Two Wings to Fly Away

by Penny Mickelbury

  ✴ ✴ ✴

  Abby walked home from Florence Mallory’s slowly, hoping the combination of the cold wind and her wet feet would help order her thoughts. Florence had wanted to send Abby home in her dry, warm carriage, but Abby refused. It was such a short walk and the fresh air would do her good. Besides, there was no danger to confront, walking on her own street. But nothing good was coming of her obstinance. She was ruining a pair of good shoes and the hem of a good dress and her thoughts were a messy jumble. She must get them ordered before attempting to speak with Ezra to tell him how correct he was to be concerned.

  Florence had made it very clear: While the work of the abolitionists was more necessary than ever, success, at least in the near term, was less likely than ever. How would she ever say these things to Genie and Maggie and Eli? She could not! She would not! She was so glad they were not at home when she arrived that she didn’t wonder why they weren’t.

  She lit the wall sconces and lamps on the sideboard in the dining room and the stove and lamps in the kitchen. Then she hurried up to her suite, taking the back stairs because they were closer. She noticed for the first time the absence of wall sconces. If there should be light anywhere it should be in the passages where the servants lived and worked, the people who must be up before dawn to make the house livable for everyone else. She was weeping by the time she reached her suite of rooms, having lit all the wall sconces and table lamps along the way, as well as those in her suite. Though she was chilled to the bone she did not light the fire in the grate; there was no need since she was going back downstairs after she changed her clothes. She’d had her fill of tea and cake but she wanted to be in the kitchen, surrounded by the memories of the talking and laughter of the people she cared most about.

  The hall clock struck the hour, and she felt a tiny fear crawl through her as she envisioned Maggie, Genie and Eli in the horse cart, the illusion of their safety able to be shattered at any moment for no reason.

  Then she heard them. She rushed to the scullery door and flung it open in time to see Eli help Maggie down. But Genie! Where was Genie? Eli was leading the horse and wagon into the carriage house and Maggie was coming toward her.

  “She had to remain at her shop and work, Abby. I’ll tell you everything while we prepare supper.”

  Abby didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “I have things to tell you as well.”

  “So your visit with Mrs. Mallory was pleasant?”

  “More than pleasant, Maggie. She harbored no ill will—”

  Eli burst through the scullery door, his arms full, a strong, cold wind blowing at his back. “You can’t have stabled the horse so quickly, Eli,” Maggie exclaimed.

  “No, ma’am, Miss Maggie. I just wanted to bring all these things in first—”

  “And maybe get a carrot?”

  Trying without much success to stifle a grin, the boy deposited his armload on the table, rushed into the scullery and grabbed a carrot from the vegetable bin, and hurried back outside. Abby began to sort through the paper bags. “My goodness, Maggie, you could not have purchased so much with the money I gave you!”

  “I did, and I have change left over! We should have been shopping there all along.”

  “Two bags of flour, two bags of sugar, coffee and tea—and vegetables—”

  “And three chickens and a joint!” Maggie exclaimed. “And the butcher will have a turkey for us for Christmas!”

  “Do you think Genie will come for Christmas dinner?”

  Maggie laughed and hugged her friend. “If you invite her, most certainly. And Abby, she’d be here now—she wanted to be here—but her absence left all the work on Adelaide,” and Maggie went on to explain how Genie apparently was a seamstress of more than ordinary skill and how she actually owned the shop that bore Adelaide’s name. “I asked her directly, and she didn’t deny it, but she was very guilty and apologetic for leaving Adelaide to cope on her own for so long.”

  “She seems to have an enormous capacity for caring for other people,” Abby said. “Perhaps that was the reason for the guilt.”

  Maggie acknowledged the possibility but she didn’t believe that to be the reason for Genie’s guilt. Whatever the situation, though, it was Genie’s story to tell, and if she wanted them to know the details of her life she’d tell them. It was wrong of Maggie to speculate. But that Genie owned her house was indisputable. Maggie described the house and the neighborhood and its proximity to the dress shop. “And she said that we can stay there, Abby—Jack, Elizabeth and me—which means that she’ll have to stay here with you. If she’s invited, that is.”

  Abby was so excited she could barely talk. She told Maggie about her visit with Florence Mallory in fits and starts, hopping from one subject to the next like an excited child. Just like Elizabeth does, Maggie mused. Abby chose not to tell Maggie what Florence said about the case being argued before the Supreme Court; that’s a conversation she would have with Ezra.

  She laughed throughout the telling of how and why Florence claimed not to remember her dead husband’s name: “He was foolish enough to fall in love with an Irish house maid who was foolish enough to believe that he would leave me and his society life and marry her! Of course, he had neglected to tell her that the house and the money were mine, which infuriated her.” Abby imitated Florence’s haughty, aristocratic tone as she repeated the story, practically choking with laughter. “Did I mention that the girl was nineteen? They were cozy and comfortable in a cottage on the Irish coast when she got the news that she’d not be moving into the mansion and riding in the carriage. So while he slept she took every cent he had, along with his watch, rings and cufflinks, Phi Beta Kappa key, his overcoat and his shoes!” Abby said, adding more details of the story.

  Maggie was appalled. “How did he get home?”

  “He didn’t, not for weeks, and Florence didn’t know where he was because he told her he was going to visit his sister in Scotland. She said that initially she was worried. Then she was frightened, then hysterical, and finally angry. She said she told herself that if he wasn’t dead she’d never speak to him again.”

  Maggie tried to understand that. Certainly, she could understand the emotions. She experienced them all when Jack was at sea and she didn’t know—couldn’t know—for months whether he was well and safe. But to never speak to him again if he were alive? The only reason that Jack would not communicate with her would be that he could not. “Suppose he couldn’t communicate?”

  “As it happens, he could not. He’d gotten pneumonia from wandering around the Irish coast barefoot and without a coat. It’s very damp in that part of the world—”

  “How did she learn all of this if she wasn’t talking—or listening—to her husband?” Maggie asked.

  “From his sister,” Abby answered. “She’s married to a lord or something in Scotland, and he harassed the police until someone noticed someone selling items they shouldn’t have had access to: the watch, ring, cufflinks, overcoat and shoes of a wealthy American, which got the attention of authorities. It wasn’t long until a very ill stranger was found in a farmhouse on the Irish coast. By the time his family transported him to Scotland he was extremely ill. He managed to tell his sister what happened to him, and the police arrested the disappointed maid and several of her relatives. It was too late, though, to make a difference to Florence Mallory’s husband, who died in Scotland.”

  “But why does she claim not to remember his name?” a confused Maggie asked. She found no humor in the situation.

  “Ah!” Abby exclaimed. “You don’t believe that she doesn’t remember his name?”

  “I certainly do not!” Maggie said. “She might wish that she could forget it, but I assure you that she remembers everything about the man, even the smallest detail.”

  “But why, given how he hurt and humiliated her?”

  “That’s why,” Maggie said sadly, “and it’s why she laughs when she speaks of it: to keep from weeping.”

  Ab
by considered Maggie’s words and concluded that she most likely was correct. She’d been so happy to be in Auntie Florence’s company and so grateful to be welcomed by her that it was easy to accept her words as truth. Yes, her husband’s death meant that she didn’t have to figure out how to forgive his transgression, but it didn’t erase the pain of his betrayal. “You’re right, of course,” she said to Maggie. “I suppose not having a husband means that I wouldn’t understand—”

  Maggie shook her head and gently touched her shoulder. “If I betrayed you so horribly it would hurt just as much.”

  “But you would never!” a horrified Abby exclaimed.

  “And your trust is why my betrayal would be so devastating.”

  They both turned, startled at the sound of the scullery door opening, and surprised when Ezra entered the kitchen. They hadn’t heard the carriage arrive. “Good afternoon, Ezra,” Maggie managed.

  He looked at them, worry creasing his forehead. “What has happened? You both look . . . stricken.”

  “I’m learning things from Maggie that I should already know,” Abby said. “Did you have a productive day?”

  “A most enjoyable day,” he replied, noticing with satisfaction that they both reacted to his description of his day. “Which is why I’ve come in the back door—so that I could tell you immediately.” He looked all around, sniffing the air, for Abby and Maggie had been working toward dinner preparations while they talked. “But all I’ve done is make myself hungry. May I eat now?”

  “Only if you like raw chicken,” Maggie replied. “Would you accept tea and cake?”

  “We have cake?” an excited Abby exclaimed.

  “Of course,” Maggie said equably. “Did you think I’d make just the one?”

  Ezra made the tea while Abby cut the cake. Maggie finished braising the chicken, covered the pot, and joined them at the table. Ezra accepted compliments on his tea-making ability and Maggie on her cake, and they enjoyed their repast in companionable silence for several moments until Ezra broke it.

  “I’ll accept that I cannot eat raw chicken if you’ll kindly tell me what it will be when it’s cooked.”

  “You’re every bit as annoying as Eli,” Maggie said, feigning exasperation. “Chicken fricassee.”

  “Do you think Mr. Juniper would mind if you took a second husband?” Ezra asked meekly, causing Maggie to roar with laughter, surprising Abby, who said she’d never heard Maggie laugh like that.

  “That’s because I’ve never before heard such foolishness! You’re worse than Eli!”

  Ezra smiled contentedly and began to tell them of that part of his day they were most interested in: his visit to Montague Wright. “He was, to use his words, surprised and amazed that I was so well healed, given the care that was available to me. I told him that I would not have had better care in a hospital and he bristled at that, as I knew he would. Then I told him that all his patients should be so fortunate as to have Mrs. Juniper and Eli care for them, which rendered him speechless. Which was my intention.”

  “I’m sure you appreciated even a brief respite from the sound of his voice,” Abby said bitterly. She’d never erase from her mind or her memory of Genie’s reaction to hearing the man’s awful voice.

  “But it’s when I gave him your letter that his longest silence reigned. He must have read it through four times, and each time he opened his mouth to speak but no words came. Finally, he managed to say that he didn’t understand and he gave me the letter to read, as if I could explain what he didn’t understand.” Ezra, who was clearly enjoying himself, described how he took the letter and read it through, as if he didn’t already know its contents. Then, with a puzzled look, he returned the letter and said he didn’t understand what it was that the good doctor didn’t understand.

  “Does she mean that she won’t accept my apprentice or she won’t accept his slave?” the man had whined.

  Abby was on her feet. “He said slave? He actually said that word?”

  “He did,” Ezra replied. “Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and he began to sputter. I left him then.”

  “He wanted to bring a slave into this house,” Maggie said, and got up to go attend to her chicken fricassee, the dish that would net her a second husband if her first one approved. The thought allowed her to push the ugliness from her mind and give in to a smile. Then she thought only of Jack and the fact that he’d be home any day now and that the three of them—she and Elizabeth and Jack—would live like a family in Genie’s beautiful little house. And Genie! How glad Maggie was that she hadn’t heard Ezra’s words—that the man with knowledge of Genie’s own slave past wanted to bring a slave into this house. She hoped Abby wouldn’t tell her. She’d make certain that Abby didn’t tell her. She didn’t need to know.

  Eli came in then, with hurried and harried greetings as he unwound his scarf and removed his hat. He headed for the stairs at a trot, informing Abby that he’d have the lamps and fires lit and the house bright and warm as quickly as possible. The adults watched him go with the same thought: that they were watching a boy become a man. In the short time that he’d been in Abby’s house he had become taller, straighter, more confident. He also had become a member of the household, as had Genie. Oh, how they missed her!

  And Genie missed them. Her work with Adelaide had gone swiftly and smoothly. They’d gotten a lot done and, for a change, they’d had more paying customers than not. Genie had promised alterations for three women and she’d stay late to complete them. For the first time she didn’t want to rush home to be alone. Working would occupy her mind so she wouldn’t think so much about Abby and Maggie and Eli and Ezra and being with them. Adelaide told her half a dozen times how much she liked Maggie, and each time she’d marveled at the fact of friendship with Abby. That she lived in the woman’s mansion as her friend, not as her servant. “I didn’t believe Colored could be friends with them. Do you think you’ll be friends with her too, Genie? Is that why Maggie said the woman would give you her old dresses?”

  Genie did not want to discuss Abby with Adelaide but ignoring or deflecting her questions would only make her more curious. “I think we already are friends. And Maggie’s comment about the dresses is due to the fact that Abby and I are the same age and size. And Ezra MacKaye is my friend, too, and I think if you ask William and Arthur, you’ll find that they think he’s worthy.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” Adelaide said thoughtfully, and they worked in companionable silence until Adelaide said she thought they should stop for the day. But Genie told Adelaide to go, that she would finish the alterations she’d promised. “Shall I bring you some dinner, then?” Adelaide asked.

  “That is most considerate and generous, Adelaide, but I have food here that I can eat. Please give William my best regards.” She locked the front door after Adelaide left and turned out the lanterns. She worked at her big sewing machine in the back room near the wood stove, which she stoked. She had noticed how strong the wind had become when she opened the door for Adelaide. She would not stay here too late, she promised herself, though she knew she had lost track of time when she heard a firm knock at the back door. The ever-present derringer was in her pocket but, as Ezra had suggested, she now also kept the revolver close and that was what she held when she went through the storage room to the back door.

  “Yes?” she said in a lowered, almost guttural voice.

  “It’s Arthur, Miss Eugenie,” she heard, and she hurriedly unlocked and opened the door.

  “Are you all right, Arthur? William? The boys?” In truth his unexpected arrival frightened her.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, Miss Eugenie. I’m sorry,” he said, following her in to stand beside the stove.

  “Have you eaten, Arthur? I’ve got bread and cheese and some ham. And tea, if you like.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you. I appreciate it,” he said, and took a seat at the rough table she and Adelaide used for meals.

  Genie fixed two plates a
nd quickly made tea as the water already was hot. She joined Arthur at the table and began to eat as she waited for him to talk. “Oh! I forgot, there is milk but it’s on the window sill and I’m sure it’s frozen—”

  “Don’t need it, thank you,” he said, and he was ready to talk. “It’s about your friend, Miss Maggie. Eli said her man works on one of them across-the-ocean sailing ships, is that right?”

  “Yes, it is. In fact, he’s due in any day now . . .” The look on his face froze her words. “Arthur? What is it?”

  Then he told her that he’d heard a ship from England that was blown off course by the bad weather had decided to dock further south—either in Baltimore if possible, or it would go on down to Charleston if necessary. “The Colored men who work on the boat—I guess they’re sailors? They most naturally didn’t want to get off a boat in Baltimore or Charleston so they jumped ship.”

  Oh Maggie! Genie’s heart was in her throat for her friend. “How do you know this, Arthur?”

  “A man I know works in the telegraph office and he said they been clickin’ and clackin’ back and forth all day about it. Where did the boat come from, the one Miss Maggie’s man works on?”

  “Liverpool, England.”

  Arthur nodded. “That’s the one. Got a lot of passengers, too, who’re gonna have to figure out how to get to Philadelphia. Won’t be too hard from Baltimore, but Charleston?” He paused. “Where’s that?”

  “South Carolina,” Genie said.

  “Oh, dear God in heaven! Ain’t no Colored man in his right mind gonna get off a boat in South Carolina! He’d be a slave in chains before the cargo was off the boat.”

  “How do we find out, Arthur? I can say nothing to Maggie until I know something for certain. And she’s so excited about having her daughter this weekend.” She stood up. “I must complete this work tonight so that I can go to the docks tomorrow.”