Distant Dreams (36 page)

Your father released James from his tutoring duties this morning.”

Carolina knew the look she gave James was an accusatory one. His eyes seemed to plead with her for understanding, but he said nothing. It was Virginia who spoke.

“Carolina will find it much more difficult but far more satisfying to set about the business of housekeeping and such. And I heard Sarah Armstrong mention her brother Daniel is already quite interested in my little sister. There may not be much time for Carolina to learn everything she needs to know before she finds herself engaged as well.” The words were spoken lightly, but Carolina noted a trace of sarcasm in their delivery.

“How delightful!” Margaret exclaimed at this news. “Daniel Armstrong is a fine young man.”

“Delightful for whom?” Carolina blurted without thinking. All faces turned to stare in surprise at this outburst.

“Carolina,” her mother began in a tone that made clear her disapproval, “you have been given your freedom for too long. You show a clear lack of appreciation for what you’ve enjoyed. I will not have you spoil your sister’s happy day with childish tantrums. Surely you do not wish for James to witness your disgruntled nature.”

Carolina bit back an angry retort. She really didn’t care at this point what James witnessed of her, but nonetheless she chose her next words carefully. “I have no argument in helping you run Oakbridge. This is my home, and I love it. However, I have not one whit of interest in becoming the wife of Daniel Armstrong. To encourage such a thing would be to live a lie.”

Margaret chuckled. “No one said you had to marry Daniel Armstrong. There are many eligible young men in the area. Now, I am sure we don’t want to bore our guests further with a
family
discussion.”

“We can talk later if you like, Carolina,” Joseph said rather helplessly.

Carolina shrugged as if she didn’t care, but she had to keep her hands clenched into fists so she wouldn’t cry. The rest of the time was torment, but she kept her mouth closed. When the guests finally departed and her father beckoned her into the parlor, she almost refused. She felt as though he had betrayed her, too. But, of course, she could not be so disrespectful of him and she followed. Her mother was already there.

“Carolina,” Joseph said gently, “I am sorry for how your birthday has turned out. I know what high expectations a girl has for her sixteenth birthday—”

“I don’t care about that, Papa!”

“Carolina! Don’t interrupt your father,” Margaret warned.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that what really bothers me is losing my chance at getting an education. I enjoy my book learning,” Carolina said, trying to ignore her mother’s furrowing brow. “I’m not trying to act the part of spoiled child, but I fail to see why the one thing I love should be taken from me.”

“There is no reason you can’t have your books, child,” Joseph broke in. “The library is still at your disposal, and I will bring home new volumes whenever possible.”

“Now, now, Mr. Adams,” Margaret chided. “You mustn’t encourage the child to neglect her duties. This house does not run itself. There is a great deal to manage. Why the overseeing of the house slaves alone—”

“I understand,” Joseph interrupted. “I simply see no reason to put an end to all of her studies. Granted, James will be about his own business, but she learns quite well on her own, and there is our joint interest in the railroad. Carolina is an important part of that.” He looked tenderly at Carolina, and she could almost forgive how he seemed to have turned on her earlier. He continued. “I believe we can fit everything into a day. Besides, there is the trip north that I promised her.”

Margaret said nothing more, but the look on her face told Carolina she was clearly disturbed by this turn of events. Carolina felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Her throat ached fiercely where a solid lump formed to mark her misery. She held her breath and bit her tongue to keep from focusing on her fate, but nothing could take the words from her brain. She was losing everything.

Asking as politely as possible to be excused, Carolina made her way to her room. She vaguely remembered the words of her father’s morning Scripture reading. Something about God’s blessings and praises being offered up to Him.

“I don’t feel much like thanking you for these things,” Carolina murmured in prayer. “I feel more like you have deserted me, and instead of making your face to shine upon me, it seems you have turned it away.”

Spying her books on the dressing table, Carolina marched across the room and, with an angry swipe, scattered them from the table to the floor. They landed with a loud resounding crash upon the wood, heaped in hapless disorder, much like Carolina’s dreams.

When the last of his things were loaded into his father’s carriage, James excused himself to attend to what he termed unfinished business. Carolina had avoided him all week, and now that he was leaving, James was determined to make her face him and allow him to explain—though exactly what he had to explain he didn’t quite know. He only knew
something
had to be said. He knew she blamed him for the demise of her schooling. He didn’t want her to give up on her dreams because of him.

On top of all else, two days after the party the old slave Granny had died. He knew Carolina was grieved and deeply sorrowed by the announcement, for the slave woman had been a special person in her life.

He left his father and Joseph discussing cotton prices and new methods of shipping and bounded up the grand staircase in search of his elusive friend. The library, the one room he expected to find her in, revealed nothing but the silent rows of books on their shelves. These were her true friends, and even if they’d been capable of speech, they’d not betray their mistress, James was certain.

The music room was empty, as was the main sitting room and more intimate family parlor. Knowing it to be a bold move, James cautiously made his way to Carolina’s bedroom. His knock caused the door to open, revealing the room in its feminine splendor but missing the object of his search. He didn’t know what compelled him, but he found himself stepping into the room. Perhaps it was the lingering scent of lilacs and rose water that so reminded him of her. On the dressing table were stacks of books and beside these were several sheets of paper and a pen and inkwell. A closer look revealed the papers to be a copy of the
American Railroad Journal
, and on one page someone, presumably Carolina, had circled something of interest.

Picking up the journal, James saw it was a poem entitled “The Ship.” No author was given, but the first stanza was circled, and James read it aloud: “Where art thou going? Far away. To seek a distant shore. . . . Gaze ye upon me while ye may; you will not see me more.”

A breeze outside caused the curtains at the open window to flutter, and James returned the paper to the table and went to peer outside. There on the lawn near the flowering orchards, Carolina walked alone. He watched her for several moments, forgetting all about the impropriety of being in her bedroom. She looked so consumed with her emotions that James wondered if she even realized he was leaving on this day. Surely, if her mind had not been grieved with her losses, she would have at least made the proper appearances to bid him farewell.

He nearly called from the window, then stopped himself as the curtain again caught the wind. The touch of the material against his face brought into perspective his position. Glancing down he saw something white sticking out from beneath the window-seat cushion. Taking them in hand, James smiled. They were Carolina’s smudged gloves. Once, when they had been alone studying the principles of steam, she had confided to him about her soiled gloves. He lifted them to his nose the way she’d described having done a thousand times. The faint scent of grease brought an ironic smile to his lips. It was almost more nostalgic of Carolina than rose water. Gently he ran his finger along the black stains. Looking from the gloves to the woman outside, an idea struck him. James tucked the gloves in his pocket. He determined to go to Carolina and offer her an encouraging word. He would hold the gloves up as a banner of hope and endurance. He would remind her of her dream and hold her accountable for the future of it.

“There you are!” Leland exclaimed as James descended the stairs. “I thought I might have to send out a search party. Come along, your mother was expecting us an hour ago.”

James started to protest, but Leland was already moving him with huffing and gasping strides to the carriage. “We must hurry. Joseph, I will be in touch with you regarding that matter of shipping,” Leland remarked.

“James, I’m certain we will soon be seeing you. You are always welcome, as you know.”

James took Joseph’s extended hand, but his gaze roamed to the fields beyond. Carolina was nowhere in sight, and for reasons beyond his understanding, James felt a hollow emptiness in her absence. He could just tell them to wait while he had a word with Carolina. Yet suddenly all the words he had thought of saying seemed so lame. He was letting her down. What good would it do to prattle on about her dreams but to ease his conscience? It might make her even more angry at him.

He touched the gloves in his pocket and wondered what he should do. He couldn’t very well offer them to Carolina’s father and explain how it was he came by them, yet to keep them would break Carolina’s heart. Still, it would also force him to seek some future moment of privacy, when her anger and disappointment had dulled, in which he could return the gloves. Somehow that lifted his spirits a bit.

James climbed into the carriage, and as it moved down the drive, he was haunted by the words of the poem Carolina had circled in the magazine. “Gaze ye upon me while ye may; you will not see me more.” Carolina was gone and there was no chance to ease her pain or resolve their circumstance.

“Did you say something?” Leland asked.

James started. “What? Oh no. Nothing . . . nothing at all.”

Part IV

Late Spring 1836

We surely live in a very fast age;
We’ve traveled by ox-teams, and then by stage
But when such conveyance is all done away
We’ll travel in steam cars upon the railway!

—J
AMES
C
RANE

39

A Waking Dream

“Carolina, I swear you’re as nervous as a cat in the cream house,” York declared and urged the driver of the carriage to pick up the speed. “My sister has a train to meet, and we wouldn’t want her to miss it.” Joseph and York both laughed at this.

“You’d think she’d never been on a train before,” Joseph said with a wink at his daughter.

“Perhaps it’s because she’s never actually taken a seat on a train before.”

Carolina pretended to be miffed with York’s jocular teasing by giving her chin a little upward jerk, but in truth he was right. She was anxious and excited and probably fidgeting like a little child. But this trip was important to her. No, she thought silently, this trip is
everything
to me.

It had only been by focusing on the trip to Baltimore that Carolina was able to bear the many changes since her birthday. James had moved back home with his parents, and although he appeared from time to time to escort Virginia, his presence was clearly relegated to memories. Carolina found she missed his company more with each passing day. And each time Virginia spoke of her intended, there was an aching in Carolina’s heart that she could not—and dare not—explain.

She didn’t want to think of such things now. This day was too wonderful to tarnish. Carolina felt the nervous flutters in her stomach as the three-story brick depot came into view. “Are you sure I look all right?” she asked, reaching a hand up to feel her new hat. The pink beret, complete with dyed feathers and trailing ribbons, was the height of fashion, and her father had paid the outrageous sum of thirteen dollars to procure it for her. But he had told her with the glow of fatherly love in his eyes that this was her special time, and she deserved for every aspect of it to be the best and finest his money could buy.

“You know, Carolina, you are in grand company,” said Joseph. “The President’s niece has a copy of that very same bonnet.”

“Oh, don’t try to make me feel better,” Carolina replied drolly, nervously adjusting the beret.

“It’s true!” York exclaimed. “Father wouldn’t lie to you. But you look far better in the bonnet than she. Now just relax and mind your manners. You’ll put all of Baltimore to shame.”

“I’d rather not shame them,” she said, then suddenly shrieked aloud when the unmistakable blast of a locomotive whistle sounded. “Oh, Father, we’re too late!”

“Nonsense,” Joseph answered and patted her arm soothingly. “We’re here on time, and we have our tickets in hand.”

“They wouldn’t dare leave without you!” York stated quite seriously, then winked.

“Oh, bother with the both of you.” She craned her neck to see all that she could. “I’m not ashamed of my anticipation.”

The carryall came to a stop, and York quickly jumped down and reached back up to receive his sister. “You look quite perfect,” he whispered against her ear and then kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Don’t go breaking any hearts in Baltimore.”

“Of course not,” she said absently, her patience dwindling as her father settled the fare with the driver and instructed the porters where to take their bags.

Finally Joseph came to join them and couldn’t resist saying, “You know, if you aren’t up to this, we can put it off a few weeks. . . .”

Carolina answered him by gracefully maneuvering her flounced cotton skirt into hand, and in a swish of pink and white, she swept past her father and brother with ribbons sailing behind and feathers fluttering in the breeze.

When she first caught sight of the engine called the
J.Q. Adams
, Carolina thought how appropriate it was that she should make this important trip on a locomotive that bore her surname. The grasshopper engine had a vertical boiler like all the other B&O engines she’d seen either in person or on paper. James had told her there were plans among the designers at Mt. Clare to create horizontal boiler engines. It was all too wondrous to imagine.