Jewel of Promise

by Marian Wells

  “My dear husband, it’s beautiful!” Olivia gasped. “How could it be depressing?”

  She lifted the brooch out of the box. “Black onyx, covered with a filigree of gold. Alex, the design is as delicate as lace against the onyx. It shines like life itself!” She touched the row of diamonds edging the oval.

  “It does seem so,” Alex murmured. His face was close to hers as she pinned the brooch to the neckline of her frock. His big finger touched the golden design. “It caught my attention when I realized how the black stone made the gold come to life. The tiny blossoms seem nearly ready to drop into your hand.”

  Olivia looked up. “Alex, I noticed this in the shop when we went to have your watch repaired. I must admit that I shivered when I saw it. It attracted me, yet it nearly made me cry. Why?”

  He shook his head, cleared his husky voice, and said, “I’d just been reading a passage in Isaiah. It seemed fitting. Me with my earring, you with your jewel.” He fixed his intense blue eyes on her. She saw the swift uncertainty in them before he smiled. “I’ll read it to you.”

  He brought his Bible and knelt with the book in Olivia’s lap. Thumbing quickly through the worn pages, he glanced at her. “This is from Isaiah 61. ‘I will greatly rejoice in the Lord…as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels. For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.’”

  “It’s beautiful Alex. But there is still a troubled shadow in your eyes, and it has something to do with home. You’ve been reading those newspapers and talking for weeks.”

  “The United States is approaching a crisis,” he admitted, “and I’ve been dumping it all on you.”

  She looked up at him. “Lincoln is running for president, and you think there’s not a possibility of his succeeding.”

  “Livie, for us it’s one step deeper. I’m just seeing the full import of my decision long ago. But right now I don’t want to risk pulling you into all the trouble.”

  “Alex, I don’t like the thought of war, or the trouble we could get into by helping the slaves. But remember, I’m in this with you because I chose to be. We took this path without knowing the outcome of our decision, but we can’t jump out when there are difficulties.”

  “Half an hour ago, I thought you’d forgotten!” he grinned at her.

  Sheepishly she said, “I started fussing when you mentioned going home. Well, I’m sorry. But do you really think there’s going to be deep trouble?”

  “It’s impossible to believe otherwise. Caleb’s been talking to the slaves pouring into Canada. They’re angry and frightened, but they’re also strangely excited. Livie, the slaves seem to have a spiritual sensitivity we lack. They see hard times ahead, and they’re coming out of the South in masses.” He took a deep breath. “I have two major things to do.”

  “Now, before the election and before winter?”

  He nodded. “I have to make one more trip south, and then visit my parents.”

  “Why?”

  Shaking his head slowly he said, “I’ll be happy to snatch another few slaves and run them north. About my parents, I’m not so certain. It’s arrogant to think I can sway the thinking of the South, even the thinking of my own family. But I can’t live with myself unless I’ve given it another try.”

  “I’m very much ashamed of myself,” she admitted. “When you began talking about leaving, I wanted so badly just to hold you close and push away other people. Alex, when I watched you leave, I felt as if my words had ripped apart something precious.”

  “Olivia, you know I’d rather hear your disappointment and anger than to have you hide your feelings. I’m disappointed too.”

  “We’ve been here less than a month. It will be at least another month before Bertie and Caleb’s baby is born.”

  He winced. “I know we should stay. I can’t give you any reason for going, except for a bunch of newspaper articles and a vague feeling.”

  “Like black storm clouds on the horizon?” She fingered the brooch and watched him take a deep breath. “Alex, I have seen you like this often enough in the past two years to realize your hunches come from the Lord.”

  “The war is moving closer.” He slid to the edge of his chair and took her hands. “Olivia—”

  “Now will you tell me why you bought that expensive brooch?”

  “It’s not enough to say I love you?”

  “No. You were reading Isaiah 61. Verse one is an important verse for you. ‘He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.’ Did those words have anything to do with it?”

  “Olivia, I honestly acted without facing all the deep implications. Maybe I felt you needed something to remind you—”

  “Of the promises I had made. Perhaps,” she said slowly. “And now you’re thinking about war.” Getting up, she walked to the window. “War,” she murmured. “Perhaps what we’ve done makes us responsible for this frightening possibility.”

  “Helping the slaves escape, you mean?”

  “That, and other things as well. I keep thinking about Matthew and Crystal. Their hurt is still mine. How my heart aches for them! Oh, Alex, for us love is the most wonderful thing that could have happened. But for my dear foolish brother and his precious wife, it turned out to be devastating.”

  “Only because of their choices,” Alex said.

  “Alex, you make it seem as casual as ordering dinner from a menu! Yes, Crystal made a terrible choice; she loved Matthew too much to risk admitting her father was a slave.”

  “And when the truth came out,” Alex added heavily, “your brother acted just as any Southern gentlemen would act. He walked out of the whole situation. Olivia, my dear, I’m still convinced that love is more durable than those two people believe.”

  “But it’s too late now. We don’t know where they are. I wish she would write! And I’ve been wondering if Matthew will fight for the South.”

  There was a tap on the door and Alex turned. “Must be our breakfast,” he said as he went to the door. It was Caleb, and just behind him was the waiter with his loaded cart.

  Caleb studied their faces as the waiter set the table in front of the windows. The door closed behind the man, and Olivia said, “Caleb, come have breakfast with us. Even if you have eaten, I know your appetite is hardly satisfied.”

  Caleb grinned as he waited for Olivia to move to the table. “Alex ordered like he expected me.” There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes as Olivia handed him the plate of sausage.

  “I wish you had brought Bertie with you.”

  “She’s feeling poorly these days. That baby’s going to be a big one,” he chuckled. He gave Olivia another quick glance. “We’re disappointed you won’t be here when he comes.”

  “Girls can be big, too,” Olivia said with a grin.

  Caleb’s eyes twinkled. “Not that big. ’Sides, I figured out Alex had serious talk in mind when he told me you two were going back right away, and maybe you wanted to say something to me.”

  As she poured the coffee, Olivia watched Alex’s sober expression. “We were still discussing it when you came. We will be returning as quickly as possible. Naturally we’re both disappointed with having to leave now, before the baby.”

  Caleb drank his coffee and looked at Alex. “You thinking there’s going to be a fight?”

  Alex winced. “I try to not let myself think that way. But I must admit there’s a strong possibility. In the past several weeks, the newspapers coming out of the South have produced a constant stream of rhetoric denouncing Lincoln and stressing states’ rights.”

  Alex tapped the newspaper lying on the table. “Offhand, I’d say the rumbles coming out of the South indicate a crisis. Some are saying Lincoln’s election will be the final straw. I don’t like to think that. But clearly it’s a political struggle, North
against South, Republican against Democrat.”

  Caleb had forgotten his breakfast. Finally he looked at Alex. “If it gets down to a fight,” he said softly, “it won’t seem right if us slaves don’t do our part.”

  “Remember the Fugitive Slave Law,” Alex muttered, picking up his coffee. “I figured you’d feel this way—you and all the others. But sit tight, or you’ll all end up back down the river.”

  Caleb shook his head as Alex spoke. “You do us a wrong to refuse to let us fight. You know how we want to be accepted as—”

  “Citizens, honorable and responsible,” Alex finished. “You’ll get your chance later, when the fuss is over. In addition to the risk to you all, there’s the added factor of it being unnecessary. At most it will be a military skirmish, a show of strength, and then a settlement.” He shook his head. “Both sides will compromise. The abolitionists will protest and the Southern Democrats will make Congress very uncomfortable for a time. And then we’ll be back to where we were before.”

  Caleb finished his muffin, no longer conscious of what he ate. Slowly he wiped his fingers on the napkin. “Seems like a mule pulling a plow around in circles. Doesn’t get the field plowed, and he’s right back in the same spot. Maybe it’d be better to get the job over with.”

  “You’re talking about war,” Alex said, astonished. “Are you saying you think it will develop into something more than a skirmish?”

  Caleb looked down at his plate. Finally he lifted his head and looked Alex in the eye. “You thinking a man like Lincoln won’t push freedom for the slaves? Might be he won’t, but the slaves don’t feel that way. There’s this feeling Mistuh Lincoln won’t let us down. You think the South would let their slaves go without a big fight?”

  Chapter 3

  Alex lowered his newspaper and looked at his wife. “How would you like to take the long way back to Pennsylvania?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By way of Washington. I want to know just how life is shaping up in the capital. Perhaps we’ll hear some speeches, see a little campaigning.”

  “You think Lincoln will be there?”

  “No. Nor do I expect significant campaigning in Washington right now. It will be a fortunate day for us when it’s no longer considered inappropriate for the candidate to do his own campaigning for the presidency.”

  “Just before we left Pennsylvania, Stephen A. Douglas had begun campaigning for himself.”

  “He’s the exception. He’s also been in the public eye long enough to do just as he desires.” Alex paused, adding thoughtfully, “I’ve read he’s in the South now, doing his best to talk secession out of people’s minds. They say he’s not well, barely able to talk above a whisper.”

  “But why would he go south?”

  “Seems to be concerned for the future of the Union—in an increasing measure. The debates between him and Lincoln changed him—nearly sounds Republican sometimes.”

  Thoughtfully, Olivia studied Alex’s face before jabbing her needle into the linen she was embroidering. Finally she said, “Yes, I believe I would like to go to Washington.”

  ****

  Two weeks later Olivia pressed close to the train window to catch her first glimpse of Washington. “What a lovely, peaceful place Washington is!”

  “There’s not much you can see from a train window,” Alex said, “but we’ll have our man take the carriage past the Capitol and the White House before we go to our hotel. We’re approaching the railroad station.”

  “I’m glad the sun is shining today,” Olivia said as she followed the porter to the hack stand. “Aren’t the maple leaves brilliant? But it surprises me to find all the rolling, grassy hills. I expected houses and tall buildings cozying up against each other.”

  “There’s the Capitol, and in the distance, the White House,” Alex pointed them out as the cabbie snapped his whip over the heads of his team.

  They were just entering their hotel when Olivia heard someone call, “Alexander Duncan!” The stocky, white-haired man approaching held out his hand and stared at Alex. “I thought you had left for Cuba.”

  “Cuba?” Alex slowly put out his hand, holding Olivia close at his side. “My dear, this is Mr. Mallory. Sir, this is indeed a total surprise. We’ve just arrived. I would like to present my wife, Olivia. Mr. Mallory is a very dear friend of my father.”

  “Mrs. Duncan, I am delighted.” Quickly shifting his gold-handled cane, he bent over her hand.

  Frowning at Alex he said, “Your father told me you had married and were living in Pennsylvania. He was rather uncommunicative about you. What are you doing in Pennsylvania?” He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “Late. Well, no matter. I would like to see you later; however, I have appointments every evening this week. If I can possibly procure an invitation to a presidential reception later this week, will you be available?”

  “Available? Most certainly,” Alex murmured as Mallory nodded and hurried out the door.

  “Who is he?” Olivia whispered wide-eyed.

  “Mallory,” Alex groaned. “The last person on earth I wanted to see this week.”

  “Why?”

  “Remember when I told you about my last drunk in Boston? I think I mentioned Mallory.”

  “So this is Mallory! What does he want?”

  “Well,” he grinned, “after the way I failed him back in Boston, and skipped out without contacting him again, I can’t believe he’s still interested in priming me for Washington. Probably just curious about my life over the past three years.”

  “And what are you going to say?”

  “That has me worried. I don’t feel free to discuss my activities with a man who would quickly turn from being a friend to a foe. I’ve had enough of jail.”

  “And we have the slaves to think of,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m certain any information could end up being used to trace the Golden Awl. Perhaps even to cut off this line to Canada.”

  “I think we need to pray for protection from Mallory, and a very careful, nimble tongue.”

  He patted her arm. “Tomorrow, while I roam the Capitol, you’ll need to look for a new frock. And please, dear wife, make it so spectacular that Mallory will forget his questions.”

  “Alex, we can’t afford a dress like that!”

  “Since Sadie’s barrel isn’t around, we can’t afford not to buy one. I’m teasing my dear. Of course we can afford it. Shall I come with you?”

  “Men and shopping! By mid-morning you will have forgotten your brave statement and will want me to buy just anything.”

  ****

  When Olivia returned from shopping the following afternoon, Alex was pacing the floor in their room. She saw his pleased grin as soon as she walked in.

  “Was the morning that interesting?” she asked.

  “Interesting, yes. But I’m grinning because of Mallory’s note. He had to leave town, but he enclosed invitations to the Presidential reception to be held Friday evening. Did you find a frock?”

  “Yes, and it’s nearly like the one from Sadie’s barrel. Deep rose, with a charming neckline and smaller hoops. Oh, and a tiny lift in the back, held in place with silk rose buds.”

  “A bustle?” he feigned anger, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  Olivia poked him in the ribs. “I’m starved.”

  “I’ve made reservations for us at one of those places where the important people are said to go. I’ve had my suit pressed.”

  As she watched him button a fresh white shirt, she spoke slowly, “Alex, I think it’s a good idea for you to be seen in Washington. You have what they refer to as a commanding figure. Already I’ve seen and heard enough to know that’s important here.”

  He paused and turned toward her with a troubled frown. “Yes, I know. Appearance is important, especially in the South. I wonder if that will that be another strike against Lincoln?”

  “You are starting to sound as if it is terribly important for Lincoln to win the presidency.”
<
br />   “I still don’t have much hope,” Alex said. “But I care enough to be in Pennsylvania in two weeks in order to cast my vote.”

  ****

  Before noon the next day, Alex and Olivia joined the throng of visitors moving through the doors of the Capitol. A young man standing in the doorway handed Alex a pamphlet. “What is this?” Alex asked, turning the booklet over.

  “If you aren’t a Republican, we’d like to make one out of you. You know the House investigating committee has compiled a large volume reporting the corruption of the Buchanan administration. This is an abridged version, prepared by the Republican convention for the purpose of informing the public.”

  “Is that so? Well, this should make interesting reading. Thank you!”

  The fellow nodded. “You sound Southern, but I’m guessing you have an open mind.”

  “Isn’t all of Washington Southern?” asked Olivia. “It seems I’ve heard only Southerners.”

  “Mostly politicians from the deep South. But a number have made Washington their home.” He touched Alex’s arm to direct his attention and nodded toward a man coming from the door marked SENATE. “Do you know Jefferson Davis?”

  Alex shook his head. “Not personally. I know he’s a senator from Mississippi.”

  “Back in February of this year, Jefferson Davis pulled the veil off the Southern heart. He presented their demands to the Senate with resolutions clearly stating that neither Congress nor territorial legislature could—mind you, here was a strong word for those fellows to swallow—impair the constitutional right of a citizen of the United States to take his slaves into United States territories. He went on to say that it was the duty of the Federal government to protect these slaves as property, just as they would any other property.”

  “What happened then?” Alex asked.

  “Well, you know the Democratic caucus is dominated by Southerners. Of course they endorsed the resolutions.”

  “And that was the resolution responsible for the split in the Democratic Convention in Charleston,” Alex murmured. “I hadn’t heard it spelled out this clearly. I recall that turn of events was responsible for getting Breckinridge’s name on the ballot in the South.” As he spoke, he glanced at the gentleman who had joined them. The man nodded at Alex, but didn’t speak.