by Ginny Dye
Carrie was watching Louisa. She saw her face stiffen and take on an expression of disbelief. Confused, Carrie turned her attention to Robert.
Robert continued. “In honor of Miss Cromwell’s supreme unselfishness and in honor of a magnificent Thoroughbred with a great heart, I crown Miss Carrie Cromwell the Queen of Beauty and Love.” Robert moved toward the entranceway as he spoke these last words.
Carrie heard his words and saw him moving in her direction, but she couldn’t believe her own eyes and ears. Surely he knew what an insult this would be to Louisa! She felt her cheeks flushing as Robert came to a stop in front of her. She settled her eyes on the proffered crown, and fought to think clearly. When she glanced up, Robert’s dark brown eyes probed her own. The message was unmistakable. “Trust me. This is what I want.” Carrie’s heart jumped in response, and she allowed her own indomitable spirit to rise in response to Robert’s.
Carrie smiled as she curtsied deeply to her knight. Robert carefully placed the crown on her glimmering hair and then reached for her hand. All around she could hear the murmurs of approval. The sound of her friends’ and neighbors’ voice added to her joy. No one seemed angry that Robert had not chosen the beautiful daughter of their host. She would most definitely have to deal with Louisa later. But tonight... tonight was hers! She would make the most of it. She knew she and Robert would perform the first dance alone before the Ladies in Waiting were selected. Tucking her hand in Robert’s arm, she allowed him to lead her to the middle of the dance floor. Only then did the music start. Turning to face him, she smiled joyously. “Thank you.”
Robert’s response was immediate. “Thank you, Miss Cromwell. You honor me by being my Queen tonight. There has never been one lovelier.”
The intensity of his eyes and voice caused Carrie to blush and look down. The next thing she knew, Robert had swung her into an elegant waltz. She quit thinking then. She would enjoy the night, the music, and the dancing. Music swirled around them, joining with the glowing lights and gentle breezes. It was a perfect night.
After leading his beautiful wife through several dances, and a rousing Virginia Reel, Thomas Cromwell was ready for a drink.
“I hear that Borden lad has an interest in politics.”
Thomas stifled a groan. Any conversation with Edmund Ruffin lately meant conflict. He supposed there was no avoiding it. “That’s right. A fine lad he is.”
“I hope he has more gumption than the rest of our so-called Virginian politicians. Our whole state seems to be full of gentlemen eager to bow in acquiescence to the almighty North.”
Thomas was aware Ruffin’s words linked him to this group. He considered walking off to find Abigail, but then caught sight of her in the midst of a gaggle of women, and he tossed that option aside. Just then, Alfred Blackwell and Colonel Benton strode up to join them. Stifling a sigh, he remained where he was. To walk away now would appear rude to his host.
Ruffin continued. “It grieves me deeply that fellow Virginians would be willing to sacrifice our southern civilization. It confounds me that once level-headed men can not see the danger of allowing things to continue as they are.” He was obviously aware he was now speaking to a larger audience. “It will take brave men to turn the tide of current events. The North would come down and destroy all that we hold dear. The abolitionists continue to fire up sentiment against our way of life. Secession is the only answer. Only when we are free as a nation to determine our own destiny, apart from the heavy handed meddling from the North, will this struggle be over.”
Thomas sighed. He had heard it all before. Long before the cry of secession had become an accepted voice in the South, he had been hearing this type of rhetoric from his fire-eating neighbor. The voices were louder now, and there were more of them. Daily his heart grew heavier as he imagined the outcome if his hot-tempered neighbor, and those of his kind, were allowed to lead the way.
“I used to think you were a kind of mad-man, Ruffin. Recent events have made me do a lot of thinking.” Colonel Benton stuffed a plug of chewing tobacco in his jaw and began to work it thoughtfully. His usually jovial voice was heavy. “I used to think all that abolitionist talk was just a bunch of nonsense from people who had nothing better to do with their time than harass a way of life they didn’t understand. John Brown made me think differently. Those abolitionists are crazy people who will kill and destroy to get their way. I’ve always been a Union man myself. I’ve always been proud to be an American. Now I’m not so sure. If being an American means the North is going to control how I live and try to turn the South into another Africa by setting all the niggers free, well then...”
Thomas broke into the Colonel’s speech. “Now, Colonel, I think you may be overstating your case.” Ruffin snorted as if to interrupt him, but he forged ahead. “There are those in the South who would have us believe the only way to save our way of life is to secede from the Union. I believe the very opposite. I believe the only way to save our way of life is to stay in the Union. Our very strength lies in our unity. Secession will mean war. War has never brought anything but destruction and death. We need what the North has to offer, just as they need what we have to offer.” His voice grew firmer, as he cast aside any hope of averting conflict. “I’m afraid fire-eaters like Ruffin here may be leading the South into a time of great tragedy and heartache.” Thomas believed his words with all his heart, but he well knew the lessening impact they were having. Strident voices everywhere were fighting to be heard. And just as had so often happened in the past, the voices that shouted the loudest were the ones heard best. The voices that fed on fear and prejudices drowned out all else.
Ruffin again snorted his disdain. “We need nothing from the North. They are nothing but tyrants who want to control us. The only answer is secession. The idea that it would mean war is ludicrous. The North would never come down here to fight us. It would be pure folly.” Rubbing his hands together, he warmed to his subject. “Our South is by far the superior civilization. No one can challenge the nobleness of our cause, or question our outstanding character. It is true that the soil of the South has produced a better man. Why look at it! Slavery. The plantations. Our men have been bred and trained for command and leadership. Though it will never happen I would welcome the contest between a lean, hard Southern man fighting for liberty, family and property, and a soft, flabby Yankee mechanic waging an unconstitutional and utopian war of aggression and tyranny!” Waving his hands wildly, Ruffin had now attracted the attention of those around him.
Thomas listened to his neighbor with a sinking heart. He disagreed with all his heart but he knew many of his friends and those listening agreed with Ruffin. He wished he could get them to see. See what folly this talk of secession was. Get them to think clearly with their heads instead of following the passion of their hearts.
Ruffin, aware he was drawing a crowd, continued with his tirade. “In just eight more days the die may be cast.”
Just then Carrie and Robert dropped out of the dancing to get refreshment. Robert turned to Ruffin. “Eight days, sir? Are you referring to the Democratic Convention in Charleston?”
“I am indeed.”
Robert nodded. “I leave for there tomorrow.”
Ruffin turned to eye Robert with renewed interest. “And what do you hope to see accomplished there, young man?”
“In truth, sir, I don’t know. Northern Democrats seem assured of Douglas’ nomination. I am not so sure. There are many Southerners unhappy with the compromising senator.”
“And well they should be!” Ruffin said caustically.
Robert continued. “I’m afraid, though, that a split at the convention will mean disaster for the Democratic Party. It could mean a victory for the Republican Party and I’m afraid of what that would mean for the South.”
Thomas watched Robert carefully. He was genuinely expressing his views. He knew what was coming next.
Ruffin pounced. “That would be the very best thing for our beloved South.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Robert was obviously confused.
Thomas had correctly guessed that Robert had little exposure to rabid fire-eaters. His political experience had been among the more moderates of the Party. Most of the fire-eaters resided in the cotton states farther south. Virginians, for the most part, did not share those intense feelings.
Ruffin continued to enlighten him. “Yes, young man, it would be the very best thing that could happen. Maybe then the South would cease all this kowtowing to the North. If the Democratic Party is divided in such a way as to ensure a “Black Republican” victory next year in the presidential elections, then maybe all southern men will have the courage to unite under the banner of the South, disentangled from all northern alliances. Perhaps then the South will act for its defense and only salvation.” Ruffin’s face grew redder and his arms waved wildly as he became more passionate. “If not, then submission to northern oppression and aggression will be the set course of the South. Our fate will be sealed.” His booming voice ground to a halt as he leaned in close to Robert.
Thomas watched Robert’s face fill with doubt. He knew Ruffin had no qualms against using Robert to make a point to his audience as a whole. He would not feel one misgiving that he was bringing such discord to a social function meant for laughter and fun.
Ruffin wasn’t done. “Robert Borden. You own a plantation up in Goochland?”
Robert nodded. “Yes, sir. With my brother and mother. My father is deceased.”
“Own slaves?”
“Yes, sir. Close to seventy-five.”
“How do you feel about someone coming down and setting all your slaves free?” He didn’t give him time to answer. “How do you feel about all your former slaves living around here, having the same say as you about what goes on?” He pushed on. “How do you feel about the South turning into a little Africa if there were no white men to control things?” He seemed not to care if Robert answered or not. He was making a point. “How would you like to lose your way to make a living for your family? How would you like it if life as you know it were about to end?”
Alfred Blackwell stepped in to end the show before Robert could answer. “That’s enough, friends. It’s time for our real refreshment.” His words were enough to break the spell Ruffin had cast over the crowd. Breaking off, small groups drifted into the main dining room.
Carrie stood quietly at Robert’s side. She knew what one of Ruffin’s tirades could do. Even the most clear headed person could become confused by his elegant rhetoric. She knew how difficult it sometimes was to not allow the enflamed opinions of others to form your own.
Robert looked down at her. “Feels rather strongly, doesn’t he?” His expression was one of amused bewilderment.
Carrie laughed up at him. “Our Mr. Ruffin feels quite strongly about a lot of things. I applaud his passion, but I find I question many of his conclusions.”
Robert nodded thoughtfully, looking at her with admiration. “My beautiful Queen has a head full of brains to match her beauty.”
Carrie just laughed again. “Please don’t tell my mother. I’m afraid she despairs of me already. I think she would prefer that I quit thinking and simply enjoy being a plantation mistress.”
“And that’s not what you want?”
“Certainly not!” Carrie’s response was immediate. She surprised herself with her openness but she didn’t regret it. She was being nothing but honest.
“And what is it you want?”
Carrie opened her mouth, but then shut it again. She barely knew this man. What would possess her to think of sharing the secret only Granite knew?
Robert took her arm and steered her toward the table. “Excuse my intrusiveness.”
Carrie hastened to apologize. “Oh! It’s not that you’re being intrusive. It’s just that ...”
“It’s none of my business,” he finished for her. “You’re quite right you know.” Robert grinned down at her horrified expression. “It’s quite all right, Miss Cromwell. But be sure of one thing.” He paused for emphasis. “Someday I hope to make it my business.” Stepping aside, he said, “Now, what would you like to eat, my beautiful Queen?”
Carrie could hardly focus her eyes on the sumptuous table. Robert’s words swam through her mind, and caused her to feel short of breath. She struggled to maintain a calm manner, and made a show of inspecting the table. In truth, she was hungry. Lunch had been hours before and the light meal before the Ball had worn off ages ago.
The traditional Blackwell Ball feast was spread out on a table more than twenty feet long. It fairly groaned under its load of hand dipped chocolate fruits, cheesecakes, cookies, fresh fruits and cheeses. The other end was piled high with savory meats, breads and biscuits. Huge bowls of punch, cider, and harder stuff for the men lay in wait.
Carrie smiled up at her escort brightly. “I’ll eat because I’m hungry. But you have to promise me we can dance longer.”
Robert laid his hand over his heart and bowed deeply. “Nothing would keep me from that honor, m’ lady!”
Carrie was exhausted. She smiled gratefully as she raised her arms and allowed Natalie and Sally to lift her ball gown over her head and then released her hair and allowed it to tumble down her back. She reached for her brush, closed her eyes, and made big sweeping draws through the ebony mass. Her whole body cried of tiredness; it had been such a long day. That morning and the carriage ride seemed days ago. Even the tournament seemed as if it had happened in another age. It was the dancing that filled her mind - the swirling, gliding and swinging that never lost its delight for her. She could still see Robert, so tall and handsome, gazing down at her. Laughing. Talking. She just wanted to go to bed and dream about it. Never had she felt this way before. She needed time to analyze it - understand it. She looked with longing at her feathery mattress on the floor. A few more strokes...
“Carrie?”
“Yes, Sally?”
“What the men were talking about tonight - I couldn’t help but overhear Mr. Ruffin. Is he right? Is the North really going to come down here and destroy our way of life?”
Carrie hesitated. She wished she knew the answer to that question. “I don’t know, Sally. But I do believe the South needs to do all it can to stay within the Union.”
“Oh, pooh! I hate all this talk about secession and slavery. States rights against the Union.,, I’m sick of it!”
Carrie looked at Louisa in surprise. She hadn’t really thought the girl listened enough to what was said around her to even know what was going on. She watched as the blond swung around on her night table bench and waved her brush in the air.
Louisa continued. “I tell you - I’m sick of all this talk. And I won’t hear any more of it. There are more important things to talk about!”
Carrie wasn’t surprised she felt that way. Louisa had always wanted to push away what ever wasn’t pleasant. If she ignored it, she figured it would go away. From what Carrie could tell that seemed to be the mentality of most plantation women. Focus on what was important to them and let the rest of the world spin on by. That was fine with her tonight. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to sleep.
Sally had other ideas. She was clearly troubled. “But what if he is right? What if the time comes when we’re not safe with our people? It’s happening you know. Just the other day I heard of some slaves uprising. They killed their master and his wife. They even killed the little boy. Only a few months old!” Sally paused, the fear standing out on her creamy features. “I’m afraid! What if soon none of us are safe?”
Carrie tried to comfort her. “Sally! That’s pure nonsense! You’re good to your slaves. Why would they want to hurt you? Those slaves who killed their master were probably badly treated. That would never happen to you!” She could only hope she was right. She knew her own mother was afraid of the same thing. Carrie had overheard her talking about it with a friend who had come to visit.
Louisa shook her head again. “I mean it! I don’t want any more tal
k of that kind in my room. I’m sick to death of it!” Her blue eyes flashed and she glared around the room until Sally nodded meekly. “If we’re going to talk about something, we’re going to talk about the wonderful ball tonight!”
Carrie gave a silent sigh of relief. Louisa seemed to have gotten over her initial anger at Robert choosing her to be queen. She looked up to see Louisa regarding her with a condescending smile.
“Robert really is quite noble, Carrie.” Louisa laughed lightly. “Anyone could tell he wanted to choose me. What a perfect gentleman that he would select you just because you let him ride your horse. It really is a pity, though, that he felt so indebted. One should feel free to act from one’s desire, not from a sense of obligation.”
Carrie stared at her in astonishment, but said nothing. She knew the truth. She had had a few minutes alone with Natalie before Louisa came into the room. Nathan had saved the night. Nathan, knowing his sister, and not wanting to see her spoil the evening for his new friend, had engineered things beautifully. He had seen that not one dance went by without an escort for Louisa. In truth, it hadn’t been difficult. Louisa, when she wasn’t angry over not getting her own way in some situation, was quite charming. Her beauty had long lured fellows to her side. It had not taken long for Louisa to fall into the spirit of the Ball and even be overheard telling people she was so thankful that Robert Borden fellow hadn’t felt obligated toward her.
Louisa continued, “I do believe that Graham Jackson was quite taken with me. Natalie, what do you know about him? He seems to be a friend of our neighbor, Clinton Fortson. Mr. Fortson is usually careful about the type of people he associates with. What can you tell me about him?”
Natalie shrugged and turned to Carrie. “Carrie, your father is awfully involved in politics. What does he really think is going to happen?”
Carrie hesitated. She knew how Louisa hated to be thwarted.
