Candle In The Darkness Part 14

"Let me ask you, honey. That young man who keep sending you letters from West Point?"

"You mean Robert?"

"Uh huh . . . does he do all this 'heart messing' and 'body shaking' with you?"

Not once. Nor had any other man I'd ever met. I shook my head.

"How you feel about that Yankee man?" she asked.

"I feel . . . I feel sorry for Robert. And I feel safe with him."

"You want to wake up beside him every morning?"

I remembered my cousin Julia asking me the same thing. The thought horrified me. "No," I told Tessie.

"Well, then. That's your answer."

"What? What's my answer?"

"You not in love with this Robert."

"Well, I'm certainly not in love with Mr. St. John, I can tell you that! He's insulting . . . and . . . and obnoxious and . . ."

"What he look like? He as ugly as he is mean?"

"No, he's not ugly at all." My voice suddenly quivered with emotion, and I didn't know why. "He's . . . he's . . ." I saw his face in my mind, the way he looked when he laughed and told stories, not when he was angry.

"He's what, honey?"

"Well . . . he would be a handsome man if he weren't so obstinate!" I covered my face and cried. I didn't even know why.

"Mm, mm, mm," Tessie soothed as she gathered me in her arms. "Sure do make it hard to hate a man when he's handsome."

She let me cry for a while, but as my tears began to fade, she asked, "What you and this man arguing about all the time?"

"Slavery. He defends it! Can you imagine? He thinks it's perfectly acceptable!"

A smile tugged at the corners of Tessie's mouth. "Seem to me Cousin Jonathan, your daddy, and just about every white man in Virginia think the same thing. You arguing with all of them, too?"

"No," I answered meekly.

"Honey, if you looking to find a Virginia man who think like a Yankee, you gonna die an old maid. Guess you better marry that Robert fellow while you still got the chance."

I recalled what she'd said about Robert. I wasn't in love with him. But how had she known? "What's it like to fall in love, Tessie?" I asked.

She gazed into the darkness for a long moment, then her smile widened. "Well, when you see that certain man you heart flies like paper on the wind-don't matter if you just see him one minute ago or one year ago. When you with him, ain't nothing or n.o.body else in the whole world but him. You might be walking down the same old street you walk on every day, but if you with him, your feet don't hardly touch the ground anymore, like you just floating on a little cloud. And, honey, you want his arms to be around you more than you want air to breathe."

"Is that how you feel about Josiah?" I asked. She nodded silently. "But you hardly ever see Josiah. Have you ever thought about finding another man?"

"Most people very lucky if love come around once," she said quietly. "Better not be letting go of it, thinking there be another chance."

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I knew that my father's grief had healed when he decided to take an active part in Richmond society again. As more and more invitations arrived at our house, he sometimes asked me to accompany him in my mother's place.

"It's hard for me to believe, Caroline, but you are old enough to be married already," he told me one day. "I think it's time I introduced you to some suitable families."

Half of the time I worried that I'd run into Charles St. John at one of these functions, the other half of the time I was disappointed when I didn't. Then one night, nearly a month after the picnic, I accompanied my father to a political fund-raising ball at the governor's mansion. I was standing near the punch table when Charles appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of me.

"Dance with me."

There was nothing gentlemanly about it. But it was a command. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn't stop myself from moving into his arms. It was the first time Charles and I had ever held each other, and my knees trembled so badly I could scarcely move.

"Listen now," he said after a moment. "If I believed in witches I'd swear you were one." There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice. He stopped moving and drew back to look at my face. I'd never seen a bluer pair of eyes before. They smoldered like blue flames.

"Come on, Miss Fletcher, fight with me. Make me angry."

"Why?" I asked in a tiny voice. I was afraid I was going to cry.

He looked away and started dancing again. "Because maybe then I can stop thinking about you day and night."

I knew exactly how he felt. I decided I would do it; I would give him one last fight, ending this obsession once and for all.

"Do you believe that Negroes can accept the Gospel?" I asked quietly.

"Certainly."

"Then wouldn't that make them our Christian brothers and sisters? The Bible says we can't love Christ and hate our brother."

"I don't hate Negroes."

"Maybe not. But if you loved Christ, you couldn't stand to drive past the slave auction on Fourteenth Street, knowing what's going on in there to some of your Christian brethren."

He danced silently to the music for a moment, then said quietly, "I don't have an answer to that. I'm sorry."

He pulled me closer. His grip on my hand and my waist was firm, possessive. I'd danced with dozens of men before, but I couldn't recall ever being so aware of a man holding me, so conscious of his nearness or the strength of his presence. Everything inside me seemed to be vibrating, as if I stood inside a clanging alarm bell.

When the music ended, we moved apart. I waited for him to thank me for the dance and walk away, yet I was terrified that he would. I had no awareness of the room, the people, or anything else that was going on around me, just Charles standing in front of me, his eyes studying my face. He hadn't let go of my hand.

"What are you doing to me, Caroline?" he asked softly. "Do you know I've actually found myself thinking about some of the things you said? And some of the stupid things I said-like the Negroes being an inferior race. I don't really believe that. I've been wondering which one of us has been brainwashed with overblown rhetoric."

I don't know how long we stood that way. I felt breathless, disembodied, as if I were floating-not only from his words but also from his nearness. It was just as Tessie had described it.

"I argue about slavery all the time in Was.h.i.+ngton," Charles continued. "I can do it in my sleep. But I'm not used to debating with a woman-especially such a beautiful woman. And to be frank, I've rarely known one who had anything intelligent to say about political matters. You've turned my comfortable world upside down, Caroline. And I'm forced to admit that you were right about at least one thing-I should have bought that little Negro boy an apple."

I was so moved by his words, so captivated by his extraordinary blend of humility and charm, that I couldn't speak. Suddenly, Jonathan's friend Roger bounded over and tapped Charles' shoulder, breaking the spell.

"Excuse me. May I have the next dance with you, Miss Fletcher?"

I had to decide. If I accepted this dance with Roger, then Charles would probably walk away, perhaps for good. If I refused it, Charles would know that I had feelings for him. I thought of Tessie's words about not having a second chance with love, and I made my choice.

"I'm sorry, Roger, but Mr. St. John has the next dance."

Charles closed his eyes, briefly, as Roger walked away. I heard him exhale. "What do we do now?" he asked when he opened them again.

"Maybe we could stop arguing for once and listen to each other."

He pulled me into his arms again and waltzed me smoothly around the dance floor. For a long time neither of us spoke, then Charles said, "There is some truth in your arguments about slavery, but they are too simplistic. Besides, this dangerous rift between North and South is not about slavery. It's about states' rights."

"But the right they want to preserve is the right to hold slaves."

"Slavery is necessary to the South's economy."

"True, but that doesn't make it morally right."

His grip on my hand tightened. I could sense that he was waging a struggle within himself. "Even if we agreed to abolish slavery tomorrow," he said, "what would the millions of Negroes do with their freedom? Where would they live? How would they support themselves? The abolitionists have never come up with a sensible plan. And don't give me that nonsense about Liberia-do your slaves all want to move back to Africa?"

"No, but surely our lawmakers in Was.h.i.+ngton could come up with a better plan if they put their minds to it. The Negroes deserve the right to have dreams of their own, to live with their families, to know that their children won't be sold out of their arms."

"Listen now. Not every slave owner is that cruel."

"If even one of them is, then it's wrong. Have you ever befriended a Negro, Charles?"

"My family has always treated our servants well. I was very fond of the mammy who cared for us when we were small."

"But are you friends with anyone now, as an equal? Have you listened to his thoughts and dreams?"

"Truthfully? No. Have you?"

"Yes. That's why I feel the way I do. It's not because I've swallowed all of the abolitionists' propaganda. It's because of Tessie and Eli. I wish you could meet them."

He seemed to wrestle with the idea for a moment before saying, "I think I'd like to."

When the waltz ended, Charles steered me out of the noisy ballroom, his hand resting lightly on my back. I felt as though I no longer had any bones in my legs. We found a quiet corner outside on the terrace where we could talk.

"I wasn't sure we could do it," I said.

"Do what?"

"Talk to each other for more than five minutes without fighting. But see? Nearly twenty minutes have pa.s.sed, and you haven't told me once how infuriating I am."

He smiled. "I knew the first day we met that you were an unusual woman. I'd certainly never met one before who was as outspoken as you-not to mention one who went around clubbing suspected slave drivers with her bag. I thought you were just parroting empty words, Caroline, but you aren't. You really believe what you say. You really care. I'm sorry I misjudged you."

"Will you forgive me for allowing the Negro boy to escape?"

Charles laughed out loud. "Certainly. But that little thief is still loose on the streets of Richmond, you know. It would serve you right if he s.n.a.t.c.hed your purse right out of your hand one day."

I smiled up at him in return. "I'll take that chance."

Charles looked at me for a long moment. He seemed to be drinking me in, the way a thirsty man gulps water. "Who did you come to this fund-raiser with tonight?" he asked at last.

"My father."

"I'd like to meet him. I'd like to ask him if I may escort you home."

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My father was very pleased when Charles asked for permission to court me. "The St. Johns are one of Richmond's finest families," Daddy said proudly.

"Not to mention, one of the richest?" I teased.

"Well now, that never hurts, either. But let's not forget what's really important-"

"That I'm growing very fond of Charles?"

"No," he said, laughing, "that he's a good Southern Democrat."

Charles and I went everywhere together that summer-to musical recitals and dinner parties, to the theater, and to countless political functions as the upcoming presidential election grew closer and closer. As my feelings for him deepened, so did the guilt I felt concerning Robert Hoffman-especially when Robert's unanswered letters began to pile up on my desk.

I realized that my cousin Julia had been right; Robert believed he was in love with me. I'd continued writing to him regularly since returning to Richmond, but now that I was falling in love myself, I knew that it was unfair to string Robert along with false hopes. I sat down at my desk one day and wrote him a long, honest letter, gently explaining to him that we no longer had an "understanding."

At the same time, I wrote to Aunt Martha, asking her to help cus.h.i.+on the news. I felt relieved, but a little worried, when Robert's letters stopped immediately. I eventually received a very cool note from my aunt saying that she and Robert had talked, but she gave no indication of how he had received the news. My cousin Julia stopped mentioning him in her letters.

I had much bigger things to worry about that fall. The United States that I loved so much seemed on the brink of a terrible crisis. The race for president, like John Brown's uprising, revealed a nation bitterly divided over slavery. The Democratic Party had split in two, with Northern Democrats nominating Senator Stephen Douglas of Illinois, and Southern Democrats nominating Kentucky's Senator John Breckinridge. The Republicans chose a compromise candidate named Abraham Lincoln, who pledged to halt the spread of slavery in any states that joined the Union in the future but promised not to interfere with slavery in the states where it already existed. I thought Mr. Lincoln's position was a fair compromise; Charles disagreed.

"Lincoln's views are unacceptable," he insisted. "Once our slave states are outnumbered in Congress, we will no longer have fair representation. The North could enact any laws they pleased."

"Is that why South Carolina is threatening to secede if Mr. Lincoln is elected?"

"Yes, that's exactly why. America broke away from Great Britain for the same reason-her interests were not being fairly represented."

"Do you think it will come to that, Charles? Another revolution?"

"I pray not."

But when Abraham Lincoln won the election-with only forty percent of the popular vote-Charles and I both felt a sense of dread. Not a single slaveholding state had voted for him.

Charles and I still disagreed over slavery, but we were able to discuss it without arguing now. He listened to my opinions, and that drew my heart to him. He admitted that slavery was unjust, and I admitted that abolis.h.i.+ng it immediately would not only destroy the South's economy but would leave millions of slaves unequipped to deal with their immediate freedom. Charles was kind and fair to his family's slaves, even if the bonds of love that existed between Tessie and Eli and me were missing.

Tessie and I continued with our reading lessons in the afternoons, and she made excellent progress. Within six months, she could read simple stories and write down the sentences I dictated to her, even though her spelling was poor. She remained very fearful of being discovered, however, and every afternoon she would make me repeat my promise not to tell a soul what we were doing before she would agree to read or write a single word. What had begun as a way to prove Tessie's equality to Charles would forever remain our secret.

But I no longer felt compelled to prove anything to him. Charles had admitted to me that some slaves could undoubtedly learn how to read, but he felt quite strongly that they should not be educated. Even though we often disagreed, Charles and I were convinced of one thing: our growing feelings for each other were much stronger than our political differences.

Late that year, on December 20, Charles' family hosted a Christmas party in their enormous home. All of Richmond's high society was invited. As I waited for Charles to arrive to escort me, I couldn't help recalling his sister Sally's party, just one year earlier.

"So much has changed in a year's time," I said to Tessie. "I wonder what I'll be doing a year from now?"

She was watching for Charles' carriage from my bedroom window, but she turned to smile mischievously at me. "Think you'll be waking up beside your Mr. St. John by next Christmas?"