Genie gave her a smile that contained no mirth. “When I have attended properly to my duties we should have both.”
“Do you not receive garments from your mistress?” Adelaide asked, and both Genie and Maggie winced.
“Abby is ten years younger than I and much less . . . robust,” she said, patting her bosom and midriff. “Genie no doubt will benefit more from Abby’s castoff wardrobe than I ever could.”
Now Adelaide was confused. “Why would Genie—”
“And shoes,” Maggie injected. “Do you ever have shoes?”
“Almost never,” Genie quickly answered. “By the time people accept that a pair of shoes is beyond repair, the shoes are . . . well . . . beyond repair and good only for the rubbish heap.”
“What size is your daughter?” Adelaide asked, and Maggie described Elizabeth with the expert detail of a loving mother while Genie explored the mound of donated goods, searching for dresses small enough to be cut down to fit a child.
“Do you like these?” she asked Maggie, extending three dresses.
“You can adjust these to fit Elizabeth?” Maggie asked with barely disguised disbelief.
“She could adjust them to fit your husband and he’d think they were men’s clothes!” Adelaide exclaimed. “Genie Oliver is probably the best seamstress in all of Philadelphia.”
Genie, uncomfortable with the attention, gave a modest chuckle and asked Maggie about her husband’s size and suggested they explore the men’s clothing. She was hoping to have a quiet conversation with her but Adelaide joined them. Genie said they should look for some things for Eli as well, and Adelaide mentioned how well he looked, that he seemed to have gained weight.
“I didn’t think the boy would ever fill up!” said Maggie with wonder. “No matter how much he ate, he would still want more.”
“How did you fill him?” Adelaide asked.
“Bowls and bowls of rice and gravy, potatoes and gravy, grits and gravy, and enough bread and butter for three people.”
“That’s what Genie used to feed him—bread and butter!” Adelaide offered. “Didn’t you, Genie? You used to bake bread for those boys. You thought we didn’t know but we did—”
Genie sighed. “Adelaide, please.”
“I don’t know why she wanted to keep it a secret,” Adelaide said to Maggie as if Genie weren’t standing beside them.
“I think to protect the boys,” Maggie said.
“What do you mean?” Adelaide asked.
“I don’t know the other boys though I’ve met them, I think?” She looked to Genie for confirmation. “But I have come to know Eli quite well and he works diligently. Did you know that he initially refused to accept payment from Abby and Ezra?”
Genie shook her head; she hadn’t known that, though she did know Eli thought that living in a real house and having his own room was payment enough, and that caring for Ezra was a privilege. He did not expect to be paid.
“I think that Eli and those other boys did not want to be seen accepting charity from Genie—or from anyone,” Maggie said.
Adelaide considered this. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. Then the bell above the door tinkled, signaling the arrival of a customer and she hurried away.
“I should not have been away for so long,” Genie said. “I should not have left her to manage on her own. It was selfish of me.”
“Certainly she will forgive you,” Maggie said kindly.
“Of course, she will,” Genie said, “but she shouldn’t need to and I’ll have to make proper amends.” Genie sighed. “Which means that I cannot return with you to Abby’s. Eli will take you in my cart and I’ll come when I can.”
“Abby will be most disappointed but she will understand.”
Genie studied her. “You are not . . . concerned—”
“About you and Abby? I am delighted!” Maggie said. “I have worried that she is too much alone, and I cannot be with her for much longer. But you must be careful, both of you! What you have between you, and what you do—”
“But we do nothing!” Genie exclaimed.
“Perhaps not now,” Maggie said slowly and with great consideration.
“Maggie?” Genie prompted her. She needed to understand, and if Maggie knew—
But Maggie was shaking her head and holding her raised palms outward. “I don’t know, Genie, really, I don’t have answers. I know that there are women who . . . love each other. I’ve seen it but I don’t know about it, I don’t know what it’s called or . . . anything. I just know that if you and Abby care for each other, that makes me happy. But it also makes me frightened. You really must take care.”
Genie nodded. She had known that instinctively. “But it’s not wrong, is it, Maggie? For us to care for each other?”
“Who do we ask, Genie? Is it wrong to hold slaves? Some say yes, others say no. Who do we believe? Or trust?”
Since there was no answer to that, Genie asked another question: “Does Abby know to be careful?”
The question startled Maggie, then she grew thoughtful. “I think perhaps I should remind her. She was strongly chastised for her decision to operate a rooming house though the loudest voices have since quieted. Abby may indeed think that she can continue to be bold and prevail, but this is not the same thing.”
“Why isn’t it?” Genie asked.
“Because it excludes men and men don’t like being excluded.” Maggie lowered her voice even more until she was whispering. She looked toward the front of the store. “And there are women who will always think that men should be included, always. Included and acknowledged and . . . obeyed.”
Genie, too, looked toward Adelaide, her friend who had been kind to her, and generous, whose only fault was that perhaps she talked too much. “She is a good person.”
Maggie nodded. “I can see that, Genie, but she will not understand and people usually don’t like what they don’t understand.”
Genie nodded. Maggie was right. She lived her own life—and survived—by being careful. “Please remind Abby.”
✴ ✴ ✴
Florence Mallory greeted Abby with great warmth and undisguised joy. “My dear Abigail! How wonderful it is to see you! And how beautiful you are! Your mother would be quite pleased.” The maid took Abby’s coat and the cake, and Abby followed her hostess down the hallway that was even more grand than she remembered, and into a sitting room fit for a palace.
“Was it always so beautiful and elegant here and I was too young to notice or appreciate it, Auntie Florence?” Abby said, then clapped her hands over her mouth, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry! I do apologize! I had no right to call you that—”
“You have every right, my dear, and I’m so very glad to hear you call me that. I’ve missed it.”
Both women had been nervous about meeting again after so many years apart, but all reservations evaporated in those first few moments. “I’m so relieved that you agreed to see me,” Abby said.
“Nothing could have prevented me from seeing you, Abby, though I must confess that I wonder why after so long a time.”
At that moment the maid entered with tea and cake, giving Abby time to organize her thoughts. When she and Florence had refreshments, Abby inhaled and explained that recent interactions with Blacks, and learning of some mistreatment of them, made her wish that things were different. She recalled that her mother had attended abolitionist meetings and wished to do the same thing. “Are you still involved in that work, Auntie Florence?”
“Indeed, I am,” Florence Mallory said without hesitation, “and it is more necessary now than ever before.”
“Why?” a startled Abby asked. “I know about that awful fugitive slave law but are there other events that I should know of?”
Florence looked grave and a bit fearful. “There is a case being argued before the Supreme Court right now—the case of a man named Dred Scott—that will impact most if not all Colored people: your Maggie, her daughter, and the young man who brought your message this morning. W
hether they and all like them will have the rights of citizens of this country is what will be decided.”
And of course, Genie! That was all Abby could think: Genie would be affected, too! “And if the Court decides that they cannot have the rights of American citizens, then what?” Abby asked.
“Then they can never be more than slaves,” Florence replied.
“Even if slavery is abolished?” Abby demanded. “If there is no more slavery, what, then, becomes of all these people?”
“Those are questions that will be asked at our next meeting,” Florence replied.
“May I attend?” Abby asked.
“I will take you with me,” Florence said.
Abby’s excitement and gratitude were short-lived as she suddenly had the thought that perhaps she would not be welcomed at the meeting because of her mother’s behavior: She had left the group without explanation or apology. “I can’t imagine that everyone is as forgiving as you, Auntie Florence.”
“You’re not your mother, Abigail, and are not required to answer for her.”
“Then there’s the matter of my . . . occupation.”
Florence sighed. “Yes, there is that.” Then she brightened. “Several of us, however, admire you for refusing to accept a bad marriage just for the sake of being married. Too many of us know how badly that can end.” And she laughed aloud at Abby’s shocked expression. “Young people always think they’re the first to have a radical thought.”
“You knew, Auntie Florence?”
“Of course, dear, but since you didn’t feel comfortable telling me, I didn’t feel comfortable intruding.”
“And we’ve both wasted so much valuable time, haven’t we?” Abby said sadly. Then she asked what she’d always wanted to know: Did her mother really leave the group because of her father’s insistence, or because she no longer believed in the cause?
“Your mother believed very strongly in the abolitionist movement, Abigail.”
“And my father didn’t?”
Florence shrugged. “Your father believed in making and spending money. And that’s not really a criticism, Abigail. Most men are similarly constructed, and having to pay for labor rather than getting it for free affects how much money businessmen earn. So, for many men, perhaps your father was one of them, morality was not the issue. Profit was.”
“And Mother could not go against him.”
“No. She could not. Not openly.” Florence cut more cake. “Maggie is still a marvelous cook.”
“And a marvelous friend,” Abby said proudly.
“Is she still married to the sailor?”
“Yes, and she’s been hopping from one foot to the other with excitement: She expects him home any day now. I’m almost as excited as she is.”
“I often wondered whether your . . . friendship . . . was more . . . involved . . .”
“More in—” Abby was struck speechless.
“Don’t look so scandalized, Dear. Many women prefer the companionship of other women to that of men.” Abby could not speak. “That surprises you? Sickens you, perhaps?”
Slowly regaining her composure, Abby said that she certainly was not sickened. What surprised her, she admitted, was hearing of it spoken openly. Florence assured her that it was not spoken of openly but in the privacy of a lady’s drawing room in a private conversation between ladies.
Did that mean she couldn’t tell Maggie? And Genie? Needing to change the subject Abby asked Florence to tell her all about the abolitionist movement. “Pretend that I know absolutely nothing because I don’t.” And, with a fresh pot of tea delivered by the maid, Abby settled herself even more deeply and comfortably into the satin brocade armchair ready to take in all Florence would share. Then she suddenly sat up straight, horrified at her behavior. “Oh Auntie Florence,” she exclaimed.
“Whatever is the matter, child!”
“Please forgive my awful manners but I haven’t asked about your husband. I heard he died—”
Florence Mallory emitted such a loud peal of unladylike laughter that the maid came running into the room, but Florence waved her away. When the poor woman saw that Florence was merely laughing hysterically and not having hysterics, she left. Florence wiped her eyes. “You don’t remember his name, do you?”
An embarrassed Abby admitted that she did not remember Mr. Mallory’s first name, or even what he looked like.
“I don’t, either,” Florence said, and collapsed again into a fit of laughter. It was going to be a most interesting afternoon.
✴ ✴ ✴
“Would you like to stay at my house with your family when Jack returns?” Genie asked Maggie, and the woman was so overcome with joy that she could not speak. They had heard Eli return and Genie knew there would be no further opportunity for a private conversation so she said what she’d been thinking. Maggie hadn’t responded in words but Genie thought she correctly understood the emotion.
“Miss Eugenie! Miss Maggie! I got the cart! Y’all ready to go?” Eli came their way at a gallop, followed by Adelaide.
“You got some clothes!” he exclaimed, pointing to the bundle Maggie was hugging.
“For me, for Elizabeth, and for Jack,” Maggie said, “though Genie will have to work her magic on some items.”
“She got you something, too, Eli,” Adelaide said, coming toward them. The looks she got from Genie and Maggie said more than their words ever could have. “I . . . I’m sorry, Eli, I think I spoiled Maggie’s surprise for you.”
“You don’t have to buy for me, Miss Maggie—I got money! Miss Abby, she pays me, and Mr. Ezra, too.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets to prove it and was momentarily confused. “But I give it to Arthur to keep for me,” he said, brightening, “even though I know Miss Abby and Mr. Ezra will pay me real money and not like those other mens.”
“What do you mean, Eli?” Genie had spoken almost sharply and Eli cringed a bit, relaxing when she reached out and put an arm around him, pulling him in close.
“Those places where I used to work, on the docks and in the city, what they paid me wasn’t real money but I didn’t know that until that first time Mr. Ezra paid me. Behind the church. You remember, Miss Eugenie?”
“Yes, I do, Eli. He gave you five dollars—”
“Naw, he didn’t, Miss Eugenie. He give me those coins. Those other mens used to give me coins, too, but Arthur said they wasn’t real like the ones Mr. Ezra give me.”
Genie and Maggie looked at each other and knew they were having the same thought: reading, writing, and counting, and the sooner they began Eli’s lessons the better. Genie took the clothes that Maggie wanted altered to her sewing table and gave the rest to Eli, asking him to put the bundle in the cart and drive it to her house. “Maggie and I will walk. I want to show her where I live.” They donned their coats, hats and scarves and went to the front door where Adelaide was waiting for them.
“Will you be returning, Genie?”
“Yes, I will,” Genie answered.
“Today?” a querulous Adelaide inquired.
“As soon as I have shown Maggie my house and how to get there.” And they stepped out into a bustling Thatcher Lane where Genie exchanged greetings with practically everyone they passed. Maggie was mesmerized—and delighted! She knew, of course, that this part of town existed but she had never experienced it in this way: Walking with a resident. This was not Abby’s world and since she went where Abby went, shopped where Abby shopped, walking about on Thatcher Lane was a new experience.
Maggie’s eyes alternated between studying the stores and merchants and the people walking about. Of the latter it must be said that there was no hint of elegance or prosperity. These were working people, and the stores and shops catered to their needs—and their purses—Miss Adelaide’s Dress Shop, too. Maggie suddenly stopped walking. Genie turned and gave her a puzzled look. “That’s your store, isn’t it? It bears Adelaide’s name but it is yours.” Genie didn’t reply but her look remained steady. “How many pe
ople know the truth, Genie? Adelaide and her husband? And how many others?”
Genie resumed walking and turned into a narrow lane with small, neat houses on both sides, all with small, neat squares of dirt in the front—dirt that would be green grass in spring and summer.
She slowed her pace, and Maggie caught up with her as she stopped walking. Maggie heard her say, “One other,” as she turned sideways into a space between two houses. Maggie could but follow. It was a very short journey. She stepped into the Back Street and into another world. It was darker, yes, but more than that, it was private. Only those who knew to look would know it was here. Of course this is where Genie Oliver would live!
“This is home,” Genie said, stepping up onto a low porch that ran the length of the house. She lifted the handle and opened the door to an ordinary-looking but obviously well-built cottage. “Welcome,” she said as Maggie stepped in.
“You may have made a mistake, Genie, for I may never leave.”
Genie knew the feeling. She was very much looking forward to being here tonight—alone.
She heard Eli’s arrival before she could say as much to Maggie, who clearly was reluctant to leave. Genie closed the door behind her and helped her into the cart. Then she said to Eli, “Please show Maggie how close this is to Elizabeth’s school, to the docks, to Arthur and William, to good stores for food and supplies. No stopping and shopping—”
“Abby wants me to get some food and supplies, Genie. We need things for the house.”
Genie sighed and looked up at the sky to determine the time. In winter, darkness came early, and a strong wind was beginning to blow. She did not want them out in the darkness. “Then please shop quickly, Maggie. And Eli, take the quickest and safest way back to Abby’s. Be careful, Eli. Very careful. Do you understand?”
“Yes’m,” he said gravely, and she saw that he did.
“Maggie, please tell Abby and Ezra that I shall return in three days’ time if it is convenient to send Eli for me.” Genie watched them until the cart turned toward the adjacent neighborhood and Elizabeth’s school before she turned the opposite way and back to her shop and the mountain of work that awaited her, along with the mountain of questions that Adelaide would have, which Genie would answer as truthfully as possible.
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