Chapter 57
Confrontation, Heartbreak, and Betrayal

The rest of that day was one of the most awful of my life.

I couldn’t believe what Terrance Jewks had told me—or wouldn’t. I was too mixed up and confused to know the difference.

I don’t even know what became of the hours between my interview with Jewks and nightfall. I walked for miles, I suppose, slept in my room at Miss Baxter’s, stubbornly trying to convince myself it was all a lie. Hadn’t Jewks himself admitted that revenge was his motive? How better to get revenge on Cal than to turn me against him! It was a cruel hoax, an attempt to ruin Cal’s reputation, and maybe even bring scandal upon Governor Stanford.

Jewks was just being a loyal Democrat. He was the southern spy, and his assignment had been to undermine the credibility of one of California’s most loyal Unionists, the assistant to the governor himself!

It all made perfect sense! And I was Cal’s weakness. They had probably been spying on me, too! I had been part of their plot all along! I had to warn Cal, and warn the governor that right here in Sacramento there were forces trying to destroy them!

But at the same time, I couldn’t get rid of an uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. Cal’s strange activities . . . the odd looks on his face that would come and go. I knew there must be an explanation! He would tell me everything about Jewks and set my mind at rest completely. That was the only thing to do. I had to talk to Cal tomorrow. I’d confront him with Jewks’ accusations. I’d tell him everything that Jewks said. He’d probably laugh the whole thing off!

Despite my attempts to reassure myself, I slept fitfully through the night. My mind told me I had nothing to be anxious about. But my stomach was quivery regardless.

The next day, the fourteenth, was a full one for all of us, contacting people, collecting money and checks and gold, confirming pledges that had been made, banking the contributions. Mr. King had called a meeting that morning to make all the arrangements and give us our assignments. It was the first time I had seen Cal since the previous afternoon. He looked and sounded like always.

We spent most of the afternoon together about the committee’s work, all except for about half an hour. He knew there was something on my mind. I wasn’t very good at concealing it. But we didn’t have an opportunity to talk until later.

When we finally did, I just burst out and told him everything Mr. Jewks had said.

“I know it’s not true, Cal,” I said, nearly breaking down. “But I had to tell you so you’d know.”

“Of course it’s not true,” he said with a lighthearted laugh. “Jewks is nothing but a two-bit politician, and a liar on top of it!” He laughed again, but the laughter sounded forced, and a little too quick on the heels of his words.

“A troublemaker, that’s all he is,” he added, denying the accusation too forcefully for me to feel altogether comfortable. “Probably a spy himself!” Again he laughed. But he looked straight at me as he did. I think he realized in an instant that I knew he was bluffing. I may not have been the prettiest or the smartest or the bravest person in the world, but I was able to look into someone’s face and know which way the wind was blowing through their mind. I suppose up till then I hadn’t made too good use of that ability with Cal. And right at that moment, I would have given anything not to have known what was behind his forced laughter and bravado.

Cal’s laughter died away. He kept looking at me, kept watching my face for signs of what I was thinking. Then he looked away and glanced down toward the river from the little patch of grass where we were sitting. I knew him well enough to know that he was revolving things over in his mind, trying to decide what to say. Then he glanced up at me again.

Still neither of us said anything. I hadn’t realized how much my face must have betrayed my doubts. But it must have, because he quit trying to deny everything. After another minute or two, a smile slowly spread across his face. A melancholy, cynical smile.

“Ah, Corrie . . . Corrie,” he sighed. “You are naive.”

I didn’t understand his tone.

“What do you mean, Cal?” I said.

“You see the world so simply, so black and white. There’s no gray for you, is there, Corrie—no in-between? Right and wrong, that’s all there is.”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“It’s a complicated, mixed-up world, Corrie. Circumstances don’t always fit so neatly into black and white compartments. Sometimes there is gray—places where you don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“What are you trying to say, Cal?” I asked, getting alarmed by his sarcastic tone. “Mr. Jewks isn’t right, is he?” I asked, still not wanting to face the truth.

“Ah, Jewks! What does he know? A low-level incompetent. If he couldn’t take care of himself in this game, they should’ve sent somebody else!”

“Cal . . . it isn’t true what he said?”

“We had to win the election. It’s a rough game . . . I told you that a long time ago.

“But it’s not right.”

“Right? What’s right? Everything has its twists and ironies. Who’s to say what’s right in the middle of it all?”

“What twists, Cal?” I asked. “Please . . . tell me what you mean!”

“Don’t you see the irony of it? Here I am, out West, on my way up, assistant to one of California’s most powerful men, when from out of nowhere my past comes back to haunt me. Suddenly the country is at war, and I am in the wrong place.”

“What do you mean . . . what about your past?”

“I’ve made no secret of it, Corrie. I was born in North Carolina. You knew that. I told you about my fondness for the country, and how I admired it in you.”

“Yes . . . but, what—”

“Don’t you hear what I am telling you, Corrie—North Carolina. I’m a southerner!”

“But . . . you’ve been a loyal Republican. You’ve worked for Mr. Stanford and the Union. You left the South years ago, just like my Aunt Katie. Lots of Californians came from the South originally.”

“Ah, but there’s the bitter irony, Corrie. I’m not just an ordinary Californian with southern roots.”

“Why?”

“Because of who I am, because of my position here. Ever since I heard about Edie leaving and returning to Virginia, I realized I had to do the same thing—not for any noble motives, but because if I didn’t, everything I had worked for would be lost.”

“Cal . . . what are you saying?”

“That I’ve got to go back too.”

“Back . . . back where?”

“To the South. I have no choice.”

“But . . . but why?” I started to cry.

“Opportunity, Corrie—remember? Suddenly all the opportunities have shifted. My golden goose, Mr. Leland Stanford, has suddenly become a millstone around my neck. My Republican affiliations, all the work I have done for the Union, even my little game with Jewks—don’t you see? It will all come back to haunt me when the war’s over. Men like Leland Stanford—outspoken Unionists—if they aren’t in jail with Abraham Lincoln, they’ll be reduced to political impotence. And unless I do something to redeem myself, something to make up for all these years when I put my money on the wrong horse—unless I do something to atone for these transgressions, as it were, I am likely to be right there with them, reduced to a life of mediocrity and meaninglessness.”

“You talk as if the war is already over.”

“It is . . . virtually. The North has nothing. Washington is about to fall. Lincoln could be behind bars before the year is out. Unless I make my move, and immediately, my opportunity in the new nation will be lost. Opportunity, Corrie . . . I’ve got to seize it while there’s still time. Changing loyalties once Grant surrenders to Lee won’t count for much, will it?”

“But what will you do—join the Rebel army?”

Cal laughed. “The stakes for me are just slightly higher than that, my dear naive young friend!”

“You said you always wanted to go to Washington someday.”

“I wanted to get to the capital. Once the North surrenders, that will be Richmond. And I don’t have to wait until someday . . . the opportunity is before me now!”

“I . . . I just don’t see—”

“You still don’t grasp it, do you, Corrie?” he said, and he sounded as though he were talking to a child. “Does the name Alexander H. Stephens mean anything to you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, he is my uncle, on my mother’s side. I know I told you about him. He has been after me for some time, through discreet communications of course, to join his staff—in a very prominent position. I have simply been awaiting the most propitious time for making such a move.”

I stared blankly at him.

Cal chuckled. He almost seemed to be enjoying putting me through this, seeing the confused emotions pass through me. I thought he had cared, but I had never felt so small and foolish as I did right now.

“Alexander Stephens,” Cal went on, “happens to be Jefferson Davis’s vice-president. When I arrive in Richmond, I won’t have to wait for some distant time . . . my opportunity will have arrived! I’ll be working close to the president himself!”

“There’s only one President, and his name is Abraham Lincoln.”

“I’m sorry, Corrie, but there is the gray again in your world of black and white. Right now there are two presidents, and before long the only one remaining in power will not be your friend Abraham Lincoln.”

“You have made up your mind?” I said, trying desperately to be brave.

“I’m afraid I have.”

“Then why did you wait until now? Why did you keep being so loyal, keep helping us raise funds for the Union, keep working for Mr. Stanford? You gave several speeches, telling people why they had to support Mr. Lincoln and the Federal troops. How could you do that, Cal, when inside you were all along planning to defect to the South?”

“Oh, I haven’t been planning to defect all along. I had to keep my options alive on both sides. I have nothing intrinsically against the Union, Corrie. I told you, it’s not an ethical or moral issue for me. It’s opportunity, and I will go where I can climb the highest. What if I had left, and then suddenly the tide of the war turned, and Davis and my uncle were the ones being arrested for their part in the rebellion? No, Corrie—I couldn’t risk that! I’ve had to bide my time to see how the tide of the war would go. The shifting sands of the political landscape can be treacherous if you don’t watch your step. So all year I have been watching my step, and now that the sands are about to engulf Mr. Lincoln and General Grant and Mr. Stanford altogether, I perceive it is time for me to be off. My only difficulty will be in explaining to my good uncle, who is not a kindly disposed man, why it took me so long to come to my senses. But I’m sure I will be able to manage that.”

I sat stunned. I couldn’t believe all I’d heard.

“But I thought,” I said at last, fighting a terrible urge to break into tears, “I thought . . . we—that is, Cal . . . you always used to talk about what we would do . . . about the future . . . I thought—”

I didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t much more to say.

“Come now, Corrie, you didn’t seriously expect me to marry you, did you?”

His question was so abrupt, so stark, that I felt as if I’d been slapped in the face.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s bigger than just you and me. Maybe if things had been different, who knows what might have happened? You’re a great kid, Corrie. I like you. There was always something about you I admired. In fact, I always kind of figured you might be on your way up, just like me, and that we might help each other out.”

“And now you don’t need someone like me anymore, so that’s the end of it, is that it?” I said, my hurt turning to anger.

“Please, Corrie,” said Cal, laughing slightly, “there’s no need to overreact to it. It’s just one of those things that happened. My uncle simply happens to have more clout than a young news writer from California, that’s all. Look at it practically. But I meant every word I said—I always admired you, and I’ll always wish the best for you. But this is not an opportunity I can pass up—for you, or anybody.”

I sat silent again. So many thoughts and feelings were raging through me, I felt like screaming and sobbing and running and kicking something—preferably Cal Burton!

“Why don’t you come with me, Corrie!” said Cal after a minute. The exuberance in his voice let me know he didn’t have any idea what he’d done to me.

“Why should I?”

“Because of the opportunities there would be for you in the new government. Just think—a news writer, right at the center of power. It could put you right at the top, Corrie. You could be one of the best-known writers in the country!”

“Opportunity, is that it?” I said.

“Yes! Why not, Corrie? What’s there ever going to be for you here?”

Just my family, people I love, a good home, I thought to myself. “I don’t think so, Cal,” I said. “Even if the Union falls, I’m still going to cast my lot with men like Abraham Lincoln.”

“Have it your way. But don’t ever say Cal Burton didn’t give you the chance to hitch yourself to his star on its way up!”

Finally I got up off the grass and started to walk back toward the buggy. “Will you please take me back to the boardinghouse?” I said. “I’m getting cold, and I have to start thinking about getting ready to go home.”