American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

“Oh… I am sorry, Richmond, but I wish you had never agreed to this!”

  “I did what I thought was right at the time, and as I thought God was leading me. I don’t intend to begin doubting that now because we find ourselves in a tight situation. God’s promises to take care of our needs are not predicated on times of ease and comfort.”

  Tears filled Carolyn’s eyes. Richmond stretched his arm around her. Carolyn wept quietly for two or three minutes, after which they continued to sit in thoughtful silence.

  “Are we going to lose everything, Richmond?” sighed Carolyn at length.

  “I don’t know… we may. Don’t get me wrong, it would break my heart, but God will take care of us.”

  “It would kill me to have to move. I love Greenwood. And what of all our people, what of the railroad? What will become of it all?”

  “God will have to see to them too. If he closes one door, he will open another. Besides, these things take time. Even if Harland and the others eventually force us out, nothing will happen for sixty or ninety days, and then another two or three months for all the legalities involved.”

  “But, Richmond… are you saying… that means we could have to move out by this fall!”

  “I’m sure by then the war will be over and much will have changed. Perhaps we will be ready for a move.”

  “Oh, Richmond, don’t say such a thing!”

  Twenty-Nine

  Seth quickly wrote back in response to his father’s letter that had been sent to him in care of the Boston Herald.

  Dear Father, Mother, Cherity, and Cynthia,

  I was saddened beyond words at receipt of your letter, Dad, telling me about Thomas. I still cannot believe it. I wept at the news. The worst of it was having to weep alone. I have never felt so lonely in my life as throughout the night after I received your letter. I cannot imagine the grief this must be causing you and Mother. To lose a brother is heartbreaking, but to lose a son must be far more excruciating. I am so sorry. Though I hurt for myself, I think perhaps I hurt even more for you two whom I love with all my heart.

  I told you of the reception at the White House. It went well, and though I did not actually meet the president, I saw him and that was an experience in itself. But it was Gen. Grant who stole the show. What a contrast between the two men! Gen. Grant scarcely came up to Mr. Lincoln’s shoulders. But what a stir he caused in the city. When Mr. Lincoln saw him, he was nearly beside himself with enthusiasm and praise, though Gen. Grant looked uncomfortable and embarrassed by it all. I had the feeling that he was anxious to get back to his army. He had come to the capital to receive from the president the specially created rank of lieutenant general, which no one since George Washington has held. He is now in command of half a million men in all the armies of the United States.

  By the time this letter reaches you, Grant may have already begun his march toward Richmond. I hope his army does not take a path through Dove’s Landing! Everyone here has the utmost confidence that he will be able to accomplish what no other Union general has, defeat our friend Robert E. Lee and end this terrible conflict. How different this war might have been had Mr. Lee followed his spiritual conscience rather than his political conscience. I know he is your friend, Father, but that is how I see it. To have placed his loyalty to Virginia, as much as I love our state too, above the conviction that slavery is wrong, in my opinion, was not an act of courage as most in the South see it. How many thousands of lives could he have saved if he had said, I will not go to war against my nation or my president. I am sorry, Father, but as I see it, our dear Gen. Lee has prolonged the war. He is the one, probably the only man who could have ended it long ago, and this he did not do. How many more young men will have to die because of his determination to fight to the bitter end? The handwriting has been on the wall a long time. The Confederacy has already lost. Why do its generals fight on when their cause is hopeless? Only so that thousands more will die? The South has so lost its reason and its humanity that, rather than exchange black Union prisoners for their own, they simply shoot them en masse. And this represents some ideal Southern way of life, as they call it. I am sorry to speak so bluntly. I have seen too much death to honor those Southern leaders who took this nation into this horrible and unnecessary war. Their bravery is undisputed. Their moral judgment, however, will go down in history, in my opinion, as a great travesty.

  My apologies for such a cynical note!

  My big news of this letter is for you, Cherity. Do you remember my telling you about the occasional hospitality I have enjoyed? I had reason to stay at a boardinghouse in Louisville for several days about a year ago. There I met the nicest man and woman who keep horses, as we do there at home. One of their mares had given birth about a year before to the loveliest white and brown foal, but then died the next day. They have taken great care to raise the colt with their other horses but knew that he needed extra special care. I fell in love with the yearling immediately and asked if I could buy him. They agreed, but we decided it would be best for him to remain where he was for another year, until he was strong and ready for training. I returned recently on my way back to Boston and made arrangements for him to be sent by rail to you. I knew when I first saw him that you and he were meant for each other. He is an Arabian quarter horse, and is now just over two years of age. He is of gentle temperament though is not yet trained. You and Alexander will be able to see to that, and he will be able to determine when he is strong enough for you to ride him. I would think that time might be now, but he will know best. I cannot wait to see you on him!

  With all my love to each of you,

  Seth.

  Richmond set the letter down and looked across the table at Carolyn.

  “Our Seth is becoming a bold and independent thinker!” he said.

  “I have never heard him speak his mind so forcefully,” smiled Carolyn. “What do you think of his comments?”

  “I am not sure what to think,” mused Richmond. “He makes some strong points. He is certainly closer to the war than we are. Perhaps some of his emotion is a reaction from the news about Thomas. To be honest, however, I had felt some of the same questions. On those rare occasions when we have had the chance to visit, Robert speaks of his dislike of slavery. Yet it does seem to be as Seth said, that his loyalty to Virginia and the South is greater. I think it is clear what Mount Holly’s tailor would have done if facing a decision between his colonial New Jersey and what his conscience told him of right and wrong. I know what Robert was thinking, that he could not fight against his own state. But the honorable thing to have done, it seems to me, is what Seth did, say you will fight for neither side.”

  “But General Lee is a military man,” said Carolyn. “Could he have realistically done that?”

  “It is often not easy or convenient to follow one’s convictions. But what was to stop him doing what Seth did? He could have resigned his commission and refused to take up arms against his state or against his president, by which I mean President Lincoln. In honoring his state, he has dishonored his nation and its president. Where is the virtue in that? I believe Seth is right. How many lives might have been saved had more conscientious men on both sides simply refused to fight against their brother Americans? Living out one’s Christian faith in a world of conflict is never easy. But if men and women of conviction simply go along with the trends and responses of those around them, how can they expect to change the world for the cause of Christ? I confess, I do not see how Robert’s loyalty to the South has furthered the cause of Christ in the world.”

  “Would you tell him that?” asked Carolyn.

  “Only if he asked me specifically. Until then, his conscience is his, my conscience is mine. The world God has given me to change is not the world of Robert Lee, but the world of Richmond Davidson.”

  Thirty

  Veronica scarcely slept for days. She could think of nothing but Richard’s words, She was a Confederate spy…. There is nothing lower than a spy. They deserve to be hung.
r />   Suddenly the curiosity to know what was inside the packet Cecil had given her became overpowering.

  As soon as Richard left home the following morning, she got out the packet. With trembling fingers she broke the seal, then opened the packet and slowly removed the contents.

  As she began looking through the papers inside, Veronica’s eyes widened in shock.

  She was holding maps, diagrams, planned Union troop movements, and communications between several Union generals, including a letter from Abraham Lincoln himself to General Sherman about the upcoming campaign against Atlanta.

  These were top secret papers about Union army plans!

  The papers fell from Veronica’s hands as her brain spun with wild fantasies about what would happen if her own role in Cecil’s schemes was discovered. She had to put a stop to this! She had to get out of this horrible nightmare!

  She took a deep breath as if to summon her resolve, then picked up the papers and stuffed them back into the packet. Ten minutes later she set out for the middle of the city.

  Holding the packet Cecil had given her, Veronica walked into the lobby of the Bradford Hotel and glanced around, as if hoping to see him standing waiting for her. But he was nowhere to be seen. She went to the counter.

  “I would like to see Mr. Hirsch,” she said.

  The man behind the counter returned her question with a blank expression.

  “Who?” he said after a moment.

  “Mr. Hirsch,” repeated Veronica. “Cecil Hirsch.”

  “I’m sorry, we have no guest by that name.”

  “Perhaps he is not a guest, but he stays here,” said Veronica, doing her best to sound confident. “You must have seen me with him—I’ve met him here a dozen times. He told me to come here… now please tell me what room he is in.”

  By this time the hotel manager remembered Veronica’s face, not an easy one to forget. He hesitated another moment, then nodded.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “Mr. Hirsch has given strict orders not to be disturbed. But as it is you… I will send someone up to tell him you are here.”

  Veronica turned away. She was too agitated to sit down. Instead she walked back and forth in the lobby until she heard footsteps descending the stair. She turned and saw Cecil reach the ground floor and walk toward her. He was clearly not pleased to have her summon him.

  “What are you doing here?” he said with a cloudy expression, leading her to a corner where they would not be overheard.

  “I had to see you,” replied Veronica.

  “We have no business together until you come back from Atlanta.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about—Atlanta. I can’t go.”

  “What do you mean you can’t go? You have to go.”

  “I can’t… I won’t go.”

  Veronica hesitated and glanced away.

  “Cecil, I know you are going to be angry with me,” she added after a moment. “But I opened the packet.”

  “You what!” he exclaimed, his eyes flaming. Veronica had never seen Cecil Hirsch truly angry in her life. He was clearly angry now.

  “I opened the packet,” she repeated. “I had to know what was going on.”

  “McFee will never take it with the seal broken. How could you have done such an idiotic thing?”

  Cecil strode back and forth shaking his head.

  “You have put us in a terrible fix,” he said. “I have to get that information to Atlanta.”

  “But it is—”

  “I know well enough what it is!” snapped Cecil. “Keep your voice down. Look, Veronica, we can talk about your future later. For right now, you have to take that train to Atlanta and deliver that packet. I’ll include a note explaining what happened and hope McFee buys it.”

  “Cecil… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  Cecil laughed, though not with humor.

  “You’re in too deep, Veronica. You can’t get out now. Besides, the war will be over soon. You will be rich.”

  “I don’t care about being rich. You can have all the money back. I just want—”

  Veronica stopped and glanced away. She had begun to cry.

  “I just want out,” she whimpered, “and I… I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  An expression came over Cecil’s face that she had never seen.

  “Tears, my dear Veronica?” he said sarcastically. “Do you really think playing the injured woman will sway me? Veronica… Veronica!” he laughed, “save your acting for someone else. Ha, ha, ha. It is really too hilarious to see you trying your games on me.”

  “I’m not playing a game, Cecil. I’m afraid. I had no idea what we were—”

  “Oh, come, Veronica! What did you think they were paying us so much money for?”

  “But it’s wrong.”

  “Veronica! There is a war on. Information is wealth. I’ve always told you that. There is no right and wrong, no good and bad. Everyone is out for themselves, including the North and the South. War is a business and I am in the business of information. I’ve never made any secret of that. If you didn’t know what was going on, you should have.”

  “But I didn’t, Cecil. Please—”

  “Look, Veronica,” said Cecil, “it’s not only that you can’t get out, I don’t want you out. I have too much to lose too. I’m not about to hang because of your conscience. You and I are in this together all the way. Now you either go to Atlanta and deliver that packet, or I will arrange for certain information to come to light about Mrs. Richard Fitzpatrick, Washington socialite, revealing that she has been stealing secrets from her husband and selling them to the South.”

  “You wouldn’t… would you really do that, Cecil?” she said, looking into his face with disbelief.

  “I hope it will not come to that, Veronica. Don’t try me.”

  Thirty-One

  Cherity stood on the platform of the Dove’s Landing station as the train pulled in, hardly able to contain her excitement. They had received word by telegram yesterday that her new horse would be arriving today. She and Alexender had been waiting already for an hour.

  As the man led the two-year-old colt down the ramp ten minutes later, the sight took Cherity’s breath away.

  He was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen!

  “Oh, Seth!” she said under her breath. “How can I ever thank you? He’s gorgeous!”

  Ten minutes later, Alexander and Cherity were on their way back to Greenwood with the young brown colt cantering along behind the buggy.

  “You decided what you’s gwine call him, Miz Cherity?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, Alexander,” answered Cherity. “I think I am going to name him Cadence.”

  “Dat’s a right pretty soundin’ name, an’ jes’ perfect for a horse.”

  “How long do you think it will be until I can ride him?”

  “Well, he seems ter me ter be well formed an’ strong, an’ you ain’t exactly as big as Mister Dab’son. An’ he didn’t flinch none when we touched an’ stroked him, so as likely as not he’s had plenty er luvin’ care. So I reckon you could ride him ’most any time, soon’s we git him trained an used ter da saddle. You jes’ talk ter him an’ pet him an’ stroke him as much as you can an’ let him git used ter yo’ voice an’ yo’ smell. Horses is like people, dey git attachments an’ likes an’ dislikes jes’ like we duz. An’ we want him luvin’ you like you’s gwine luv him. Dat way he knows he kin trust you, an’ you kin trust him.”

  Cadence proved as cooperative and as rapid a learner as he was beautiful. Within two weeks Cherity was able to sit on his back, as Alexander led him gently about the corral. Gradually Cherity saddled him and mounted him herself and took him into the near pasture. Within a month she was ready to venture out into the lower hills beyond and her first ride away from Greenwood.

  She walked to the stable and whistled her greeting. Then she waited for the reply from Cadence. There it was—the low, soft nicker greeting her in re
turn. She entered his stall, slipped the halter over his head, talking softly into his ear, and then led him out into the barn. She brushed him down briefly, affectionately scratching those little itchy spots she had come to know, then threw the saddle pad up high over his back. When she had it just right, she took the familiar old black saddle Seth had given her and, with what was still a great effort because of her height, threw it up atop the pad and centered it just right on Cadence’s wide back. After fastening the girth and breast collar, she checked his legs to make sure nothing was pinched, then gave the girth its final tightening and led him to the corral outside.

  She led Cadence round in several circles. Once she was satisfied that he was well warmed up and ready for a ride, she lifted her left foot up into the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle.

  Cherity led the way out of the corral and across the pasture in a leisurely walk up the incline toward the woods and the ridge beyond. A few patches of snow still lingered in the shadows of the woods and at the top of the ridge. The ground was a little soggy from a recent rain. But the sun was out and the fresh earthy scents of springtime filled the air. Cherity’s heart swelled with gratitude to God for the beauties and pleasures of his world. Her life was filled with uncertainty. She was anxious for Seth’s safety. But God was good. No matter what they faced, Richmond and Carolyn always returned to that great truth of the universe. As simple as it seemed, it was the truth around which revolved all the other truths of life. God really was good!

  They went further than she had yet taken Cadence, even further than she had expected to go. But she could tell that Cadence too felt invigorated by the new sights and sounds and smells of the Virginia hillside, snorting occasionally with pleasure.

  They came to the high meadow, empty now, spring grasses and wildflowers bursting out of the earth in profusion. Cherity reined in and looked all about her. Everything was still and quiet and at peace. It was hard to imagine that a war was being waged so close, and that soldiers had been camped at this very spot such a short time ago.