Authors: Georgina Young- Ellis
“A reservation? I never make reservations; they always have a table for me.”
“Yes, but here, you are not the celebrity artist are you?” Cassandra whispered.
“Oh, no. That is true.”
“But it will probably be much like what you are used to. They have five-star service; the finest food. It will be amazing.”
“Anything would be better than this,” Evie said, pushing away her plate of half-eaten soggy noodles and stringy chicken.
“Also, it will distract you while we are waiting to go back to All Angels on Thursday.”
Evie smiled and Cassandra congratulated herself on her own sensitivity.
“Ugh, I don’t feel well,” the young woman suddenly said, grasping her stomach.
“Did you not take an antibacterial today?”
“No, I did not think I would need it.”
“Here,” Cassandra fished the wilted rosemary from her bag. “Eat this.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it will settle your stomach.”
Evie took the plant and looked at it askance, but nibbled a piece off. “It is too strong!”
“Trust me, you will be glad you ate it when you are not vomiting in the gutter five minutes from now.”
The young woman wolfed the sprig down, chewing it thoroughly, but with a sour face. By the time they paid the check, she had declared with astonishment that her stomach ailment was cured.
Wednesday morning Cassandra sent a messenger from their hotel to see if they could get a reservation for six o’clock at Delmonico’s, and he returned with an affirmative answer. That afternoon, after a morning of sightseeing, they went back to the hotel and bathed, then dressed in their finest outfits. A half an hour was required to re-do each other’s hair, and by five-thirty they were ready. Cassandra thought Evie looked spectacular in her white, off-the-shoulder gown, fringed with delicate lace, the skirt tiered like a wedding cake, flowing out of the tiny waist of the bodice. Her own gown was pale yellow, with a low neckline that showed off her shoulders and the tops of her modest breasts. The palest pink roses gathered up the sleeves to expose her arms and then ran in a line down the front of the bodice. Three vertical rows of the flowers down the front of the skirt gathered up the silk fabric in front in a shirred effect. A hat was not required for evening, but they each donned a silk shawl for modesty’s sake, and slipped on their white, kid leather evening gloves. They both had a beaded bag and delicate silk slippers of light color to match their dresses.
They rustled down the stairs and asked the bellman to hail a coach for them. In five minutes it was at the door. They crammed themselves in amidst all their petticoats and were on their way.
Upon approach to the grand, columned building at #2 William Street, a couple of blocks below Wall, they were met by a doorman who looked surprised to see two ladies unaccompanied. Cassandra knew it was unusual to go out to dine in such an establishment unescorted by a gentleman, but she also knew they had the money to thwart any objections. Indeed, the raised eyebrow of the maître-d’, who had not understood that the reservation under the name of Reilly was to be two ladies, was lowered again when Cassandra slipped him two dollars. He led them through the dark-wood paneled, chandeliered dining room to a discreet table, out of the way of the prying eyes of other customers. The hour being early for fashionable dining, the restaurant was not yet busy.
“Sir,” Cassandra said to him as they were seated, “we are entirely in your capable hands. Bring us the best dishes you have in the order you deem fit, and the wines that accompany them.”
“But what if I do not like—” Evie began to whisper, but Cassandra held up a hand.
“Trust me.”
She pulled her gloves off finger by finger as the delighted maître-d’ scurried off. A waiter came to the table shortly thereafter with aperitifs and plates of oysters Béchamel. The women eagerly consumed the delicate cream dish, and then were presented with white wine to go with a cream of celery soup. Next was a savory assortment of small pickles, salted almonds, olives, and radishes. A string quartet on a dais struck up the opening notes to a Haydn minuet.
“Oh, this is a nice one!” Cassandra began to hum along until a glance from Evie quieted her.
The waiter swooped toward them with a fillet of flounder Milanese and a cucumber salad for each. After they finished both dishes, the head waiter reappeared with two glasses of lemon sorbet to cleanse the palate and offered the ladies a choice of entrees. Cassandra chose a venison steak in port wine sauce, and Evie a Boston gosling in orange compote. With it they were also given a choice of vegetable side dishes.
“May I ask,” Cassandra said to the waiter looking over the choices on the menu, “where your vegetables come from this time of year?”
“I am not certain, ma’am, would you like me to ask the chef?”
“Yes, if you please.”
In moments he was back. “There are several greenhouses in Brooklyn and up the island that begin to grow spinach, lettuces, peas, and beans in March,” he said as if reciting from memory. “The cucumbers are lightly pickled and jarred from the year before, and the potatoes are stored by the farms in—”
“Oh yes, thank you. I was just wondering how you had fresh greens, and the tomatoes I see being served over there, so early in the season. I will have the sautéed spinach and a baked potato with butter and shallots.”
“And I will have the potato, as well, with the green beans,” said Evie.
The waiter bowed deeply and hurried off while the sommelier approached the table and presented them with a bottle of French Bordeaux. When the main course arrived with its accompaniments and the wine was sampled, they both expressed their astonishment at how perfectly it complemented the game they had chosen.
By the time the women had finished with the main course, they declared themselves well stuffed, though there remained a watercress and tomato salad to eat.
At last the waiter brought coffee and, as they sipped it, Cassandra tried to probe Evie’s thoughts. Why was this trip so important to her? What did she hope to gain from meeting her ancestors? Try as she might to get Evie to specify her purpose, she always came back to one thing: she just wanted to meet them, to know them well, to know their work. Cassandra felt unsettled. There was something missing. And yet even after all the wine and the relaxing effects of the food, she couldn’t get Evie to talk more about what she hoped to accomplish for the trip.
Eventually the head waiter suggested dessert. Evie ooh’d and aah’d over the tray of sweets he presented. She chose a slice of warm cinnamon-caramel cake and Cassandra a light-as-air chocolate mousse. A glass of champagne accompanied each. They shared bites, and just when Cassandra thought that they were finished with the meal, the waiter appeared once more with a plate of fine cheeses, nuts and dried fruits, and two delicate glasses of sherry. The women looked at each other wide eyed but tried some morsels from the plate and sipped at the sherry until the waiter ceremoniously presented them with the check on a silver tray. The total came to twenty-six dollars and seventy-five cents. (Between them they had brought along one hundred, knowing they couldn’t possibly spend anything close to it; back at the hotel room, approximately five thousand dollars was locked safely away in the false bottom of each of their suitcases.)
Cassandra extracted thirty from her bag and laid it on the plate, knowing that the more than ten percent tip would be seen as very extravagant by the waiters and would secure their welcome back in the establishment at any time.
Thursday dawned gray and drizzling. The time travelers slept until nine and ordered breakfast in their suite. They had the day to kill until the lecture at All Angels, but Cassandra was not feeling enthusiastic about exploring on a damp, chilly day.
“How about going shopping?” Evie finally suggested.
“Shopping?”
“Yes, on Broadway I saw some stores that caught my eye. There was a department store down near Chambers Street, I remember, with women’s clothes in the window. We can take a carriage, wander around inside for awhile, then get some lunch later. It will be fun! A ladies’ day out.”
Cassandra looked at her companion with amusement. Perhaps this was all there was to it. Evie just wanted to be a lady of the 1850s, and meeting her ancestors was an excuse to do it.
“You are really getting into the spirit, aren’t you?” she said.
“Yes! I am enjoying it so much. Life is so elegant and refined. Our dinner last night was one of the best I have ever had.”
“Very well, why not do some shopping? We have already worn four of the five outfits we have brought. Maybe we will find something else we like. Oh, and I also remember in that same area, seeing the original Tiffany’s! Let’s take a peek in there, too.”
They dressed in the modest clothes they had been wearing on the evening they arrived, thinking they would be appropriate for the evening’s lecture as well, donned their cloaks, grabbed their umbrellas, and set off in a hackney coach, which turned south onto Broadway. The dreary day did not slow commerce on the busy thoroughfare in the least, but rather, the dampness seemed to aggravate the general confusion. Well-dressed shoppers and businessmen picked their way along the street through the wet manure that was spread farther and more efficiently by the rain. Though not heavy, the drizzle brought forth umbrellas, slowing the pedestrian traffic even more.
They alighted in front of A.T. Stewarts, which resembled a Renaissance palace of white marble. On the first floor were house wares and furniture. On the second, the time travelers tried on clothes, made their selections and submitted to alterations. In the men’s department on the third floor, Cassandra examined a hand-embroidered set of handkerchiefs for Nick, realizing it was the first time in many days that she’d thought of him. Perhaps, she thought, she should end it with him when she returned. She put the handkerchiefs down.
When they arrived at Tiffany, Young and Ellis, as the store was originally called, they were allowed entry only by approval of the doorman. Though normally Cassandra didn’t care much for jewelry, she could not help but be impressed by the glittering cases of star-white diamonds, blood-red rubies, garnets like drops of pomegranate, sapphires of ocean blue, golden topaz, Persian turquoise shot with green and black, pale purple amethyst, and milky pearls, all set in gold and silver necklaces, bracelets, tiaras, and rings. After much deliberation, each of the women chose a pair of earrings—spending twenty dollars on something that in their day would cost thousands was irresistible. Evie bought a pair of diamond studs from which a hazelnut-sized pearl dropped. Cassandra’s were small, pear-shaped emeralds, dangling from square emerald studs. They purchased similar gifts for their mothers, after which the manager of the store insisted on providing his own carriage to transport them back to their hotel.
They were at All Angels by six-forty-five, and people were already streaming into the church. The ladies saw the hoards and quickened their pace. As they joined the throng flowing through the front doors, Cassandra strained to see Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum, but it was no use. She noticed that Evie was looking anxiously around.
She hurried her up the aisle, and they squeezed into the only spot left that was big enough for the two of them. The crowd was mostly white, the few black audience members sitting together toward the back. Everyone was chattering loudly, excited to hear and see the famous Thaddeus Evans.
Cassandra noticed across the aisle and a few rows back, four, large, unkempt men.
“Who are those people?” Evie asked, following her gaze.
“I do not know, but they do not appear friendly to the cause.”
The men were sitting silently, their faces strained. Their eyes darted about, and they looked at the congregants with disgust. One of them caught Cassandra’s eye and sneered. She shuddered and turned away.
Suddenly the murmur died down as a door at the front of the sanctuary opened. Miss Johnston came in, immediately followed by Miss Ketchum and Reverend Williams, who seated themselves in chairs on either side of the altar.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Miss Johnston began in her strong, clear voice from the pulpit. “Thank you for coming this evening. We are most privileged to be able to gather together on this night to hear one of the great orators of our time, Mr. Thaddeus Evans.”
The crowd burst into applause, and Cassandra wondered why she had never heard of him in all the research she had done.
The door at the front opened, and a tall man walked through, grinning pleasantly at the crowd. He strode confidently up to the pulpit, shook Miss Johnston’s hand, and took her place as she went to join her father and friend.
The applause grew to a crescendo. Evans had some trouble quieting it down. He gazed about the cavernous room with a broad smile that made Cassandra like him right away. He looked carefully at the faces, and then he raised a hand in a gentle gesture. The applause faded.
“Brothers and sisters, I begin by asking you, what is your commitment to freedom?”
He paused and a great silence settled into the cavernous space.
“What is your commitment to freedom?” he repeated more loudly. Cassandra glanced at the faces around her.
“What are you willing to give up?”