Authors: Georgina Young- Ellis
“Thaddeus, you will take your usual room, of course,” Cecil called to his brother, “and hurry down, I want to speak to you in private for a moment.”
He nodded and proceeded up the stairs. At the top, everyone huddled, waiting for their instructions. A wide, shining hallway spread out before them in each direction.
“Mr. Evans,” said Mrs. Goodyear, “you know where your room is.” She gestured to the right. “Then we’ll have these two ladies in here,” she motioned to Cassandra and Evie and pointed out a door also to her right. “This lady there,” indicating Miss Johnston and the door next to Evie and Cassandra’s. These two gentlemen in there,” she said to Samuel and Caleb with a small sniff, motioning to a door to the left of the stairs, and “this lady over there,” she glanced at Miss Ketchum and pointed to the door next to the men’s. “There are water closets at either end of the hallway. If you need anything, please let me know.” She marched off down the stairs before anyone could speak, Jacob following behind.
The group of friends looked at each other. It was clear that the group had been segregated on either wing of the hallway, and that Evie was grouped on the white side.
“It seems that Mrs. Goodyear has particular ideas about the protocol of race and propriety,” Mr. Evans began, “but I do not think we are obliged to follow her dictates. May I propose a re-assignment?”
“What do you suggest, Mr. Evans?” asked Miss Johnston.
“That Miss Ketchum move into Miss Johnston’s room, where I believe you will find a commodious double bed, Caleb move into Miss Ketchum’s vacant room, and when no-one’s looking, Miss Bay can make a transfer of her own. I do not mean to be indelicate, but I think we all know each other well enough by now to know who would rather sleep with whom.”
Miss Johnston blushed deeply, Miss Ketchum's dark skin took on a reddish hue, and even Caleb and Evie looked at each other with child-like embarrassment. Cassandra, now having no sleeping companion, wondered what Thaddeus had in mind for her.
“Sounds good to me,” said Samuel. “I am hungry and tired, so once I eat I am gonna sleep. I do not care where.”
“Yes,” said Cassandra. “Let’s freshen up. I think Mr. Evans’ suggestion is a good one, but for now, Evie, come put your things in my room. It shall appear to be ours for the time being.”
Cassandra was famished, and after a just a few minute arranging her things, hurried back down stairs to look for the breakfast parlor. She wound through a maze of rooms, all decorated in the latest French fashion of spindly legged chairs and side tables; all the exposed wood intricately carved, all the upholstery of satin and brocade floral prints. There wasn’t a surface uncovered with a vase, knick-knack or a sculpture of some kind, nor a wall-space devoid of paintings depicting shepherds, milkmaids, and countrysides. After she passed through two parlors, a library and a formal dining room, she heard masculine voices behind a heavy wooden door.
“What about this Mrs. Reilly?” Cecil Evans asked. She stopped to listen.
“I am smitten, Cecil, completely smitten.”
Cassandra’s breath caught in her chest.
“Yes, she is beautiful. But she is returning to Boston? And you? You must stay here until the Vanderhoffs lose interest in you.”
“Yes. I suppose that would be best. Anyway, Cassandra has a beau in Boston, although she says her feelings for him have changed. I tried to persuade her to go west with me, but she will not.”
“Of course not, Thad. She looks like a fine lady. You cannot expect her to go gallivanting off across the wild frontier. And what about the other one? She is a beauty as well.”
“Miss Bay? Oh yes. Well, she is going back with Mrs. Reilly. Although, I am afraid she and the young man, Caleb, have fallen in love.”
“What???” Cecil struggled to keep his voice low. “Thaddeus, I may be going an extra mile to have runaways here, but I cannot condone that kind of carrying on—”
“Cecil, Cecil,” Thaddeus whispered, “shhh. She is part black.”
“She is?”
“Yes, but why should it matter?”
“No, no, no, I will not go for your wild-eyed, liberal-minded ways!”
“Their relationship is not breaking any of your precious rules of propriety.”
Cassandra pushed open the door and entered a large room with windows looking out onto a lush, kitchen garden. The table was set with fine, English china. The table, chairs, and numerous side boards and china cabinets were all heavy oak, intricately carved and ornamented. Everything in the room was covered with lacey cloths and doilies. The cabinets were filled with delicate china, and every spare space on every wall was covered with still-lifes of fruits and flowers.
“My dear Mrs. Reilly,” Thaddeus said, rising, “won’t you please come and sit here next to me?” He indicated the chair.
“I am sure you are starving,” added Cecil. “Please, avail yourself of our cook’s wonderful talents.”
A young woman who had just entered from the kitchen picked up a silver, covered dish from the table and lifted the lid off a steaming tray of poached eggs. Cassandra spooned one portion onto her plate, with a helping of the thick, yellow sauce. She then chose from the other offerings: a few sturdy slices of bacon, a serving of fried potatoes, a piece of brown toast with butter, and an apple compote. She refrained from choosing from the other platters that contained sausage links and patties, cinnamon rolls, pancakes, pies, cheeses and a variety of breads.
“Please do not worry about formalities, Mrs. Reilly,” Thaddeus said to her. “Cecil and I have already begun. I know you must be famished, so please do eat.”
“Thank you,” she said, nodding towards Cecil.
As he opened his mouth to respond, the sound of many footsteps stopped him. The door flew open and in walked Samuel followed by his sister and Miss Johnston, Caleb and Evie.
Cassandra noticed that Cecil’s face had grown a dark shade of red and that he had pushed his food aside. He looked quickly around at the newcomers to the table and stood. “I believe that Deborah is not feeling well this morning, and she has asked to have breakfast in her chambers. I hope you will excuse me while I attend to her.”
“Yes, of course,” said Thaddeus. “Please tell her we hope she is feeling better soon.”
Cecil nodded to his brother, gave a small bow to Cassandra, and left the room.
“Thaddeus,” Cassandra said quietly, turning to him.
A smile spread over his face. “I am glad the time has come to dispense with last names,” he said in a low voice. “May I please continue to call you Cassandra? I know that I am no more than a friend, but I hope I may now consider myself a close one.”
“Yes, of course. I am no great fan of formalities,” she replied, feeling a vague regret.
“Good.”
“Anyway, I need to talk to you about our transportation arrangements. Evie and I will not be going directly to Boston. We still have all our clothes and things in New York at Miss Johnston’s house. We must go back to retrieve them, then from there we will head back to Boston.”
Evie looked up upon hearing her name, and leaned in from across the table to listen.
“Oh yes,” Thaddeus said, “I had quite forgotten. The luggage Carter brought is only that of those continuing to Canada. You and Miss Bay are still without your things. Maybe Deborah can lend you some clothes while you are here, or perhaps her daughter can, Constance, who is around Miss Bay’s age.”
“Well,” responded Cassandra, “I’m not too worried about that if we can get back there within a day. Maybe we could even catch a train later today.”
“I will have Cecil send a messenger out for the train schedule immediately,” he said with less energy. “Although,” he added, whispering to her, “I wish you could stay a bit longer.”
“It is impossible, I am afraid,” she replied. Suddenly, tears stung behind her eyes. She was overly tired. She glanced up at Evie who was looking at her intently.
“Do you agree, Evie; that we must leave today?”
“Yes, I suppose,” she said with a quiver in her voice.
“Then let me go speak to Cecil,” Thaddeus said. He rose, deposited his napkin on his chair, and left the room. Everyone looked at Cassandra. She lowered her eyes and concentrated on her meal.
A few minutes later, Thaddeus returned.
“Cecil says that there is no train to New York on a Friday. He travels there on business every month or so and says that there are only returning trains today. The next train down is Monday morning.”
“Oh!” Cassandra gasped. “Excuse me.” She rose, maintaining her composure with great difficulty. “Mr. Evans, Thaddeus, would you please be so kind to try to procure some nightclothes, linens, and clean dresses from Mrs. Evans or her daughter? Evie and I will definitely need a change. Thank you for your help.”
“If there is anything else I can do—”
“Thank you. I must rest. Evie, do not worry about disturbing me if you come in. I will see you all a bit later.” She moved quickly out of the room, through the house, and up the great marble staircase to her room. There, she tore off her bodice and skirt, her three petticoats, shoes, stockings, corset and cover, and let them lie on the floor where they fell. Only her bloomers and chemise remained. She pulled back the covers of the large bed and flopped down into its soft depths. She closed her eyes and thought of the anguish the team in 2122 must be going through. Hot tears streamed down her face. Though it was not quite eight in the morning, exhaustion took her off to sleep before they dried on her pillow.
*****
Travel Journal, Evelyn Bay: Friday, June 10, 1853—I am borrowing writing paper from Mr. Evans’ brother Cecil, who seems to regard me as if I am some kind of leper. I am surprised, because when we first met, he was so cordial, but since breakfast, he’s hardly addressed me or looked at me and seemed to think I was going to bite him when I approached to ask him for the paper and a pen. Now that I think of it, he treats us all that way, except for Cassandra and his brother; so I would assume it’s a racial thing, except that he’s no longer overly pleasant to Miss Johnston either. Besides, I do not think he has any idea of my heritage. The long and short of it is we don’t feel very welcome here. According to Mr. Evans, he’d written his brother telling him to expect “five packages from the railroad,”(we turned out to be seven) and to send two coaches to meet an early morning boat from New York City on Friday the tenth. There was no time to receive an answer, and, fortunately, his brother complied, but I don’t think he fully understood what was meant by “the packages,” which is the code they use for runaways or travelers. Even if he did, he didn’t expect to be sharing his dining table with us. I need to be tolerant of his feelings, because integration is not the norm in this time and place, but it’s difficult and I feel resentful.
Since breakfast, we’ve mostly kept to ourselves. I was with Miss K. and Miss J. in their room until about noon. Then Mrs. Goodyear, another, sour, disapproving presence, came to our door with a pile of clean clothes for me and Cassandra, and wanted to gather up our dirty things for laundering. So I went in to see Cassandra and began picking up her things from the floor, trying to be quiet, but she woke, removed her linens to be washed and gratefully received the clean things from Mrs. Goodyear. We both took the time to wash with basin, soap and water, then changed into the clothes that had come from the daughter of the mysterious Deborah (who has yet to make an appearance). Mrs. Goodyear told us that Constance lives nearby, and she’d gotten the clothes from her.
The bodices were a little loose for both of us; she must be heavier, but the skirts can be adjusted to fit tighter. The length was alright for me, but a bit short for Cassandra, so she loosened the petticoats to let them fall further down. It felt unbelievably good to have clean clothes on after days of wearing the same ones, even though we did have the clean chemises and bloomers, at least, from Mrs. Adams. This Constance also sent over two nightgowns, so we will have sleepwear while we’re here.
It’s now late afternoon and we’re gathered in what used to be the children’s playroom, since we feel we’re not wanted downstairs with Mr. Evans. Thaddeus, as we now call him, is with his brother out of courtesy, I imagine, but everyone else is here, cozy, and companionable in this light and airy room. The windows are open, and although we must keep away from them to not be seen, the summer breeze is blowing through and we can smell nature. The view we glimpse is of a quiet neighborhood of fine houses; we can hear the occasional sound of horses or carriages passing by and the laughter of children.
My darling Caleb is by my side reading in the fading light. There are some lovely books here in the playroom: Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island, The Count of Monte Cristo to name a few, and Caleb is currently devouring Crusoe. Miss J. and Miss K. are knitting and talking—they brought the work they started at the Adams’s house along—and Samuel is playing chess with Cassandra. She is very preoccupied. She appears to be concentrating on the game, but I know her. I can tell by the way she’s humming a frantic, fast-paced tune that she’s worried about those who are waiting for us, and our returning so much later than planned. I have my own worries, my own anguish, but I do not dare write them here for now. I will stow this missive in my handbag, the only personal item I have in my possession, until I have a chance to copy it into my journal, which is back at Miss Johnston’s house. Will I ever really see it again? It all seems so far away, as if something truly new has begun now and must be finished.