by Lisa Grace
The coffee cup he’d hand back without a question. In his personal code of chivalry, holding a laptop bag was macho, a coffee cup, not so much.
“Hey Keiko, a couple of the guys and I are going out for drinks tomorrow, it’ll be my night off. I’d—we- would love it if you could join us,” Jacks said as he walked with her to the front doors.
“Thanks for the invite, but I don’t know how late I’m going to be. By the way, how’s school going?” Keiko asked.
Jacks was enrolled in an online college studying computer programming. He was only a year younger than her but looked more like two or three.
“It’s going great. Hey, since computers are my thing and research is yours, if there’s anything you need to find out quick, I’m your guy. I’d love to help you out. Wouldn’t be any problem at all. Just let me know, okay?”
“Thanks Jacks, I will keep it in mind,” Keiko smiled at Jacks. They were standing in front of the doors so Keiko held out her hand to take back her cup from Jacks.
“Bye Keiko, walk safe.”
“Night Jacks.” Keiko smiled and headed out the door without looking back. The last thing she wanted do was encourage him.
All her hard work was finally paying off. And finding the star…Well, at this point it was a possibility—or a dead end. She needed to figure out the clues and find the star. Rumor was, job cuts were coming. Funding was the same, yet expenses were up. This made getting hired on a permanent basis even harder. She smiled, too bad it wasn’t Jacks decision.
As the morning dawned, Keiko boarded the metro to her townhome and considered where to search next.
***
It was well known in historical circles that Major Armistead had commissioned and paid for the flag. When he left the fort, he took the flag home with him. He died a few years later, but Armistead’s wife, Louisa, started giving away pieces of the flag to those she found deserving.
She needed to research the Armistead letters and the Pickersgill letters for provenance. To find a source for further letters that might tie in. But first, Keiko needed to go home and get some sleep so she could think clearly. She had a feeling her next stop would be Mary Pickersgill’s home where some of her archival letters were kept.
Once home, Keiko took a quick shower. Exhausted, she collapsed into her parents’ bed. “Good night Mom, good night Dad. I love you forever and ever,” she whispered. She smelled them on the pillows she never washed. They were still scented with love. Keiko remembered Julian’s scent. Different from her mom and dad, but comforting too. She set her alarm for eleven a.m., which would give her five hours of sleep and time to think about her next step.
*
***
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Chapter 3 - June 6th, 1813
“Girls,” Mrs. Pickersgill held up the letter excitedly, “We have our largest order yet!”
Grace looked around the parlor. Mrs. Pickersgill had called in her daughter, the cousins Eliza and Jane, and her. Never had she called them into the parlor together. The girls all sat while Grace stood. She knew her place. Ma’am laughed a tinkling sound, “A flag as large as we can manage. Much larger than we’ve made for any ship! Why, Major Armistead insists it be as tall as a ship!”
Caroline laughed, “Mama, as tall as a ship? How ever would we make one so big?”
Mrs. Pickersgill’s eyes sparkled. “We can’t make it here. The parlor isn’t big enough to lay out and cut all the stripes. We’re to make the stripes red and white, fifteen of them, same number as the stars.”
“Where will we put it together, Auntie?” Eliza asked.
“I’ve arranged to rent the large room at Claggett’s.”
“Oh no, not there! The smell!” Jane looked positively horrified.
“Girls, we have to work fast. The Major is sure it won’t be long before we are overrun by the red coats. May the smell of the fermenting hops spur you on to work fast, for the smell of spilled blood from war, is worse, much worse.”
***
The women took a coach every morning to work on the flag. Caroline, Mrs. Pickersgill, and the cousins, Eliza and Jane, rode inside the carriage while Grace rode on top with the driver. They worked to make the seams extra strong, using thread worsted tightly. The force of the wind on the material would give it a terrible beating. Needles poked their fingers anointing the flag with its first taste of blood. Innocent blood. Mrs. Pickersgill and the girls prayed for the men’s deliverance who would fight below it. Jane would think of her sensitive nose and delicate stomach, then remember and repeat the phrase, “War is worse, war is worse.”
They worked hard and solemnly, as if joking or an air of frivolity would jinx the flag and hold it back from its sovereign purpose. Six weeks of dawn to dusk, and it was done. Now all that was left was to deliver the flag to its field of duty.
***
July, 19th 1813
Mrs. Pickersgill didn’t know the world. Dealing with gentlemen and ladies shielded her from the truth of what was out there. Grace was to be the only woman alone in an entourage of men. She had begged for another female to come on the journey with her, but Mrs. Pickersgill, had no idea how dangerous it was for a woman alone. Truthfully, Mrs. Pickersgill did not think white men would be attracted to Grace because she was so young and black, and didn’t think a black man, most likely a slave, would have the courage to approach her while being surrounded by white soldiers. She was right about the black men, but very wrong about the whites.
***
The flag is done and Grace has been charged with escorting it to Major Armistead at Fort McHenry. She can make any last minute repairs and reinforcements the flag might need. They call her an indentured servant, but she knows her place, she knows what she is, she’s a slave. She wasn’t asked to go, Grace was told. Mrs. Pickersgill, a nice widow lady, gave her her papers, clothed her, fed her, and gave her money at Christmas, never enough to buy her freedom. She gave her a trade and put her to work. Grace knew how to sew a straight stitch and flat seams. Sewing was easier work than the fields. It was more respectable than the fields. There were no men bothering her in the house. Her life now was easy compared to the past. The only sadness was, even if she saved all her money, it would take her at least six years to buy her freedom.
But here Grace was, to travel alone with men. No one to protect her. No one for them to maintain public manners in front of. It was a dangerous position for Grace to be in. The last time she was alone with a white man had ended badly. She was tiny and not able to fight him off, but fight she did. She scratched him good before he punched her and knocked her out. She woke up while he was doing his business in her and at that moment, she made up her mind to run to freedom. No man would take her again.
Now this trip to deliver the flag to the fort. They left before dawn was starting to peek over the hills. She had a pair of sharp scissors hid in her stocking and another in her pocket. She had some sharp hatpins stuck in her cap. She was keeping an eye on these men. She was careful not to look any of them in the eye and kept quiet. If she was lucky, she’d be able to fight them off, if not, well that was the way of the world and Grace would just have to deal with what God threw her way.
Grace was awed at the beauty of her first sight of Fort McHenry. High up on the hill, the river broke and went around it. She could see the stone walls of the fort forming points sticking out, making a star. The water of the rivers was a sparkling blue and the trees a beautiful shade of green. How pretty for something meant for war. Ships could be seen out at sea. Grace hoped they were on guard looking for the arrival of the British. Would fighting really take place here? It was hard to believe. The road curved on behind one of the points and over a bridge with soldiers stationed on each end. She supposed they would destroy the bridge if they saw enemies coming toward them on their ships. Rumors had been flying around town for weeks that there was soon to be a war. Too many American ships and men were taken by the British and put into the service of The Royal Navy to fight against the French. Bec
ause of the loss of so many ships and men, President Madison had declared war last year. The skirmishes out at sea and on land had gotten worse. Men had just been taken at a place called Beaver Dams. Flyers came out every week announcing raids and battles at places with names like Ball’s Farm, Blackrock, Goose Creek, and Burnt Corn. The British won a fight at Burlington Heights and had attacked Fort Stephenson. Then they captured the U. S. S. Chesapeake in June. Just this last week the British sunk the U. S. S. Hamilton and the U. S. S. Scourge. Grace had worked on colors for both those ships. She imagined the flags now waving in the watery currents of the cold dark deep. All those men lost with the ships. She was beginning to wonder if America could win this war.
The American merchants even managed to capture some British ships in retaliation. Everyone was watching the coast for sight of the ships carrying the British army. Some were saying they might land either further north or south and plan surprise attacks. Flyers were being printed and posted every day with threats from the French, the Indians they befriended, and from the British. Because Grace couldn’t read, it was hard for her to know the truth. Part of her was scared. What if they did come to Baltimore? She could run again. Go further north out of the state. Some said the French in Canada would protect them against the British. Would that be far enough? And here she was on her way into the fort. What if they showed up today? What if they blew the bridge? Where could she hide? So many questions, so much fear. All Grace could do is pray, although that didn’t seem to work most of the time.
When they arrived at Fort McHenry, the Major put her in a room attached to the one his own wife and her chaperone, Miss Maggie, were using. They were visiting the Major for the next few days. From what Grace could see, there weren’t many places to put visitors as the fort was still under construction and many of the men were forced to sleep in tents. When they checked in, Grace saw that Major Armistead’s quarters were being used as a war room with many meetings round the clock as provisions and supplies were arriving at all hours.
“Sir, what quarters should we assign Miss Wisher to?” the soldier asked.
“Take her to my wife’s quarters, she can stay in the ammunitions storage room at the back. If Mrs. Armistead complains, remind her—kindly—we are not set up for visitors. If she still objects—put Miss Wisher in a tent. The men can camp out by the fire for the evening.”
The soldier saluted and answered, “Yes sir.” He turned and Grace dropped a quick curtsey to the Major, picked up her bag, and followed the soldier out the door. The soldier walked very fast which made Grace glad as he stank from sweating. His brisk pace gave her a chance to stand out of the breeze of his odor.
The soldier led Grace to her room, knocked on the door, and waited.
A well rounded lady with a few sharp whiskers on her chin opened the door to let them in. Grace noticed the flour on her hands and arms.
“This is Miss Grace Wisher, in the employ of Mrs. Pickersgill. The Major must put her in the backroom as the fort has run out of accommodations. If you object, Miss Wisher can certainly be put up in a tent for the evening.” The young soldier announced as if Grace was an object and not a person with two working ears. Of course, they might object as Grace was black and an indentured servant.
Now that Grace’s eyes were adjusting to the low lamplight of the windowless room, she saw a pretty young lady rise from a chair by the fireplace and walk toward her and the soldier.
Grace looked at her thinking how pretty she was and that her dress, while only a day dress, was finely made with ribbons and tiny ribbon rose buds used as accents to add a festive touch. In her hair around her fancy bun she wore matching rosebud ribbons. It bespoke of money. Grace hastily curtsied and uttered the word, “Missus.”
“Hello Grace,” she said in acknowledgement of the greeting.
“She can stay in the back room. I won’t have it said that we treat the working staff poorly.” Mrs. Armistead cocked her head toward the back room.
Grace curtsied again and followed the soldier as he walked ahead of her to her room. Grace put down her small sewing case and the bag that carried an extra cape to wrap up in, in case the weather turned cold. The room was small, windowless, and contained just a cot. There was no room for a table. She would need a lamp or she would be in the dark with the door closed. Grace turned to the soldier, she did not look him in the eye, instead she kept her eyes on her feet, “May I please have a lamp? I won’t be able to sew without light.”
The soldier nodded, which Grace caught out of the corner of her eye, and then he walked out the door and over to the lady who had opened the door.
“Provisions are short, but I will look for a lantern.” He saluted and left the quarters.
Grace sat on the edge of the cot wondering if she should close her door to give Mrs. Armistead her privacy. She could lay in the dark and take a nap.
“Grace, come out into the parlor,” Mrs. Armistead said before Grace worked up the courage to close the door.
Grace got up and did as she was told.
Mrs. Armistead was once again seated by the fire. The other older fatter lady was standing at the table kneading dough into bread.
“Grace, this is Miss Maggie, my companion. You may call me Mrs. Louisa.”
“Yes, Ma’am, Mrs. Louisa,” Grace said as she dropped another curtsey.
“Grace, take one of the chairs by the table and sit across from me here by the fire so I can talk to you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Louisa.”
“George insists that I will have to leave in the next day or so as we are at war with the British. It has been very dull as I am not allowed to wander around. And of course George is busy all day with his men and the workers with the fort not being complete yet. It’s so good to have someone to talk to in addition to Miss Maggie.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Grace was worried too. She knew a battle could happen but was hoping it would wait until she was at home and not at the fort.
“The British could show up any minute which is why George will not let me stay. They keep taking our ships and our men, and we must show them we are our own sovereign nation. They can not treat us as their slaves.” She looked at Grace as if she expected her to agree, never catching the irony of her words.
“Yes, Mrs. Louisa,” Grace answered.
Louisa smiled at Grace, but her eyes didn’t.
“Do not worry Grace. I am sure we have plenty of time to prepare. The British are still at war with Napoleon, so their naval ships are spread out very thin. They and we, will have to muster troops. We will finish building the fort, and then a few weeks or months from now the Royal Navy will bring her ships to shoot at this fort to knock it down.”
Mrs. Louisa fanned herself. “I am sorry, I am a little high-strung when I think of George in danger. Who knows how long this war will last? Or when I will see him again?” Mrs. Louisa looked like she might cry.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Louisa.”
Grace couldn’t believe how intimate Missus Louisa was with her feelings. Talking to Grace as if she’d known her for years.
“Watch out Miss Grace. Louisa shall talk your ear off. One of mine is plumb worn out.”
Grace sat in shocked silence, not sure how to respond to a servant talking that way to her employer.
Miss Maggie continued, “I am going to go out and see about getting something other than beans for dinner. And some decent coffee without chicory. It might take me awhile. You girls stay put. Louisa, you send Grace out if you need anything while I am gone.”
Miss Maggie tied on a bonnet, picked up a basket by the door, and left the room.
***
Grace looked around. There were two sets of bunk beds, four chairs, two by the fire and two at the table. They were near the middle of the fort so there were no windows.
“Grace do tell me all about your trip,” Mrs. Louisa asked as she continued to fan herself. Grace was relieved. She thought maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. And with that simple question t
heir unlikely life-long friendship started.
***
Louisa Armistead had never had the chance to talk to a black woman alone before. One did not talk to slaves. One commanded. Grace was in the employ of Mrs. Pickersgill, so while not exactly appropriate, one could talk to those who were of the working class.
“Grace, dear, where are you from?”
“I’m not sure, Ma’am, I was taken from my Mam when I was five.”
“You were taken?” Louisa looked shocked.
“Yes,” Grace said, “All the young-uns were taken from their Mam’s to work in the fields. We was the best height for picking.” Grace noticed she let her English slip to sound dumb, but it was smart to talk ignorant until she had an idea of what Mrs. Louisa wanted from her. She did not want to be beat for being uppity.
“I am sorry.”
“That’s the way it was, nothing to be sorry about.”
“How did you come to be in the employment of Mrs. Pickersgill?”
“When I was seven, the Missus at the big house took me in, cleaned me up, and had me work on the sewing. And when I come to Baltimore, I hear Missus Pickersgill might have needs of a girl like me. I been with her ever since.” Grace looked shyly at Mrs. Louisa’s fine day dress. “I used to work on dresses nice as yours, but I like working on the flags an the colors for the ships. The captains of the ships are happy with nice flat seams and you don’t have to worry about the rope changing sizes the way some ladies do.”
Louisa looked at Grace blankly for a second, realized she had cracked a joke, and then they both laughed at the same time.
Louisa kept asking question after question about her life before Mrs. Pickersgill. Grace had a feeling that Louisa knew she must have run, but she was too polite to come out and ask outright. Grace also left out the parts, the bad parts, about Mr. Copper and the fire. She was afraid that Mrs. Louisa wouldn’t be as friendly or worse, even blame her and think she was a bad person. She really wanted Mrs. Louisa’s friendship. She’d never had a friend before and she may never have one again.
