Authors: Georgina Young- Ellis
“Why, Mrs. Reilly!” answered Miss Ketchum. “Are you telling me you have never seen an outdoor privy? Boston must be a very fine place indeed!”
Cassandra felt herself blush. Of course it was an outhouse! She had seen plenty in England, although her own home in 1820 had used indoor water closets and chamber pots.
Evie giggled. “Well, it is such a charming little house, that I hardly recognized it either. But believe me, an outhouse is as common a thing in Boston as it is here.”
“Of course, we do not much use it,” Miss Johnston chimed in, “not with the wonderfully modern bathroom we have upstairs, which you shall soon see. It comes in handy sometimes though, that is for sure.”
“Yes, let us go upstairs and show our guests the remainder of the house,” said Miss Ketchum.
They went through a separate back door that led into the sitting room, then into the entry hall and up a carpeted staircase to the second floor. A wide central hallway was covered with a runner of floral print. At either end, windows provided natural light. High candleholders, now unlit, were placed between the doors of each room.
“This is the finest guest room,” Miss Johnston said, opening the first to her right. “It used to be Mother and Father’s, but instead of taking it for myself when Mother left, I remained more comfortable in the room I grew up in. I shall let the two of you fight over it,” she said with good humor.
It was a spacious room, dominated by a large, four-poster, canopied bed of heavy dark wood, surrounded by wine-colored velvet drapes, which were now tied back at the corners. All of the furniture was dark, but the large windows with white lace curtains lightened up the space, and added some sweetness. Cassandra knew there was no way she could sleep in the same bed that Benedict had shared with his wife.
“Miss Bay, do you like this room?” she asked, looking pointedly at Evie, “because I would be happy for you to have it if you do.”
“I love it! It will do perfectly. And I see that Samuel has put my luggage here. He must have anticipated that I would.”
“Samuel is like that,” said Miss Ketchum. “He has a strong intuition. Come, Mrs. Reilly; let us show you the other guest room.”
They went back into the hallway, and she opened the next door. The room was smaller, and the full-sized bed with high carved headboard and matching footboard dominated the room. The bedclothes and curtains were a forest-green brocade, and a rocking chair was positioned invitingly by a window. Cassandra’s luggage was set near the dresser.
“It is beautiful!” she declared.
“This was James’ room,” said Miss Johnston. “But we put Mother’s rocking chair in here. James has been out on his own since around the time Father died. He hired onto a merchant ship for about a year, and was quickly elevated to first mate.” Her pride in her brother was evident as she spoke. “He made a tidy income and was able to come home, open up his own law office, and then got married soon after. They have a little girl, and another babe on the way. You are sure to meet them soon.”
The door across from Evie’s was Samuel’s room, they were informed, which used to be that of the youngest son, Jeremiah, named for his grandfather. Cassandra knew that Evie was directly descended from this man and his future offspring, and the two of them exchanged glances.
“Jeremiah and his new wife live up on Twenty-second Street,” Miss Johnston said. “They are renting a flat for the time being. Jeremiah is the one who most takes after Father, both in looks and talent. He has followed in his footsteps and plays violin for the New York Philharmonic—first chair, I may add.”
“Your father must have been so proud,” said Cassandra.
“Yes, proud, but also worried that he would have a hard time making a living. However, Jerry does pretty well, and fortunately his wife has some money.”
The next room they were shown was the bathroom, a room almost as large as Cassandra’s bedroom, with a large, claw foot tub, a toilet and sink, and cabinets full of drying sheets, soaps, and other necessities. Cassandra was surprised to see the place outfitted with running water.
Miss Johnston noted her reaction with pride.
“Yes, this bathroom is very modern. Mother and Father had it done about ten years ago, with the very latest fixtures and plumbing. Father always said that England was well ahead of the States when it came to plumbing and was determined to have running water put in as soon as it was possible to do so. I am afraid it was the outhouse or the chamber pot before that.”
“Cass,” Miss Ketchum chided, “you are so immodest!”
“Oh, nonsense, our friends do not mind. Anyway, the last two rooms down the hall here are mine and Lillian’s. We are across the corridor from each other.”
She opened the door to her own room and they peered in. It looked as though it had likely not changed since she was a little girl. A twin-sized day bed snuggled up against the wall, covered with a white-eyelet spread which matched the curtains. Everything was feminine, delicate, Cassandra thought, not really reflecting the sturdy, practical woman that stood before them.
Then Miss Ketchum opened the door to her own across the hall, where they found very similar furnishings, except that the fabrics were of a floral pattern. A woman was bent over, dusting a low bookshelf. She looked up and smiled shyly when they came in. She was young, with bright red hair and a constellation of freckles sprinkled over her face. She was wearing a plain, gray dress.
“This is Caroline,” said Miss Ketchum. “She helps us out around the house.”
Cassandra and Evie greeted her, and then turned back out into the hallway.
“Well, that is all,” said Miss Johnston. “We shall leave you to your unpacking and freshening up.”
“If you need anything, please let us know,” added Miss Ketchum.
“Yes, of course,” Miss Johnston agreed, “otherwise, we shall see you in the parlor at two. Mr. Evans, Mr. Stone, and Mother will be joining us in a little celebration of your coming to stay.”
When Cassandra went down a half an hour later and walked into the parlor, she found everyone assembled there, awaiting word from Anna Mae that dinner was ready. The gentlemen all rose, but a diminutive woman with gray hair and a plump figure remained seated, looking up at the new guest with expectation. Cassandra knew at once who she must be.
“Mrs. Reilly,” said Miss Johnston, “I would like you to meet Mother.” The woman did not get up but smiled brightly at Cassandra with sparkling black eyes. Cassandra could see that she had once been very beautiful.
She held out her small, dimpled hand and Cassandra shook it. “Sarah Johnston,” she said.
“Cassandra Reilly. It is lovely to meet you.”
“Oh, you have the same name as my daughter!”
This made Cassandra redden. Of course, there was no way that Sarah Johnston could know why.
“Yes!” Cassandra managed to reply. “We were surprised to discover that, but then it is not a completely uncommon name.”
“No, to be sure.”
At that moment Anna Mae stepped in to announce that dinner was ready, and they all made an exodus to the dining room. Mr. Evans sat next to Cassandra, and Caleb managed to get himself seated next to Evie. Miss Johnston presided at the head of the table, and at the opposite end sat Samuel. Caroline helped Anna Mae serve, and once the dishes were on the table, they were passed one to another.
“Mr. Stone,” said Evie in a quiet voice, “I want to tell you how immensely I adore your painting that hangs in the parlor.”
Cassandra tuned into their exchange.
Caleb looked down at his food. “Thank you,” he replied.
“I did not know you painted.”
“I do not really; I do not pretend to be an artist like you are.”
“Well, here I have you at an advantage, because I have seen your work, but you have not seen mine. I can safely say that your work is remarkable, but you cannot say the same about mine.”
Caleb smiled. “You really like it?”
“It is one of the finest works of art I have ever seen,” she whispered.
“I cannot accept such a compliment,” he said, playing with the napkin on his lap.
“Miss Bay!” Miss Johnston interrupted. “I want you to hear what Lillian is saying about a lecture we attended last month!”
“I was only mentioning,” said her friend with more grace, “that we heard Susan B. Anthony speak at Niblo’s Garden last month. I wish Mrs. Reilly and Miss Bay could have been there to hear it. Do I assume you are both in favor of woman’s suffrage?”
“If you had heard her, you could not feel otherwise,” Miss Johnston remarked.
“Well, of course—” Cassandra began.
“Wait a minute,” Samuel cut in. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Reilly, but I believe that black men should have the right to vote before women.”
“And why should we not all have it?” insisted Miss Johnston. “Why should one come before the other?”
“Well, I am just saying that if you have to pick one to petition first, it should be suffrage for black men.”
It was Sarah Johnston’s turn to speak. “I do not understand the separating of men from women. Why not just pass a law that all adults have the right to vote, for goodness sake?”
“Well, if the Tammany folks had their way,” cut in Miss Johnston, “they would have every Irish person, man, woman and child with a vote in the ballot box, no offense to the Irish, of course. It is just that there is no way to know if every one of Tammany’s supporters is a legal white, male citizen of this country. We have got to get a handle on the corruption going on there before our own causes of suffrage can be taken seriously.”
Mr. Evans spoke privately to Cassandra. “Are you Irish, Mrs. Reilly?”
“Yes, a little bit,” Cassandra answered. “Mostly English, though. My late husband’s family was Irish, but they had been in the states well before the most recent surge of immigrants.”
“I like the Irish people,” said Mr. Evans, winking at Caroline as she passed by with a fresh plate of biscuits. “I like their passion and the sense of the ancient that they bring with them. You feel that their blood still flows with that of their pagan ancestry. I would not wonder that they still celebrate the ancient festivals like Samhain and Beltane, even here in America; that they still dance around bonfires on Midsummer’s Eve, singing prayers to the goddess.” He grinned at Cassandra and then leaned in to whisper to her. “I think I may have the goddess sitting right here next to me.”
Cassandra tried to appear scandalized, but couldn’t help smiling at the twinkle in his eye.
“Miss Bay,” said Sarah Johnston with authority, “tell us about
your
ancestry.”
Cassandra had not thought she’d been listening.
Evie looked surprised. “I am French,” she said, “and English. Father’s family were Huguenots. Our name was originally Bayonne.”
“Really? And where does the African blood come from?”
“E-Excuse me?” Evie stammered. All conversation came to a halt. Cassandra looked at her.
“Miss Bay,” said Miss Ketchum gently, “please forgive us for having discussed you in your absence, but it did occur to us that you looked like you were part Negro.”
“It is fine, Miss Bay,” said Caleb. “We certainly do not think the worse of you for trying to pass. Many light-skinned people do the same and, I must say, you pass very well. None of the white folks here at this table even guessed it. It was Lill, Samuel, and I that knew.”
“Me too!” called Anna Mae from the kitchen.
Caleb chuckled. “Black folks recognize each other.”
Cassandra could see that Evie was very flustered, almost to tears. “Yes! Miss Bay is part African,” she explained. “Her grandmother was from Haiti.”
“Was she a slave?” asked Sarah Johnston with interest.
Evie still could not speak, so Cassandra continued to invent the story. “No, she was born free. Actually, Miss Bay does not know much about her. Just that she came to the states and married Evie’s grandfather, who was indeed French. Anyway, it certainly never mattered to me, even though Miss Bay felt that she should tell me when I asked her to be my traveling companion. She wanted to be sure that I knew, just in case I should have some reservations. But she never knew her grandmother’s family and she was raised among white, or at least white-looking people. This is the first time anyone has ever thought she was not completely white.”
“I am sorry to contradict you, Mrs. Reilly,” said Samuel, “but if she ever had the acquaintance of any black folks, they probably knew. They maybe did not say anything, but they knew.”
“Oh, I had no idea,” Evie finally said.
“We are particularly interested,” said Sarah, “because you could be helpful to us.”
“Really? How so?”
Miss Ketchum spoke. “Many times a black person who can pass for white can be of use in the cause because you can travel in both parts of society. We do not have any particular ideas about it at the moment, but we just want to know if you would be willing, should the occasion arise.”
“Yes, yes of course!” cried Evie, her face flushed.
Cassandra was alarmed. This was just what she had worried about—that they would get too involved.
Miss Ketchum seemed to read her thoughts. “Mrs. Reilly, would you object to Miss Bay helping us should we need her?”