Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(60)

I held her to me and forced soothing words past the pain in my throat. How could I have failed her so? What a coward I had been!

I heard Mrs. Cardon’s muffled sobs before she left the room, and I set Caroline back against the pillows. “Hush,” I soothed, “hush, darling. I am here now, and I will stay.”

“Oh, James, do you promise?” she asked. “Do you promise?”

“I will not leave you again,” I said. “Rest now.”

“What about Father?”

“I will speak with him, and then I will make arrangements. After the baby comes, we will go to New York, where no one will know us.”

“Yes.” She sighed, resting her head back. She gave a weak smile and closed her eyes. “Yes. We’ll go to New York,” she whispered.


THOUGH SHE SLEPT, Caroline clung tightly to my hand, and as I sat with her, I came to terms with what I needed to do. One thing was certain: I would not leave her side again.

When Mrs. Cardon brought in a tray, Caroline tried to eat to please me, but the food came up soon after, and the episode left her exhausted. When she slept again, I went to her mother, who sat dozing in a chair. “Why don’t you get some sleep while I keep watch. I will call you if she needs you,” I offered.

Mrs. Cardon, who appeared dazed from exhaustion, agreed to rest. When she appeared again before daybreak, she looked more herself, and when she saw that Caroline was sleeping, she directed me to a bedroom down the lengthy hallway.

“I’ll send a maid with some coffee and rolls in a few hours, and you can visit with Caroline before you leave,” she whispered. I nodded and, not wanting to upset her, didn’t tell her of my intentions to stay and meet with Mr. Cardon.

Wall lamps flickered and lit my way along the long dark hallway. The room I had been directed to was vast, though the chill had been taken from the air by a satisfying fire in the fireplace. I sat on the massive bed to review my plans. First I would cancel my trip and stay with Caroline until our child was born. After seeing what I meant to Caroline, I now believed her love was strong enough, and that if a choice needed to be made, she would choose me, regardless of my ancestry. When Caroline was well enough for travel, I would take my new family up to New York City, where we would begin anew. Robert, I hoped, would come with us, and as for Pan, I would hire someone who knew the South well enough to retrieve him. Then Pan, too, if he chose, could join us in our new home.

Exhausted but satisfied with these plans, I removed my jacket, waistcoat, and boots and lay back on the bed. I had been awake since five o’clock the previous morning, and because I knew what was in store for me on Mr. Cardon’s arrival, I closed my eyes to rest.

I fell into a deep sleep, until I heard a rap on the door and then smelled fresh coffee when the maid entered with a tray. She added new logs to the fire, and as they cracked and sizzled, I forced myself awake. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed my face as thoughts of the upcoming day rushed in. When I looked up, the maid turned back from the fireplace. We stared at each other in shock. Then Delia ran from the room.


I WAS STUNNED. Finally, I drew on my boots, splashed water on my face, and combed my hair. There was a light rap on the door, and thinking it was she who had returned, I drew on my jacket before I called for her to enter. But it was the manservant who had met me at the door on my arrival.

“Mr. Cardon is in his study,” he announced. “He insists you come with me now.”

“Mr. Cardon! Is here now?”

“Yes. His arrival was earlier than expected.”

“Might I see Mrs. Cardon first? Would you send word to her?”

“Mrs. Cardon is not to be disturbed. You are to come directly to the study. Please, sir, follow me.”


I KNEW MY life was in danger seconds after I entered the room. Behind me, Mr. Cardon’s carriage driver, a large Negro man, moved to the doorway to block my exit. Caroline’s father sat at his desk, one arm resting next to a pistol. He was fingering a glass paperweight, and on my entry, he stood and hurled it at me. I jumped to the side in time to avoid it, and the glass shattered when it struck the marble fireplace.

“Let me explain—” I began.

He strode across the room and, with the back of his hand, struck me across the face. “Explain! Explain! You want to explain how you seduced my daughter? My daughter!” he said. “Dear God!” His face twisted with hatred. “You nigras are all the same! You will not leave the white women alone!”

I had no words. How could he know?

“Explain this!” He went back to his desk and from it thrust out a letter that I recognized as my own. “Is it yours?” he bellowed.

This felt like a nightmare with no escape. “It is,” I admitted.

“So it is true. You are a damned nigra!”

“It is claimed that my mother is part Negro,” I said, still floundering with the truth.

“Part! Part!” he began to yell. “There is no such thing as part! Nigra is nigra!” Without warning, he stuffed the letter in his pocket and reached back for a knife. Lunging at me, he grabbed hold of my shirt collar, twisting it to cut off my breathing. The tip of the pointed knife pricked into the skin behind my ear. “I’ll scalp you like a red Indian!” he growled. My legs went weak. I doubted not that he was about to do so when Mrs. Cardon burst into the room.