by Marian Wells
Alex nodded and shifted in his chair. Mallory turned his attention to Matthew. “You have another year, I understand. Any aspirations toward politics?”
Slowly Matthew placed his tankard on the table. “Politics?”
Mallory leaned forward. “Certainly. You’re from Mississippi, and you are a third-year law student. Surely you realize this interview is more than a pleasant interlude. My job is to make certain the South’s interests are suitably represented in Congress.” He added briskly, “Right now Alexander Duncan is one of our most promising sons.”
He slanted a grin toward Alex and added, “As soon as he gets the play out of his bones, and maybe drags that boat over a few sandbars, it will be time to present him to the people.”
Slowly Matthew asked, “Just what do you have in mind?”
“Basically, to keep a few strong men in Washington. The old men representing our interests won’t last forever.”
“And you want to groom the young ones to think and act in the interests of the South?”
Alex’s head jerked up. “Matt, it sounds to me like you’re a mite cynical.”
Matthew kept his voice even. “I just don’t like having people tell me how to think.”
“Well, we certainly have no intention of doing that.” Mallory quirked one eyebrow as he lifted his glass. Matthew gulped his beer and waited.
Mallory set his glass on the table and leaned forward. “One thing you youngsters didn’t seem to get along with your mammy’s milk is an appreciation for the years of hard work that have gone into making the South what it is today. I don’t intend to educate you this afternoon, but I do suggest that if you’re interested in preserving the life, now’s the time to act.”
****
On the way back to the boardinghouse, Matthew kicked at a clump of dirty snow and remarked, “I know the story; it all started back in about 1827 with the first tariffs. About the time cotton prices were down. Since then, tariffs have continued to cut into the market. I’ve heard my father talk about it all too often. But the market is still there and getting stronger. Matter of fact, it’s the yeoman suffering now. And Piedmont—they’ve been crying for banks and money for loans to finance their small businesses.”
As they headed back the way they came, Alex walked slowly with his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ve had my head in the sand. Guess too, that I’ve known all along it would come down to this.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father hasn’t come right out and said it, but I know he expects me to make good, and I know he means Washington.” He faced Matthew. “I think I’m getting a better feel for it all since I’ve come North.”
“Politics?”
“More than that. Matt, this country is teetering on some mighty big worries right now. I don’t think I understood how big they were until I studied Constitutional law. Back home we’ve been snug and secure with the idea that the Constitution supports slavery.”
“But it does. It’s a necessary evil. Alex, I don’t like the idea of one man holding another in bondage. I like it even less since studying law.” He paused, adding thoughtfully, “No, it’s something else. Maybe I’ve started thinking about fairness.”
“Fairness is one way of putting it,” Alex added, “but I wish I could stop there. How long can you think about fairness until you start thinking about responsibility? And equality.”
They were in front of the Harvard Public House. “Matthew, let’s go rest our weary brains in here.”
Matthew hesitated. Blackstone awaited, along with the stack of notes, on his table. He nodded. “Might as well. If nothing else, we’ve had a chance to hash over the problem.” He quirked a grin at Alex. “If I flunk out, I won’t have to worry about whose political horn I’m tooting.”
Chapter 5
When Matthew entered Alex’s room, he dropped off a few letters for his friend and looked to see Alex sprawled on his bed. With his hands linked behind his head, he grinned at Matthew. “Have a seat.”
“I hope you haven’t forgotten tonight’s shindig at Miss what’s-her-name’s Female Academy.”
“No. In fact it just occurred to me that we need to go down to the pub and get fortified.”
“Doesn’t look to me like you’ve expended much energy since Collins let us out of class.” Matthew eyed the stack of mail on the table. “Alex, how come you’re collecting all these newspapers? Besides Harper’s, which doesn’t surprise me, I see Garrison’s sheet and another abolitionist paper.”
“Which does surprise you. Let’s just say that if I’m going to be a suitable representative of the Southern cause, then I’d better know what the other side thinks.”
“What do they think?”
“You want me to spell it out? I’ve collected a number of goodies. Did you know auction houses are called nigger pens, and that the South is seen as wealthy due to the fact that four million slaves were sold at five hundred dollars apiece?”
“I’ve collected a few myself,” Matthew said heavily. “Have you heard of a newspaperman by the name of Elijah Lovejoy? Well, it seems he believed so deeply in the cause of freeing the slaves that he defended printing press number three at the cost of his life. Some who didn’t like what his press was putting out ruined the first two. Granted, this happened back in the thirties, so I’ve learned something that isn’t new to you.”
“I didn’t know. How long has this movement been going on?”
Matthew shrugged. “I only know there’s been a bunch working for the freedom of the Negroes since shortly after the turn of the century. Also, I’ve found these people don’t have a personal axe to grind. They’re preachers and poor folks—mostly women.”
With a sigh, Alex sat up. “So what are you saying?”
“Nothing. Right now I only know that I feel like a jerk. Let’s go have that beer or we won’t be able to make it through this evening.”
“Hey, take it easy—not everyone in the North is supporting the abolitionist movement.”
As they headed down the street toward the pub, Alex spoke slowly, “I’ve found a few facts to add. Your friend Garrison—”
“What do you mean, my friend?” Matthew asked.
“Well you started this with his newspaper.”
“Alex, I still don’t know where that paper came from. And you’re a great one to talk. I get the idea you’re pretty interested in what he has to say. His latest is in your stack of mail!”
“Yes. That’s where I found my new fact. He mentioned an incident that happened a number of years ago. He talked about a trip he had taken to England, and mentioned how well received his abolitionist talks were there. Sounds like he won a great deal of respect. He contrasted that to the welcome he received when he came home. Seems some gentlemen were responsible for beating him and dragging him, nearly naked, through the streets of our fair city.”
Alex reached for the door handle and turned to look for Matthew. “Hey, where are you going?” He squinted at Matthew through the bright afternoon sunshine.
Matthew’s attention had been arrested by the newspaper boy. He stopped and paid him and came back to Alex clutching a paper. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“No.”
“Something about a senator being beaten in Washington. Come on, let’s go have that drink and read the paper.”
Once inside, Alex carried tall tankards of beer to the table and sat down next to Matthew who had spread out the paper. “It’s datelined Washington. Says a man by the name of Preston Brooks attacked Senator Charles Sumner while he was at his desk in the deserted Senate chamber. Not only was Senator Sumner beaten senseless, but his life is feared endangered.” For a moment Matthew lifted his face, looked quizzically at Alex and then added, “It also says that the South Carolina politicians are making a hero of Brooks, and that all this is related to anti-slavery speeches Sumner delivered on the floor! Alex, surely this is exaggerated.”
Alex moved uneasily in his chair. “Matt, you got
ta look at it this way. These men don’t represent all the South. You have thugs in both North and South. There are also respectable people on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“Yeah, I know.” Matt said, “but let’s hope these fellas don’t take it out on everyone with an accent.” He lifted his tankard. “You and I know that not the whole of the South supports the idea of slavery.”
“That’s right.” Alex’s voice was suddenly surly. “One of those papers pointed out an interesting item. In the South, no one can preach emancipation of slaves and live. But back in the thirties, a law was passed outlawing even newspaper discussions and pamphlets on the subject. It is feared such discussion will cause a schism in the South, opening the door to a possible slave uprising.”
For a moment Matthew was silent. “Are you saying it would be better if they did know?”
“I’ve been studying law, hearing about government of the people and for the people.”
Matthew nodded, “But we can’t afford another Nat Turner rebellion. Alex, that was bad stuff—both for the slaves and the white people living in the area. Isn’t it justifiable to think of the people? To go to any lengths to prevent such an event happening again?”
Alex snapped his fingers at the barmaid, while Matthew slapped the newspaper. “And what’s this about slavery being called a good thing now? Where I come from, I always thought it was considered so. Try to raise a crop of cotton without slaves.”
Alex shook his head. “My father said all these problems started building when the tariffs against exports and imports were passed. I understand Governor Stephen Miller of South Carolina was the one who insisted slavery wasn’t an evil, but instead it had a national benefit. He had in mind all the cotton and rice the Negroes were cultivating.”
Alex hesitated, glancing down at his tankard. “I’ll never forget a conversation I heard. My father was defending his position as a slave owner, and at the same time he admitted that the slaves were dying by the scores every summer. They were down in the swamp raising rice while all the white owners were in the mountains, avoiding the fever.”
He continued to slosh the beer in his tankard. Finally he lifted his head and continued. “For years slavery was called a necessary evil. Necessary for them to die, so the plantation owner could live and grow wealthy. Now it seems more and more they are starting to justify slavery. And they are no longer apologizing for being part of the institution supporting it.”
“What do you mean they?”
The numerous wet rings on the table had stuck the newspaper to the surface. Matthew got to his feet. “We’ve got to go. Tonight’s the big night for Miss—”
Alex got to his feet, reeling slightly as he added, “What’s-her-name’s Female Academy. Are you certain your sister is worth this?”
Matthew chewed his lip. “Right now I doubt either one of us will make it. You’ve drunk beer and ale two to my one.” He gave up on the attempt to pry the newspaper free and headed for the door.
****
It was past nine o’clock. Olivia glanced at the door again and tried to smile. “Crystal, I fear my brother has forgotten his commitment.”
“You did hear from him?” Crystal murmured, at the same time extending her hand to the gray-haired parent in front of her.
Olivia smiled and stretched out her hand, “So lovely of you to come.” She nodded at the couple in front of her, adding, “I have a class with Twilda.” Mrs. Denison shook her hand and moved toward Crystal.
Olivia heard the heavy male voices and looked up. Her heart sank when she saw Matthew and his friend. They needn’t talk so loud. The rush of cold air would have announced them! Slowly she crossed the drawing room and lifted her face. “Matthew,” she whispered as he pressed his cold cheek against hers. She could smell the alcohol as he nuzzled her cheek.
“Sorry we’re late. My friend and I had to fortify ourselves for this occasion.” He tugged her close. “Olivia, meet Alexander Duncan.” She shivered against his cold buttons and reluctantly lifted her hand to meet another cold hand and intense blue eyes.
Olivia murmured, “Alexander Duncan, how kind of you to come.” For a moment she found herself staring into the blue eyes twinkling down at her.
She slipped her hands through their arms. With a gulp she searched for something to say. “You are very late. I expect you both to uphold the honor of the family name now.” Her thin attempt at humor slipped past the fellows. She started toward Crystal and saw she was talking to Miss Dobby. Oh no, she’s on the board of directors!
Olivia led them over to the reception line, uneasily aware of their stiff gait. Miss Hanson and Miss Arvellion seemed at a loss for words. She looked at their stiff smiles and realized the smell of alcohol had extended beyond her. Miss Hanson’s face was colored by two bright spots.
Olivia’s heart sank. Three more professors waited to be greeted. Deciding Alex was the worst of the pair, she tucked her hand under his arm and steered him quickly through the line and then tugged him toward the dining room.
“Oh, food!” Matthew muttered, taking Olivia’s arm as Alex slipped away. “We need this desperately. Sorry for the—it’s this way. We started late, got lost, and it was so cold—”
“Any excuse will do,” she snapped. “Sit down. I’ll bring the plates; I don’t believe you are up to carrying them. Where is Alex?” Matthew shrugged, and she continued, “Schoolboys, both of you. Matthew, you know how Father’s talked about this very thing. Obviously you haven’t been drinking like a gentleman.”
“Don’t be a scold.”
“I’m not—”
“Neither am I,” Alex said as he returned. His intense blue eyes focused on her, brightened and came closer. “I am from the South, and we have our honor to uphold. Also, I’ve just been talking to a very lovely lady. A Miss Crystal Cabet. Matthew, you must meet her.”
“You didn’t!” Olivia moaned, “Was Miss Dobby there?”
“Yes, but she left. For which I was very grateful.”
“I hope you didn’t tell her you belonged to me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Shrugging, Olivia looked up into his twinkling eyes. She leaned forward. “Well, I’m from the South too, and I’ll tell you, I wish you wouldn’t advertise it right now,” Olivia hissed. Quickly she walked to the table, loaded the two plates she carried, and returned to the pair.
“Sit down and eat; I’ll find Crystal.”
“A mug will do,” he chuckled. With a sigh of exasperation, Olivia headed for the kitchen. The place was deserted and she rummaged through the cupboards.
Behind her the door creaked. “Please, Crystal, come help me find some coffee mugs. These fellows need coffee badly.”
“Ma’am!” Alex’s blue eyes laughed down at her. “Forget the coffee. Just come, let’s get acquainted. I promised ole Matt I’d be good to his baby sister. Seems to me you’re not too much of a baby.” He leered at her. “Let’s go have a talk.”
Olivia resisted an urge to tug at her low-cut dress. Glancing quickly around the room, she pointed to a group of chairs in the corner. “It might be a good idea, at least until I get some coffee in you.”
He started toward the chairs. She backed toward the pantry. “I’ll look for cups.”
He caught up with her as she stretched on tiptoe for the stack of cups.
“Wait. I’ll get them down.” He moved to reach over her shoulder just as she settled down. She felt her heel crunch into his instep. “Oof!”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She dared not move. The cups were in his hands, and she realized he had carefully circled her with the burden. “Just set them down.” Rigid, she held her breath until he had put the cups down.
Grinning down at her, he said, “This is the closest I’ve been to a Southern belle since I left home. My, you smell as sweet as magnolia blossoms.” With another grin he buried his nose in her hair. She tried to push away, but the cupboard was at her back.
“Careful, you’ll knock the cups o
ver!” he laughed. “I want another whiff of the magnolia blossoms. Wouldn’t you like to be walking in the moonlight beneath magnolia trees right now?”
“You make me homesick!” Olivia caught her breath, thinking of the snow. She murmured fervently, “How dearly I would love that!”
“Let’s pretend.” Grasping her around the waist, he bent close and whispered, “Hear the violins? They are playing our waltz.”
“Mr. Duncan, you are outrageous!”
“But I’ve never found a girl who didn’t like it.” He whirled her around the room. “Before I surrender you, I’ll claim my kiss.” Her giggle disappeared as he pulled her close. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. She tried to push away, but his lips were on hers, at first demanding, then strangely gentle.
“‘It is my lady: Oh, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!’” he quoted.
She pushed. For a moment he stepped back, and then he reached again. This time his lips were urgent and his arms hard. Olivia whirled away, hesitated, and then swooped back. Glaring up at him, she said, “Mr. Duncan, you’ve forgotten something about Southern belles.” She raised her hand and slapped him across the face.
“Now take your coffee cup and go. And in five minutes, if Matthew isn’t standing beside the front door, I’ll push him there.”
Chapter 6
It was only a brief lull between winter storms, but to Olivia it seemed like spring. As she walked to her room she thought about home. In Mississippi, the heavy spring rains brought the overnight miracle of blossoms.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she murmured, “First come the dogwood, the redbud, and laurel. Oh, how I love the azaleas, the primrose, and wisteria. I suppose by the time I get home the magnolias will be brown nubs on the trees.”
Magnolia. The memory of Matthew’s friend rose unbidden to confront her. She snorted with disgust and tried to not think about those intense, laughing blue eyes, and that kiss that still chased her through her dreams. She pressed her fingers to her lips. That isn’t the first kiss I’ve had; why must it be burned into my thoughts?
