Chapter Nineteen
In the days allotted him before making his decision, Silas observed life at Queenscrown through the eyes of an outside observer, all scales removed from his vision. It was not a difficult challenge. His greatest strength lay in his willingness—and courage—to face the truth, seeing it not as he’d like, but as it was. He did not fall into the trap of believing that, given time and the right circumstances, one day things would be different. A man could waste his life waiting for his fortunes to turn around. In arriving at decisions, Silas weighed the circumstances as they were currently, considered their chances of change, and determined his course.
Thus, he set his attention to observe, in unbiased focus, the people and circumstances that would mark his days for the rest of his life if he remained at Queenscrown and worked as his brother’s land manager. Lettie he saw as a wife who would accept her portion without complaint. She would probably continue her teaching duties now that Sarah Conklin would not be returning, a fact he knew and she did not. Her small income would add to his salary, allow her a new frock now and then, perhaps weekend trips to Charleston to dine and take in a play at the Grand Theater. She would never be the mistress of Queenscrown. His mother was the undisputed ruler of the domestic domain, and while they were exceptionally fond of each other, there were bound to be differences in running the household, raising Joshua, and officiating at social events. He saw an erosion of their affection as inevitable, and even a slight discord between two women in a household could make the rest of the occupants miserable. And what if Morris married? Then Lettie would take third chair behind his mother and the new mistress of Queenscrown. Morris’s children would take precedence over Joshua. Joshua and his future siblings would be seen as the children of a dependent relative. Silas could take over the land manager’s quarters, now occupied by the head overseer, but how could he, a Toliver and a descendant of the aristocratic scion of Queenscrown, tolerate living in a yeoman’s cottage?
Silas saw himself becoming ever more frustrated over Morris’s handling of the estate. His brother saw winter as a time to relax, but there was plenty that needed doing as the old year ended to keep a plantation running smoothly. There were farm implements and tack equipment to repair, fences and buildings to mend, silos and storage bins to clean, gardens to spade, fields to turn and fertilize…An endless list awaited crucial attention that as land manager Silas would have seen to, but Morris, taking his argument from Ecclesiastes, would have enforced his belief that there was a time for everything and winter was the season to rest and celebrate the birth of Christ. “We’ve gathered in the sheaves, Silas. Let us rejoice and be glad in our endeavors.” Silas perceived that his brother’s laxity with the slaves and overseers and slowness in determining the improvements needed for the coming year would in time drive him mad.
As usual, Lettie saw the sunny side of his dark situation and managed to mitigate his disgruntlements. “Darling, at least we’ll have a roof over our heads for the year, sit at one of the best tables in Plantation Alley, and have few expenses. We can save our money to add to the sale of the Conestogas and set sail for Texas March after next.”
After considering all angles, Silas decided to hold to that star in the east and let it be his guiding light. Lettie’s arguments, parroting Morris’s, made good sense. Wars and unrest in the new territories would not deter the westward movement. The Conestogas would sell, he was sure of it, and there were advantages to the delay. For one, he’d have time to approach the federal army about the sale of his wagons, and for another, the revolution in Texas would most likely be over by the time they arrived. Though he could hardly bear the thought of Jeremy leaving for the promised land without him, by going ahead, his friend could send back firsthand knowledge of the obstacles they would face, allowing him to leave South Carolina forewarned and prepared. Meanwhile, having Lettie by his side and in his bed would make the year tolerable.
By the evening of Christmas Day, he’d made up his mind to stay at Queenscrown and wondered how he could ever for a moment have considered Carson Wyndham’s offer. How could he have been so selfish even to think of denying Joshua the maternal affections of a woman who already thought of him as her son? Watching the boy with Lettie (it was to her he ran to show off his presents, not his father), he wished he’d never shared the man’s insult with Jeremy but kept it to himself. He felt burned to the bones from the shame of it. How dare Carson Wyndham believe Silas Toliver could be bought? He would not deign to give the man an answer.
His mind relatively at ease, for Lettie’s sake, Silas concentrated on enjoying the rest of the holiday season. In the interim between Christmas and New Year’s Day, a constant round of parties, many held in honor of their coming nuptials, left him with little time or desire to brood over the change in his plans for the new year. The Wyndhams—for reasons known only to a few and speculated on by everyone else—had withdrawn Willowshire from the manor homes open to callers, but there was much visiting among the other mansions of Plantation Alley, and planters took turns hosting fish fries, log-rollings, barn dances, and corn shuckings in which their slaves participated.
Silas looked forward to the day when he would host such occasions at his own plantation of Somerset in Texas.
The first arctic cold front the second night into the new year of 1836 put an end to the fine weather and high spirits. The sudden freeze was not immediately felt through the thin walls of the cabins in the slave village of Queenscrown, nor did the night seem terribly deep and dark. As a matter of fact, the overseer was awakened by a strange glow dancing on the wall of his bedroom. He leaped to the window and threw open the shutter through which the light had filtered. “Oh, my God!” he yelled, jolting awake his sleeping wife. Out in the field by one of the barns, columns of flame-infused smoke spiraled upwards into the cold, black night. The white masts of the fleet of Conestoga ships were on fire.
In the library at Willowshire, Carson Wyndham sat before a softly glowing fire. It was two o’clock in the morning. He wore a smoking jacket against the chill and puffed on a cigar as he stared meditatively into the flames. The visitor he was expecting arrived fifteen minutes later than anticipated, his approach to the great doors of the library soft so as not to disturb the household and awaken listening ears.
Carson glanced at the man, who closed the door quietly behind him. “It is done?” he asked.
“It is done, Papa.”
“You made sure no one saw you and there was no one around?”
“I did.”
“We must assure your sister’s welfare and possible happiness despite her belief we wish the contrary.”
Michael Wyndham sat down next to the fire and tiredly drew off his boots. “You are sure Jessica will choose to marry Silas Toliver?”
“Given her choices, I am in no doubt. We must get her out of here before what happened to Miss Conklin happens to her. The Wyndham name can keep in check a lake from overflowing its boundaries, but not a river.”
“You believe there’s a chance Silas Toliver can make her happy?”
“As happy as any man could make your sister, I suspect. Silas is a remarkably handsome fellow. What woman could resist him?”
“I wonder who will wed Lettie Sedgewick with Silas out of the picture?”
“Why not you? She’s certainly comely enough. Intelligent, but smart enough not to show it.”
Michael shook his head. “She’s too tame for me.”
“Ah,” his father said. “Sarah Conklin was more to your liking, I take it.”
“I found her very desirable. Too bad she was on the wrong side.” He shifted his position. “Did you know she never once cried out until the end? I ordered her punishment stopped then. “All I wanted was to hear her cry.”
“But she never gave you the name of her conspirator?”
“No. A brave and loyal woman.”
“No braver or more loyal than your sister. She could have lied about her part and saved herself—and her family—this tragic turn of events.”
An embarrassed silence fell between them. Carson removed his cigar, his eyes narrowing upon his son behind the screen of smoke. “Did you enjoy flogging a woman, Michael?”
Michael pursed his lip as if having to think about the question. “I thought I would,” he said, “but afterwards, despite her crime, I felt…sorry that I’d had to do what had to be done.”
“Good,” his father said, returning the cigar to his mouth. “If you said you’d enjoyed the lashing, I would have disowned you, too.”