Chapter 4: Trouble Finding Us

It was soon after that misfortune fell upon my own family. Rain from hurricanes flooded our alfalfa and barley fields, causing Papa’s debts to mount beyond what we could manage while trying to replant. The sweet corn barely survived the stalk rot to sell corn on the cob to the inn for the 4th of July celebration. Creditors petitioned for his imprisonment, and worse, the authorities discovered his failure to pay the state distilled spirits tax. One autumn morning, as the sun was rising and Papa was chopping wood for the winter log store, the sheriff arrived with his deputies. I came in from the barn holding the mules to hook up to the wagon to start picking the field corn, to find Papa being led away in shackles, his still that was along the creek was sitting in their wagon. Mama had her face in her apron as she wept in humiliation and destitution. She directed me into the house, explaining Papa’s arrest. She didn’t know there was a state distilled spirits tax and believed he was selling his spirits legally. Papa did explain the distilled spirits tax to me once, and he explained that he could never figure out how to pay it since he had no arithmetic skills. Desperate, I rode our mule straight to the Thompson plantation. Mr. Thompson was away in the tobacco barns with his overseer, but Mabel came down to greet me in the parlor. Seeing my distress, she offered paper and pen so I might leave a note for her father. I faltered and offered to return later, and next felt ashamed, because she realized I could not write even my own name. Without hesitation, she took the pen and wrote the note to explain Papa’s arrest and my plan to operate a ferry if permission were granted to use the Thompson dock to tie up our scow boat to help pay off the debts. I would hate to sell all the livestock we need to survive. She beckoned her servant to fetch her pocketbook. She gave me five dollars for supplies to build a new copper still, and I kissed her hand. I promised to return at dinnertime when her papa returned from the tobacco barns. I went next door to the inn to inquire if my family could do more performances with my brother Zachary playing the fiddle instead of Papa. The innkeeper informed me that the parcel of flower bulbs that Mama had ordered for the autumn planting had arrived, but I would have to ask the owner for more income. I assured the innkeeper that I would return later with our wagon to pick up the flower bulbs. Waiting for dinnertime, I drank some coffee and enjoyed a ham sandwich. Nobody was in the billiard room, and I practiced shots with the cue.

When I returned later, Mr. Thompson was intrigued by my plan and invited me to dinner in his study. We had tomato soup and ham sandwiches on a tray with a piece of carrot cake for dessert. I explained that we could use our scow as a ferry to earn extra money, and we needed permission to tie it to his dock. I could rebuild the still and pay the state distilled spirits tax to keep the liquor distilling business afloat, but I would need help figuring out how much and where to pay. We could expand into beer and wines that age instead of being distilled to increase our income and not be subject to the distilled spirits tax. Mr. Thompson explained that wine and beer are subject to the federal excise tax for beer and wine, but not whiskey. Mr. Thompson recommended asking his brother Jacob, who was known for his peach brandy, for grapevines. I also requested to perform four times a week with my brother Zachary playing the fiddle. Mr. Thompson approved the plan. He also came to bankruptcy court, paid for Papa’s defense lawyer, and requested a reprieve as his tenant who paid his rent regularly. He defended my papa's lack of education that resulted in him moonshining. The judge sentenced him to six weeks of hard labor at the sawmill to pay off his debts and unpaid distilled spirits taxes.

I visited Jacob Thompson upriver, who makes peach brandy, wines, and Scotch Whiskey. He was intrigued by our predicament. He offered the grapevines to be planted in the spring because it was too late in the autumn to plant them now, for a reasonable price or for free if we became business partners. I was awestruck by his generosity and believed my parents would have no objections (especially Mama). He even suggested we build a distillery building much like his to take our business inside and keep running the business year-round. We will need a storage barn to age the wine and beer. He could supply the money for new buildings and split the profits equally. His lawyer friend, Mr. Fields, could create the business contract with my father and me. Once my father was out of the sawmill, he could take me on as an apprentice for a few months during the winter to show me his distillery operations. I was incredibly thankful for his generosity and shook hands in agreement. I stopped at the Thompson Plantation and shared the great news. Mr. Thompson permitted us to build the distillery and storage barn on his property in the spring, with a rent increase, since that will raise his poll tax owed. I returned home to give my mother hope for the future. I explained that once our business was legitimate with a partner, we could sell our spirits to saloons, taverns, and inns to bring in more income. If we supply the labor and Mr. Jacob Thompson supplies the money, we could split the profits in half. Mama was so happy that our family farm distillery could be prosperous.

My brothers ran a scow ferry along the river while I rebuilt the still and paid the proper taxes. Mr. Jacob Thompson showed me how to pay the tax to the county clerk and figured out how much I owed when it was figured at six cents per gallon for whiskey, one dollar per barrel of beer, and a dollar and fifty cents per barrel of wine. We harvested the field corn for the livestock, holding some bushels for whiskey. The barley was malted to add to the whiskey, and some was stored for the livestock. We performed popular music at the inn. One afternoon, while we washed at the well before dinner, coming in from the fields from picking corn, Mabel came over to join us. I had removed my shirt to clean the sweat off my chest, with water running down my back, and she blushed deeply at the sight. I hastened to lift my damp shirt between us to hide my indecency.

“You haven’t viewed a man before, have you?” I inquired as I slipped my shirt back on.

She blushed again, hiding her smile with her hand and restoring her calmness to approach me.

“Since you wish to improve your situation,” she said, her voice steady but kind, “I could teach you to read better and write. I can show you how to do arithmetic and help you keep accounts for your distillery. The pastor has agreed we may sit at the back of the church during Sunday School if you wish.”

I stared at her in bewilderment. I’ve never met a planter’s daughter as kind as she.

“Thank you, Miss Thompson,” I said. “I would like that very much.”

“We may begin next Sunday. I apologize for disturbing your warshing. I shall return to the house. Mama is waiting for me.” said Mabel, and she turned around to walk back to the house.

“Did you see the way she looked at you without your shirt on? She fancies you.” commented my brother Zachary.

“I bet it was the first time she had seen a half-naked man. She was embarrassed.” I replied while squeezing water out of my hair.

“Naw, I was a half-naked man too, and she wasn’t blushing at me.” teased my brother Beau.

“You’re not a man; you haven’t started shaving yet. What girl would blush at your hairless chest?” I replied.

“I saw her face, too, and she was blushing at you, Michael. Every girl blushes around you.” said my brother Jethro.

“What would you know about it? Your voice hasn’t cracked yet.” I reacted.

“Well, I started shaving, and she wasn’t looking at my hairy chest,” teased Zachary.

We walked to our saddle house to watch Mrs. Thompson and Miss Thompson walk to their carriage. We bid farewell to them with a wave, and Mabel covered her face with her fan. I watched her leave with a smirk to wipe the dripping water off my forehead with my sleeve. I met with Mabel every Sunday. She brought her old schoolbooks and slate board with a slate pencil. I struggled through the readers and practiced spelling words. Next, I practiced writing and learning numbers to do arithmetic. I practiced after supper at the table as my sisters washed the dishes. In time, we cleared Papa’s debts. Mama was joyous to have him back home and scorned him for not paying the proper taxes. She knew he distilled spirits with some of the field corn we grew for the livestock feed, but assumed he conducted his business honestly. She was so ashamed to learn her husband was a moonshiner. I proposed the partnership with Mr. Jacob Thompson to my father, and he was receptive to the idea. I also proposed growing muscadine grapevines in the spring to make wine and grape jelly. Mama’s jelly won prizes at the county fair in the summertime, and we could sell some of that, too. Perhaps growing some hops to make beer, ale, or lager would be good for business. Wine and beer are not distilled but aged for a time. Lighter ales and lagers only need a maximum of three months of aging. We already grow barley for the Bourbon Whiskey. I took over the sales of our whiskey, offering deals to saloons and taverns. I arrived at Mr. Jacob Thompson’s distillery to learn about his business during late November and December. He gave me the tour, showing the different wine, Peach Brandy, and Scotch Whiskey sections. Grape juice and peaches were canned during the harvest to be made into preserves, pies, cobblers, or spirits later. I learned that white wines have grape skins removed, while red wines have the skins remaining on the grapes. He showed the section where they malted the barley by soaking it in water to get the seeds to germinate and then heating it to stop the germination in a kiln, so roots don’t grow out of the seeds. Malted barley is also used in beer making and in our Bourbon Whiskey. Papa had another method of malting the barley using an open brick fire pit by the creek. Low-temperature-heated barley is best for light beers such as ales and lagers, and our Bourbon Whiskey. Higher temperatures make darker beers like stouts or ports, and for Scotch Whiskey. Malted barley is packaged into sacks to be stored until needed. I learned to process every spirit at the distillery, and he reviewed his accounting books with me. I was studying with Mabel, reading, spelling, writing, and arithmetic to keep up with learning his accounting system.

On Christmas Eve, he hosted a party at sunset in the distillery until it was time to attend the church worship service. I played my guitar in the string band. Mabel came to dance with several gentlemen and her uncle. A couple of slaves cleaned up the distillery once everyone left. I was awestruck by how prosperous his distillery was, and his plantation also grew tobacco. He gave his workers three dollars as a bonus for their hard work. He even gave me a three-dollar bonus as an apprentice, receiving no pay. The Christmas season was profitable, selling our Bourbon Whiskey to taverns, inns, and saloons. A few plantation owners ordered whiskey for their balls and supper parties. Our elderberry and dandelion wines were popular with merchants hosting supper parties. For Christmas, I gave Mama a fan that I had carved for her, and my friend Herbert painted a winter scene on paper. I gave my papa a new violin to play at parties, and he gave his old one to Zachary. The distillery was closed during the Twelve Days of Christmas. I went to Smithfield when the shops reopened and used my three dollars to purchase cotton calico for Mama to make new clothing. I paid a social call to Mabel on New Year’s Day. I gave her a poetry book I found in the shop, written by an Englishman, Alfred Lord Tennyson. I thought she deserved a gift from me for her generosity. She went into the library to give me a copy of “The Iliad”. Winter melted into spring, and planting was planned out. Mr. Thompson had business contracts written out, and I read them to my father. The profits, not the sales, would be split evenly between Papa and Mr. Thompson. He sent over the grapevines, and once we had planted them, I offered our wine to churches for communion. Our wines would have to age for six months before being available for sale next winter. Our pastor requested a few bottles of our elderberry wine when they became available again. He heard they were quite popular during Christmas. I checked our barrels in the cellar and found that one barrel of elderberry wine had not been poured into bottles. I gathered the bottles to sell the pastor four bottles of our elderberry wine. I saved the rest for Mama to serve during supper. After the spring planting, Mr. Jacob Thompson purchased the supplies to build a brick distillery with a wood roof. He hired the workers, including neighbors, friends, and family, to build the foundations, walls, and then the roof. Next, we completed the inside firepits and storage rooms for ingredients. Then got to work on the storage barn for the aging, finishing the inside shelves for barrels. It was autumn before we finished the building. We had a grand dance in the distillery, inviting everyone we knew. I got a dance with Mabel, whom I was still taking lessons with.

My siblings and parents wanted to learn to write and do arithmetic, too, so I shared my lessons with them. In time, my brother Matthew, barely eleven years old, wanted to become a priest and started reading the Bible to us every night. After getting through her schoolbooks, Mabel invited me to select volumes from the library to borrow. I could write down which book I was borrowing in a ledger and bring it back when I finished it. She would leave on the entry hall hat stand a few volumes for me to read. Books on history, geography, and astronomy to broaden my education. Her mother had a collection of novels and poetry. Mabel had a fondness for poetry and the newcomer Edgar Allan Poe in the Southern Literary Messenger Magazine. I published my first poem in the Smithfield Register about the admiration of a woman I cannot have. Mabel inquired who my muse was. I told her, the songbird barmaid Rose at the Smithfield saloon. My mama would never approve of such a woman marrying any of her sons. She remembered I said once I admired a lady I could not have from being too poor, and she was nobody whom Mabel knew. I explained that I gave up on the lady since she would never accept me. Mabel understood and asserted that true love never dies. That may be so, but her rejection made me lose hope of holding her in my arms. Mabel also taught me to read music so I could play the pipe organ at church to earn extra money. I played out my tunes on her parlor piano, and she wrote down the sheet music. She had the Smithfield printer make copies so the dry goods store could sell them. It was strange listening to my tunes being played by other people when making social calls. What I didn’t know was that Mabel was saving all the poems I left for her to read to send them to a publisher in Raleigh to sell them as a full volume of a hundred pages. In time, selling the publishing rights of my poetry to this editor would give me enough money to build my parents a new farmhouse.

Next, the following year, a miracle happened: President Jackson abolished all Federal Excise Taxes to focus on implementing tariffs. With the new distillery building, my family made more money than we ever had before, even after splitting the profits. My parents went to the Smithfield Bank to deposit the profits to earn interest. Then disaster struck me: Mabel became engaged again. Planters’ sons began courting her again, and one proposed marriage in a letter. I gambled with the dandy at the Smithfield saloon, who was full of arrogance and had no substance. We both joined a poker tournament at a saloon in Smithfield. He gambled his coachman slave, trying to bluff me in the final round. I called his bluff, betting my mule, and took his servant home with a flush to his two pairs. I showed my mama the brass trophy, and she prepared blankets for the servant to sleep in the barn’s hayloft overnight. The next morning, I took the servant to the planter’s manor house to offer to sell him back to his former master. The planter was displeased with his son’s actions and offered a fair price of five hundred dollars. Mabel was in Wilmington visiting an aunt with her family at the time. I ordered a new carriage for the family from the coachmaker and came home with a barouche pulled by two draft horses a month later. I purchased a riding horse from our neighbor, Mr. Redfield. Mama ordered a new cast-iron cook stove for the kitchen. Then Papa took us to town to purchase new boots, clothing, gloves, and hats in Smithfield. My sister Daisy was confirmed and received a new copper cross necklace from our parents. She left the farm to work in the millinery and stayed with our sister Harriet, who gave birth to a boy during the prior winter. When Mabel returned, we conversed with her family after the church service. Her mama mentioned that Mabel returned her engagement ring to her betrothed to cancel the wedding. My mama failed to mention that after a social call with them upon their return from Wilmington. Mabel inquired about our new carriage, horses, and clothing.

I gladly shared the details of winning the poker tournament with a two-hundred-dollar prize and the brass trophy. Then, I received more money from selling the slave back to his master to buy the carriage, and my parents purchased things for the house. She confessed she broke the engagement due to her betrothed’s reckless behavior. Then she berated my family for buying a carriage and horses, a cookstove, and new clothing when we could have used the money to buy a farm or buy our farm from her papa. She reads land sale advertisements in the newspaper, and land sells for about a dollar and a quarter per acre. I was astonished that her papa would consider selling them the thirty acres of land they rented. Most planters want to leave their plantations to their sons, not sell acres to white trash tenants. I pointed out that buying land and then buying seed to plant on that land without the farm workers to tend it was a burden we poor white trash farmers could not handle. Renting slaves or paying for farmhands cost money we did not possess. If we owned the land, my papa would also have to pay the poll tax on the land, buildings, and people living on it. That was also another burden my family could not handle. Their rent was barely above the poll tax that Mr. Thompson must pay to the county and provided a small profit. To them, renting was better. They were better off than sharecroppers, who split the harvest in half, so Papa would have even less income to support his family, even with the spirits sales. They split the profits with her uncle, with his family earning small profits that barely supported our large family. Three sisters left for Smithfield, which meant fewer mouths to feed and three fewer workers to help on the farm. We bought things we could not afford before I won the poker tournament. A cook stove was nice for my mama to help cook food better than the fireplace. The carriage was nicer to ride in than our wagon. My riding horse appeared better to customers purchasing our spirits than our mule. And it was nice to wear new clothes instead of patched rags. Mabel had not thought of that and apologized.

Time passed as I went to leave a calling card for John Thompson in Spring 1835, a new lawyer hired at a law office in Hillsborough. He had a yacht built so he could travel to work every day from his house. Mrs. Thompson announced at church that her son John was engaged to his school friend’s sister. He was pleased I was getting poetry published and expanding our liquor business. I inquired about which local newspapers he purchased. He showed me a portrait of his beloved Cossette in the parlor. I commented on how I remembered her visit with her family years ago, and read her a fairy tale. She seemed very sweet. About a year later, I met Cossette again, now a new bride returned from their honeymoon in France, where she had relations and was busy refurbishing her new home. I paid a social call to congratulate them. I gave them a vase my friend Herbert Sheffield created as their wedding gift. She remembered me reading to her during their last visit when she had just begun studying with the governess. I hoped she remembered me in a positive light. With a bottle of elderberry wine from my papa, I asked if Mr. John Thompson had brought home any newspapers from Hillsborough. She checked his study and returned with two editions. I explained that I had sent them poems for publishing, and they were expected to appear in this month’s editions. Cossette enjoyed reading them. I mentioned how Mabel sold the publishing rights to a novel, and she sent my poems to the same editor, hoping he would publish them in a volume of poetry. We could have funds for a new house for my parents, with permission from the landlord, very soon. He did permit our liquor distillery building to raise the rent. I asked if I could bring the newspaper to show Mabel. John could pick it up later. She allowed me to show Mabel my published poem. She asked about my relationship with Mabel, wondering why I wanted to show her my poem when she could just as easily have read it from her brother’s newspaper during a social call. I explained I was Mabel’s friend and she was my teacher for a time. We have known each other all our lives. I played with marbles and later billiards with her husband. He is a skilled player in Base Ball and usually the pitcher in church picnic games.

The newspapers were running headlines of the Americans who had settled in Mexico and had now declared independence for the Republic of Texas. John read to her all the developments from the battles around San Antonio and the massacres of Americans printed in the newspapers. I commented on how that was typical of Americans after Mexico outlawed slavery to fight for independence. Cossette was impressed that I was knowledgeable about the conflict. I confessed that Mabel told me about it from her brother’s newspapers. Though reading male-dominated newspapers was discouraged for refined ladies who were too delicate to handle the heavy content of world events that did not pertain to them. Mabel desired to have knowledge of the world when she had viewed very little of it. Ladies’ newspapers were printed to discuss topics that were appropriate for refined ladies to read about: Etiquette and Fashion. Cossette laughed to say she was a well-educated lady, and this is why her husband had married her. He would detest a silly wife who only cared about etiquette and fashion. He could enter politics like her father or be selected for judgeship, maybe sit in Congress or the Supreme Court someday. A stupid wife would not satisfy him. I replied that she was a perfect match for John and wished her happiness. She must come by my family’s house and pay a social call to my mama; she would enjoy Cossette’s conversation. She believed that it could be arranged.

I told Cossette my brother Matthew took an interest in reading the Bible and visited our pastor to help him obtain a scholarship to attend the university in Chapel Hill, so he could be educated to become a pastor someday. My papa planned on taking him to Chapel Hill to take the entrance exam this spring. Pastor Bunston wrote out a letter of recommendation stating he had educated him in Latin and Greek, which were important prerequisites at any university. Stagecoaches changed horses every ten to fifteen miles, and Chapel Hill being seventy miles away, it took a whole day to get there. The fare was four dollars per person. Then they would stay at a nearby hotel for a couple of days so Matthew could take the exam. That would be a dollar and a half per day, including fifty cents for the room and fifty cents for three meals. We barely had enough extra funds for the trip. I explained that Matthew is ferrying passengers on our scow and playing the organ at church to earn money for the journey. The Thompson family had visited Samuel and John at Chapel Hill. They traveled in their carriage for three days, stopping at inns along the way to rest the horses, sleep, and eat. They said a hotel near the university held assemblies that the students often attended. Many young ladies try to be courted by the wealthy planters’ sons at these assemblies. Matthew, being of lower status, might be safe from these ambitious ladies. Cossette laughed, then said her brothers met these ambitious women too. Her eldest brother married one whose father owned a textile mill making clothes for slaves. I also informed her that a suitor of Mabel’s had gotten his mistress pregnant. Her mother was at his house, complaining to my mama about how this man gave her daughter an opal brooch for Christmas, visited her daughter while her mama was out in the garden, and then refused to marry her once she became pregnant because he planned to marry Mabel. How could Mabel be trapped in a marriage with a scoundrel like that?

“You should not tell her this news; she would be heartbroken. It should come from another woman. Perhaps I should tell her, or maybe have her call on the mother of the girl and hear it from her.” said Cossette.

“You are correct, Mrs. Thompson. It should not have come from me. You could say I had sabotaged her last suitor at that poker tournament. People will gossip about being sweet on her. I just wish for her happiness, even if I am not part of that happiness.” I reacted.

“Thank you for calling me Mrs. Thompson. I like the sound of it.” she giggled, breaking the serious conversation.

“Well, if you wish to involve yourself in my predicament, you can ask Mabel to take you around the neighborhood to introduce you. You can visit Mrs. Huntley and her unfortunate daughter down the river. Mrs. Huntley will gladly share all the information you wish to know. You can say I recommended her German pumpernickel bread recipe.” I led her into an intrigue.

“I could request that,” replied Cossette.

I left her house and rode up to Mabel’s house. She wasn’t there. Mrs. Thompson was there and welcomed me into her parlor. I showed her my poem in the newspaper, and she was pleased to read it. She assured me that she would leave it out for Mabel and return the newspaper to John. I told her the gossip about Mrs. Huntley complaining to my mama about her unfortunate daughter, and the presumed father was planning to propose to Mabel. Naturally, there was no way to prove paternity, and I do not know if Miss Huntley speaks the truth or not.

“Is Mr. Ashley Whitfield one of the men courting Miss Thompson? I thought she said three young men were courting her and hoped for an engagement letter soon.” I relayed.

“Yes, he is one of the men courting my daughter,” said Mrs. Thompson.

“Mrs. John Thompson thought it best I did not repeat the gossip on her suitor to her. I would appear as a rival. I always thought of Mabel as a friend, not a wife. Do I appear as a rival? I am too poor to give your daughter the home she deserves. I deposited funds in the bank so my parents could build a bigger house on their own farm someday. My fortune is tied to my parents, who are reaching middle age and are in excellent health. As the oldest son, I am expected to take over the distillery business when my papa is too old to work.” I said.

“People love to gossip,” replied Mrs. Thompson.

Two days later, Mrs. Thompson stopped by for a social call. She introduced Cossette to Mama. Mama seemed to remember her visiting as a girl. Mabel came along, talking about one of her suitors getting his mistress pregnant before proposing to her, and was only interested in her dowry. Luckily, another suitor was more admirable and proposed marriage to Mabel. They plan to get married when he finishes the College of William and Mary in two years. My heart shattered. I faked a smile and wished her happiness. After they left, I drank some of the whiskey I made. Mama asks about my melancholy every time Mabel gets engaged. I explained that these planter sons treat Mabel badly and do not really love her. I heard her betrothed bragging in the saloon billiards room last Saturday, saying he was planning to get engaged to a grand dowry that would please his father. He called his intended a homely girl, but that did not matter cause once she has children, she will become a fat sow like his mother. I didn’t know he was speaking about Mabel. That man is evil incarnate. He must put a spell on Mabel for her to consider marrying that ratbag.

Mama assured me two years was a long wait, and maybe the engagement would be dissolved in time when his true intentions are revealed to her. Few men can handle a well-educated lady, even college-educated planter sons. I cursed him in my bedtime prayers that beautiful Mabel would find a proper husband who actually loved her and not her father’s money. At the end of March, snow started to fall while Mabel and Cossette were out making social calls to neighbors. Mabel and Cossette soon got caught in the blizzard that came blowing snow all over the roads, and stopped at my house to take shelter. My mama welcomed them into the kitchen after mint tea and blueberry muffins in the parlor. Cossette relayed news that her uncle in St. Louis, Missouri, was taking the first wagon train to the Oregon Territory with his family. Mama showed her cookstove, which she recently purchased with my poker winnings, hooked up separately from the central fireplace. The fireplace kept the house warm and baked or roasted food in the ovens along the sides. The cookstove oven was quite small and barely fit a turkey. The ladies spent the night in my parents’ trundle bed. As much as I loved Mabel, I failed to have enough to give her. I woke up just before dawn to milk the cows and to view Cossette already dressed and standing at Mama’s kitchen stove cooking hoe cakes while Mama cooked grits, bacon, and eggs. Cossette stopped to flip the toaster by the fireplace to cook the other side. Coffee beans were roasted by the fireplace in a pan. Cossette commented on how her mother taught her to offer assistance to her hostess. She was definitely not a planter’s daughter expecting everybody to serve her. I went to the barn, milked the cows, and poured the milk into the separator. Usually, girls do the milking, but getting my little sisters up and ready for chores before breakfast was a chore in itself. I brought in a pitcher of cream and another of milk for breakfast coffee. The milk in the barn would be used to make butter and buttermilk by my sisters, while the cream was saved for desserts, coffee, and soups. Mama requested I fetch a few pieces of wood for the stove. I stepped back into the cold, dark back porch to get to the wood box, and Cossette followed me to help. She grabbed some pieces of wood and cradled them in her arms, her woolen wrap flapping in the wind.

“I see how you look at Mabel,” she began.

I was stunned and failed to reply. I nearly dropped a piece of wood on my boots.

“I saw your face when she announced her engagement. You were devastated. Others must miss it because you all have known each other your whole lives, to appear as normal. Her family holds your family in high regard, and I have no doubt they would permit a new, larger house for your parents after they allowed your distillery. A lady never reveals her emotions in public, so don’t expect her to show her true feelings to you except in private. You have two years to sabotage her latest engagement. Luckily, her fiancé is still at college, so as not to avoid inciting his jealousy, reach the ears of Mr. Thompson with complaints about you waiting in the wings. He and others will not be so kind to you.” she said.

I didn’t know what to say in reply. How did this young lady I barely knew see right through me? She turned away to open the door to break our awkward gaze at each other. We entered the kitchen in silence, and I began grinding the roasted coffee beans to be boiled in a pot of water and then strained with a cloth. Mabel began stirring as the dawn began to shine into the kitchen window. Cossette helped her dress. My papa got out of bed to prepare a mug of coffee with fresh cream. My younger siblings, who were still living at home, slowly came downstairs to eat breakfast. I drank my coffee with maple syrup as my sisters set the table with tin tableware. Cossette spoke to my family about growing up without a mammy, and her lawyer father had only two slaves when she was little, who were wedding gifts from his parents. Both of her grandparents were merchants trading with the Cherokee, who obtained a few African slaves from them. She helped her mama and, later, the governess with chores in the kitchen and around the house, like making candles or sweeping the floor. When John was living in their home in Raleigh, her mother did all the cooking and washed up on Sundays when the slaves had the day off. She always kept the kitchen tidy, so when the cook came downstairs Monday morning, she did not waste time cleaning the kitchen before cooking their breakfast. Everyone enjoyed Cossette’s hoe cakes and toast, and she enjoyed my mama’s elderberry jam, grits, bacon, and eggs. Her coffee had milk and a single lump of sugar in it. Her fried eggs were sunny side up, and she casually dipped her bacon in the yolk, to the surprise of Mabel eating scrambled eggs.

“My papa always dipped his bacon into his yolks,” she spoke to Mabel. “Mama fixed scrambled eggs for herself to eat her bacon separately.”

They left after breakfast when we hitched up their sleigh. Mabel grabbed the reins, and Cossette waved at us. I asked Mama about what Cossette said to me outside. She laughed at the thought of me marrying Mabel. She kept glancing at her engagement ring with a smile and barely noticed me in the room. I thought about hiding my emotions better. Spring planting went well, and the harvest was plentiful. We went to the county fair, and I joined the horse race to win a Second-Place ribbon. Matthew received an acceptance letter from a professor at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill to enroll during the next semester. In September, we took him to the Thompson Inn to board the stagecoach south. Mama was proud that he was the first member of the family to attend any school. Pastor Bunston came over to present him with a Bible of his own and wished him well in his studies. The scholarship covered his tuition and books, but he waited tables in the dining hall to earn his room and board expenses. I gave him five dollars and told him to write if he needed more. Papa gave him what he could. He promised to come home for the Christmas Break. As the Christmas festivities began, I delivered a fruit cake that Mama had made for Mrs. Thompson as a gift. I dropped off another fruit cake, paying a social call to Cossette. She was hosting her parents from Raleigh, celebrating the birth of her first son around Thanksgiving, and John had ordered a lot of our wine. Mama had gifted a knitted baby blanket.

Her parents were friendly and willingly talked about politics with me. The new Republic of Texas elected its first president, and its Congress quickly disputed its borders with Mexico. Texas's new president wanted Texas to join the United States as a new state, while others wanted all the land from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Ocean to be the Republic of Texas. Treaties ending the battles were signed, but Mexico’s government was not ratifying them, not fully acknowledging Texas as a separate Republic. He wondered if Congress in Washington City would allow Texas to join the Union as a new state, with all these disputes leading to conflict with Mexico. There was also a group of people advocating for opening public schools so everyone can learn. Mabel wrote him a letter encouraging him to open public schools because so many people were illiterate and could improve their situation if they could read and write. I confessed how she educated me to improve my situation after my papa was caught moonshining. I shared what I learned with my family, and now my brother is at the university, hoping to go to a seminary to be a pastor. Assemblyman Harrison was intrigued by this and would take it into consideration with his fellow Whigs. Democrats were determined not to open public schools because it took away the rights of parents to choose their children’s education. I asked what if the parents had no education and couldn’t homeschool their children. A public school would help them educate their children and not hurt planters who hire governesses, unless planter children were forced to attend the public schools, however unlikely. Assemblyman Harrison agreed that it was a good argument. I inquired about this new Whig Party he belonged to. Assemblyman Harrison said the National Republicans objected to President Jackson’s taking out deposits from the National Bank and allowing the national bank charter to expire, resulting in paper money printed only by the states. They believed he began acting like a tyrant, removing the Indians east of the Mississippi River, and signed a new tariff bill that South Carolina objected to, resulting in a new tariff bill lowering the rates. Jackson campaigned against tariffs, and then he signed bills to lower the rates. The National Republicans absorbed other parties opposing Jackson to rename themselves the Whig Party.