Distant Dreams

by Judith Pella

  Margaret smiled, surprising Carolina with her tolerance of the situation. “This is only a dinner dance, not a formal ball. It can’t hurt to show the prospective suitors what they can expect in the future. Marrying well is everything, Carolina.”

  “What about love?” Carolina knew the question was overstepping her bounds, but she truly hoped to be excused from the party and saw no other way but by complete honesty. Her talk with her mother outside Granny’s was still lingering pleasantly in her mind. Perhaps that’s what gave her such boldness now.

  “Love follows,” Margaret assured her. “Now slip into this and let me see if it needs to be adjusted. Miriam! Come help this child change her gown.”

  A mulatto woman appeared at the door. Her starched white apron made a stark contrast to the dark cream color of her skin. “Yes’am,” she replied and instantly went to unhook Carolina’s dress.

  “Mother, truly,” Carolina protested as Miriam worked. “By your own rule you know Virginia must marry first. Since she’s still available, why muddy the waters, so to speak?”

  “I want to make sure, Carolina, that you don’t find yourself in the same desperate predicament as your sister. Eighteen and no husband, not even a prospect.”

  Her day dress was lifted over her head, and Miriam quickly had the pink satin in place before Carolina could utter another word. The cold material caused Carolina to shiver, but it was a good feeling nevertheless. Satin always had a way of making Carolina feel truly lovely. Miriam finished with the back hooks and, after adjusting the sleeves to expose Carolina’s milky white shoulders, stepped back to await her mistress’s bidding.

  “Why, it looks as though it had been made for you,” Margaret said, taking in the vision of her daughter.

  Carolina caught sight of herself in the mirror. She had developed quite young, and the dress was designed to show off just the right amount of figure without leaning into a dangerously overexposed area. The satin hung off her shoulders in sleeves of demi-gigot fashion. Fitted from the elbow down, Carolina couldn’t resist the urge to puff out the tops as she took in her reflection. She wished it had the newest style of sleeves that she had seen in Godey’s Lady’s Book, instead of the old muttonchop style. But at least it had a fashionable fitted waist. The form-fitting bodice showed off her womanly shape, rounding softly just above her breast with elaborate handmade lace. The snug waist blossomed out in three tiers of flouncing to the floor.

  Yes, Hester and the girls in the sewing house had done a fine job of duplicating the latest fashion. Carolina could not imagine what had prompted Virginia to reject it. But she could be exceedingly choosy at times. No wonder she still had not found a husband!

  “I think this will do just fine,” Margaret stated as Carolina turned slowly before her mother. As much as Carolina had thought the party of little interest, she found herself growing excited as she considered the gown. She might have an unwomanly fascination with science, but that in no way superseded her feminine interest in clothes and looking good.

  Margaret seemed to sense the change in her and offered an approving nod. “You’ll turn heads, no doubt. And you’ll do yourself proud and maybe even find a young suitor who will come to call.”

  Carolina had no chance to respond, for Hannah appeared in the doorway to announce tea. Margaret motioned for Penny to accompany her downstairs while Miriam helped Carolina change.

  Once she was properly attired in her cotton day dress, Carolina took the gown to her own room. But as she laid it over the back of a chair, she caught her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Where was the grown woman that had seemingly stared back at her only minutes ago? Carolina reached a hand up to her carefully secured bun and pulled it loose. Rich brown hair tumbled down and fell about her shoulders like a cape. Taking the pink satin gown in hand, she held it up against her body and shook her hair loose to fall across the material. She thought herself very much to resemble a child playing dress-up, and the thought seemed to haunt her. Why had she allowed herself to get caught up in the party?

  “I have no desire to attract anyone’s attention,” she said and tossed the dress aside as unmercifully as her sister had done earlier.

  Plopping down in the window seat of her bedroom, Carolina stared wistfully beyond the panes of glass, remembering the hissing steam engine that had captured her fancy. She could close her eyes and almost see it.

  Reaching beneath the cushion of the seat, Carolina pulled out the kid gloves she’d hidden there. Lifting them to her nose, the sharp smell of oil mingled with smoke lured her like Ulysses’ sirens back to that wonderful experience. Her heart raced with excitement as she recalled the sensation of the locomotive’s first lurch forward. Then it was gone, and Carolina opened her eyes only to be confronted with her stationary position in her own bedroom.

  At least her mother was no longer angry with her. Her mother’s change of heart had amazed Carolina. And it had eased the tension that seemed to be perpetually between them. Margaret Adams’ brief and somewhat humble moments outside Granny’s shack had given Carolina new feelings for her mother. Still, Carolina had no doubt that had it been Maine or York who had taken that first ride on the locomotive, the question of propriety would never have arisen.

  “If I were a man . . .” Carolina muttered, unaware that her mammy, Hannah, had come into the room and was once again rescuing the poor gown from the floor.

  “What you say, chil’?” the portly slave questioned.

  “Oh . . . nothing,” said Carolina, stretching out her legs with a heavy sigh. Her pantalettes peeked out from beneath her hem, reminding Carolina of her hopeless plight. “If these were men’s trousers instead of pantalettes, I wouldn’t have any trouble getting an education or knowing more about railroads.”

  “What you talking ’bout, missy?” Hannah placed her hands on her thick waist. “You is a lady, Miz Carolina.”

  “I know. And that’s the problem. Sometimes I think I should have been born otherwise. As a man, I could go to school and study. As a man, I could board a locomotive, maybe even drive it, and no one would give it a second thought.” She added with another sharp sigh, “I should never have been given a brain!”

  Hannah shook her head. “You is gwanna have a hurting head for all dat worryin’.”

  Carolina hadn’t expected Hannah to understand. If her own mother and father didn’t, how could she expect an uneducated slave to see the logic in her statement? But even Carolina had to admit it wasn’t really very logical—just emotional, just like a silly female!

  9

  Reaching an Understanding

  For several days after James’ altercation in the tavern, life in the Baldwin home was rather tense. There was the inevitable confrontation the morning after when he came down for breakfast with his obvious cuts and bruises. His mother nearly fainted, and he was taken soundly to task for his scandalous behavior.

  After that he tried to be away as much as possible, and, in fact, quite successfully avoided his father altogether. The two or three occasions he encountered his mother were too brief for any in-depth conversation—he saw to that by making excuses for a prompt departure. His mother finally cornered him one evening while he was in the process of slipping out of the house. This time his mother was quite firm, and he would have had to be outrageously rude to avoid her. Something, of course, he could not do.

  And his mother, perhaps fearing he would make another of his flimsy excuses, came quickly to the point after directing him to the parlor. “James, we must discuss the matter of your party tomorrow evening.”

  “Surely my presence is all you will need, Mother.”

  “I would also like assurance that you will be taking the evening seriously. That you will make an earnest attempt to consider the young ladies I have previously mentioned.”

  “Be reasonable, Mother,” James said, refusing to be seated. Instead, he stood by the fireplace mantel and looked down at his mother, purposely not removing the coat he had donned in order to lea
ve. “I cannot simply choose a wife as though picking a winner at the tracks.”

  Edith was undaunted as she looked up at her son’s face with the bruises still visible. “If I thought it would lead you to matrimony any quicker, I’d line them all up at the track gate and fire the start of the race myself.”

  James grinned, causing pain to shoot across his face. Sobering considerably, he continued. “Well, it won’t, so don’t try.” He’d always enjoyed his mother’s sense of humor, but her pushiness was another matter altogether. He tried another tactic, hoping that somewhere along the way he would find one that would work. “I simply have no desire to marry at this point in my life. Why is that so difficult for you and Father to understand?”

  Edith Baldwin put down the cross-stitching she had almost automatically taken up upon sitting. She’d devoted her attention to it throughout her son’s tirade but now gave him a pained expression.

  “You have no desire to marry? What have you a desire for? Scandalous tavern brawling?” She laid a hand across her forehead, then motioned a servant to pour her a cup of tea from the silver teapot she had called for, no doubt in hopes of having a prolonged and pleasant interlude with her son.

  James rubbed his cheek. “It was a matter of honor.”

  “Still, the party is tomorrow. How can you expect any respectable young woman, much less her father, to look at you with serious intentions toward marriage?”

  James emitted a heavy sigh and threw up his hands. “I don’t care to attract any woman toward marriage.”

  “But what of a family, a wife, children? You must realize the importance of those things.”

  “Of course,” James said with complete exasperation. “I simply have no desire for them in my life at this time.”

  “Oh, James, you are twenty-two years old, yet at times you seem more like a boy of twelve.”

  “Maybe that is because you and Father persist in treating me like a child,” he said, barely able to hide the bitterness he felt. More lightly, he added, “Even if it is so, what is wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I be able to have fun and do the things I enjoy?”

  Before his mother could respond, Leland Baldwin huffed his way through the double oak doors and grunted. “Mrs. Cooper is in the front room. She begs a moment of your time, Edith dear.”

  Laying her cross-stitch aside and forgetting her tea, Edith made her exit, leaving the men alone.

  Dismissing the servant, Leland closed the double doors behind her and grimaced. He seemed to James to bear the weight of not only his broad frame, but of the very world itself.

  “Mother was just trying to convince me of the benefits of marriage,” James said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I think she truly just longs for grandchildren to show off to the likes of Mrs. Cooper and the rest of Washington.”

  Leland’s expression grew even more serious. He looked long and hard at his son’s face, opened his mouth as if to comment, then closed it again. After several more moments of silence he did speak. “I must confide something to you, James. Something that comes as no easy revelation. Something that gives me great displeasure.” He took a seat and motioned his son to do the same.

  Giving up on his hopes of a fast escape, James shrugged out of his brown double-breasted redingote and tossed it to one side of the sofa before taking a seat. Besides, the day had become unbearably hot, and his father would no doubt make it hotter still. Undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, he waited for whatever secrets were to be shared.

  Leland frowned disapprovingly at James’ display of undressing but said nothing on the matter. “I’m afraid there is much in the world that is not as it should be,” he began. “The banking world is unstable, and while there is a great land boom going on in this country, there are also problems that can barely be imagined, much less dealt with. I’m afraid I’ve made some bad choices.”

  James took note of his father’s worried expression. Gone was the pretense and confident face that Leland Baldwin wore for the rest of the world. In its place, James found an aging expression that gave him much cause to worry. However, James felt an odd sense of pleasure at his father’s uncharacteristic letting down of his careful guard before his son. It was almost as if his father was accepting him as a mature man, even an equal.

  “Father—?”

  Leland waved off the comment he would have made. “No questions, just hear me out.”

  James nodded, feeling a strange tension twist his stomach into knots.

  “We are fast running out of money, son. That is the simple vulgar fact. There is no way to reconstitute our financial affairs without a new infusion of money. I realize that sounds as though we are selling you off to the highest bidder, but nothing could be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is that unless you marry before our financial collapse is made public, you will be unable to marry well. If you do not marry a woman of means, it will be ruin for our name and all that I have tried to accomplish.”

  “Why was I not told sooner?” James questioned with a deliberate slowness.

  “I had hoped to avoid this discussion altogether. Your mother, even now, has no idea that such problems exist, and I would very much like for you to keep the matter in the utmost confidence.” He looked up and grimaced. “She hasn’t the mind for such problems and feels that all about her is loveliness and grace. She cannot possibly comprehend the dealings that go on in the back alleys and barrooms. She cannot understand with her woman’s mind what costs there are to bear and how poor choices can destroy the wealth of generations gone. I would keep her innocent of this, but without explaining it to you, how else can I convince you to marry?”

  James said nothing for several moments. He glanced around the room, noting for the first time that many items of great value were no longer in their proper places. “Have you sold off very much?”

  Leland shook his head. “No, not so very much. I can’t without giving your mother cause for worry. But we are in trouble, James.” He paused, as though unable to speak the next words without tremendous effort. “We are deep in debt.”

  “I see.” James suddenly realized his fate was sealed.

  “It started off harmlessly enough,” Leland said. He took a cigar from a silver case on the table and held it for a moment. “Jackson encouraged the masses to go west and opened banking to the point where people of all walks expect ready cash. This coupled with Nicholas Biddle’s demands that loans issued smaller banks be paid in full to the Bank of the United States, and . . . well . . . I’m afraid I’ve overextended myself.”

  “I see . . .” Still, James could find no other words. He suddenly saw his future and all the plans he’d made twisting in the wind as though on a gallows. Any pleasure he had felt on being considered an equal by his father quickly diminished. Now he was equal in ruin as well as plenty.

  “I’ve tried to approach the President on the matter,” Leland continued. “I informed him of how this banking fiasco is affecting the common man and such, but his answer to everything is, ‘Go see Biddle!’ ”

  “Is all lost, then?”

  “There is hope for recovery in time. I’ve managed to put aside a small amount of gold, but it won’t go far. A few minor issues can be dealt with immediately. Others can wait for a short-term extension, but ultimately all will need to be dealt with. It’s simply a matter of stabilizing our financial affairs.”

  “And who do you have in mind to stabilize our financial affairs?”

  “The Adamses are quite wealthy. Joseph has made a killing in land speculation. I heard only last week he sold off a tract of land in Maine for over three hundred percent profit. It was said that the entire deal netted him over two hundred thousand dollars on land that cost him only a fraction of that amount. He’s also well invested in a hundred other areas. Iron, coal, shipping. You name it and Joseph Adams has managed to make money from it.” Leland seemed to become excited at the very idea of getting his hands on such a fortune. “Virginia Adams is most eligible, and your mother belie
ves her to be quite accomplished. There are also younger daughters, but of them only Carolina is old enough to consider for immediate use.”

  James raised a brow at his father’s choice of words. After a moment of reflection he spoke. “I’ve not seen either of them since they were in short dresses and we were neighbors in Falls Church.” James thought back to those days when the Adams children had been his playmates—the boys had been close friends, especially he and York. But he remembered Virginia and Carolina. Virginia had been pretty and quite a flirt even then, but rather frivolous, if he recalled. Carolina had enjoyed riding and chasing about in the woods far more than her sister, and she had been far more quiet and thoughtful. “How old are they now?” But after a moment’s calculation, he answered his own question. “Virginia would be eighteen and Carolina fifteen.”

  “Yes, but give no serious thought to the younger one,” said Leland. “The eldest daughter is usually married off first. And I understand Margaret Adams is especially mindful of that tradition.”

  “Well,” James said carelessly, “I’ve heard it said Virginia Adams has matured into a very attractive young woman. I suppose a man could do much worse.” Seeing his father’s expression light up considerably, he raised a hand. “However, I draw the line at banking. I will not be a banker under any circumstance. I love the railroad, and I intend to continue working on some design ideas I have for a new engine.”

  “But can that ever pay you enough to support a family? It will do precious little good if you marry a woman of means, only to have to live on it as your only support.”

  “Philip Thomas of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad seems to think I might very well make a long and healthy career with the railroad. He’s offered to look over my designs with his chief mechanic and engine designer, Phineas Davis. Not so long ago, Mr. Davis was awarded four thousand dollars for his locomotive design.”

  Leland gasped. “Four thousand dollars?”

  James knew he had his father’s attention now. “That’s right. Four thousand, and that was for only one of many engines he was to develop. He’s a genius, and I would love nothing better than to study under his tutelage. He and I have become well acquainted and quite companionable.”