...Lorraine Day, presented by the DuPont Company,
makers of Better Things for Better Living through Chemistry.
Now, the DuPont cavalcade of America starring Lorraine Day in the proud way.
The story of a willful young girl who loved Jefferson Davis
and became one of the great ladies of the South, Verena Howell.
I was only 17 and as we used to say, green young spoiled rotten,
when my father's old friend Joseph Davis invited me to spend the Christmas holidays
on his Mississippi plantation named Hurricane.
I had come up from Natchez on the river packet
and one of Uncle Joe's nieces met me at the war.
She was riding a wonderfully wild looking chestnut coach.
Miss Howell, you are Miss Howell, aren't you?
Yes, I am.
I'm Mary Bradford, one of the clans.
Oh boy, oh, I could ever get the devil out of this group.
Sulzen boy, be quiet.
Oh, he's beautiful.
Are you a niece?
I don't know a thing about Uncle Joe's family.
Ah, you will. There'll be simply scores of us at Hurricane by Christmas Day.
Young Joe was perishing to come and meet you at the boat.
Young Joe?
One of my cousins.
You know, we all think Uncle Joe's planning a wedding for you.
A wedding?
Yes, he's described you in such glowing terms to young Joe
that the poor boys expecting Delilah and Cleopatra and the Queen of Sheba all roll in the boat.
Oh, la-di-da, that's just plain silly.
Well, if I'm any judge, he won't think so.
Sulzen boy, be quiet.
Quiet boy.
Now, what about our going on up to the house, Miss Howell?
I've had lovely little Philly brought over for you. Her name's Amelia.
Thank you, but why don't you ride Amelia and let me try your Sultan?
Oh, no, Uncle Jeff would be furious.
Another uncle? Well, why should I fret?
You don't know it.
Listen, Mary, I've been riding horses all my life,
and I'll wager you a great big hunk of plum pudding that I can handle this one.
Come on.
And all in the blue, unclouded weather over the rustling leaves
through the thick trees we rode towards the plantation called Hurricane.
Miss Howell, bring a way.
He wants his head, Mary. He needs a run.
But he's so skittish and you don't know the way.
All right, then let's race and see if you can lead the way.
Oh, stop, Greena. Here comes Uncle Jeff down the road.
Oh, la-di-da. What's she so scary about an old uncle for?
Mary! Mary! What have I told you about racing Sultan, Sulzen boy?
I beg your pardon. I'm not Mary.
Oh, oh. Oh, the guest from Natchez.
May I ask how you come to be riding Sultan?
She can't handle him. I can.
Indeed.
Oh, Uncle Jeff, I am sorry. I surely didn't expect you to catch us red-handed.
But I did. You'd better walk the horses the rest of the way, Mary.
Oh, why? Aren't you coming back with us?
No, I've got to go on to Vicksburg. But I'll see you at supper tonight.
Good day, Miss Howell.
Good day.
Who's he think he is ordering people around like that?
Oh, please don't get the wrong idea about Jeff Davis, Greena.
We all take orders from him because he knows what he's talking about and, well, because we love him.
Well, anybody who's always right is that. I feel sorry for his wife.
Greena, you don't know what you're saying.
Why? What did I say?
Greena, eight years ago, not more than three months after the wedding, Jeff Davis's wife died.
His eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen, and his mouth the saddest.
That night at Hurricane, I met more of the Davises at supper,
and seated next to me was young Joe, the nephew I had been brought here to meet and perhaps marry.
And how do you like Hurricane so far, Miss Greena?
Well, I've been here for a long time.
I've been here for a long time.
And perhaps marry. And how do you like Hurricane so far, Miss Greena?
Why, it's just beautiful.
You know, my father's never been here, and he thinks he sent me off to an alligator swamp over Christmas.
Well, a few years ago, he might have been right.
Martin the Uncle Joe.
Well, it's all rich farmland now.
That is, you get the edge of my property.
Then it's the deadliest, most malignant swamp land in the state.
No, Uncle Jeff, here's the very dickens of a time keeping Briarfield clear.
Briarfield?
My plantation, north of Hurricane and mostly swamp land.
Well, if it's swamp land, how do you ever grow anything there, Mr. Davis?
Grow?
Well, Uncle Jeff planned to grow the saplings around his house eight years ago,
and would you believe it, it's a whole forest now.
You can grow there, Miss Greena, and die there, too.
I knew what he meant.
Eight years ago, the bride of Mr. Jefferson Davis had died.
Yet everything else, it seemed, lived and thrived and grew almost too fast in this delta richness.
When supper was over, we all went up to the music room.
And you're our honored guest, Miss Greena, so you must decide on the entertainment for Christmas Eve.
Well, I am honored.
What about charades?
Charades!
Oh, that would be lovely.
Let's start choosing sides right now.
Miss Greena, for me.
Well, I choose you, Uncle Jeff.
Then it seems to be all settled, doesn't it?
I know the tableau I want to do.
The wigs trying to get the bank back from the Democrats.
Mary, you're not supposed to laugh.
Perhaps we better avoid political subjects, Mary dear.
I guess it was raised a wig.
You don't mean to tell me you're all Democrats, Uncle Joe.
Yes, my girl, I'm afraid we are.
Why, Greena, the Democratic committee in Vicksburg even wants Uncle Jeff to stand for the Mississippi legislature.
I won't be accepting the nomination, however.
Have you definitely made up your mind, Jeff?
I'm a planter, not a politician, Joe.
But if you're needed...
Who needs a solitary scholar living away from the world?
The world might need you, Mr. Davis.
Why, thank you, Miss Greena.
But you see, Briarfield is my world.
And I've accustomed my eyes to its mists and shadows.
I've no wish now to face the glaring lights of the Capitol.
That night I lay in the great poor poster in the room I shared with Mary,
thinking of the people I had met at Hurricane.
Of Mr. Jefferson Davis.
What manner of man was he that he should grieve alone through a lifetime for a woman who could never return?
In the darkness I listened to Mary's quiet breathing,
and resolved that Uncle Joe's marriage plans for me would go awry.
I was green, young, and willful, and I had not given my heart.
But that night I was resolved that Jeff Davis would give up his heart to me.
So the next morning...
Why, good morning, Miss Greena.
Good morning, gentlemen. Good morning.
Are we the only ones down for breakfast? It would seem so.
Uncle Joe will be busy with his accounts today,
so Uncle Jeff is to make the rounds of the plantation for him.
Oh, here, a chair, Miss Greena. Allow me.
Thank you, Joe.
What will you have? Eggs? Spoonbread?
Just coffee, if you please. All right.
Mr. Jeff? Yes, Miss Greena?
Would it be an imposition if I asked you to let me ride with you today?
Oh, Miss Greena, I was going to ask you.
I don't think it would amuse you very much.
Go in with me. It will if I ride Sultan.
Sultan? Oh, no, I'm sorry. Please.
He's a dangerous animal, willful, flighty.
Then we understand each other. I'm willful and flighty, too.
Oh? Please.
Well, I suppose as long as I'm with you.
But mind you, no galloping, no racing.
I promise. No galloping, no racing.
Well, how do you like my brother's alligator swamp, Miss Greena?
So many orchards, so many gardens and fields.
Is your briarfield like this, Mr. David?
Briarfield's a very poor thing in comparison.
If it weren't for James, my overseer, it would still be like a jungle.
I'd like to see your forest, the one that grew up in eight years.
Oh, no, I'm sorry. It's getting late. We'd better turn back.
Must we? Yes, we must.
We'd better trade horses, too. Oh, why?
Well, Sultan's restless. He recognizes this road.
Come, shall we turn back now?
Greena! Where are you going?
Not I, it's Sultan. Hold him!
He wants to go to Briarfield. No!
I can't hold him back. Get off the road. Try to stop him.
He won't stop. Then hang on tight, Greena.
I'm coming after you.
Jeff didn't know, but I was urging Sultan to cross the cane break
into a patch of forest towards Briarfield.
Then we came out into the cane again, a great pathless waste of it
that opened suddenly at the edge of a creek, and Sultan stumbled.
Greena! Greena! Are you all right?
Yes. I shall never forgive myself for letting you ride.
Oh, and look, you've ruined your dress.
Oh, dear. Perhaps we can scrape the mud off my skirt.
Hadn't we better go on to your house, Mr. Davis?
I suppose we'll have to now. Come on.
You didn't want me to come to your house, did you?
You will be its first visitor in eight years.
Ahead was the grove of live oak that Jefferson Davis had literally
willed into being to shut out the world.
And there it was, the strange dark house he built for Theranox Taylor, his wife.
And I was the first woman to set foot in it since the day she died.
You are listening to The Proud Way, starring Lorraine Day as Verena Howell
and featuring House Jameson as Jefferson Davis on The Cavalcade of America,
sponsored by the DuPont Company, makers of better things for better living through chemistry.
Verena Howell is telling the story of her Christmas holiday at the Mississippi plantation
called Hurricane, where she's met Jefferson Davis, the lonely planter of Briarfield.
Verena has determined that he will fall in love with her
and forget his first wife, who died eight years before.
Now, Verena continues her story.
Jefferson Davis helped me dry the mud from the skirt of my velvet riding habit
before the big stove at Briarfield.
And then when he went outside to have a horse's groom, I opened the door to the dark library,
curious to see. I stepped inside thinking I was alone, but...
Was there something you wished, young miss?
Oh, you startled me.
I came in to tell you the horses is ready.
So soon?
Yes, ma'am.
Are you his overseer?
I take care of everything hereabouts, Mr. Jeff.
I was his orderly in the army. He depends on me for everything.
We don't invite nobody here.
I know that.
Follow me.
We'll go out to the horses now.
He seemed to think he owned Briarfield.
I was angry and I told myself I would show him his place.
The next day I went riding again with Jefferson Davis,
and this time it was much easier to arrange for a stop at the house.
I had only to complain of being thirsty, like a child asking for water in the night.
James will get you some tea, Verena. I better look for the horse.
All right, Mr. Davis. Suppose I wait for you in the library.
I went inside and looked at the rows upon rows of his books.
I sat down in a deep leather chair and picked up from the table beside me
a slim leather-bound volume.
I don't think he'd like it. You're looking at that book.
Why must you always startle me like that, James?
Mr. Jeff said you were thirsty for tea. I brought you some.
Thank you.
And why shouldn't I look at his books while I wait?
That one belonged to the young lady.
You take very good care of Mr. Jeff, don't you, James?
A little beyond the call of duty, wouldn't you say?
I don't know what you mean, Miss.
I've been his orderly at his side during the worst Indian fighting.
Been with him ever since.
Maybe it's something a young lady like you wouldn't understand.
But I do, James. Did Mr. Jeff like the army?
He resigned to marry Miss Saver. He'd have been a general by now.
James, wait! You've just given me a wonderful idea.
Had he any old uniforms packed away around here?
Yes, I reckon he had.
Well, you see, we're having a charades party tomorrow night at Hurricane.
Do you think Mr. Jeff would mind if young Joe dressed up in one of his uniforms
to represent him in his soldiering days?
I don't know, Miss.
Please, James, pack some things and send them over to me, will you?
Put in anything colorful. Uniforms, an Indian trophy.
I reckon you'll be coming back here often from now on.
Why not?
How are you going to manage it, young Miss?
I beg your pardon.
You don't invite nobody. It is always just us.
You said that before, James. But situations do have a way of changing. You'll see.
[♪ dramatic music playing in background. Horse galloping on the road.
Jeff Davis and I rode back towards Hurricane in silence that afternoon.
He was a superb horseman, and Sultan responded to him as to a beloved friend.
Yet there was unyielding sternness in the strong lines of his profile.
How are you going to manage it, young Miss? James said.
How are you going to manage?
Someday, I guess your plantation is going to be just about as grand as Uncle Joe's, isn't it?
Well, not with a silent house on it, child. Successful plantation needs life. Human life.
Jeff, why are you doing this terrible thing to yourself?
Don't stop, Rena. It's very late.
I don't care. I've got to know.
These things don't concern you.
But I wasn't being idly curious. I was trying to understand.
You're a child. You can't possibly understand.
Children sometimes see truths that their elders are blind to.
I know what's happened, Rena. People have been giving you a picture of me that's only half true.
I can't believe they leave me alone.
You mean why can't I leave you alone?
Yes, you. You insisted you made it necessary for me to take you to Briarfield.
What if I did?
You won't ever go there again, do you hear?
Why not? Because that wonderful overseer of yours presumes to dislike me?
No, indeed. Because my life doesn't concern you.
And why shouldn't it?
You're going to marry young Joe.
I won't.
Yes, you will. My brother wills it.
Just the way he willed it that our land should be divided into farmland and swamp, hurricane and Briarfield.
As soon as we reached Hurricane, he mounted another horse and rode off to Vicksburg.
And when the trunk came from James at Briarfield that night, I asked young Joe to help me open the trunk, will you, Joe?
All right, let's see what James sent over.
There ought to be some uniforms and maybe an Indian trophy and...
Yeah.
Oh. Oh, Joe.
What's the matter?
These aren't uniforms.
Look, it's a lady's cloak and a pair of satin slippers and a white gown.
Why, I don't understand.
I do. See what he's written? Worn by my beloved wife on the 15th day of June, 1835.
Her wedding clothes. Oh, Miss Breena, James must have sent you the wrong trunk by mistake.
It wasn't a mistake. He'll pretend it was, but I know he did it on purpose.
Why? Why should he want to send her things to you? Uncle Jeff treasures everything that belongs to her.
That's exactly why. To let me know it's no use my trying. To make me know Jeff hasn't forgotten it, that he won't ever forget her.
He's daring me to take a place where we both know that I never, never can.
Jesse!
I felt wild and angry and hurt, and I decided to leave Hurricane.
But there was something my pride told me I must do first. I couldn't let James win without a word from me.
So in the morning I slipped away, mounted Sultan, and rode off towards Briarfield.
The sky was black and I rode as though I were mad, as if Sultan's galloping hoofbeats could pound the ache from my heart.
Then suddenly a great streak of lightning tore the sky apart.
My horse turned and bolted across the vast wilderness of Canebray.
I hung on but the lightning seemed to have opened up the heavens and a torrent of rain poured down upon us.
And at last I knew we were lost.
Oh, we can't be more than a few miles from some place, Sultan.
Wrenched and cold, I clung miserably to his back.
And as the hours passed and it grew darker, the swamp water began to rise.
All around us the grasses and the brambles moved. Could it be alligators or snakes?
It could be the wind.
Sultan, we've got to go on. Try to find a footing. We've got to get away from this terrible place.
The soaked earth pulled at its hooves like slimy hens.
Step by step we moved towards what seemed in the howling darkness to be a grove of trees.
But we found too late that they boarded a swollen creek.
Sultan plunged into the water above his knees, stumbled and threw me.
I tried to answer but my voice is in a nightmare fail.
I tried again but it was finally Sultan who let the searchers know.
He threw back his head and they heard him.
Freena! Freena!
Here, here I am, Jeff.
Stay where you are. Don't move.
I couldn't if I wanted to. The mud's so thick.
It probably broke your paw. You're lucky. Here, here let me help you up.
Oh, Jeff, I did an awful thing.
Be quiet. I'll wrap this blanket around you.
There. You think you'll be able to ride back on my horse?
I think so. Did you search for me long?
Fifteen people have been out in the swamp for five hours looking for you.
Here, Sultan boy. This way, old fella. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
Jeff, I ought to tell you...
Don't try to talk. Just come along, child. Come along home.
It was Christmas Eve but there was no laughter, no holiday party, no charades.
Fifteen people had risked their lives in this storm in that terrible swamp to save mine.
Now in the aftermath, the wind had died and the house was silent, accusing me, Verena Howell, green, young, spoiled, rotten.
I rose from my bed and dressed, went out of my room and down the stairs.
I must find him. Tell him. Let him know how ashamed I was.
He was standing by the window in the library, gazing out at the storm.
Jeff. Verena.
Jeff. Oh, are you all right?
Jeff, I'm so bitterly sorry. Did you rest? You aren't chilled now?
I'm all right. But what about you and the others? I feel terribly responsible.
Don't worry, please, when I think what might have happened to you.
I went into Vicksburg last night. They wanted me to stay over but something told me to come back and if I hadn't...
Why did you go to Vicksburg?
To accept the nomination for the Mississippi legislature.
Jeff, but I don't understand you. You kept saying you didn't want it. What made you change your mind?
You.
I?
Don't you know, Verena, that you're the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me?
Since you came, I've wanted to live again, to come out of my dark, ugly house and to battle with dragons.
Didn't you know, darling?
No, Jeff. How could I, you? You told me I was interfering, that I was meddling.
Then when James sent me that trunk...
What trunk?
I wanted some costume, one of your uniforms for the charades. He sent me a trunk filled with her clothes.
Oh, oh, oh, my poor darling. Don't you see he thought he was making it easier for me.
But it was no use. My brother's careful plan was of no use.
From the moment I first saw you racing soft...
You were angry.
Because I was afraid for you already. So headstrong, such a child.
Green young spoiled rotten.
No, no, it may have been true even this morning, but...
How do you know it still isn't true?
Your eyes are different. They're soft.
I don't know, you've grown up. Somehow your face has changed.
Because I love you, Jeff.
Do you? Do you?
I shall love you to the end of my life and far beyond.
It won't be an easy life. I'm not an easy person.
Oh, Jeff, I dreamed of coming to your dark house and making it bright.
Of helping you turn your swamp land into a real farm.
But no matter what you choose, whether it's Briarfield or the capital...
I want to go with you.
Rena, there may be storms ahead.
And if we get lost, there may not be a rescue party to bring us back.
I know. But whichever way we go, it'll be a proud way, Jeff.
This was the man who became my husband, whose proud way took him on to Washington...
as a senator in the Congress of the United States...
and when inevitably came, as President of the Confederate States of America.
Now, our star, Lorraine Day.
Thank you.
Next week, Cavalcade tells another love story...
set against the colorful background of the Niagara frontier.
Journeying to its very site, Niagara Falls, next Monday night...
Cavalcade will present Robert Montgomery with Anita Louise...
in this exciting story of adventure and romance, Incidents at Niagara.
Don't miss it. Good night and thank you.
Lorraine Day will soon be seen in the House of Cards...
produced by Lester Cutler and Marty Martin.
This picture was photographed by cinematographer Bert Blenon...
on DuPont Motion Picture Film.
Tonight's Cavalcade drama was based on portions of the novel...
The Proud Way by Shirley Seepert, published by Lippincott.
It was adapted for radio by Virginia Radcliffe.
The DuPont Cavalcade of America is directed by Jack Zoller.
Music is composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Bryan.
This is Ted Pearson inviting you to listen next week to Incidents at Niagara...
starring Robert Montgomery with Anita Louise.
Cavalcade of America is brought to you each week by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware.
This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.