by Marian Wells
The words she said began to find a place in Olivia’s attention. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin—certainly you’ve all heard about it—is one of the most successful writings of the past twenty years. It will be doubly impressive to you, since it was written by a woman.”
“Harriet Beecher Stowe,” drawled a careless voice from the back of the room. “We all know about it.”
Olivia straightened in her chair. Excitement and apprehension touched her at the same time. From the back of the room tiny Annabel Martine said, “I’m from Kentucky, and I don’t think my mother wants me to read this book.”
As Miss Hanson’s eyes widened and her lips formed words, the drawl from the back of the room rose again. “Rather than offend our finer sensibilities by reading such trash, why don’t we just ask for a first-hand report on the problem from Miss Cabet?”
Slowly Crystal stood. Her chin lifted. Gently, but with an icy voice, she said, “I beg your pardon, but I don’t believe I’m any more likely to have the facts than you are, Miss Chinard.”
Curiously Olivia watched Miss Hanson’s hands flutter like nervous butterflies. There was the tinkle of the bell, and her face dissolved into relief.
Olivia went to join Crystal. Crystal’s smile was stretched tight. Olivia slipped her arm through her friend’s, and in silence they walked down the hall to the history lecture room.
That evening, when Olivia went to close the heavy draperies to shut out the snowy scene, Crystal came. She stood beside the tiny fire in the grate and said, “I’ve burned all my wood and coal allowance, so I freeze until tomorrow. May I bring my books in here?”
Olivia nodded, “We Southerners have thin blood. I hear exposure to Boston is supposed to thicken anyone’s blood. I hope it happens before spring.”
“I don’t have much faith,” Crystal said with a shiver. She tugged the shawl around her shoulders. Glancing at Olivia, she took a deep breath and asked, “What did you think of our English class this morning?”
“The book? I’m nearly afraid to open it. Since it came out, everyone’s been fussing about it at home. But Mama refused to let me read it. She’d probably make me come home if she knew it was on my desk.”
“I mean what Catherine said about me.”
“Your skin is dark, but that’s no reason to accuse you—”
She dropped her head. “My skin is darker than Mama’s and even darker than my father’s. Mama will scarcely allow me outdoors. She’s bought all of the creams and ointments available for skin, to bleach and make it smooth.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I tease her about wanting to make a good marriage for me. You’ve noticed my clothes?”
Olivia touched the velvet sleeve of Crystal’s frock. “I’ve never seen such fabrics. I thought my mother particular, but you look like a princess in comparison.”
“Olivia, if it weren’t for the lavish wardrobe, and other ways they pamper, no, no—shield me from everything, I don’t think I would have questions. But then, I have to face Catherine’s questions.” She lifted her head. “Do you mind my saying such personal things?”
“Of course not.” Olivia paused, then whispered, “Do you think that—” Olivia couldn’t finish the question.
“That they aren’t my parents? I am beginning to wonder. See, a year ago, I found a name in Mama’s jewelry case.”
“But that isn’t unusual. Anything my mother wants to save goes right in with her jewelry. She treats a scrap of paper like a treasure.”
“That’s the whole point. Mama was angry with me for helping myself to a piece of jewelry from the case. Very angry. Her face turned pale, she was so angry.” Crystal sat down on the stool beside the fire and held out her hands. Turning them slowly, she said, “When I returned the brooch to the case, the paper with the name was gone.”
Olivia took a deep breath and said, “Crystal, I would be inclined to think you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. I doubt your real mother is the Queen of France.”
Crystal laughed. Jumping to her feet, she hugged Olivia. “I think you pushed my head back on straight. Nevertheless, I do wonder.”
Olivia crossed the room. “Are you going to get your books? I need help with this silly Latin.”
Crystal stood up and sighed, “The only thing I can’t forget is the name and address. It was Evangeline Cabet, and the address stuck in my mind like a thorn. It was here in Boston.”
“And that is the reason you’ve come to Boston?”
“Well, not really. On the boat I told you Mama picked Boston because it was so proper. I doubt she would ever have let me come if it hadn’t been her idea first.”
****
Matthew split open the vellum envelope and stared at the printed message. “Oh the deuce!” he cried. “I’ll end up being a nursemaid yet.”
A warning bell rang. He dropped the paper and left the room. All of the boardinghouse sounds were focused in the dining room. Quickly he ran down the stairs, smoothing his hands over the light brown curls that refused to stay in place.
“There he is.” The voice greeted Matthew as he took his place at the table.
“We thought you were pubbing it again until we saw Alex. Don’t tell us you were studying.”
Matthew shot a grin at the speaker and apologized. “Sorry to be late again. Realized I hadn’t opened my mail. Most unfortunate, I won’t—”
“Unfortunate to get mail!”
“Pass the potatoes and stop your groaning. We can’t all be a dandy like Matt.”
“Unfortunate, because it’s a command performance from my sister.” He accepted the plate of pot roast.
“How old is she?”
“Just a youngster. She’s attending—” He dropped his fork and straightened. With a mischievous grin he said, “Say, would one of you fellows like to meet a nice girl?”
“Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum. I distrust the word nice.”
Alex Duncan grinned at him from the end of the table. “I’ll meet your nice sister if you’ll accompany me on a similar errand of mercy next week.”
“Man, you have a deal. I’ll even copy those briefs for you.”
“Is she cross-eyed? Buck teeth?”
“None of the above. It’s a tea and reception at a stuffy girls’ school. A thing for parents and I have to fill the role.”
“How do you know it’s stuffy?”
“Because it is referred to as Miss Arvellion’s Female Academy.”
“No qualification on the female?”
“No qualification.”
The groan swept around the table, but Alex was still smiling. “In January, anything is tolerable, even a sister. But I’ll have your promise in writing.”
Chapter 4
Crystal turned to face Olivia. “I’ve identified the house and I’ve hired a hack for tomorrow afternoon. Will you go with me?”
“Crystal! You’re still fussing about that mysterious name? You really intend going up to the door and asking for an Evangeline Cabet? Suppose she’s your aunt, and that she’s a—bad lady?”
“I’m certain the information won’t utterly devastate me. Anything is better than not knowing.”
“This is very important to you,” Olivia said slowly. “Is it because you have it in your head that you’re adopted? Why can’t you just accept Catherine’s rudeness and forget about it? Crystal, you are a beautiful person; isn’t that enough?”
Slowly Crystal walked back and forth across the room. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s a feeling—how do you put words to a feeling?”
Abruptly Olivia grinned. “This is too good to miss! Of course I’ll go with you. Perhaps she will be a long-lost cousin or something, someone you’ll be able to invite to the tea next week. You know Miss Hanson urged us to invite someone to represent our family. I see your invitation still on the dresser. Tuck it in your pocketbook. Who knows? She may be an old maiden aunt, eager for the least bit of notice.”
Olivia paused and fro
wned, “If only I could hear from Matthew right now, I’d ask him to bring a friend for you.”
“A Harvard law student!” Crystal gasped. She began to laugh. “Olivia, to think you chastise me for having an imagination! If your brother comes, it will be a miracle; if he brings a friend, I doubt the tender hearts of these old maids will be able to stand the strain!”
Olivia grinned, “Let’s go downstairs and tell them. They are planning the decorations for the parlor; that should be a splendid motivator!”
“I must finish my history assignment right now or I’ll not have time for my trip tomorrow.”
Olivia watched Crystal turn to the door. “I need to study, too. Until tomorrow, when the conspirators—” Her laughter ended as soon as she saw the expression on Crystal’s face.
The next afternoon, after checking the gloomy weather, Olivia selected her heaviest cloak. As she went down the stairs, she recalled Crystal’s face. She’s afraid. What could have happened in her past to do this to her?
Crystal stood waiting for her in the hall. Olivia glanced at her face, then at the hand clutching the doorknob. With a twinge of pity, she realized Crystal was still afraid of what she would find.
For a moment Olivia hesitated, and some of Crystal’s fear touched her. She gulped and looked at the melting snow on the floor. “I wonder why the powers that be chose January for a gala?”
Crystal shivered as they stepped outside. “I wonder why the Bostonians didn’t just eliminate January from their calendar.”
The hack driver looked them over as he helped them into the cumbersome carriage. “Is this all o’ them?” Crystal nodded nervously and looked at Olivia, who shrugged her bewilderment.
When the horse turned out of the quiet street and headed for the Boston Commons, Olivia whispered, “Do you have any idea where we are going?” Crystal shook her head. Her eyes were still wide with apprehension.
The driver turned his head. “You ladies are expected?” When they didn’t answer he said, “Likely won’t find them at home, but if you wanna leave a card, I’ll wait. Another six bits to take ya back to the Academy.”
Crystal nodded and he settled into his collar again.
Olivia gulped and crossed her fingers inside her muff. The driver was turning down a side road, and it wasn’t good. The houses were small, and the dooryards were filled with litter.
She glanced at Crystal, who was chewing her lip again. But abruptly the carriage turned once more, and a smile of relief brightened Crystal’s face. This avenue was wide and tree-lined. The driver followed a lane to a big house—brick, and very respectable. Olivia grinned at her friend as the driver addressed them again. “I’ll wait.”
At the door, Crystal handed over her calling card. Her voice was breathless as she said, “I need to talk to—to explain. May I see your mistress?”
The man’s composure wavered slightly. He glanced at the card and his frown disappeared. “Come into the drawing room,” he whispered. “Madame is preparing to leave, but I will see if she will spare you several minutes.”
When his footsteps no longer echoed, Olivia whispered, “Oh, Crystal, your bluff did it! What shall we find?”
Crystal shook her head and placed her fingers against her mouth. There was a hint of sound, an opening door. In another moment the drawing room door slid open.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway, clothed all in black. She looked first at Olivia and then at Crystal.
“Miss Cabet?” Moving toward Crystal she said, “I understand you’ve come to make inquiries? How may I help you?”
Crystal caught her breath, hesitated and then in a rush she said, “I’m looking for Evangeline Cabet; will you please tell me about her?”
The woman shook her head, “My dear, you’ve come years too late. For a short time she lived here until her departure for Europe. I understand she settled in France. Where, I have no idea. I would be glad to give you information, but I have nothing more to offer.”
Slowly Crystal moved and caught her breath. “Could you tell me about her? Please, I know nothing.”
The woman hesitated. Finally she said slowly, “She was a stranger who was here only a short time. I can tell you nothing I know as fact. Would you care to see a picture of her? There is one poor photograph of the entire group. Come.”
She crossed the room and pulled an album from a cabinet. Resting it on a desk she lifted the heavy pages, one by one. While Olivia looked around the room, Crystal leaned over the desk. “There!” The woman exclaimed, pointing to a group picture. “I knew I could find it. It has been a long time.” Her voice was musing, sad.
Crystal leaned and peered. Finally, with a disappointed sigh she straightened and smiled at the woman. “Thank you for your time. I—I suppose I’m destined to be frustrated. I don’t recognize her.”
For a moment the woman paused, opening her mouth as if to speak. Then abruptly, with a brisk wave of her hand, she dismissed them and turned away.
Olivia saw the tears shining in Crystal’s eyes as she followed her into the hack. They had nearly reached the Academy when Crystal exclaimed, “Olivia, who was that woman? They acted as if I knew, and I didn’t think to ask her name. And what was the significance of the group Evangeline Cabet was with?”
With a shrug, Olivia said, “I have no idea, but then I know little about Boston society. We could return and ask.”
“The butler said she was leaving. I’m nearly positive he’ll give out absolutely no information—you saw that look on his face.”
“I think I agree with you,” Olivia murmured.
****
Matthew was hard pressed to keep up with Alex’s long stride. When they reached the Commons and were waiting for the traffic to clear, Matthew said, “Mind telling me a little about this highly secret meeting we’ll be attending?”
“Secret?” Alex said slowly. “There’s nothing secret about it at all. I simply wanted a Southern gentleman with me while I made the call. You know, a touch of civilization.”
“Well, it must be important. We walked past the tavern and you didn’t so much as slacken your pace.”
“It is so,” Alex murmured. There was a break in traffic and he led the way, sprinting between the carriages and lorries.
With a grin he turned to wait for Matthew, saying, “It would be safer to brave the Commons on horseback, but my allowance doesn’t cover such luxuries right now.”
“And you have to feed a horse hay, not beer.”
Ignoring the comment, he waved. “It’s down this way. Look for number seventeen. You might know the gentleman. He’s from Georgia. Name’s Mallory.” He stopped to look Matthew in the eye. With a quizzical smile he said, “His job seems solely to keep his finger on Washington’s pulse. I’ve known him for years—an old friend of the family. He was a chum of Father’s from school days. Never married, so we sort of adopted him, called him Uncle Charles. I’ve met him here several times. The first time was after my freshman year at Harvard. Among other things, Mr. Mallory liked the grades I made and some of the fellows I chummed with. Does that tell you anything?”
Matthew shook his head. “Go on.”
Alex shrugged. “That’s enough for now. Let’s go see him. Matter of fact, anything else I might add is purely conjecture.”
But his grin was jaunty, and slowly Matthew said, “Sounds to me as if they’ve an eye to using the curry brush on you. Make you a nice little pony for an unspecified cause to ride.”
Alex faced Matthew soberly. “It isn’t cause so much as supporting the right to freedom—our freedom.”
“The right to have slaves?” Matthew said slowly, studying Alex’s face. “Maybe I’m the wrong person to be here.”
“I want a critical ear. I figured you to be the most fair critical ear,” he added with a grin.
The man who opened the door was decidedly Southern, but he was white and clumsy. Matthew balanced his hat on his fingertips until Mallory joined them. Mallory nodded to them, pointed to Matt
hew’s hat and said, “Ham, you’ll never make it in Washington until you mend your ways.”
Leading the way into the library, he gestured to the group of chairs pulled close to the fire. “Ham is still in the rough. I must admit our Negro butlers have developed a finesse these mountain men will never learn.” He paused, adding, “Perhaps they are more motivated. My father always said the first step in training a Negro is the whip. Nothing takes until he learns who is boss.”
He uncorked the decanter on the tray and lifted his eyebrow. Delicately Alex said, “Harvard promotes only a beer budget.”
Mallory chuckled and nodded at Ham. “You’re a man after his heart.” After pouring each of his guests a beer, as well as one for himself, he also sat down. “Alex, I’ve seen your family during the past month. They are well and send you greetings. Your father tells me you’ll graduate this year. What are your plans?”
“To pass my examination and then get on with life. I suppose that will include going home for a few months.”
“Ah, that should’ve been easy to guess. You miss the Carolinas and the water.”
Alex nodded, “And Father owns a little rig. Just a small fishing and hunting boat, but she’s good. It’s fairly new. I need to work over the paddles—it’s a stern wheeler. Needs a little varnish, and then I intend to take it up the river for a little hunting.”
“Up the river? Where’s it docked?”
Alex chuckled. “New Orleans. I forgot to mention that. Father owns a piece of river property down that way. A boat like ours is no job for the ocean. It only draws three feet of water. About a hundred and twenty feet long. Just a family toy.”
“Cotton?” Alex blinked, and Mallory added, “You said you have property in New Orleans. I wondered—”
“Yes. Father doesn’t spend any time there. He has an overseer on the property.”
“I suppose it’s fever country in the summer.”