Page 69 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“Mr.Allen, the party is not dead,” Mr.Dickinson said. “Am I not still a Whig in the eyes of Congress?”

“But for how long? I tell you the Whigs are all but gone, and it’s over slavery. The nation is being ripped in two because of it. Those who are left standing in the middle are the ones who will be torn to bits when this all blows up,” a red-faced man said from the other end of the table. Perspiration gathered on his forehead as he spoke.

Mr.Dickinson set his wineglass back on the table. “There are other issues that my party is more concerned with. Economic stability is at the forefront.”

“How can the economy or any of these other so-called issues be more important than this one?” Mr.Allen wanted to know.

“All topics of the law are given their due,” Mr.Dickinson said. “I agree that this issue of slavery seems to be coming to a head. Every time a new state or territory is added to the Union we have to ask if this new addition will be slave or free. It’s a ridiculous question to ask. What we should be asking is how this new territory will increase the wealth and power of the United States of America.”

“When you do that,” a second young man spoke up, “you are displacing the Indians who live in those places.”

“Let’s not get into that,” the red-faced man harped.

The young man looked like he wanted to argue more but pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Where are the Indians going to go if we continue to push them west?” Emily chimed in. “Will we push them into the ocean?”

“This is not a discussion to be had at the dinner table in mixed company,” Mr.Dickinson said. “Politics is men’s work.”

“Men’s work, women’s work. I can scream the number of times I have heard that. What if my interests are supposed to be reserved for men? What am I supposed to do with those?” Emily wanted to know.

“They can’t be your interests,” the young and bearded Mr.Allen said.

“How can you tell me how I can and cannot feel?” Emily asked. “If you stub your toe and experience pain, what should I say to you? Well, as a man you should be stronger than that. That should not hurt you. I don’t think you would like that.”

“That is not the point I’m making.”

“I see, but it is the point that I’m making, which is the difference,” Emily said archly.

“Mr.Allen, it seems that you have met your match in Miss Dickinson here,” a man with sandy-colored hair that was going gray at the temples said.

“Westward expansion is not the main concern,” Mr.Johnson spoke up in his gruff voice. “Our country is being torn in two over the issue of slavery as Mr.Allen said.”

Everyone at the table looked at the stable owner.

“And what is your view on it?” Emily asked, holding her glass in the air.

“My view is of no importance,” he practically growled.

Emily set her empty glass on the table. “I think your view is very important, Mr.Johnson. Is it not true that a young man was killed in your stables a few weeks ago? There are murmurings in Amherst that he was in some way involved in the Underground Railroad. Is that not true?”

I froze in my spot against the wall. How could Emily just come out and say that? She had to know that it would send Mr.Johnson over the edge.

Mr.Johnson glared at her. “I had a stable hand that was killed by a horse because the stable hand was careless. That’s all there is to it. When people are around horses they forget that they are large and powerful animals. That’s what my employee did and now he is dead. It’s no one’s fault but his own.”

I gave a quick intake of breath. When I did I grabbed the attention of Matthew. His head turned in my direction, and his eyes went wide as if he realized that it had been me standing there the whole time. In the hotel uniform, I had been overlooked by everyone at the dinner table, including Matthew. It was far too easy to see servants as fixtures in a room instead of the real people that they were.

“You seem to be very determined to blame young Henry for his own death,” Emily said.

Mr.Johnson’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything back.

“Emily,” Mr.Dickinson spoke up. “That is enough.”

Emily frowned but did not argue with her father. She knew that she had pushed the conversation as far as it would go.

Mrs.Dickinson cleared her throat. “Mr.Campbell,” she addressed the balding man who had been speaking to Matthew when I first came into the room. “Have you had an opportunity to speak to Mr.Milner? He’s our postmaster in Amherst.” She gestured at Mr.Milner who was sitting across the table from her next to Matthew. Mrs.Dickinson smiled at Mr.Milner. “I’m sure you already know that Mr.John Campbell is the postmaster general for the nation.”

Mr.Milner pulled on his collar. “I do.”

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