North and South Trilogy

by John Jakes

  On the other hand, Tillet Main would never change his ways because of such a visit, Cooper decided. His father didn’t want his beliefs muddied by truth. Cooper knew a lot of men exactly like him. He expected the North had its share, too.

  He was in poor spirits during supper that night. While spouts of fiery iron jetted across the dark field of his thoughts, he put on a smile he didn’t feel. He struggled to keep track of the conversation carried on by George’s charming Irish wife and her lively mother-in-law. The Hazard youngsters, William and Patricia, had been fed separately. “They’re good children,” Constance said, “but they can be bumptious. I thought we should dine without the threat of custard flying through the air.”

  George’s table talk consisted largely of a monologue about the need for a better and cheaper method of producing steel. He explained some of the technical problems with such clarity that Cooper remembered them in detail long afterward. Constance understood her husband’s concern and didn’t interrupt while he was holding forth. When the meal and the monologue ended, the two men retired to the smoking room. George lit a cigar while Cooper sipped brandy.

  “We’ll rejoin the ladies in the music room in a little while,” George said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic. “My brother Billy will be coming over from next door. Stanley and his wife, too. Billy’s going to the Military Academy. Did Orry tell you that?”

  “No. What a splendid surprise. Perhaps there’ll be a reunion in a year or two.”

  “A reunion? What do you mean?”

  “Remember Cousin Charles? He’s changed a lot since you saw him. He has ambitions to attend West Point too.”

  George sat forward. “You mean it’s possible there could be another Main and another Hazard there together?” They compared dates and found it to be entirely possible.

  Smiling, George leaned back in his chair. “Well, that improves the evening.” He quickly sobered. “I hope the remainder of it won’t be unpleasant for you.”

  “Why should it be unpleasant?”

  “My sister Virgilia is home for a few days. She seldom takes supper with us, but she’s here.”

  “I recall her very well. Handsome girl.” Cooper dropped the lie into the conversation gracefully.

  “Opinionated, too. Especially on the subject of abolition,” George said with a pointed glance at his guest. “In fact she’s managed to antagonize most of the residents of Lehigh Station. She takes a nugget of truth and surrounds it with the most outrageous qualifications and conditions. For example, she claims Negro freedom is philosophically related to the principle of free love. Believe in one, and you must believe in the other. Of course that linkage leads to relationships between the races, which to her is perfectly all right.”

  Cooper swirled his cognac, withholding comment.

  “Not even arguing that last question”—George chewed the smoldering stub of his cigar—“I can say this without fear of challenge: by the way she conducts herself, Virgilia stirs up a hell of a lot of animosity among people who would otherwise be sympathetic to some of her views. She upsets the household, too. My mother’s patience is tried to its limit. And I can’t begin to describe the way Virgilia affects Stanley’s wife—oh, but you’ve not met Isabel, have you? You will this evening. And you’ll get to know her this summer.”

  “Afraid not,” Cooper murmured. “My duties will keep me in Charleston.” Another lie, but for his benefit this time.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Where the devil was I?”

  “Isabel and your sister.”

  “Oh, yes. Of the two, it’s Virgilia I’m worried about. Since she came home, she’s already received two vile anonymous letters. Down in the village the other day, someone threw mud at her. There’s no telling what will happen to her if she continues to promote her wild ideas. I expect she’ll also be joining us tonight. I felt I should warn you.”

  Cooper crossed his legs and smiled. “I appreciate the concern. She won’t bother me.”

  “I hope not, but don’t be too sure.”

  Cooper found Stanley Hazard as stuffy as ever. Stanley kept dropping names of Pennsylvania politicians into the conversation. He pronounced each one as if he expected Cooper to recognize it and be impressed.

  Isabel struck Cooper as a shrew. She had brought her twin sons to the music room. They writhed on her lap and tried to out-howl one another. Constance offered to hold one of them, but Isabel refused—sharply, Cooper thought; the sisters-in-law clearly disliked each other. Stanley finally ordered his wife to take the noisy youngsters out of the room. Everyone was relieved.

  Billy talked excitedly about the forthcoming holiday in Newport. He’d completed the program at boarding school and now, guided through occasional visits to Philadelphia for tutoring, continued his studies at home. The boy was unmistakably a Hazard, though he was by no means a twin of George. His hair was darker than George’s, his eyes a deeper shade of blue. He had a cheerful face with a blunt chin that gave him an air of rugged dependability. His powerful chest made him look as strong as a tree.

  Virgilia arrived. She seized Cooper’s hand and shook it, much like a man. Her mother frowned. After a bit of small talk, Virgilia seated herself next to Cooper and bored in.

  “Mr. Main, what is the reaction in your part of the South to Senator Clay’s proposals?”

  Careful, he thought, noting her fiery eye. She wants a rise out of you. Parlor politics seldom led to anything except bad feelings—certainly never to agreement—so he answered with a bland smile:

  “About what you’d expect, Miss Hazard. Most people in South Carolina oppose any compromise with—”

  “So do I,” she broke in. Maude uttered a quiet word of reproof. Cooper was sure Virgilia heard, but she paid no attention. “In matters of human freedom, there is no room for compromise or negotiation. Webster and Clay and that whole gang should be lynched.”

  Cooper’s smile felt stiff. “I think John Calhoun had a similar, if less violent, reaction to those gentlemen and their proposals—though certainly not for the reason you mention.”

  “Then for once I would agree with the late, unlamented Mr. Calhoun. In other respects he was a traitor.”

  Having just struck a match, George unthinkingly flung it onto the carpet. “Good God, Virgilia. Mind your manners.”

  Maude rushed forward to step on the match. “George, see what you’ve done.”

  Stanley sniffed and folded his arms. “It’s Virgilia’s tongue that did it.”

  “Traitor?” Cooper repeated. “Surely you don’t mean that, Miss Hazard.”

  “There is no other word for someone who advocates disunion in order to protect slavery.” She leaned forward, hands fisted on her knees. “Just as there is no other word for a slave owner but whoremaster.”

  The silence was instantaneous, so complete that the wailing of Isabel’s twins carried all the way from the back of the house. Quietly, Cooper said, “If I didn’t believe you spoke rashly, I would take that as an insult to my entire family. I won’t deny the Mains own slaves, but they run a plantation, not a brothel.”

  He caught his breath and turned to Maude. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hazard. I didn’t mean to employ vulgar language.” It was unnecessary for him to add that anger had prompted it. That was evident.

  “Virgilia, you owe our guest an apology,” George said.

  “I—” She began to twist her handkerchief. Her pitted face turned pink. She dabbed at perspiration on her upper lip. “I only meant to express a personal conviction, Mr. Main. If I offended you, it was unintentional.”

  But it wasn’t. She continued to dab her lip, in that way concealing part of her face. But her eyes gave her away. They fixed on Cooper with a fanatical rage.

  “I reacted too strongly myself. I apologize.”

  He hated to say that, but courtesy demanded he do so. George stepped over the burn in the carpet and practically jerked him up from his chair. “Care to take a stroll?”

  The moment they were outside, he exc
laimed, “God, I’m sorry she said all those things. I don’t know what pleasure she derives from being rude.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Cooper walked across flagstones to the edge of the terraced lawn. To his right the three furnaces stained the night sky red.

  “I will worry about it! I don’t want Virgilia offending you, and I certainly don’t want her offending your family this summer. I’ll have a talk with her.” His determination shaded into puzzlement. “She’s my sister, but I’ll be hanged if I understand her. Every time she rants about slavery and the South, she puts it in—well, physical terms. Somehow she’s gotten the notion that the entire South is one heaving sea of fornication.”

  He shot a quick look to see whether Cooper was shocked. Cooper was thinking. People often condemned that which they secretly desired.

  “She’s gotten too involved in her cause,” George grumbled. “Sometimes I fear it’s affecting her mind.”

  I fear you may be right, Cooper thought, but kept it to himself.

  That ended the incident. He left in the morning, without seeing Virgilia again. Soon the memory of her wrathful eyes faded a little as he examined his own rather surprising reactions during the exchange. He had been outraged by her statement; outraged as a member of the Main family and, yes, as a Southerner, too.

  Cooper considered himself a temperate man. If he could be aroused by a Yankee fanatic, how much more angry would the Southern hotspurs become? And to what sort of violent response would that anger propel them? That was the aspect of last night’s display that disturbed him most.

  He first saw the girl on deck about an hour after the coastal steamer left New York for Charleston. She was in her twenties and evidently traveling alone. A tall girl with thin arms and legs, a flat bosom, and a long nose. A great deal of curly, dark blonde hair showed beneath her hat. She walked slowly along the rail, then stopped and gazed at the ocean. Her poise and self-assurance suggested familiarity with the world, experience in dealing with it by herself. He stood covertly watching her from a respectful distance.

  Her gaze seemed kind and her mouth had a friendly look, as if she smiled a lot and did so naturally. Yet an objective observer would have to say that all the girl’s features, taken together, yielded plainness at best, homeliness at worst. Why, then, did he find her so striking? He didn’t know, nor did he care about an explanation.

  Shortly he noticed another man watching the girl, and less discreetly. The man was fat, middle-aged, and wore a checked suit. Cooper was annoyed and then disappointed when the girl strolled off. If she was aware of the attention of the fat fellow, she gave no sign.

  In a moment she was out of sight. Cooper knew he must meet her. But how? A gentleman simply didn’t accost a young woman to whom he hadn’t been introduced. He was still struggling with the problem when a black steward rang the dinner gong.

  In the dining saloon, he was infuriated to see that chance had placed the girl at a table with the man in the checked suit. The man was no gentleman. He crowded his chair closer to hers, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the four other passengers sharing the table. He repeatedly bumped her forearm with his hand as they ate. And several times he leaned over too intimately, offering some witticism that she greeted with a polite smile. She ate rapidly and was the first to leave the table. Moments later, Cooper raced on deck to search for her.

  He discovered her at the starboard rail watching the distant dunes on the Jersey shore. I’ll do it, and damn the risk, he thought. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. Bees swarmed in his stomach. He walked toward her, fully intending to speak. She turned, taking note of him in a friendly way. He stopped, reached for the brim of his hat, then realized he had left the hat in his cabin. His opening remark died in his throat.

  He uttered the only greeting he could muster—a kind of grunt—and rushed on by. Idiot. Idiot. Now she’d never speak to him, and he couldn’t blame her. He had wanted to make a good first impression, somehow conveying to her that he was polite and even shy—qualities he felt she might like, if she were only given the opportunity to notice them. Inexperience had undone him. All she had seen was a fool who didn’t say hello, just grunted.

  He decided he wouldn’t attend the evening entertainment, but at the last minute he changed his mind, joining a crowd of about thirty people in the main saloon. The purser, a cheerful Italian, announced that a special program had been substituted for that originally scheduled. It had been discovered that one of the passengers had musical talent, and she had been persuaded to perform. The purser would accompany her on the piano. He presented Miss Judith Stafford of Boston.

  Miss Stafford rose. It was the girl. She had been seated in the first row where Cooper couldn’t see her. She was still wearing the same plainly cut black dress he had first observed on deck. He felt sure it was her “good dress.” Every woman had one, usually of silk.

  He sat enthralled as she announced her first selection, an aria from Norma. She sang in a sweet soprano, with phrasing, gestures, and expressions that bespoke professional training. She performed three other selections, all operatic; the last one was a showy, stormy one from Verdi’s Attila.

  With each note, Cooper fell more deeply in love. He got a jolt when he noticed a spectator sidling along the wall toward the front. The chap in checks. Reeling slightly—and not because of rough water. The sea was calm tonight. The fellow’s lascivious eyes showed what interested him. It was not Miss Stafford’s talent.

  The audience responded to her final aria with thunderous applause and demanded more. She conferred with the purser, then delighted the crowd with a lively rendition of “Oh! Susanna,” the Negro ballad adopted by the California gold seekers. Again the audience wanted an encore. She sang the ten-year-old favorite, “Woodman, Spare That Tree.” Her performance brought tears to the eyes of several in the audience.

  But not to the eyes of Mr. Checks, as Cooper had taken to calling him. All that glittered in his repulsive little orbs was lust.

  After giving the girl a final ovation, the audience dispersed. The purser thanked her and bustled off, leaving her alone and abruptly aware of Mr. Checks weaving in her direction, a smarmy smile on his face. Cooper found himself propelled toward the pair like a rocket. He’s probably a professional bare-knuckle fighter. If you interfere, he’ll pulverize you—and she’ll still think you’re a clod.

  Despite this pessimistic appraisal, he didn’t change course but sped straight to the front of the saloon. Mr. Checks had come to a halt six feet to Miss Stafford’s left, blinking witlessly. Cooper seized the girl’s elbow.

  “That was utterly charming, Miss Stafford. I now claim the reward of that stroll you promised me earlier.”

  She’ll scream for help, he thought. “Here, wait,” said Mr. Checks, hurrying toward them and falling headfirst over a large leather chair he had failed to see.

  Judith Stafford shone that bright smile on Cooper. “I remember, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  His heart nearly stopped as she linked her arm with his. She let him guide her outside. The moment they were on deck, she gave his forearm an impulsive squeeze.

  “Oh, thank you. That lizard has been eyeing me ever since we left New York.” She withdrew her hand. “I don’t mean to be forward, but I’m very grateful to you, Mr.—”

  She hesitated. Could he believe what he was hearing?

  “Cooper Main of Charleston. Are you by chance from South Carolina?”

  “I’m from the village of Cheraw, up country. I am going home for a visit. I thank you again for your assistance, Mr. Main. Good evening.”

  Lose her now and she’s lost for good. He seized her hand and once more linked her arm with his.

  “Miss Stafford, I demand my reward. That stroll we discussed—oh-oh, there he is. This way.”

  They sailed past a porthole from which a dejected Mr. Checks was peering. He didn’t come on deck or bother them for the rest of the voyage. So much for fears of bare-knuckle prowess.
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br />   Judith Stafford laughed at Cooper’s audacity. But she held fast to his arm, and they walked briskly toward the stern in the moonlight. He was so happy, if she had told him to jump overboard, he’d have done it. He’d have done it even though he couldn’t swim six feet.

  They spent most of the following day together. Cooper knew she probably did it because she thought him a safe companion, one whose presence would keep less trustworthy men at a distance. He only hoped companionship could ripen into friendship before they reached Charleston. After a day’s shopping there, she planned to travel on to Cheraw by rail and public coach.

  She had been born in the foothills of the South Carolina mountains, the only child of a farm couple. Her mother was dead, and her father now lived in Cheraw with a relative; an accident with a plow had crippled him two years ago.

  “My father is Welsh and Scotch and a few other things besides,” she said as they sat sipping bouillon late in the morning. “Born a Carolina yeoman, and he’ll die as one. When he worked his land, he did it all by himself unless he happened to have the help of some neighbors he later repaid in kind. He detests the rice and cotton planters because they can succeed only by using armies of slaves. He also detests them because there are so few of them, yet they have absolute control of the state. As a matter of fact, that control is one of the reasons I moved away five years ago, when I was twenty-one.”

  “There are a great many farmers up country who share your father’s feeling, aren’t there?”

  “Thousands. If it were up to them, slavery would be abolished in a minute.”

  “To be followed by a black uprising the next minute?”

  “Oh, that’s just an excuse,” she said with a toss of her head.

  “Well, I hear it often.” He swallowed and put the truth before her. “My family has planted rice and owned slaves for generations.”