The smile deep inside Genie gave strength to the long-banished slave girl. “I hit him with that skillet,” she said, addressing the floor. “Two times I hit him: once on the back of the head and then again, on the side—” she touched her temple “—when he turned around. He was mad and I didn’t want him to hit me like he hit Mrs. Maggie so I hit him again, harder this time, and he fell down.”
“Is this girl telling the truth, Mistress Read?” the Chief Constable asked Abby.
“Yes, sir, she is.”
“That’s a lie!” Charles roared.
“You shut your mouth!” the policeman roared back. Then, to Genie: “Why did you hit him? You know better than to hit a white man, don’t you?”
Genie raised her eyes for a quick glance at Abby to find deep blue eyes staring at her. She quickly lowered hers again. “Yes, sir. But he was . . . hurting . . . Miss Abigail. I was in the scullery and I heard her cry and I looked out. I was looking for Mrs. Maggie but I didn’t see her. I saw him, the one I hit, tearing Miss Abigail’s dress off her. I came out and saw Mrs. Maggie on the floor. I saw the skillet. I heard Miss Abigail crying. I hit him.”
“Now I’d like to suggest, Officer, that you take this man away and lay against him the charges of—”
“I don’t need your assistance to perform my job,” the policeman snapped at Ezra. To Charles he said, “If you would please accompany me to the Magistrate, sir.”
Charles looked at the man wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He didn’t speak or move. All eyes were on him, including those of Genie and Abby who had forced their eyes from each other to observe Charles being taken away, wanting him to be taken away as quickly as possible. True to his nature, however, Charles was not cooperating. He slapped the policeman’s hand from his arm. “You would do well to remember who pays your salary,” he snarled at him.
The thin line that was the policeman’s mouth gave what might have been a smile. “I never forget that it is the Honorable James William Laughton to whom I am indebted,” he said, and while his mouth didn’t move his eyes glinted in satisfaction as all the color drained from Charles’s face. The places where Genie and Ezra struck him stood out in stark relief.
Charles fell into one of the chairs. Not only was Jimmy Laughton his arch enemy, but Charles owed him a lot of money, a debt he could repay if Abigail weren’t so damned intractable! If she’d just marry him as he’d asked, her considerable net worth would offset his own negligible one. But no! She’d rather run a boarding house than make a home for him and entertain Philadelphia’s powerful and wealthy. There was a time when every young society girl in the city would have jumped at the chance to marry Charles Gresham!
“You’ll stand up now, Mr. Gresham, and behave yourself, or I’ll hit you as well. We’ll exit the front door and take your pretty brougham to the lockup.” The constable inclined his head to Abby, ignored the rest of them, and push-pulled Charles to the front door. No one bothered with the niceties of showing them out.
As befitting the mistress of the house, Abby recovered her wits first. “Thank you, Mr. MacKaye and Mistress Oliver.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet Genie’s eyes. “What you did required great courage, even if . . . if you’d been a man.”
“Man or woman, Mistress Oliver has more courage than most I’ve seen,” Ezra said, recalling his first encounter with Genie.
“And for the second time your own courage has benefited us, Mr. MacKaye,” Abby said, “and we are most grateful.”
Ezra bowed, then turned to Maggie. “Do you require a doctor, Mrs. Juniper?”
Maggie Juniper’s left eye was swollen shut and her face was heavily bruised. She stood up slowly, swayed, steadied herself, and managed a small smile, which caused her to wince in pain. Abby rushed to her side and, before Maggie could reply, said she would send for her doctor.
“And who will you send?” Ezra asked with a smile.
“I must be leaving for home,” Genie said quickly. “If you will tell me where your doctor is located and give me the proper letter to him, I will deliver it.”
Ezra gave her a withering look. “It is practically dark. You can’t go home now, Mistress Oliver.”
“Not dressed like this I can’t,” Genie replied, and they all knew that she intended to return to her Eugene guise. And since she wasn’t seeking their permission, she turned from them and went into the scullery where she began the transformation.
“You are welcome to remain here for the night, Mistress Oliver,” Abby called out to her, and Genie felt the odd stirring in the pit of her stomach. Apparently, the woman’s voice as well as the deep blue eyes affected her thusly.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mistress Read, but I must leave,” Genie called out.
“Have you a husband, children, waiting for you?” Abby asked.
“An empty house and a neglected business,” Genie replied, “but my absence overnight would cause worry among my friends.”
“Even dressed like a man,” Maggie said quietly, “she’ll have a long, cold walk to her home.” She knew where the Colored part of town was, and after a brief moment of thought, both Ezra and Abby realized how far Genie would have to walk to reach home.
“I’ll leave with her and if we go to Main Street I’ll be able to find a cart to hire—to transport Mistress Oliver and to deliver the note to your doctor,” Ezra said.
Maggie shifted her weight from one foot to the other and, finding that she could balance herself, declared that she had no need for the doctor, and that what everyone needed was a good meal which she’d have ready in a matter of moments. “And yes,” she called out to Genie, “you must have a meal before going out into the cold and I’ll brook no argument from you.”
Genie was smiling when she emerged as Eugene from the scullery. Abby gasped and grabbed the ripped bodice of her dress, causing both Genie and Maggie to laugh out loud. “You’re safe with me, Mistress Read, I promise!” Genie said, and Abby blushed a deep scarlet and turned away. She took pins from her hair and fashioned a temporary fix for her bodice and they all sat at the kitchen table and ate a thick vegetable stew with thick wedges of corn meal bread.
“What is your business, Mistress Oliver, if I may ask?” Maggie asked.
“I work at Miss Adelaide’s Dress and Hat Shop on—”
“I know it!” Maggie exclaimed before Genie could say where it was. “I bought a dress and a shawl there.”
“I hope you found them satisfactory,” Genie replied, and Maggie extolled the virtues of the garments purchased from Miss Adelaide’s, reminding Abby that she, too, liked them. When she ran out of words, Ezra asked, “How is Elizabeth? Is she working today?”
A range of emotions washed over Maggie’s face, finally settling on a brave smile. “She goes to school now, Mr. MacKaye, and she lives with a family during the week so she’s not out alone. I do miss her but I know she’s safe, and she’s being schooled.”
“Please give her my regards,” Ezra said.
“I will, Mr. MacKaye. She’ll be pleased. She speaks of you often.”
Ezra stood. “Mistress . . . Mister Oliver, we should take our leave.”
Genie stood and bowed slightly to Maggie and Abby. “Thanks to your soup I’ll be warm on the journey home.”
“Supper will be served at seven o’clock, Mr. MacKaye,” Abby said.
“I’ll be here,” Ezra said.
“I’m very pleased to have met you both,” Genie said to Maggie and Abby, and exited the scullery door, followed closely by Ezra MacKaye.
“What a remarkable woman,” Abby said in an almost whisper, still watching the space where Genie had been.
“Indeed, she is,” Maggie said, watching Abby.
“And an unlikely companion for Mr. MacKaye, don’t you think?”
“I think she’s quite beautiful,” Maggie replied. “Don’t you?”
Genie and Ezra hurried down the alleyway behind Apted Street toward Main Street. The warmth provided by the hearty soup
they’d just eaten evaporated within seconds as it was bitterly cold and they were walking toward the river, into the wind. They spied a horse cart almost immediately and Ezra sprinted for it, relieved to see that the bundled-up driver was a Colored man. He had nodded politely at Ezra but he leaned over and peered closely at Genie when she approached.
“Miss Eugenie? Is that you?” the driver asked.
“It is. Good evening to you.”
“Is you goin’ home?”
“I am. Are you available for hire?”
“Yes, ma’am. Climb in.”
Genie climbed in as quickly and easily as if she had springs in her legs. Ezra reached into his pocket to pay the driver but he shook his head—he didn’t need to be paid to drive Miss Eugenie home. But when she insisted that he accept the payment, he did so with a tip of his hat to Ezra.
“Thank you, Mr. MacKaye, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Genie said in parting.
Ezra frowned. “For what purpose?”
“Didn’t you see the note I left for you? It’s why I was at Mistress Read’s residence,” she said impatiently.
Ezra touched his pockets and withdrew her note from an inside one. “I haven’t read it,” he said.
“Then I suggest you do so,” she replied as the driver clicked the reins and the cart moved away.
Ezra did, squinting at the note in the gaslight. It’ll be dark as pitch behind that church at night, he thought. And teeth-chattering cold. He didn’t need to go because he’d lost the chance to earn Cortlandt’s bonus payment, but he would go because he had no way to tell them that he wouldn’t be there. It didn’t occur to him that they’d have what he wanted to know.
CHAPTER FOUR
Arthur was there waiting when Genie emerged from the narrow space between the Back Street and Thatcher Lane, and his warm smile confirmed that she’d been right to return home the previous night. She could not, however, free her memory of Abby Read’s invitation to spend the night. Genie had not been an overnight guest in another’s home since the earliest days of her escape to freedom. The memory was crystal clear: She was alone and terrified, in Philadelphia because Blacks could be free here. But how? Where? Mrs. Carrie Tillman had answered those questions—and many more. These were her thoughts when she realized that Arthur was watching her, waiting. Had he spoken?
“So them boys, they gon’ be there waitin’ for you when you get there, Miss Eugenie. I hope you ain’t mad ’cause I told ’em to go there ’stead of bein’ in me and Mr. William’s way. We got work to do.”
He sounded so contrite that Genie almost laughed. She just wished she knew what he was talking about. “I can’t imagine what you could do to make me angry with you, Arthur,” she said. “I can’t imagine being angry with you.”
He accepted her praise with a slight bow and continued his unprecedented monologue. “They was just so worried ’bout you! I told ’em you can take care of yourself but they said it was the white man they didn’t trust and I can’t fault ’em for that. I don’t trust no white men, neither.”
Now Genie thought she understood: Absalom and Reverend Richard Allen were coming to the shop to make certain that Ezra had kept his word and seen her safely home last night. “You did just right, Arthur. Thank you.”
He was relieved. Then he looked worried. “You was out late at night with a white man? Which white man is that, Miss Eugenia, and do Mr. William know him?”
Now Genie did laugh, and yes, she told him, William knew who the man was though he hadn’t yet met him. “May I ask a favor of you, Arthur?”
“You know you can, Miss Eugenia.”
“Will you please tell William that I think he’s right, that I do need a horse cart?”
Arthur’s wide grin showed all of his teeth. “He certainly will like hearing that! He worries ’bout you.”
Genie knew that her friends worried for her safety and that bothered her. She took great care to keep herself out of harm’s way. In the current climate, however, being cautious was no guarantee of safety. And she could not free her mind of the sight of Abby Read—a wealthy white woman—attacked in her own home by a wealthy white man. If Abby Read wasn’t safe within her home, how could she, Genie Oliver, expect to be safe out in the street at all hours of the day and night, derringer notwithstanding? Abby Read. She wished she hadn’t brought Abby Read into her mind. She didn’t know why thoughts of the woman unnerved her.
“Miss Eugenia?” Arthur had spoken and she hadn’t heard him. Again.
“I apologize, Arthur. What did you say?”
“Should I tell Mr. William to have a horse cart ready for you to see this evenin’?”
She shook her head. “No, Arthur. I’ve an appointment this evening. Will you take me in the morning?”
He agreed, grudgingly and unhappily, and she entered her shop to satisfy Absalom Jones and Reverend Richard Allen that she had arrived safely home the previous night and to thank them for their concern. When they left Adelaide marveled at their names. Genie, who understood completely, explained it to her: The two boys had managed to escape slavery and make their way to Philadelphia, anxious to leave every vestige of their previous life behind, including their names. And to discover that in Philadelphia two names known to everyone, Black and white, were Absalom Jones and Reverend Richard Allen! Famous Colored men. Of course they’d want to claim those names for themselves.
“So that those searching for runaway slaves would not suspect them?” Adelaide asked skeptically. “Even a stupid slave catcher would know those two names. And why didn’t Eli take a new name?”
Genie cared deeply for Adelaide but sometimes, like now, explaining how slavery affected the mind and the spirit felt much too taxing. She thought she knew why Eli would keep his name: Because his mother had given him that name and it might be all he had left of her. And for too many other reasons to count. As for Absalom and Richard, Genie could easily imagine that their previous names had been bestowed by slave owners, many of whom chose Greek or Latin names for their slaves, often to mock what they considered heathen names of a heathen people. So certainly they would not have wanted to keep Tiberius or Agamemnon as their names in their new, free world. Yes, those names would not only mark them as slaves, but they would also have reminded them of a hated past. Unfortunately, their newly chosen names could betray them as well. “Richard thinks their chosen names may have the opposite effect,” Genie said, hoping that Adelaide understood, wishing that she knew someone who would, could, understand.
✴ ✴ ✴
Abby Read and Maggie Juniper served breakfast to their guests—five men who politely and appreciatively ate the heaping servings of eggs, bacon, sausages, potatoes and biscuits, and drank coffee by the pot—no tea drinkers here. All five had their white linen napkins tucked into their shirt fronts to protect their business suits against spills, and all five read newspapers. Only Ezra MacKaye engaged the women in conversation, inquiring about their health, especially Maggie, and whispering to Abby that Charles Gresham was in more trouble than he had money to buy his way out of.
“Does that mean he’ll not be back to bother me?” Abby whispered.
Ezra scowled. “He knows that I live here. He won’t return.”
Both women wanted to inquire after Eugenia Oliver but neither thought such a query appropriate, though for different reasons. If Maggie had been privy to Genie’s thoughts she’d have assured her that she understood, and she did. Not only had she immediately known that Genie was a woman dressed in men’s clothing, she’d recognized her for the slave that she’d once been: because of the kitchen cloth she’d wrapped around her head, the disused bed sheet she’d wrapped around herself as a makeshift apron, the bare feet that peeked from beneath the skirts, and the lowered eyes that never met those of the white men in authority. She recognized and understood these behaviors because she’d been taught to recognize them by her husband, Jack Juniper, himself an escaped slave who spent his life at sea, not because he wished to be away from h
is wife and daughter but because he wished to remain free. He would be home in two months, perhaps to remain for twice that long. She wondered if Jack and Eugenia would feel comfortable enough with each other to be friends. She certainly intended to attempt friendship with this woman that Abby found so “unlikely.” Abby was pouring more coffee for Ezra MacKaye when Maggie saw that she leaned in close and said something, and given the length of his reply, Maggie thought she’d probably asked about Genie Oliver.
“I did,” Abby acknowledged when the men were gone to their employment and they were alone in the kitchen. “I was concerned that she’d have to walk home alone but Mr. MacKaye spied a horse cart with a Colored driver—and one who knew Mistress Oliver—so he was confident that she arrived safely home. I was much relieved to hear it.”
“As am I,” Maggie replied, wondering how Genie Oliver was known by a horse cart driver, one of the many things she wondered about the woman. At the top of the list was the electricity that passed between Genie and Abby when they met. Maggie had known Abby Read since they were children and while she easily understood the rejection of Charles Gresham—he was a swine—there were other suitors whom Abby had rejected and Maggie did not understand the reason: intelligent, charming, handsome, wealthy young men, all rejected by Abby for reasons that she could not fully explain. Now, after witnessing what passed between Genie and Abby, Maggie thought that perhaps she did understand, though she most certainly could not explain it.
“Do you find her unusual, Maggie?”
“I find her . . . interesting,” Maggie replied.
“Why do you think she wears men’s clothes?”
Ah! “Many women disguise themselves to buy a measure of safety if they must be out alone,” Maggie said, and added, “especially Colored women.” Most women sought to travel with friends or relatives so as not to be alone but when company was not available and walking to and from work was the only means of getting there, a disguise provided some protection from the unwanted, and potentially dangerous, attention of men, both Colored and white.
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