A Hope Beyond

by Judith Pella

  “Ah yes. I remember having understandings with young ladies,” Jackson grinned. “I will admonish you with the same words I gave my young ward and namesake, Andrew Jackson Hutchings, several years back: Seek a wife who will aid you in making your fortune and will take care of it when made. Simply put, you will find it is easier to spend two thousand dollars than to make five hundred. Look at the economy of the mother, and you will find it in the daughter.”

  “Wise words indeed, except in Miss Alexander’s case her mother is deceased.”

  “Yes, I do remember that,” Jackson answered. “But I can tell you from personal experience your young woman is most remarkable. I have been to the Alexander home in Pennsylvania, and she entertained me quite regally. I felt I’d become the spitting image of the King Andrew that some of my enemies would make me out to be.”

  “She is quite talented and very capable,” York agreed.

  “And beautiful,” Carolina added, relieved the conversation had veered away from herself. “I have very much enjoyed her companionship, as well.”

  “York tells me you’ve been staying with her these past two days. Are you enjoying your time in Washington?”

  “Very much, Mr. Jackson. York has made a wonderful guide, when time permits, and when he is away, Lucy—that is to say, Miss Alexander—keeps me quite busy. Tomorrow we are to attend a lecture by Mr. Sylvester Graham.”

  “Who is he?” York asked curiously.

  “I can’t really say,” Carolina replied. “Lucy tells me he holds speeches for ladies only and talks of health and diet.”

  York frowned. “I’m not entirely sure I approve.”

  Jackson laughed. “Maybe you should acquire a wig and bonnet, Mr. Adams, and spy on the meeting.”

  Carolina gave her brother a mischievous wink. “York is only afraid that Lucy will find someone else more interesting than he. But”—she leaned toward the President—“I have it on good authority that the lady in question is quite taken with my brother, and, therefore, I feel he has nothing to concern himself with.”

  Jackson nodded. “I’m confident of that opinion, as well.”

  York’s previous expression of worry was swallowed up in a smug, self-assured smile. “I told you she was smart.”

  Later, after a succulent dinner of wild turkey and side dishes too numerous to count, Carolina found her heart further endeared to the aged president.

  “You must never feel rushed into matrimony, Miss Adams. It is important that a man and woman come to an understanding before exchanging vows.”

  “I heartily agree,” Carolina replied. “But you must admit, in proper society a woman’s place is clearly in the home and under the protection of her father or husband. Few women are given the opportunity to expand their education or to experience anything of the world without one of these men to accompany her.”

  Jackson smiled sympathetically. “You must forgive us for desiring to protect those whom we cherish above all else.”

  “I do indeed forgive that overprotective nature, but I also would ask for tolerance. It seems a small thing to ask that a man would allow a woman to study and educate herself.”

  “Still, my dear sister,” York added from where he’d sat in rather stoic silence, “there ultimately remains the fact that such an education cannot be used to any purpose.”

  “I beg to disagree, York.” Jackson seemed to consider the matter for a moment before continuing. “I see no harm in educating all people. It is ignorance that renders a man dangerous. Why, then, should it be any different with women? I would not find it offensive for a daughter or wife of mine to read and better her mind. I would, however, draw a line at her insistence upon complete independence. After all, such women do not maintain genteel reputations for long.”

  Carolina sighed. “But shouldn’t a woman be allowed to marry for love and not for obligation?”

  “Of course, Miss Adams, and I would fight any man who said otherwise.” He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin and cast it to the table. “I would admonish any woman to marry for love and love alone. To do otherwise would only create bitterness and regret.”

  “But most women are not given such leniency. Most marriages, in proper society, are still arranged for profit and status. I remember one of the first things my mother insisted for her daughters was that they seek only a man of wealth and means. ‘You will never worry about empty platters,’ she would tell me, ‘if you marry a man whose affairs are in proper order.’ ”

  “And she is right,” Jackson replied. “But you can certainly find a man of proper means and fall in love.”

  Servants began clearing away the dishes, and Jackson got slowly to his feet. “York, I beg your indulgence for a moment. I would like to show your sister some very special letters. If you would care to retire to the Red Room, we will join you there shortly.”

  “Of course,” York answered, helping Carolina from her chair.

  Moments later, in Jackson’s private study, Carolina received a bundle of ribbon-tied letters.

  “These are letters written by my Rachel and the answers I sent her in return. I am lending them to you so that you might better understand what I’m speaking of.” His tender expression touched something deep within Carolina’s aching heart. “I could never offer you better advice than to say, marry for love and love alone. The world may give itself over to wars and tribulation of all manner, but if you face it beside the one you love, you will see that anything is endurable. Anything is possible with love.”

  Carolina held the letters in a state of awe. “I can’t take these. What if something were to happen to them?”

  “The world has condemned me a hundred times over, and they murdered my beloved Rachel with that same condemnation. I want you to know her as I did. I want you to understand that our love was more than harsh remarks and innuendos upon newsprint.”

  “I would never imagine it anything less than perfectly ordered,” Carolina replied. She hugged the letters to her bodice and reached up her hand to touch the President’s weathered cheek. “Your Rachel was a lucky woman.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Jackson said, sounding suddenly very old. “If it were for luck, she might still be at my side. Rachel once said she’d rather be a doorkeeper in the house of God than to live in that palace at Washington.” He sighed heavily. “I pray God cherishes her as much as I did.”

  Later that night, after telling Lucy all about her evening at the White House, Carolina climbed into bed and began to read the Jackson letters.

  “My Love,” began one of Jackson’s missives to Rachel, “The separation, so unlooked for, from you has oppressed my mind very much, still I hope that your mind is become calm.” The tender affection of a husband for his wife was clearly penned. “ . . . my heart is with you and fixed on Domestic Life . . .” Carolina could imagine the joy of a woman to receive such a letter from her adoring husband. “ . . . I hope in God we will never be separated again until death parts us . . . May Jehovah take you in His holy keeping is the prayer of your affectionate Husband.”

  Letter after letter portrayed the same devotion and love.

  “Beloved Husband,” Rachel’s feathery script opened, “I count the days until you are here with me again. The house seems quite empty without you.” Carolina knew very well that feeling. Hadn’t Oakbridge seemed empty when James went away?

  Feeling her eyelids grow heavy, Carolina put the precious letters away for the night. She snuffed out the candle and lay back in the darkness. Hugging the pillow close, Carolina wondered for the hundredth time if she would ever know a love such as the Jacksons had shared.

  15

  When God Calls

  New Year’s Day, 1837, dawned cold and snowy. It had been agreed upon at breakfast that the family would brave the weather and go en masse to the small church favored by the Alexanders. Carolina had hoped they might attend one of the larger churches such as St. John’s, which was noted for being the “Church of the Presidents.” She
had thought to catch another glimpse of Jackson, but York had assured her the President would not be in attendance. Carolina wondered at this, knowing the regard Jackson had seemed to hold for God in his letters to Rachel.

  “His health isn’t good,” York told her as they entered the church behind Lucy and her father. “He’s taken to his bed again, and I don’t expect him to revive until he’s able to leave Washington once and for all.”

  “Is he gravely ill?” Carolina asked in a whisper.

  “I believe his heart is completely broken. Not only by the pain of life without Mrs. Jackson, but because the country is still in such turmoil. He’s pressed in on all sides and has made some pretty fierce enemies.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone hating him,” Carolina said, taking a seat beside Lucy.

  “He stirred up a hornets’ nest,” York replied. “I only hope Mr. Van Buren is able to take over the fight.”

  The church was very plain and simple. A small organ stood behind a decorative screen and groaned to life as the organist began to play. The stove at the back of the room did little to ward off the reminders of winter. Carolina found the chilly dampness penetrated the layers of wool petticoats, and even the heavy shawl Lucy had lent her was no protection against the cold.

  Lucy seemed to feel the same way, because she kept her hands buried in her fur muff and leaned a little closer to Carolina, as if for warmth.

  The congregation was called to stand and pray, and after that there was the singing of hymns and more praying. Carolina considered it a quaint, comfortable service until the snowy-haired Reverend Boswell took the pulpit.

  “Now the Lord had said unto Abram, Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto a land that I will show thee,” the minister began reading from Genesis.

  Carolina listened diligently, at first only vaguely aware of the comparison she placed between Abram and herself. Abram was called upon by God to go into an unknown land. She thought of the railroad and the endeavors of so many to delve into the unknown lands of America. She felt a longing surge within her soul. Her mother would call it wanderlust, but in spite of giving it a name, it wouldn’t be ignored.

  Shifting uncomfortably in the pew, Carolina thought of James and his desire to go west with the railroad. Had God called him to such a task? She’d never really heard James speak much on the matter of God, and because spiritual matters on a personal level were still so new to her, Carolina had never pursued such a conversation.

  Then an even more intriguing idea came to Carolina. Was God calling her west? Was He in fact saying to her, “Leave your father’s house and I will show you a new land”?

  With a fierce scowl, Reverend Boswell rained down the Scripture as though it were a torrential storm from on high. And Carolina’s discomfiture grew. The minister read from Genesis for over half an hour before pausing to cast an accusing eye on the congregation. Carolina wondered if he was checking up on the crowd for those who’d somehow managed to doze off during the Bible reading.

  Then with penetrating eyes that seemed to be fixed on her alone, the minister boomed out in a loud voice, “When God calls you, will you obey?”

  Carolina felt a trembling that began in her heart and seemed to wash over her in waves. Are you calling me, Father? she wondered silently.

  She cast a wary glance toward her brother. York seemed completely unaffected, even bored by the long narration of Scripture. Lucy, too, sat without any notable expression of interest. Carolina lowered her eyes, afraid to look into the face of the minister.

  “God called upon Abram,” came the booming voice again, “and he took up his wife and all of his possessions and went out from the land of his knowledge into a place he did not know. God called him forth, and Abram went obediently, even unto the possibility of his own death. And why? Because it was well with him and the Lord, and he was an obedient man.

  “And in this, God gave unto him a covenant. God blessed him and declared that he would make of him a great nation, and indeed we see today that we are a part of that nation. We are descendants of Abram, and we will each and every one of us face the calling of God.

  “Will you go forth into obedience when God speaks?”

  Carolina clasped her hands tightly together. Her heart fairly leaped at the anticipation of answering God’s call. Was God calling her west? Had it been God’s direction for her all along that she fall in love with the railroad and a man of like-minded determination, and see the West settled and developed?

  After church, she rode in silence beside Lucy, who was sharing an animated conversation, mostly with York, about that afternoon’s celebration. It was New Year’s Day, and the Alexanders had placed an ad in earlier newspapers to announce they would receive visitors on that first day of the year. Even now, Lucy was giving an orderly account for the festivities and refreshments they would offer. But it was of little concern to Carolina, in spite of the fact that Lucy hoped to introduce her to several very eligible bachelors.

  Carolina’s thoughts were turned ever inward. How she longed to talk with James and explain her heart. Would he understand? Would he know her desires and believe her accurate in feeling led to go out of her father’s house and into the unknown?

  God, if you are calling me to leave my home, please open the door wide and show me the way, Carolina prayed.

  The carriage bounced and jostled back and forth until they drew up in front of the three-story brick house.

  “Oh, look, Father,” Lucy cried in delight, “a mumming parade.”

  Carolina could see that indeed a line of masqueraded merrymakers were singing and dancing down the street. Mumming was something she’d only heard of and never in her short life had actually experienced. Folks of every shape and size would cover themselves in layers of clothes and mask their identity in order to fool their friends.

  Carolina looked upon the mummers with interest. Some wore costumes that were little more than sheets and blankets held together with rope, while others were elaborately gowned. All wore masks of cloth or paper, and some played instruments while others sang songs.

  York assisted Carolina and Lucy from the carriage just as the mummers drew closer and began to surround them.

  “Good year to you, sirs and madams,” one of the mummers announced.

  Lucy pulled at Carolina’s coat. “Come, we must guess who these kind people are. I think that one over there might well be Mr. Oneida.”

  Carolina’s gaze followed to a portly figure whose paper mask resembled a brilliant gold star. “What makes you so sure?” Carolina asked, seeing nothing recognizable in any of the players.

  “I’m certain I saw that star among his Christmas decorations. Mr. Oneida, is that you?” Lucy asked, quite seriously.

  “I must confess you have a good eye, mi’lady.” The man bowed low over Lucy’s hand.

  “You must all come in from the cold and play and sing for us,” Lucy commanded. She turned and led the way to the door. “We have refreshments and gifts for you all.”

  Carolina followed at a slower pace.

  “You seem preoccupied, little sister,” York whispered against her ear.

  Carolina smiled up. “Just considering the future.”

  York smiled and his gaze followed Lucy. “Me too.”

  “Are you going to make the holidays complete and ask for her hand?”

  “I very well may,” he answered with a determined look. “Would that meet with your approval?”

  “Most assuredly,” Carolina replied. “I already love Lucy as a sister. It seems only fitting that she join our family.”

  They brought up the rear, allowing the mummers to make their way into the house first. Carolina was just undoing the buttons of her coat when Henry Alexander appeared in the entryway.

  “It seems this was delivered by one of your slaves while we were in church.” He handed York an envelope. “The boy is even now having refreshments in our kitchen.”

  “Father is prob
ably wishing us a good year,” York replied, breaking the seal. He scanned the message then raised his eyes to meet Carolina’s.

  Carolina could instantly see the change in her brother. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “Penny has died,” he said simply.

  In the front sitting room, the revelers were breaking into an enthusiastic song, but the noise was instantly muted in Carolina’s ears. Penny was dead. It didn’t seem possible, and yet she’d feared all along that her sister would never recover.

  “Come,” Henry replied. “You must have a chair and some peace. I’ll see to it that the house is emptied.”

  “Don’t bother on our part, Mr. Alexander,” said York. “Carolina and I must leave immediately for home.”

  “I understand. I’ll have your horse readied. My driver will take your sister, and your slave can ride atop with him.”

  “Thank you, sir,” York replied.

  It all seemed so reasonable and easily settled that Carolina had no other choice but to go along with it. Her mind was a mass of confusion, and her heart was broken and shattered at the thought of the eleven-year-old girl who would never again climb trees or sing to her dolls.

  “Poor Mother,” Carolina whispered just as Lucy came into the room laughing.

  “I feared you were all—” She fell silent and instantly sobered when she saw their grim faces. “What is it?”

  Henry put an arm around his daughter. “I’m afraid Penny Adams has passed away.”

  “Oh, how terrible. Carolina, York, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes conveyed a sincerity that said more than words ever would.

  “We must take leave of your company,” York replied, taking Lucy’s hand gently in his. “I pray we will not long be parted.”

  16

  Annabelle Bryce

  “The drifts are impassable,” James Baldwin told his traveling companion, Ben Latrobe. “I’m afraid the railroad is completely shut down at this point. We can take a sleigh into Harper’s Ferry, but beyond that choice we’ll have to turn back.”