Storm Clouds Rolling In

by Ginny Dye

  Conversation flowed as the dishes were brought out to the table. Carrie found herself losing track of the talk as her mind drifted over the occurrences of the day. She was already planning what she would say to her father when they were alone.

  Rose, from her station by the kitchen door, struggled to calm her pounding heart. She must think clearly. Too much depended on this. When she was sure no one was watching her, she had been casting covert glances at Mr. Jamison. Could he possibly be the conductor for the Underground Railroad? Everything about him spoke of a wealthy business man. Why would he be involved in helping free slaves? What if he wasn’t the Mr. Jamison? She had received the note only yesterday. Surely he couldn’t have arrived so soon. What if it was all a setup? If she contacted him, would she discover it was all a giant hoax designed to capture slaves who had it in their minds to escape. She cast through her mind for a way to be sure – the questions colliding with each other in wild discord. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to be absolutely certain. Yet she had only this night to make the critical contact. With tremendous effort she maintained her composure. It would not do to direct any attention her way. It would only arouse suspicion later. Her face remained impassive as she picked up the tray and moved back into the dining room. She had a job to do.

  “What a wonderful dinner!” Jamison said enthusiastically. “Your cook is marvelous.”

  Abigail smiled. “Thank you. She has been with us for as long as I have been married to Thomas.”

  Thomas nodded. “She was born here. My father always said she was the best cook in Virginia. She must be close to fifty years old now. I don’t know what we would do without her.”

  “Slave or free?” Jamison asked casually.

  Thomas shot his guest a sharp look. “There are no free servants on Cromwell Plantation, Mr. Jamison.”

  Jamison nodded pleasantly, but he could not completely hide the faint look of distaste as he lit his cigar. Rose was certain the sudden cloud of smoke from his cigar had veiled his expression from the others at the table, but that look had done much to ease her fear. What had she told her students the night before? We can’t let fear rob us of our dreams. The only way to live is to fight those fears and do what comes to us...

  Jamison stretched his long legs and leaned back in his chair. “There is still daylight. Would you object to my taking a walk around your plantation? I fear my hours in the carriage have left me quite stiff.”

  “Of course,” Thomas agreed instantly. “You are welcome to go anywhere you want to. “I’m sorry I can’t join you. There are some things I need to go over with my daughter. I’m afraid they can’t wait till morning.” He ignored the questioning look Abigail threw him, turning his head away, and winked at Carrie.

  Rose quickly gathered up the remaining dishes, already casting in her mind for a way to connect with the Conductor.

  “What’s on your mind, Carrie?”

  Carrie turned to her father eagerly as they seated on the porch swing. Dogwoods in full bloom demanded attention, but Carrie hardly noticed them tonight. “Thank you for knowing something was wrong.”

  Thomas smiled gently. “How could I not know something was bothering my girl?

  Carrie took a deep breath. “Mr. Adams is hurting the slaves,” she said, her voice trembling slightly now that she was with her father.

  Thomas leaned forward as his eyes narrowed. “How do you know? What is happening?” he demanded in a sharp voice.

  In a voice ripe with indignation, Carrie told of Sadie’s fever and her discovery of the gash on her foot. Her father listened intently. Then she told of finding Adams about to whip Moses.

  “You saw him do it?”

  “No. I stopped him.”

  Thomas took a deep breath, his face becoming more grave. “Maybe you should tell me the whole story.” Anger twisted his normally kind features as Carrie relived her experience. Concern darkened them, as well. He sat for long moments after Carrie had finished speaking. When he spoke, it was slowly. “I’m not sure you should have involved yourself.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Not get involved? You wanted me to do nothing while one of your slaves was beaten?” She couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing.

  “Of course I am furious that Adams was going to abuse one of my people. He has strict orders to never lay a hand on them. If they need discipline, he is to come to me. You can be sure I will deal with Adams before this day is over.” He paused. “But that is my job, Carrie. It is best to not interfere with a man when he is doing his job. It can undermine his authority.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she protested. “You’ve always told me this is our plantation. How could I stand by and watch one of our people be beaten? You wanted me to just ride away as if nothing was going on?”

  “It’s not that simple, Carrie.” Thomas looked at his daughter and sighed. “Adams is a good overseer. He has worked hard for me. But he has a hard streak in him. I don’t want to see that turned against you.”

  “I’m not scared of that cowardly man!” Carrie made no effort to hide her anger and disgust.

  In spite of himself, Thomas smiled. “Sometimes I don’t know where you got your spirit.”

  “I got it from you!” Carrie retorted. “You told me someday I would be responsible for Cromwell Plantation. You’ve always told me I could do whatever I had a mind to.”

  “Where has this sudden desire to be a plantation mistress come from?”

  Carrie shook her head impatiently. “That has nothing to do with it. I still have no desire to live my life like Mama, but neither can I stand by and watch one of our people be hurt.” Carrie had yet to stop and analyze all of her feelings. She just knew there was a passion rising in her heart that was growing stronger daily.

  Thomas watched her carefully. Finally he shook his head. “Carrie, I’m proud of you. I’m proud you had the courage to stop what you thought was wrong.”

  “But…” Carrie prompted

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. There just sounded like there was a but at the end of that.”

  Thomas laughed. “I’m used to verbal sparring with my beautiful daughter. I’m not so used to you catching me in my own game.” Then he sobered. “You need to be careful.”

  “Careful?” Carrie echoed.

  “Mr. Adams is a man who has had a great many blows to his pride. It has put a streak of meanness in him.”

  “Then get rid of him!”

  “It’s not that simple.” He struggled to explain as Carrie stared at him. “Our whole way of life is under attack. From every direction. I’m afraid we may lose everything we’ve ever known. It’s hard to find good overseers, Carrie. I don’t know what I would do without him,” he admitted. “I’ll talk to him, though. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. If it does, just let me know.”

  Carrie nodded as she tried to make sense out of the conversation with her father. She wasn’t afraid of Ike Adams. She would do whatever she had to, but she had enough sense to not say any of this to her father.

  “I’m going to go see if your mother would like to take a walk. Maybe we can catch up with our Mr. Jamison.” Thomas leaned over and gave his daughter a warm kiss on her cheek. “I’ll take care of it, Carrie,” he promised.

  Carrie nodded half-heartedly as he moved off the porch, then stared into the lengthening shadows. Her heart was heavy. She had never seen her father like this. The man she thought she knew would have congratulated her, and then ridden off to upbraid Adams for his behavior. Instead, he had as much as told her to stay out of it and had gone to take her mother for a walk! What was happening? She had sensed fear in his voice when he had talked about losing their way of life. Was it really that bad? Was her father really afraid their way of life was going to be destroyed? Daily, she had watched the tiny lines around his eyes increase. She hadn’t paid too much attention, but she would from now on. In the meantime
... she had her own heart to figure out. She was changing, that much she knew. It bothered her that she couldn’t define the changing. Or find a name for it. Or even be comfortable with it.

  Jamison walked slowly through the beautiful grounds. He wished he could enjoy the peace it afforded but his mind was too full. He was relieved at the ease with which he had gained access to Cromwell Plantation. Fellow conductors had told him the first assignment was always the hardest - and the scariest. He could only hope it got easier. But no matter - he would remain a conductor for the Underground Railroad. He had told Cromwell the truth. He was a southerner through and through. He knew there were many southerners who hated the idea of slavery. The gap between those who owned slaves and those who never would had broadened over the years. It was actually a tiny percent of land owners who could also afford slaves. The rest of southerners had no particular reason to be loyal to the institution. Many of them provided way stations for escaping slaves on their way north. He would be counting on some of them for this assignment. If contact was made....

  Jamison had received careful instructions from the Philadelphia Abolitionist Society, but hearing it and doing it were two different things. He had traveled all the way here on the hope that a hastily transferred piece of paper had found its way into the proper hands. At best, his efforts were wasted and another attempt would be made at a later date. At worst, the paper would fall into the wrong hands, and he could end up in prison. Attitudes in the South toward participants in the Underground Railroad had intensified bitterly over the last several years as more and more slaves made use of the system. Jamison shook his head. It would do no good to imagine what could happen.

  One question remained foremost in his mind. Would contact be made? He had no idea how it would happen. He had fabricated his need for a walk. At least it would give him time away from prying eyes. It might give someone a chance...

  Just then a movement in the bushes caught his eye. He glanced around quickly to assure himself he was alone. His position was invisible to the house, so he stopped and waited. It might just be an animal.

  Rose stepped quietly from the bushes. “Mr. Jamison?”

  “Yes.” He smiled in relief. “You’re the girl who helped serve dinner?”

  Rose nodded. “Mr. Jamison, I...”

  “Jamison! I say, Jamison, where are you?”

  Jamison jumped and whirled around. The shout was very close, and he cursed under his breath. When would he find another opportunity? He groaned and turned back to the girl. She had disappeared.

  Thomas smiled as he appeared from behind some bushes with Abigail. Jamison inspected him closely and assured himself his host had not seen anything. “Cromwell. Mrs. Cromwell. How are you? ” He forced himself to breath normally. “You have a beautiful place here. You must be very proud of it.”

  “Thank you. I am. I’m sorry I had to neglect my duties as host for a time. I’m free now. Would you care to see the stables?”

  “I would indeed,” Jamison replied. He steeled himself not to peer into the trees as he walked by the place the girl had appeared. He shoved his hands into his pocket as he fell into place beside his host and hostess. He barely contained his smile as he felt the folded piece of paper that had not been there just minutes earlier.

  “What you up to, girl?” Sam’s voice was almost a growl as he stopped Rose on her way to the well.

  “What do you mean, Sam? I’m just going after water.” In all truth, Rose had no idea what he was talking about. She was too busy trying to hide the waves of disappointment - and fear - washing over her. Jamison had just driven off in his carriage. There had been no response to the letter she had slipped into his pocket last night. She had never known such fear as she felt last night when she had held her breath and prayed the big oak she had chosen would hide her slender form. She had slumped down on the ground and sobbed silently when Jamison and the Cromwells had disappeared down the road to the stables. She had been so close. And then to have her chance snatched away - it seemed too cruel. She had allowed hope to keep her going last night; hope there would be a response to her letter. That hope had been stolen from her with the departure of Jamison’s carriage. Now she had nothing left but fear; fear that it had all been a hoax, fear that she had revealed her desire for freedom. She had heard the stories of what owners were doing to runaway slaves.

  Sam was regarding her with open suspicion. “You aiming to do somethin’ stupid, Rose?”

  Rose looked at him in surprise. “Sam! What in the world are you talking about?”

  Sam just shook his head. “I promised your Daddy I would take care of you after Marse Cromwell sold him off.” Rose nodded impatiently. She had heard all of this plenty of times before. Sam peered at her closely as they walked behind the well wall. He looked around quickly, and then shrugged his great shoulders. “You let me know if you’ll be needing any help.” Rose had no time to reply. Sam reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and slipped it into her hand. He turned and walked quickly back to the house.

  Rose leaned against the well to steady her trembling legs. She knew she shouldn’t read it now, that she should wait until she was safely in her room. But... She sank down on the ground behind the protective covering of the well, unfolded the sheet of paper, and rapidly read its contents.

  She was smiling when she entered the big house.

  THIRTEEN

  Robert leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, grateful for a chance to unwind and relax. An axle had broken on his carriage on the way to the station. Manson had barely gotten him there in time to catch his train. He would have to send a letter of appreciation to the man who had stopped and helped him repair his axle. For now, he would get some much-needed rest.

  “Robert Borden!”

  Robert contemplated feigning a deep sleep. He had no desire to be bothered. He opened his eyes a mere slit to identify his intruder. “Matthew Justin!” All thoughts of sleep fled his mind as he jumped up and pumped the other man’s hand. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question, old boy. The last I saw you, you were still a student in Philadelphia. I take it you finished?”

  “Yes. They actually let me out of the place with a degree.” Robert laughed, deciding not to tell him he had left with three classes to complete because of the rising tension. “I’m at home on my plantation in Virginia now. And what about you?” he asked. “Was some paper actually crazy enough to let you go to work for them?”

  Matthew nodded, his long red hair bouncing off his shoulders as wildly as before. His bright blue eyes shone with excitement. “The editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer actually decided to give me a go at it. I’ve been there almost two years now.”

  Robert grinned at his old friend. He looked just like he always had - the angular face softened by a boyish grin, and the tall, muscular body that spoke of his farm heritage in the mountains of western Virginia. “I always knew you would make it.”

  Matthew shrugged. “I had to make it. There was no way I was going back to working in the tobacco fields. My father loves it, but my heart was never in it. Journalism…” His voice almost caressed the word. “I love it as much as I thought I would.” He paused. “Are you glad to be home, again?”

  Robert nodded. “There is no place on earth like Oak Meadows. I have a lot of plans to expand the plantation.”

  “Does that have something to do with where you’re headed now?”

  Robert shook his head. “Not a thing. I’m headed to Charleston for the Democratic Convention.”

  “Really? Why? What draws you there?” Matthew was openly surprised.

  Robert shrugged and smiled. “If my heart wasn’t tied to Oak Meadows I might have followed my interest in politics. I’ve made my choice and I’m happy with it, but I still have a yearning to be in the center of things. At least enough to watch what happens.” His tone grew suddenly serious. “I think this convention may be the most important one our country has s
een. A lot is resting on in.” He frowned and then looked at his friend. “What about you. Where are you headed?”

  “Charleston,” Matthew said with a grin. “Looks like we’re going to relive some of those wild times we had in college. Besides being very important politically, I can guarantee you it’s going to be one big party down there - when I’m not working,” he hastened to add. “I’m going to be covering the convention for my newspaper, along with some other guys who are in the other car probably wondering if I fell off the train somewhere!”

  “Let them wonder.” Robert moved his hat and coat to make room for his friend.

  Matthew nodded and sat down. “They’ll come look for me if they get really worried. We have a lot to catch up on.”

  The first few hours passed quickly as they relived old memories of college days. Laughter rang freely between the two friends. Robert was thrilled to have run into Matthew. They had been suite mates for his first two years of college. When Matthew had graduated they had lost touch, but he had never stopped thinking about him. There were many times he had missed his friend’s quiet understanding, mountain-grown wisdom, and common sense. As they sat at their table in the dinner car now, the conversation grew more serious.

  “So, Robert, are you still a radical Democrat?” Matthew asked with a smile. Robert didn’t answer immediately and the long pause caused Matthew to lean forward and look at him more closely. The silence stretched between them.

  Finally, Robert answered. “I don’t want to appear wishy-washy by not standing solidly somewhere, old friend. But at the risk of appearing that way, I have to admit I have some grave questions about my Party. I never thought I would find myself feeling that way, but...” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  Matthew peered at him intently. “What has brought about this change?”