Glory Over Everything (23 page)

I clutched the covers. “What about him?”

“I believe he was one of those selected by the museum to receive a grant for an art project. Something about a book and funding for an excursion.”

I worked to stay composed. “I know about the book, but an excursion? What do you mean?”

Her eyes were on me as she explained, “Apparently, he submitted a proposal for a book of bird illustrations, and the museum decided it was worthy of funding. I'm not certain of the details, but I believe he means to travel south, where he will study and paint birds.”

I sat forward. “And he is expected at the event?”

“Well, yes. All those selected are expected to attend.” Her voice had grown cautious.

“When is it to be held?”

She hesitated.

“When, Mother?”

“A few weeks from now.”

“When, Mother!”

“In the second week of March,” she said reluctantly.

Finally! A solution! I could meet James there! Warmed with excitement, I threw the covers back. “I am going to attend,” I said.

“Oh, darling! You cannot possibly hope to do so. You are too far along to appear in public.”

“I shall corset myself!”

“Caroline! There are rumors! In fact, because of them, I was well pleased to hear that Mr. Burton was leaving.”

“Rumors! What do I care of rumors, Mother?”

“Dearest. You must take care. Everything that your father has ever done has been to ensure your future and the future of your children. You must protect that! If your husband ever questioned . . . If he ever alerted your father or pointed a finger, the consequences could be extreme.”

“My husband! You say my husband could point a finger? How would he dare to point a finger at me! He, the one who prefers men . . .”

Mother's face went white, and when I saw her shock, I forced whatever else I might have said back down my throat. She looked away while struggling to regain her composure, but in my need, I pressed her further. “Please, Mother,” I begged, “I will go whether or not I have your help, but please say you will give it.”

It was a while before she turned back to me, her eyes moist. “Pardon me, dear, what did . . . What did you say?”

I was intent on one purpose. “I said I want to go to the event, and I will need your help to do so.”

“Oh, Caroline! My dear girl,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. “If you insist on going, I will give you my help, but you must then promise me one thing.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“After the event, you will come away with me to Stonehill, and we will stay there until the child is born. That should put a stop to any further rumors. Will you give me your word?”

“Stonehill? It is so far away from here!”

“That is my point,” she said.

“But I must see Mr. Burton before he leaves on his trip. Will you give me your word that you will invite him to Stonehill?”

I had never seen her look so weary. “I will,” she said.

“And what about Father? Won't he say it is too early to open Stonehill? Won't he object to the cost?”

“I will insist,” she said. “But I will leave the house staff here in town so his routine won't be interrupted, and I'll hire outside help to take with us.”

Thus we agreed that after the event, we would go to up Stonehill, where I would give birth to my child in our country house.

C
ONFRONTED WITH THE
news of Caroline's pregnancy, I was so struck by fear and indecision that I put her off, not wanting to add to the nightmarish position I had put her in. How could I tell her that she might give birth to a child of color? On the night of our last meeting, I wanted to confess, but Caroline was already so overwrought that I worried what action she might take if I forced this news on her. At the worst, I feared that she would go to her mother, who, naturally, would involve Mr. Cardon. And that would be disastrous.

I needed a month or two to put my affairs in order. If the truth about my ancestry became known now, the sale of my silver business would fall through, I would never see Caroline again, and my future as an artist would end. Everything hung in the balance.

A few months previous, with Mr. Leeds's encouragement, I had submitted my name to the Peale Museum for consideration for one of their esteemed grants. To my amazement, in January I was notified that I had been selected for a subsidized excursion into the Carolinas. On my return I was to present renderings of birds, flora, and fauna native to that area, and based on approval, funding for an illustrated handbook of birds would follow.

When the offer came from the museum, I had rethought the course of my life. Since Mrs. Burton's death, I had worked diligently at the silver shop but had grown weary of the long hours; the bulk of my time was spent in the office balancing figures. Along with the silver shop, the Burtons had left me a sizable estate, and as my interest in the business faded and the opportunity of the excursion came, I went to my lawyer to arrange selling the silver shop.

I had not told Caroline of my plan to sell the business, for I was saving it as a surprise. It would allow us more time together—something I felt certain would please her. As for news of the excursion, I was waiting for a favorable moment to tell her, for though it meant we would spend some months apart, I wanted her to see the opportunity that it was for me.

But then she came with her own news, and there was no time to explain the decisions I had made. And now that I knew of her condition, what was I to do? Naturally, she would remain with her husband, but how could I best support her? Dread followed that question, for the one thing I did not wish to do was to add to her dilemma. Yet she must learn the truth, for if the child had color, we would have to arrange to have it cared for.

I decided it was best to keep a distance, for I suspected that her husband was on high alert. The man already disliked me and now would not hold back on destroying my good name.

But the sale of the silver business was slow, and one week followed another until the whole of February had passed. Much to my regret, I stayed away from Caroline.

I
N THE FIRST
week of March, a letter came from Lavinia in response to one that I had written while flush with excitement about the grant.

In the years following Delia's theft of my letter, too afraid of another interception, I had not corresponded with those at Tall Oaks. Soon after I received the award from the museum, while studying the map and planning the route I might travel on my excursion, I was surprised to see the proximity of Tall Oaks, located in southern Virginia, to the parts of North Carolina where I meant to journey. Though twenty years had passed since I had fled that home, I still dreamed of seeing it again. Now, with Delia out of the way, and believing that my safety in Virginia was no longer in question, I wrote a letter to Lavinia and asked if I might visit.

Two months later, that first week in March 1830, came her response. It was not what I had expected.

My dear James,

What news! How proud we are of you! You always had such skill with a paintbrush. All of your childhood paintings were lost in the fire, but I remember so well how vividly you captured the cardinal and bluebird. I cannot imagine an improvement.

Pardon me for the delayed response to your letter, but Belle and I only just returned from a visit to Williamsburg. There we visited my daughter Elly and her cousin Meg Madden. The two have successfully established the Madden School for Young Girls. Can you believe that my Elly is already twenty-seven years old? She was so young when you left, but early on was made aware that the two of you share Marshall as a father. Perhaps that is why she is so free-thinking.

You may remember Meg, who is as independent in her thinking as my Elly. Because of their liberal views, should you ever need friends, I believe you might be warmly welcomed if you find yourself in their vicinity.

Which brings me to the visit you requested here at Tall Oaks. How it breaks my heart to refuse you, but because we are such a small community and word travels so quickly, I do not think it wise. You might recall our former overseer Rankin and his son Jake and how determined they were to locate you. Though they are no longer under our employ, I have heard rumors that they are still about, and I believe that should those two learn of your presence, they would mean to harm you. Given the time that has passed, I doubt that you would be recognized, but your distinctive eye gives me concern.

Please take care and know that both Belle and I want only the best for you.

Always your friend,

Lavinia Pyke

I sat down after reading the letter. To learn that Rankin and Jake were still around stunned me, and though it was already the first week in March, I began to question my wisdom in going ahead with the excursion. But a few days later, when Henry came with the news that Pan was missing, I knew I had to go. Now I had until my departure to tell Caroline the truth and see what our love could bear.

I
RETURNED HOME
from the event at Mr. and Mrs. Cardon's, shaken to have seen the effects of my procrastination on Caroline. That night I resolved to set things right. I would meet with her the next day, tell her the truth, and offer to provide for the child, should it have color. But in the morning, when I sent a note to her home requesting to see her, it was returned with a note from the housekeeper stating that Caroline had already left for Stonehill with her mother. Not knowing what else to do, I waited uneasily for Mrs. Cardon's invitation.

Meanwhile, I worked to find Pan. The theft of young Negro children was very common, but it was a complex problem. I hired a man familiar with the shipyard to investigate. When he learned that Pan had likely been sold into North Carolina, I kept the man on, hoping he would uncover more detail.

March and then the first weeks of April passed, and my departure date grew closer. Still I heard nothing from Caroline. Daily I waited for a summons from Mrs. Cardon. I could not understand why it was not forthcoming. There was always the possibility that Caroline had confided in her mother and her mother had convinced her not to see me, but that idea only made me more desperate to see her. My greatest concern was for Caroline's health, for she had looked too pale and thin when I saw her at the event. I struggled against taking matters into my own hands, but the situation was already so tenuous that I dared not.

In the third week of April, while I was signing the final papers for the sale of the silver shop, Robert interrupted my meeting to present a note from Mrs. Cardon requesting that I come to Stonehill as soon as possible.

S
TONEHILL WAS WIDELY
known as the Cardons' magnificent country home, set high on the banks of the Schuylkill River. Had I not been so worried about my mission, I might have enjoyed the scenic two-hour carriage ride there.

The home was the most luxurious I had yet encountered. Georgian in style, it was a massive two-story brick house, easily fifty feet square, with a hipped roof of such low pitch that it gave the appearance of being flat. To the back of the house were a number of handsome brick outbuildings, among them the stables and a large greenhouse, while to the left a two-story outdoor kitchen was connected to the house by a covered walkway.

A manservant I did not recognize met me at the door and, after taking my coat and hat, led me to a front parlor. There, as I waited, I walked about the room to calm myself. I felt sick with my upcoming disclosure, but as I paced the light-filled room, I couldn't help noting the extravagance. The walls were covered in a yellow and gray silk stripe that traveled up to the high ceiling and there met with wide white detailed molding and plasterwork. Four bergère chairs covered in yellow silk surrounded a marble-topped table and I might have taken a seat had I not been so nervous.

I was tinkering on a harpsichord when Mrs. Cardon rushed in. On seeing me, she paused and, with a sweep of her hand, brushed back her unkempt hair before waving me through tall pocket doors into a smaller connecting parlor. There she closed us in. “For weeks I've tried to dissuade her from seeing you, but she insists!” Her voice was so shrill that I was taken aback. She swung toward me. “Do not act the innocent! She has told me that you are the father of her child!” The words drained the fight from her, and she sank into a chair and began to weep. “She is so ill, Mr. Burton! She is so ill.”

Alarm broke my silence. “What do you mean? Is it her time?”

She looked up at me, her face drawn and afraid. “No, but she is due very soon. The doctor has been here, and his concern is that she weakens more every day. He has bled her over and over, but nothing relieves her.”

Now my voice turned harsh. “How long has she been ill like this?” I asked.

She became apologetic. “Almost from the moment we arrived. I wonder now if the carriage ride was too difficult. We should never have left town; we are so isolated out here. She is too ill to return. I am so afraid. I have not left her side.”

“Is she alone now?” I asked, concerned at the thought.

“No. There is a housemaid with her, but she is new to us.” She shook her head. “I made such a mistake. Mr. Cardon hates to have our town house disrupted, so I left him with our staff and hired new to come with us. I—”

I spoke over her to cease her rambling. “The doctor?” I asked. “When was he last here?”

“Two days ago. He is due again tomorrow, along with Mr. Cardon.”

I walked to the door. “Please take me to her,” I said.

“I don't know! If Mr. Cardon should ever discover that you—”

I interrupted again. “Mr. Cardon knows of my involvement?”