Bon Marche (69 page)

George nodded agreement.

“God, I love the excitement here!” Mary rambled on. “Even the absurdities of the place. When you and Monsieur Pujol were away from our table, that young Mandeville—what a scoundrel he is!—well, he had us all sick with laughter. That young lady with him—” She stopped and raised her eyebrows. “Was she a lady, George?”

“If I had to swear to it,” George grinned, “I'd probably have to say no.”

“Anyway, that young lady dropped a coin that rolled under the table. And do you know what he did? He set fire to a five dollar bill so as to have enough light to find the coin and retrieve it.” She was laughing. “Isn't that gauche?”

Her husband had to agree that it was.

George and Mary decided to accept Pujol's offer. They booked passage on the next steamboat heading north on the Mississippi, to return to Bon Marché for the last time.

III

M
ATTIE
had a feeling that Bon Marché was closing in around her. Retrenching. Even stultifying. George's departure with his family affected her more than it seemed to concern Charles.

“He's a grown man,” her husband had said, “and he's free to make his own decisions.” Beyond that he wouldn't discuss it.

It was true, of course, that Franklin remained at Bon Marché, nominally in charge of the breeding, and Thomas Jefferson Dewey had been named assistant trainer. To outsiders it might have seemed that the Dewey family was still a cooperative venture in one of the largest thoroughbred operations in the state. But it wasn't so.

Franklin merely went through the motions, following his father's orders without question. Young Thomas was clearly unhappy with his job. Training horses was not what he wanted to do; unhappily, he wasn't certain what he did want to do. He was struggling, at the age of thirty, to find an identity for himself. To Mattie such juvenile vacillation was inexcusable.

And Charles Dewey himself had become preoccupied with the question of slavery. More and more the subject crept into his conversation. More and more he argued—in his late-night sessions with August Schimmel—that slavery would someday destroy the nation.

“Look what has just happened in Virginia,” Charles said on a late-August evening in 1831, “in that insurrection led by that fellow Nat Turner. Sixty whites, some of them just babies in their cribs, hacked to death with axes and swords and God knows what else! And if we are to believe the reports in your newspaper, August, more than a hundred and twenty blacks killed in revenge. Does all of that not suggest to you that we're sitting on a powder keg?”

“It suggests to me,” Schimmel said calmly, “that it's an isolated incident in a remote Virginia county, and nothing more.”

“Lord, how mistaken you are, August!”

“But the authorities are in control again.”

“And for how long? What would happen here, for example, if our blacks—more than two hundred fifty of them—would come under the influence of an angry slave who contended that the Messiah was leading him, as Turner did? Just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“revolt could break out here. And would we be able to turn them back? Of course not. We'd be murdered in our beds. And the so-called authorities would be left to react
after
the fact, killing the blacks and making matters worse. Slavery is the evil that causes that.”

Schimmel challenged him. “If you feel so strongly about it, Charles, why don't you simply free your blacks?”

“Because my individual act would solve nothing. Hundreds of thousands would still be in bondage, still an explosive charge awaiting only a lighted fuse. No, the
nation
must act. The President”—he grimaced at the thought of Andy Jackson—“and the national legislature must act to end slavery while there is still a Union!”

“What you want, Charles, would require a whole re-education of white attitudes. And how do we accomplish that?”

“God knows. But accomplish it we must!”

Mattie heard the same tirade from her husband. While she felt that he might have some merit in his argument, what concerned her most was that both racing and breeding revenues were down at Bon Marché. That Charles's tight-fisted control, accompanied by Franklin's lethargy and Thomas's incompetence, was slowly but certainly having a debilitating effect. Threatening to destroy Bon Marché.

The plantation's mistress reasoned that new blood was needed. She turned to Asheville, North Carolina, for help.

IV

B
ROTHERS
True and Able Jackson, young lawyers from Asheville, and first cousins of Mattie, came to Bon Marché to join the family for the Christmas holidays. True, the stolid elder brother at twenty-three, was already a portly young man with a receding hairline. Able, two years his brother's junior, was the handsome one of the pair, an extrovert with fine blond hair and startling blue eyes.

Together they had built a fine reputation in court circles in Asheville. And together they owned a modest racehorse stable.

To others in the Dewey family, the Jackson brothers were merely guests for the holidays. Mattie, though, had other plans. She made Christmas of 1831 a memorable one on the plantation, capped by a ball on Christmas Eve that rivaled anything that had been held at Bon Marché before.

On that evening, watching the dancers, she said to her stepdaughter, Louise Schimmel: “Joy and Hope seem taken with my cousins.”

Louise laughed. “Mattie, you're an unconscionable matchmaker.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No, I suppose not. But August and I have more immediate plans for the twins. They're only seventeen, you know, and we're thinking of sending them back east to college.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps you're right.”

Mattie planned another lavish ball for New Year's Eve, and after that, the Jackson brothers several times delayed their return to North Carolina. True took great interest in Charles's and Thomas's training methods with the racehorses; Able spent long hours with Franklin discussing thoroughbred breeding.

January lengthened into February and February into March. As April began, True and Able went to the Schimmel wing of the mansion for a discussion with August and Louise.

“You must be aware,” True said, taking over the chores as spokesman for both Jacksons, “that my brother and I have become more than enamored with your daughters.”

Louise registered surprise. “Honestly, I'm not aware of that.”

“But certainly you know that we've been … uh … squiring your daughters.”

“I know that you've danced with them at the balls here at Bon Marché,” Louise interrupted. “And there have been several dinners with them in Nashville, but I had no idea that you were considering courting them!”

“That is our intention, ma'am.”

August coughed nervously. “Under other circumstances, perhaps, we might welcome the attention of young men of your caliber. But we believe that the girls are too young to marry and that they ought to be first educated.”

Able spoke for the first time. “Hope and Joy have given us reason to believe that they would welcome our suit, or
suits,
if I am to be grammatically correct.”

“I take it, then,” August said, showing a slight anger, “that you've discussed the prospect of marriage with our daughters.”

“Yes, we have.” That was True once more.

“Discreetly, of course,” Able added.

“I'm opposed to any marriage for the twins at this time,” Louise said firmly.

“If you'll pardon me, ma'am,” True said, “I'd like to point out that on our father's death some two years ago we were left with a considerable fortune—perhaps not rivaling the economics of Bon Marché—but enough to make us both wealthy and competent to care for wives and families.”

“I'm afraid you're not hearing us,” the father said. “We wish that our daughters will attend college before they consider marriage.”

“Yes, sir, and I appreciate that,” True responded. “But we thought, perhaps, there might be a more compelling reason for agreeing to our suit…” He looked at his brother. “… or suits. We believe that we could, with Joy and Hope by our sides, make a salutary difference here at Bon Marché. At the risk of seeming egotistical, the plantation could use our … well, our management.”

“You've discussed this with your Cousin Mattie, then?” Louise asked.

“We have.”

Louise sighed. “What bothers me about all of this is that it sounds all the world like a business arrangement. Neither one of you has mentioned love!”

Able spoke. “Oh, that goes without saying, Mrs. Schimmel.”

“Yesterday you were calling me Louise,” she said sarcastically.

“Of course. And I apologize for that seeming formality. But if you are to be my mother-in-law—”

“Young man, you presume a great deal!”

August gently touched his wife's hand, silencing her. “Able … True…” He nodded to each young man in turn. “I'm sure you must realize that we must now discuss this within the family.”

“Of course.” True sprang to his feet, Able aping him. “We appreciate the opportunity to have met with you. And we hope for an affirmative answer.”

The Jackson brothers quickly left the Schimmel wing.

“The arrogance of those two!” Louise sputtered. “And Mattie—damn her! This is her doing! She means to control Bon Marché through that pair. And what happens to Father?”

“Louise, calm yourself. What happens to Charles Dewey is not the primary consideration here, is it? It's what's best for our daughters that matters most.”

“Yes, it is.”

“And if Joy and Hope love the Jackson boys…”

V

I
T
was the first Saturday in June of 1832 that Joy Schimmel married True Jackson, and Hope Schimmel was wed to Able Jackson in a lavish outdoor double-wedding ceremony at Bon Marché.

Their mother had accepted the inevitability of the matches, but on the evening prior to the event, Louise said to August: “Now maybe we ought to consider what all this will do to Father.”

“In all honesty, he seems pleased by it. He told me that he thinks the twins have made wise choices.”

“He's finished at Bon Marché, you know,” Louise said coldly. “Mattie has seen to that. And what of Franklin? He's the eldest son of Charles Dewey. Shouldn't he be given some consideration before the Jacksons trample over him?”

“I think you're overreacting, dear.”

“I hope so.”

He tried to jolly her. “Admit it now, Louise, you like True and Able.”

“Yes.” She thought for a moment. “But, damn it, I'm a Dewey! And I want the Dewey name always to be associated with Bon Marché.”

“It will be,” August assured her. “Nothing will ever be able to change that.”

At the reception following the ceremony the next afternoon, Alma May came up to her mother, a new man in tow.

“Mother, I want you to meet Allen Carstairs. He's a … uh … what is it you do, Allen?”

“I'm a liquor salesman.”

“Of course, how could I forget that?” the Princess giggled drunkenly, holding high a glass of champagne. “Allen, I want you to meet my mother, the formidable Mattie Dewey. Or should I say Mattie
Jackson
Dewey?”

Mattie shook the man's hand. “Alma May, you'll learn, Mr. Carstairs, has trouble holding her liquor. Or have you learned that already?”

“See! What did I tell you, Allen? My darling mother is an absolute genius at launching darts straight to the heart of the matter.” She laughed loudly, turning heads their way. “Straight to the heart! That's Mattie Jackson!”

“Please, Princess,” Mattie said quietly, “this is hardly the place for—”

“It's a
perfect
place to speak the truth!” she shouted. “On this day, the Jacksons shall eclipse the Deweys at Bon Marché. A bloodless victory, and I salute you for it, Mother!” She gestured wildly with her hands, spilling the contents of her glass on her companion.

“Alma May, be quiet!”

“Not anymore, Mother, darling. I just want you to know one thing. I'm gonna change my name back to Dewey! I'm gonna drop all that nonsense about having been Mrs.… oh, what the hell was that man's name?… oh, yes, about having been Mrs. Nathan Ludlum … and I'm gonna be Alma May Dewey again! PRINCESS ALMA MAY DEWEY!”

Now everyone was looking at them. Mattie started to walk away.

“AND MOTHER, THEN IT'S GOING TO BE THE DEWEYS AGAINST THE JACKSONS!” She was shouting now. “THE DEWEYS AGAINST THE JACKSONS! IN A FAIR FIGHT!”

She began to sink slowly to the grass.

“Or an
unfair
fight, if that's what you want, Mother.” The Princess passed out.

VI

T
WO
weeks after the double wedding, True Jackson made plans to import an Arabian stallion, Bagdad, to Bon Marché. The price was eight thousand dollars.

Franklin Dewey, the breeding manager, was not consulted.

Nor was the master of Bon Marché.

48

I
T
could not be said that Mattie Dewey had erred in putting the Jackson brothers in charge of Bon Marché.

The addition of Bagdad to the breeding shed was only one indication of the management that would be employed by True and Able. In just a few months, racing revenues increased; other breeders were being enticed back to Bon Marché stallions.

If there was a loss, it was a human one.

And, strangely, not involving Charles Dewey. He welcomed the brothers; he understood that the plantation had been stagnating, and he liked what he saw being done by the confident young men. There may have been moments when he wished that
he
had been able to effect the changes being made, but he didn't allow his own ego to intrude in what was being done for Bon Marché. After all, even though he was being consulted rarely, it was still
his
Bon Marché, and it was benefiting.