Distant Dreams (15 page)

“No, take care of Phineas,” James moaned, trying in vain to motion toward his friend.

The man glanced up, then lowered his face in a grave expression. “He’s beyond caring for.”

“No! No!” James twisted violently. The last thing he saw before succumbing to the pain was one of the other men placing his frock coat over the head and shoulders of the silent man. Phineas Davis was dead.

15

York’s Return

October eased in with an early winter chill to the air, a somber reminder of the days to come. Almost gone was the fragrant aroma of summer flowers, although the haunting smells of honeysuckle and gardenia still lingered in the air. The fields, once richly alive with cotton and corn, now lay fallow. The plant stubble had been plowed under as if to hide the evidence of its earlier existence.

Oakbridge bustled with activities to ready the plantation for winter. A portion of the livestock was sold off in order to keep down the cost of providing winter feed. The slave quarters were spruced up and mended as needed, and great stacks of firewood and kindling mounted up outside the barn through the arduous labor of the slaves. Elsewhere, Margaret Adams had already taken an account of the soap, candles, and food items they’d managed to produce during spring and summer. The plantation was responsible for the lives of over one hundred people, including slaves, and the obligation was taken quite seriously.

Carolina, however, spent a great deal of time stretched out on her window seat, where she watched the sad transformation of autumn to winter. The trees soon would be all bare and everything brown and dying. The house seemed too empty and quiet lately. Penny and Georgia had gone off to school; Maine and York were packed off to universities that she could only dare to dream of. Mary was napping in the nursery. Virginia was the only company Carolina had during the long hours of the grammar school. But she desired to converse only on the subject of James Baldwin, that “menace to womanhood,” as Carolina was wont to call him.

How unfair life is, Carolina sighed. If not for the conventions thrust upon me, I too might be off to a university.

Her mother had desired to send her to Miss Damper’s Finishing School. This fine institute, her mother had assured her, had done wonders to transform Virginia into quality wife material. But Carolina didn’t wish to become quality wife material. Marriage to any man was the furthest thing from her mind. It didn’t matter that many of her friends were engaged and that some were already married. It didn’t matter that her own mother had married at the age of sixteen. What mattered most to Carolina was found between the pages of books. Any book.

When I read, she thought, I am able to move beyond the four walls of my room. When I study some new subject, something that forces me to focus my attention and give my all, I can very nearly feel the blood course through my brain. When I touch the works of Shakespeare or Plutarch, I feel an understanding into the hearts and souls of mankind. How can I cast that aside in order to learn how to serve dainty teas and paint with watercolors?

There is a restlessness inside me, she thought, lifting the edge of the lacy curtain, that refuses to find peace.

Carolina stared out across the withered yard and sighed. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be content with what I’ve been blessed with? I’ve never been a greedy person or one to ask for more than what was offered, so why am I acting so contrary to the person I’ve always been before?

The book she’d been reading clattered to the floor, but still she could not take her eyes from the outstretched land. There is a world out there, she reasoned, that I know nothing about, except through the books I’ve read. A vast and wondrous place with people and sights that I might one day know. Visions of the locomotive engine loomed before her eyes. I might actually one day board the train in Washington and ride it all the way to the Mississippi. From there I could float downriver and see New Orleans, then travel west and see what all the fuss is about in that place they call Texas.

Texas . . . what am I thinking? If I could just ride the B&O to Baltimore, I’d consider it the adventure of a lifetime.

Carolina mused on these thoughts for some time when a ruckus arose downstairs that made it difficult for her to continue to concentrate on her morose reflections. Hurrying to the stairs, she was stunned to find her brother York standing in the foyer, involved in a rather heated argument with their father.

“I didn’t ask to be expelled,” York retorted. “I simply defended our lifestyle and your good name.”

Joseph caught sight of Carolina’s surprised expression and called an end to the discussion. “We’ll deal with this later.”

“What has happened?” Carolina asked. “York, what are you doing home from school?” Neither man seemed inclined to answer, and so she asked the question again.

“Your brother got into a bit of a confrontation,” Joseph finally said.

“You mean he was in a fight?” Carolina asked, unable to hide her shock. In all her years she’d never known York to resort to fisticuffs under any circumstance. Turning to her brother, she noted the cut on his cheek and frowned. “I can’t imagine you putting a hand to any man.”

York seemed to calm at his sister’s words. He reached out a hand and patted her soundly on the head. “It’s a long story and not one fit for feminine ears.”

“Carolina, leave us to talk,” her father ordered. “York, we’ll take this up in the study.”

Carolina watched them walk down the hall. York’s shoulders were hitched back, stiff in a defensive nature. Joseph’s frame was just as rigid, but only in an attempt to quiet the fury that lay just within his means to control. Father and son, so much alike, she thought, that their very natures and temperaments were generally equally matched. But not this time, she had a feeling. This time was different.

“Father, hear me out. You have no idea what it’s like up north. There is no understanding or sympathy for the plight of the South. They don’t understand how the same tariff laws passed to aid them in stirring up factory productivity and industrial manufacturing could also be harmful to the South in keeping us from trading abroad. I tried to explain our circumstance, but all I got was a fistful of slavery issues and lewd innuendoes.”

“People have questioned slavery since the institution was brought to this nation. Before that even,” Joseph countered. “It still doesn’t justify your actions in getting yourself removed from school. You were nearly ready to graduate. Couldn’t you just have apologized?”

York drew a deep breath. “I refused to apologize for one very good reason. Richard Bedford not only insulted my way of life, he insulted me and impugned our good name.”

Joseph sighed and threw himself into a stout leather chair. “And pray tell, how did he do this? He doesn’t even know us.”

York came to where his father sat. “He sees all southerners as whip-bearing plantation owners who carry on illicit affairs with their female slaves.”

Joseph’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

“Exactly that, though he didn’t express it in such kind words,” York replied, shrugging out of his hopelessly wrinkled petersham coat. He tossed it to an empty chair before continuing. “He suggested it was a rite of passage taught from father to son. I simply lost my ability to reason and could take no more. I didn’t apologize because his behavior wasn’t warranted. Nevertheless, no one gave me the option to apologize as a means to remain in school.”

“I see.” Joseph had calmed considerably under his son’s explanation.

York saw that his father was past the initial shock and dismay of finding his elder son suddenly sent home in disgrace. He knew once he’d been allowed to explain the circumstances, even Joseph Adams would see the intolerable situation for what it was.

“So now what will you do?” Joseph questioned, eyeing York sternly.

“I honestly don’t know.” York plopped down on the chair opposite his father and folded his hands together in a pensive pose. “I know I have little desire to return to college. Especially in the North.”

“But you have less than a year left to complete your degree.”

“I’d have been finished now if not for that bout of measles two years ago. Besides, why should I waste my life at something I find essentially pointless?”

“If you don’t desire to continue with your education,” Joseph said seriously, “there is always the plantation. You are, after all, the elder son and the plantation will fall to your shoulders eventually.”

York shook his head. “I’ve no desire to run a plantation,” he stated simply.

Joseph started at the words. “No desire! Desire doesn’t figure into obligation and responsibility. You have a duty to your family, and upon my death they will look to you for their well-being.”

“I thought you above all other people would understand. I thought you’d remember what it was like to be forced into something you didn’t want.” York didn’t like to cause his father pain, and from the shadow that seemed to cross Joseph’s face, he knew he’d done just that. “I’m not saying that I’ll never want the responsibility of Oakbridge. I’m just saying it isn’t what I want at this time.”

Joseph fell silent for a long time, and York knew he was probably remembering the hopeless feeling of giving up on his dreams of westward exploration. Refusing to be the one to break the silence, York studied the rows of books and waited for his father to speak.

“I suppose,” Joseph finally said, his voice sounding tired and old, “I can well understand your reluctance to run Oakbridge. I do, indeed, remember the apprehension and anguish I felt upon becoming master of this plantation.”

“It isn’t a lack of love for my home, nor is it a lack of respect and love for you,” York said, suddenly desperate that his father not see this as a personal rejection. “I truly love Oakbridge, and the life I’ve known here has been perfect. I fought once for this world of ours here, and I would do it again. And . . .” He let his words trail off as he considered just the right way to voice his thoughts. “I wouldn’t trade my life for all the gold in the world. I love you, Father. I admire no man as much as I do you.”

Joseph smiled at his son with weary resolution. It appeared to York he had battled with himself and come to at least some form of conclusion.

“If not the plantation, perhaps there is a job in Washington that would suit your interests,” Joseph offered.

York perked up at this. “I would like to consider the possibility.”

Joseph nodded. “On my next trip to the city, I will take you with me. We can approach some of my friends there and see what types of positions are available. In the meantime, there is always the newspaper to consider. I seem to remember advertisements for a variety of positions. Perhaps one of those would be acceptable to you.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Father,” York said with a genuine affection. “You won’t be sorry.”

Carolina had returned to her room and had tried to concentrate once more on
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Then hearing footsteps pass by her door that she could identify as only York’s, Carolina slammed the book closed. She knew she had to talk to him. She and her brother were close, though nearly six years separated them in age. Still, he was the brother she had always sought out for advice or consolation. She supposed she revered him a bit, as only a sister could revere her big brother.

She went to his room and knocked. “York, may I come in?” Carolina said.

“Come ahead,” he answered, but in a tone that did not at once set her at ease.

Opening the door and peering in hesitantly, Carolina smiled. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“Nonsense.” York stood over a large trunk with several items in his hands. “I was just unpacking.”

“You aren’t going back to school?”

York shook his head. “No. I’m done with college.”

“What happened?” she asked. “How can you possibly say that you’re done with college? Why, an education is practically everything.”

York laughed. “And why do you say that, Carolina?”

“Because it is. There is so much to learn, York, and where else, if not the university, will you learn it?”

York put his boot brush and polish on the dresser before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Carolina waited for him to speak and wondered if he’d consider her question too childish.

“There is always the school of life,” he finally said. “I don’t relish hours poring over books and the written philosophies of men I’ve never heard of. I’d rather hear the teachings of men who will change the future, men who might very well walk across my threshold tomorrow and say, ‘You there, come along with us. We have a plan.’ ”

“But so much of the future has come from thoughts of the past,” Carolina said. “How can you deny the importance of learning from what has gone before?”

“I don’t deny it. I simply don’t wish to steep myself in classes of it. I’m not unread—I enjoy a good book or newspaper now and again. But I have no real desire to waste any more of my life listening to old men prattle about the past.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Father’s already asked me that. I can only say again what I told him—I don’t know.” Carolina thought it odd that there was no real discouragement in his tone. He seemed almost invigorated by the prospect of uncertainty before him. “Father and I agreed that I would go into Washington when he next travels there, and that we would approach some of his friends with regard to employment.”

“I can’t believe you’d rather work at some old job than go to school,” Carolina replied with a wistfulness to her tone. “I would so love to go to a university and learn all there is to know.”

“Perhaps you think too highly of the university, Carolina. You can’t possibly learn all there is to know in four years—perhaps not even in forty!”

“I’d like the chance to try, though!”

“Bah! What good would that do you, a woman?” York leaned back on his elbows and grinned. “You’d never get anyone to seriously consider that proposition.”

“There are schools, I’ve heard it said, that take on women for the purpose of a college education.”

“Sure, women’s colleges. You could get a degree in crocheting or quilting. No wait—maybe you could graduate top in your class of china-cup painting.” He laughed merrily.