Glory Over Everything (4 page)

“Why you got to cut my hair?” I ask Robert.

“Because you've got hair that makes you look like a wild dog,” he says.

“I do?” I say. “What kind a wild dog?” But he don't say nothin' and just keeps cuttin'. When he's done, I tell him my ears feels cold, but I don't know that he hears me, 'cause he's busy pourin' the hot water from the stove into a big washtub and then tells me to get in.

“You tellin' me to step in there?” I ask, watchin' the steam lift up.

“Remove your clothes,” he says, so I take off my shirt real slow, not liking this one bit. “Now your pants,” he say, and I look over at Molly. It don't seem like she's looking my way, so I get out of my pants and jump in the water, quick, but it's too hot to sit.

“Sit down,” Robert says.

“I'm gonna cook,” I say, tryin' not to yell out when he pushes me down.

“What you doin' to me?” I ask when right away he starts soapin' me and scrubbin' away, like Mama do with the pig's feet before she cook 'em.

“Stay still,” he says, pouring water over me, but when my eyes start burnin' from the soap, I grab at him and pull myself up.

“I can't see nothin', I can't see nothin',” I say, forgettin' not to be loud.

He cleans the soap from my eyes, then gives me a big rag to dry myself off before he hands me my new clothes.

“Where'd you get these clothes?” I ask. “How'd you get 'em to fit me?” The white shirt and the brown pants, even though they's too long, look almost good as his. He don't say nothin' but leans down and rolls up the pants, and while I still got 'em on, he stitches 'em up. Then he stands back lookin' at me before he gives me some black shoes to put on. I never have shoes before, just a old pair of boots that Mama and me both use when we go out in winter. The shoes feel funny.

“They's too small,” I say. “They squeezin' me in.”

“They are fine,” he say, “and I don't want to see you without them.”

R
OBERT TAKES ME
upstairs to show me how to clean out the fireplaces and to set a fire. There's five rooms we go to, and I stick close to him, wonderin' how we ever gon' find our way back, but he do. Back in the kitchen he sets me up in a small room where he shows me how to clean boots. First you got to take off all the dirt with a brush, then you stir up what's called the blacking, and then you use another brush to put it on the boots.

“What's in that stuff?” I ask, not sure if I like the smell.

“Some sweet oil, some beer, some molasses . . .”

“I already taste molasses,” I say.

“Well, don't go tasting this,” he says, then shows me how to finish up with the last brush that he calls the polisher. After he goes, I get to work and keep workin', even though my arms is 'bout to drop off, until Molly comes and tells me it's time to eat.

“We gon' eat again?” I say, 'cause it's the middle of the day!

“Come on,” she says, and sets me down at the table with another plate of food. This time it's fried potatoes and a whole pork sausage. She sits down across from me and starts eatin' at her own plate, but I jus' can' take in all that food. I keep lookin' at it till I start snifflin'.

“You cryin', chil',” she asks. “What? You don' like Molly's cookin'?”

“I like your cookin'!”

“Well, then, what's troublin' you?”

“I'm thinkin' 'bout my mama. I jus' wish she was here to be tastin' some of this.”

“Nothin' would make your mama happier than if you'd start eatin' so's you could get yourself back to work,” Molly says.

“How 'bout I save it till later?” I ask. “I'm goin' to be hungry then.”

“That be fine,” she said, “but you sit here awhile, maybe you change your mind.”

I don't know what to do, so I just sit there watchin' her eat and lookin' at the small green flowers on the red rag that she got tied up 'round her head. Molly's got a big head, but then she's a lot bigger all 'round, and I'm guessin' it's all the food she gets to eat.

“Mmm,” she says, “I sure do like this sausage.” She got big brown eyes and I like the way they look at me. “Potatoes good, too,” she says. “The onions and the butter make 'em taste real good. You sure you don' want some?”

“No,” I say, “I keep mine for later.”

“Jus' so you know, long as you here, you get all the food you want,” she says.

When she finishes her food, she sits back and drinks some coffee from a blue and white china cup. “You want some milk?” she asks, but I say, “No, my stomach is still big from eatin' them two eggs.”

She tips up her cup and finishes her drink, then pushes back from the table and stands up. “Well, you go on, then,” she says. “Get back to polishin' those boots.”

That night when Molly sends me to bed, I ask if I can leave the door open so I can call out to her if I need somethin'. She say that fine by her, and not long after, I hear her snorin', so it ain't so quiet, and even though I still cry for my mama, I get to sleep easier. Next day I get up before the sun an' I'm waitin' for her and Robert in the kitchen when they show up.

“Give me some work,” I say, afraid that if they don't get me goin', Mr. Burton send me off. So Molly gets me to carry in wood and sweep the floor. When it's time to eat, she hands me a plate with two eggs and some warm biscuits that got butter drippin' off. I eat it all, even though my stomach rumblin' 'cause it don' know what to do with all this food, then she sets me up to help her wash the pots an' pans.

I
T WAS DARK
after Henry left, and in my dressing room Robert had already put flame to the candle sconces on my tall cheval mirror. I slipped off my day coat and draped it carefully over the back of the tapestry-covered armchair, yet another fine piece of furniture that I inherited after Mrs. Burton died. But this night, appreciation for what my adopted parents had given me was overridden by my worry. In fact, I was so filled with concern that I, a man who is always punctual, sat down in the chair knowing full well I was already behind schedule and that tonight a late entry would not do.

To blend into this aristocratic society, through the years I had painstakingly studied the unwritten rules. Knowing when to arrive and, as important, when to take leave, was only the beginning. Whom to greet, whose hand to take, the clothes to wear, the gift to send, all reflected back, and that, for me, left no room for error.

But tonight, for the first time in a long while, I questioned if I could meet the challenge. This evening's event, hosted at the home of leading society members, Mr. and Mrs. Cardon, was meant as a celebration for artists awarded grants from the Peale Museum. Most of the attention would fall on known artists, and though I was one of the minor recipients, my appearance was required. I should have been eager to attend, yet I sat, head in hands: Pan's disappearance and Henry's visit had raised buried fears.

When the museum offered to fund an art excursion, I leaped at the opportunity. Their support was given so I might travel south along the coastline to study the natural habitat of birds native to that region. If, on my return, my work was approved, it would result in a small book for print, meant for travelers to better identify bird species. Now, after Henry's visit, I questioned my quick decision to accept. In the twenty years since I had escaped Virginia, time had dulled my fears, but when faced with Henry's alarm about Pan's disappearance, I was reminded of the dangers that might await me in those Southern slave states. Might I be recognized? Was it possible that patrollers were still searching for me? Why hadn't I considered my safety more carefully? Yet these worries came too late, for I was committed, and there was no turning back.

My anxiety about the evening only increased when I considered another concern, one as troubling as my first. It was Caroline. I was torn, for seeing her again would mean an end to the agony of our separation. But in what state would I find her? She had every right to be furious that I had stayed away.

I heard the clock strike and forced myself to my feet. Quickly, I removed my clothes, then shivered as I lowered myself into the bath, for though there was heat from the fireplace, the water had already cooled in the metal tub. I had no sooner soaped myself than Robert entered, bearing a large bucket of steaming water. “I was hoping you would wait,” he said.

“I am already late.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, slowly and carefully pouring in the hot water so I could rinse myself clean. I stepped out to catch hold of the bath blanket that Robert held, then dried myself while he stood by, ready with a fresh white shirt. As I pulled on my clean drawers and my dress pants, then tucked in my shirt, Robert clicked his tongue. “Sir, we have not done your manicure.”

I glanced at my hands. “It will have to do,” I said, buttoning my trousers. From behind, he fastened my galluses, then placed them over my shoulders so I could button them in the front. As Robert expertly tied my cravat, I took in some deep breaths. “I would cancel the whole trip,” I said, “if I were not obligated to go.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now I've promised Henry that I will search for Pan.”

“I understand,” he said, “though the boy was warned not to go down to the shipyards.”

“Then why would he have gone?”

Robert hesitated while buttoning my blue satin waistcoat.

“What is it?” I asked. “Tell me.”

“Molly said that he came to her requesting money,” Robert said.

“For what purpose?”

“The boy said that he wanted to buy you a parrot.”

“What? Why would he want to do that?”

“He told Molly that he wanted to see you happy again.”

My chest thumped. Only Pan would have considered me in this way. That foolish, foolish boy! I had a sudden chill. Until that moment I had held out hope that he might safely resurface, but I knew that to find a bird, he would have gone down to the docks.

“Didn't Molly warn him?”

“She didn't consider that he might go to the shipyards. She thought that all birds were sold down in the market.” Robert held up my black tailcoat, indicating that he needed me to hold on to my shirtsleeves. “If we hurry, you will not be that late,” he said.

I held out my arms as Robert slipped my coat up and over my shoulders. He fooled with the collar until, impatient, I turned around to see myself reflected in the mirror. I stepped closer, using my fingers to pull my damp brown hair forward in loose curls, while Robert used a hairbrush to smooth the close-cut hair at the back of my head. I slipped on the black satin eye patch, though tonight I gave my useless eye little thought when I saw the lines of concern on my face. Those must be erased. This evening was meant to be a celebration, and I was expected to look the part of a joyous recipient.

I reminded myself again that traveling as a funded artist would allow me to gain entry into homes that otherwise would not have been open to me. And now I would need every opportunity to find Pan.

It was not until I was settled in the carriage and well on my way that I allowed myself to think of Caroline. Then my heart raced, for though telling my truth would likely end our affair, I could not wait to see her again.

I
LIKE WORKIN'
with Molly in the kitchen. We get along good. But Robert, he another story. All he cares is that I's scrubbed up like him and workin' hard. He don't let me go with my daddy on Sunday 'less I got on a clean shirt and my new shoes polished like his. I can tell my daddy happy to see me all dressed like I'm somebody, working big time for the white folk.

“You doin' all right, boy?” he ask every Sunday when he comes, and I tell him I is. Then I tell him about everything that happens to me. He listens good, 'cept when I start talkin' 'bout my mama. One day when we was sittin' in the trees and lookin' out over the water, finishin' up what Molly gives us to eat, I start wonderin' to him if Mama seein' us and what she's wantin' to say.

He shake his head an' look over at me. “You a talker, boy, jus' like your mama, an' that's all right by me, but I don' want to hear you talk about her no more. She gone.”

“But Daddy,” I say, “she always gon' be with us. She tell me all the time. She say—”

“Pan! I don't wanna hear nothin' 'bout her no more!”

“That fine, Daddy, I don't need to say nothin' more, just that she still here, that's all.”

“You know she gone!” Daddy say.

“She still here! She say she always gon' stay with me!” My eyes start stingin', but I don't cry, 'cause my daddy don't like it when I do.

He gives me a look but don't say nothin' for a long time. “Jus' don' go talkin' like that to nobody else,” he say.

“I already say so to Mr. Burton.”

“You do?”

I nod.

“What he say?”

“Nothin'.”

“Nothin'?”

“Nope, he don't say nothin'.”

My daddy look out over the water. “Jus' don' go tellin' nobody else.”

Some gulls dip down across the water. That reminds me how I'm helpin' Mr. Burton out with his bird, and I say so. My daddy look at me like I'm makin' up a story. “What bird?” he ask.

“He got this bird that talks good as you and me,” I say. “Mr. Burton say that I'm good with birds and I got to help him out because Molly, she afraid that bird gonna bite her, and Robert, he don't want nothin' to do with it.”

“What else they got you doin'?”

“Mr. Burton, he showin' me how to write.”

“He do?”