Chapter 3
An Unexpected Proposition
I turned, and my heart took off racing again at the sight of Cal Burton!
I glanced toward Pa, and before I knew it I was walking across the room at Mr. Burton’s side. I was afraid to look at him and at the same time unable to keep my eyes off him.
“There’s somebody I want you to talk to,” he said as he led me through the maze of people. In another minute I was standing in the middle of a small group of four or five men. One of them began talking to me, but I forgot his name as soon as I’d been told, and I remember only about half of what he said, even though it turned out to be a conversation that changed the whole course of my life.
“I heard about you from Cal here,” the man was saying, “and of course I’m on close terms with your editor, Ed Kemble. So I’m not altogether unaware of the role you played on behalf of our Republican party four years ago.”
“I didn’t do anything that did any good,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“Perhaps not,” the man went on. “You may have considered all that happened a waste of time and energy, but I would disagree with you.”
“The story I wrote about Mr. Fremont was killed,” I said.
“True enough. Your article was never printed. But what would you say if I told you I had read it?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m not sure I would believe you.”
The man laughed, and all the others in the small group listening to our conversation followed his lead. It was the first time I had seen Cal Burton laugh, and I enjoyed the sound of it. His even white teeth and broad smile gave me a whole new reason to like his looks. But the man was still talking to me, so I had to do my best to pay attention.
“Well, I have,” he said. “I should have known from reading your words that you would be a plain-talking young lady, even if it means calling an important man a liar to his face!”
He chuckled again, but as I started to tell him I hadn’t meant anything by it, he held up his hand and spoke again.
“Don’t worry, Miss Hollister,” he said. “I took no offense at what you said. I admire a woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind in front of men. Especially a young pretty one like you.”
I blushed immediately. It was an awful embarrassment!
I’m not pretty and you know it, I said to him in my mind. But outwardly I just glanced down at the floor for a minute. My first reaction was that he was probably poking fun at me like Uncle Nick always did. But then I realized he hadn’t been doing that at all. Neither he nor any of the other men seemed to make light of his words a bit. I recovered myself and looked up. His face was serious, and I could see that he’d meant what he’d said.
“I’m very earnest, Miss Hollister, in what I say. You see, my friends consider me a pretty straightforward man myself. So I recognize honesty and fearlessness for the virtues they are. A lot of folks who are involved in politics do so much double-talking you can’t tell what they’re saying. Most of them aren’t saying much worth listening to. But I’ve always been of a mind to speak out what’s on my heart, and then people can do what they want with your words. Wouldn’t you agree that’s the best way of going about it when you have something to say?”
“I reckon so,” I answered.
“That’s another thing I like about you, Miss Hollister. You don’t try to put on airs. You’re a country girl and you never try to hide it. You speak honestly, you speak out as the young lady you are, and as far as I can tell, you aren’t much afraid of anyone or worried what they’ll think.” He paused and looked me straight in the eye. “Would you say that is an accurate representation of yourself?” he asked after a moment.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I said, stumbling a little. The man certainly was straightforward, I’ll say that for him! “I wouldn’t say I’m not afraid of anything. But I guess you’re right about speaking my mind honestly. My minister back home, and my mother—my stepmother, I should say—”
“That would be Almeda Parrish, would it not?” he interrupted.
“Almeda Parrish Hollister,” I corrected him.
“Yes, of course. I knew of Mrs. Parrish before I had heard of either you or your father. A woman with a fine reputation. But I don’t suppose you need me to sing her praises, do you?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“And I read some of your articles about the Miracle Springs election, the whole feud between your family and that skunk of a banker Royce. You see, I do some checking to make sure of myself before I become involved with anyone. I make a habit of going into things with my eyes open.”
“I can see that,” I said.
“I admire your stepmother, and I have been keeping an eye on your father as well. He strikes me as a man California might hear more from one day.”
“He’s here,” I said eagerly, “if you would like to meet him.”
The man chuckled again. “Of course he’s here. I’m the one who arranged for both of you to be invited! I have every intention of speaking with your father before the night is done. But right now I’m speaking with you, and we were talking about your work for the Fremont cause four years ago, and the bravery you displayed in uncovering that story. Printed or not, it was a fine piece of work, and a courageous thing to do. But a great many things have changed since 1856. Our party was just in its infancy then, and John Fremont did not have the nationwide strength to stand up against Buchanan. Even had your article made it into the Alta, it is doubtful it would have had much of an impact, and it would have been too late even to be picked up in the East. Therefore, what I want to talk with you about, Miss Hollister, is not your work of the past, but what you might do for the Republican party in the future.”
He stopped, looking at me intently.
“I’m not sure I understand you,” I said. “I don’t know much about politics. I haven’t paid much attention since then. Except for what my pa does as mayor, that is.”
“I’m not concerned how much you know of what used to be. This is a new day, Miss Hollister. This election of 1860 is the one that’s going to change the direction of this nation forever. Don’t any of the rest of you tell John what I’ve said,” he warned, glancing around at the other men in the small group before turning his eyes back to me. “But John Fremont, as much as I admire the man, represents the Republican party of the past. He was an explorer, after all. That is how he will be remembered. But the future, both of our party and of this country, lies with the man from Illinois who is heading our presidential ticket this year. I’m sure you’ve heard of Abraham Lincoln, Miss Hollister?”
“Of course,” I answered. “There was already talk about him in 1856.”
“Well, I am convinced his time has finally come, and that he is the man to take our country forward—into the new decade, into the future, and away from the Democratic control that has dominated Washington for the past thirty years.”
He stopped again, still looking at me with an almost inquisitive expression.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said finally. “You’re probably right about everything you say. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Simple, Miss Hollister. I want to enlist your support in the cause. I want you to help us with the campaign, in even a more active way than you did for John Fremont four years ago.”
“Help . . . in what way? How could I possibly help?”
“Writing articles on Mr. Lincoln’s behalf. Perhaps even taking to the stump once in a while. Women might not be able to vote, but men sure pay attention when a woman speaks out!”
“The stump . . . what do you mean?”
“Speaking, Miss Hollister. Giving speeches to go along with your writing, helping us raise money and votes for the Republican ticket in November.”
“You’re talking about speechmaking—me?” I exclaimed.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied with a broad smile. “I want you on our side.”