by Lisa Grace
“Girl, what’s your name?” The servant was back. Grace could hardly make out her form in the darkness of the doorway.
“Grace,” she said without thinking. She should have picked a different first name but she was so hungry she couldn’t think straight.
“Grace what?”
She had to think fast. Grace put her finger up to her mouth, like it was too sad to remember because it reminded her of her lost husband. Here she was, thinking like she really was a widow! Sally back at the plantation would have laughed. She would have said, “Grace you are such a wisher! And where’s it gotten you girl?”
And Grace would answer, “Sewin in the big house, stead of pickin in the fields, that’s where!”
“Grace! What is your married name?” The servant asked again.
“Wisher, Ma’am. Grace Wisher,” she dropped a curtsey out of habit and walked in the backdoor as the servant motioned her to follow her in.
“My name is Mrs. Bethany. You stay here in the kitchen and I’ll be back with Mrs. Pickersgill, “Here’s your sewing girl,” She handed Grace back her handkerchief.
When Mrs. Pickersgill walked in, Grace dropped a curtsey and waited for her to speak. Mrs. Pickersgill just looked her up and down.
“Your work is acceptable. You sew nice straight even stitches.”
“Thank you Ma’am,” Grace dropped another curtsey and looked at the floor.
“Do you know anything about broad clothes, flat seams, or sewing colors, standards, or flags?”
Grace shook her head no. “I’m a fast learner, Ma’am. I will work hard and only ask a wage sos I can feed myself and find lodging. My husband, a free jack tar, may he rest in peace, never gave me a child. Sos it’s just me,” Grace looked Mrs. Pickersgill in the face.
“No one will believe someone as young as you is married. Where’s your mother?”
“She’s gone. She’s a freed slave who’s took off.”
“What was your Mother’s name?”
“Jenny, Ma’am.”
“If anyone asks, she agreed to have you in my employ—if I decide to take you on.”
Grace nodded, “Yes Ma’am, but I was married to a jack tar.”
Mrs. Pickersgill looked back at Grace for a minute. “I can teach you to cut and sew for colors and flags. I deal with working Captains from the merchant ships and the military. They are not at times—the most couth of company.”
“My husband bein a jack tar, God rest his soul, that don’t bother me none, Ma’am.” Grace dropped another curtsey for good measure.
Mrs. Pickersgill’s lips curled up in a slight smile as she nodded as if she found what Grace said, amusing.
“I can feed you and give you a room. I take it from the way you are—clothed—you need proper dresses. Bethany, give her an old dress or two of Caroline’s we have set aside for charity. You will work off the generosity I supply to you. You will at times be asked to make deliveries to the ships and perhaps help out around the house with the heavier chores. We are a household of women and everyone is expected to work. Even my own daughter, Caroline, helps with sewing at times. Occasionally, I do take in a boarder. We have one now, but he travels and is rarely in.”
Grace nodded again. Her innards growled so loud that everyone heard.
“I will draw up the papers and if they are to your satisfaction you can start this afternoon. Mrs. Bethany would you please see if this girl, Grace, would like something to eat while she is waiting?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Mrs. Bethany nodded as Mrs. Pickersgill left the room.
“Sit down girl,” Mrs. Bethany said as she turned to the cold cupboard and got Grace some leftover fatback, bread, fresh butter, and a spoonful of apple butter.
“You got lucky, girl. You can sew and the Missus is busier than ever with the rerouted ships. As long as the British don’t come and burn us out of house and home, or worse, this is a good place to be. When you hear the rioters in the streets, you stay inside till they pass. I need some help fetching the water from the pump in the mornings and putting it on to boil. I don’t expect you to cook, that’s my place and a good thing. It’s where my God-given talent is. I might just get you to plump up.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“There’s an extra room up below the rafters, across from mine. I have my own place, but sometimes I stay over to help. It is small, not much bigger than to hold a bed and a small desk Missus stores up there. Come down the stairs as soon as you have light to see. Take the bucket, fill the tea kettle for the coffee, fill the washbasin here, then fill the big pot over the fire. Heat it and take a pitcher to Mrs. Rebecca, Miss Caroline, and Mrs. Pickersgill so they can wash up. After the waters onto heat, go to the cellar and take a bucket of feed out to the henhouse, then collect twelve eggs for breakfast.” Mrs. Bethany looked at Grace, “Can you count that high?”
“I learned counting while doing my stitches.” No need to let her know that she learned only because the daughter of the house was being taught and Grace was able to listen in quietly.
Mrs. Pickersgill walked back into the kitchen. Grace stood quickly and curtsied. “You may sign this paper and then you can start.”
Grace took the paper and looked at it. She couldn’t read and didn’t know if she should say so.
Mrs. Pickersgill, guessing Grace may not be able to read, spoke, “It says I will provide you with food, clothing, lodging, and pay you a small wage from what is leftover in exchange for learning the flag and colors seamstress trade. Sundays will be your day off. It also says your mother—Jenny Wisher—agrees to the arrangement. Do you have any questions, Grace?”
A small wage for work, a place to stay, and good food! Grace could not think. It was everything she had wanted. The fact that the Missus didn’t believe her story hardly mattered.
Grace saw the line at the bottom and signed an X before Mrs. Pickersgill could change her mind.
“Mrs. Bethany will fill you in on the rest of the workings of the household.” Mrs. Pickersgill picked up the paper Grace had marked and continued talking, “Get her some proper clothes to wear. I can’t have her seen in these rags. Come see me in the parlor as soon as you are settled in and presentable. There is much to do.”
Grace curtsied as Mrs. Pickersgill left the room. She finished her meal just as Mrs. Bethany came back in the room with three dresses, a plain underskirt, two undergarments, an apron, bonnet, and one cloak, which she laid on a chair. One dress was a navy, another green, and the prettiest was a light blue. Mrs. Bethany then went back out the kitchen door and a minute later, brought back a well-worn pair of brown boots.
“These two are your everyday dresses and this,” she held up the light blue, “will be for Sundays and holidays. Remove the lace in your free time. You must look your station. These were the plainest I could find on such short notice. You may add some stitching in the same color to hide any holes. You will wear a white apron over the dresses when working. If there is anything else you might need there is a trunk of Miss Caroline’s old things in the cellar. You may go through it before we send it to the church for the charity people.”
Mrs. Bethany placed the clothes over Grace’s arms. She had never had such fine things to wear. Even when the lace and ribbons were removed, they would still be soft and beautiful.
“Follow me,”
Mrs. Bethany took her up the stairs, pointing out the rooms everyone slept in.
“Mrs. Rebecca is Mrs. Pickersgill’s mother, she’s in there. Caroline’s and Ma’am’s,” she pointed at each one as they passed, “The boarder, Mr. Jenson, is hardly ever here. His room is the last on the end. No need to concern yourself with him. I take his meals up when he’s in town.”
They went up the next staircase. “My room for the nights I stay, and here is yours.” Mrs. Bethany went into the smallest room at the back. A bed, a tiny desk with an oil lamp and a chair, and a small window looking out over the yard. The roof was sloped. She could stand up on the one side of the bed, but not the othe
r.
“Where should I keep my dresses?”
She pointed at a hook on the wall next to the bed. “Follow me.”
Grace laid the clothes on the bed and turned to follow her again.
This time Mrs. Bethany took her down the stairs, out of the house, and down into the cellar. “Here are the dry goods, canning, and Mr. Pickersgill’s things. Here are Miss Caroline’s old things. And here in this room are the bolts of cloth, thread, needles, grommets, sharpening blade for the scissors, bunting, backing, canvas, broad cloth, silks, linen, patterns, buttons, bone, rope and anything needed.” Grace followed Bethany in through the door and could not believe her eyes. The room was filled from floor to ceiling with cloth and the tools of the trade. Some things she had no idea what they were for. A sudden movement against her shin made her jump.
“Oh, that’s Socks. He’s our mouser. Does a good job. If he brings you a dead one, he’s in love.”
Socks continued brushing against her legs, softly purring.
“Lets go back in Miss Caroline’s trunk and see what else we can find you.”
Grace lifted the lid of the trunk and carefully took out the things she would like to have. There was a fancy velvet bonnet, she looked up at Mrs. Bethany, “I can take off the ribbons and the flowers,” she said. Mrs. Bethany nodded.
She took out a pair of gloves, “for winter,” she said. and then a knit scarf and shawl.
She looked up to Mrs. Bethany to see if she had overstepped her bounds.
“I think there might be a pretty nightgown in there. I just can’t bend with my back,” she motioned with her hand, “keep looking. I know it’s in there.”
Grace pulled out a white silk nightgown, trimmed with lace down the front and along the hem. There were white ribbons to tie along the wrists and the neck to keep the cold out. It was one of the prettiest she had ever seen.
“Since you will be wearing it at night, alone in your room, I don’t think you should waste your time removing the lace and ribbons,” Mrs. Bethany said.
Grace looked up at her and whispered, “Thank you.”
She folded the gown and put it in the middle of the scarf and the shawl so no one would see. “I’ll go upstairs now, fix a dress quick, change, and get to work for you and Mrs. Pickersgill right away,” Grace said, and so she did.
***
The next few days Grace learned the basics of cutting for the different flags. She learned the names for them and all the different colors. Sunday, her day off, came and Grace decided to sleep in. A little after dawn, Mrs. Bethany came knocking on her door. “Girl, what’s wrong with you? Time to get up. The whole house is going to church.”
“Today is my day. I’m not goin.” Grace mumbled from her pillow.
“What makes you think you aren’t? You need to be thanking the Lord for your blessings in His house, on His day.”
“I’m free. I can do what I want. Mrs. Pickersgill said today is my day and I’m takin it. I thank the Lord everyday. I do prayin all the time. ‘sides He won’t miss me today.”
Bethany went away muttering under her breath, muffled by the closed door.
A few minutes later there was another knock and before Grace could say anything the door opened and Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Pickersgill’s mother, came in.
Grace sat up pulling the covers up to hide the pretty nightgown in case she said something about taking it back.
“Good morning Grace.”
“Morning Ma’am,” Grace said.
“Mrs. Bethany has said you would like to take the day off from God’s house this morning.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Grace said.
“We can not allow that. Grace, this is a Christian home and people would talk if we let our servants stay home. We must set an example and you must too.”
“But I’m not a servant Ma’am. I am free employed,” Grace said. “Will Mrs. Pickersgill let me go if I won’t go?”
“Grace, you get dressed for church now. We will discuss this again when we get back.” Mrs. Rebecca left the room and quietly shut the door.
Grace could tell Mrs. Rebecca was not going to let her stay in bed this morning. Grace would go just this once. They would talk this afternoon and Grace would let them know, kindly of course, that she planned to spend an occasional morning off in bed. She worked hard from sunup to sundown and her free day was her free day to decide on what she would do with it.
After church, Mrs. Rebecca asked Grace to sit with her in the kitchen. Mrs. Rebecca held the paper in her hand that Grace had put her mark to the day she arrived.
“Mary had some social calls to return this afternoon so she asked me to sit and answer any questions you may have about your employment contract.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” Grace decided she would smile politely, listen, and then inform Mrs. Rebecca that she planned to sleep in late at least one Sunday a month.
“Grace, an indentured servant is considered a servant. My daughter has agreed to pay you a small wage in addition to supplying you your clothing, meals, and lodging. If you like, and if you have the savings, you may buy yourself out of the contract.”
But I’m not indentured, I’m free!” Grace answered shocked.
“Grace, according to the contract you signed, you must pay off the value of learning the flag making trade, lodging, meals, and clothes, and receive a spending allowance all taken out against the wage you earn. You can work it off over the next six years or pay the sum of one hundred dollars.”
Grace sat shocked.
“Do you have any questions?” Mrs. Rebecca asked.
“No Ma’am.”
“Then the matter is settled. You are expected to attend church every Sunday morning, then you may do as you please the rest of the day. My daughter Mary is very generous. You should be more thankful,” Mrs. Rebecca got up and left the kitchen.
Grace set her head upon the table and cried all day until Mrs. Bethany came in to prepare the evening meal. Grace picked up the water pail, filled it, and brought it in for Mrs. Bethany. Then she went upstairs, climbed in bed, and laid awake all night in silent distress.
***
Missus Pickersgill had been happy to find a girl who could sew. (Although Grace couldn’t tell from her expression.) She’d sat Grace down at the table and put a paper in front of her to sign. Grace did as she was told and she’d put her x on the line. She’d been so hungry she would have signed anything.
Later, when Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Pickersgill’s Mam, had read her what she’d signed, she felt she’d been tricked. Grace was tricked into signing that she would be indentured for her food and lodging. She could work herself free in six years. Six years!
Grace thought the paper was for her wages. How could she be so foolish? The word “wages” had led her to sign. Missus had never said the word “indentured.” Grace made her second vow. She was going to learn to read and write. She was not going to let anyone take advantage of her again.
The thing that got her mad the most was Ma’am, Mrs. Pickersgill, really thought she’d done Grace a favor and expected Grace to be grateful for it.
She would say, “Grace, you are so blessed I took you in. Whatever would you do without me? It scares me to think of you without someone to look after you.”
Grace would never understand white folk and their arrogance. A favor would be feeding her and paying her money for her work. Keeping Grace a free lady. That would have been a favor. That would have been right.
One blessing was there was no man in the house to bother her. Mr. Jenson didn’t count. The first time she caught a glimpse of Mr. Jenson, the boarder, he seemed more afraid of her than she was of him. He was small and timid. Except for his advanced age, he seemed more a boy than a man. When in the house, he kept to himself.
The work was long and tedious, but more proud than the fields. Even fine ladies took up sewing and embroidery. Sometimes Grace would pretend she was a fine lady sewing for fun and out of boredom. Ma’am was mainly a ship’s flag maker.
“Colors” they called them. Grace had no idea there were so many flags on a ship saying so many things. She also made flags on a pole called standards for the army and the navy. Grace was a hard worker and she learned them all. She learned how to cut the material into shapes. She learned the name of the silks and the broad clothes and the proper threads to use with each. She learned how to attach the woolen bunting. Maybe someday, when she bought her freedom, she could open her own shop and people would come to her. This was the dream that kept her going. It was a small dream, a good dream, and she didn’t feel bad about asking God to make it come true.
*
***
*
Chapter 2 - Present Day, A Secret
In the early morning light, chilled and blustery winds buffeted Keiko as she sipped her coffee, walking quickly into the building and through the halls to her job (her job!) at the Smithsonian Institute. She wondered if today would be the day.
Keiko wanted to find a hero history ignored and give them the rightful standing he or she should have. Keiko just knew that person was hidden somewhere in the past. She would find him and put him into the light of truth, the light of the future where he belonged. The dichotomy of early America is what drove her interest in history. The horror of what happened and how everyday people survived through it. The wars, the famine, the poverty, the injustices. The ingenuity of the true heroes, the ones who lived and died with honor. These things made history live for Keiko, and it was important that history stayed alive. History in turn gave her the energy to go on. Some lives, including hers, were nothing but a series of losses. Perseverance and those who sacrificed, gave comfort to Keiko. She would persevere, survive, and recognize the unremembered.
Keiko entered her office, put her coffee down on the table, and grabbed the next box of letters in the trunk. This job represented everything she wanted. She’d beat out at least a hundred other applicants for her master’s internship at the Smithsonian and if she didn’t do something extraordinary while she was here, she might blow her opportunity of a lifetime. No one knew better than Keiko how sometimes doing your best wasn’t good enough. God may be in control but he let luck and the devil each have a turn in the game of life. She would play the game because she didn’t know what else she could do. She made sure she was the first to arrive and the last to leave in her department, but that wouldn’t be enough to keep her job.
