It is not necessary that I should multiply in words or reasons why I think she should win a pardon. Suffice it to say that I have no hesitation in saying that the community expect her Pardon and I believe generally wish it. Mr. Joseph Erwin was present at the trial to whom I refer you. He, I know, at one time thought it a case very doubtful. I saw David Newland at Wilkesboro & read the letter which Hugh M. Stokes wrote on that subject. I fully concur in sentiment with him as to the opinion of the community. There is certainly one, but few more, who think or wish her execution. It is believed by many that her Parents was very instrumental in the perpetration of that horrid deed. If so, shurely it is a powerful reason why the executive clemency should be extended to one of her age and condition.
I know, my dear sir, that you have often been reproached for extending the Ordinary Power vested in the Executive. You have nothing to fear from this approach: humanity is certainly one of the greatest attributes.
I do hope and trust, Sir, that if it is consistent with your duty and feelings toward a miserable wretch that you will grant her a Pardon if not already done, and forward same to me at Morganton. I did request our Sheriff Mr. Boone to speak to you on the subject. I know your engagements and fear that I have already wearied your patience.
Please accept the opinion of my highest esteem and regard for your welfare.
Th. W. Wilson
Montfort Stokes, who was in his final days as North Carolina’s head of state, declined to reply.
In due course we found out why Judge Swain had not appeared to convene the fall term of Superior Court, and it proved to no one’s surprise that our judgment had been accurate: the gentleman had pressing business in grander places than our country backwater. David Lowry Swain was running for governor.
He had resigned his judgeship in order to spend the autumn months campaigning for the office among his influential friends in Raleigh, while his duties to justice in the mountain counties lay forgotten, overshadowed by his ambition. When the news became known, this turn of events was remarked upon by various community leaders in Morganton, with varying degrees of approval. The most charitable remarks I heard concerning Judge Swain’s candidacy were to the effect that perhaps it was a good thing, since Swain was a native of Asheville; perhaps, as a westerner himself, Swain could do some good for the oft-neglected mountain areas of North Carolina. Some said they would vote for him, and others were not so sure. Former sheriff Will Butler said that if Judge Swain’s attention to duty as a circuit judge was any indication of his concern for his homeland, we would do better to elect a monkey as governor, for we could do no worse. I saw a great deal of sense in the sheriff’s estimation of the situation, but I did not say so, for discretion is a lawyer’s greatest virtue, and besides, I thought there was very little chance that a man from our part of the state would win anyhow, since the political power is and always has been concentrated in the eastern part of the state.
David Swain did win, though. He was not chosen in the general election, which was held in November. At that time Andrew Jackson was reelected president, much to the consternation of a number of gentlemen in Burke County, and to Swain himself, who had bitterly opposed Jackson’s politics, but our local yeoman farmers were happy enough to hear of Old Hickory’s success, for he was a man of the people, and from these parts himself, and a few of them even vowed to make the long ride to Washington to attend the party for his inauguration in January. Then, in December, the politicians in Raleigh appointed David L. Swain to a special one-year term as governor of North Carolina, so in the end no one got to vote for him, but he became governor all the same, and in the main Will Butler was wrong about David Swain’s attitude toward the mountain counties. He was to prove a loyal friend to his home region, and he favored the advancement of the railroads into the western territories of the state, which would be a great boon to progress for the region, but he did not right all the wrongs in our portion of the state. Not by any means.
“Mrs. Silver is quite delighted to hear of Governor Swain’s election to office,” Elizabeth remarked at breakfast one morning early in the new year of 1833. “My sister Mary tells me that she wept for joy when she was told.”
I replied that I had not realized that Mrs. Silver took such an interest in politics, particularly since she was not likely to live long enough to enjoy the governor’s performance.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “You are quite a bear this morning, Mr. Gaither,” she said. “Did last night’s rum punch not agree with you?”
“It is wearing out its welcome,” I admitted, “but that does not alter the fact that I am concerned about all the attention you ladies are paying Mrs. Silver. She is quite unused to the society to which you expose her in your visits, and I do not know what she makes of all of you. Still, she should be using this time wisely to prepare her soul for the Hereafter, and I think you ladies are at best a distraction from that purpose.”
Elizabeth laughed. “But she is not yet twenty! She has a long time to prepare for eternity.”
“She has until March, and perhaps six weeks thereafter, for preparations to be made, and the execution to be carried out. A sentencing hearing is merely a formality, Elizabeth. There will be no new evidence, no jury, no appeal. It is a matter of scheduling, nothing more. Her fate has already been decided.”
My wife favored me with a tolerant smile. “Her fate was decided before the new governor was appointed. Now, of course, everything has changed.”
“Nothing has changed.”
“But of course it has, dearest! David Swain of Asheville is now the governor of North Carolina. In short, he is one of us. And you must not forget that Mrs. Silver’s own attorney, Nicholas Woodfin, read law under Mr. Swain. A personal appeal can be made. That’s how these things are done.”
Elizabeth smiled at me, the gentle, condescending smile of an Erwin with four aces. Her grandfather Sharpe had been a member of the Continental Congress, and she counted generals, legislators, and wealthy planters in her bloodline. Who was I to tell her that she was mistaken? So I merely nodded and let it pass. I was thinking, though, that if Mistress Elizabeth Erwin Gaither took an ax to her husband, she could very well get herself pardoned by her father’s good friend the governor, but it was not so with Frankie Silver. All the influential supporters in the world could not make her a woman of substance. And the sheltering wing of the Erwin ladies might not be enough to save her.
SPENCER ARROWOOD had not been to church in many months, but this Sunday, despite his difficulty in getting around and the doctor’s misgivings about his leaving the house so soon, he had come. His family had belonged to the little white frame church for generations, and he felt that any thanks offered up for his continued existence should be said here. As usual, though, he came more with the intention of making additional requests than in thankfulness for mercies already bestowed.
The sight of so many people whom Spencer had known for most of his life was reassuring to him in his new awareness of mortality, as if their concern and good wishes could keep death at bay for a little while longer. He sat in the pew beside his mother, uncomfortably warm in his navy sport coat and tie, still pale and weak from his injuries, but trying to seem as if nothing were amiss. From time to time members of the congregation smiled and waved to him from neighboring pews, and he tried to smile back, but perhaps he had ventured out too soon. He felt light-headed, and impossibly tired from the short walk from the car to the sanctuary. It was as if old age had overtaken him in the course of an hour, but this time, when he was well again, he could go back to youth. He wondered what it would be like when he was old for good, past going back. Perhaps he would not live to find out.