by Deborah Heal
They dodged their way through the crowd until they found the seats James had saved for them not ten feet from the platform that had been built just outside City Hall. Soon, Jonathan rejoined them, and they settled into their seats to wait.
“You know we’re in enemy territory now.” James’ expression was determined.
“I know this is a staunchly Democratic county,” Jonathan Miles answered calmly. “But I have every confidence Mr. Lincoln will bring the crowd around.”
The crowd was loud and eager for the debate to begin, but James carefully turned so that the people near him wouldn’t hear what he was about to say. “I’m sure you’re right, sir, but I can’t help wondering if the citizens of Alton have had much of a change of attitude since Elijah Lovejoy.”
“Who’s Elijah Lovejoy?” Charlotte asked in a whisper.
“He was before your time, dear, nearly twenty years ago,” her father answered. “He was an editor, here in Alton, who was opposed to slavery and was not shy about printing his views in his newspaper. The citizens of Alton took exception to that.”
“What happened?” Charlotte said.
“First they tried destroying his printing press,” James said. “They dumped it in the Mississippi, but he just bought another one and continued to call for the abolition of slavery. They destroyed his press three different times, but when that wouldn’t make him stop, a drunken mob torched his printing shop and shot and killed Mr. Lovejoy.”
“That’s horrible!” Charlotte said. She thought for a bit and then blurted, “But, Father, Illinois is a free state!”
“Even so, many citizens, especially here in southern Illinois, are sympathetic to the South. There are plenty of slave catchers turning in runaways for the bounty. They feel no remorse at all about sending them back to their angry masters.”
“And weren’t they just thrilled when Douglas and his friends managed to get Congress to repeal the Missouri Compromise,” James said. “It would have kept slavery from spreading into the Territories. That’s why it’s crucial that Mr. Lincoln be elected our new senator.”
“We can take comfort,” her father added, “that Mr. Lovejoy’s martyrdom was not in vain. Many good men have taken up the cause of abolition because of what happened.”
“And they aren’t afraid to put their lives on the line for the cause, either,” James added quietly.
“As a matter of fact,” her father said, casting his eyes over the crowd, “I just met some gentlemen from Brighton—Dr. Thomas Brown, for one—to discuss how Miles Station might become a stop for a very special train coming up from the South.”
“Ah, Sir, I think I get your meaning,” James said, smiling with satisfaction. “I’ve heard about the good use Brown and Herman Griggs and the others have been making of their attics and cellars.”
“What? What are you two talking about?” Charlotte asked, indignant that she was left out of the secret.
James whispered in her ear, “Your father means the Underground Railroad.”
“You’re going to build another railroad—?” she said, darting a glance to her father. “Underground?”
“Shhh. No.” James couldn’t help laughing, but he stopped when he saw the hurt expression on her face. “Not a literal train at all, but a way to help slaves get to freedom in the North.” When she would have continued to question him, James said softly, “Your father will explain more when you get safely home.”
Her father nodded to her and got his pocket watch out again. “It’s about time.”
“Time to start praying,” Charlotte said.
“Indeed! Mr. Lincoln will have his work cut out for him. By the time we get to the election next month, I figure Mr. Douglas will have out-spent us fifty to one. And this is the last debate,” James said gloomily.
“Then Mr. Lincoln will just have to out-talk Mr. Douglas fifty to one,” Charlotte said.
“Just wait,” James said with a smile. “He will.”
“We’ll be in for it now,” Jonathan said. “Here they come.”
The music blared and spectators furiously waved their banners as the debaters mounted the platform steps and faced the crowd. Charlotte had no doubt about where the sympathies of her nearest neighbors lay when the man on her left shouted, “Hurrah for the ‘Little Giant.”
Douglas strutted across the stage and pulled himself to his full five feet, two inches. Although Lincoln’s posture was a little stooped, he still was at least a head taller than his opponent.
When Mr. Lincoln had visited in her home, Charlotte had not thought much about his attire, but now she was acutely embarrassed for him because of the contrast between the two orators.
Stephen Douglas’ shirt was ruffled and dazzlingly white. His dark blue frock coat was ornamented with shiny buttons, and his boots were glossy and fine. On his head was a soft-brimmed hat much like those worn by wealthy southern planters.
What could she say about Mr. Lincoln? His coat was a worn rusty black color and his trousers were baggy and short enough to reveal his rough boots. Charlotte realized that the stovepipe hat that he politely removed was sadly out of date.
Mr. Douglas was allotted the first hour, and his oratory style, Charlotte soon discovered, was as flashy as his clothing. However, it was difficult to hear much of what he was saying, for his voice was hoarse, and at times only emphatic words like democracy, equality, and abolition could be clearly heard above the boisterous crowd’s encouragement and assent.
One man in the crowd kept crying, “Popular sovereignty!”
Finally, Douglas addressed his fan directly. “You, sir, are right on the money.” He slammed his clenched right fist into his open left hand. “I, for one, care more for the great principle of self-government—the right of the people to rule themselves—than I do for all the niggers in Christendom! Whereas Mr. Lincoln, here…”
His words trailed off and only when he reached his grand finale did she hear clearly his emphatic statement that “America was established on the white basis for the benefit of white men and their posterity forever.”
The crowd’s cheering was deafening. Charlotte looked first at her father, then at James. Both were frowning in disgust. She wondered how Mr. Lincoln would hold up with this crowd.
When he rose to take his turn, someone in the back cried out: “No black Republicans!”
But Mr. Lincoln ignored him and began his speech. His shyness was abundantly obvious. He began in a low tone of voice—as if he were used to debating outdoors, and was afraid of speaking too loudly. His oratorical gestures were no match for Douglas’ practiced style. Lincoln moved his lanky body in absurd side-to-side and up-and- down movements, trying to emphasize his statements, and every time he did, he emphasized the inadequate length of his sleeves and pant legs.
He had a few supporters in the crowd—some called out “Old Abe,” and some in the back were holding a banner that read “Free Territories and Free Men.”
Fewer were cheering for Lincoln, but at least Charlotte could hear better, and after a while she forgot his personal appearance and his individual peculiarities as the fervency of his beliefs began to shine through. Soon his shyness was replaced with what she recognized as righteous indignation.
Lincoln’s position that slavery was morally wrong contrasted with Douglas’ purely pragmatic position of political practicality. Douglas had spent most of his speaking time appealing to his audience’s feelings of racial superiority. Any real arguments had been based on the economic problems that abolition would incur or the fact that so many prominent southern plantation owners were opposed to it.
Lincoln, however, called his audience back to the foundational laws of the Constitution, explaining that when the Founding Fathers said “all men,” they meant the Negro, too, and intended for slavery’s ultimate extinction. But, contrary to Mr. Douglas’ assertion, Lincoln emphasized that he did not expect to eradicate slavery overnight. It would be foolish to destroy the whole economy. But they had to begin somewhere
. America could begin by preventing slavery’s expansion into Kansas and the remaining western territories.
Toward the end of Mr. Lincoln’s speech, the rain that had threatened all day started to fall in a depressing drizzle, and the audience began to drift away to find shelter. Nevertheless, he received a respectable applause from the crowd in general, with pockets of more enthusiastic clapping, including that of Charlotte, Jonathan, and James.
Charlotte clapped long after everyone else had stopped. “That was wonderful,” she said, clutching James’s coat sleeve in her excitement. “He has such a way with words. At times it was almost poetic.”
“Mr. Lincoln is a poet,” James said with pride, “although not many people know that. I’ll ask him to send you a copy of some of his poems.”
Then turning quickly to Jonathon he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve got to go. I’m not much of an entourage, but I want to escort the Lincolns back to the hotel. Goodbye, Charlotte. I’ll come see you as soon as I can get away from Springfield.”
“Goodbye, James. God bless and keep you.”
He took her hand, and pulling her close, looked lovingly and long into her eyes. “I count the days to our wedding, my love,” he whispered. At last, he turned to go.
“Wait!” She opened her reticule and drew out the bag of jellybeans she had brought. “Give him this and tell Mr. Lincoln—tell him it was the best speech I ever heard.”
James smiled and took the bag from Charlotte’s outstretched hand. “I’ll tell him,” he said hurrying away.
The rain came in earnest now. The red, white, and blue bunting along the street hung in sodden ruin, and a man was taking down the post office flag.
“He’s not going to win the election, is he, Papa?”
Her father took her arm. “We’d better start back for the train station, honey, before you catch your death.”
Chapter 16
Abby heaved a deep sigh and looked at Merrideth, who was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Kit Kat jumped up on her lap in sympathy, and she smiled a watery smile.
“So did he?” Merrideth asked.
“Lose the election? Yes.”
“That’s so wrong. Didn’t they listen to what he said? He was so good.”
“I know,” Abby said. “Wasn’t it a great speech?”
“Only the beautiful people win in America.”
Abby looked at her in surprise. “Wow. That’s an incredibly cynical thing to say.” But then a picture popped into her head of Lincoln in a modern televised speech. “You may be right.”
Merrideth took the seat at the monitor and began time-surfing on high speed. “Let’s get out of all this sadness.” The screen was a flash of white when they approached and passed June 1859.
“Slow down for a minute, would you?” Abby said. “It’s June and Charlotte’s wearing white.”
“The wedding!” Merrideth said.
When they reversed, they saw Charlotte enduring numerous fittings for a gorgeous white wedding gown. By zooming in very close, they could admire the delicate lace and tiny stitches on her dress.
The excitement of the wedding plans took Abby and Merrideth’s minds off the tremendous letdown they felt about Lincoln’s defeat, just as it seemed to for Charlotte and her friends and family. Abby was amused to find she was as excited by Charlotte’s wedding preparations as if they were for Kate or one of her other college girlfriends.
Then they watched in teary happiness as on a bright Saturday morning in June, Jonathan Miles escorted his daughter to the church in his buggy. Nearly everyone from the village came. Some of the area farmers who patronized Jonathan Miles’ mill stood respectfully outside the church so that there would be room inside for their wives and the relatives from Tennessee.
The ceremony and vows were simple and sweet. Charlotte thought often of her mother, praying that she would know how happy she was.
Cake and punch were served in the shade of the oak trees in the churchyard. Then under a shower of rice and calls for happiness, the newlyweds climbed into Jonathan’s buggy, and he drove them to the train station.
“Wasn’t it a beautiful wedding?” Abby said dreamily. “There’s something so romantic about that buggy ride. Maybe I’ll have one when I get married.”
“Hey, Abby, snap out of it. Charlotte’s getting on the train.”
Then it dawned on her that Charlotte wouldn’t be at Miles Station anymore. The train was getting up steam to pull out of the station on its run to Chicago with stops along the way. The newlyweds planned to reach Springfield by 4:00 p.m.
“Quick!” Merrideth said. “You have to lock onto Charlotte. I don’t want to lose her.”
Abby reached for the computer mouse just as Kit Kat, for reasons known only to her tiny feline brain, decided to claw her. Abby cried out and grabbed her leg. When she looked up again, she saw that she had bumped the dial too far forward. Charlotte and James were gone. Only Jonathan remained, looking wistful as the train steamed away.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I’ll run the time back so I can get a fix on her.” She replayed the wedding reception and the train station send-off. But even though she tried three times, she couldn’t get a lock on Charlotte.
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “I’ve lost her.”
“Maybe you should try to call customer service again.”
“That’s useless. You know it is.”
“But Charlotte. What about Charlotte? How will we know how she is?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. We could try again later. But for now, we might as well try moving forward in time again from Miles Station. I’m kind of curious about what happens during the war. We won’t have to go forward very much. The war begins in only a few months. Right after Lincoln is elected.”
“You go ahead,” Merri said. “I’m going to my room.”
“Don’t you want to watch?”
“It’ll be boring without Charlotte.”
“Merrideth, come quick!” Abby called.
The reply from down the hall was a muffled, “I’m busy.”
“Hurry, kiddo, I’ve found Charlotte.”
Merrideth made it from her bedroom to the computer room in record time. “Really?”
“Yeah, look. I went forward several months. You were right. It was boring without her. But then, she came back to Miles Station to live.”
“Why would she do that?” Before Abby could answer the question, the expression on Merrideth’s face went from curious to anguished. “They got a divorce?”
“No, no, kiddo. Nothing like that. She came back to help. To keep the mill running while her father and the other men went off to war. You’ll see. She and James are still happily married, even though they’re separated from each other. I’ll show you a few of the scenes I found.”
Charlotte sat on the sack of cornmeal to rest while she waited for Joshua to bring the horse around. She was tired, but in a satisfied sort of way. They had worked all afternoon at her father’s mill, and now they would have enough cornmeal for every household in Miles Station for at least a week. It was after five and the village was nearly empty. Her sister-in-law Florence had already closed the mercantile and gone home.
Charlotte needed to go home too to check on her upstairs guests and on the two pots of stew simmering on the stove. When the Chicago & Alton train came in at six, she would serve any passengers who wanted a hot meal, including probably a half a score of soldiers making their way to the front lines. She prayed that James, her brothers, and Papa—Colonel Jonathan Miles now— would have a hot meal, too, wherever they were camped for the night.
She hated the war that was tearing the nation apart, and she hated that her men folk were so far away from home—near her birthplace, actually. Tennessee was only two states away from Illinois, but it might as well be a million miles. Her father’s letters were full of the agony of knowing he was fighting against cousins and uncles—some of the same guests who had thrown rice at the
wedding and wished them God’s blessing.
But James’ letters were filled with sweet words of comfort and dreams of the day he would return and everything would be just as it was before the war. They would live in their little house in Springfield, and on special occasions, they would ride the train to Miles Station to visit her Papa and her brothers and their families.
Even though she missed them ferociously, Charlotte took pride in knowing that she and other women in Miles Station were helping to “hold the fort,” as James called it.
Her fifteen-year-old cousin Joshua came around the corner of the mill leading her gray mare, still wearing the scowl he’d first put on when he learned he would be staying to run the mill instead of going along with the men to fight the rebels in a blue coat with shiny buttons.
Rested, Charlotte rose from her impromptu seat and helped Joshua hoist the grain sack onto the mare’s back. That is, she wanted to help him, tried to help him, but he only frowned harder at her efforts until she relinquished the job to him.
His masculine pride soothed, Joshua mumbled what might have been an apology, and they began the short walk to her father’s house.
Unfortunately, the train arrived before Charlotte could tend to matters upstairs, and she fretted even as she dished up stew for the seven passengers off the six o’clock train. Six of them were soldiers, stragglers from the 33rd Illinois Infantry Company out of Bloomington, bound for Cairo, Illinois for training under General Grant.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Lieutenant Hollis said with a tired smile when Charlotte handed him a bowl.
“You’re very welcome.” When she realized the men were waiting politely for her to sit before they did, she blushed. “Oh, you all just go on and eat your stew before the train takes off without you.”
The soldiers, not waiting for a second invitation, took their seats and picked up their spoons.
