Distant Dreams (44 page)

“My favorite,” Virginia whispered, then touched the petals to her lips.

The couple walked on toward the house, leaving Carolina and Julia to stare after them. The display sickened Carolina. Julia had an entirely different take on the scene.

“See,” Julia said in a hushed voice, “the game is not so difficult to play.”

“I won’t act like a lovesick cow when I’m only after a man’s ring on my finger to avoid being an old maid!”

“Carolina Adams, you sound as though you are jealous.”

“I am not!” Carolina’s voice was raised in harsh denial. “What would I have to be jealous of? My sister believes her life’s calling is to sit at home sewing pillowcases and producing miniatures of herself. I certainly have no intention of living that kind of life.”

“Nor do I,” Julia agreed. “Carolina, marriage is different for each person.”

“How so?”

“Well . . .” Julia rubbed her chin in thought. “Suppose you married a man like your father? I’ll wager he’d be happy to indulge your interest in the railroad, for instance.”

“Maybe so,” Carolina conceded. “If I found the right man . . .”

“But, Carolina, learn a lesson from your sister. She was far too particular in the type of man she desired for a husband. Many fine suitors sought her hand, as we both well know. My Will even ran after her for a time, but his patience wore thin. Virginia is a lovely woman, but because she’s fickle and difficult to please, she risked never finding a suitable husband. It was pure luck she found a man like James still available. You may not be so lucky if you are too fickle in selecting a mate.” Julia reached out a hand to touch Carolina’s arm affectionately. “Be honest with yourself, Carolina. Few women can survive in this life without being the wife of someone. The best thing to do is select the one you think will benefit you the most—one who appeals to you as a lifelong mate—and then make a decent life for yourself.”

For once, Carolina heard a sensibility in the words her friend spoke. Perhaps Julia was right. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to avoid the inevitable but rather to manipulate it properly into what would be most comfortable for her.

“I’ll give it some thought, Julia.”

“That’s the spirit! I knew you’d come around. This Hampton Cabot may just well be your perfect match. Give it a chance and test the waters.”

“I said I’d give it some thought,” Carolina replied. “Just don’t expect miracles where my heart is concerned.” Her mind was still on James and the scene she’d witnessed with Virginia. He obviously loved her sister, and for that Carolina was truly happy. Virginia might be a bit obnoxious, but she was her flesh and blood, and Carolina desired only the best for her. It wasn’t Virginia’s fault that Carolina had fallen in love with James, and it certainly wasn’t a love that was reciprocated. No, better to accept things as they were and move ahead. Perhaps if Hampton Cabot truly did admire progressive thinking in women, he wouldn’t mind so very much her desires to further her education. Perhaps he would even encourage her participation in the railroad and help her to achieve her dreams.

There was a great deal to think about, and Carolina wasn’t yet ready to give up her freedom to anything or anyone. If she were like her father she would spend hours in prayer and meditation upon the Bible. He seemed to find such comfort there, and Carolina truly wished she could say the same for herself.

Walking back with Julia, nodding at the appropriate time to the chattered small talk, Carolina began to wonder what it was that motivated her father to find comfort in Scripture and prayer. When I pray, she thought, I’m never quite certain God hears me. I’m only a girl, after all, and no one on earth believes me capable of saying anything worth listening to, so why then should the King of the Universe?

48

Conversation on the Porch

The humid heat of July came upon the land with a vengeance, driving every living soul in search of cooler surroundings. Even Hampton Cabot escaped to the North, as did many families. Others went abroad as Leland and Edith Baldwin did, and only a few remained behind.

Carolina’s family often went north to the New Jersey seaside home of Margaret’s elderly cousin. Even when the management of Oakbridge and the duties of government kept Joseph near home, Margaret usually departed just with the children. This summer, however, they were all forced to struggle through the stifling muggy summer because of the demands of planning James and Virginia’s wedding.

On the afternoon of July third, with anticipation running high and spirits lifted in preparation for the celebration of the Fourth, Carolina joined her father on the veranda. Joseph Adams was stretched out in his chair with his feet on a small ottoman and a straw hat pulled over his face. Carolina smiled at this casual picture of her father. It wasn’t often she was able to catch him loafing. Fanning herself to stir even a slight breeze, Carolina accepted the offer of lemonade from one of the house slaves and took a seat opposite her father.

“Well, well,” Joseph said, pulling down the hat and sitting up straight in the wicker chair. He straightened his waistcoat and suspiciously eyed his outer coat, which had been discarded in the chair to his right.

“Oh, forget it, Father,” Carolina said, knowing that he was considering whether or not to put the coat on. “I’m not Mother and I won’t scold you for sitting here in your shirtsleeves.”

Joseph smiled. “I only did it because your mother is so preoccupied with Virginia and her wedding gown, she has scarcely taken notice of me.”

Carolina nodded with only the slightest hint of a frown. “Yes, they will have to work hard to have everything ready by September.” The twenty-eighth had already been announced to be the date of the wedding, and Carolina had endured two uncomfortable fittings for her bridesmaid gown. Putting aside her conflicting thoughts, which was nearly impossible, Carolina worked the fan back and forth.

“Your mother will no doubt have it all under control. I’ve yet to see her set her mind to a thing and not work it together.”

“To be certain,” Carolina replied. Movement on the horizon caught her attention. “Look, Father, riders.”

Joseph stood for a better look and Carolina joined him. Two riders approached the oak bridge at a slow easy pace that denoted either the age of the travelers or their concern for their mounts in such weather. As they neared the house, Carolina and Joseph gasped in unison to find themselves about to entertain none other than Andrew Jackson himself. York rode at the aging President’s side, clearly concerned for the health of his companion.

This time no protest was made when Joseph quickly reached for his coat. Carolina set down her drink and fan and helped her father adjust his collar. Grabbing up the straw hat, Joseph went out to greet his guests.

Carolina motioned the slave who lingered at the door to the house. “Quick, Missy, run and bring refreshments for our guests. That is the President of the United States with Mr. York.” The girl’s eyes widened in amazement before she hurried off to do as she was told.

“Mr. President,” Joseph said, assisting Jackson from the horse. It was well known that Jackson’s health had failed him, and just as well known that the demise had been helped along by multiple bloodlettings, continual battles with Congress, the banking situation, and the issue of Texas.

“Joseph,” Jackson said, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly.

“Come up out of the sun,” Joseph said, leading the way. “York, good to see you, son. Is all well with you?”

“Very much so, Father.” He tossed his reins to the waiting servant.

Carolina waited on the veranda steps, taking in the scene with some awe. She held her breath in anticipation of the introduction to come. This man, this very powerful man, was the overseer of an entire nation. By his authority treaties were made and broken. Under his direction the future of America could either benefit or be dashed upon the rocks of destruction. And here he was paying a call on her own father—and she supposed on herself as well!

“Mr. President, may I present my daughter, Carolina Adams,” Joseph said as they approached the steps. Carolina curtseyed deeply.

Jackson slowly and arduously mounted the steps and made a gallant bow before her. Taking up her hand, he squeezed it lightly and smiled. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Adams, and if you don’t mind an old codger like me saying so, you are a very beautiful young woman.” He didn’t wait for her to reply but turned instead to York. “She reminds me of my Rachel.”

York nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

“Thank you,” Carolina managed, feeling her face grow flushed. She had seen only one portrait of Rachel Jackson, and it had been painted when she was well into her years, but even Carolina had heard the stories behind the torrid love affair of the President and the unrivaled beauty of his once-divorced wife.

They took their seats, with Jackson sitting between Carolina and Joseph. There was no point made to dismiss Carolina, and so she eagerly took her place as hostess and sent Bartholomew to notify her mother of their visitor. She prayed her mother would linger over Virginia’s gown, even though there was little chance of that, given the importance of the visitor. Carolina longed to listen to the men discuss the politics of the day and contemplate their views on the future.

Accepting a drink, Jackson raised it to Joseph. “To your health and well-being.”

“And to yours,” Joseph and York said in unison.

Carolina said nothing but tilted her glass slightly in acknowledgment and drank. It was just as well no one noticed the gesture. It would be pushing propriety to make too much of a spectacle of herself, and she didn’t want to do anything that might bring about her father’s disapproval and her dismissal.

“Whatever brings you all the way out here in this heat?” Joseph asked.

Jackson chuckled. “The stifling atmosphere in Washington has little to do with the weather. And in my mind it is far worse. What pleasure it is to breathe fresh air for a change and to feel the power of a good horse under my tired old bones. Thank God I only have a few months of my reign—oops, I mean, term—left.”

Everyone joined with Jackson in a laugh over the intentional
faux pas.
Then Jackson continued, “I refuse to waste away to nothing in the capital. Many may figure, or hope, the old man is headed for pine—” This reference to his own demise caused the President to laugh even harder. “But I won’t give Henry Clay the satisfaction of dying just yet. That is, not unless I can take him with me.”

Joseph smiled. “No doubt Nicholas Biddle and John Calhoun would join Clay in mourning your passing.”

“Certainly!” Jackson exclaimed and added, “They’d all join hands and weep over the dust on my grave for fear of its rising.”

The morbidity of the conversation gave Carolina a chill, even in the midst of the breezeless afternoon heat. She thought of the man in the Baltimore cemetery and of the finality of death. Something in her expression must have noted her discomfort because the President turned to her with an apologetic expression.

“Forgive me for being rude, dear child. My enemies would say my mouth gets the better of me at times. And my friends would have to agree.”

“That’s quite all right.” She smiled and immediately felt at ease.

“Ah, you do so remind me of my Rachel,” he said in a faraway tone, as though forgetting he was not alone. “She had a most gracious smile, sweet and gentle, just like yours. No doubt the young men are standing in line to lay claim to your hand.”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mr. President,” she answered with a lighthearted drawl. “My sister Virginia is the beauty of the family. It is she they stand in line for.”

“Fools!” Jackson declared and immediately won Carolina’s devoted friendship. He turned to Joseph but winked back at Carolina. “They’ll come to their senses soon enough, and then I wouldn’t want to be your father for all the bickering and feuding that’ll take place over you.”

“Carolina has always been more given to books and learning,” Joseph said. His admiration shone in his eyes, and Carolina blushed again. “And don’t let her fool you. She’s just as pretty as any of her sisters.”

“She’s the one I told you used to sneak into Father’s study and read the cabinet papers,” York added.

Jackson’s brow raised as if trying to decide whether he was being made the better part of a joke.

York continued, “Carolina loves the intrigue of business and government. Should she have been born a man instead of a woman, she’d no doubt give Henry Clay a run for his money.”

“Probably would have given me one as well,” Jackson replied, slapping his knee and guffawing with such energy that it startled Carolina. “Now, I know you’re just like my Rachel. She was a quiet, considerate soul, God rest her, but she had a fire and a wit that could match mine any day. I admire that greatly in a woman.”

Bartholomew quietly returned and after refreshing the drinks for everyone said, “Master Joseph, suh, Miz Margaret is napping. Do you wants me to wake her?”

The President answered, “Don’t do so on my account. I shan’t be able to stay long. I must attend a reception at the White House tonight.”

“Leave her be, Bartholomew,” said Joseph, then turned to the President. “She is quite exhausting herself with planning our daughter Virginia’s wedding.”

Carolina couldn’t have been more pleased. In this instance she happily took on the role of hostess. She absolutely relished each moment as the President broke into a conversation regarding one subject and then another, his store of amusing anecdotes never seeming to run dry.

“Oh, do tell Carolina of the time you were in Boston with the Vice-President,” Joseph suddenly requested. The story was well known and one of Jackson’s most favorite to relate.

“We were in Boston by express invitation of the legislature,” Jackson began. The old familiar sparkle was in his eye, and his expression was one of pure joy at the memory. “We were to be part of a military review scheduled to take place on the Common. I had been given a fine horse to ride—a real pleasure was that one. But several of my esteemed cabinet members, and of course Mr. Van Buren, were not quite as at ease with their mounts as was I. When we appeared in front of the troops, an artillery salvo was sounded. And as they will do,” he chuckled, already amused by the memory, “the horses reared and became quite agitated. Having little difficulty with my own horse, I shouted to my attendant as to the condition of Mr. Van Buren. ‘Where is the Vice President?’ I asked, and the man lost little time in saying, ‘About as nearly on the fence as a gentleman of his positive political convictions can get.’ ”