A Hope Beyond (17 page)
Hampton Cabot’s arrival did little to comfort Carolina. Finding herself busy with the household running of Oakbridge Plantation, Carolina resented the demand Cabot represented on her few free hours. Still, she knew she couldn’t protest. Her father was definitely not himself these days. Not only were there the continuous problems with Mrs. Adams, but her father was battling to obtain the railroad charter for the Potomac and Great Falls line, as well as deal with the economic uncertainty of the future.
Hampton’s actions were considerably more subdued than his last visit. He seemed genuinely concerned for Carolina’s state of mind in the wake of her sister’s death. He spoke sympathetically and offered tender reassurance of his devotion. After a while, Carolina found his mannerisms to be comforting, almost welcomed. She couldn’t say she was glad for all of his interruptions, but there were times when her own loneliness was too much. It was then that Hampton’s companionship seemed not only acceptable, but a solace to be sought out.
“I wish I could have brought your father better news,” Hampton said, leaning casually against the fireplace mantel.
“I’m sure your presence is reassuring to him,” Carolina offered.
“The affairs of this country are in a sorry state,” Hampton said, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “There is a time coming—nearly upon us, in fact—when we may find ourselves with very little to show for our efforts this past score of years.”
“Is it truly all that bad?”
“Bad enough that this country has become so deeply indebted to England that we might as well be subjects of the Crown again.”
Carolina’s mouth dropped open and a tiny gasp escaped her lips. “That will never be!”
Hampton smiled tolerantly. “I’ve picked a bad topic to discuss with one of such a gentle and fragile nature.”
Carolina actually laughed at this. “I assure you, fragile is not a word to use in describing my constitution. I handle surprises quite well. Politics and economic failures are things that have always been discussed at great length in this house.”
Hampton left the window and came to sit beside Carolina. She started to move away, but he held her hand fast and pleaded with her to stay.
“I promise to do nothing that might cause you displeasure,” he said with such sincerity that Carolina remained in place. His thumb gently stroked the top of her hand, causing goosebumps to form on her arm.
I will not fall in love with him, she chided herself. Yet, in spite of her resolve, she found her gaze drawn to his ruggedly handsome face. He was so very different from James. James’ face held a noble, almost aristocratic appearance, while Hampton’s physique could equally be at home in the coal mines of western Pennsylvania or in the stately grace of Oakbridge.
“You appear tired,” he said gently. “Perhaps I have taken you away from your rest.”
“No, not at all,” Carolina answered. “It is kind of you to care, though.”
He seemed about to speak on another matter when Lucy and York glided into the room, their arms entwined, their eyes filled with love for the other.
“We had hoped to find you here,” York said, then sent Lucy on ahead while he closed the door. “I . . . that is we . . . want to tell you something.”
Carolina could easily guess what their announcement might be, but she waited patiently for York to continue.
“Lucy and I are to be married.” He smiled broadly and took the seat beside his bride-to-be.
Lucy flashed a radiant smile at Carolina. “We are to be sisters!”
“I’m so very glad,” Carolina replied and felt her heart truly soar above the pain of Penny’s death. “Will you have a long engagement?”
York seemed embarrassed at this and stammered a reply. “No . . . well, that is, I mean to say . . .”
“He means to say that we are going to marry next month. Neither of us wants to wait, nor do we see the benefit of a large wedding. President Jackson has offered us the use of the White House, but I prefer our quaint little house in the city. Will you stand with me, Carolina?”
Carolina felt honored by the invitation. “With pleasure.” Then turning to her brother she beamed a smile of genuine affection and pride. “Congratulations.”
“Yes, congratulations, Adams, Miss Alexander,” Hampton joined in.
“We’ve told no one other than Lucy’s father. I spoke with him in order to receive permission to ask her, but other than that, no one has been approached in regard to the matter. I was hoping you might help me with our family.” York grew silent and reached for Lucy’s hand. “Penny’s death has made me see that time is not to be wasted where matters of importance are at stake.”
Carolina knew very well what he meant. Hadn’t her own thoughts led her down that very same path? “Father will be pleased,” she replied. “As for Virginia . . . well, nothing seems to make her happy these days, and Georgia will be happy for the diversion and the excuse for a trip to the city.”
“That leaves only Mother,” York stated flatly.
“Yes, well, I don’t suppose Mother will approve no matter what happens. You do realize that she will probably be too ill to attend?”
“Yes, and frankly I’d rather have it that way. I certainly want no repeat of the scene at Penny’s funeral.” He stood abruptly and took on a look of determination. “I’m going to go speak to Father right now. I must explain to him before he hears it from someone else. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Carolina and Lucy said at once.
Hampton, too, got to his feet. “I would ask that you also excuse me, ladies. I’m afraid I must get back to some important papers.”
After both men had gone from the room, Lucy looked quite seriously at Carolina and asked, “Are you in love with him?”
The question startled Carolina. “Not at all.” She paused for a moment, giving further contemplation to her words, then added, “But he is apparently in love with me.”
Lucy’s gaze darted from the closed door to Carolina. “That relieves me, Carolina—the fact that you don’t love him.”
“Why do you say that, Lucy?”
“I can’t explain, but I feel there is something not quite right with Mr. Cabot. He seems sincere enough on the exterior, but I question his motives.”
“Have you some reason to feel this way?” Carolina asked.
“Nothing I can put to proof,” Lucy admitted. “Mostly it is just a hunch—woman’s intuition, you know. But please promise me you will be careful. Take it slowly with him. He is worldly-wise and perhaps spiritually dim-witted. I see nothing in him to suggest otherwise.”
“I’ll be careful,” Carolina promised, wondering what it was about Hampton Cabot that caused someone like Lucy to take notice and issue warnings.
With a heart bound in sorrow, Joseph Adams rode out across the snow-covered meadows of Oakbridge. This was his land. His home. Yet he would trade it all away if it could only bring back the lives of his dead children and restore his wife’s sanity.
Reaching the top of a ridge, he reined back the ebony gelding and surveyed his kingdom. This land was Adams land for as far as the eye could see. The orchards, now devoid of leaves and fruit, the snowy fields where corn and cotton once grew, the stand of woodlands where a small mill kept the plantation in lumber—all of it bore witness to his labors and years of perseverance. It also stood as a reminder of the price he’d paid for family obligation.
The world was blanketed in silence, but not so Joseph’s heart. He warred within himself for answers that would not come. He knew the uncertainty of the future, and it terrified him like nothing ever had before.
The horse whinnied, as if anxious for his rider to move on, but Joseph was not interested in pressing ahead. His mind and soul were turned backward. Back to happier days when his children had been small and his beloved Margaret had wielded control over the plantation like the shrewd businesswoman she could be.
“Oh, Margaret,” he sighed, sending puffs of white breath into the air.
He remembered the enchantress he had married. Theirs had been an arranged match, but love was far from absent. Joseph had lost his heart to the dark-eyed beauty from the first moment he’d seen her. And while she could be a bit stern at times and perhaps a little too heavy-handed in some matters, Margaret was all that he wanted and needed in a wife.
Now it seemed it was no longer to be so. She would stare at him with eyes that showed no sign of remembering the past and what they had shared together. She acted as though he were a stranger. But worse yet was the way she would look at him with her accusing eyes, as if to say, “You are responsible for my pain and loss.”
The wind echoed mournfully in the valley, groaning through the trees as though joining Joseph in cries of regret. As it blew up over the ridge, Joseph hardly felt its bite. He was numb in his grief. Numb, yet not nearly enough to stop feeling the responsibility of it all. What was he to do? His entire world was falling apart, and as the crumbled bits seemed to move beyond his reach, Joseph knew an emptiness that would not be filled.
Yesterday, York had advised him of his upcoming wedding to Lucy Alexander. Joseph could still remember the anticipation of concern in York’s expression.
“If you do not disapprove,” York had told him, “we will be married very quietly in Washington.”
Disapprove? How could Joseph disapprove? His son had found a woman to love, and with hope for a future together, they had laid out their plans. How could he, loving his son as he did, suggest they wait until a longer period of mourning had passed? How could he, desiring only the very best for his child, demand that they wait until his mother’s sanity had returned? Especially when her sanity might never return.
Joseph shook his head. York would marry and begin a family, but not for the sake of Oakbridge. York wanted nothing to do with running a plantation, and he had reiterated that point yesterday. He wanted a life of politics, and he wanted to spend time with Lucy’s father in order to learn more of the dealings of such things. He believed that he would be retained by Van Buren when he took over the presidency in March, but even with that carrot being dangled before his nose, York also desired to seek his own political gains. He’d even relayed the hope of one day running for office.
Remembering a letter that had arrived only that morning from Maine, Joseph felt a deeper despair. His only other living son had been called to the ministry. The young man was convinced, without the smallest doubt, that God would use him as a missionary to the Indians. He had this freedom as the second son, Joseph thought. He could make his plans for the future quite free of concern for family. Of course, Maine had no idea that York had rejected the responsibility of Oakbridge. Perhaps if Joseph offered Maine the choice of Oakbridge or the ministry . . . but just as the thought came to him, Joseph knew he would never tell Maine of his circumstance. He would never risk having his son give up on the dream God had led him to in order to run a plantation. Freedom would be Joseph Adams’ legacy to his sons. Freedom to follow their hearts.
There seemed little recourse but to seriously consider Hampton’s suggestion that should he marry Carolina, he might be allowed to run the plantation. Hampton Cabot had proven himself worthy of such a task, and if indeed what he’d said about Carolina feeling obligated to Oakbridge was true, then bringing him on board would make a great deal of sense. Of course, Virginia would hate him for such a thing.
Virginia was an entirely different matter. In their family, Joseph alone knew of the letter James Baldwin had sent her, breaking their engagement. James had tried to be an honorable man, and in many ways Joseph admired his decision. He wanted his children to marry mates who would love them. James did not love his Virginia, and therefore it seemed wise to dissolve the betrothal. Still, there was the matter of Virginia’s heart. She had seemed completely broken by the news. Joseph had privately questioned whether his daughter really loved James or was merely saying yes to the first man who asked her to marry. But now he could see she was truly devastated by James’ departure. If it wasn’t love, then it was a form of devotion that merited as much regard.
He didn’t know how to reach Virginia, nor did he have time to figure it out. She was angry and hostile, taking most of her misery out on Carolina. Poor Carolina. She had no idea of the blame Virginia placed on her shoulders. Joseph himself had seen the relationship blossom between Carolina and James, and while in the early months he’d told himself that it was nothing more than a sharing of like interests between a tutor and his student, he soon came to think otherwise. Now he felt certain that Carolina had acquired feelings for young Baldwin. However, she had kept them to herself in that he belonged to her sister. Joseph had watched her put aside her own feelings for the sake of Virginia. Albeit, Virginia would never admit to such a thing. Virginia saw only that Carolina had encouraged James’ interests in the railroad, and the railroad had taken her intended away.
Joseph wondered now, however, if it hadn’t been more James’ love of Carolina that had caused him to break the engagement. His letter had relayed that his heart and interests lay elsewhere, and Virginia had assumed for the most part that this interest had to be the railroad. Joseph, on the other hand, believed the railroad was only one of the interests of James’ heart.
This brought his thoughts back around to Carolina and Hampton. Did she love Hampton, as he seemed to believe? Joseph clearly saw nothing of the admiration and respect Carolina had held for James Baldwin. Her face didn’t light up when Hampton Cabot’s arrival was announced, nor did she go out of her way to seek his company when he was in residence at Oakbridge. If anything, Joseph thought she sought only to avoid Hampton.
Lastly, there was Georgia to consider. The child was quickly becoming a woman and in two years would come out into society. But there was a wildness about her, an untamed spirit that seemed to drive her into completely unacceptable behavior. Joseph had heard rumors and feared that, should those things be true, two years might not pass before Georgia would have to settle down to marriage.