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“I, too, share your thoughts,” he said.
“You do?”
“Yes. Have you ever met Mr. Douglass?”
“I have. A few months ago.”
“You were educated in Philadelphia, yes?”
“That is correct, sir.”
They started walking once more, choosing the stone path that led to the library.
“Fine work they are doing in Philadelphia,” Dr. Carter said. “Fine work, indeed.”
Sam wasn’t certain if he was referring to education or something else. He sensed it was the latter.
“I met Mr. Douglass once, myself,” Dr. Carter said. “In Boston.” He glanced at Sam. “There is fine work going on in Boston, as well.”
Sam did not reveal that he had once been there, as well; but by now he was beginning to suspect that Frederick Douglass and the fine work up north were related. Coupled with Dr. Carter’s first question, he reckoned that the Dean of Students had sided with the abolitionist cause. He seemed most curious to know what Sam’s position was.
“It is fine work,” Sam said. “Something I think that there should be more of.”
Dr. Carter’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement. From his vest pocket he produced a small scrap of paper. He handed it to Sam. “Then perhaps you would be interested in meeting some of my friends.”
Sam studied the note. It was an address in the Fell’s Point area. “Are your friends engaged in fine work?” he asked, borrowing the phrase.
“They are and they are always looking for God-fearing young men such as you to be part of such.”
He was cautiously intrigued. He had met a few abolitionists in Philadelphia. Most of them were kindhearted, wonderful people. A few, however, had such wild, vengeful looks in their eyes that frankly, they scared him. Sam wanted no part of a group like that. He believed judgment should be reserved for God alone.
A group of students exited the library. They walked toward Dr. Carter and Sam.
Dr. Carter’s countenance changed, a firm disciplinary look replacing the smiling excitement his face had just shown.
“Four o’clock, next Friday,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he opened the door to the library. Sam watched the white-haired gentleman walk into the building. Then he slipped the scrap of paper the man had given him into his own vest pocket.
Dr. Carter had left him with many questions. Abolitionists were a varying lot, and Sam wasn’t exactly certain what he might be getting into. He would appreciate his future father-in-law’s counsel. But given what had taken place with Julia, he wondered if Dr. Stanton would receive him. Does he know about our broken engagement? Will he side with Julia? He decided to take the chance. After all, he was concerned for their safety.
Heeding his own advice to look after one’s family, he hurried to visit the Stantons.
The streets of Mount Vernon were nearly deserted that afternoon. Barricades had filled the streets; but, as of today, the citywide state of “armed neutrality” had given way to at least the appearance of submission. Maryland state flags and the Palmetto flag, the symbol of South Carolina and secession, had been removed. The armed men that had been patrolling the streets for the last month were nowhere to be seen. The Federal guns pointing at Monument Square had discouraged outside activity.
Sam was eager to be indoors as well. To his relief, Dr. Stanton greeted him warmly when he arrived. He invited Sam to join him in the study. The man had surrounded himself with his medical journals.
“I came to see how everyone was,” Sam told him, “and to see if you were in need of any assistance.” And, if I may, get your opinion about something, he thought.
Dr. Stanton nodded. “I thank you. My wife has spent the entire day in bed.”
Sam’s concern rose. He decided to forgo his planned request for advice. Dr. Stanton had more pressing concerns.
“I am sorry to hear that. Is she ill?”
“Not really. Edward’s departure has broken Esther’s heart. She doesn’t know what to do.” He rubbed his mustache. “I suppose we all are that way. All I can seem to concentrate on are my medical books. Julia has busied herself in the kitchen. She has baked four loaves of bread today.”
Sam caught himself smiling, though it was a sorrow filled one. Julia had always baked when she was upset or angry.
“Is there any word from Edward?” he asked.
“No, and I fear that there won’t be for a very long time.”
Neither man knew what to say next. Dr. Stanton went back to his journal. Sam sat quietly and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the rattle of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. He wondered if Julia knew he was here.
“How were your classes?” Dr. Stanton asked.
“I had five missing from my history class alone.”
“They left to fight?”
“So the rumors say.”
Dr. Stanton sighed long and slow. He tugged at his spectacles. “And those that remained?”
“Their minds were far from the Roman Empire.”
“I imagine so.”
Sam heard the rustle of her petticoats even before he saw her. Julia’s approaching footsteps drew their attention to the door.
“Father, we are in need of wood for the stove…”
The moment she saw Sam an unnerved expression filled her blue eyes. The rest of her words escaped her. He purposefully maintained his gaze. His heart was pounding.
Julia brushed the trace of flour from the front of her green cotton day dress and slowly regained her composure. She looked at her father.
“Will you ask Lewis to fetch some?”
Sam seized the opportunity. “I will see to it.”
“Oh, thank you, son.”
Son. Dr. Stanton had always called him that. Nothing had changed from his perspective it seemed. Julia, however, did not even acknowledge his presence. She turned her head and looked away as he passed by her.
Sam did not let her actions discourage him. Instead of hunting down Lewis, the family stable hand, he walked to the lean-to.
There was no wood available. He was not surprised. It was Edward’s job to see that the kindling box remained full. With all of her baking Julia had depleted the supply that her brother had last chopped. Sam picked out several logs in need of splitting. He could not ease the tensions in his city or his nation. He couldn’t protect Edward, his students or Julia. But this was something that needed to be done that he could do. He took off his frock coat and set to work.
Julia watched him from the kitchen window. Sleeves rolled up, hair falling over his forehead, arms taut with the ax; in a matter of minutes Samuel had already split enough wood to last for the rest of the day.
He has always been such a hard worker.
She had known Samuel Ward since she was a child. Their families had attended the same church. When his parents had died of typhoid fever when he was but sixteen, he’d practically become a member of their family. Mother doted on him. Father took pride in his accomplishments. Edward treated him like a brother. And she…she fell in love with him. The time he’d spent away from Baltimore, continuing his studies at the teachers’ college in Philadelphia, had been almost unbearable. She’d felt that she couldn’t wait for him to come back to her, so they could begin their life together.
He was the quiet, steady type, far different from her outspoken, impulsive nature. As different as he was though, he completed her. And, up until last night, she could not imagine life without him.
The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. She turned from the window and moved to the stove. She had responsibilities, none of which included watching him.
I am right to break the engagement. I thought I knew him but clearly I did not.
A pot of chicken soup was waiting to be heated. Julia planned to take a bowl up to her mother. She knew it would make her feel better.
She stirred the cold mixture then moved to the counter. She punched down a mound of rising dough then kneaded it carefully. She could hear the chop, chop, chop of Samuel’s ax. She tried to ignore it. She slipped the dough into a waiting pan.
A few minutes later, the back door opened with a creak. Julia resisted the urge to turn around. She busied herself by wiping the flour from the table. She then washed her hands. From the corner of her eye she watched him.
Samuel carried in the wood for the kindling box. He quietly loaded the crate then moved to the stove. Julia started to object, ready to say she could light the fire herself. She turned to face him fully. Just one glimpse of his brown eyes brought a lump to her throat.
I promised to love him, she thought. I promised him forever.
She backed away and Samuel’s attention returned to the stove. He stuffed it with kindling and day-old copies of the local newspaper, The Baltimore Sun. He struck a match. The fire ignited and he then turned back to face her.
The lump in her throat grew bigger. Thank you, she knew she should say, instead out came, “Why are you here?”
Her words were sharp and accusatory but Samuel did not flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes melting her hard stance.
“I think you know why,” was all he said.
She swallowed hard and watched as he closed the burner lid then went to the pump to wash his hands. Julia held her breath, her emotions drifting through anger and remorse, respect and disdain.
Samuel dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves. When he turned toward her she quickly busied herself at the table with another pile of dough.
“Julia, we need to talk.”
She punched down the soft, sticky mound. “What is there to discuss? Did I not make it clear that I wish to sever our engagement?”
“You made that perfectly clear last night.”
Last night. Pain gripped her heart. Just thinking of Edward’s departure, of the arguing that had taken place, brought tears to her eyes.
“Then you understand,” she said.
“I understand that you are upset,” he said, “and rightfully so. You are worried about your brother.” He paused. “For some reason you are taking it out on me.”
Her spine stiffened. She turned and glared at him. “Some reason?”
“Julia, I have nothing to do with the soldiers occupying the city or with Edward’s enlistment.”
“That’s right. You don’t. You haven’t done a thing to stop it. You abandoned Edward and the rest of the volunteers when they needed your help.”
“What is it that you wish me to do?” he asked. “Shall I ride to Virginia tonight and join Edward? Would a saber and an officer’s commission truly make you happy?”
Emotions tore through her. If he joined Edward, then yes, she believed she would have a measure of peace. Samuel could look after him. But experience told her otherwise.
He cannot be trusted. He is not a man of his word.
“It is far too late for that, Samuel,” she said. She was doing her best to keep her voice steady, in control. It would do no good to argue with him. She had already said everything that needed to be said. He had made his decision. She had made hers.
Sam watched her in silence for a few moments. Her face showed fatigue. More than likely she had slept just as little as he. He imagined that after his departure she had spent the long night pleading with Edward not to go south.
Even still, she was beautiful. Her dark curls had escaped her bun. Much of her hair now hung long and loose about her shoulders. Sam had rarely seen it that way. He liked it.
His eyes drifted to her unadorned left hand. He wondered what she had done with his engagement ring. Last night she had ripped it from her hand and held it out to him.
He had refused to take it back.
Look at me, Julia.
Seconds passed. He knew she could feel the weight of his gaze. Finally, she spoke.
“If you will excuse me, Samuel. I have work to tend to.”
He drew in a shallow breath, knowing he had a decision to make. He could argue. He could refuse to leave. He could force her to turn around.
But when a lady makes a request, a gentleman will oblige her.
Walking out of the kitchen was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He wanted to take her in his arms, to set things right. He wanted to convince her that her anger toward him was pointless. He loved her. She loved him. He could see it in her eyes.
But Julia Marie Stanton was a stubborn woman. No amount of convincing could change her mind. She would have to do that for herself.
He was determined to wait until she did.
And in that time spent waiting, he’d pray that she would one day see things from his perspective.
He walked back to the lean-to. He placed the ax on the shelf then gathered up his outer clothing. Rather than return to the house by way of the kitchen, he entered through the garden door.
Dr. Stanton was still in the study. His spectacles were perched upon his nose, medical book still in his hands. He looked up.
“Thank you, son. Will you stay for supper?”
The offer was tempting. Goodness knows he wanted to. Even apart from his longing to stay with Julia, there was also the comfort to be found in time spent with Dr. and Mrs. Stanton. The prospect of returning to his lonely, cheerless home held little appeal in comparison.
But he had caused enough tension in the house already.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “But I have some errands to run this evening.”
“Ah, I see. Be careful. I was out this morning and I noticed several boys in blue.”
Sam nodded. “What do you think the next few weeks will bring?”
