A Promise for Tomorrow (18 page)
“I suppose it’s hard to explain to a man how a woman feels inside. I know we are very different, James, but the truth of the matter is, when you are gone I feel as though a part of me is gone, as well. I seem barely functional as half of a whole that can only be fulfilled when you are at my side. I despise the social circles here in town, and I’m even coming to dread church.”
“I don’t understand,” James said, searching her face for answers.
“I despair of going places without you. It isn’t that I can’t perform my duties while you are away, but I find it all rather meaningless and dull. Church makes me lonely as I see other husbands and wives sitting side by side with their families. I know God is there for me, and that I am never truly alone, but, James,” she said, falling to her knees in front of him, “I long for you to be there. I desire it as I desire no other thing in this life. Not the comforts of the city, nor the wealth of goods it affords me.” She put her head on one knee and her hand on the other.
James stroked her hair with his good hand, while he ached to hold her close with both arms. “I’m sorry,” he offered softly. “I had no idea you felt this way.”
“How could you?” Just a hint of her old bitterness returned to her voice. “You’re seldom home longer than to say hello and good-bye. Even when you are here, there is often one thing or another that takes you away for hours on end. At least those distractions will be minimal in this Greigsville town you speak of.”
“Perhaps, but it’s just as likely that an entirely new set of problems will emerge.”
“Yes, but we would be together. You would come home to our bed every night. I would see you most every day, and I would be able to properly care for you and you for me.”
“But Greigsville is so isolated. I have no way of knowing if there are other women there with whom you might become friends.”
Carolina lifted her head and reached up to touch James’ face. “None of that would matter, so long as I had you.”
James found the intensity of emotion in her eyes to be almost too much to bear. He pulled her up to sit beside him on the bed, and for several moments simply studied the woman he had married. She was still young and beautiful, and his passion and desire for her had never waned. He, too, knew the frustration of their long separations. He could remember all too well the many nights of tossing and turning, wishing fervently for her companionship. He wanted more than a life of visiting his own home and family. He wanted more of a relationship with his wife than to simply give her another child and move off to the wilds of some unsurveyed countryside. Seeing her here, like this, he remembered the reasons he had first found her so appealing. He loved her sense of humor and her intelligent mind. He loved the way she hungered for knowledge and the fact that she looked to him for much of her teaching. He had also appreciated her sense of adventure and had once envisioned them sharing such adventures. He suddenly had a more complete picture of what his absences had meant to Carolina—more than just missing him, but also missing being part of the life they should be experiencing together.
“It would require a great sacrifice on your part,” he said, knowing that the decision had already been made. “Are you certain?”
“Oh yes.”
“I can’t promise you that it will be easy.”
“I don’t care,” she replied eagerly.
James saw the excitement in her eyes, and it touched his heart in a way he could not explain. She was willing to give up all that she had in order to follow him. She could not have the entire dream for herself, but she was willing that he have it, and that through him she might share it in some small way.
“Thomas wants me there by September. Will that give you enough time to square away matters here in Baltimore?”
She smiled, and it was a smile that lit up her eyes in a way he’d not seen in some time. “Tell me what is to be done.”
“You will have to figure out what will be needed and what can be left behind. I’ll go on ahead of you. Not only to set up arrangements with the railroad contractors but also so that I can see what lodging is available, and maybe we can better plan from that.”
“You truly mean it?” Carolina questioned in joyful enthusiasm.
James grinned. “I truly mean it. I think it’s a capital idea.” He reclined on the bed, pulling her with him. “I think it might well be the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”
Carolina raised herself up on her elbow. “What do you mean
your
idea?” she teased. “I’ll have you know, James Baldwin—” she began, but he gave her no chance to finish.
“Tell me later,” he murmured as he passionately pulled her back against him. “Much, much later.”
Margaret Adams sat under an outdoor canopy on the meticulously tended lawns of the South Boston Mental Asylum. The May morning was bright and beautiful, with the sound of birds in the trees and the wafting scent of flowering vegetation filling the air.
“Your husband has written you another letter,” a rather portly woman said, laying an envelope on the table in front of Margaret.
Margaret smiled and touched the letter almost reverently. “He’s good to do that,” she commented.
“Soon he’ll come,” the woman said with a smile.
“Oh, Esther, I shall look forward to that day.”
Esther Jacobs smiled. For as long as she had acted as nurse to Margaret Adams, she had never known a time when her charge hadn’t looked forward to her husband’s visits. Even when she was newly arrived at the hospital and quite spent with grief over the deaths of her children, Margaret would pine for the man in a way that made Esther question the sense in keeping them separated.
“Why don’t you come take a walk with me now, dear? Soon it will be time for the noon meal, and then you’ll find yourself too busy to enjoy the day.”
Margaret nodded, getting to her feet. She slipped the letter into her pocket and awaited instructions from her nurse. Esther came around to resecure the shawl that had fallen to the lawn. “You may need this.” Margaret pulled the edges closed in front and looked down the path as if to consider their route. “I believe if we walk down this way, you will positively delight in the apple blossoms,” Esther said, leading her patient.
Margaret was never given to much conversation, but Esther knew how greatly she enjoyed hearing from home. “I’d imagine that letter is burning a hole in your pocket, eh?”
“It is difficult not to tear into it,” Margaret admitted.
“Well, we will find a lovely bench near the trees, and you may take time to read it through.”
Esther directed her to just such a place, both panting and slightly out of breath as they took a seat on the wrought-iron bench. Margaret, accustomed to Esther’s companionship, pulled the letter from her pocket and began to scan each line. “Oh my,” she suddenly gasped and Esther took note.
“Something wrong?”
Margaret shook her head, then lifted her gaze to meet Esther’s face. “He says the doctors are considering the possibility of my returning home.” Esther beamed a brilliant smile as Margaret added, “Did you know of this?”
Esther nodded and the look that passed between the two women was one of complete joy. They’d both worked long and hard for this day. They’d both endured moments of testing when such an announcement seemed impossible.
“It might yet take months to convince the deciding panel, but I feel confident it will happen,” Esther replied. “You’ve made great progress.”
Margaret’s eyes moistened and Esther patted her hand. With their gazes fixed, a peace seemed to pass between them. It was as if in that moment the past had suddenly fallen away. Esther likened it to a rebirth, and while she’d not seen many patients recover to claim such a prize, she overflowed with happiness that Margaret Adams should be one of those who did just that.
“Oh, Esther, what if—” Margaret fell silent.
Esther knew the turmoil within the woman. She had come to the asylum barely more than a raving lunatic. Her two youngest children had died from yellow fever, and this on top of babies who had passed on many years earlier. Her husband, a good and gentle man, had wept uncontrollably at seeing his wife physically carried away as she shouted and screamed accusations at him. Esther had thought it might well rob the man of his will to go on, but she realized quickly how wrong she had been in her assessment. Joseph Adams was a strong, compassionate man. He had proven himself to be a loving husband, in spite of his wife’s inner turmoil and rage, and as Margaret had improved and found her way back through the insanity that gripped her, Joseph, too, was transformed.
“Remember what the Good Book says,” Esther told her. “ ‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ ”
Margaret looked her square in the eyes as if searching their depths to find assurance that her words were true. Esther smiled and immediately the tension in Margaret’s face eased.
“The old is passed away,” Esther said softly, taking Margaret’s hand in her own. “God has brought you through the fires of testing, and you are a new creation by His hand.”
Margaret gripped her hand tightly and nodded. “I know the truth in this,” she whispered.
For a moment neither woman spoke or moved. The minutes lent themselves to reaffirming Margaret’s faith. Esther knew how she had labored to understand how God could be a loving, trustworthy Father, even while, for some reason unfathomable to her, allowing her children to pass from this life. Margaret had likened it to a never-ending night of darkness, and Esther had easily recognized the truth in her comparison. Margaret labored to accept that the foundations on which she had built her entire life were indeed fixed and solid. That God was still God, and that He still loved her with an everlasting love. Once she had come to terms with this, Esther knew it would only be a matter of time before her mind and heart would knit back into proper order. And so that day had come, and Esther could only rejoice with her patient. The long night would soon be over.
Joseph Adams lingered over his ledgers for only a moment longer before snapping them shut. He had once again summoned Hampton to the library, and true to form, the man was taking his time. Still, Joseph couldn’t concentrate on facts and figures, not with so much else weighing on his mind. The night had seemed endless as he had tossed and turned. Many things in his life were amiss, and the one bright spot in his otherwise dismal world was that it was time once again to journey to Boston for a visit. He could only pray that soon the doctors would find Margaret completely healed and allow her to return home. He longed for that day as he did no other. He missed her companionship and conversations. He mourned that she had missed out on so many of the changes in her family over the last few years, yet even this seemed unimportant compared to her recovery and return.
But there were other problems that overshadowed Margaret’s absence. The issue of slavery was gradually becoming a nightmare of massive proportions, and as ridiculous as it seemed, the issue was tearing the country apart. York, his elder son, had written letters from Philadelphia that spoke to the heart of the matter. After serving one term in Congress, York had failed to win a second term in the elections of 1848. He knew now the first win had been purely on his father-in-law’s coattails. When York’s proslavery views became more widely known, his constituency turned on him. Northerners found it impossible to understand the institution of keeping huge numbers of slaves in order to run large plantations. The northeast coastal population was far more industrial than agricultural, and it was difficult for residents of those areas to understand the amount of work that went into farming. York was understandably bitter about this and the fact that it had damaged his political career. Quite frustrated, he had told of protests and lectures that spoke to the cruelty of owning human lives, and until Hampton’s heavy-handedness at Oakbridge, Joseph had thought it a circumstance that didn’t involve him.
It was easy to forget about those plantation owners who acted with disregard for their slaves, when few in his immediate circle acted in such a way. Robert E. Lee would certainly never allow for cruelty at Arlington House. Neither would a half dozen other good men with whom he had shared friendships over the years. Still, he knew full well that such horrors were the reality of the institution. He’d known of circumstances where Negro families were split up—sold to different owners, all because of profit margins and marketability. But he’d never played a part in that, so he wasn’t guilty. Or was he? Wasn’t he just as guilty because he’d turned away, refusing to acknowledge what was happening? When he heard rumors circulating around Oakbridge and saw the marks of Hampton’s cruelty, wasn’t he just as guilty in looking away as he would have been had he wielded the whip himself?
With a heaviness he could not shake, Joseph wondered what recourse he had. He’d spoken many times to Hampton about his actions, and while things went along smoothly for a while, he had a sneaking suspicion that Hampton had merely threatened the slaves into silence and submission. But Joseph was gone so much, spending weeks on end in Boston, that it was difficult to keep a tight rein on his son-in-law. It was too easy to allow the situation to be superseded by his need to have someone run things while he was away.
A knock sounded at the door, and Hampton Cabot entered the room without further warning. He wore fawn-colored riding pants and a white shirt that was open at the collar.
“There’s trouble stirring up again,” Hampton said, seemingly unconcerned that it was Joseph who had summoned him to the library, instead of the other way around. “Two of the Willminghams’ slaves have escaped, and I’ve a notion they may come here to seek refuge.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“I overheard a couple of the house girls talking in their bedchambers. Essie and Lydia to be exact.”
“What were you doing on the third floor?” Joseph asked, fearful that he already knew the answer. It was rumored that his son-in-law had remained anything but faithful to his wife. Without clear proof Joseph could only wonder about the parentage of two very light-colored infants born to two other slave girls who worked in the weaving and sewing houses. Joseph had never accused Hampton to his face, but the implication lay between them like black powder awaiting a spark.