream when she saw his shirt. Seth continued past her and collapsed in his father’s arms.

  “Oh, Dad…!” was all he could utter before bursting into sobs.

  Forty-Three

  The murder of Malachi Shaw rocked the entire black community for miles around Dove’s Landing. Even whites were more concerned than they might otherwise have been. Everyone knew the name Elias Slade, and now they had more reason to fear him than ever.

  Malachi’s funeral, to the loud weeping of nearly every one of Greenwood’s blacks, was attended by every slave from every plantation for miles, and even a few whites. Richmond delivered a powerful eulogy in which he spoke out more vocally than he ever had in public against injustice and violence of all kinds, breaking into tears as he described with great emotion the friendship and deep affection that freedom had allowed to develop between himself and his former slave. Poor Nancy was devastated by grief but tried to put on a brave face for the husband who had gone to join the old king of the five rivers and his other ancestors of a proud heritage. The mourning would have been far greater had the dozens, perhaps a hundred, been present who were now living in freedom because of the simple, humble man’s courage.

  As the only eyewitness of the affair, Seth’s account was understandably sketchy from having to be vague about what he and Malachi had been doing at the remote place east of Dove’s Landing at such an hour, as well as having to omit all word of Southcote’s involvement. Slade’s wound from Southcote’s gun did not become widely publicized anyway. But the fact that Slade had attacked Seth and had killed Malachi when he had come to Seth’s rescue were straightforward enough.

  Charges might have been brought, not for black killing black for no court would care, but for Slade’s attack against Seth. But as no injury had resulted to stand in proof of it, and as Denton Beaumont, Slade’s boss, or his son Wyatt, would have been the local authorities in the case to bring such charges, both of whom would probably have taken Slade’s side in a legal contest, a successful prosecution seemed unlikely. A legal battle involving the Beaumonts was the last thing anyone at Greenwood wanted, and nothing more was ever done.

  It did not take long after the incident for Seth Davidson to reach the decision he had been wrestling with for a month.

  His despondency over the killing was deepened by a tremendous burden of guilt. Had he left Greenwood when the thought first came to him, perhaps Malachi would still be alive. It was Slade’s hatred of him that had precipitated the incident. Nor had he forgotten Slade’s threats against his father. But even that had spilled over as a result of Slade’s hatred of him. It all went back to the day he had taken on Slade with his fists to keep the big man from raping Veronica. He doubted Slade would do anything if he weren’t around.

  He had to leave.

  Now more than ever. He was in danger. And as long as he remained at Greenwood, so were his parents. So was everyone.

  He had no alternative. He had to get away from Dove’s Landing long enough to let the hatred cool down.

  Two days after the funeral, Seth found his parents alone and told them of his decision.

  Carolyn cried. Surprising to Seth, however, after listening attentively to his reasoning, Richmond did not argue against it.

  “There is more to it, though, isn’t there, Seth,” he asked, “than Veronica and reaction against you by the town bullies?”

  “That’s a lot of it, Dad,” replied Seth. “But there’s so much involved—Slade, Wyatt, Scully, the hanging… everything somehow stems from the fact that those guys have it out for me. It seems like everyone else is in danger as a result.”

  “Are you afraid?” asked Richmond.

  “I suppose… sure. After what happened with Slade, how could I not be? I have the feeling Wyatt’s going to keep trying to draw me into his vigilante activities. I see no solution to all this but my absence. Yeah, I guess I’m afraid, but more than that—I see no other way. Everybody’s in danger, not just me. Do you think I’m a coward, Dad?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with fear,” replied Richmond. “I don’t see your wanting to leave as cowardice. You are trying to be prudent enough to recognize how to avoid an unnecessary confrontation, and protect other people in the process.”

  “You’re not just trying to make me feel better by saying that?” smiled Seth mordantly.

  “Maybe I am,” smiled Richmond. “But it is the truth. If your life is in danger, which we now know it is, there is no sense, like they say, in being a dead hero. Why not remove the source of Slade’s resentment, and maybe Wyatt’s and Scully’s also. Let their hot heads cool down a while. I think you are trying to look realistically at the big picture, and have come up with a well-thought-out solution. Of course we will miss you. But it will only be for a short time and I will sleep better at night knowing you are somewhere safe.”

  Seth wandered into the kitchen midway through the afternoon two weeks later. The house was mostly quiet. His father and Thomas were out. Maribel and Moses were resting. Carolyn’s back was turned as he entered.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, sitting down at the table.

  For a moment she did not reply, then turned and smiled. Her face and eyes were red.

  “What is it, Mom?” said Seth in concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “I am just going to miss you, that’s all,” she said. “I wasn’t ready to lose a son just yet.”

  “You’re not losing me!” laughed Seth. “I’m just going away for a little while. I’ll be back.”

  “I know… I keep trying to tell myself that.
But it doesn’t help. You are leaving home and moving north, and at a younger age than I planned on having to say good-bye. Who knows when I’ll see you again? You must just be patient with this mother’s heart and let me cry.

  “All right, Mom. How can I complain that you love me too much! But really, I will be fine. It will be an adventure. At least I am trying to convince myself of that. And you know it’s for the best.”

  “I suppose I do,” she sighed. “I am afraid for you here. How can I not be? I just don’t know why all this has happened. But it has. I would rather have you safe and with Cynthia than in danger here.”

  Seth rose, walked to his mother, and embraced her.

  “Oh, Seth, I love you,” she said, breaking into tears again. “I am going to miss you so much! You’re not just a son. You are my friend. I’m going to miss our talks… I’m going to miss you!”

  “I’ll miss you too, Mom… but we can write. I promise, I will be back after things cool off around here. You don’t think I’m going to become a Northerner for good do you? Somebody’s got to take over Greenwood, and take care of you and Dad when you get old, right!”

  Carolyn stepped back, wiped at her eyes, and forced a smile.

  “Seth,” she said, placing her hands on his two shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes, “you have a great time in the North! My tears will dry, and I want you to remember me with a smile on my face.”

  “Okay, Mom,” he smiled. “I will. That won’t be hard. For what crying you sometimes do, you have a smile on your face most of the time. How else would I remember you! You’re just about the best mom anyone could have.”

  “What a nice thing for you to say! You had better be careful, or you’ll have me crying again!”

  “Then maybe I should finish my packing!”

  Carolyn watched him go, then drew in a deep breath. She would be all right now. She’d had a cry and had held him in her arms one last time.

  She was ready to be strong again.

  Seth left Dove’s Landing on the 2:15 train the following afternoon. It was Thursday, November first. The year was 1860. His parents and Thomas saw him off.

  From a street away, so too did Scully Riggs. As he watched him board the train, however, Scully did not feel the elation of victory. Instead, he had a hollow feeling inside. He may have succeeded in running Seth Davidson out of town—at least, so Scully interpreted the string of events. But for what? Veronica was gone. Now Seth was leaving. Rich people like them could come and go as they pleased. But he was stuck here. He’d be stuck here the rest of his life. What good had it done him to get even with Seth Davidson? He had done him a favor. Now he was getting out of this place.

  A few final waves as the train pulled out of the station, then the three Davidsons turned, Carolyn wiping at her eyes again, and returned to their carriage. The ride back to Greenwood was quiet. Thomas was silently envious, wishing it were him on the train instead of Seth.

  In the meantime, Seth sat back as the train picked up steam. He was already feeling pangs of loneliness. For all his bravado, he would miss his father and mother more than they realized, maybe even more than he realized. They were his two best friends in the world. He depended on them in so many ways.

  But, he said to himself, it was a relief knowing they would be safer with him gone. And it was a relief knowing that with every minute that passed the distance between himself and Elias Slade and Wyatt Beaumont was widening!

  He settled into his seat and picked up the day’s newspaper he had brought along.

  “Election Nears,” read the headlines, “Dems Split North/South Vote. Lincoln Appears Unbeatable.”

  “The strategy of Southern Democratic leaders in placing their own candidate, Vice President John Breckinridge, on the presidential ballot,” Seth read, “in opposition to the candidacy of Senator Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, now seems likely to have been a serious miscalculation. In splitting the Northern vote in next Tuesday’s election, as they supposed, between two antislavery sons of Illinois, Breckinridge would carry the South, and with it the election. But with the wild-card Whig candidacy of John Bell showing surprising strength in border states, and with Old Uncle Abe demonstrating more force against Douglas in the North than anticipated, it may be that the worst fears of Southerners—Republicans, Democrats, and Whigs alike—are about to be realized.

  “If Douglas does not bring home at least 73 electoral votes in the North, or if Bell should manage a stronger election-day showing than anticipated by stealing two or three states away from the Breckinridge camp, it will likely be the log-cabin-born son of Quakers Abraham Lincoln who is the next occupant of the White House.”

  Seth finished the article, then his eyes scanned farther down the page until they came upon the caption: “Tension Mounts in South Carolina, Secession Talks Intensify.”

  “It is no secret,” the article began, “that the states of the deep South are up in arms at the possibility of a Lincoln presidency. None has been so strident in its opposition to the Lincoln agenda. For months, that state’s legislature and nearly all its newspapers have promised the rest of the nation that it would withdraw from the Union if Lincoln is elected.

  “Though widely reviled throughout the South, Lincoln is not a strict abolitionist. In all likelihood, if elected, he would do nothing to upset that age-old institution as it presently exists in the Southern states. He is a politician not a firebrand like John Brown. But he has pledged absolutely to halt the farther spread of slavery in new states and territories. ‘On this point,’ he has said publicly, ‘we must hold firm, as with a chain of steel. The tug has to come, and better now than at any time hereafter.’ South Carolina’s obstinacy has caused Lincoln to add a second inviolate conviction to the spread of slavery, that is that no state has a right to leave the Union. On those points, he has declared, he will not budge.

  “Is the talk of South Carolina’s leaders a bluff intended to bolster support for Vice President Breckinridge? Or is it a threat backed up by a promise of future action?

  “No one can know at this time. Only the election and its aftermath will tell the story. A showdown seems inevitable.

  “The larger question concerns not South Carolina, but all the South. If Lincoln is elected, and should South Carolina prove good on its threat, what will be the response of other Southern states? Will they side with Lincoln and the North and remain true to the nation as it exists? Or will they follow South Carolina’s lead and also secede?

  “And what will be Washington’s response? If secession comes prior to Lincoln’s inauguration on March 4, what will President Buchanan do about it during the final four lame-duck months of his presidency?

  “These are momentous questions upon which the future of the nation may turn. All eyes will be on the voting booths next Tuesday, November 6, just as all eyes will be on South Carolina in the weeks that follow.”

  Gradually continuing through the paper, Seth’s eyes were arrested by a small item under the heading “Capital Social Column.”

  “Virginia senator Denton Beaumont and his wife, Lady Daphne MacFadden Beaumont,” Seth read, “have announced the engagement of their daughter, Veronica, one of last year’s bright new faces on the capital social scene, to Richard Fitzpatrick, son of Michael Fitzpatrick, U.S. ambassador to Luxembourg. No more details are known other than that a Christmas celebration is in the planning stages in the couple’s honor. A wedding date has not been set, although rumor has it that the nuptials will take place in the first month or two of the new year, after which the couple plans to honeymoon on the French Riviera before returning to Luxembourg where the ambassador’s son and his bride will accept a post in the consulate.”

  Seth smiled at the announcement. Well, Veronica, he said to himself, it looks like you finally got what you wanted!

  PART FOUR

  THE NATION EXPLODES

  1861

  Forty-Four

  Seth traveled by train to Fredericksburg, then through Baltimore, Ph
iladelphia, New York, finally arriving on Sunday afternoon at Cynthia and Jeffrey’s small naval home in New Haven, Connecticut, where Cynthia’s husband had been assigned upon graduation from Annapolis.

  The much-anticipated election was only two days away. Seth had only been able to settle in to Cynthia’s extra bedroom and shake off the fatigue of travel and begin to familiarize himself with the city in hopes of finding a job when the election suddenly dominated the news, the city, and the entire nation.

  The headlines shouted by paperboys throughout New Haven told the story: “Lincoln Wins. Crisis in South Looms.”

  “As most political experts had expected,” read Jeffrey aloud as he and Cynthia and Seth sat at the breakfast table several days later, when the majority of votes had been counted, “pro-slavery advocates in the Southern states are in mourning this week, while rejoicing can be heard throughout the North at the election in last Tuesday’s election of Abraham Lincoln as the next President of the United States.

  “While official balloting will not take place until the electoral college of delegates from the states convenes, Lincoln’s sweep of the North leaves no doubt as to the inevitable result. Though Southerners had hoped for a split decision in the North, Illinois senator Stephen A. Douglas disappointed backers by carrying but the single state of Missouri. Pro-slavery prospects were further dashed by Whig John Bell’s surprising victories in Virginia, Tennessee, and the vice president’s home state of Kentucky. While Lincoln in the end is expected to garner some 40% of the nationwide popular vote, his electoral-college victory will be far more convincing, if not an actual landslide. At present, Lincoln stands with 173 likely electoral votes. Results have not yet come in from the two western states of California and Oregon, but their seven combined electoral votes will surely give him a total of 180. John Breckinridge, carrying Texas, Arkansas, and the seven states of the deep South, will gain 72 electoral votes, Bell with his three states 39, and Douglas 12.