Storm Clouds Rolling In (40 page)

Carrie sighed and nodded.
“I already have, Sarah. I seem to be arguing a lot lately about slavery with the people I love most. I wish I could just let it go. But I can’t!” she cried. “I try to push it out of my heart and it runs right back in. I try to pretend it doesn’t matter to me, but it does.”

Sarah waited until Carrie looked up and met her eyes.
“God don’t never take you somewhere He can’t carry you, Miss Carrie.”

“So you think G
od is doing this?”
“What you be thinkin’?”

Carrie stood up and strode angrily to the door.
Then she turned around and stared at the old lady. “Can’t you just give me some straight talk, Sarah? Do you always have to answer my questions with questions of your own?”

Sarah smiled.
“My answers ain’t the ones you goin’ to be livin’ yo life by. You’ll find yo answers if you want them bad ‘nuff.” She stood and walked over to where Carrie was brooding by the door. “Look at me, Miss Carrie.” Carrie reluctantly looked down into Sarah’s luminous eyes. “What would you do if I was to do what you be askin’? If I was to give you my answers?”

Carrie smiled reluctantly.
“I’d keep on askin’ questions.”

“Right
. You be wantin’ answers, but I know you, girl. If you don’t be findin’ them answers on your own, they ain’t goin’ to mean nothing to you.”

“Can you tell me just one thing, Sarah?”

“Maybe.”

“If the North has their way and all the slaves are freed, how would you feel?”

The smile on Sarah’s face was all the answer she needed.

Ike Adams gave a tight-lipped grin as the baying of the hounds in the distance increased and seemed to focus on one spot.
“I think we got ‘em, boys!”

The men around him murmured in agreement and pressed their sweating, blowing horses to move faster through the thick brush.

“I told Blackwell I wouldn’t come back without them niggers. I intend to keep my promise.” Abe Manson, Alfred Blackwell’s burly, beady-eyed overseer, wet his lips and gave a sour grin to the men surrounding him.

Adams had received word that a slave hunting party was assembling as soon as word of the escape was received.
He had been the first one there.

Tension was growing in the South as more and more slaves chose to make the break for freedom.
A group of ten field hands from Blackwell had added their number to the statistics. They had been reported missing as soon as the slaves were called out into the tobacco fields. A stoic Blackwell had given Manson permission to do whatever it took to return the fleeing slaves. His eyes had glittered with anger as he told his overseer, “Just get them back here!” and turned to disappear into his mansion.

Manson had solicited a group of ten men from surrounding plantations, rounded up the dogs, and turned them loose.
They had immediately picked up the trail. The men, even on horseback, had been hard-pressed to keep up with them as the slaves’ route led them through thick brush and deep ravines. All the men were hot, angry, and cursing by the time the hounds announced they had caught their prey.

“Let’s finish it, boys!”
Manson yelled. Whoops of victory filled the air as the party surged forward, their eyes red with the light of conquest.

Moments later their curses once more rang on the wind as they broke through the woods to discover the hounds milling in the middle of the dirt road leading north.

Manson jumped down to inspect a set of fresh wagon tracks in the dirt.
His eyes glittered with rage when he looked up. “It’s those damn Yankees and their Underground Railroad again!” He stood, smashed his fist into his palm, and glared toward the North. “Well, it won’t be that easy. I told Blackwell I wasn’t coming back without them and I meant it. Who will join me?”

Downcast eyes and muttering told the story.
They wanted to help but the tobacco was coming on strong and they couldn’t leave their plantations for extended periods of time. Shrugged shoulders told Manson he was on his own.

“Get you some slave hunters, Manson,” Adams suggested.
“They’ll get them niggers back.”

Manson nodded shortly, wheeled his horse and took off at a rapid canter.
The rest of the men turned back to their plantations, torn between anger and fear over who would suffer the next loss.

Jennings, the overseer from a neighboring plantation, edged his gelding up beside Adams.
“You done anything about that Moses fellow yet?” Everyone had heard Ike’s plans to put the giant nigger in his place.

Adams flushed with anger and turned to stare hard at Jennings.
“No. I had my chance and that upstart of a daughter of Cromwell’s stopped me,” he said tightly.

Jennings’
s eyes grew wide.

Adams continued, the rage building in his voice.
“She got that nigger off the hook once, but my time will come again.” He didn’t mention Carrie’s threat to monitor the condition of all the slaves. He had been working on a plan that would make sure Moses wouldn’t be found for a check. In the meantime, he was nursing a growing hatred for Cromwell’s beautiful daughter. No one humiliated him and got away with it. He would watch and wait. His chance would come to get even with her without jeopardizing his job.

TWENTY

When Thomas and Robert stepped from the train in Baltimore, palpable tension permeated the salt air and filled the faces of the men around them.
There was none of the lighthearted confidence and excitement that had greeted Robert when he reached Charleston almost two months ago. The men gathering here knew there would be no third chance and most of them were already accepting the bitter truth that a split Democratic Party could never beat the Republican candidate, Abraham Lincoln. They were here to do a job. They would do it and then deal with the consequences as they came. There was no other course of action.

This was Robert’s first time in Baltimore.
He had passed through on the train during his many trips to Philadelphia, but he had never visited the city. He took deep breaths of the soft, salty air and gazed out at the cluster of schooners, their sails furled tightly to their masts, bobbing in the harbor. The bustle of the train station was eclipsed by the organized chaos of the harbor—wagons rolling and men shouting as they transported goods that came in from all over the world. Robert couldn’t help thinking what a critical role this port town would play if the worst happened and war came to America.

Robert started when he felt a solid slap on his shoulder.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t let this one go by without seeing it for yourself.”

Robert spun with a quick smile.
“Matthew. I was also quite sure you would be here to record the floundering of this convention.”

Both men’s smiles faded as the truth of his words about the next few days hit home.
Matthew was the first to break the silence. “Who is your friend?”

Robert came to with a shake of his head and turned to Thomas.
“Thomas Cromwell, I would like you to meet an old college buddy of mine, Matthew Justin. I hope you’ll be able to overlook the fact that he works for one of those Yankee newspapers and get to know him. In spite of his failings, he is a wonderful fellow.”

Matthew laughed as he shook Thomas’
s hand warmly. “Are you a delegate, Cromwell?”

Thomas shook his head with a smile.
“Heaven forbid I would have to jump into the middle of
this
fray. No, I simply came to see for myself what these gentlemen are going to do to my future.” His face sobered as he spoke.

Matthew nodded
with understanding. “If more people would be persuaded to do that, there might be more consideration and careful thought before these men speak for the country as a whole. I think many times they forget there are millions of people whose lives they hold in their hands by their decisions.” The three men stood watching the bustle of activity around them. “Enough talk,” Matthew said. “I am sure you gentleman have hotel reservations. I have a carriage waiting. May I take you where you’re going?”

Once in
the carriage, Thomas turned to Matthew. “I assume you were in Chicago for the Republican Convention, Matthew?”

Matthew nodded.
“The place was packed with the press. No one wanted to miss
that
show.”

“What do you think of this Lincoln fellow?” Thomas asked eagerly.

Matthew shrugged. “I was as surprised as everyone else when Seward lost the nomination. He was the frontrunner one minute, a has-been the next. That Davis fellow who masterminded Lincoln’s nomination is a veritable genius. His swaying the Pennsylvania delegation at the last minute assured Lincoln his spot. That,” he chuckled, “and his army of a cheering section in the Wigwam—the huge building they used for the convention. You should have heard them. The morning of the nomination vote, Seward formed all his followers into a parade, and with the brass band blaring out what they thought was a victory song, they marched to fill the galleries. The only problem was,” he shrugged, “when they got there, there wasn’t any room for them. Davis had already filled them up with men who yelled their lungs out for Lincoln. He created a momentum that couldn’t be stopped.”

“What kind of president will he make?”

Matthew peered at Thomas as they rattled down the street. “Are you already conceding defeat, Mr. Cromwell?” he asked in surprise.

“Young man,” Thomas said, “I’m not much into playing games.
You know as well as I do that a divided Democratic Party has no hope of beating the Republican nominee. Our one hope lies in a united party standing with Stephen Douglas. Quite frankly, I hold no hope of that. I will do all I can to make it happen, but I hold no confidence that it will.”

Matthew sat silently for a few moments, and then Robert repeated Thomas’
s question. “So, what kind of president do you think Lincoln would make?” He wasn’t quite as resigned to the inevitability of the outcome as Thomas was, but he
was
curious about this man, Lincoln. He had come from nowhere. Other than the statistics of a career that had failed over and over, Robert knew nothing about him.

Matthew shrugged.
“Lincoln is levelheaded and thoughtful. His debating ability is impressive. He is a man who loves his country.”

“What about the slavery issue?”
Thomas had raised the question foremost in Robert’s mind.

Matthew looked at him squarely, obviously realizing how important his answer was to Thomas.
“Lincoln abhors the institution, but as far as I know, he has no plans to coerce the South into any kind of emancipation. I don’t believe he plans to interfere with slavery. He is much more interested in how the country can be healed from all the divisions being wrought now.”

Robert found no comfort in Matthew’s words.
Lincoln may have no plans to interfere, but Robert knew the mere existence of a federal administration hostile to slavery spelled eventual doom for the institution, even if the doom could be delayed for years. The heaviness in his heart increased as he felt the clouds dipping deeper over his beloved South.

Thomas frowned heavily and turned to stare at the streets.

Matthew and Robert exchanged troubled looks. Quietly, so as not to break into the older man’s thoughts, they talked. “I have a friend coming to Philadelphia in July for a visit. I told her you might show her around the college campus.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows.
“Her?”

“Her name is Carrie Cromwell.”
He nodded when Matthew looked in Thomas’s direction. “He is her father.” Then he continued, his voice lower now because he didn’t know if Thomas knew of his daughter’s dream. “She is particularly interested in the medical college.” He smiled when Matthew raised his eyebrows higher. “Just show her around, buddy. She has dreams.”