Glory Over Everything (14 page)

After some indecision, I decided to sign off using my new name, James Smith.

In the morning I took the letter with me, and later in the day, while making a delivery for the silver shop, I went to the post office. There I spent some of my remaining money to arrange for a post office box before I mailed off the letter.

M
RS
. B
URTON SUFFERED
from respiratory problems, but her chief affliction was arthritis that badly affected her hips. On her difficult days, when she was bedridden, I would send her a flower or a small sketch I had done, trying to cheer her in the same way I had my grandmother. Her response was always joyful surprise, and I was encouraged to continue when Mr. Burton repeatedly told me what a happy difference those small gifts made to his wife.

After Mrs. Burton learned that I did not find her invalid status off-putting, she requested if I was available that I bring Malcolm to visit her in her bedchamber when she was confined to her bed.

I don't recall the first time we went to see her in her rooms, but it was on a winter's day, for I was concerned about the cold draft in the hallway and how it might affect Malcolm, who was prancing excitedly on my shoulder. When we reached her bedroom, I was relieved to find a blazing fire warming the tall-ceilinged room, and although her carved four-poster bed was oversize, the violet and green draperies added a pleasant cozy feel.

After Malcolm entertained Mrs. Burton, I found him a perch on a folding screen, and she invited me to sit in a chair beside the bed. On her bedside stand lay a book. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Do you read well?” she asked guardedly.

“Yes, I do,” I said with assurance, for I had read aloud to Grandmother from the age of seven.

She smiled. “I'm quite particular about the way someone reads, so you must not be offended if I stop you.”

It was light women's fiction, I don't recall the name, but I read, enunciating carefully, as Grandmother had taught. When I stopped for a rest, Mrs. Burton sighed. “Jamie, I must tell you, you have a delightful way of reading.”

“I read to Grandmother all the time,” I said, and then, forgetting myself, I went on. “And sometimes in the evenings the servants would come and I would read to them, too.”

“That must have been wonderful,” she said.

“It was,” I agreed.

“Did you have a large library?”

“Yes,” I said, “but it all went with the fire.” I had learned that when I mentioned the fire, her questions about my past would stop, for she knew the subject was upsetting to me. In the same way, I did not mention her son unless she began to reminisce, and then I only listened.

“Well, I hope that you are making use of our library,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I would not go uninvited.”

“Young man, consider yourself invited.”

“Thank you!” I said.

“Jamie,” she said, reaching for my hand, “I want you to consider this your home.”

The look in her eyes was one of true caring, and I resolved that soon I would tell her the truth about myself.

A
S TIME MOVED
forward, I began to feel more and more at home. Then one night at supper, the Burtons had a disagreement; as the subject matter came to light, I grew uneasy. Their argument regarded a visit from a lawyer who had come to inform Mrs. Burton of her brother's death. Apparently, the man never married and had left a sizable Carolina plantation to Mrs. Burton. Although it might have been a boon, after some inspection, the place was discovered to be heavily mortgaged. It would have to be sold to pay off debt.

The Burtons agreed that the estate, which included a good number of slaves, should be sold through auction. Anticipating this, the brother had made a request in his will that Mrs. Burton take special care in placing two of the house servants, a mother and daughter, who had been with him for many years. The dispute between the Burtons arose when Mr. Burton questioned if they were not obligated to make room for these two in the household. Mrs. Burton disagreed and wanted to sell them with the others.

Until this time, the subject of slavery had not been discussed. Because Delia and her brother had been given their freedom, I had assumed that the Burtons held anti-slavery views. Now, to my shock, I learned otherwise.

Mrs. Burton turned to me. “James, you said that you were raised with servants. What became of them when your grandmother died?”

I looked at her, quite stunned. “They were all sold,” I said. It was the first thought that came to mind, and though the lie came easily, I shifted uncomfortably. In fact, I had no idea what had happened to those at Tall Oaks after I left.

“And were you attached to any of them?” she asked.

“I . . . I suppose I was,” I said. “But there were debts.”

“You see, dear,” said Mrs. Burton, turning back to her husband, “there are debts here as well! We must sell the lot and be done with it!”

“But do you not think it unfair to include the two of them in the sale?” Mr. Burton protested.

“Unfair? Unfair!” Mrs. Burton cried, startling me with her level of upset. “For the past thirty years, I have been unable to visit my only brother. He insisted on having that unhealthy and illegal union with a Negress, and if that were not enough, he added an offspring! Imagine! To leave behind a Negro daughter who lays claim to his blood! And now he expects me to decide the future of these two. I will not do it! I will not take responsibility where he did not. They will be sold with the others.”

I was horrified to learn Mrs. Burton's true feelings and I fumbled with a weak excuse before I hastily left the table. I had come so close to disclosing my own truth. What if they were to find out about me? What might they do? Should I leave before that happened? But where could I go? What would I do to support myself? Now that I finally felt at home, my stomach turned at the thought of leaving.

That night I lay on my bed, overcome with indecision, but by morning I had convinced myself to stay, certain there was no way the Burtons could learn of my past.

My one concern was Delia, for her resentment intensified as the Burtons and I grew closer. I did not trust her, for one day after she returned some laundered shirts to my room, I noted that the sketches and paintbrushes on my desktop were in disarray. On closer inspection, I saw that my top desk drawer had also been gone through.

I religiously kept the key to the bottom drawer of the chest-on-chest with me in the pocket of my waistcoat, but her suspicions alarmed me: not only did that drawer keep safe the jewelry, it also secured the letter I had received from Lavinia at Tall Oaks—one I clung to yet knew I should destroy.

Almost two months after I had posted the letter to Tall Oaks, a reply came. Although I had told myself not to expect a response, I found myself stopping at the post office whenever passing by on an errand. The day I received the letter, I was so stunned that I treated it like a hot coal and pocketed it quickly before hurrying back to the shop. For the remainder of the day, it burned against my chest. That evening, on our arrival home, I meant to go to my room to get cleaned up as usual before our meal, and there planned to read the letter, but Robert met us at the door. “Mrs. Burton had a difficult day and would like you to join her for an early supper.”

“Of course, of course,” agreed Mr. Burton, and since I had no ready excuse, I followed him to her quarters.

In spite of her confinement, or perhaps because of it, Mrs. Burton was in a talkative mood. I hid my distress when, after the meal, she asked that I bring Malcolm to her. The bird was overexcited, and for the first time I reprimanded him when he playfully nipped at my ear.

“Was your day difficult, dear?” Mrs. Burton asked when she sensed my irritable mood.

“No, it was fine,” I answered abruptly, then checked myself. “I didn't sleep well last night,” I offered as an excuse.

“Then you must have a good rest tonight. Take Malcolm back to his room and later go to Delia for a warm cup of milk before you retire. That always works well for me.”

I thanked her, and when I leaned over to give her cheek my customary kiss for the night, I never felt such a traitor.

Once in my room I sat for a long time, fingering the letter and not daring to break the seal. When I finally did, I held my breath as I read the response that had come from both Miss Lavinia and Belle.

Dear James,

It is difficult to express how happy we were to learn of your safety. Countless times we've worried over you. How I wish I had the opportunity to speak with you before you left. I can only imagine your shock in learning the truth about your mother, and I regret my part in the deceit. If the need ever arises for you to have papers drawn up to verify your freedom, you must let me know.

I convinced your mother that you would like to hear from her and her note is included below.

If it is safe, please let us hear from you again.

Lavinia

My legs had gone weak and I sat down at the desk to read on:

Jamie,

Thank you for letting us know that you got there safe. You don't say in your letter that you is living white but I hope that you is.

I live with Miss Lavinia. The big house got built again and the farm we work is horses not tobacco.

Belle

I went to the fireplace, meaning to destroy the letter, but I could not let go of it. I read the words over and over until I was sobbing. Here was proof that there were people who cared about me. I did have a home, I just dared not return to it.

O
VER THE NEXT
two years, I devoted myself to the Burtons. I applied myself so diligently at work that by my seventeenth birthday, Nicholas had me working on assignments consigned by some of our wealthiest customers. In the evenings, often over supper, Mr. Burton did not hold back his praise, and I basked in his approval. Mrs. Burton was ever warmer toward me, and though I did not forget her revealing words, her devotion was such that I could almost convince myself her feelings for me would not change should she learn the truth about me.

One morning a few weeks into my seventeenth year, in March 1814, I was informed by Mrs. Burton that at the end of the month, there was to be a celebratory evening dinner and I was expected to attend.

“Mr. Burton and I have an announcement to make,” she said, “and we are having our friends in to celebrate.”

I was surprised to hear of the social gathering, as the Burtons were solitary people, but when I asked to know more, I found Mrs. Burton unusually secretive. “It is to be a formal occasion, and everyone shall be in full dress. With Robert at the helm, we shall have a celebration that will rival any we have ever had!” She smiled at me. “And that, dear boy, is enough for you to know.”

I was silent as I thought it over.

“Jamie?” she asked. “I know that look. You have a question?”

“I don't believe that I have suitable dress,” I said.

She smiled. “And that is why I've arranged for you to visit Mr. Burton's tailor. You must consider it our treat.” Thus, two days later, I went for my first fitting of formal attire.

I
N THE DAYS
before the celebration, a cleaning service was hired and strictly supervised by Robert, who saw to it that each room was scoured from top to bottom. Silver and china were taken from storage to be cleaned, even the chandeliers were lowered and washed. Additional servants were brought in, and the Burtons decided that in spite of Delia's upset, Robert was right to bring in another cook to preside over the kitchen for the elaborate meal.

Because of Mrs. Burton's hints that the evening had something to do with me, I began to think that it might be about my apprenticeship. Although Mr. Burton had recently suggested that I might soon be drawing wages, we had never formally discussed my future with his business. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this might be an occasion where he would offer me a position in his company. More than anything, I wanted to continue to work for him, though I worried that given a salary, I might be expected to live independently. How I dreaded the idea of leaving this home.

I had already begun to dress myself for the evening when there was a rap at my door.

“I have come to assist you,” Robert announced formally.

“To assist me?” I asked.

“Yes, I have been sent by Mrs. Burton.”

“How kind of her,” I said. “But you have so much to do. Are you not needed elsewhere?”

“I am happy to be of service to you this evening,” he said, as professional as ever.

“I appreciate your offer, Robert, but I believe that I have everything I need.”

Robert studied my long black pants, which hooked down under my new polished black shoes. “This style suits your figure well,” he said.

“Do you think so?” I asked. “I hope that Mrs. Burton approves.”

“I am certain she will.”

I looked back at the bed, where I had laid out my new silk waistcoat and dark blue jacket. Beside it was a crisp white cravat. The tailor had schooled me in the tying of it and I hoped I remembered the correct knot. “Actually, Robert,” I said, going over to the bed and lifting up the cravat, “now that I think of it, I would appreciate a hand with tying this.”

“What style were you considering?” he asked.

“What would you suggest?”

Robert didn't hesitate. “For this evening a Maharatta tie would do well.” He placed the starched linen fabric to the back of my neck, brought the ends forward to join them as a chain link, and expertly fastened the remainder of the cloth in the back. As he helped me with my waistcoat, he voiced admiration of the embroidered blue flowers that dotted the ivory silk. When my jacket was in place, he tugged the tails straight and gave it a quick brush.