by Marian Wells
“Oh, Massa Thomas, didn’t know you were dressin’; I just come to tidy up.” Coly’s dark arms cradled a pile of snowy linen. As with all the house slaves, Coly’s head was topped by a white cap. Its starched frill nearly hid her dark eyes.
He turned as she said, “Beautiful you are. Those fancy clothes for tramping in the barn?” There were troubled shadows in her eyes. Thinking of the many times during the past year when he had brushed aside her timid questions, he shook his head slowly.
Coly carried the linens to the bench under the window and then came back to the mirror, her hands resting on her bony hips. “Like an angel of light you are. That pretty brocade and the blue sets off the white right well. You partying in the middle of the day?”
“No. Coly, why don’t you wait until tomorrow to change the bed linens? No sense doing it twice.” Seeing her quick glance, he added, “I need to see Father. Most likely I won’t be here after tomorrow.”
Trying to read the dark expression in her eyes, he saw something like mingled sorrow and excitement on her face. “You going up the river like last time?” she asked.
Matthew hesitated as he wondered about the conjectures going on in the slave’s quarters. Stalling for time, he crossed the room to look out the window. Finally he answered, “Coly, you and I both know there’s been a heap of questions floating around. I suppose now is the time to answer them.”
“Massa, I don’t know if the others—”
“Don’t worry, Coly. I’m not going to report the talk to Mother. Let’s be honest. You’ve practically raised Olivia and me. Seems you deserve to know some of the details. And I have an idea you have a few things to tell me.”
Her dark eyes were watchful as Matthew continued. “I know my ugly disposition’s scared you off for the past year. Sorry, Coly, but I’ve had some thinking to do. Don’t know that I’ve made any decisions, but I do know which things are pushing me into the corner. If I don’t kick out at them now, I’ll be in a position where I can’t be anything except a calf in a halter.”
She still hesitated. Matthew prompted, “You ask the questions.”
“Well,” the black woman began, “ever’body knows you and Missy ran away with that fella with the boat. We knows why. And we knows it about killed your mother. Like a ghost she was. A proud lady like that cain’t live with that distress.”
“Coly, I did what I had to do, but I won’t listen to your accusations where Mother is concerned. Shall we just leave it all as it stands?”
“Massa! Mississippi’s outta the Union now, huh?” Her defense was down, and he saw the terror in her eyes. “We gotta know. Is there goin’ be war?”
“How can it be otherwise? Lincoln is too strong to be manipulated the way Buchanan was.”
She wilted for a moment, then whispered, “They said you went off to work the Underground Railroad.”
“We did. Need I tell you we were headstrong youths running after more excitement?”
“No, Massa, we figured such. We heared you both got married, and that was something your mother didn’t like.”
“Well, with Olivia—I think Mother was relieved to know Duncan made an honest woman out of her. And me?” His grin was twisted. “She didn’t like her little boy growing up. Childish pranks? Well, you know she says ‘boys will be boys.’ But when it came to marriage—no girl would be good enough.” He added bitterly, “She was glad the marriage fell apart.”
Softly Coly said, “Them shadows I see, Mr. Matthew—you ain’t happy.”
“No. That’s one reason I’ve got to go. I aim to make it right, if that’s possible.”
“Shouldn’t be hard.” Her affectionate grin was wide.
Shaking his head, Matthew muttered, “You don’t know the half; it’s nearly impossible.”
She waited. Finally she whispered, “The good Lord hears us. Now we pray for it to come together.” In a moment she added, “You still in the railroad business?”
“No. It’s a difficult situation,” he said slowly. “There’s good and bad in it, Coly. My mind’s in a muddle. I’ve been listening to many voices. Some say Lincoln’s the answer. Some say he isn’t. Some say matters have gone from bad to worse. The only thing I know for certain is the whole South has come out of the cage like a tiger, and I’m left wondering which corner I’m in.”
He started for the door and turned. “Coly, no matter what happens from now on, nothing’s going to be easy for anyone.”
There was one last plea in her eyes. She whispered, “You don’t think President Lincoln will set us free?”
“He says he won’t. The war talk says fighting will be to preserve the Union. And they think it will be a brief battle. I’m thinking that’s wrong.” He closed the door behind himself and walked toward the stairs.
At the head of the stairs, Matthew paused to admire the gentle curve of polished mahogany spiraling down into the main hall. For a moment nostalgia for the quiet, peaceful years swept over him and he shook his head sadly.
Where the stairway turned, a mirror curved into the wall. Looking toward the mirror with a twisted smile, Matthew mimicked his mother’s softly accented voice with a line he’d heard since childhood. “It’s of the finest diamond dust. Note the carving. A French dealer found it for me. Supposedly it once reposed in Marie Antoinette’s villa—on the Riviera, or some such place.”
Matthew’s smile was still twisted as he started down the stairs. With another dozen steps, he knew he would face his reflection in that mirror. Now he saw the dim image of polished boots and spotless white trousers. The cummerbund came into view. It had been pure impulse, but it set off the brocade smoking jacket nicely. He paused. Only his youthful thatch of unruly brown curls ruined the dignity of the picture. He met his own mocking smile and saluted smartly. “Good practice,” he murmured. “I have a feeling it’ll be needed, sooner or later.”
He took the last of the steps in a boyish leap. Across the hall the library door was closed. For a moment he chewed his lip, feeling like a guilty schoolboy again.
“Son, come in.” The voice was quiet and controlled. That was encouraging. He opened the door and saw his father’s eyebrows arch slightly as he took in the glory of Matthew’s clothing. “You have an appointment?”
“No, I was coming down to see you.” His father came from behind the desk and slowly removed his spectacles, waiting expectantly. Matthew said, “I believe it’s about time we have a serious talk, Father. I’ve been home for over a year. You and I both know it just isn’t working out.”
“Has it ever? Since law school you’ve been a stranger in your own home. Matthew, you know Harvard was for the intention of preparing you to take over the plantation. As my heir, Shady Oaks is not only your heritage, but also your responsibility.”
As his father spoke, Matthew had the sensation that his words were spilling past a year of restraint. “It has always been my intention that the traditional values of our lives pass on down through the generations. As my father did, I’ve left the plantation better than I found it.”
He paced the room and faced Matthew again. “We’ve more land, and even our tenant farmers are more dedicated to our values. The soil is better, the cotton yield is one of the best in the whole state. When this political mess is straightened out, I fully expect to realize an unprecedented demand for our cotton.”
“Political mess?” Matthew questioned. Feeling like a stranger, separated from his father, viewing objectively the scene in front of him, Matthew watched the old white-haired plantation lord move stiffly to the fireplace.
Even a stranger could see that Cornelius Thomas and his wife Sally Ann were of the old school. Matthew glanced at leather books lettered in gold, silver decanters and crystal goblets, paintings bearing proud signatures, oriental carpets, and velvet draperies shutting out the view of the black people who had made this life possible.
For one moment the room overlapped with the vision of black people marching through the night—silently, fearfully intent
on the North Star in front of them.
Matthew faced his father. Studying the watchful, lined face surrounded with white hair, he felt a rush of sympathy. How could they be expected to think and act apart from the beliefs that had seen them through the past half century? They have put their minds in a box. For them, there is no other way to regard life.
Matthew continued to wonder at his detachment as the store of thoughts garnered in his mind began to demand a hearing. “Cornelius Thomas, plantation owner and country gentleman. How could you raise a son like me?” His voice gentled. “By rights you should be able to depend upon seed of your seed. Father, what has gone wrong?”
Cornelius’s voice was tired as he slowly said, “It’s these times.”
“Slavery versus states rights, the Constitution and the abolitionists, even John Brown and the South Carolina breed?” Matthew sighed and shook his head miserably. “Not the times. And I’m guessing you knew this would be the result when Olivia and I rebelled and ran away from everything that you hold dear.”
“Actually, I hoped you two would tire of your adventure and come home. I see the events of these past months have made it impossible for your sister to return. I suppose I’m just grateful she married.” Matthew winced and his father added, “After watching you, I am beginning to fear you haven’t really changed your ideas.”
“Since Major Anderson holed in at Fort Sumter, we’ve all known there’s no backing out of the situation,” Matthew brooded aloud.
“I wish to God I could take back some of the past!” The words burst from the old man.
Astonished, Matthew looked at him, and when he saw his father’s eyes, a sympathy unknown to Matthew gentled his voice. “Are you referring to your part in the Democratic convention in Charleston? Father, we all know the stink. It was foul from the beginning; an underhanded attempt at coercion to gain political advantage. How could it result in anything good?” He saw the bright spots of color on his father’s cheeks and stopped.
Cornelius straightened. Coldly he said, “Son, there’s no sense in going back over it. I know your law education has given you an insight I lack, but the convention—it’s over.”
“I never could figure out why you delegates thought the election of a Republican would solve problems. It simply brought Senator Douglas down on you.” Matthew tried to keep his voice calm.
“And now, with Lincoln as president—if he isn’t shot first—” Matthew winced, and for a moment his father hesitated. “Son, it’s wild talk, but possible.”
“Everything has gone wild.”
“Is that why it’s all soured with you? Matthew, I had hopes when you came back, full of that talk about doing your duty to family and the South. I thought I had my son back; now I wonder.”
“Father, I wonder too. For a time I thought I’d gotten my head on straight; now I don’t know.”
“What happened there in Pennsylvania to change your mind?”
For a moment Matthew froze. When he relaxed and shoved his hands into his pockets, he said, “It wasn’t just one incident. I suppose it was a culmination of many.” He faced his father.
“For one thing, I was surprised by the emotional climate up North. For years we’ve been hearing that the only civilized people in the United States were all in the South. That’s not so. I met gentle people who really cared about others. Surprisingly, I found some of the abolitionists seeing our way. They’re in favor of separation. They think the only way we’ll settle the problem is to split the Union.”
“What else influenced you?”
Matthew paced the room. “You know about my marriage going bad. I suppose that was the key thing pushing me into making a decision.”
“About what?”
Matthew took a deep breath. “I’ve told you one of my schoolmates had been putting the pressure on me. He’d seen the handwriting on the wall and he let me have a full dose of responsibility to home and the South—let me know that if this whole problem escalated into war, well, I’d be needed here and I’d better get back home while I could.” Bitterly he added, “He filled me full of the horror stories about the North using me and my money to further their cause. It was enough to make me feel like a rotter. Now I regard his talk as nonsense.”
Cornelius walked back to the desk. He placed his spectacles on his nose and shuffled among the papers on his desk. “On the contrary, he sounds like a level-headed young man. Of course he was right to make you aware of your responsibilities. Son, I understand your feelings more than you realize. Even taking off for the North on your self-righteous errand of mercy, although I can’t say I appreciate your dragging off some of my most valuable slaves. You know—” Abruptly he closed his mouth and sat down.
Gently Matthew said, “Thank you, Father. Of course, you know we’re still poles apart on the issue, and that I haven’t changed. There’s absolutely no way we can agree on the issue of helping the slaves escape to Canada.”
His face twisted in a grin. “Look at it this way. Since I’m your heir, it all boils down to the fact I was throwing my own money away!”
Cornelius’s face reddened and his anger rumbled through his words. “I’m not dead yet! But you’re right—we can’t agree. Now, come here and listen to this.”
He waited until Matthew sat down across the desk from him before he reached for the newspaper. “Just snatches I’ll read. It’s from the Pleasant Hill newspaper. This is a copy of the speech intended for the governor of Maryland. When he refused to listen, it was delivered to the citizens of Baltimore, on the evening of December 9th, just last month. And it was one month after Lincoln was elected President of the United States.
“The gentleman, a Mississippi commissioner, says, ‘Secession is not intended to break up the present government, but to perpetuate it.’ Matt, this fellow says our going out of the Union is only for the time it will take us to win our rights. We must have slavery or our economy will collapse.” Cornelius pounded the desk to emphasize his words. He rattled the paper and continued, “He said the country has been agitated by the question of slavery for the past twenty or thirty years. That’s so, but at the time the Constitution was written, the South tried to gain their just recognition as being in favor of slavery. You know, Matthew, the Bible supports slavery. Under God, we are living as responsible Christian people.”
“Father!”
“Now, hear me out, son. The Commissioner says the plan is for the southern states to withdraw from the Union for a time. If the Union wants us badly enough, they’ll give us the rights we are entitled to—namely the freedom to have slavery.”
“Father, you have it here in this state! But you have to consider that the expansion of slavery to every territory and state is against the wishes of the nation at large. In addition, it is contrary to the Constitution we have sworn to uphold.”
“What do you mean? We don’t have freedom until we are free to take our property into every part of the nation without the threat of having that property taken away from us.” He rattled the paper again. “Not a one of us really wants separation. But it may be necessary. Like a wounded soldier, sometimes it takes amputation to heal.”
Matthew got to his feet and paced the room. “Any red-blooded man would go to great lengths to avoid an amputation. But I agree that perhaps secession is necessary. For good; not as a temporary measure.”
“It breaks my heart, but—” The door to the hallway creaked open. Matthew turned as his mother came into the room.
Smiling and nodding her crown of white curls, she pointed to the table before the fire. “Jacob, place the tray there. Cornelius, all this serious discussion demands a little refreshment. Too bad we’re not more in the mode of the English, with their afternoon tea. Hottentots we are. But nevertheless, I’ve brought you some blackberry wine to sustain you both.”
“Sally Ann,” Cornelius protested as he got to his feet, “you know I don’t like those cloying sweet wines. My dear, sit down; at least you’ll enjoy the stuff. I’ll break
out the brandy.”
“Now, Cornelius, you know Pastor has been preaching against the evils of hard liquor. For the sake of the boy—”
“Mother, I think I’m already too corrupt to be tainted by Father’s indulgences. Please, have a seat.”
Cornelius nodded at Jacob and Matthew went to sit beside his mother. “Matthew, I am deeply disturbed by all this. I couldn’t help hearing that argumentative note in your voice. Now, my dear, let’s talk about this like civilized people.” She paused, and Matthew forced his attention to her words.
“You’ve been home from your mad wandering for over a year. We’ve watched you flit around without design. You’ve gone from overseer of the plantation to the position of attorney, which Mr. Hanagan was so gracious to give you—and by the way, you’ve your father to thank for putting in a word.”
“Yes, Mother, but I flitted into that contrived job as overseer of the plantation by displacing the longtime employee who, by the way, had to station himself at my elbow in order to keep the whole plantation from falling apart. Mother, please!”
She dabbed at the tears on her cheeks and added, “Matthew, you know we want more than anything else to make you happy. Unfortunately, we’ve managed to have the most headstrong children in the whole parish. I’ve long given up on the hope of having my daughter close to home. How I would love to raise my grandchildren! But then, her disastrous marriage will probably never produce grandchildren.”
“Disastrous? Well, I don’t think the pair in question feel that way about it. I think Duncan is just what Olivia needs; they appear happy.”
Matthew paused to chuckle and shake his head. “You were right in calling us headstrong. But, Mother, it was Olivia who always had the good ideas; I just tagged along.”
“Was that the reason for all this?”
“Sally Ann, it takes sons longer to grow up. Let the boy be. At some point he’s going to have to make up his own mind and learn to live with the consequences of his actions.”
