by Ginny Dye
Carrie looked as mystified as Rose was sure she did. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about, Abby,” Rose said.
“And I’m doing a horrible job explaining it,” Abby muttered. She straightened her shoulders and shook her head. “I’ll do my best to help you understand what I’m thinking. I should start at the beginning, though. War usually brings a post-war economic surge. It was no different after America’s War of 1812. People were celebrating the win, and feeling positive.” She paused, her soft, gray eyes growing contemplative. “I know my family was. Two of my uncles were killed in the war, but the rest of my family was working hard on our Virginia plantation during the summer of 1816. No one knew there was such a big problem in the beginning, they just thought we were having a cooler than usual summer. They were actually enjoying it…until people started arriving from New England with terrible stories.”
“Stories about what?” Felicia demanded.
“Snow in June and July. Hard frosts all summer long. Crops failing. People starving.”
“What?” Carrie gasped.
Abby nodded. “Anyone who could leave, was leaving. They couldn’t feed their families. Farms were going under faster than anyone could keep track of. My family tried to help. We were having a good crop year, so they took in several of the families. My folks gave them jobs, and let them plant gardens. The stories they had told about the Northeast all seemed far away until August twentieth and twenty-first of that year.”
“What happened?” Felicia breathed.
“There were two nights of hard frost that destroyed almost all our crops.”
Carrie stared at her. “Frost? In August? Here in Virginia? That’s not possible.”
“It was possible,” Abby said somberly. “It hurt everyone. Thomas Jefferson had retired from the presidency and was farming at Monticello. He sustained such staggering crop failures that he went further into what was already massive debt. It was a debt he never recovered from. When he died, his estate, his possessions, and his slaves were sold at auction.”
“President Thomas Jefferson?” Felicia pressed. “The author of the Declaration of Independence?”
“The same,” Abby replied. “Most people don’t know that aspect of his life.” She shook her head. “I’m getting far off track. People suffered all over New England, Canada, and Europe because of crop failures. It was only a small part, though, of all the pieces that would eventually make 1819 a reality.”
Rose chose to remain silent, letting Abby tell the story in her own way.
“It was just the one year?” Carrie asked.
“Just the one year,” Abby agreed. “Perhaps there will be answers someday to why it happened, but for now we just know it happened, and we hope it never happens again.” She stood and walked to the edge of the river, staring out over the glistening water for several moments. “Like I said, that summer was merely one piece of the puzzle. There was a complete financial collapse in 1819.”
“Fifty years ago,” Rose murmured.
Abby nodded. “Yes. I’m trying to figure out how to explain this by using terms you’ll understand. I’ve spent years studying finance since taking over Charles’ business, but it’s still hard to comprehend.” She paused. “Let’s just say that it proved very challenging for America to transition to an independent economy once all the fighting with England finally ended. There were so many boom and bust cycles that I don’t think anyone really had a handle on what was happening. Then, the banks started making very poor decisions, at the same time our country started doing excessive speculations in public lands.”
“Excuse me?” Felicia said. “What does that mean?”
“The government wanted Americans to migrate west, though west was still this side of the Mississippi River at that point. They decided to offer public land at two dollars per acre. Many of the people who lived through the Year Without A Summer decided migrating west was a wonderful idea, so they moved.”
Carrie frowned. “Public land they took from the Indians?” She couldn’t help thinking of all the suffering she had witnessed during the last year.
“Yes,” Abby agreed regretfully. “You could buy one hundred and sixty acres for three hundred twenty dollars, but you had to put one quarter down to get it, and then pay equal payments for four years to pay it off. If you didn’t pay it in full, you lost it.” She paused. “Without going into great depth, the banks making the loans for this land didn’t have the resources to back it up. They simply kept making loans, and the bigger banks kept printing money to take care of the problem, but that only made it worse.” She shook her head ruefully. “It finally all collapsed on them in 1819. It took several years to get things back on track.”
“But they learned how to do it right?” Felicia queried.
“I’m afraid not,” Abby said with a sigh. “Our country has continued to go through cycles of financial crisis.”
“But why?” Felicia pressed. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Because men get greedy,” Abby said flatly. “Everyone wants to make money right then, for themselves. They are not willing to consider the long-term consequences. There was another crisis in 1847, and then another in 1857.”
“Just a few years before the war?” Carrie asked with surprise. She had been alive, but far too young and protected on the plantation to have any knowledge of it.
“Yes,” Abby acknowledged. “Things were already on shaky ground, but then the SS Central America, now known as the Ship of Gold, sank in a hurricane. There were four hundred twenty-five souls who lost their lives, and almost twenty-one tons of gold lost with them. It was gold the banks in New York were waiting for to stabilize everything that was faltering in the economy. When it didn’t come, things crashed again. This crash was big enough to affect economies all over the world. It didn’t really recover until the war started, at least in the North.”
“Hurrah for war,” Carrie said sarcastically.
“Did your business suffer?” Rose asked. “During the last crisis?”
“It was impacted,” Abby replied, “as was every business, but I wasn’t hit hard.”
“Why not?” Felicia asked.
“Because my husband, Charles, made sure he taught me about the dangers of reckless investments. He taught me that far too many business people, when the economy seems to be going well, will invest beyond their ability to pay. Then, when the next crisis hits, they have no money to fall back on. They fall further into debt, with far too many of them going bankrupt.”
Rose understood now. “You believe another crisis is coming.”
“Yes,” Abby admitted. “I used a very long explanation to teach you a financial lesson.” She stared hard at all of them. “Carrie, you must be very wise with the stables. Rose, you need to talk to Moses so he will be prudent with the plantation.” Then she looked at Felicia. “Young lady, I have no idea what you will be doing when things finally collapse again, but you can never have too much knowledge. Men aren’t going to teach you this, so I hope you have listened well.”
“I’ve listened to every word, Aunt Abby,” Felicia said earnestly. “My Kinaalda taught me how important it is to learn from women who are older than me. I’m going to read as much as I can so I will understand it better.”
“When do you believe it will crash?” Rose asked anxiously, thinking about the years to come.
“And why do you believe we will have another crisis soon?” Carrie added.
“I can’t predict exactly when it will crash,” Abby said immediately, “though I can tell you I’m not willing to make any risky moves right now. As far as why I believe we will have a crisis? I’m watching the same things happen now that have happened before. There is high inflation, and there are massive speculative investments being made, especially in railroads. It won’t take much to tip the scales so that there is a massive strain on the bank reserves. Combine that with a growing trade deficit, and it’s only a matter of time before we have another financial c
risis.”
Rose was confused about something. “But why not leave the factories now? Wouldn’t it be smart to leave before a crisis hits?”
Abby considered the question for a long moment before she answered with a question of her own. “If you and Moses had more money in the bank, would you walk away from the plantation now?”
Rose knew she needed to think deeply before she responded. “No…” she finally said.
“Why not?” Abby asked gently.
Rose closed her eyes as she thought about all the black families who were living a life they couldn’t have even dreamed of before the war. “Because it would impact so many people,” she murmured. “Not just them, but their families, and probably their families to come. The Cromwell workers are getting to create a life for the first time.”
Carrie smiled. “The Bregdan Principle. Everything has an impact for generations to come.”
Abby nodded. “That’s right. The factory in Richmond has hired so many former slaves, and also white veterans who have returned to a destroyed South. My first factories in Philadelphia have hired record numbers of women, and they are being paid fairly for the first time. The Moyamensing factory is finally giving the Irish a way to make a good living. If we were to close all of them, or even sell them to people who would not carry on with our values, we would lose what we have worked so hard to accomplish.”
“You can’t work forever, though,” Rose argued, not able to forget the wistful look in Abby’s eyes the day they arrived on the plantation.
“No,” Abby agreed, “but now is not the time. To walk away now, when we’re certain another financial crisis is imminent, would be very unwise. Protecting our investment is certainly one part of it, but it’s far more important to know that whoever is running the factories does it from a place of integrity. It would not be fair to put them into a business that is getting ready to go through extremely hard times.”
She looked back at the river as a Great Blue Heron swooped low into the water, came up with a glistening fish, and then flew off again. “I would trust Jeremy with the Moyamensing Factory, and I see the day coming when we will hand it off to him, but I don’t have the confidence with the other factories. No,” she said as she shook her head decisively, “now is not the time. I believe we’ll know when the time is right. In the meantime,” she said, “we’ll come out to the plantation every chance we get.”
“What should we do?” Carrie asked. “To be ready for the next financial crisis?”
Abby smiled. “I’m so glad one of you asked,” she teased. She gazed at Carrie. “You’ve already learned so much about business in the last two years,” she said, her voice thick with pride. “I talked with Susan about your partnership arrangement.” Her look was full of admiration. “You put together a very fair and profitable deal for both of you.”
“Did you have time to read the contract?” Carrie asked eagerly. “I didn’t want to ask over Christmas.”
“I did. It’s clear and fair,” Abby said. “It’s set up for both of you to share equally in the challenges and the profits. My only caution is to make sure Susan understands what we talked about today. Partnership problems usually come when business values aren’t shared, or when one wants to take more risks than the other.”
Carrie opened her mouth to ask a question, but closed it when Abby raised her hand.
“I already know what you’re going to say. Risk is a wonderful thing, and I’ve taken more than my share of them, but you have to understand timing. I knew the economy was going to thrive in the years right after the war. That’s why I invested so much in the horses that started Cromwell Stables. It was a risk I could afford to take, but,” she warned, “it’s not a risk I would take now. Generosity is a wonderful thing, but you first have to make sure your primary business stays solvent if you want to continue giving.”
Carrie nodded. “I understand.”
“And the plantation?” Rose asked.
Abby regarded her thoughtfully. “We’ll talk on the way back to Richmond. There are many things to be considered in the future. Thomas and I have talked about it a great deal. We had already planned on talking to you and Moses about it when we got back to Richmond.” She suddenly stood and stretched. “But right now, I believe we have a New Year’s Day Brunch that should be ready soon. We all know Annie will have our hides if we’re not there for it.”
“Annie and Marietta,” Felicia said with a grin. “She’s getting as possessive of that kitchen as Annie is. I had no idea what I was starting when I gave her that cookbook so she could make an apple pie.”
All four of them were laughing as they entered the tunnel that would take them back to the house.
*****
“Where to?”
Carrie looked up at Anthony. “Anywhere I want to go?”
“That’s what I said.”
Carrie grinned up at him, hardly able to believe this was her last day in Richmond before she boarded the train for Philadelphia. The last five days in the city had passed in a blur. Most of it had been spent roaming the town with Anthony. She wouldn’t deny she’d had tremendous fun. She leaned forward now, and smiled up into Spencer’s face. “I want to go to Opal’s Kitchen.”
Spencer grinned at her, his eyes glinting with pleasure. “Opal going to be pleased as punch to see you, Miss Carrie.”
“And I’m so excited to see her,” Carrie replied. “My stomach is hungry for some of her cooking.”
Anthony raised a brow. “Who is Opal? And could her cooking possibly be better than May’s?”
Carrie and Spencer both laughed and rolled their eyes. “If you are going to live in the South, Anthony Wallington, you have to learn not to compare black Southern cooks,” Carrie scolded.
“She’s right,” Spencer said seriously. “You just tell all of them that their cookin’ be the best in the world. It don’t matter none if they believe you or not, ‘cause you done said the right thing. You wouldn’t never catch me comparin’ my wife’s cookin’ with someone else’s. May might be a kind woman, but them be fightin’ words for her.”
Anthony nodded soberly, his eyes dancing with fun. “Thank you for the advice. I certainly don’t want anyone coming after me with a rolling pin. I already had that happen with Annie.”
“It’s true,” Carrie confirmed to Spencer. “Anthony made the grievous error of telling Annie that Marietta’s cooking was as good as hers.”
Spencer sucked in his breath. “You got some kind of death wish, Mr. Anthony?”
“Evidently,” Anthony conceded. “I thought Annie would be pleased since she taught Marietta how to cook, but I quickly learned she took it as an insult.” He rolled his eyes. “Women talk about male pride, but as far as I can tell, we don’t have anything on Southern cooks.”
Spencer laughed outright as he narrowed his eyes at Carrie. “I do believe Mr. Anthony has figured out things nicely.”
Carrie waved her hand. “You’re both ridiculous. Now,” she said briskly, “if the two of you have finished talking nonsense, I would appreciate going to Opal’s Kitchen,” she said imperiously.
Spencer picked up the reins and moved the carriage forward, but he was shaking his head. “Mr. Anthony, you can know for sure that you got too close to the truth for Miss Carrie when she gets that tone of voice and changes the subject. When she waves her hand, that means you really got to her.”
Anthony nodded gravely. “Thank you, Spencer. Perhaps you and I can talk more later. I suspect you would be a fount of knowledge about Mrs. Borden.”
Mrs. Borden. Carrie hid her frown behind a playful smile, but the words hit her strongly. She was Mrs. Robert Borden. Robert may have died, and she may possibly believe he wouldn’t want her to be alone, but she still struggled with feeling unfaithful to his memory.
“Carrie?”
Anthony’s quiet voice broke into her troubled thoughts. “Yes?” she asked a little too brightly.
Anthony’s eyes said he knew something was bothering
her, but he wouldn’t ask her in the carriage. “Who is Opal?” he asked instead.
Carrie’s smile was genuine this time. “Opal used to be one of the Cromwell slaves. I helped her escape the plantation shortly after the war began. She has been through so much…” She briefly told him of how Opal’s cousin Fannie had died in an ammunitions explosion at Tredegar Ironworks. “Fannie’s husband, Eddie, was arrested as a spy the same day, so Opal took charge of their four children, bringing them back out to the plantation until the war ended. She and Eddie fell in love after the war, and then moved up to start a restaurant in Philadelphia.” Her face darkened as she remembered the fire at their thriving business, but she decided not to tell him about all the deaths that day. “They returned to Richmond to be closer to friends and family. Opal opened her restaurant about a year ago. She’s one of the finest cooks you’ve ever seen,” Carrie said fondly. “This is my first chance to eat there. I hope the restaurant is doing well.”
“It’s doing real well,” Spencer assured her. “There ain’t hardly an empty seat in that place, from the minute they open to the minute they close.”
Carrie smiled. “So, Abby’s idea of putting her restaurant outside the Black Quarter was a good one.”
Spencer shrugged. “Them white people might not want us on their street cars, and they might hate us being able to vote, but they sure enough do love Opal’s cooking.” He grinned. “They are making a right lot of money off them white folks. A lot of it is going back into the Quarters.”
Carrie laughed. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Fifteen minutes later, Spencer pulled to a stop in front of a cozy storefront on Broad Street. “This here be it,” he announced.
Carrie, too eager to wait for Anthony to assist her, jumped down from the carriage. Moments later, she was stepping into the restaurant’s cozy dining room. She had planned their arrival so they would miss the midday rush, but almost every table was full. Laughter and talk filled the air, and food was disappearing fast. The air was redolent with the smell of fried chicken and sweet potato pie. She looked around with delight.
