CHAPTER 29—PROPOSAL

31 JANUARY 1860

The meeting at Mr. Weldon’s home earlier today was unlike anything I could have imagined. As we gathered in his opulent parlor, the tension was palpable. John sat rigidly in an armchair, his face a mask of barely contained frustration. Rufus and Joe flanked him on either side, their expressions guarded. I took a seat on the settee, smoothing my skirts and trying to project an air of calm I did not feel.

Mr. Weldon entered, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. “Thank you for coming,” he began. “I know these are difficult times, but I believe I have a proposal that could benefit us all.”

John’s hands tightened on the armchair. “Let’s hear it then, Weldon.”

“I shall go directly to the point, then.” He stood near a desk, his fingertips spread on what appeared to be a ledger. “As your major investor whose reputation is on the line, and since we are already closely aligned, it is time to form a partnership.”

I glanced at my husband, whose jaw was set in a straight line. Joe shifted in his seat, while Rufus’s face was unreadable. I felt a swirl of emotions: fear, hope, and an underlying current of dread. 

John could contain himself no longer. “The business is mine, built with my own two hands and my own wits.”

Weldon held up a placating hand. “I understand your feelings. But times are changing, and we must adapt or risk losing everything.”

“Adapt?” John scoffed. “By giving away what’s rightfully mine?”

“Not giving away, sharing. Strengthening. With my capital and connections, and Joe’s knowledge of the day-to-day operations, we could expand in ways you’ve only dreamed of.”

Rufus spoke up, his voice measured. “What are you proposing?”

“I composed an ad to place in the Beacon before gossip precedes it. I have it here.” He removed a piece of paper from within the ledger. Rufus and Joe jumped up to see it, while John arose reluctantly. My sons gave the paper to their father, awaiting his comments. He read the ad aloud. 

“’With a view of enabling him to meet the demand for his improved gin, Mr. LeBois has formed a co-partnership, the style of which is LeBois, Weldon, and company, by whom the business is now conducted.’”

He fell back into his seat, a growing resignation and sadness creeping into his slumped posture. “Hmmmm.” 

“Father,” interjected Rufus, “perhaps you could have a little jaunt. You and Mother. She enjoyed the trip to Louisiana immensely. You could check on your suppliers about whom I know you are concerned.” 

John shook his head in disbelief during the soliloquy. Joe handed him a list. “These are planters who would love for you and Mother to visit them. You might remember some of them from when they were Methodist ministers and plantation owners.”

John turned to Joe, quoting Shakespeare in Latin with a sense of betrayal, “‘Et tu, Brutus?’” 

Rufus grinned at his father’s reaction. “Father, you once advised me to avoid dramatics,” he said, with a hint of playfulness in his tone. Then he grew serious. “But, time is of the essence.”

“I can only speculate as to the reason,” was the reply.

Rufus shifted his gaze towards me. “This matter involves you, Mother.”

I tilted my head, trying to comprehend.

“You see, Uncle and Auntie are not pleased with the Oaks family using their house while they were away. They will be returning in a week.” 

John stood and began pacing, consternation in each step. “And so, we vacate the house, with the Oaks in our place. That is unacceptable! Give up our home of over twenty-five years? The one my father and I built, and your mother made a haven?”

John turned redder and redder, and I feared for him. He drew a breath, then continued. “Do you not understand what you’re asking? To send us away, to displace our family—it’s as if you’re trying to erase us.” My dearest stopped, his eyes searching the room for a pitcher of what he thought was water.

Pouring and then sipping, though Weldon tried to stop him, he spit it out. “Alcohol? What kind of Methodist are you?” But before Weldon could speak, John continued.

Joe spoke up, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of urgency. “We are fixing up Ellen’s vacated cottage, and we will turn the winter kitchen into added housing. The men need more room to bring their wives and babies.”

This was overwhelming. The cottage, the kitchen—these were places filled with family memories, and now they were to be repurposed for the workers? 

I mustered the courage to ask, “How many...how many additional people besides the Oaks?”

“Seven,” Rufus replied with uncertainty, before adding, “I think.”

But Joe interjected, “Actually, we’ll have nine. Two more were hired yesterday, and they’re demanding the same benefits of room and board. They know Daniel Pratt provides at least that.”

I slumped back into the settee, wishing it would swallow me whole, every fiber of my being craving an escape from this unbearable tension. “Oh. Oh my,” is all I could manage to say. A trip to Europe had always been something to muse upon during long, quiet evenings. But to leave our home for an extended period, with strangers occupying it in our absence?

John’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, frustration, and beneath it, a flicker of fear. This was difficult for him, with control slipping away and change he had not orchestrated. I glanced at our sons, who awaited our response. I wondered if they understood the emotional cost.

“John,” I murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “Perhaps we should consider this. A trip could give us time to plan for the future and to remember the good things from the past.”

He looked at me, his expression softening. “Louisa, you do not understand. This is more than just a trip. They are asking us to step aside, to let others run what I have built.”

“John,” Weldon cleared his throat, “I understand this is difficult. But please know that we do not intend to push you aside. Your expertise and vision are still invaluable. What we’re proposing is a way to secure its future - and yours.”

John’s shoulders slumped, the fight seeming to drain out of him.

“Father,” Rufus interjected, his tone respectful but firm, “consider this an opportunity, not a defeat. You could perfect new designs without the pressures of running the business.”

Joe nodded in agreement. “With Mr. Weldon’s connections and capital, your legacy would be secure.”

“I need to think about this.”

“Of course, John. Take the time you need. But please, consider it carefully.”

As we prepared to leave, Weldon pulled me aside. “Mrs. LeBois, I hope you understand that this proposal is as much for your benefit as it is for the business. John needs rest and to recover his strength. And you, my dear, deserve a chance to see the world beyond Greensboro.”