A Death in Utopia (2 page)

Mrs. Child was seated in a high backed chair at the front of the room. She was forty years old at least, but she still looked elegant in a quiet dark gray dress with a filmy white collar. There was no gray in her dark hair and when she spoke, her clear voice reached everyone in the room.

"I am going to talk tonight about an unpopular subject. We who live in New England speak harshly of slaveholders in the Southern States, but we must not congratulate ourselves. Thanks to our soil and climate, and the early influence of the Quakers, the form of slavery does not exist among us; but the very spirit of the hateful and mischievous thing is here in all its strength."

Abigail heard a scuffle of feet at the back of the room and someone coughed. Mr. Platt scowled at the speaker.

"An unjust law exists in this Commonwealth, by which marriages between persons of different color is pronounced illegal." Mrs. Child continued. Mrs. Ripley, seated at the front of the room with her husband showed no sign of being shocked; her face was perfectly still as she listened. "I am aware of the ridicule to which I may subject myself by alluding to this, but I have lived too long, and observed too much, to be disturbed by the world's mockery. The government ought not to be invested with power to control the affections, any more than the consciences of citizens. A man has at least as good a right to choose his wife, as he has to choose his religion."

That was too much for Mr. Platt. He spluttered out, "You people have no right to come here with your wild ideas about how we should live. Everybody knows whites and blacks don't belong together. That's why God made 'em different. It's only radicals and Quakers want them to live together."

Abigail looked at Winslow Hopewell, who was leaning forward in his chair, his attention focused on Mrs. Child. He paid no attention to the outburst. Very different from her father who always jumped into the middle of a fight if his beliefs were being questioned. Impulsively she stood up and spoke.

"We Quakers believe all human beings should live together in peace. A man's character isn't shown in the color of his skin."

"Hurrah for the Quakers!" one of the students blurted out abruptly. Mr. Ripley clapped his hands and told everyone to quiet down.

"This is no way to treat our guest," he said sharply. "We will listen to what Mrs. Child has to say and then we can ask questions. But there must be no more interruptions."

The room became quiet, but again Abigail heard a rustle of movement in back of her and a few more coughs as the Platts settled down. She wondered why they had come. She doubted that tonight's talk was giving the visitors a better feeling about Brook Farmers.

Mrs. Child went on to talk about how quarrels between abolitionists were threatening the efforts to end slavery. "Whether we believe that slaves should be freed immediately to live among us, or believe that freed slaves should find a homeland in another country, we must work together. Remember there are still many Americans who have met violent ends because they advocated ending slavery. Only five years ago Elijah Lovejoy was killed and his press destroyed because he published an anti-slavery newspaper. And the U.S. Postmaster General has proclaimed that the post offices will refuse to deliver anti-slavery literature."

The students sitting on the floor stirred restlessly and Fred ran his fingers impatiently through his red hair. Mrs. Child must have felt the tension too because she soon ended her talk.

George Ripley announced there was time for questions and Fred was the first to jump up. "What can we do here at Brook Farm?" he asked. "Why don't we have any members who are former slaves?"

George Ripley exchanged an exasperated glance with his wife, but fended off Fred's question by announcing, "Our distinguished guest the Reverend Hopewell might like to start the discussion."

Winslow Hopewell smiled faintly at the Ripleys and turned to ask Mrs. Child about her work as editor of the National Anti-Slavery Standard. "We admire your courage in continuing to write about this vexing, and sometimes dangerous issue." he said. "I am sure we all hope the journal will soon reach a large audience."

Fred scowled sulkily at his shoes, but no one spoke as Mrs. Child mentioned a few articles that had appeared in her journal. At the back of the room the colored woman pulled her shawl close around her and slipped out the door. Mrs. Child raised her head and looked after the retreating figure; she leaned forward as though to speak again, but sank back in her chair as George Ripley stood up and announced the meeting was over.

Most of the audience started to leave, but a few lingered and moved toward the front to talk with Mrs. Child. Fred repeated his question, and Mrs. Child said firmly that she had strongly urged the Community to accept some freedmen as members.

"It's difficult enough to get any members," George Ripley explained. "Some of these reforms will just have to wait."

"Perhaps it is more important for people here to understand themselves and try to cultivate their own values before they turn to reforming society," added Winslow. His voice was deeper than Abigail remembered it and he sounded a little smug, just like many other ministers.

The smugness bothered her and she forced herself to speak up again. "Most people don't want to be reformed. Even some of the
Quaker meetings have had trouble when they try to introduce freedmen into their groups."

That caught Mr. Platt's attention and he agreed heartily. "People like to live with others of their kind," he insisted in his rough voice. "Mixing the races together brings nothing but trouble. I mean no offense to the lady, but folks here don't want to be told what they should do and outsiders should watch what they say." With that he turned and stomped out of the room.

"That's enough discussion for tonight," said Mr. Ripley. "Our guest is tired, I am sure."

The students reluctantly edged toward the door and Abigail followed them. Winslow still hadn't acknowledged her, but now he walked over to hold the door open and as she passed, he handed her a small, white envelope and said. "I hope you will consider this."

CHAPTER THREE

Charlotte Sees Too Much

September 23, 1842
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When Charlotte got back to her room, she was too excited to go straight to bed. Imagine hearing Lydia Maria Child in person. Her books were read everywhere and people flocked to hear her speak. She was even more impressive in person than in her books. How did she find the courage to speak out so confidently on topics no one else mentioned?

Would Charlotte ever be able to do as much? Sighing and leaning on the windowsill looking out on the grassy lawns she watched the full moon casting long shadows of the trees. An owl hooted in the distance and somewhere a dog barked. A patch of white at the edge of the trees behind the Eyrie caught Charlotte's eye. Was one of the cows out? Or was it a clump of Queen Anne's lace blowing in the wind?

Just then she saw a something bright—a flash of light near the barn. Only a flicker at first and then she realized it was a lantern. Why was someone down there with a lantern? Who could that be?
She leaned as far out the window as she dared and tried to see who it was.

She saw the flash of white again—there were two people out by the barn. And one of them was Abigail. It was Abigail in her white dress standing with someone who was carrying a lantern. Someone tall who moved closer to her as he lifted the lantern. The light caught Abigail's face looking up and, sure enough, it was Winslow Hopewell who was leaning toward her and talking. That was a surprise. Hadn't Abigail said they hadn't seen each other in years? Were they trying to make up for lost time? That sounded romantic, but why they were meeting secretly so late at night?

The next day Mrs. Child went back to Boston and on to wherever else she was giving talks that month. Charlotte longed for a chance to talk with her, but teaching the primary children kept her occupied all day. When she finally dismissed them, Mrs. Child was gone.

For the next two weeks life continued to seem normal in the Community. Winslow Hopewell stayed on longer than expected. He and Mr. Ripley spent hours in the study with papers spread out on the desk in front of them. Charlotte caught glimpses of them frowning as they walked on the grounds deep in conversation. Were they talking about serious issues in religion and philosophy or were they more worried about money and how good the harvest would be?

Most of Charlotte's days were filled with routine chores. In the classroom she struggled to keep her primary students interested in reading their primers. Timothy and the others loved the little jingles in the book, but she soon got tired of simple-minded verses.

I like to see a lit-tle dog,

And pat him on the head;

So pret-ti-ly he wags his tail

When-ev-er he is fed.

She tried making up verses of her own

Whene'er you see a pretty mouse

A nibbling at the cheese,

Don't pull its tail or tweak its ear

Just ask it to say 'Please'.

For all small animals are our friends

And we should treat them well.

Boys and girls who torment them

May find themselves in Hell.

Of course she never wrote these out for the students. Mrs. Ripley might send her back to England if she had dared, but sometimes she recited them to Ellen at night. The two of them tried to outdo each other in creating teasing verses. Even though they both believed in what the Ripleys were doing—what all of them were doing—it was hard to be as solemn about it as some of the older members were.

Sometimes when her class was restless, Charlotte took them outside to sit on the grass under one of the oak trees for their lesson. Even though it was almost the end of September, the sun was still warm and goldenrod still lined the road. One afternoon when she had taken the class out there and was reading Aesop's fable about the jay and the peacocks, they were interrupted by a fat blue jay that swooped down and landed right at her feet. He was probably only looking for acorns, but it seemed as though he was objecting to be
ing made a fool of by the peacocks like the jay in their story. The children laughed and clapped. Charlotte looked up and saw Winslow Hopewell and Abigail Pretlove walking across the lawn. She had often noticed them talking to each other and wondered whether he had lingered on at the Farm because of Abigail. Which one of them was the jay trying to impress the other?

Whether or not they were flirting they didn't have much time by themselves. Mr. Ripley and Mr. Dana walked past the tree where Charlotte was sitting with the children and headed straight for the couple. Mr. Ripley's gentle face was twisted into a scowl and she heard him say as they stalked by, "...doesn't realize how serious this is. We all need to pull together to make..." That was all she heard, but she saw them stop to talk to Hopewell. Then the three men moved back toward the house.

Soon it was time for the children's music lesson, so Charlotte took the group back into the Hive and looked around for Fanny Gray. They taught music together. Fanny had a lovely voice, and Charlotte could beat time and lead the children in responding. Ellen sometimes joined them too and taught ballads she had learned as a child in Ireland. There was no sign of Fanny so Ellen and Charlotte started the lesson. They wanted the children to learn the words to a new song to sing it in the dining room on Sunday when Mrs. Ripley liked to have some entertainment from the school children.

I had a little nut tree

Nothing would it bear

But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.

The King of Spain's daughter

Came to visit me

And all for the sake of my little nut tree.

Everyone was having fun singing and talking about pears and how good they tasted when Fanny Gray came in looking very serious.

"Do you think we should let the children sing about kings?" she asked. "We're all good Americans who don't believe in kings. Don't you know any better songs?"

Ellen quickly started singing

Ye fair maids of London, who lead a single life

I'd sooner be a barrow girl than a rich merchant's wife,

For so early in the morning you hear me to cry,

Artichokes and cauliflowers, pretty maids will you buy?

"That's a cheerful song," Charlotte said, "and it's not about a king or his daughter. A barrow girl sounds more like someone who should join Brook Farm. We need someone who could sell the crops we raise and make some money for us."

"We certainly need people to join us," Fanny muttered. "Too many people are leaving and outsiders who say they support us just slither away without doing a thing. Why don't they understand that the kind of community we are building is going to change the whole country?"

Charlotte wanted to ask what she meant about people leaving, but the children were growing restless so she took them to dinner.

As September turned into October, the wind became brisk. Mornings were chillier and darker clouds scudded across the sky. The tiny piglets in the barn were growing livelier and the last of the scarlet maple leaves were drifting down and littering the grass. Charlotte pulled a shawl tight around her shoulders each morning as
she walked across the lawn toward the Hive to start working with the kitchen group.

The sharp sound of a slamming door startled her one morning and she was even more surprised to see Mrs. Ripley hurrying across the grass toward the clump of trees behind the barn. Then Charlotte noticed a group of people on the hillside and she heard faint voices. She quickly followed the sounds.

Abigail Pretlove was standing stiffly twisting her hands in her shawl; her white dress bright against the dark pine trees. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and she was crying incoherently and trying to talk, although Charlotte couldn't make out any words. Mr. Ripley, Fanny, and some of the students were there. Everyone was silent, looking intently at something on the ground.

Mrs. Ripley went to Abigail, put her arm around her, and began to lead her down the hill toward the Hive. Abigail stumbled uncertainly as though she didn't know where she was walking.