A Promise for Tomorrow (35 page)
“She’s such a little one,” Margaret said, fussing over the infant. “Martha seems a good name for her. Don’t you agree?”
“Martha is perfect.” Joseph was unable to keep the emotion from his voice.
Moans sounded from the bed and instantly their attention was directed to Virginia. Margaret motioned to a waiting servant girl and handed her the newly dressed baby. “Help me finish preparing her while I tend to Virginia.” The house slave bobbed a curtsy and took the baby.
“No . . . no . . .” Virginia muttered the word over and over.
“There, there, child,” Joseph said, patting her hand. “It will be all right.”
“I’ve killed my baby,” Virginia said with a mournful wail. “I want to die.”
“No!” Margaret said emphatically. “Virginia, you cannot die. Your children need you.”
“I would only hurt them,” Virginia replied in a voice barely audible.
Throughout this exchange, Virginia had refused to open her eyes, but now she did so, and Joseph could see the suffering and misery in her soul.
“Virginia,” he said, and she rolled her head to meet the sound of his voice. “Virginia, you must get well. We would suffer a great loss without you.”
“No one would suffer,” she managed to say.
“I would suffer,” Joseph replied. “Your mother would suffer, as would your brothers and sisters and children.” He hadn’t realized he’d left out Hampton’s name until Virginia herself brought it up.
“But not my husband. He would celebrate.”
Margaret washed Virginia’s face with a cool cloth. “Virginia, you are needed here. Whether you like it or not, you have responsibilities and tasks that have gone undone.”
Virginia shook her head from side to side. “I don’t care.”
“Virginia, it would break our hearts should you die. Your father and I love you so much. Please don’t leave us now.” Margaret’s voice was full of tender emotion. Joseph could see that tears had come to her eyes.
“I’m so tired. . . .” Virginia closed her eyes. Her ragged breathing was their only clue that she’d not given up on life.
When she remained silent in unconscious oblivion, Margaret left the bedside, dried her own tears, and resumed her work with the infant. Joseph could see that the slave had already completed wrapping the child in a white crocheted blanket, but Margaret, obviously unsatisfied, reworked the arrangement until she deemed it just right.
“Has the coffin been completed?” she asked the girl. “And the front drawing room prepared to receive guests?”
“Yessum.”
“Then go place the baby inside the coffin. Lay her out prettily so that she might be properly viewed.”
“Yessum.” The girl, scarcely more than fifteen, took the infant and left the room.
Joseph watched as Margaret finished putting away the items she had used. “Someone needs to remove this cradle,” she told him.
“I’ll see to it myself,” he answered. He got to his feet and found Margaret studying their sleeping daughter. “We must have hope that she’ll recover.”
Margaret nodded. “She must find a reason to recover. If she has no will to live, I certainly can give her none. She has to do this for herself.”
“There is one thing to be done,” Joseph said as they left the room. “I will speak to that husband of hers and pray he has enough humanity in him to mend his ways. I am still shocked about the things you’ve told me, though they should not have come as a complete surprise. Hampton has long had a streak of greed and selfish ambition. I was a fool to have deceived myself into thinking his cruelty extended only to the slaves. And as far as his designs upon Oakbridge—well, he has a lot of nerve.”
“Yes, and it extends much deeper than either of us realizes. Virginia confided in me once that Hampton has a great deal of money stored in a New York bank. Where he came by it, we can only guess, but Virginia is confident that the money once belonged to you, and I have little doubt that she is correct. It would be very easy for a man in Hampton’s position to steal money from our pockets. Especially during his years as commission merchant.”
Joseph tried not to appear shocked by his wife’s astute assumption. For so many years his mind had been fixed solely on Margaret and her illness so that he had been blind to much around him. It was easy to see now how he had played into Hampton’s hand.
“I only pray to be strong enough to deal with this,” Joseph finally said, an undisguised heaviness in his voice.
“I will stand beside you, Joseph. Better still, remember the Lord is with you.”
He pulled her close and held her tightly for a moment. Her sweet scent of lavender and jasmine made him think of their younger days. For a moment he did nothing but hold her and breathe deeply, as though the action could take him away from this misery, back to a more pleasant time.
Bolstered by his wife’s encouragement, Joseph sought out Hampton, whom he located in the study. He was slouched in the leather chair, his collar open and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It appeared as if he’d already had a few glasses before this one.
“Well, Father Adams,” he slurred, “how goes it in the sickroom? Does my wife still live?”
“Do you care, Hampton?” Joseph replied sharply.
“Would you prefer it if I gushed and wept all over you? I behave in the only way I know a man should.”
“Are you saying that you really do care, but that you restrain your grief so as not to reveal weakness?” Joseph hated the hopefulness in his own tone. Even now he wanted to believe the best about his son-in-law.
Hampton drained the glass and reached for the crystal decanter for more. Joseph thrust out his hand to stop him. “Perhaps you’ve had enough.”
“It’s all I have to ease my grief.”
“Then you do grieve?”
“Of course I do. Neither do I want Virginia to die.”
Joseph could not be certain about the sincerity of the words, but he put that aside for the moment. “I’ve heard some things, Hampton—from Virginia. I must question you about them. She says that you have taken your hand to her and your children more than once. Is this true?”
A full gamut of emotions flickered across Hampton’s visage— from outrage to fear, finally settling on something like regret. “I’m not proud of it,” he said, or rather mumbled. “It’s the only way I know to maintain discipline.”
“Then it is time you learn a new way. Virginia is miserable. She doesn’t care if she lives or dies. She needs a gentle hand, Hampton. You must learn.”
The two men locked eyes. It was as if Hampton were sizing up Joseph as an adversary. In truth Joseph did not know if he could indeed force Hampton to change his ways. The law very consistently upheld the husband in such matters. A neighbor had experienced a similar problem with their daughter’s husband and had attempted to take the man to court. But the judge had ruled for the husband, stating that it was not legally acceptable for anyone, even parents, to come between a man and his wife.
Thus Joseph felt great relief when Hampton said, “I will try to do better.”
Joseph could do nothing but accept the man’s word, despite the fact that Hampton had made many similar statements regarding the slaves. At least Hampton now knew his secret was in the open and he would be watched more closely. Perhaps that alone would be enough to protect Virginia.
“These done come for ya, Mizzus Baldwin,” a tall, lean Negro boy announced.
Carolina took the letters he offered her and smiled. “Thank you, Zed.” She glanced down and recognized her husband’s handwriting on one letter, and that of Lucy Adams, her elder brother’s wife, on the other.
Slipping to her room, which had been kept for her, she closed the door and took up a position at her old window seat. Enjoying her favorite spot at the window, Carolina could look down upon the grounds. She longed for the old feelings of peace and contentment to wash over her, but they were harder to come by with the passing years. Now with November upon them and the first snows imminent, Carolina longed for home and for her husband.
She took up his letter and broke the seal.
1850, October 20
Dearest Wife,
I do understand your desire to remain and see to Virginia’s recovery.
However, I was terribly disappointed to learn that you would not return
until the middle of next month. There is always a threat that snow will keep
you from me, and I long to see you and the children more than anything
else in life. I cannot tell you the times I’ve nearly quit the tunnel and made
my way to Oakbridge. Only my commitment to see this thing through has
prevented my doing so.
She read on, learning the news of the small town. Saturday-night socials had been planned by a newly formed ladies committee, and the weekly event seemed to go over quite well with the tunnel workers. Of course, there remained conflicts between the Irish, but James was hopeful for amicable settlements as each new skirmish arose.
Carolina felt herself tense when James spoke of Kiernan’s pining for Victoria. If his feelings were so evident that even James noticed, there must be much with which to concern themselves. Carolina was more determined than ever to speak to her daughter on the matter. She chided herself for having let so much time slip past without giving her a single word on the subject, but life at Oakbridge had consumed her most thoroughly—no, in truth, she had simply been reluctant to face these issues with her daughter.
And so it is with a lonely and heavy heart that I close this missive. Please
know how much you are loved and how dearly I desire your return. These
past weeks have been void of any joy. Hurry home.
Ever your loving husband,
James
It had indeed been a terribly long time to be parted from her husband. Carolina smiled to herself when she thought of returning to him and telling him all her news. How she longed to lie in his arms and share secrets and dreams, as they were wont to do when the house grew quiet and all of the children were sleeping.
Lucy’s letter was wordy and informative about the family. She spoke of life in Philadelphia and made a poor attempt at glossing over York’s discontent by saying how he was holding fast to his duty toward her father’s business affairs. He hoped to get into politics again, but she feared it could never be in Pennsylvania, where the issue of slavery distanced him from any possible constituency. The children were well. Amy was a real beauty at thirteen and already had several beaus. This made Carolina think of Victoria and Kiernan, but she forced herself to read on about the children’s activities.
The letter concluded by stating that it was their desire to visit Oakbridge soon, but that they had no real plans to do so. York was extremely busy, and despite the fact that he had lost interest in his work, he proceeded without complaint.
Carolina folded the letter and thought of how good it would be to see Lucy. They had become such good friends that Carolina truly found the distance between them a curse. Would that they could live beside her in Greigsville, where she might see her best friend and favorite brother on a daily basis.
Thinking of visits, Carolina thought to take the letter and share it with Virginia. She was somewhat improved, but the doctor still held a grim view of her recovery. He had told her that should she regain her strength, there were definitely to be no more children. He then repeated the message to Hampton, who merely stated that God’s will would be done.
“Virginia?” Carolina said, pushing open the door to her sister’s room. Someone had pulled open the drapes, and light flooded the room to reveal a most distraught Virginia.
With tears streaming down her face, Virginia quickly turned away with a loud, sorrowful moan. Carolina put the letter in her pocket and rushed to her sister’s side.
“What is it, Virginia? Are you in pain?”
Virginia only wailed louder. Carolina was uncertain what to do. No one appeared at the open door to assist her, and to leave Virginia unattended seemed risky.
“Please tell me how I can help you,” Carolina said, reaching out to take hold of her sister’s bony shoulders.
“Go . . . away. No one can . . . help me. I don’t . . . deserve . . . help,” Virginia managed to reply between sobs.
Taking a seat on the bed, Carolina pulled Virginia into her embrace. She fully expected her sister to refuse the gesture, but much to her surprise, Virginia clung to her like a drowning child.
“It’s all my fault. I’ve killed my baby!” she declared and continued to wail and sob, her entire body trembling so hard that Carolina feared for her.
“You mustn’t take on so,” Carolina told her sympathetically. “You couldn’t have avoided what happened. You did not kill your baby.”
Virginia pushed away. “Oh yes, I did. I didn’t want her. I didn’t want my own child.”
Carolina cast a quick glance at the open door. She was grateful that the children were all occupied downstairs with the Cabots’ governess, Miss Mayfield. Even her own children were engaged in Miss Mayfield’s scholastic instruction and would be thus contained for some time. Still, Carolina had no desire for anyone to overhear what Virginia was saying. It would only prove painful for her sister later in life, and so she quickly went to shut the door.
Coming back to the bed, Carolina shook her head. “You might not have thought you wanted her,” she began, “but I know you did not wish her dead.”
“Yes, I did,” Virginia countered.
Her face contorted and the pain in her expression was so clear that Carolina realized she was speaking the truth. Stunned by this revelation, Carolina found it impossible to reply. Her sister had truly wished her child to die? Had Virginia somehow brought this about herself? Was this why she was suffering such intense guilt and grief?
“I don’t understand,” said Carolina, who had cherished each and every one of her own children.
“I couldn’t bear to have another of Hampton’s children. I told you that before, but what I didn’t tell you was that I purposely got myself drunk and threw myself down the grand staircase not long before you came to visit.”
Carolina worked hard to hide her shock. “But that didn’t necessarily kill the baby. We don’t know why she died.”
