by Ginny Dye
“Miss Carrie!”
Carrie’s face split into a broad grin when a young man came rushing toward her. She shook her head with disbelief. “Carl?”
“That’s me!”
Carrie kept shaking her head. “You weren’t as tall as me the last time I saw you.” She gazed up at the boy who stood almost as tall as Anthony. “When did this happen?”
“I reckon Opal’s good cooking made me grow,” Carl replied. Then he reached down, picked Carrie up, and swung her in a circle.
Carrie was aware of dark looks and murmurs of disapproval from many of the white patrons, but she couldn’t have cared less. She merely laughed and gave him a hug when he set her down.
“What’s all the commotion out…?”
Carrie swung around just as Opal’s voice sounded behind her.
“Land sakes! Is that you, Carrie Borden?”
Carrie laughed as she held her arms wide. “It’s so good to see you, Opal!”
Opal gave a glad cry as she rushed forward to wrap her in a hug. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here, Miss Carrie?”
“I came for lunch, of course,” Carrie replied. She knew the instant Opal spotted Anthony standing slightly behind her.
“And who is that?” Opal murmured, her eyes narrowing as she looked over Carrie’s shoulder.
Carrie beckoned Anthony forward. “This is my friend, Anthony Wallington.”
Anthony smiled warmly. “Carrie has bragged on your cooking, Opal. She has also told me what a fine woman you are.”
Opal gave him a long appraisal. “Welcome to Opal’s Kitchen,” she said graciously. “We’ll make sure you don’t leave hungry.”
Carrie, aware Anthony had passed Opal’s inspection, smiled. “Where are Eddie and Amber Lou?” She glanced at Anthony. “Amber Lou is their thirteen-year-old daughter.”
Carl answered for Opal. “My little sister can’t be pulled away from school to do much work.” His voice was complaining, but his eyes shone with pride. “She’s set on going to college, and said she doesn’t have time for restaurant work. Daddy is out getting supplies. He’ll be back soon enough.”
“Carl! You know your sister works hard here when she can,” Opal scolded. “If we could only get you to spend more time at school, you wouldn’t have to work so hard here, either.”
Carl shrugged and grinned. “I like working in the restaurant. As long as I can find as good a cook as you when I want to open my own restaurant, I figure I will do just fine.”
“Good luck with finding a cook as good as Opal,” Carrie teased. “We’re starving,” she added. “What do you recommend?”
“How about if I just send out my special today?” Opal asked.
“Perfect,” Carrie replied. “Whatever it is, I know it will be delicious.”
Carl led them over to a small table next to the window that looked out onto the bustle of Broad Street. “You in town for long, Miss Carrie?”
“No,” Carrie answered. “Actually, I’m leaving for Philadelphia tomorrow to start a homeopathic clinic.”
Carl nodded, his eyes saying he was impressed, and then leaned in closer. “Didn’t I hear you took off to the West?”
“I did,” Carrie answered. “I spent nine months on the Santa Fe Trail, and in New Mexico last year.”
Carl’s expression was thick with admiration and envy. “I figure that’s where I’ll be heading one day,” he confided.
“Oh?” Carrie asked in surprise. “Why the West?”
Carl dropped his voice to almost a whisper, obviously not wanting to be overheard by the white patrons who filled the restaurant. “I don’t figure things in the South going to be that much better for a real long time. I hear things are a lot better for blacks out in the West.”
Carrie eyed him. “I suspect you would find it easier,” she agreed softly. “I’m sorry it has to be that way.”
Carl shrugged. “It is what it is. Hatred ain’t going to stop me from living my life, but it doesn’t mean I can’t make things a little easier.”
Carrie smiled. “Your family will miss you.”
Carl grinned again. “Amber Lou is fixed on going to college, but I’m hoping I can talk Opal and Daddy into going with me when it’s time. I already know I’ll never find a cook better than Opal, so I figure I ought to take her with me.”
Carrie laughed. “You’re a very wise young man, Carl.”
Carl ducked his head briefly and then looked back up. “Wait until you try the new potato chips, Miss Carrie.”
“What’s a potato chip?” Carrie had never heard the term before.
Carl shook his head. “You have to taste one before I tell you the story.” He turned away when the bell over the door rang again. “I’ll be back with your food, but I have a new customer to seat.”
Carrie watched him as he straightened his shoulders and walked with confidence to the door. His manner was both self-assured and respectful. She was sure Eddie and Opal had drilled the behavior into him since they had decided to open Opal’s Kitchen in the white part of town.
“He’s a fine young man,” Anthony said quietly.
“He’s very special,” Carrie agreed. “He was only nine when his mama died. He was one scared little boy when he came out to the plantation the first year of the war.”
They watched the traffic on Broad Street and chatted easily until the food arrived. Carrie smiled when she saw a big plate full of fried chicken, okra, and green beans. “Now this is eating,” she said happily.
“Not until you’ve had these.” Carl pulled a basket from behind his back and set it down on the table.
Carrie stared at the contents. “What are those?”
“Potato chips,” Carl said proudly.
Carrie eyed them dubiously. “Are you supposed to eat them?”
Carl snorted with laughter. “Don’t be such a chicken, Miss Carrie. Try one.”
Anthony reached forward. “They look wonderful!”
Carrie grimaced as she studied them. “I’m figuring they’re made from potatoes since they are called potato chips, but I don’t know why someone felt the need to smash all the life from them.”
Anthony chuckled as he bit into one and handed her another. “Don’t be such a chicken, Miss Carrie,” he taunted while Carl laughed.
Carrie made a face at him, but bit into one of the potato chips, surprised when she instantly loved the crunchy, salty taste. “Oh my…” she murmured, as she reached for another one. “Tell me the story of these,” she commanded. “Did Opal create these?”
Carl shook his head. “No, ma’am, but as far as we know, Opal’s Kitchen is the first restaurant in Richmond, maybe in all the South, to have these.”
Carrie took another chip as she listened to him, certain she could eat nothing but the potato chips for lunch.
“Matthew came by with his brother, Harold, when you were in New Mexico,” Carl explained. “He told us about this fellow named George Crum who lived up in Sarasota Springs, New York. You know, that’s where Mr. Harold used to live.”
Carrie smiled and nodded.
“Well, Mr. Crum is both Black and Indian, not that it really matters much. Anyway, they serve this thing up there called French Fries.”
Carrie nodded. “I had some when I was in New York City. They came over from Paris. I believe it was Thomas Jefferson who first served them here in America at the White House during his presidency.”
Anthony stared at her. “And you know this how?”
Carrie smiled. “When you have Felicia around, you learn all kinds of things that most mere mortals know nothing about.” She reached for another potato chip. “Back to your story, Carl.”
Carl grinned. “French fries were real popular at the restaurant where Mr. Crum worked, but one of the diners complained they were too thick. Mr. Crum made a thinner batch, but he still complained. Mr. Crum finally made fries too thin to eat with a fork, just so he could annoy the fussy man.”
>
Carrie ate another one. “He ended up loving them,” she guessed.
Carl nodded. “The potato chip was born that day! Mr. Harold told us about them, so Opal played around with the potatoes until she thought they were just right. When Mr. Harold told us she finally had it, we put them on the menu.” He looked around the restaurant. “Everyone loves them.”
Carrie glanced around, surprised to see that almost every table had a basket of potato chips. She sighed happily as she reached into the basket again. “You might want to bring another one of these for Anthony,” she suggested. “I plan to eat all these chips myself.”
“I don’t think so,” Anthony scoffed, as he reached forward to snatch a chip.
Carrie laughed and pulled the basket closer.
Carl chortled with laughter. “I’ll bring you another basket, Mr. Anthony,” he promised. “I learned a long time ago that it’s best to not get between Miss Carrie and her food.”
Carrie smiled serenely. “I told you Carl is a wise young man.”
*****
The sun was setting when they arrived back at the house. They had spent the afternoon roaming the streets of Richmond after polishing off their lunch at Opal’s Kitchen. The winter air was cold, but they were getting a reprieve from the bitter temperatures that had encased Richmond before Christmas.
“Want to sit outside for a few minutes?” Anthony suggested.
Carrie nodded, but was suddenly nervous. Unsure of what to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, waving her hand at the towering magnolia tree that guarded the porch. “This magnolia tree is very special to me. My father presented me with the one flower that was blooming the day I married Robert.” As soon as she spoke the words, she wondered why in the world she would bring Robert into their conversation.
Anthony regarded her steadily for several long moments before he replied. “I know how much you loved Robert, Carrie.”
“I know,” Carrie answered with a sigh, and then fell silent. She didn’t know what else to say.
“May I speak honestly?” Anthony asked.
Carrie wanted to say no, but it wouldn’t be fair to him. “Yes.”
“I love you, Carrie Borden.”
Carrie opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn’t think of what to say.
Anthony held up his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know my true feelings. I know you’re not ready for another relationship. I understand, and I respect that. I simply wanted you to know, so that if the time ever comes when you are ready, you’ll know I want to be in the running.”
Carrie gazed at him, still searching for the right words. “I…”
Anthony raised his hand again. “I will give you all the time you need, because I love you that much. I fell in love with you the first day we met, when you manipulated me into paying more for a group of horses than I ever have.” He smiled. “If you never return my feelings, that will be my problem, not yours.” He reached over to grasp her hand. “I promised to be your friend. I will always be that.”
Carrie stared at him, her heart swelling with what she knew was love. Still… She pulled her hand gently away. “Anthony, we have never been anything but honest with each other, so I can admit to you that I do love you.” She held up her own hand when his eyes brightened. “But, that does not mean I want to get married.” She struggled to find a way to express herself, and then thought back to her conversation with Rose in the barn.
“I may be ready for marriage again someday, but right now I am focused on being a doctor,” she said. “I loved my husband with all my heart, but being married meant my career was not my priority. I want the freedom to pursue my career without expectations or restrictions,” she said. “My time on the Santa Fe Trail reminded me how much I truly love being a doctor.” She took a deep breath and met Anthony’s eyes evenly. “I’m looking forward to establishing the clinic in Philadelphia,” Carrie continued, “but I don’t know what comes after that. I’m finding the freedom to make my own choices is exhilarating.”
Anthony nodded. “I would be surprised if you felt any other way,” he murmured.
Carrie stared at him. “Excuse me?”
Anthony smiled. “America is changing, Carrie. It was already changing, but the war made it change faster. Women found out what they are capable of, and they’re not willing to take steps back. I agree with that.” He took her hand again.
This time Carrie didn’t pull away.
“I won’t deny that I wish I could go to bed with you every night,” he said warmly.
Carrie blushed, but she didn’t look away as his green eyes gazed into hers.
“I can wait,” Anthony repeated. “I’m wondering, though…” He let his voice trail off.
Carrie smiled slightly. “You’re wondering what?”’
“Well, now that you know how I really feel, is it acceptable to say I’m courting you?”
Carrie wanted to nod enthusiastically, but she took her time in responding. She liked Anthony too much to be anything but completely honest. “As long as you understand I may never change my mind,” she said softly. “I might decide having your devotion is enough for me as I pursue my career. I wouldn’t want you to grow to resent me.”
Anthony tilted her chin up. “There is no danger of that,” he replied. “I appreciate your honesty more than you know, but,” he added in a playful voice, “you need to know I’m going to do my best to change your mind. I won’t pressure you, but I intend to make myself completely irresistible.”
Carrie grinned, not willing to tell him how easy that might prove to be. “This should be interesting,” she said instead.
Anthony smiled, and then lowered his head to claim her lips with his own.
Carrie stiffened momentarily, unsure the rules of the game included kissing, before she melted into him.
Chapter Nine
Carrie wondered if it was too late to change her mind about opening the clinic in Philadelphia. She huddled under a thick layer of blankets in the carriage, but they seemed to be doing nothing to cut the blustery wind blowing inland from the Delaware River. The Santa Fe Trail had been brutal, but Philadelphia in January was somehow worse. Blinking her eyes against the cutting snowflakes, she prayed the traffic would clear so they could make better time. She pulled her collar higher, grateful for the thick gloves and warm hat Abby had presented her with before she left Richmond. In an attempt to keep her mind off the cutting cold, she examined the city as they moved forward through the clogged roads. The clang of a streetcar made her glance up as it rolled by next to her. Her eyes opened wide.
“There are blacks on that streetcar!” Carrie exclaimed.
Her driver, a portly black man who had introduced himself as Sarge, glanced back at her. “You have a problem with that, ma’am?” His voice was courteous, but his eyes were steely.
Carrie took no offense. “Absolutely not. I think it’s wonderful! When did it happen?” Her delight almost made her forget the cold.
Sarge tightened his lips as he calculated. “It’ll be two years coming up pretty soon, ma’am. It was back in March of sixty-seven.” He glanced at her and then continued. “There were a lot of folks who weren’t too excited.”
“There are stupid people in the world, Sarge,” Carrie said sadly. “I suppose that will never change, but I hope things can get better.” Sarge nodded, still watching her closely in between paying attention to the road. She understood. Her driver didn’t know anything about her. Michael, her usual driver, had left the city to move further north. Even with progress being made, it was only wise for Sarge to stay cautious. She was surprised when Sarge asked her another question.
“You ever heard of Octavius Catto, ma’am?”
Carrie nodded, trying to remember where she had heard the name. “I have…I believe he is a highly respected teacher in the city?” She brightened. “Was he also the one who organized a lot of the black soldiers who served during the war?”
&nb
sp; Sarge stared at her with astonishment. “How do you know that?”
Carrie smiled. “My best friend was one of the first black teachers in the contraband camps,” she explained. “Her husband was one of the first spies for the Union Army, before he joined one of the units to fight and became a leader.”
“That right?” Sarge’s voice was skeptical.
Carrie gazed back at him steadily. “That’s right.”
Sarge still looked dubious. “Your best friend is a black woman?”
“That’s right,” Carrie repeated, slightly unsettled by the hard look in his eyes.
“Ain’t that a Southern accent, ma’am?” he pressed.
“That’s right,” Carrie repeated, suddenly irritated that he could intimidate her. She sat up straighter, forgetting the cold as anger flared through her. “Do you have a problem with that?” she snapped. “Not everyone in the South fits the stereotype people like to put on us.” She paused. “Any more than black people do,” she added in a firm voice.
Sarge looked uncomfortable, but his eyes were still hard.
Carrie felt a surge of sympathy as she looked past the hardness in his eyes and saw the truth. “Where were you a slave?” she asked softly.
Sarge’s eyes widened briefly before he seemed to deflate. “Down in Mississippi, ma’am,” he admitted.
“And it was terrible.”
Sarge stared into her eyes, but the hardness was gone, replaced by the pain of memories. “Yes, ma’am, it was terrible,” he agreed.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said. “How long have you been in Philadelphia?” She innately knew that if she wanted to dissolve his hardness, he needed to know she cared about him as a person.
“Ever since the war ended,” Sarge replied. “I fought through the war once them soldiers came down and set me free from the plantation in ‘62.” He took a deep breath. “Captain Jones, my commanding officer, was a good man.”
Carrie gasped. “He still is,” she said warmly.
“You know the captain?” Sarge asked with surprise.
