Somewhere in the World

Chapter 8

The paper had ended its story by quoting from the note Brown had left behind: "I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now think, vainly flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done."

Margaret had glanced up from the paper to meet her father’s troubled gaze. “However will war be averted now?” she had asked bleakly.

“War?” her mother had asked in an excitable tone. “Do you believe a war will be fought because a ruffian was caught and brought to justice?”

“He was not a ruffian, he was a man who acted on his principles,” Mr. Hale had replied in a quiet voice while his wife sniffed in derision.

“A slave lover, having principles?” her mother had snorted. “No, he was a deranged man, and deserved to be hung for his treasonous acts.”

“The Lord shall preserve you from all evil.” Margaret had murmured, meeting the compassionate gaze of her father.

“He shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore,” he had replied, reaching out his hand to take her own in a comforting clasp.

She missed her father dreadfully, here in a world that seemed simultaneously familiar and alien to her. It struck her at times that she seemed to be looking at her surroundings through a prism, everything was so warped and misshapen. The homes, the people, the activities were all too familiar, but the gaiety and glitter appeared forced and at odds with a country that teetered on the brink of a chasm.

Margaret visited and drank tea, danced with dozens of young men, and took part in any number of activities with Edith and her friends, yet she felt as if she were merely going through the motions, like some stupid automaton that, when wound up, would move until the gears wore down. Many days she would rather curl up in a chair in the library and read, or roam along the streets and byways of Charleston. However, when she glimpsed the happy face of her mother and heard her animated chatter, she tamped down her impatient desires and went along with whatever plans her aunt had devised for their amusement. And so that day she agreed to visit the Middleton’s home and drink tea and smile until her face ached.

At least the ladies were unaccompanied this afternoon. Worse than the idleness and parade of social activities was Henry’s renewed attention. No matter where she went, or whither she turned, he was at her elbow, ready to do her any service. He appeared behind her chair at dinner to pull it out for her; he insisted on carrying her packages when she shopped, and on helping her into carriages or down flights of stairs. He anticipated her every move until she felt the defiant desire to do the exact opposite of what he anticipated, to thwart him in his mission.

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On Christmas Day, after attending church, the family returned to Stokely to partake of a small meal. Aunt Shaw suggested that the ladies rest for the remainder of the afternoon in preparation for the festive dinner and entertainment that would follow that evening. The slaves were busy decorating the ballroom where dancing would occur, and setting up the dining room in its full holiday splendor, so it was best for the family and guests to stay out of their way and let them accomplish their work.

Margaret had no desire to nap; she felt a restless energy and was determined to walk off her luncheon by strolling the grounds and gardens, perhaps wending her way through the paths in the woods. Upon Edith’s engagement, she had spent time visiting Maxwell’s home, and had often trod these paths as duenna to Edith and Maxwell. She took great delight in the beauty of the grounds and the majesty of the ancient cypress trees, and longed for some quiet time to herself.