Read Online Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shirl Henke
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dryly.
“The right or wrong of slavery isn't the issue, however,” Adam continued carefully. “It's the way the cause has affected Melanie that alarms me. When you sent her to me four years ago for formal education, she was a spirited young girl who loved to dance, read poetry, and even take an occasional carriage ride with an admiring young swain.”
Deborah's face puckered in a mock grimace. “Quite unlike her disgustingly bluestocking mother, I warrant. I tried hard over the six years she lived with us to teach her to use her mind but still to enjoy life with more self-confidence than I had at her age. She was happy, Father, if a bit overeager to obtain a higher education than Texas could afford her.”
“She still thinks she's happy,” Adam shot back.
“But you obviously don't think she is,” Rafe interjected. “Her letters have been full of the starry-eyed idealism any bright young college student would prattle on about—male or female,” he added with a nod to his wife.
“Yes,” Deborah said. “She wrote about going to the women's suffrage convention in Worcester last year and even that she'd joined the Temperance Union. I'm scarcely surprised that she's added abolition to her list of causes. After all, Father, she has African blood and has every right to feel proud of it.”
Adam threw up his hands and cast an exasperated look at Rafe. “You see, they're united against me, daughter and granddaughter, free-thinking females, God help us mere men!”
Rafe grinned ruefully. “After the way you spoiled them both, don't blame me for not curbing their willfulness! Seriously, though,” Rafe said, his expression sobering, “I don't like seeing her involved with radical journalists like Garrison. She could be endangered. I think you were right to have us come collect her. We're Texians now and Texas is her home. She's had all the education she'll ever need—from books. It's time she got on with her life.”
“You mean at the advanced age of twenty-one she's a virtual spinster,” Deborah teased.
“Well, you thought you were when I married you at the ‘advanced’ age of twenty!”
Adam stifled a chuckle at his son-in-law's sally and tried to present his calm banker's facade for Deborah once more. “Much as I love my granddaughter, Deborah, I fear I agree with Rafe. She talks of nothing but dedicating her life to the abolition of slavery and the rights of womankind. Maybe if you take her away from all this agitation, she'll consider changing a few things.
“Such as?” Rafe questioned.
At that moment the subject of their discourse came dashing into the front hall of the Manchester house. Drenched from the autumn rain, Melanie’s inky hair hung in tangles, clotted with mud and debris that the downpour had only partially washed away. Her cloak, however, was a total loss, stained with ground-in filth. She had been pelted with rotten eggs and garbage and pushed into a mud puddle by one of the slave catchers after she had scuffled with him.
Ramsey, the unflappable Manchester butler, took Melanie's cloak, carefully holding it at full arm's length from his immaculate black uniform. “I'll see that this is cleaned, miss,” he said calmly, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
“Well, I managed to salvage the broadsides for Mr. Garrison!” Melanie announced with satisfaction as she took the bundle she had been shielding beneath her cape and placed it reverently on the polished marble table in front of a large beveled-glass mirror. She unwrapped the stack of printed broadsides that proclaimed in boldface type:
CAUTION!!!
Colored People of Boston
Kidnappers and Slave Catchers are at large!
Glancing up into the mirror, she let out a small gasp of dismay. “Oh, drat! I'd better get upstairs and
“The right or wrong of slavery isn't the issue, however,” Adam continued carefully. “It's the way the cause has affected Melanie that alarms me. When you sent her to me four years ago for formal education, she was a spirited young girl who loved to dance, read poetry, and even take an occasional carriage ride with an admiring young swain.”
Deborah's face puckered in a mock grimace. “Quite unlike her disgustingly bluestocking mother, I warrant. I tried hard over the six years she lived with us to teach her to use her mind but still to enjoy life with more self-confidence than I had at her age. She was happy, Father, if a bit overeager to obtain a higher education than Texas could afford her.”
“She still thinks she's happy,” Adam shot back.
“But you obviously don't think she is,” Rafe interjected. “Her letters have been full of the starry-eyed idealism any bright young college student would prattle on about—male or female,” he added with a nod to his wife.
“Yes,” Deborah said. “She wrote about going to the women's suffrage convention in Worcester last year and even that she'd joined the Temperance Union. I'm scarcely surprised that she's added abolition to her list of causes. After all, Father, she has African blood and has every right to feel proud of it.”
Adam threw up his hands and cast an exasperated look at Rafe. “You see, they're united against me, daughter and granddaughter, free-thinking females, God help us mere men!”
Rafe grinned ruefully. “After the way you spoiled them both, don't blame me for not curbing their willfulness! Seriously, though,” Rafe said, his expression sobering, “I don't like seeing her involved with radical journalists like Garrison. She could be endangered. I think you were right to have us come collect her. We're Texians now and Texas is her home. She's had all the education she'll ever need—from books. It's time she got on with her life.”
“You mean at the advanced age of twenty-one she's a virtual spinster,” Deborah teased.
“Well, you thought you were when I married you at the ‘advanced’ age of twenty!”
Adam stifled a chuckle at his son-in-law's sally and tried to present his calm banker's facade for Deborah once more. “Much as I love my granddaughter, Deborah, I fear I agree with Rafe. She talks of nothing but dedicating her life to the abolition of slavery and the rights of womankind. Maybe if you take her away from all this agitation, she'll consider changing a few things.
“Such as?” Rafe questioned.
At that moment the subject of their discourse came dashing into the front hall of the Manchester house. Drenched from the autumn rain, Melanie’s inky hair hung in tangles, clotted with mud and debris that the downpour had only partially washed away. Her cloak, however, was a total loss, stained with ground-in filth. She had been pelted with rotten eggs and garbage and pushed into a mud puddle by one of the slave catchers after she had scuffled with him.
Ramsey, the unflappable Manchester butler, took Melanie's cloak, carefully holding it at full arm's length from his immaculate black uniform. “I'll see that this is cleaned, miss,” he said calmly, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
“Well, I managed to salvage the broadsides for Mr. Garrison!” Melanie announced with satisfaction as she took the bundle she had been shielding beneath her cape and placed it reverently on the polished marble table in front of a large beveled-glass mirror. She unwrapped the stack of printed broadsides that proclaimed in boldface type:
CAUTION!!!
Colored People of Boston
Kidnappers and Slave Catchers are at large!
Glancing up into the mirror, she let out a small gasp of dismay. “Oh, drat! I'd better get upstairs and
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