The Time Heiress

by Georgina Young- Ellis

  “This is Caroline,” said Miss Ketchum. “She helps us out around the house.”

  Cassandra and Evie greeted her, and then turned back out into the hallway.

  “Well, that is all,” said Miss Johnston. “We shall leave you to your unpacking and freshening up.”

  “If you need anything, please let us know,” added Miss Ketchum.

  “Yes, of course,” Miss Johnston agreed, “otherwise, we shall see you in the parlor at two. Mr. Evans, Mr. Stone, and Mother will be joining us in a little celebration of your coming to stay.”

  When Cassandra went down a half an hour later and walked into the parlor, she found everyone assembled there, awaiting word from Anna Mae that dinner was ready. The gentlemen all rose, but a diminutive woman with gray hair and a plump figure remained seated, looking up at the new guest with expectation. Cassandra knew at once who she must be.

  “Mrs. Reilly,” said Miss Johnston, “I would like you to meet Mother.” The woman did not get up but smiled brightly at Cassandra with sparkling black eyes. Cassandra could see that she had once been very beautiful.

  She held out her small, dimpled hand and Cassandra shook it. “Sarah Johnston,” she said.

  “Cassandra Reilly. It is lovely to meet you.”

  “Oh, you have the same name as my daughter!”

  This made Cassandra redden. Of course, there was no way that Sarah Johnston could know why.

  “Yes!” Cassandra managed to reply. “We were surprised to discover that, but then it is not a completely uncommon name.”

  “No, to be sure.”

  At that moment Anna Mae stepped in to announce that dinner was ready, and they all made an exodus to the dining room. Mr. Evans sat next to Cassandra, and Caleb managed to get himself seated next to Evie. Miss Johnston presided at the head of the table, and at the opposite end sat Samuel. Caroline helped Anna Mae serve, and once the dishes were on the table, they were passed one to another.

  “Mr. Stone,” said Evie in a quiet voice, “I want to tell you how immensely I adore your painting that hangs in the parlor.”

  Cassandra tuned into their exchange.

  Caleb looked down at his food. “Thank you,” he replied.

  “I did not know you painted.”

  “I do not really; I do not pretend to be an artist like you are.”

  “Well, here I have you at an advantage, because I have seen your work, but you have not seen mine. I can safely say that your work is remarkable, but you cannot say the same about mine.”

  Caleb smiled. “You really like it?”

  “It is one of the finest works of art I have ever seen,” she whispered.

  “I cannot accept such a compliment,” he said, playing with the napkin on his lap.

  “Miss Bay!” Miss Johnston interrupted. “I want you to hear what Lillian is saying about a lecture we attended last month!”

  “I was only mentioning,” said her friend with more grace, “that we heard Susan B. Anthony speak at Niblo’s Garden last month. I wish Mrs. Reilly and Miss Bay could have been there to hear it. Do I assume you are both in favor of woman’s suffrage?”

  “If you had heard her, you could not feel otherwise,” Miss Johnston remarked.

  “Well, of course—” Cassandra began.

  “Wait a minute,” Samuel cut in. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Reilly, but I believe that black men should have the right to vote before women.”

  “And why should we not all have it?” insisted Miss Johnston. “Why should one come before the other?”

  “Well, I am just saying that if you have to pick one to petition first, it should be suffrage for black men.”

  It was Sarah Johnston’s turn to speak. “I do not understand the separating of men from women. Why not just pass a law that all adults have the right to vote, for goodness sake?”

  “Well, if the Tammany folks had their way,” cut in Miss Johnston, “they would have every Irish person, man, woman and child with a vote in the ballot box, no offense to the Irish, of course. It is just that there is no way to know if every one of Tammany’s supporters is a legal white, male citizen of this country. We have got to get a handle on the corruption going on there before our own causes of suffrage can be taken seriously.”

  Mr. Evans spoke privately to Cassandra. “Are you Irish, Mrs. Reilly?”

  “Yes, a little bit,” Cassandra answered. “Mostly English, though. My late husband’s family was Irish, but they had been in the states well before the most recent surge of immigrants.”

  “I like the Irish people,” said Mr. Evans, winking at Caroline as she passed by with a fresh plate of biscuits. “I like their passion and the sense of the ancient that they bring with them. You feel that their blood still flows with that of their pagan ancestry. I would not wonder that they still celebrate the ancient festivals like Samhain and Beltane, even here in America; that they still dance around bonfires on Midsummer’s Eve, singing prayers to the goddess.” He grinned at Cassandra and then leaned in to whisper to her. “I think I may have the goddess sitting right here next to me.”

  Cassandra tried to appear scandalized, but couldn’t help smiling at the twinkle in his eye.

  “Miss Bay,” said Sarah Johnston with authority, “tell us about your ancestry.”

  Cassandra had not thought she’d been listening.

  Evie looked surprised. “I am French,” she said, “and English. Father’s family were Huguenots. Our name was originally Bayonne.”

  “Really? And where does the African blood come from?”

  “E-Excuse me?” Evie stammered. All conversation came to a halt. Cassandra looked at her.

  “Miss Bay,” said Miss Ketchum gently, “please forgive us for having discussed you in your absence, but it did occur to us that you looked like you were part Negro.”

  “It is fine, Miss Bay,” said Caleb. “We certainly do not think the worse of you for trying to pass. Many light-skinned people do the same and, I must say, you pass very well. None of the white folks here at this table even guessed it. It was Lill, Samuel, and I that knew.”

  “Me too!” called Anna Mae from the kitchen.

  Caleb chuckled. “Black folks recognize each other.”

  Cassandra could see that Evie was very flustered, almost to tears. “Yes! Miss Bay is part African,” she explained. “Her grandmother was from Haiti.”

  “Was she a slave?” asked Sarah Johnston with interest.

  Evie still could not speak, so Cassandra continued to invent the story. “No, she was born free. Actually, Miss Bay does not know much about her. Just that she came to the states and married Evie’s grandfather, who was indeed French. Anyway, it certainly never mattered to me, even though Miss Bay felt that she should tell me when I asked her to be my traveling companion. She wanted to be sure that I knew, just in case I should have some reservations. But she never knew her grandmother’s family and she was raised among white, or at least white-looking people. This is the first time anyone has ever thought she was not completely white.”

  “I am sorry to contradict you, Mrs. Reilly,” said Samuel, “but if she ever had the acquaintance of any black folks, they probably knew. They maybe did not say anything, but they knew.”

  “Oh, I had no idea,” Evie finally said.

  “We are particularly interested,” said Sarah, “because you could be helpful to us.”

  “Really? How so?”

  Miss Ketchum spoke. “Many times a black person who can pass for white can be of use in the cause because you can travel in both parts of society. We do not have any particular ideas about it at the moment, but we just want to know if you would be willing, should the occasion arise.”

  “Yes, yes of course!” cried Evie, her face flushed.

  Cassandra was alarmed. This was just what she had worried about—that they would get too involved.

  Miss Ketchum seemed to read her thoughts. “Mrs. Reilly, would you object to Miss Bay helping us should we need her?”

  Cassan
dra took her time answering. “I suppose it would depend. I feel responsible for Miss Bay’s safety while she is my companion, and I would not want her in a dangerous situation.”

  Evie started to speak, but Miss Johnston jumped in. “I very much doubt that we will have any need to involve Miss Bay with anything outside of our ordinary activities while she is here. Lillian, I feel you have worried Mrs. Reilly. Those kinds of activities you speak of, people passing between the worlds of black and white, free and refugee; that is not the kind of thing we do.” She turned back to her guests. “We are much more apt to need you both for pamphlet folding and that kind of thing.”

  “Yes, certainly,” Miss Ketchum agreed. “Forgive me if I implied anything terribly subversive.”

  “You do tend a little toward the dramatic, my dear Lillian,” Miss Johnston remarked playfully.

  “I tend toward the dramatic?” declared Miss Ketchum. “I do not think that I am the dramatic one in this household.” She threw her napkin onto her plate with great flair.

  “Ladies!” said Mr. Evans. “No one can be accused of being more theatrical than myself! So why do not we put the whole topic to bed for the time being, and turn to lighter matters? When we are finished with our meal, I would like to propose that Mrs. Reilly regale us with some music on the pianoforte.” He turned to his dinner partner. “Are you willing?”

  “I may be a bit rusty,” Cassandra replied truthfully. “I have not played for over a week.”

  “Please, Mrs. Reilly,” begged Mr. Evans. “I have been looking forward to hearing you play ever since I learned that you are a musician.”

  She smiled. “Very well.”

  As soon as the last bites of after-dinner fruit and cheese had been consumed and the table cleared by many hands, the household and their guests moved into the parlor. Sarah Johnston asked Caleb to walk her back to the church rectory, saying she was tired, and the remainder of the gathering settled into chairs and sofas.

  At the piano, Cassandra ran through a few scales to warm up. She trembled slightly, thinking that Benedict had touched those very keys with his own hands. Everyone watched her. Anna Mae and Caroline came in from the kitchen and took chairs near the door. Cassandra closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then launched into the opening bars of a Chopin waltz. It was a complex piece, one of the composer’s more difficult, and her concentration was intense as she maneuvered through the first few minutes. Soon she relaxed, losing herself in the haunting beauty of the melody, the joy of being at the piano after so many days away washing over her. She was entirely comfortable with the piece, having played it for years. She forgot about the audience and threw herself into the music. She closed her eyes and thoughts of Benedict swam before her, but his face was indistinct and hazy, the memory of his features fading. A moment later it was Nick’s image that was clear in her mind’s eye, accompanied by a sting of disappointment over his recent behavior. She shook it away and returned her attention to the music only. She was startled at the applause when the piece ended.

  “Another, another!” her audience called.

  Cassandra gave them Beethoven, Haydn, Mendelssohn, music only written before 1853. An hour later, she finally insisted on stopping.

  Mr. Evans stood to go and kissed her hand.

  “You are truly an artiste, Mrs. Reilly!” he proclaimed. “I have heard some very fine musical performances in my day, and truly, yours was among the optimum.”

  “Thank you,” Cassandra said, eyes downcast.

  “I hope to see you again very soon,” he uttered close to her ear. He then took his leave with a warm word to each person.

  Caroline and Anna Mae returned to their duties, Samuel returned to his work in the garden, and Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum took up their needlework. Cassandra and Evie settled in with their books, but once Cassandra saw their hostesses had dozed off, she beckoned Evie into the library. She closed the door and motioned her to sit in one of the old, leather chairs.

  “Evie, we have to talk about what was said at the table. You cannot think of participating in the activities that these people are involved with. Not only could it be dangerous, but you could inadvertently change history.”

  “I know. I only said that I would so that they would know I was completely sympathetic and so they would accept me into the family circle without hesitation. Besides, their activities seem quite benign.”

  “Well, we must be careful. Racial dynamics were very complicated in this day with some black people free, some slaves, some runaways. This household is very radical in its ease of racial interaction. Impressive, really.”

  “Yes, I feel very comfortable here.”

  “Just do not let yourself get talked into anything, and check with me first if they ask you to do anything.”

  “Of course, Cassie.” Evie smiled. “By the way, don’t you think there’s something odd about Miss J. and Miss K.’s relationship?”

  “Yes, something a bit nontraditional, if you ask me.”

  “Downright taboo for this time period, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Do you really think they are—?”

  “Well, you never know.”

  Just then there was a knock at the door and they both jumped.

  “Miss Bay?” Caleb’s voice came through the door.

  “Yes, come in,” she said.

  He opened it and looked in. “I have just come back from walking Mrs. Johnston home, and I was wondering if you would come out into the garden with me for a little while and have a cup of tea. It is such a beautiful afternoon.”

  “That sounds very nice. Mrs. Reilly, will you join us?”

  “No,” Cassandra said, “I think I should like to get back to my book.”

  As Evie passed out of the room, Cassandra cast her a warning glance, but the young woman ignored her.

  Chapter Nine

  Lill got better and then on the fourth night, we left Katie and Elijah and headed on up toward Maryland. Katie had a great knowledge of plants. She drew with some charcoal on an old rag pictures of plants and berries that we might find to eat around those parts.

  We slept in the woods by day and walked by night. Elijah told us it would be about three days walking to get to the big water he called the Chesapeake, but before we got there we would have to cross two rivers. He looked Sam up and down and said they were not deeper than he was tall, so if he carried me and Lill over one at a time on his back, we should make it. Well, in one night’s walking we got to the first river and started across at daybreak, with me on Sam’s back first to make sure it was safe. The water came up to his shoulders, so it was not too bad. It tired him out walking with me, then goin’ back, then with Lill, ’specially being as hungry as I knew he was. He stripped out of his clothes and I carried them so they would be dry and would not slow him down.

  Before we slept for the day, I managed to catch three fish from the river with a stick, strong threads from Lill’s skirt, and one of her hairpins. Sam scraped ’em with a sharp stone, and we built a small fire with a bit of flint I had. They tasted so good! The first cooked food we had had in two days. We slept in the woods again, all curled up together for warmth.

  From Caleb Stone’s narrative, as remembered by Dr. Cassandra Reilly

  *****

  “Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay!” cried Mr. Evans as he crossed the threshold into the parlor the next morning, startling Cassandra at the piano. She had just finished playing a Beethoven sonata. Evie looked up from the book she was reading and smiled at him.

  “Mr. Evans!” Cassandra said. “I did not hear you come in!”

  “And so I had you at an advantage, as I have been standing in the entryway enjoying your playing for the last ten minutes.”

  “It is heavenly, is it not?” Evie remarked. “I could listen to it all day.”

  “And yet, that is not why you came to New York, to lounge about inside on a beautiful day such as today, is it? Come, you two, let us go out and explore. I want to show you the western end of Greenwich
Village.”

  “Oh yes,” said Cassandra. “We were going to go out after lunch, and that is certainly one of the areas we had on our list.”

  “I can show you a fantastic place for oysters. Let us have lunch there! It is my treat.”

  “We could not dream of imposing, Mr. Evans,” Cassandra said.

  “No worries there, Mrs. Reilly, it is quite inexpensive. I know all the spots for a good meal at a low price.”

  “Well. then, let us go. I am ready.” Cassandra rose from the piano. “Are you Miss Bay?”

  Evie stood, but did not remove her finger from the place where it marked her book. “Oh, dear,” she said and sat down again.

  “What is it?” said Cassandra, going to her.

  “I think I am not feeling well.”

  “What? Oh my goodness, then I shall not go.”

  “No, no, no, I will not have you miss your chance to have a personal tour with Mr. Evans. It is only a bit of an upset stomach. I am not used to the rich food that Anna Mae prepares. I will take a bicarbonate of soda and will be myself again shortly. But I think a lunch of oysters will not agree with me today. Please, go on, and do not worry about me.” She took Cassandra’s hand and patted it.

  “Evie, I could not dream of leaving you if you are not well,” Cassandra whispered close to her ear.

  “I am fine. But we have been out exploring so much, and as I said, I am not used to the food. Let me have a day to rest and I will be back to normal tomorrow.” She gave her a weak smile.

  “I am sorry you are not feeling well, Miss Bay, but if it is to be just you and I, Mrs. Reilly, so be it! Shall we?” He motioned Cassandra toward the door.

  “And what about Miss Johnston and the others—would they not care to join us? They are working at the church this morning. Why don’t we go by and collect them?”

  “Trust me, they will not be distracted from their duties. Come, Mrs. Reilly, the oysters await.”

  “Very well, then,” she said. “Good bye, Miss Bay! Do take care!”

  “I shall! Have a wonderful time.” She opened her book again.

  Cassandra and Mr. Evans moved into the entryway.