by Peter Troy
Miss Randall’d only been comin’ to learn Miss Justinia for a few months before Mary arrived. Cora said it wasn’t ’til the Kittredges start makin’ lotsa money that they start thinkin’ ’bout learnin’ a girl how to read an’ speak French an’ other such silly things. The good part of that for Mary was that Miss Juss wasn’t much ahead of her when they started learnin’ together, Mary sittin’ in the corner pretendin’ not to hear what Miss Randall was sayin’, an’ Miss Juss sittin’ at the desk, strugglin’ to sound out words Mary was picturin’ in her head. Mary read everything she could, titles of books on the shelves in Mista Kittredge’s library, names on the labels of cans in the store, an’ the signs in the storefront windows. Just a week earlier she’d picked an old newspaper out of the trash an’ hid it in her dress ’til she got back to her room. An’ she’d pract’ly memorized it by now, readin’ by the moonlight comin’ through her window on the nights Miss Juss didn’t come to sleep with her.
But it wasn’t just readin’ Mary’d learned by now. She was even better in math’matics, memorizin’ something called the mult’plication tables in just two weeks, an’ learnin’ to do all kinds of ’rithmetic in her head. She liked ’rithmetic an’ history an’ liter’ture just fine, but she adored French. An’ she adored most of all how she kept learnin’ new words, like adore, that she didn’t ever hear from Gertie or the hands in the field back in Carolina. Still, Mary’d become a little frustrated with Miss Juss when it came to the lessons, since she was holdin’ them back, the way she struggled an’ all. She’d try to help Miss Juss little bits at a time when she did lessons on her own, pretendin’ not to know the thing herself but askin’ her what it was Miss Randall said, knowin’ all the time just what it was.
This day’s lessons started with Miss Juss readin’ aloud from the Cousin Lucy book for most of a chapter, an’ Mary’d picture some of the bigger words an’ spell them out in her head while she sat there doin’ her stitchin’. They did some history, an’ then something called division, an’ it was a good while ’fore they finally got to French an’ somethin’ Miss Randall called con-ju-gatin’ verbs. The spellin’ an’ pronouncin’ was completely different in French, Mary’d learned by now. If you had a book in French, it was called a livre, only it was pronounced lee-vra an’ not like liver, which was somethin called an organ in the body an’ had nothin’ to do with books. Miss Juss was havin’ an awful time with pronouncin’ the French words, worse even than Mary was havin’ tryin’ to spell them. But Miss Randall was determined, she’d said, to teach Miss Juss to speak French so she could walk into a place called Versailles an’ nobody’d know she was from Virginia. Mary didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it sounded good to her, much as she liked French an’ the idea that she an’ Juss might one day go there with Miss Randall.
The day’s lessons passed along quick as ever, with three hours feelin’ practically like one to Mary. Cora’s knock on the door brought the session to an end, an’ when she walked in the room it was like clouds movin’ in an’ coverin’ the entire sky.
Miss Randall, beggin’ yo’ pardon Miss, Cora said, but Miss Kittredge sent me t’fetch Miss Justinia fo’ t’bring her to the sto’. Dat is if you all through wit’ yo’ learnin’ fo’ the day.
Yes Cora, we are all through, thank you. You may take Miss Justinia.
That was another reason for Mary to adore Miss Randall so, since she was the only person that Cora spoke to that way, polite an’ curtseyin’ an’ all, like she didn’t even to Mista Kittredge or the Misses. Miss Randall closed the books on the desk an’ put her coat on over her shoulders. But Miss Justinia was slow as ever puttin’ on her own coat, so Miss Randall walked to the door by herself.
Au revoir, ma petite élève, she said to Miss Justinia.
Oh re-va, ma-dem-o-sell, Juss answered.
Et Mar-ee, au revoir à vous aussi.
Mary hesitated to show off in front of Cora, but then decided she’d show her she was more than just a little puppy the Kittredges’d sell off without a thought.
Au revoir, Mademoiselle Randall. Merci beaucoup, she added, flashin’ a quick glance at Cora.
Tres bien, Mar-ee.
Miss Randall walked out the door an’ Cora started gettin’ impatient with Miss Justinia, who was rollin’ her eyes toward Mary. An’ that was how they ended up walkin’ out the room together without anyone realizin’ the chance they were leavin’ behind for Mary. She waited a moment to hear their footsteps on the stairs, an’ then went straight for the French book, knowin’ she could practice readin’ her English anytime she wanted. The leather cover was as elegant as the words in it, an’ she whispered the title out loud best as she could. Gram-mare ay Vo-cab-ooo-lare Frahn-sayse. The second page of printin’ had pictures of everyday things an’ then the French words for them printed next to the pictures. And Mary looked at each of ’em, all words she knew, but only now could see for sure how they were spelled. Plume, pen, plooome. Chapeau, hat, sha-poh. Cheval, horse, shu-val. She remembered Miss Randall callin’ the ch in cheval soft an’ different from the hard ch in the English word chair, an’ how the i in livre was pronounced like a long e but in the English word livery it was a short i sound. She became so caught up in studyin’ these little differences page after page that she didn’t notice the heavy footsteps in the hallway approachin’ the room a few minutes later. It wasn’t ’til she heard the doorknob turnin’ that she snapped outta her dream.
Whachu doin’ near Miss Justinia’s books?! Cora said, yellin’ wit’out raisin’ her voice like only she could do.
Mary closed the book quickly an’ squeezed it back in place between the bookends.
I’s jus fixin dem cause dey was crooked an’ I didn’ wan’ Miss Randall seein’ dem’ in a mess, Mary replied. She was already developin’ different speech patterns dependin’ on who she was talkin’ to an’ whether she might be in trouble or not. And in this situation she decided to go all the way back to the fields of Carolina just to show Cora she wasn’t gettin’ uppity.
Oh, you didn’ wan’ Miss Randall seein’ nuthin’? Chil’, if you thinkin’ on gettin any o’ dis here learnin’ in yo’ head, you bes’ put it outta yo’ mine right now, less’n you wants t’get yo’ hide whupped an’ den sol’ off downa one o’ dem cotton plantations down in Georgia or Alabammy.
Mary said nothin’, but she hated to hear Cora call her Chil’ the way Gertie always had. It sounded so different comin’ from Cora’s lips.
Dese white folks might think you some kinda fool ain’t learnin’ nothin’ sittin’ in the corner there, Cora said, but I knows whachu up to. It against the law for a nigger to learn howta read. You wanna get the Mista an’ Misses an’ Miss Randall throwed in jail an’ get yo’sef sold to Alabammy?
Mary shook her head, starin’ down at the ground by her feet.
Well den you stop wit’ all this tryin’ to learn, an’ you fo’get what you already done learnt, or you gonna make a mess fo’ the whole lotta us. Now you get yo’sef downa the sto’ an’ bring yo’ knittin’ witcha. Miss Kittredge wanna see whachu been doin’.
She walked back over to her stool and picked up her stitchin’, a lady’s handkerchief with a design in the shape of a daisy sewn in light blue thread. Cora walked right behind Mary as they went down through the kitchen entrance an’ out across the open grass field to the store. Lilly was another of the Kittredges’ slaves, an’ she worked as a seamstress in the store all day long. She didn’t say anything to them as they walked through. Lilly didn’t like Cora ’cause of how mean she was, an’ she didn’t like Mary, just ’cause, the way Mary figured it. The dress shop was kinda quiet, but the gen’ral store part seemed busy as usual with Mista Kittredge talkin’ to the customers an’ three slave workers runnin’ round gettin’ things for them. Misses Kittredge was with Miss Justinia holdin’ a bolt of fine yellow fabric up against her shoulders.
Oh, this is just lovely with your beautiful hair, she said. Oh yes, this must be the color of your birthday dr
ess.
Miss Juss smiled at Mary as she and Cora approached.
Mary, look at the pretty fabric Mommy’s picked out for my birthday dress, she said.
It’s almos’ as beautiful as you, Miss Justinia, Mary said. And the Misses smiled big as Miss Juss did, but Cora just rolled her eyes standin’ beside them.
Give Miss Kittredge whachu been workin’ on dese coupla hours, Cora said.
Mary handed over the white handkerchief with the blue stitchin’, an’ it seemed like the Misses was pract’ly amazed by it.
Why Mary, the Misses said, how did you … this is quite good, Mary. Quite good. I believe even Mrs. Fenton would be happy to do work like this.
Mary smiled an’ looked at Cora in her moment of glory, seein’ how she took the news, but Cora just rolled her eyes again as Miss Juss an’ the Misses ran their fingers over the stitchin’.
Mommy, I want Mary to make my birthday dress, Miss Juss said, an’ the Misses suddenly got a worried look on her face.
Oh Justinia Dear, I’ve already asked Mrs. Fenton to do it, the Misses replied.
But you just said that Mary’s work was good as Mrs. Fenton’s.
I said … I meant that … well, that Mrs. Fenton would accept such work, but Mary has only been … Dear, there’s a reason why Mrs. Fenton makes so many of the dresses we sell here. She’s the finest dressmaker in Richmond. Mary is good, but—
I don’t want to wear a dress from Mrs. Fenton, Miss Juss interrupted. She’s old, and she smells like mothballs and Daddy’s brandy.
Justinia! The Misses said like she was shocked.
Mary laughed a little out loud, then caught herself an’ covered her mouth with her hand.
Whachu laughin’ at, Cora said in her yellin’-without-raisin’-her-voice kinda way.
I want Mary to do my dress, Miss Juss repeated.
An’ it wasn’t long ’fore Mary, Cora, an’ even Lilly in the storeroom knew how it was gonna turn out in the end. The Misses put up a fight better than usual, but a few minutes later Mary was pullin’ the measurin’ tape ’round Miss Juss’s waist, figurin’ in her head what she wanted to do here an’ how she’d put some green silk ribbon there, just like she was a dressmaker herself, just like Gertie’d taught her to do.
That night couldn’t come fast enough, an’ Mary knew that she’d only have a little while to talk to Gertie since Juss’d almost certainly come down to spend the night wit’ her. So soon as her head hit the pillow she turned her eyes toward the window an’ whispered just loud enough that even she could barely hear her words …
I’m a little nervous Gertie, but a whole lot more excited t’night than I been in a long time. Maybe you figure it’s just what it should be, the way you always so sure of things when you put ’em in my dreams the way you do, but I ain’t altogether sure I’m ready for this. Juss’ll … I mean Miss Juss’ll be down soon … I gotta remember that Miss part, leastways ’round Cora, since she gave me a scoldin’ today … two of ’em … but that’s enough ’bout Cora, since I’m gonna be makin’ Miss Juss’s dress for her birthday comin’ up an’ I’m gonna need yo’ help Gertie, so maybe you can send me one of them dreams an’ tell me how I’m gonna make this dress better’n one of Miss Fenton’s, maybe even good as something you’d make …
ETHAN
NEW YORK
APRIL 17, 1857
You know, I didn’t think it was possible, Seanny says, but this place stinks worse’n it did when me an’ Da lived here.
He looks up Baxter Street at the Five Points, standing next to Ethan who beams with a broad smile to hear such a thing from his brother and the opportunity it affords him.
Ahhhhh, maybe yer just gettin’ too comfortable in your noice new place on Fourteenth Street, fahhrr away from yer people, Ethan says. Fahhr away from de bosom of Oireland. Oh, Seanny …
Oh don’t you start again, Seanny says, knowing what’s coming.
Ethan stands up straight and tall and stares at his brother, then takes off his top hat and begins to sing loudly enough that people across the intersection stop and listen:
There was a wild colonial boy
Mick-Owen was his name,
He was born and raised in Ireland
In a town called Castlemaine …
A few people across the way laugh a little and a man passing them picks up the lyrics from where Ethan left off … He was his father’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy, And dearly did his parents love, their wild Sean-ny boy …
Ah, leave it to an Irishman to go an’ change the lyrics of the damn song! Seanny says, feigning indignity as Ethan laughs.
Ahhh, I like it better this way Seanny.
And Ethan wraps his arm around his brother’s shoulder as they stare up the street. He’s long since caught up to his brother in height by now, passing him even by an inch or maybe two, but Sean wears the fine suit and top hat with far greater comfort than Ethan does his, and it gives off the impression of a native son of New York showing a newcomer around the town. It’d be hard to fault Ethan for such discomfort and unease in his deportment, since it was only the night before that he was presented with the fine suit he now wears. And he’s spent the years since he arrived in America following in his father’s footsteps, if any at all, and certainly not in the increasingly foreign realm of Seanny and his Tammany brethren.
So brudder o’ moine, you’ve not said a word about me foine new suit, Ethan says, putting on the exaggerated brogue he and his brother sometimes do when they want to make a particular point about the general nature of things. This time it’s Ethan’s turn to tease his brother some, and he releases his arm from around Seanny and stands before him, bowing with exaggerated awkwardness.
Pretty nice for a Mick fisherman, Seanny says. Where’d ya get it?
Ethan looks at him with a knowing smile before answering.
Mam an’ Aunt Em gave it t’me last night, he says. Said dey wanted me t’look me best when I went t’see the Dean, ya know. Sure dey musta been savin’ dere pennies fer goin’ on foive years t’afford sooch a suit as dis.
Oh yeah? Seanny says.
Yeah, Oi’ve got dat appointment ya know … t’see th’fella at da university, ya know … t’see if dey’ll take pity on a poooor Mick fisherman an’ let’m come an’ study in dere foine institution—
Is that so? Seanny says. Well it’s a nice enough suit, I suppose … for a Mick fisherman anyhow.
Ethan stands there in front of his brother waiting for him to crack, but it takes him dancing a few steps of a jig to get Seanny to smile, and then it takes some more singing to get him to acknowledge what Ethan’s known from the very minute his Mam and Aunt Em’d presented him the suit the night before.
At the early age of six-teen years,
Sean left his native home
And to ol’New York’s sunny shores
he was inclined to roam …
All right, all right already … yer welcome, if it’s thank you you’re trying to say, Seanny finally admits.
Yes it is, brudder of mine, Ethan says. And I do thank you for it.
Well, you wear it like yer fresh off th’boat, Seanny says, and begins to walk up Baxter Street into the heart of the Five Points, feigning disgust as Ethan takes a few more exaggerated bows before following.
By this time, ten years since Ethan’d first arrived in New York and roughly the same length of time since Seanny’d first got his foot in the door of the municipal inner-workings of the Points, the McOwen family fortunes have changed dramatically. Seanny’s among the more important men to be found anywhere in New York outside of City Hall and certain firms on Wall Street, though he spends plenty of time in each of those places. He’s risen up from the ranks within Tammany Hall, not big enough, or rough enough, or stupid enough to be a thug in one of the gangs, and not Blue Blood like the Wall Street and City Hall boys, but plenty smart enough to carve out quite a niche for himself with the Tammany boys.
He’d spoken of business matters onl
y at the very beginning, when he was still on the outside looking in, but now it’s impossible to get more than a glib remark about all the various endeavors he seems to be involved in, or even more, the actual title for whatever job it is he has. I’m just a poor streetlamp tender doesn’t fit the bill anymore. But he was able to bring Mam and Aunt Em over just a year after Ethan arrived, and they got to travel on a proper passenger ship with a cabin to themselves. Within a year after that, thanks to a little help on the rent from Seanny to be sure of it, they were moved into a nice place up in the Brooklyn Heights with more space than they ever could’ve imagined having back on the Lane. And then just a few years after that, Seanny came by the house one evening and told them it was theirs, that the owner’d been suddenly in need of cash and gave him a great price on it. Mam and Aunt Em seemed more willing to believe that such was the nature of life in America, but Da remained skeptical. It was possibly because Seanny’d got away from him and put himself in the way of more trouble, that Da was content to see Ethan fish with him every morning and read his books in the afternoon and play ball in summer, the last ten years passing with little distinction from one to the next. But that was about to change now, Ethan hoped.
So you’re goin’ through with it, Seanny says to Ethan as they walk up Baxter Street.
Mmm-hmm, Ethan responds, knowing his brother has thought the idea a foolish one from the start.
But Seanny refrains from offering his opinion once again, simply pulling his brother toward him and kissing him on the side of his head before taking his arm away and looking Ethan in the eye.