Authors: Karin Tanabe
“Can’t you hold a tune, Porter?” she asked as Henry sang off-key at the top of his lungs, jumping on the bleacher next to them. “Miss Hemmings sings like an angel.”
“I do quite well, Miss Taylor,” said Porter. “And if Miss Hemmings sings like an angel, she also looks like one.”
“You have a very nice voice,” Anita responded back, her pulse taking off with every compliment. “And loud.”
“Loud?” he said loudly. “I’ll show you loud.” He hopped on the bleacher with Henry, and the two of them shouted the rest of the song as if they had been drinking the day away.
“I see Mary Hurlbut and Persis Breed three rows down and to the left,” said Lottie when they all came up for air. Anita looked down and saw the two sophomore girls who lived a floor below them in Main. They were sitting with a group of Harvard men who were doting on them as much as Anita and Lottie were being doted upon. “But I’m going to pretend I don’t see them because I’m content just like this.”
Anita smiled at her and didn’t have to say anything, because it was obvious she was happy, too.
Even though she knew she could never do anything more than casually speak to a Harvard man—never engaging too much, never promising to see him again—Anita was reveling in every minute of her conversation with Porter. He was distinguished, with trim brown hair, the clean-shaven face of a school boy, and startling green eyes, but there was a lightness to his personality that Anita liked immediately. She felt thrilled just to be standing next to him.
The game ended as a 6–0 win for Harvard, with the
touchdown that inspired Porter and Henry to bellow the school song left as the only one of the day. It was nearly four o’clock when it all ended and Lottie and Anita had to rush to the station to make their five o’clock train to Albany.
“Let us away, ladies,” said John, tipping his hat to the girls. “Bid these fair gentlemen goodbye.”
“Goodbye, fair gentlemen,” Lottie and Anita chorused.
“But you can’t expect a simple farewell to be sufficient after the wonderful day we’ve all spent together,” said Henry, eyeing Lottie like a prize he was planning on collecting. “John, please let us accompany these ladies to the station. I promise that we will see them safely on board.” Porter nodded his agreement.
John, clearly not wanting to be shut out of the fun, and aware of how much more popular his older sister was making him, started to create a high-spirited fuss.
“I promised our father that I would make sure Lottie and Anita were on the train, properly boarded, and I couldn’t let the old man down now. I’m afraid I can’t leave them in your hands, good sirs.”
Lottie snickered and said, “Well, then, just come on, all of you. We can keep this celebration going until the train whistles and Anita and I are carried away to New York.”
Exuding good spirits, the five of them boarded the electric trolley to the station.
“I don’t remember all the Vassar girls being as pretty as the two of you,” said Henry, from his seat behind them in the trolley, where he had an uninterrupted view of the napes of their necks.
“Do you even remember dancing with me at Founder’s Day last year, Henry?” asked Lottie, with an air of studied nonchalance.
“Do I even remember?” said Henry, acting slighted. “I’ve only been thinking about it every hour since then.”
“Funny, as I’ve never received as much as a one-line missive from you,” Lottie said. “But it’s not bothering me. I get ever so much mail. Bags of it. The maids can barely carry it in as it is.”
“You can burn all of that rubbish and just read my letters from now on,” said Henry.
He was quickly distracted by a group of Harvard students on the trolley who wanted his expert take on the game. All were convinced that despite the presence of Edgar Wrightington and Norman Cabot—the two players with the best chances of going All-American in ’96—if Henry had still been playing, Harvard would have scored more than one touchdown.
At the station, John caught up with Anita after the three men had walked the women to their platform.
“Anita Hemmings, have I already lost you to Porter Hamilton? Should I tell Lottie to alter her letter to father? Is our engagement off?” he said in his good-natured Taylor way.
“I’ll write that letter if you’d like,” said Porter, catching up. “Anita, you must know a girl for John. A senior like you certainly can’t be pulled in underclassman directions. It’s just not what is done in our world.”
The men gave the ladies’ luggage to one of the porters, and Lottie waved at Mary and Persis, who were waiting for the same train.
“Actually, John,” Anita said, “I’m sure your sister would be more than happy to introduce you to Mary and Persis.” She nodded in the direction of the two girls. “They’re sophomores, and if I had to guess, are probably already distressed about whom to invite to the Phil Day dance in December.”
“Excellent!” said John, casting a glance at them. “Now that you’ve rejected me, I need someone to give my heart to. Or maybe a few someones. I’m only a junior, after all. I might as well allow all Vassar women an even chance.”
He caught up with his sister and after she delivered a quick lecture on why his plan was piteous, she walked him over and introduced him to her schoolmates.
“Anita, say flattering things about me to Lottie and I’ll be forever indebted to you,” said Henry, while the other three stood at the opposite end of the platform watching John flirt with the underclassmen.
“I’m happy to,” said Anita, politely. “But she seems quite embittered that you danced with her at Founder’s and never penned her a letter.”
“Last year’s Founder’s Day at Vassar? You have to have a little compassion for me, Miss Hemmings. I was a senior and we football boys got our hands on so much to drink before that dance that I wasn’t sure if I was dancing with men or women. I honestly don’t remember dancing with her at all. She’s Lottie Taylor. I would have remembered.”
“Should I believe you?”
“Of course you should!” he said, looking at Porter for help.
“Don’t believe a word he says, Anita. Henry is a natural-born liar.”
“You’re a turncoat, Porter Hamilton,” said Henry, laughing, as Lottie and John returned.
“Anita, you should expect to see me on the Vassar campus quite often this year,” John announced. “I just proposed marriage to both of those fine young ladies. And while neither of them has accepted, I’m sure one of them will crack soon. I know how to make a woman’s heart swell.”
“I have no doubt,” Anita said drily.
As the Albany train’s heavy engine roared to life and the group were saying their goodbyes, Porter put his hand on Anita’s gloved one and said quietly, “I hope you don’t think John is the only one you’ll be seeing on Vassar’s campus. I would like to spend the day with you again. Soon. Would you make time for me if I came to Poughkeepsie?”
Against what she knew she should do, what she had to do, she said yes. Yes to everything.
I
think I’ll marry Henry soon after graduation,” Lottie declared, pushing away her chemistry notes. She wrapped her burnt-orange shawl around herself. In her hair was a sizable ostrich feather.
“What about the future emperor of Japan?” Anita asked. The roommates were sitting in the library whispering over the oil lamp they were sharing. Lottie was trying to focus on chemistry, while Anita was attempting her most difficult Greek translation yet.
“Oh, the crown prince!” said Lottie, too loudly. She put her hand over her mouth and whispered back. “I’ll have to send him a letter to explain my dilemma.”
“Are you going to invite Henry to the Phil Day dance?” asked Belle from one table over. Lottie’s courtship with Henry was much more interesting than the Latin that Belle was studying.
“I most certainly am,” said Lottie, peering around the book stacks for eavesdroppers. Lottie loved an audience, even in the library. “Though he’s graduated from Harvard, he’s only one year out, so he won’t feel out of place at Phil. And he’s still quite the football star. Everyone knows who
Henry Silsbury is, just like everyone knows who Porter Hamilton is . . . but for different reasons.”
She looked meaningfully at Anita, prompting Belle and her tablemate Caroline Hardin to look over, too.
Anita gave them nothing but an indecipherable smile, and they went reluctantly back to their work. Lottie placed two monocles on her face, both crystal-clear glass wrapped in tortoise shell. Her friends all looked at her in disbelief and broke the silence of the library again.
“They make me feel more intelligent,” Lottie declared, tapping them with the emerald ring she was wearing on her left hand. It was in the shape of a chrysanthemum, a flower used as the imperial seal of Japan. “Plus, I think I look like a snowy owl, and who doesn’t appreciate a snowy owl.”
“A snowy owl? You just look like a madwoman,” said Belle.
Lottie ignored Belle, and said something about the pure agony of not being allowed to do round dances at Phil that year, but Anita refused to engage her and they were all quiet for the next hour.
“That settles it,” said Belle abruptly, turning to Anita again. “I’m bursting at the seams with curiosity. So I’m having a midnight whist party in my room tonight and the topic of conversation will be your trip to Harvard and how you bewitched Porter Hamilton.”
Anita froze. The thought of her friends firing questions at
her,
rather than Lottie, set off a wave of panic, compounded by the fact that Belle’s room was next to that of Sarah Douglas, who would certainly drop by.
“What a brilliant idea,” said Lottie. “I am not in love with your neighbors, especially Sarah, but I’m sure I can tolerate her if Caroline and your ever-so-kind roommate Hortense Lewis are also present.”
“Of course I’ll be there. And I want to hear all about you and Henry, too, Lottie,” said Caroline.
Lottie and Anita were tasked with bringing tea, and Anita nodded, her neck feeling unsteady and weak, as she realized she could not decline.
“I have a heap of exquisite teas from Ceylon,” said Lottie, “wrapped up in a Persian green box with pink tissue paper lined with flecks of gold. But maybe I won’t be able to find them and will have to bring champagne instead.”
“President Taylor is going to execute you before the year is over,” said Belle. “And if we are ever caught, I am blaming you for everything.”
“Certainly,” said Lottie.
Anita wasn’t worried about Lottie’s love of imbibing; it was Sarah Douglas she feared.
Anita was restless in her last class that day, which was advanced Latin literature taught by Miss Franklin, a young professor with a Ph.D. and whom Anita greatly admired. She planned to return to her room by way of the library so she could complete her Latin and Greek work and have time alone to think about the evening’s late event. She needed to come up with short rote answers to the girls’ excited questions. She wouldn’t touch the alcohol that Lottie would certainly bring, and she would encourage her roommate to carry on about Henry, as she was sure to spin a story full of embellishments that centered on herself.
Anita had been in the library for just a few minutes when Anna Post, a senior from Oswego, New York, hurried over and sat down next to her at the wooden table.
“Anita, you are being beckoned to the visitors’ parlor,” she whispered. “The maid on duty was sent up for you, but Lottie said you weren’t in and that the maid should try the library. But then another visitor came and the maid couldn’t
come tell you, so Lottie sent me instead. She said it would be rude of her not to entertain your visitor herself.”
“Who is my visitor?” Anita asked worriedly.
“Your visitor is Mr. Hamilton,” said Anna, making an obvious effort to sound calm. “Porter Hamilton.” Any male visitor at Vassar was a source of gossip, but a senior from Harvard with a reputable last name and a handsome face was sure to cause a flood of it.
“He’s here? At Vassar? To see me?” Anita asked, suddenly a jumble of terror and anticipation.
“Yes. He’s waiting in the visitors’ parlor with Lottie.”
“Oh no! But, Anna,” Anita said grabbing her skirt, “I must look a terrible mess.”
“You look beautiful,” Anna said. “You always look beautiful. But if it suits you, we could slip up to my room by way of the back stairs and we could freshen you up there. You can borrow one of my silk dresses. We’ll call a maid to change you quickly.”
“Are you sure he won’t see us? What if he was accidentally escorted upstairs?”
“That would never happen,” said Anna. “Come, I have a perfect dress for you. It’s a two-piece, made from woven blue and black striped silk. Very heavy, very elegant. And my rooms are closer than yours.”
“That sounds too much, Anna. Don’t you think?” asked Anita, looking down at her old cotton shirtwaist, slightly yellowed with age.
“No, it will be marvelous on you. It has lace-edge cuffs, a perfectly done high collar with a white pleated jabot, and is Paris made. It might be a bit big in the waist, but I can pin it quickly. You’ll look so lovely.” She took her hand and they hurried upstairs, collecting one of the maids as they went.
By the time Anita came down to the parlor, she did not
look much like the girl who had been wearing the same dresses for three years at school, but rather someone Porter Hamilton might be used to associating with. She had the look of Anna, or Lottie. And to him, that’s who she was, a highborn Vassar woman, with every privilege available to her.
“Anita!” said Lottie, before Porter could. He stood up next to Lottie and walked over to her.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Anita said hurriedly. “I was in search of a book in the library and Anna had a difficult time locating me. Please accept my apologies.” She thought she had never seen a man look better than Porter Hamilton standing in the visitors’ parlor, his single-breasted cassimere suit cut perfectly for his tall frame, his derby hat clutched to his side.
There were three parlors on the ground floor, all of them allotted for visitors, the first for administrative visitors and the second for the students’ visitors. The third, which had unglazed windows as the other two did, and was a favorite spot for the college gossips to lurk around, was for the sole use of engaged students and their fiancés. Anita was assuaged that Porter had not made the mistake of entering that one.