Evie brain reeled with frustration. She wanted to scream, ‘Yes! Yes! Let’s go find them, let’s go find them now!’ but Cassandra was only thinking of a rosebush that needed trimming!
“Oh, it is no bother,” replied Miss Johnston. She leaned in close to her visitors. “Tonight there is a dinner, a meeting to fold pamphlets, but I must ask Grandfather if you can attend. We do not widely advertise these things in case of disruption.”
“Oh, we would love to come!” Evie blurted. “If Reverend Williams says it is fine, we shall be here. There is nothing more we would rather do!”
“Excuse me, Miss Bay, but I am not sure we are at liberty to attend,” Cassandra said.
“Why not?”
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because we have not discussed our plans for the evening yet.”
“Well then, since we have not made other plans, we are free.” She folded her arms in front of her.
Cassandra smiled at their hostesses. “Miss Bay and I will have to speak privately about the matter, but if your grandfather deems it appropriate for us to attend, we will make every effort.”
“What time?” Evie asked.
“We shall send a messenger with the details,” said Miss Johnston. “Where are you staying?”
“The Dylan Hotel,” Evie offered enthusiastically. “On Waverly Place.”
“Yes,” said Cassandra. “Thank you so much for the tour. But we truly do not want to keep you. I am sure you must be very busy.”
“We are never too busy to show off our beautiful house of God,” answered Miss Ketchum.
“It is extraordinarily beautiful, I agree. You all do a wonderful job keeping it up. Come, Miss Bay.” Cassandra took a step toward the garden gate, but Evie didn’t move.
“Miss Bay? I think we ought to be on our way.”
The young woman stood in place, looking around the yard. “It has been a pleasure.” She felt desperate to stay longer; she was so close to meeting Caleb Stone, she was sure. “Thank you so much, Miss Johnston, Miss Ketchum.” She grabbed their hands and shook them. “Do we not need to go out back through the church?”
“Oh, you can go out right there through the garden gate,” said Miss Ketchum, indicating the opening at the front of the tall, black wrought iron fence that surrounded the church and both yards.
“But we have not had a tour of the East Yard yet!”
“I thought you said you saw Peter Stuyvesant’s monument there,” said Miss Johnston.
“Yes, we did,” said Cassandra, taking Evie by the arm. “Remember, Miss Bay?”
“Oh, yes.” Evie allowed herself to be led.
“Very nice to meet you,” Miss Johnston called as the women walked away. Miss Ketchum waved.
“Yes,” Evie replied, stumbling on a cobblestone.
“It has been a pleasure!” Cassandra called, and took Evie’s arm in hers as they made their way back down Tenth Street.
“Evie!” she exclaimed once they were without earshot.
“What?”
“Why did you volunteer us to help them?”
“Why not?”
“Because our involvement could alter history.”
“No,” Evie said, incredulously. “We will not be doing anything more than folding a few pamphlets, they said. I hope they do invite us; it will give us an opportunity to get to know them. Why else did I come if not to spend time with them and learn about their work?”
“Learn about it, not do it. What are you thinking? We cannot get involved in abolitionist activities. We agreed that we would meet your ancestors, learn about what they were doing, and explore the city from a historian’s perspective. I mean, I think what they do is great, but we cannot participate in anything that could theoretically change history!”
“Anything we do will be minimal, Cassie.” She adopted a cajoling tone. “Anyway, I am so excited to have met them! Are you not thrilled to have met Ben’s daughter?” Evie squeezed Cassandra’s arm.
“Yes,” Cassandra relented. “Yes, I really am. I just cannot quite take in the reality of it.”
Evie let her face grow serious. “Do not worry, I promise we will not get too involved.”
“Very well,” Cassandra agreed, “as long as we are careful. If we get the invitation, we will go.”
“Thank you!” she cried loudly, drawing the looks of people passing by.
Cassandra nodded at them and took Evie gently by the arm as they walked on.
*****
It irritated Cassandra while she was trying to read to watch Evie continually pacing between the parlor windows of their suite, which looked out over Waverly Place, and the dining room windows, which granted a limited view of Fifth Avenue. When there was finally a rap on the door, Evie ran to open it and snatched an envelope out of the hands of the maid.
“Do not forget the tip, Miss Bay,” Cassandra called from the sofa.
Once the maid had been dispatched, Evie tore open the envelope. “It starts at seven. They have invited us for a dinner in the Parish Hall, followed by a pamphlet-folding session. What time is it now?”
“Four.”
“Three more hours!” Evie flopped down on the divan and flung one arm over her forehead.
Cassandra inwardly chuckled.
When six-thirty came, Evie was already standing near the door, bag and shawl in hand. Cassandra had spent more than an hour doing and redoing the young woman’s hair for her until she was satisfied that it was perfect. She now grabbed her own things and they left, stopping at a bakery on the way to pick up bread as a contribution.
When the women walked into the parish hall, about twenty volunteers were seating themselves at a two long tables joined in a T formation. All heads turned to stare at them. Jeremiah Williams quickly approached the newcomers and introduced himself, then led them to the table.
He was a fierce looking man, Cassandra thought, now that she could see him close up, with a long, gray beard, tall and angular, like his granddaughter, with the same wide blue eyes that rested on whoever he looked at with piercing interest. Miss Johnston was already seated near the head of the table and smiled, motioning them to sit next to her.
Miss Ketchum came out of the kitchen door and her friend eagerly waved her over. As the lady crossed the floor, she stopped to greet a tall black man and a shorter one, coming in from the doorway to the East Yard. Cassandra drew in her breath as they came closer, and she was able to take in their features. The tall man, while not unattractive, very dark skinned with a high forehead and prominent cheekbones, could not hold her attention in contrast with the other one. Cassandra stared as she fumbled to pull out the back of her chair. The reverend leapt to her assistance and held it while she sat. The motion reminded her to stop staring at the young man, but she could not help looking in his direction again. His skin was the color of dark cinnamon. His eyes were almond shaped and light brown, surrounded by long, curling lashes. He smiled, and dimples showed. His teeth were straight and white, his lips full, his hair close cropped, and his body, under his casual clothing, broad shouldered, and slim hipped. Miss Ketchum led the two men toward the newcomers. Evie was still standing.
“Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay, I would like you to meet my brother Samuel, and our friend Caleb Stone.”
Cassandra nodded her head. “Very pleased to meet you.”
Evie stuck out her hand, and the two men looked at it a moment before Samuel, then Caleb, gave it the mere hint of a shake with their fingertips. She jumped as if she’d received an electrical shock when Caleb touched her. He seemed embarrassed and looked down after making contact with her, though a smile still played across his face.
“Miss Bay, may I?” asked the reverend, holding the chair for her.
“Thank you,” she said, but did not sit. She was staring at Caleb Stone.
“Miss Bay—” Cassandra said, with a tone of remonstrance.
“Oh,” the young woman said, and turned to smile at the reverend. “Thank you.” She sat, and the gen
tleman moved back to take his seat while Samuel held the chair next to Evie for his sister to take.
Miss Johnston tapped Cassandra’s elbow. “Mrs. Reilly, do you mind sharing the table with colored people?” she whispered.
Cassandra turned to her, inhaling sharply. “No, of course not! My goodness!”
“Well some people do, you know,” she continued, her voice low. Her eyes indicated the other side of her grandfather and the connecting table, all places seated with white parishioners. There were no other black people in the room, Cassandra now noticed, other than the three that were gathering to Evie’s right.
“And Miss Bay?”
“And Miss Bay what? Minds? I should say not!”
Miss Johnston let out a sigh of relief and continued to speak softly, while a plump, elderly lady began to serve tea, and some younger women brought out baskets of bread and began to ladle stew into bowls already set in front of the diners.
“That was the sense I had when we met this morning, but I will admit, I was testing you a bit just now. Please do not be angry.”
Cassandra felt a great affection for Ben’s daughter wash over her, a sense of overwhelming gratefulness at this opportunity to meet and get to know her. Her former lover had raised his child right. She laid her hand over Miss Johnston’s. “I could not be angry. I am gratified that you felt such trust in myself and Miss Bay, but where we come from, the relationship between the races is much more comfortable.”
“Really?” the woman cried. “I did not know that Boston was so progressive.”
Cassandra smiled. “Some parts of it are. Very much so.”
“Lillian!” Miss Johnston called to her friend, leaning around behind Cassandra. “Did you hear what Mrs. Reilly said? That in Boston they are very progressive and there is much more ease there between the races.”
“No, I did not.” She had to lean around behind both Evie and Cassandra to speak. She whispered, her hand by her mouth: “Miss Bay and Caleb keep craning their necks around me to look at each other.”
“Well, perhaps you should trade places and let the two of them sit together.”
Miss Ketchum looked around the room. Most of the others at the table were ladies in their forties or fifties, quietly eating, or speaking together in close conversation. “I am not sure if it would be seemly.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
Cassandra glanced at Evie. She did not want to think about her becoming interested in a man. That would complicate their trip far more than she was prepared for. But though the two young people were stealing glances, they did not seem inclined to talk. Cassandra tried to focus on the conversations that were going on around her, Reverend Williams with his daughter and the other parishioners, Miss Johnston with Miss Ketchum. When the dishes were removed and Miss Ketchum, Miss Johnston and others got up to fetch the pamphlets to be folded, there seemed to be a general rearranging of seats; Cassandra saw Caleb maneuver himself next to Evie. Cassandra took the opportunity to scoot into Miss Ketchum’s chair next to Evie, and when the lady returned, she declared to her friend, “Oh, look, Cass, we are to be folding partners.”
Miss Johnston grinned broadly. Almost immediately, Evie whispered something to Caleb, and a quiet conversation was struck up. Miss Ketchum handed around stacks of unfolded pamphlets, and Cassandra read the material before beginning to fold it. It was an announcement for a lecture by a Mr. Thaddeus Evans on the subject of the Fugitive Slave Act. She was fascinated.
“Miss Johnston,” she asked her hostess, “may Miss Bay and I attend this event?”
“Oh, we are hoping that you will! Mr. Evans is a thrilling speaker.”
Evie overheard. “But this is not until Thursday night! Do you not need us again to help until then?”
“Goodness, no! We have imposed upon you enough. Lillian and I will be arranging the church, and we have Caleb and Samuel to help us as well. There is so much to see in our wondrous city in the meantime; the two of you must enjoy yourselves!”
*****
Travel Journal, Evelyn Bay, May 9, 1853—I met him! I met Caleb Stone! Oh, he is exquisite! The most beautiful man I have ever seen. I never expected this. I thought perhaps he would be old, or even white, or…I don’t know what I expected. History doesn’t tell us anything about him. There is only the one painting of his that survives and it is because of that and that alone that I made this trip, to find out why there are not more…what happened, why did he only paint this one? I asked him about his artwork, but he stammered and changed the topic altogether. But since he did not deny that he paints, he must be the Caleb Stone. How could there be another, right there at All Angels Church? Oh, and he was so well spoken, with a lovely North Carolina drawl. I hate to say that I am surprised that a young black man, he can’t be more than twenty-five, of this era, probably without education, can express himself so well. He was funny and sweet, more interested in me and my background than he would reveal about his own. He was fascinated to find that I was a young artist just beginning to travel and see the world. If only he knew what I really was! I am exhilarated, overjoyed! I will have to apply the sleep tonic to get any rest tonight. I cannot wait to see him again!
Chapter Seven
We slept in the barn in that sweet hay hours and hours till night fell. Lill’s cough was getting worse, and we were fearful someone would hear her. We thought she should rest some more, but the lady of the farm told us we had to move on, that folks thereabouts were not friendly to abolitionists and were on the lookout for runaways. She said we were close to the James River and that her husband would lead us there and across in a boat to Jamestown.
Lill was feeling weak when we set out, and Sam and I each took turns carrying her the half mile or so to the river. The farmer, a stern and silent man, rowed us across that gigantic expanse of water that seemed to us, who had never seen a sea, that there could not be anything greater. He let us off and told us not to tarry around Jamestown but to hie on and stay to the west of the big town called Williamsburg.
We were on our own from there, for he did not know another safe house across the river, but his wife had provided us with a basket of food to sustain us a day or two. We were becoming frantic for Lill. She was burning hot and too weak to walk. The days were warming little by little, but the nights were still unbearably cold. We took turns carrying Lill on our backs through the woods and fields, hoping our bodies would warm her until daybreak.
From Caleb Stone’s narrative, as remembered by Dr. Cassandra Reilly
*****
When Cassandra walked into the parlor of the hotel suite the next morning dressed for the day, she found Evie sitting there also dressed, bonnet in hand, appearing ready to bolt out the door.
“Oh! I did not know you would be ready,” Cassandra said.
“Yes,” Evie replied, rising, “I thought we could go back over to All Angels.”
“What? They do not expect us again until Thursday. There is a whole antebellum city out there to explore in the meantime.”
“Well, I just thought we could, you know, help out some more.”
“You already asked Miss Johnston about that, and she said no. Personally, I was relieved. I did not come here to polish pews and scrub floors.”
“No—”
“Well, what else would we do? We need to proceed logically, Evie. We will take our opportunities to get to know your ancestors better as they arise. After all, I am fascinated to know Ben’s family. But I also want to see more of the city. Shall we get breakfast?”
“I ordered it,” Evie said, examining her bonnet. “It is in there on the table. I have already eaten.”
“Oh. Good. Will you come sit with me?”
“Very well.”
They went into the dining room, and Evie flung her hat onto a chair and took a seat. Cassandra uncovered a plate with two fried eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast, and cheese.
“I will never be able to eat all of this!”
“Oh. I thought you would like it
.”
Cassandra poured herself some tea. “I was thinking that maybe we could see the Crystal Palace today.”
“The Crystal Palace?”
Cassandra took a bite of egg and swallowed. “It is an enormous, glass exhibition hall. It is being built for the World’s Fair in July, so it must be almost done. It ought to be extremely impressive. Would you not like to see it?”
“Sure.”
Cassandra studied the young woman while she nibbled on a piece of bacon. “Evie, are you all right?”
“What? Yes, of course.”
“Let us just, you know, take it easy. There is time for everything, I promise.”
“Yes, very well.” Evie inhaled deeply and seemed to force a smile.
Cassandra finished breakfast and by quarter of eleven, they were on their way up Fifth Avenue. Cassandra suggested they walk all the way to Forty-second Street, where the Crystal Palace was located.
Below Twentieth Street, the wide avenue was impressive, with mansion after magnificent mansion. At Twenty-third Street, Broadway, also called Bloomingdale Road in that part of town, crossed Fifth Avenue where Madison Square Park was located. Beyond Twenty-third, new, middle-class apartment buildings had sprung up, mixed in with tenement buildings and private homes. Past Thirty-fourth Street, the city grew sparse and Fifth Avenue became a dirt road. They passed a dairy and stables. To the east and west of the avenue, they could see small, neatly kept farms, although the construction of homes and buildings were closing in on the open land.
Cassandra stopped by a fence and nipped off a sprig of rosemary that was poking into the road.
“Do you think you should do that?” Evie questioned.
“Why not? They probably think of it as a weed.” She sniffed it. “Mmm, smell.” She held it out to Evie.
“No thanks.”
With a shrug, Cassandra stuck it in her handbag. As they approached Forty-second Street, the Croton Reservoir loomed, a great brick construction providing much of the city’s clean water.
The Time Heiress Page 8
