Distant Dreams (28 page)

Part III

Spring 1836

As I went down to Louisville,
some pleasure for to see,
I fell in love with a railroad man,
and he in love with me.

I wouldn’t marry a farmer,
for he’s always in the dirt,
I’d rather marry the railroader
that wears them pretty blue shirts.

I wouldn’t marry a goldsmith,
for he’s always weighing gold,
I’d rather marry the railroader
that has to shovel up coal

—Welby Toomey

29

Elections and Revolutions

Spring came early to Washington City, and amid the cherry, dogwood, and redbud blossoms, a spirit of anxiety and festivity made for an awkward balance among the citizens. It was an election year, promoting a circuslike atmosphere among government entities. The White House sought to encourage the support of Vice President Martin Van Buren for the presidency, believing “Vannie” could carry Jacksonian democracy into the forties. Opposing parties were still arguing among themselves, but the Whig party had nominated William Henry Harrison of Ohio for their candidate. Hugh Lawson White had accepted an independent nomination, as had Daniel Webster. But the real and very frustrating focus of April 1836 for the President was neither the man who would succeed him nor the slander against his “reign.” The most prominent issue General Jackson had to deal with was Texas.

“First they send me this,” Jackson said in a rage, waving a letter, “stating that the Alamo is a slaughterhouse and all is lost. Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett are both dead at the hands of Santa Anna, and Sam Houston has barely managed to escape capture. If I know Houston, and I do, he’ll probably regroup and make a stand. Nevermind he has less than four hundred men to fight against Santa Anna’s seven thousand!” He tossed the letter down and picked up another, never giving York Adams a chance to even comment.

“This one is better yet. This is from Stephen Austin. It seems on March 2 the Republic of Texas declared independence, and he requests”—again Jackson consulted the letter—“that the United States ‘openly’ take up the cause of the rebellious province.” With a toss, this letter quickly joined the other on his desk, and Jackson searched his desk for something else.

“Get me a map, Adams. Where’s that map of the Texas territory?”

York quickly pulled the map out from beneath the littered mess. Jackson had already pored over the parchment at least twenty times. “Right here.” Jackson stabbed his finger at a particular spot. “This is where Sam Houston will go down in history.” York leaned over the aging President’s shoulder to see the words “Buffalo Bayou.”

Jackson sat down hard in the high-backed leather chair. York could see that the tirade had taken a great deal out of the President. His health was failing him, and depression seemed to come easy in the face of growing attacks from his enemies. Jackson blamed them for the death of his beloved wife, Rachel, who after hearing their slanderous attacks during her husband’s first presidential campaign had taken ill to her bed—never to recover. Now the same people were taking their toll on Jackson himself.

“Texas is determined to break free of Mexico and enter the union, but that whole situation opens up yet another issue, and that is one of slavery. The North and South are already straining at the bit and itching for a fight. South Carolina threatens to secede every time the wind changes directions, and this would be just one more issue to fling in the face of the North. John Calhoun sees Texas as a promising expansion of slavery, and while I sympathize with the South and own slaves of my own, as the President of this country I cannot in good faith ignore the concerns of our northern brothers.”

“Still, Texas need not be only an issue of slavery,” York said sympathetically. “There are a great many Americans settled in that Mexican state. They do at least deserve our consideration.”

Jackson nodded slowly and sadly. “Mr. Adams, this is going to be the death of me yet.”

“My father would say that it isn’t the hounds chasing the fox that kills him, it’s the getting caught that does the old fellow in.” York offered Jackson a lopsided grin. “The way I see it, they’re just nipping your heels a bit.”

Jackson laughed. “I’d say Calhoun and Clay have ‘pert’ near taken off a toe or two.”

York relaxed and enjoyed the joke. This was the Jackson he enjoyed working for and with. Unfortunately, time and the strain of the position had taken a vengeful toll on Jackson, and where Henry Clay and other adversaries couldn’t touch him, the heavy mantle of national responsibility had nearly drained him of life.

“The Mexican government should have realized the inevitability of this,” Jackson said, sobering and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “They allow over twenty thousand Americans to settle and own land, then decide to halt immigration because those settlers are showing up with slaves. They think to simply turn off the flow by passing a law. They have no means of enforcement, and now, as they try to assert their authority, I find myself in a very delicate situation. If I intercede on behalf of Texas, I will alienate the North. And if I take up the side of Texas independence and annexation into the Union, I will forever go down in history as the President who set aside foreign treaties in order to strengthen the slavery issue.”

“And to do nothing?” York questioned.

“At this moment neutrality is my only recourse,” Jackson said with a sigh. “I would take Texas under our wing quicker than the crack of a good rawhide whip, but as much as they stand out there caterwauling for it, I must ignore them.”

He fell silent for a moment, then startled York by slamming his fist down on the desk. The room echoed with the sound. “Mr. Adams, I need you to pen a letter for me. This will be a draft, but it must start somewhere.”

York nodded and went to his writing desk. The items he needed were already waiting, and with nothing more than a glance, York let Jackson know he was prepared to take down the words.

“To the honorable Stephen F. Austin . . .”

30

Tea and Confusion

“But your coming out must be something special,” Julia Cooper, Carolina’s closest friend, was saying.

The other ladies in the room nodded and added their reassuring comments.

“Oh yes, Carolina, this is a once-in-a-lifetime privilege.”

Virginia and her friend Kate Milford both answered in unison, “It’s the party to bring you into adulthood.”

“And secure you in marriage,” Julia added. As the only married woman in the group, she was esteemed.

Carolina rolled her eyes. She’d heard all these things so many times she wanted to scream. “Marriage is not on my mind and neither are coming-out parties.”

Virginia shook her head. “She’s been like this ever since Father allowed her to be tutored by James Baldwin.”

“Tutored for what?” another young lady asked with a giggle.

“Now, stop that, Sarah Armstrong. You know James and I are very close to an understanding.”

Carolina listened to the animated discussion as it wove in and around her private life. Mother had promoted the tea, saying it would be an excellent time for the young ladies to gather and exchange ideas for Carolina’s coming-out party. Virginia had been all for it; her reasons, no doubt, were merely to have another social event to flaunt her blossoming relationship with James. Carolina did not want to even think of that fast-approaching milestone in her life. It scared her and bored her all at once.

But none of these girls could understand her feelings. All of them had been raised to be lovely and loved. So had she, but she couldn’t bear it if that were all there was to life. Staring silently at the group of young women, Carolina instantly realized how out of place she was. They were discussing how to entice men without being improper and whether it was better to accept a marriage proposal on the second or third asking, for no well-bred woman would make it simple for a man and affirm his first request. Carolina knew they thought her odd. Even Julia, her lifelong friend, rebuked Carolina before they sat down to tea for straining her mind to learn all manner of unnecessary subjects.

Lifting the china teacup to her lips, Carolina wondered if any of these women would ever know what it really meant to live life. They were molded into the ideal hostesses and, as wives, would serve any house proud. But did they desire nothing more?

I do want a husband and a family, Carolina thought. I want to know the feel of a man’s arms around me and to hear him speak my name with longing.

And in a way, she did envy her sister a little. She was going to get what she wanted. She would have the love of a man. Of James Baldwin. But Carolina didn’t want to think of that. James Baldwin had become a puzzling complication to her life. When he talked of politics or the railroad, Carolina found him exhilarating, and when the discussion lent itself to the study of Shakespeare or Keats, she knew a tender and sensitive side of James that no one else seemed to comprehend. She didn’t know what to make of it, nor of the strange sensations that overcame her whenever he was near her. Her heart would race if he chanced to touch her; a thrill would course through her if she happened upon him unexpectedly. And to think, only months ago she had fiercely hated him. Well, maybe not fiercely—maybe not hated.

It couldn’t mean anything. A schoolgirl infatuation no doubt. She remembered how Maine had fallen in love with their schoolteacher when he was eleven. That’s all this was. Nothing more. It couldn’t be anything else.

Sarah’s high-pitched giggle brought Carolina back to the tea party. For a brief instant she feared they had read her thoughts, and she reddened. Then she realized they had been responding to some comment by Julia. She tried to relax and keep her thoughts focused on the present.

“The party is set for April 30,” Virginia informed them. “Invitations will be posted Monday, and that will give you plenty of time to have a new gown made. I’m going to have a beautiful gown of pale pink silk, and with any luck at all, I’ll announce my engagement within a fortnight of that party.” More laughter followed and Carolina grew very uncomfortable.

“What is your gown to look like?” Julia asked, leaning closer to Carolina. “Something daring and delightful, no doubt.”

“My coming-out gown was sewn with seed pearls and diamonds,” Sarah Armstrong offered. “Mother said you only came out once, and society should definitely remember you when you did.”

“Your gown is hard not to remember!” Virginia exclaimed. “Whatever became of it?”

“I’m saving it for my wedding gown,” Sarah said proudly. “The gown cost a fortune, and it would be an honest pity to wear it only once. Still, I’ve never had an occasion that merited wearing it again. I’ll have it remade and wed in it.”

“What a remarkable idea,” Kate Milford said with a flush to her face.

“Well, my wedding gown is going to be quite stunning,” Virginia began. “I’ve been making lace for nearly four years.”

“No!” exclaimed Sarah. “You don’t say! What a wonderful idea. The labors of your hands will grace the very gown that will take you into wedded bliss. How delightful.”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Kate said enthusiastically. “I suppose I could start now, but . . . well . . . I’m hoping for my own proposal this summer, and if Jonathan Donnelley manages to work up his courage and ask, I believe I will accept on the first proposal.” This brought laughter from all the girls, with the exception of Carolina.

No one noticed that she’d had no chance to speak up about her gown, even if she’d known what her gown was to be. Her mother had plagued her for weeks to make a final choice, but Carolina found that sitting at Granny’s bedside reading was more preferable to standing for a gown fitting. Wordlessly, Carolina got to her feet and pretended to busy herself at the tea cart.

“Oh, enough of this. Do play us something on the piano, Virginia. Mother was so impressed with your abilities at Christmas.” The other girls confirmed Kate’s request and soon the group had gathered around the piano.

Carolina took the opportunity to slip unnoticed from the room. She made her way outside without benefit of bonnet or shawl, knowing full well she’d no doubt vex her mother by freckling. A stroll down the cobblestone walkway led her to the gardens and a quiet repose to collect her thoughts. Maybe she’d even visit Granny. Granny always seemed able to help her think through her problems.

My problem, Carolina thought, is that every time Virginia mentions her intentions toward James, I feel ill.

She couldn’t understand her reaction and wondered silently how to deal with the situation. If Virginia was right, and most likely she was, James would one day be her sister’s husband, and Carolina would have no other choice but to deal with it. But what was it exactly she was dealing with? Her memories brought to mind James’ twinkling blue eyes and boyish smile whenever she understood a new concept. She did care a great deal about him, and his misery over the railroad and subsequent emergence from that crisis did bond them in a way, but was there more?

Pushing deeper amid the sweet scents of wisteria, Carolina had no sooner taken a seat to contemplate the matter than her mother and father appeared.

“Well, I thought you ladies would still be discussing the party,” Joseph said good-naturedly.

Carolina squared her shoulders a bit. “I was on my way to visit Granny. But they’re all still plotting and planning.”

“Then why are you out here and without so much as a parasol or bonnet?” Margaret questioned. “You should be in there deciding things as well. It is, after all, your coming-out party they are discussing.”

“I suppose the subject does not hold the same appeal to me as it does the others.”

“Unheard of.” Margaret paled. “I cannot believe a young lady of your upbringing would not find it a marvelous affair. This is your passage into adulthood. You will be received in your own right now, and gentlemen will come to call in earnest.”

Carolina shrugged. Carolina wondered why her mother couldn’t accept her as she was. “I doubt it will much change things if I have a big party or a little one. I’ll still turn sixteen, and I’ll still be more interested in my studies than my dance card.”