by Marge Piercy
THEODORE TILTON HAD BEGUN a new suffrage party aimed at uniting the two organizations, the American and the National, over the spring and summer of 1870, but it fizzled out. The distance between the groups widened. But Theo had at least tried to make peace, and Elizabeth thought he deserved credit. With so much more money behind them, the American was outshining their National. The American had a slick well-financed journal focused only on suffrage, while the Revolution got deeper in debt every month. The American had the money to do a huge mailing campaign and were affiliating chapters all over the country. Their recent convention had been large.
This evening she and Susan had been invited by Tilton to dine with him and Lib. Lib would probably always feel more at home with Susan, but she had warmed to Elizabeth. In their presence, she was vivacious, full of ideas, quite different from the subdued wife. Susan and she were to meet with Theo that afternoon at Laura Bullard’s to discuss the possible transfer of their journal, too far into debt to continue. It was a sad decision, but one forced on them by their creditors. Susan was not persuaded they should let go.
Lib had seemed more confident lately, blooming. Tiny as she was, her beauty and newfound energy lit up a room. She had confided in Susan that her marriage had changed but provided no details. She said only that it had become more equal. Elizabeth wondered what that meant. Theodore had been enjoying a long affair with Laura Bullard, a widow and heir through her father to a large patent medicine fortune. A sophisticated lady who had lived in France for many years, she was an ardent believer in progressive ideas, including free love. It was one of the many clandestine affairs that percolated through the woman’s rights movement. For all the Boston contingent’s squeamishness about discussing marriage, divorce or, God help them, sex, they were just as apt to have “affinities” as anybody in New York. Elizabeth wondered what Lib meant when she spoke of a new equality She didn’t mean that Theodore was home more or that he had given up the lecture circuit or his affairs. Still, Lib was obviously happy. The death of her little son years before had thrown her into a depression Elizabeth felt the woman had only fully emerged from that summer.
Elizabeth herself was suffering the sense of being embattled on all sides. Susan and she had been effectively thrust aside in the woman’s movement by the Boston-led American with their alignment with the Republican Party, more favorable notice in the press, their slick journal. Elizabeth was making a living and supporting her younger children through lectures. She was also subsidizing the New York apartment where Henry lived. He had a journalistic sinecure that did not begin to cover his expenses. With every issue, the Revolution was leaking money they did not have. She did not want to see it die, but they simply could not continue. “Susan, we must find someone with money to buy it, or at least to put money into the paper.”
“Does Theo have any money?”
“His special friend Laura Bullard does. Theo turned down a hefty bribe to support a railroad stock scheme that Henry Ward Beecher and most of the Republican establishment in Brooklyn went heartily into. Theo said his principles were worth more than could be bought. So I doubt he has money to spare. These days, you have money or you have principles.”
“I’d trust Theo more than most with the paper, if it comes to that.”
“Susan, it has come to that. We have no money to put out another issue and no one will extend us more credit. Either we pass on the Revolution to someone who can afford it, or it will simply cease. Do you want that?”
Susan pushed her face into her hands. “No,” she said in a muffled voice, “but to me it’s like giving away my own child.”
They took the train to the ferry, the ferry to Manhattan, a cab across and then the ferry to Brooklyn. “Look, Susan, the caisson,” Elizabeth said, standing at the rail with the wind blowing her curls so they whipped her cheeks, “They’ve started building the bridge. Perhaps when they finish, even more will come over to hear Beecher. He can preach in a stadium.” Beecher was close to President Grant and the Republican cabal that ran Brooklyn. His congregation included many of the richest and most powerful men in Brooklyn and some in Manhattan who journeyed over to Plymouth Church for his sermons on the power of love and how God had ordained the order of things, where the deserving enjoyed riches like spreading chestnut trees, protecting the less fortunate beneath their leafy branches.
“He got rid of the articles of faith. Now all the Republican Party pooh-bahs have joined and turned Plymouth Church into their clubhouse.” Susan snorted.
“It is also said he preaches to twenty of his mistresses every Sunday.”
“Mrs. Stanton, that’s just gossip. We shouldn’t repeat such nonsense.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I’m not convinced it’s gossip.”
She had never seen a building project such as this bridge. The caisson was made of lumber. Men were lowered in it down to the bottom of the East River and below. The bridge was to stand upon bedrock. It was cruel, dangerous work and several men had died already, falling, swept away in the violent currents or of the painful seizures they called caisson disease. Why did every bit of progress have to be paid for by the deaths of the workers who made it happen?
They joined the crowd rushing off the ferry, always a little dangerous in the press of bodies. The boat hook hanging on the dock was a reminder how often passengers fell into the East River and were drowned or crushed. Still she could not resist taking a last glance back at Manhattan. The steeple of Trinity stuck out above all other buildings. Masts of sailing ships bristled like so many enormous toothpicks.
That afternoon, at Laura Bullard’s house, the deal was closed with great rapidity and the Revolution passed to Laura Bullard and Theodore Tilton, the new editors. Theo and his mistress had papers already drawn up. Elizabeth had quietly broached the matter with Theo a few weeks before, to feel out his interest. She had not expected such a rapid response. Susan looked as if she would weep, then put on her stoical face. Dinner, it turned out, was to be at Laura Bullard’s. Lib was nowhere to be seen. Where was she, Elizabeth wondered. Laura’s house was larger and more sumptuous than Theo’s or Elizabeth’s, with a staff of servants, including a cook. The rooms were furnished with heavy draperies, a large tapestry imitating a medieval hanging with ladies and knights, fine Oriental carpets and chandeliers gaudy with gaslight. The furniture was oversized and ornately carved. Bronze statuary of shepherds and savages stood everywhere in an almost jungle confusion of bric-a-brac.
Dinner felt stiff. The food was fine and the wine excellent and free-flowing. Even Susan sipped a glass of tawny port, as letting the Revolution go had been upsetting for her even more than for Elizabeth. Theo was drinking heavily and seemed to be undergoing some inner turmoil. He did not look his usual tousled handsome self, but drawn, off-color, as if he had been sleeping badly. Laura tried to soothe him, without much effect. Finally Theo exploded. “Henry Ward Beecher, who was supposed to be my true friend, my brother, has destroyed my life.”
“You mean those shenanigans with the president, the regular Republicans cutting you out of the loop?” Elizabeth was surprised he should take that so seriously, since he hadn’t been supporting Grant.
“Beecher has defiled my bed while professing friendship. And now he has made my own wife… She is carrying his child!”
Elizabeth frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“She confessed it.”
“Theo, how can you speak of defiling the marriage bed when you’ve had intimate friends for years? Here we sit in Laura’s house eating her food and drinking her wine. Can you possibly feel you are defiling Lib?” Elizabeth shook her head wearily. Men were a joke sometimes. It was fine for Theodore to have passionate relationships, but Lib was to be punished for probably the only affair of her life.
“When she first confessed her affair with Beecher, I tried to forgive him for seducing her while I was off giving lectures to pay for our home. I thought we’d all have our relationships and be friends together… But he’s a snake
. He impregnated her. He lied to me, he played me false.” Theodore was tearing at his hair.
Elizabeth had never seen him so distraught. Laura and she tried to calm him. Susan stood. “I must speak with Lib.” Hurrying from the room, she went to get her cloak. It was only a matter of blocks to the Tilton residence.
Theo was ranting about how he had received Beecher into his house, tried to restore their full friendship, tried to make everything good between them, then this! His wife carrying another man’s child. It was not to be endured. Hadn’t he supported Beecher in every way, ghostwritten his articles, held his hand, edited his work?
At eleven, Theo announced he was going home. Elizabeth was not about to walk, especially so late, so Laura sent them in her carriage. When they entered the Tilton home, Susan and Lib were sitting up in the parlor. Lib ran up to him, furious. She was a full foot shorter than her husband, pregnancy thickening her waist. “You were supposed to pick me up to go to dinner with Laura. You promised!”
“Did I? I don’t think so.”
Lib screamed at him, “Liar! Liar!”
Theo stared down at her. He was a little drunk but not enough to explain his reaction. “Your child is not my child!” He pointed at her belly with an expression of deep revulsion scoring his face. “Are any of the children mine? How can I ever know?” Then he struck Lib hard across the face. Elizabeth was shocked.
Lib ran upstairs to her bedroom, with Susan on her heels. Elizabeth paused to say to Theo, “You’re behaving like an idiot! Some supporter of woman’s rights you are.” Then more slowly she climbed the steps, holding on to the banister, and followed them into Lib’s bedroom. She dropped into the overstuffed chair by the window, sighing. She did not enjoy domestic tantrums. She was exhausted. Giving over the Revolution had depressed her, even though the money drain had kept her awake nights for the last few months. Susan was locking the door—a response Elizabeth thought overdramatic. Susan had never been married and thus had no idea what storms could blow up between a husband and wife and how noisy it could get.
She changed her mind when Theo began banging on the door screaming to be let in. Lib was shouting at him and he was shouting back. The door rattled at his thumping but did not give way, although he was threatening to break it down.
Susan stood just inside the door. “I will not turn this key. You’re out of control. Get hold of yourself!”
“No woman can come between me and my wife.”
“You’ll get at Lib only through my dead body,” Susan said grimly, leaning against the shaking door.
Elizabeth was on her feet now. “Theodore Tilton, you must calm down. Your wife has committed no act you did not carry out before her. Are you drunk or crazy?”
A long silence followed. Theo stopped banging on the door. Finally they heard his footsteps receding. Probably he would return to Laura to spend the night.
“Come,” Susan said. “We must barricade the door lest he come back and break it open.”
Elizabeth joined them in pushing the bed against the door. Exhausted, all three of them climbed into the bed half undressed and put out the light. Lib had stopped crying but was overwrought and snuggled against Susan, holding her thin body as if to a spar after an ocean wreck. Lib began to talk about how she had become involved with Henry Ward Beecher. Elizabeth feigned sleep, knowing that Lib would never confide in her as she did in Susan. The relationship had begun when Beecher started bringing her his sermons and his writing to critique, praising her intelligence and insight, as Theo never did. Henry and she had become closer and closer. His wife was a cold, materialistic and distant woman who could not give him the kind of attentive love the great man needed. They had become soul mates.
She had never intended their relationship to go beyond the platonic. But Theo was gone so often giving lectures, attending conferences, or simply gallivanting off to his other women that she was deeply lonely and often depressed. Theo had never, she thought, been faithful, although she had been too naïve in the first decade of her marriage to guess. She genuinely liked Laura Bullard, considering her a friend. Laura had explained that she had no desire for a husband. A passionate friendship was just what she wanted, nothing more. She wished only to work with Theo and sleep with him sometimes and exchange ideas. She had no intention of threatening their marriage, she said, and Lib believed her. Laura was wealthy and did not want to lose her independence to any man. A husband would be an impediment.
“Did Beecher force himself upon you?” Susan asked.
“Oh, no! Never. He was the gentlest lover a woman could ever have. I experienced such joy with him. He made me feel cherished, Susan.”
Exhausted as she was, Elizabeth was too interested to doze off. All this business of free love was exciting in its way. Why shouldn’t women too have adventures? She had not been tempted, because her Henry had been a good lover, however lacking as a husband. She had been deeply and passionately in love with him for a long time. She had changed, he had changed, and all the childbearing and -rearing had dimmed her sexual nature; but when she wanted to be embraced, it had been Henry she desired. Other men might flirt with her and she with them. She had found the great Negro abolitionist Frederick Douglass attractive, but affairs took time she never had. She preferred to put her energy into her writing, her speaking, her political work, her children, her friends. She had a brief moment of wondering if men named Henry were better lovers than others, since she suspected from Lib’s roundabout descriptions that she experienced pleasure with Henry and none with Theo. She could hear Theo moving about downstairs. So he had not gone to Laura. The morning, if they ever got through this night, would be interesting, if likely to prove melodramatic.
“So when you confessed to Theo, he stormed out of the house.”
“He was gone for three days. I was crazy with worrying. Then he returned and he wasn’t angry. He said we’d have a better, more honest marriage with both of us enjoying our passionate affinities. That’s what he said.”
“Did you tell Beecher that Theo knew about the affair?” Susan asked.
Lib moaned. “I meant to. Theo made me promise to tell. Somehow I never could. Things seemed to be going along so well I didn’t want to upset Henry.”
“Then you told Theo you were with child.”
“He figured it out. I never told him.”
Elizabeth sighed. What a mess. No wonder she’d never had the energy for such complications, and no wonder Susan hadn’t bothered with the whole untidy business of sexual love. In the morning they would coerce, cajole, embarrass Theo into behaving better toward his wife, if he would listen. She was not convinced he would. This night might have shattered several friendships. Now she regretted they had given over the Revolution to Theo and Laura. But who else wanted it? She was fighting on so many fronts she felt overwhelmed. That was why she had let go of the Revolution, although they could not get rid of the debts they had incurred. But she felt far less sure of the wisdom of that decision than she had in the so distant morning of what must by now be yesterday.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE FIRST COUPLE of months with Kezia were bumpy. Freydeh noticed a bad smell in the bedroom, and found that Kezia was hiding bits of food under the bed, where they had attracted mice and soon would bring rats. Kezia cried when brought to task, but she did it again the next week. She would pick up things she found in the street, a lost glove, a piece of half-rotten melon, a pin that had rusted. She had to be taught again and again to clean herself properly with a basin of water. If not watched, she would soon be dirty again. She seemed afraid of soap and water.
Once Kezia was cleaned up and started school, they learned she could draw. She could see a picture of a racehorse or a tiger and catch the essence in a few lines. They were making several types of condoms and labeling them according to some animal that might inspire the buyer. They had the elephant type (for those massively endowed). Men liked to buy them, even if she suspected that not all of them needed the extra large. They had the
tiger—brightly striped. They had the rooster with a little tickler on it. Kezia drew pictures they had printed on the boxes. Madams liked the fancy ones for their clients.
She delivered to the brothels herself, so as not to put Sammy in the way of temptation. That morning she took Annie Wood her supply for the next two weeks. Annie was entertaining another woman in the conservatory, a room Freydeh loved, where they were drinking coffee. The other woman was as dark as Annie was fair, at least in hair color—black hair like Kezia’s, but her eyes were blue and her complexion ivory. She was beautiful, not dressed like a whore but severely, in black silk with a white rose—a real rose, not a cloth rose—at her throat. They had been talking about railroads when the colored servant led Freydeh between the potted palms to the table. Freydeh was a little nervous as this was obviously a Yankee lady, whatever she was doing in a brothel, although she had a strange feeling she’d seen the woman before.
Annie waved her to a seat. Sometimes Annie treated her as an equal, sometimes as a servant. “This is Freydeh Levin. She manufactures the line of condoms we supply. A businesswoman like us.”
“What do you do?” Freydeh asked the lady. She could be a madam who dressed to distinguish herself from her girls. Freydeh had learned a lot about brothels since she had gone into condoms—and since she had been searching for her sister.
“I’m a stockbroker. Have you heard of me?”
“I’m sorry,” Freydeh said. “How would I have?”
The lady smiled, more amused than annoyed. “The papers got a lot of copy out of my sister and myself.”
“I’m working on my English, but mostly I read German papers.” They had news of things back in Europe, where the remnants of her people were. She had recently sent money urging Sara to take her family and come. She had not heard back yet.
“What made you go into your line of work?” the woman asked.
“It’s a way I can make money as a woman. I figured that out when I worked in a pharmacy. Now I work for myself and my children.”
