“What are you doing here?” Father stood in the doorway, his stance that of a man defending his castle rather than one of a younger brother welcoming his elder sibling.
“I am here,” Uncle James said with careful dignity, “to see Charles. Please tell him I’ve come as he asked.”
“Charles? Charles is in New Orleans. I think you should go, James.”
“I’m afraid I’m not in New Orleans, Father.” Stewart stepped out from behind the big oak that shaded the front porch. “But I wanted to be sure that both of you were in the same place before I told anyone that I’d come home.”
“Charles?” Mother appeared in the doorway, her face just visible behind Father’s shoulder. “Oh, Charles, you’re safe!” She tried to get through the door. Father, though, didn’t move.
“What is going on, son? Why this—this skullduggery?”
“Perhaps we should go inside before we discuss this further.” They could have sat on the porch; the weather was nice enough. In fact, today marked exactly a year since Stewart had been wounded wearing a uniform his uncle had bought for him, defending the farm his father had carved out of the wilderness. Stewart had thought both men would enjoy the significance of the date.
“Very well,” Father said. “Since you don’t seem willing to take me into your confidence anymore.”
Stewart flushed; he knew that Father would not willingly suffer his brother to set foot inside the house. The embarrassment vanished quickly, though. All that was necessary was for Stewart to remember Menard’s face as he’d died. Or Pauline’s fear, for that matter, or Patton’s misdirected, confused enthusiasm.
He said nothing, though, until Father and Uncle James—and Mother, though he’d hoped to spare her this—were seated in the front parlor. Now he felt guilt and regret at what he was going to do. This will probably be the last time I set foot in this house. Perhaps I should look for another way out.
He knew, though, that there was no alternative. “It’s odd,” he said, “your accusing me of being unwilling to take you into my confidence, Father. It seems to me you’ve got many more secrets than anyone else I know. Tell me: was it your idea, or Cousin Will’s, that Thomas should accompany me to New Orleans, in order to betray me and spy on me?”
Father, to his credit, looked as if he might break. His face flushed for a moment, then went very pale. Suddenly he looked old.
Uncle James, Stewart was saddened to see, looked neither surprised nor upset. Instead, he looked triumphant. To him this is just another game at which he’s beaten his brother, Stewart thought. He still doesn’t understand.
“It was William’s idea,” Father said, his voice husky and weak in a way Stewart had never encountered before. “But he was responding to my request. I was the one who thought of putting a sympathetic person into the treaty commission.”
“How deeply are you involved in the Lovejoy plan? Or, rather, conspiracy, since that it what it comes down to.” At the word conspiracy Uncle James’s smile turned into a smirk.
“It wasn’t my idea, if that’s what you’re asking.” Father spread his arms as if appealing to Stewart. “You are young, Charles. You don’t know how destructive slavery is to a man’s soul. To a nation’s soul. I wanted freedom for our country, just as you do. But I wanted full freedom. I wanted God’s righteous freedom, not just the freedom to trade one form of despotism for another.”
“I do not wish to discuss slavery with you, Father. It’s treason I’m talking about. Much as I hate to have to use that word.” Stewart turned to his uncle. “And before your pleasure grows any more obvious, Uncle, be warned that your time hasn’t come. Yet.” Uncle James’s smile faltered, and though it didn’t quite disappear it did look more brittle now.
“I’m not going to give you any information about our plans,” Father said. “I will not betray confidences.”
“You betrayed me,” Stewart said.
“He did not!” Mother had gotten to her feet. “Thomas had specific instructions that he was to do nothing that would compromise you in any way, Charles. How could you think we would do that to our own son?”
“We? Oh, Mother, no.”
Mother gave Stewart the look she reserved for when he was being particularly disappointing to her. “What, Charles, do you think that I don’t share my husband’s dreams for our country? Of course I’ve helped him.”
“I think that’s just as well,” Uncle James said. “Since you’re going to share his fate anyway.”
“I am having enough trouble listening to moralizing from my own son,” Father said. “I’m damned if I’ll accept it from you. A man whose entire fortune is based on the traffic in human souls—who does no useful work himself—is not fit to clean my outhouse, much less lecture me.”
“I don’t want lectures from either of you,” Stewart snapped. “Father, do you have any idea of the position you’ve put me in? I’m a serving officer. I’ve discovered a conspiracy to at best betray, and at worst supplant, our elected government. By good fortune I was able to avoid having to tell all to my chief in New Orleans. But I couldn’t keep silent forever. General Lee knows much of what I’ve learned, and now that he’s back from Kentucky he’s ordered me to tell all to him as soon as I get to Richmond. Even if I wanted to keep you out of this, I don’t see how I could.”
Father stood and went to stand with Mother. “I have always accepted the risks I was taking,” he said. “If you honor your parents, son, you’ll leave your mother out of your report. That’s all I ask.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to either of you!” Stewart couldn’t keep moisture from leaking from one eye, and he hated himself for that. He wiped the eye, jerkily, with the back of his sleeve. “Why do you think that I’m here?”
“Why are you here, Charles?” Mother asked. “What do you propose?”
“That you leave. Right away. I have a pass, signed by an officer on General Lee’s staff”—the officer was himself, but they didn’t need to know that—”that will gain you admission to the Federal lines north of Centerville. Once you’re in Maryland you can go to Pennsylvania, or the West, or even Canada, and start over. I have—acquaintances in both Canada and the North who will give help if you need it.” His last assignment for General Lee had taken a bizarre turn, resulting in his having both a Canadian policeman and a Federal colonel in his debt. He would claim those debts on his parents’ behalf if necessary.
“Leave our home?” For the first time since this painful interview had begun, Mother looked stricken.
“It can’t be your home any longer,” Stewart said. “Whether you leave, or stay and face punishment, this farm is Donald’s now.” He moved to her, wanting to put his arms around her but unsure. “Please,” he said. “If not for yourselves, do this for me.”
“Charles is right,” Father said to Mother, but with an eye turned towards Stewart. His voice had recovered some of its old authority. “We can’t stay, now that the plan has been discovered.” He turned to face Stewart. “Sally, and Mama Cleo, and Steven will come with us, of course.”
“You might have trouble getting them through the Federal lines,” Stewart said. “But I agree that you should try. They have no future here without you.”
“We won’t have any trouble with the Federals,” Father said, smiling tightly. “They might not listen to us, but they’ll certainly believe our friends and helpers.” Stewart was on the verge of asking who Father proposed to recruit to accompany him into exile when he realized that the reference had been to the servants themselves. Friends? Could Father and Mother have manumitted their slaves already, rather than waiting for the ends of their lives?
“Good,” Stewart said. “They can help you pack.”
No comments:
Post a Comment