The Silver Highway Page 5

  She had just reached her room when the door opened. Olivia turned to see Crystal, her eyes red with tears. “Oh, Olivia, will you please come to my room? I’m leaving and I need to tell you about it.”

  “Leaving!” She rushed up the stairs after Crystal and entered her room. The usual tidy room was a jumble of clothing, books, and open trunks. Olivia turned to look at her friend. “Crystal, I can’t believe it! Of all the students here, you have won the highest honors. Why go now?”

  “It isn’t my idea.” She pushed a paper at Olivia. “It’s a letter from my mother. She’s ill. My father has left New Orleans; he’s coming to fetch me home. Oh, Olivia!” For a moment she buried her face in the handkerchief she held. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a disappointment. Despite everything, I’ve really loved being here.”

  For a moment Olivia thought back to that ugly scene when Catherine had made the remark about her dark complexion. “Oh, Crystal, how am I going to exist without you? Do you realize you still haven’t met my brother, Matthew? That night—it was terrible. Now,” Olivia patted Crystal’s shoulder. “Crystal, this can’t be the end of it. Surely you’ll be able to come back next year.”

  Crystal dried her eyes and looked at Olivia, “That’s probably true. It’s just such a blow. All I could think about was that somehow our searching for Evangeline had something to do with it. I guess I’m just being emotional.” With a smile she turned. “See this mess? My father probably won’t be here for weeks, and already I’m nearly packed.”

  “Well, I suggest we go right now and talk to Miss Arvellion. Perhaps she can recommend studies for you while you’re at home.” With a quick hug, she added, “That way we’ll be in the same class next autumn.”

  ****

  Alex leaned against Matthew’s door and waved a letter. “We have another appointment with Mallory. He said to come as soon as possible. He has the next three weeks free, and then he will be returning to South Carolina.”

  Matthew shoved the book across the table and linked his hands behind his head. “I’m not certain I want to go.”

  Alex’s grin was crooked. “Neither am I, but right now I feel this is a command, and there are parents at home who won’t like it if we don’t. Quoting Mallory, it’s the least we can do for the sake of all we stand for.”

  “What do we stand for?”

  “The South, of course.”

  He came into the room and dropped down on the edge of Matthew’s bed. “I’ve been reading about the election process. The Electoral College. I didn’t know it was set up to give an advantage to the states who support slavery.”

  Slowly Matthew said, “I’ve heard it was so, but I guess I don’t understand the whole process.”

  “Because of the slaves, the voters have been given additional congressional credit. You know the number of our representatives in Congress are awarded according to population. Naturally the slaves are not citizens and can’t vote, but the constitution allows us to count three/fifths of our slave population in determining our representation, meaning a slave state gets more representatives per voter than a free one.”

  “You aren’t chuckling with glee.”

  “It’s occurred to me that the more slaves there are, and the fewer masters, the better we are represented in Congress. Might say it’s possible to weigh the balance in our favor. Politically, we’ll do ourselves a big favor if we continue to build up the slave population in our state.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Of course. Matt, you weren’t born yesterday. Don’t you feel the rumbles?”

  Slowly he nodded. “I get what you mean. Mallory’s hinted at it, too. These United States are lining up on one side of the fence or the other.”

  Alex finished the thought, “Slavery. Matt, if we want our nice comfortable life to continue, we work for the expansion of slavery. You realize that’s precisely what Mallory’s saying to us?”

  “Guess we don’t have a choice.” Matthew got to his feet with a sigh. “But here, up North, it’s too easy to get a conscience if you’re not careful.”

  Alex nodded. “I have to watch myself. These fellas pushing against the abolitionists leave a bad taste in my mouth. Inside I hear a voice saying in another year or two I’ll be just like them.”

  Matthew said, “You’re a slave owner right now, by virtue of your inheritance. Me, too.”

  “That’s so.” He jerked his head. “Matt, last night I had a dream. Seems I got to be president of the United States and then I revealed I was abolitionist at heart.”

  Matthew’s grin was crooked as he reached for the book. “I’m glad I’m not graduating this June.”

  “Are you coming with me—to Mallory’s?”

  Matthew’s grin disappeared. Reluctantly he said, “Might be I could at least listen. But my natural inclination is to just forget about the whole problem.”

  As they walked across campus, cut across the bridge, and headed for Beacon Hill, Matthew said, “I want you to understand, there’s just no way I could fight my father’s whole life, and the way he believes. The system.”

  Alex kicked at the chunk of ice on the path. “Same here. I just hope I don’t have to give up thinking in order to be a senator.”

  “Senator Duncan,” Matthew grinned up at him. “That sounds good. Will it be from South Carolina or Louisiana?”

  “Probably Louisiana. That’s where my boat is docked.”

  Matthew turned in at the pub. “Let’s go celebrate your victory now.”

  Although it was early in the afternoon, the small room was filled. Matthew glanced around, spotted those he recognized as students, and then categorized the remainder. “Alex, there’s lots of workmen here, probably warming their hands, but I don’t see any senators. I think between now and then you’re going to have to get sophisticated.”

  “It’ll be easier when I don’t have to watch every cent,” Alex said with a twisted grin as he purchased beer for both of them.

  “Well, maybe you drink too much, anyway. Might be you can sacrifice quantity for quality.”

  The grin disappeared from Alex’s face as he carefully set the tankards on the table and slid onto the bench. Matthew watched him take a sip before he looked up with a troubled grin. “Matt, are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Matthew said, his finger tracing the water circle on the table. He looked up at Alex.

  Alex concentrated on the chipped tankard as he said, “I think I might owe you an apology.”

  After a moment Matthew said slowly, “Right now I can’t think of anything you need apologize for.”

  Alex sighed heavily. “That night we went to what’s-her-name’s school. I was pretty close to being out of it. I can’t remember much of the night except I—I wonder, did Olivia say anything?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen her. Had a note in which she scorched me for being late. But she didn’t mention you.”

  The frown on Alex’s face disappeared. “Then you don’t think I acted improperly?”

  “Well I didn’t hear her scream while you two were in the kitchen looking for cups. Matter of fact, I think my sister can handle about any situation. She’s got spunk.”

  “I thought so,” Alex murmured, rubbing his face.

  “Want another beer?”

  “Let’s celebrate and have ale. That’s supposed to be a little more sophisticated in these parts, I think.”

  Matthew raised his hand and grinned at the barmaid coming toward them. “Aw, she’s already guessed.”

  Alex ignored the drift of hair and bare arm in front of his face. The woman leaned closer. “You fellas are getting to be regulars here. We like to be good to our customers. How about a couple of pretty girls? Now these aren’t common ordinary ones, mind you. We like—”

  Alex looked up into the woman’s face. “I guess we’re getting a reputation coming in here in the middle of the day,” he said heavily. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Turning to Matthew he said, “Com
e on, we better get going.”

  Back on the street Matthew looked up into Alex’s face. “You’re a good stand-in for a thundercloud. Alex, don’t take it personally. I think she was trying to be helpful.”

  Alex snorted and led the way down the street.

  Mallory met them at the door of his Beacon Hill apartment. His annoyed frown lifted when he saw them. “Come in. My man is busy running errands this afternoon, but we can manage to take care of ourselves. What will you drink?”

  “Anything but ale,” Alex muttered, dropping into the chair opposite Mallory.

  Mallory leaned forward and said, “Have you fellows been following the news?” Alex rubbed his jaw, and Mallory continued, “Of course, classwork and studies come first. We old men have more time to follow the election news.”

  He passed the glass to Alex and continued, “I’m afraid these abolitionists are creating a bit of a storm. I understand most of them are Quakers and won’t vote, but it seems they are responsible for this Republican Party rearing its ugly head.”

  Matthew nodded, “I’ve heard. It could give our party some trouble. Hear they are uniting with the Free Soil party and a number of the Whigs. You can count on the poor people supporting the Free Soil men.”

  Alex drawled, “I understand Governor Wise of Virginia is a trifle upset.”

  Mallory chuckled, “Slightly. Declares that if Colonel Fremont is elected, he’ll take the militia of Virginia, march on Washington and seize the Capitol and the National archives.”

  Matthew said, “Seems the Democrats are bound to win. Do you think most of them are solidly behind Buchanan?”

  While Mallory nodded, Alex muttered, “Mighty poor pickings.”

  “At least we know whose side he’s on.” Mallory’s voice was sharp. For a moment his eyes narrowed as he looked at Alex.

  ****

  When Alex and Matthew left Mallory and walked back to the college, Matthew said, “Alex, you’re going to have to step carefully. Three times today I saw Mallory staring at you. I have the feeling you made him a mite uneasy.”

  “Did I? Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the analytical thinking they’ve been trying to instill in us for all these years. For instance, this debate about slavery. Does or does not the Constitution support slavery?”

  “And,” Matthew added, “what about the Missouri Compromise of 1850? Some are saying it’s unconstitutional.”

  Alex shrugged, “I can keep some of my thoughts to myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the talk we had around the table at the boardinghouse? Well, you noticed I didn’t mention Northern Democrats when I talked about the Republican Party.”

  “That’s right,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten our talk. Might be the drain out of the Democratic party will tip the election. Don’t know much about Fremont—do you?”

  “As much as I know about Buchanan, and I get the idea he’ll go a long way to get a vote, either right or left.” Alex fell silent.

  “I’m not too crazy about him, either.”

  They were across the bridge when Alex added, “They’re saying the attack on Sumner was tantamount to drawing another hard line between the North and the South. The newspapers are calling it ugly. I agree. Also, they are insinuating there’s more ugliness being imported from the South.”

  Matthew growled, “I don’t like that. One bad deed doesn’t make us all rotters.”

  “Might be we’ll have to prove your statement,” Alex said with a twisted grin.

  Chapter 7

  Spring had come to Massachusetts. When Alex crossed the bridge into Boston he found the Commons alive with birds and blossoms. Slowing his brisk stride, he sniffed the mingled odor of spring and salt air as he watched the people entering the Commons.

  He tipped his hat to the covey of housewives coming toward him and noticed the gentle smiles on their faces. Stepping off the path, he watched the aproned matrons stroll the greens, now and then pausing on the path in the warmth of the sun to talk with their neighbors.

  Momentarily distracted by spring, Alex, too, turned to stroll slowly. He felt the sun on his face as he stopped to study the halo of yellow-green trees that somehow made the day seem brighter.

  He was musing over the daffodils and tulips along the path when he heard his name. “A day when a young man’s fancy turns—what say, Alex?”

  “Hey there, Tim,” Alex murmured. The sprinting classmate slapped him on the shoulder and went on his way, while Alex continued his unhurried walk.

  As the fellow began to pull ahead, his voice drifted back. “I’m going down to the wharf; wanna see the excitement?”

  Alex shook his head. With a lazy grin he watched Tim lope out of sight. Continuing his slow pace down the path, Alex’s mind began to wander, and his thoughts weren’t on the flowers.

  Funny—one word and I think about her, he mused. What color was her hair? It’s a miracle I even remember her. And seems I recall a kiss, I was deep in the cups. Her hair and her eyes were the same. Smoke-brown.

  He shrugged his shoulders and changed his direction to walk toward the wharf. As he approached a group of students lingering in the path, he looked around and asked, “What’s going on?” He waved toward the streets lined with people, “Everyone’s heading down to the harbor.”

  “Hear those shouts?” The fellow beside him took his arm.

  “Clemean!” Alex exclaimed as he turned. “You following them, too?”

  “Where’ve you been? Don’t you know what it’s all about?” Clemean matched his steps with Alex’s and said, “Remember the slave who’s been making all the news? I think his name is Anthony Burns.”

  “You mean the runaway who was picked up here?” Alex nodded, “Don’t we all remember? Quite a riot, when the gentleman—can’t remember his name, tried to take his slave home. Matthew and I were down there in the middle of it all.”

  “You were? Well then, you know it was a paddyroller who did the dirty work. You know, the fellow paid to find Burns and fetch him home.”

  “I’d heard,” Alex mused. “That was quite a demonstration.”

  “I’ll tell the world. Those abolitionists just about tore the town up trying to rescue the man. There was a deputy marshal shot, but the abolitionists got what they wanted—a trial for Burns. Didn’t do any good; his master won out in the end. That’s what’s going on today. Seems the fella has quite a crowd of sympathizers here.”

  He paused and glanced at Alex. “Don’t let Professor Harrison find out we’re trailing along. Might be hard to convince him it’s all in fun. He’s telling us to learn to be objective. Says rioting won’t help our profile as attorneys. Personally, I think he’s more concerned about our getting our names on file with the police. Doesn’t look good for the school.”

  “Don’t get me wrong!” Alex protested. “I wasn’t taking sides. It wasn’t planned, we just stumbled into it. Actually,” he added with a slight grin, “at times like this, we consider ourselves in enemy territory.” He saw the quick exchange of glances and hastily added, “We saw the crowd of abolitionists and hung around to hear what they had to say. Man, they were hot under the collar.” Dropping his head, Alex added, “I think I understand how they feel. You can’t give yourself to a cause like that without getting caught up in it. I remember the fellow’s face. I can’t imagine a man condemned to death feeling any worse about it.”

  Taking a step toward Alex, Clemean added soberly, “You know that deputy marshal who was shot? Well that says something to me. When the abolitionists and the free Negroes stuck their necks out and attacked the building where they had the slave detained—when they take risks like that it tells you something. Every one of them was risking his life.”

  “I heard he had his trial.”

  “Yes. Those ugly-mouthed thugs who were paid to pick him up for his master sure spelled out the dirt.” There was a slight grin on Clemean’s face. “Threw in states’ rights and a few other goodies design
ed to make us feel sorry for the owner. I don’t get the idea they were trying to make friends with the A’s.”

  “More like intimidation,” Alex agreed. “But I don’t think they knew their crowd too well. The abolitionists could have been crying over their long lost brother. Their fervor attracted a good deal of sympathy.”

  Clemean muttered, “Thing that makes me most angry is those fellows who captured Burns are being so smug about having the law on their side. Number one, we’re being backed into the corner to see how much we’ll take.” He threw a quick glance at Alex and continued. “And number two, they were deliberately trying to see how far they can push that law down our throats.”

  “The Fugitive Slave Act? But you say we’ll take?” Alex questioned slowly as he studied Clemean’s face.

  “Begging your pardon, Alex, I know you’re Southern. But at least you act like you got a heart.”

  Alex’s head jerked. “Heart? Clemean, you’ve got us all wrong. We treat our slaves right.” The words died on his lips as he watched Clemean drop his head. Slowly he added, “Clemean, it’s strange; for a moment I felt I was standing outside all this. Without any territorial loyalties. After hurting with abolitionists, I found myself wondering what I would have done in that owner’s shoes.”

  “Man oh man, will you look at that!” They turned at the exclamation. The group pointed down the hill. “Clemean, Alex, hurry along. They’ve got the militia and every policeman in town down the street. I’ll bet they’re escorting our fugitive aboard with his captors. Would you believe it? I think they are still expecting trouble.”

  As the students clustered on the path, an elderly gentlemen who had been watching the commotion turned to face them. He tipped his hat, studied their faces and said, “Now you young fellows, don’t you be going down there causing trouble.”

  “Well, they’re certainly prepared for the worst,” Clemean said pointing down the street.

  The gentleman nodded. “The whole county is here, but the marshal has made provisions. He’s acquired a large body of aides just for the occasion. In addition, he has a company of marines under his command. Ten thousand armed men,” he mused slowly, “simply to escort one runaway Negro slave and his jailer down to the boat.”