Candle In The Darkness Part 9

"Too much dancing, I guess. It's made me feel a little dizzy."

"Do you want to step outside for some air?"

"Yes, please."

"Will you excuse us, sir?" he asked the uniformed gentleman. Robert offered him a flabby salute before taking my hand. His palm was clammy, as usual, but I didn't care. I felt safe with him. He was always too busy talking about battles and wars to pester me with questions about slavery or the South.

"Are you having fun so far?" he asked after we'd stepped outside. Then, without waiting for a reply, he said, "I had the most interesting chat with Colonel Marshall. He fought in the Mexican War, you know, and he related several fascinating experiences. . . ." Robert talked on and on about the Mexican War for several minutes, but I wasn't listening. When he finally asked if I was ready to go back inside, I had a desperate idea.

"Robert, I really don't want to dance with anyone but you. Would it be terribly rude if we told everyone else to go away?"

His face registered surprise. For once in his life I think he was speechless. The balcony where we stood was quite dark, but I'm certain I saw his face flush with pleasure.

"Of course not, Caroline . . . d-dear. To tell you the truth, I really don't want to share you with all the others."

Robert was a terrible dancer. He held me awkwardly, and he kept treading on my toes, repeating, "Sorry . . . sorry." I didn't care. Each time another gentleman tried to cut in, Robert would proudly say, "Sorry, Miss Fletcher has promised all of her dances to me."

I hid in Robert's shadow for the remainder of the social season, knowing I would have to come up with a new strategy once he left for West Point. When that day finally arrived, Julia and I went with his parents to see his s.h.i.+p off at Penn's Landing.

"Promise me you won't marry someone else while I'm away?" he begged. He looked as somber as a soldier leaving for battle. I laughed at his sweaty earnestness.

"Don't worry. Rosalie would murder me if I dared to find a husband before she did." As he steamed away, gazing mournfully from the s.h.i.+p's rail, I wondered how I would ever get along without him. I decided to ask Rosalie for advice.

"For goodness' sakes, Caroline. I can't imagine feeling tonguetied when I'm dancing with a suitor." I had broached the question as Rosalie sat at our dressing table, primping for a round of afternoon social calls. She took forever to get ready, and since there was only one mirror in our room, Julia and I rarely got more than a glimpse of ourselves. That day, I decided to stand behind Rosalie and peer around her as we both brushed our hair. She gazed at my reflection with pity.

"But your shyness is beside the point," she continued. "The unwritten rules of etiquette say that proper young ladies mustn't talk too much in the first place. We're supposed to draw draw the conversation out of our gentlemen." the conversation out of our gentlemen."

"How do I do that? The only man I've ever talked to for any length of time is Robert. And he never runs out of famous battles to discuss."

"Don't judge all men by Robert." She dismissed him with a toss of her head and a flip of her hand. "Most men's favorite subject is themselves. Ask them a few questions, toss in a few ooh oohs and ahh ahhs, and I guarantee they'll simply go on and on about themselves. You'll be lucky to get a word in sideways."

I tried her advice at the very next opportunity. Before the young man had a chance to say a word, I said, "Tell me about yourself." He didn't stop until the music did.

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Along with their busy round of social obligations, my aunt and her family also faithfully attended wors.h.i.+p services in one of Philadelphia's beautiful churches. It was the socially expected thing to do, the proper place to be seen-and a very lucrative place to engage in husband-hunting. The family pew had belonged to the Hoffmans since before the Revolutionary War, and pity the poor visitor who mistakenly sat there on a Sunday morning. Their church was very much like ours back home: the same hard, boxy pews; the same slow, somber organ music; the same stained-gla.s.s windows with their bronze plaques honoring generous donors; the same flowery oratory in the pastors' sermons, quietly lulling everyone to sleep.

Sometimes, in unguarded moments, I would recall the slaves' midnight wors.h.i.+p service out in the woods behind the plantation, remembering its joy-filled music and Eli's heart-stirring sermon, and I'd almost wish I could go back there to clap and dance and sing about Ma.s.sa Jesus. I'd promised Eli that I wouldn't forget all the lessons he shared with Grady and me, but after more than a year in Philadelphia, those memories were already fading like scenes glimpsed at sunset.

Then one Sunday morning the entire congregation was suddenly jolted awake. A new minister, fresh out of Yale Divinity School, arrived to fill in for our venerable old pastor who had taken ill. The young Reverend Nathaniel Greene shouted loudly enough to wake the dead in the churchyard, not to mention Aunt Martha. His sermon shook the chandeliers and the chancel rails and rattled the stained-gla.s.s saints and the drowsing deacons and dowagers. Blunt and raw, his wasn't a pretty speech, but it was electrifying in its pa.s.sion. He spoke as though he really meant every word, the way Eli used to talk about Ma.s.sa Jesus, as if He were a real live person. Rev. Greene's text from 1 Corinthians warned that the Lord "will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, make manifest the counsels of the hearts."

"What really motivates us as we go about our daily affairs," he asked. "Is it pride in our external appearance? The desire for wealth and recognition? Do any of us have a genuine desire to see the kingdoms of this world become the kingdoms of our G.o.d and of His Christ? We might hide the dimly illuminated recesses of our hearts from ourselves and from each other," Rev. Greene warned, "but the time is coming when G.o.d's light will s.h.i.+ne in the darkness, bringing our motives to light!"

Those words were chilling enough, especially when I guiltily recalled how preoccupied I'd become with my clothes and my appearance. But when the pastor gripped the pulpit and fixed us with his impa.s.sioned gaze, his next words were met with pin-drop silence. "I'm speaking about the issue of slavery. You are either in favor of its continuance in these United States of America, or you will fight against it with all your heart and mind and strength until it is abolished. There can be no middle ground, no neutral territory between what's right and what's wrong, just as there is no compromise between light and darkness. What motivates you you?" he concluded. "It's time to examine your heart. And then let's be about our heavenly Father's business."

My aunt and uncle didn't linger to socialize after the service- few people did. That's how shaken we all felt.

"Well! That young man certainly won't last long with our congregation," Aunt Martha declared at the dinner table. "Imagine! Trying to tell us how to live! That's not what church is for. Rosalie, pa.s.s the potatoes, please."

"What is church for, dear?" Uncle Philip asked quietly.

"Why . . . why, it's so that we will all feel uplifted, of course. It's to remind us that G.o.d is love."

"It seems to me that's precisely what that young man tried to do today-to remind us that G.o.d loves the Negro race as much as He loves ours."

Aunt Martha pushed her chair back, as if she was about to stand. "Don't start with me, Philip. You know I dislike slavery as much as you do. I gladly left it all behind when I moved up here."

"Out of sight, out of mind," I heard Uncle Philip murmur.

I stared down at my plate of roast beef in shame. I'd managed to push all the injustices I'd witnessed from my mind, too, but they hadn't gone away. I felt as though G.o.d was s.h.i.+ning His light in my heart, just as Rev. Greene had warned, and I hated what I saw: cowardice.

"What we do outside of church is none of that young man's business," Aunt Martha concluded.

Uncle Philip gaped at her, his dinner roll halfway to his mouth. He seemed too stunned to speak.

"Mama," Julia asked suddenly, "may I invite Rev. Greene to afternoon tea on Thursday?" Julia's face wore the dreamy look she always got when she fell in love with a new beau. I guessed that she had now fallen for the young reverend. Had she even heard a word of her parents' conversation? Or Rev. Greene's stirring sermon? "

I think that would be a fine idea, Julia," Uncle Philip said before my aunt could reply. "I understand that Rev. Greene is originally from New York State. He probably doesn't know a soul here in Philadelphia."

Nathaniel Greene was the sole topic of Julia's conversation for the next four days. He had accepted her invitation to tea, creating the serious crisis of what she should wear for the occasion. I looked for a way to be excused from the event, terrified that he would see the darkness that was in my heart the moment he set eyes on me. But of course I was expected to attend-to keep Julia from going into a swoon if for no other reason.

"What'll I talk about? What'll I say? What if my mind goes blank?" she worried. She needn't have. Rev. Greene descended from a long line of ministers and was well-practiced in the graceful art of taking afternoon tea with paris.h.i.+oners. He also had a subject that he never grew tired of discussing-abolition. It didn't take Julia long to realize that if she kept to that topic, she would have his full attention.

"I simply can't understand how people can own own someone," she said, pouring him a third cup of tea. Then she made her first mistake. "My cousin Caroline is from Virginia," she said. "Her family owns slaves." someone," she said, pouring him a third cup of tea. Then she made her first mistake. "My cousin Caroline is from Virginia," she said. "Her family owns slaves."

"Really?" He turned his attention to me as if I was a fascinating new species from an exotic culture. With his smooth-cheeked, boyish face and reddish-blond hair, he looked much younger than twenty-five. He would have made a more convincing schoolboy in overalls, playing hooky from school, than a minister in a dark suit and clerical collar. He even had freckles, for goodness' sake. But his first question unnerved me.

"I'd like to hear your view of slavery, Miss Fletcher."

"My . . . view view?"

I remembered my first view of Slave Row, of the ramshackle cabins with Caleb and the other little children playing outside in the dirt. Then I pictured the view from my bedroom window that terrible morning, the wagon full of slaves in chains, Grady screaming as the men dragged him away.

"It's . . . it's horrible . . ." I couldn't finish. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. I dug in my pockets for a handkerchief and couldn't find one. Rev. Greene offered me his.

"Here . . . I'm so sorry, Miss Fletcher. I didn't mean to upset you." He rested his hand on my shoulder, patting it consolingly.

As I battled to regain control, Julia eyed me jealously. She seemed to be weighing the idea of bursting into tears herself, just so he would rest his freckled hand on her shoulder. In the end, she was wise enough to realize that the way to Nathaniel Greene's heart was to become an ardent abolitionist herself.

"How did you become involved in this very worthy cause?" she asked him, pa.s.sing the plate of tea cakes one more time. "Did you live down south yourself?"

"No, I first joined the New England Anti-Slavery Society when I was in college and-"

"I had no idea there was such an organization," she chirped. "Might I join the society, too?"

He swiveled his full attention back to Julia. "Certainly, Miss Hoffman. We'd be pleased to have you. In fact, the American Anti-Slavery Society was founded right here in Philadelphia in 1833."

"Why, I had no idea. What is it that the society does, exactly?"

"Well, you see, the Declaration of Independence proclaimed freedom and liberty for all men, yet the Negroes are still enslaved. It says all men are created equal, yet the Negroes don't share that equality with whites. Slavery is a great evil, Miss Hoffman, and a curse to this great nation. It must be abolished. The Society believes it is our task to complete the unfinished work of the American Revolution."

Julia appeared horrified. "You don't mean going to war war-with real guns guns and things!" and things!"

"Oh, no, no-nothing like that." He pulled a square lump from his bulging jacket pocket. I had a.s.sumed it was a Bible, but it turned out to be a good-sized packet of abolitionist tracts. He peeled off two and pa.s.sed them to Julia and me. "The Declaration of Sentiments, written in 1833, reads that our principles 'forbid the doing of evil that good may come, and lead us to reject-and to entreat the oppressed to reject-the use of all carnal weapons for deliverance from bondage; relying solely upon those which are spiritual, and mighty through G.o.d . . . the destruction of error by the potency of truth-the overthrow of prejudice by the power of love-and the abolition of slavery by the spirit of repentance.' "

I stared at the words in disbelief. They were so similar to what Eli had told his fellow slaves-that they wouldn't have to resort to violence, G.o.d would fight their battle for them. I wanted to learn more from Rev. Greene, but when I looked up, Julia was perched on the edge of her seat, gazing at him like a puppy with its master. I could see that he mistook her adoration as interest in abolition, especially when she said, "I would love to accompany you to one of your meetings sometime."

Rev. Greene beamed at her. It wasn't love I saw in his eyes but the excitement of a zealot who has just made a new convert. "There will be an anti-slavery lecture next week, in fact. It's being held at the Quaker meetinghouse in Germantown. I'd be very happy to escort you-and Miss Fletcher, of course."

I agreed to go, partly because I was genuinely interested, and partly because Julia never would have forgiven me if I hadn't. Her father wouldn't allow her to attend the lecture alone with an unmarried man, minister or not.

Uncle Philip let us take his carriage when the day finally arrived, and he instructed his driver to stop by the church to pick up Rev. Greene. The young reverend started lecturing us on abolition the moment he'd taken his seat beside Julia. His fanaticism reminded me of Robert's devotion to the subject of war.

"Since you are new to this area, Miss Fletcher, you may not know the history of where we are going today. Germantown was settled in 1683 by a group of Quakers and Mennonites from Germany. Its residents published some of America's first protests against slavery. Lucretia Mott, founder of the American Anti-Slavery Society, was a Quaker, and her husband organized free stores. Have you heard of those?"

"No . . . do tell me," Julia said.

From the rapt expression on her face, he might have been reciting love poems to her.

"Free stores sell only those products made with non-slave labor. Many of New England's most fas.h.i.+onable women are choosing to avoid southern-grown cotton for their dresses." I am sure Julia would have dressed in animal skins like a native for Rev. Nathaniel Greene.

All my life I had heard Scripture used to defend slavery, but at the lecture that day, for the first time, I heard the Bible quoted to oppose slavery. Jesus' commandments: ". . . whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them . . ." and "love thy neighbour as thyself " applied to all of mankind, the speaker said. Slavery was a violation of the law of love and was therefore a sin. Taking our fellow man's freedom by force was not only cruel and unjust but also abhorrent to G.o.d.

"If you a.s.sume G.o.d will approve, then you don't know G.o.d," the speaker concluded, and I nearly rose from my seat and shouted, "Amen!" the way the people in Eli's congregation did. Those words finally explained the difference I'd always noticed between the way most preachers talked about G.o.d and the way Eli always talked about Ma.s.sa Jesus. Eli knew G.o.d's heart.

As time pa.s.sed, I grew more and more interested in the antislavery movement. Before long, I was no longer going for Julia's sake but to hear the lectures for myself. I couldn't get enough of them. The message of G.o.d's deliverance from slavery, which Eli had preached about in the pine grove years ago, suddenly seemed possible. And ordinary people like me could actually do something to help.

In the past, Julia's affections for her various beaux usually flamed and died fairly quickly, so I was surprised when they didn't this time. Her obsession with Nathaniel Greene grew stronger over time, even though he gave her no encouragement at all. I could have told her that the cause of abolition so consumed him that he had no room left in his heart for any woman-but I didn't. I wanted to attend every meeting I could.

We heard the famous Negro orator Frederick Dougla.s.s speak. We saw the lash marks on a former slave's back and heard the story of his daring escape. We learned about the Fugitive Slave Law, pa.s.sed in 1850, and how any slave fortunate enough to beat the odds and escape could still be arrested up north and sent back into slavery. We met G.o.d-fearing people who risked fines and imprisonment to help escaped slaves reach safety in Canada.

But as time went on, a lingering discontent began to grow inside me. While a few individuals were actively trying to make a difference, most of us did little more than listen, shake our heads in dismay, then go on with our shallow lives. I finally voiced my thoughts to Nathaniel one day as we drove home from one of the meetings.

"Is all this talk really doing any good?" I asked him. "These speakers are preaching to an audience that already believes in abolition. What are they doing to change the att.i.tudes of the slaveholders down south?"

"Well, our leaders hope that laws will eventually be pa.s.sed in Congress and-"

"Laws? I think . . . I think that it's very easy for people in the North to support abolition because there aren't very many Negroes up here. And the ones who do live here are kept segregated from white people. They don't live in our neighborhoods, their children don't attend our schools. Even the pews in our churches are kept separate."

"Why, Miss Fletcher, I believe that's because-"

"Do you even know any Negroes, Rev. Greene? No one in my uncle's family does. Yet back home, Tessie and Esther and Eli and Grady were part of my family. As wrong as slavery is, our slaves' lives were woven together with ours in a complicated pattern- a pattern that often included genuine love. The North may have outlawed slavery, but it hasn't done away with bigotry and racism. Is the one condition any worse than the others?"

He smiled at me, the way a proud teacher will smile at his prize pupil. "I can see that you have a great deal of pa.s.sion for the cause, Miss Fletcher."

His words struck me like a slap in the face. I suddenly realized what was missing in so much of the abolitionists' rhetoric and in so many of their hearts.

"Rev. Greene," I said in a trembling voice, "the Negroes are not a cause cause. They are people people!"

Chapter Eight.

October 1859.

When my cousin Rosalie turned nineteen, she decided she must get married at once or risk being labeled an old maid. After a great deal of fuss and deliberation, she finally made her choice-the oldest son of a wealthy Philadelphia banking family. Her wedding was the premier social event of the season.

Cousin Robert arrived home from West Point and served as my escort. He had lost a good deal of his baby fat after one year at the academy, and he now sported a shadow of soft, dark fuzz on his upper lip that was supposed to be a mustache. But he still made an unconvincing soldier, even in uniform. Now he looked like a mournful Spanish poet dressed up for a costume ball. He walked and stood with his shoulders hunched, hanging his head as if he was about to apologize for some grave error. Julia made fun of him behind his back, but I was grateful for his arm to cling to at the wedding. He helped me thwart unwelcome advances from several of the groom's relatives.

Rosalie's wedding was the kind every girl dreams of-a gown like a fairy-tale princess's, a church fragrant with jasmine and roses, a glittering champagne reception, a wedding trip to Saratoga with a brand-new trousseau. Julia and I couldn't help being envious. When it was all over that night, our bedroom seemed very quiet and empty without Rosalie. Julia and I had the mirrored dressing table all to ourselves, but neither one of us could bear to sit there in Rosalie's place.

After we were both in bed with the lights out, I heard Julia sniffling. "Are you crying?" I asked.

"No!"

But when I tiptoed across the room and climbed into bed with her, I knew that she had been. "There must be a leak in the roof, then," I said. "Your pillow is all wet."

Julia's tears turned to giggles. We lay in the dark for a while, whispering about the day's events. Then Julia said, "Rosalie was so caught up in the wedding, I'll bet she never once remembered that she'd have to share a bed with a man tonight, dressed in only her chemise."

"Julia!" I was shocked. She laughed.

"Well, it's part of life, isn't it? And it's certainly part of marriage. Where do you think babies come from?"

"You shouldn't talk about such things. It isn't proper."

"Phooey! Who cares about being proper? Do you think Rosalie is in love with her new husband?"

"I never heard her say that she loves him. Just that she thought he'd make a good husband."

Julia sighed dramatically. "I could never marry a man I wasn't in love with, could you, Caroline? It would be awful to share a bed with him otherwise."

"I wish you would stop talking about . . . that."

"What? Sharing a bed with my husband?" She laughed at me again. "I sometimes pretend that my pillow is Nathaniel Greene and I hug it tightly all night. Who do you pretend yours is?"

"I . . . I've never done that."

"Haven't you ever been in love, Carrie?"

Hadn't I? I recalled the excitement of my infatuation with my cousin Jonathan years ago, how I'd wanted to spend every minute with him, how I'd thrilled to his touch. But I had long since outgrown those feelings. And I had felt nothing close to them since- certainly not with Robert, nor with any of the other men I'd danced with. I'd once heard love in Tessie's joyful laughter when she was with Josiah. I'd seen love in Julia's eyes when she gazed at Nathaniel. But I had never known it firsthand.

"I've never been in love," I said at last.

"Oh, poor you!"