At times afterward I reproached myself for not doing more to fix the
guilt of Zoe's death upon Fortescue. Particularly as it became clear to
me that his freedom from that responsibility energized his descent upon
me for Zoe's interest in the farm. What had my generosity, foolish and
boyish, come to after all?
But on this trip to Chicago, whatever our resolutions were on the way,
they melted or scattered when we found the half-breed had confessed;
also when we talked to the witnesses. Douglas, too, though he had not
slackened his interest in my behalf, had politics to occupy his mind.
The presidential campaign was on. He was the leader of his party in
Illinois; and his presence in Chicago was opportune.
The half-breed was quickly tried, convicted, and hanged. And before I
was scarcely ready Fortescue had come to Jacksonville with his witnesses
to prove the marriage. I tried to engage Douglas as my counsel, but he
was deep in campaigning. Accordingly I turned again to Mr. Brooks. There
was nothing left of defense to us but the cross-examination of these
unknown persons who came to swear that they were witnesses to the
wedding. That Zoe and Fortescue had lived together as husband and wife
there was little doubt. Had I not seen them together on the lake front
in Chicago? Had not Zoe then hidden herself behind a suspicious
reticence? These things corroborated the witnesses.
Mr. Brooks' cross-examination was not very acute. Perhaps there was not
much to ask. But we had no witnesses with whom to rebut Fortescue's
claim. I could not conceive how I could find any such witnesses; but I
had gone to Chicago and left without trying to do so. And neither
Douglas nor Mr. Williams had suggested it.
If some six men and two women were willing to swear that they were
present to hear, and did hear, Zoe and Fortescue pledge themselves to
each other, what could break the evidentiary effect? Fortescue had paid
the expenses of these witnesses to Jacksonville; there was no attempt to
hide that. But why not a formal marriage? They did not wish it that way.
Was not this marriage as valid as any? To be sure. Then the ring! We
made little of a defense. Mr. Brooks seemed overcome by the emphatic
answers. We lost. And Fortescue came into my life as a co-tenant, a
brother-in-law.
Of course I inherited from Zoe too; but here was Fortescue, sharing in
every acre, in every piece of timber in my house. Only a division by a
court could set off to him his share and leave me in individual
possession of mine.
He came to Jacksonville to live. He went into possession of the hut.
Whether I would or no, I had to confer with him about various things,
fences, taxes, road service. He knew nothing of farming. He often came
to ask me what to do, and I could not rebuff him. He brought strange
characters about him, particularly some of the witnesses who had helped
him to sustain his claim. He sent to borrow utensils, household
necessities. He visited with my workmen, wasting their time, putting
disturbing ideas into their minds. He was a consummate nuisance. And as
usual I had much to do and to think of, and I spent lonely evenings when
I did not see Reverdy and Sarah or the old fiddler.
It was now left to me to institute a partition suit to divide the land
between me and Fortescue. Mr. Brooks managed this admirably for me.
There was danger that Fortescue might compel a sale of the whole farm
and a division of the proceeds. There was my house, the attractive
improvements around it, bright to the envious eye. Fortescue only had
the hut. But at last acres were set off to him. I kept my house and the
remainder of the land. And this was ended.
But nevertheless I thought more and more of selling the farm, of moving
to Chicago. Fortescue was an impelling cause to this step. I should in
that event leave Reverdy and Sarah and little Amos. I should see less of
Douglas. But I began to be desperately annoyed by my situation. I could
not wholly live down the killing of Lamborn. There was the memory of
Zoe. There was now Fortescue. And in Chicago there was Abigail, to whom
I was writing. She had become a very close friend. She was urging me
constantly to take up my residence in Chicago. But I could not leave
without selling the land. I did not wish to sacrifice it. I did not
think it wise to rent it. Indeed I could not rent it and derive the same
income from it that I could by working it myself. I had not yet found a
purchaser who would pay what it was worth.
It was now the autumn of 1840. Sarah had two children beside little
Amos, a boy born in August whom they had named Jonas. Dorothy had come
from Nashville to help Sarah with the heavy household burdens that were
now upon her.
I saw a good deal of Dorothy at Reverdy's; she came to my house on
occasions when I entertained. She was as lovely as ever, but she did not
have Abigail's mind. She was luxurious in her temperament, aristocratic
in her outlook and tastes. She did not stimulate me as Abigail did, but
she involved my emotional nature more powerfully. Something of
resentment fortified my present neutral attitude toward her. Why, after
all, need Zoe have affected her so profoundly? Perhaps my own thinking
was toughened by my experiences. I had killed a man for Zoe; I had been
through a trial with Fortescue. Surely if there had been any bloom on me
it had been rubbed off. Why had not Dorothy seen in me a practical,
courageous heart, who took his fate and made the best of it? Was there
something lacking of depth, of genuineness, in Dorothy's nature?
There was much stirring now in the country due to the campaign. The log
cabin was apotheosized; hard cider was the toast to America's greatness.
The hero of Tippecanoe, the pioneer soldier, Indian fighter, the plain
man, the Whig, was pitted against the well-groomed and resourceful Van
Buren. Reverdy, because of his admiration for Douglas, was for Van
Buren; and Dorothy had no thought of any other allegiance. We made up
parties to attend the rallies, to see the marching men, to hear the
speeches. Douglas, who was campaigning with tireless energy, came to
Jacksonville to address the people. He was now twenty-seven and a
master. He controlled the party's organization in Illinois. Practice had
given solidity and balance to his oratory. He moulded the materials of
all questions favorably to his side. Audiences rose up to him as if
hypnotized. He swept Illinois for Van Buren. But Harrison and Tyler were
elected. The vote of Illinois was a personal triumph for Douglas.