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?”
She faced front again.
“What comforts are you willing to do without? With whom are you willing to share your bread and board?”
A slight murmur ran through the crowd.
“I look at this gathering of well-meaning folks and I see mostly white faces. The faces of color are segregated at the back.”
The people craned around to observe the truth of the situation.
“When we say that we are abolitionists, that we believe all people should be free, does that mean that we believe they should also be equal? Do we know what that word means? It means black people sharing our place in society! Eating at the same restaurants! Walking as equals on the streets, living in the house next door! Can you conceive of this?”
Cassandra was impressed by Evans’ forward thinking. These ideas would be shocking to some Americans, even one hundred years in the future.
“Well, my friends, until we can, we will not be rid of evils in our midst such as the Fugitive Slave laws. We think that we are righteous because on July fourth, eighteen-twenty-seven, slavery was abolished in New York State, a long overdue decision. Yet for the last three years, we have suffered under a new threat to our civilized state, the Fugitive Slave Act. It has endangered the hard won freedom that we, our parents, grandparents, and our African brothers and sisters have worked so hard to gain, for at this very moment, in our society, under our noses, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children, dear ones, and friends are being snatched away from their homes and families and are being spirited away down south to be sold into slavery even though they were freed or were born free! Nothing is to stop these rogues, these paid thugs, who will look for any opportunity to snatch an unsuspecting person of color from their comings and goings and steal them away as a thief pilfers a silver teapot from a dining table. These ne’er-do-wells see no difference between human life and a commodity. And though they may claim that they are in search of runaways, that they are returning property to their rightful owners, do not let them fool you! Any colored person is fair game to them. If a young, black man or woman looks healthy and strong and the slave catcher thinks that person might fetch a fair price, then that person is subject to their thievery, and once taken, cannot easily be proven free again. That is what this terrible law has allowed in our state!
“We were a place of protection where a once-enslaved human being could start a new life as a free man or woman. We are no longer that sanctuary.” He gestured around the room and repeated in a quieter tone: “We are no longer that sanctuary.”
He continued on the same theme for some time.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he said in closing. “I call on you here and now to rise up and make your voices heard. We must demand the overturning of the Fugitive Slave Act. Beyond that, we must demand that all slaves be freed now!”
The crowd was now riled up and roared its agreement.
“You must rally in the streets! You must take your colored brethren by the hand and show all of society that they are your equals. Show that you believe this with all your hearts, because nothing less than total equality is acceptable. We brought them here to this country against their will—show them now an attempt at reparation. There is nothing that we can do to turn back the clock, but we can work forward from this day on to make conditions amenable to one and all, black and white. I beseech you to join with me in this, the greatest work you will ever do in your lives! Use as your example the great Sojourner Truth who once uttered these words: ‘Truth is powerful and it prevails!’”
There was an awestruck silence; then Evans shouted, “And this is our truth: Freedom for all! Equality for all!”
The crowd leapt to its feet with a thunderous applause. As she rose, Cassandra glanced around and could see the rough-looking men still seated, the only ones in the room, arms folded, faces cloudy.
Thaddeus Evans walked purposefully out through the door which led back into the reception hall, and Cassandra knew that only a select group would be allowed in to meet with him. Cassandra and Evie made their way through the dispersing crowd to the doorway where Samuel was acting as bouncer. His smile grew wide as he saw them approach.
“Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay,” he acknowledged, “please, come right in.”
There were about twenty people already gathered in the spacious hall, some taking advantage of the tea, coffee and sweets laid out on a long table, others clustered about Mr. Evans. Flanking him were Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum. Cassandra noticed that, in spite of the rousing speech, the only person of color in the room was Miss Ketchum. She and Evie went to deposit their wraps on a table near the door. Miss Johnston spotted them immed
iately and waved them over.
“Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay, come, come, you must meet Mr. Evans!”
They walked toward him, and the small cluster gave way slightly to admit them.
Miss Johnston made the introductions. Mr. Evans graciously took the hand of each lady in turn. Cassandra judged him to be in his forties, maybe fifty. His dark brown hair was streaked with grey, but thick. His eyes were hazel and crinkled around the edges. His skin was tanned—she imagined he had spent a fair amount of time out of doors in his travels. There was a comic turn to his expression, and when he smiled, he showed a set of straight, white teeth. She had to look up to meet his gaze, for he was over six feet, slim and lanky.
“Miss J. and Miss K., my two favorite ladies in the world, have been telling me all about the both of you,” he said, looking from one to the other.
“Yes,” replied Evie, “they have told us much about you too. But nothing could have prepared us for your eloquent presentation. I was stirred to my soul!”
Cassandra looked at her friend.
“Thank you. I am humbled by your praise.” He kissed her hand then shifted his attention to Cassandra.
“And what was your opinion, Mrs. Reilly?”
“Equally impressed. You are quite an orator.”
Mr. Evans looked at her expectantly for a moment. “Many thanks,” he finally uttered with a bow.
There was a press of fans to take their turn with the famous man, and so Cassandra and Evie eased away. Mr. Evans’ attention was taken immediately by others, most of them women.
The time travelers made their way to the refreshment table, where Mrs. Quinn, the same lady who had been in charge of the pamphlet-folding dinner, was serving tea in sturdy, slightly stained, china cups. They each took a cup and saucer and choose from the assortment of sandwiches and cakes.
Cassandra heard Evie’s name called, and looked up to see Caleb Stone waving from across the room. The young woman smiled and waved back, and made a move to go to him but at that moment he was approached by Reverend Williams who began speaking to him. The two men then turned and walked out of the room. Caleb glanced back over his shoulder, his smile gone.
“Cassandra,” Evie suddenly whispered to her companion. “I am tired. May we go?”
Cassandra, worn out as well after their long day, was happy to accept the proposal. They left their used cups with Mrs. Quinn and went to gather their wraps.
As they did, Mr. Evans extracted himself from his group of admirers. “Mrs. Reilly, Miss Bay!”
They turned to see him rushing toward them, leaving his two caretakers looking forlorn.
“Ladies,” he said as he approached, “are you going uptown?”
“No,” replied Cassandra, “we are going just past Washington Square.”
“Then please let me accompany you. I am going to Union Place, but I do not mind a little detour. I do not like to think of you two going out into the night unescorted.”
The two women looked at each other, surprised.
“Thank you,” said Cassandra.
“We would be delighted,” smiled Evie.
“So, I hear you are visiting from Boston,” Evans said to Cassandra as he led the two ladies out the doors and beyond the gates of the church’s back entrance onto Eleventh Street. He had each woman in arm as they headed toward Third Avenue.
“Yes, that is right. We are down on a little vacation.”
“Why go on holiday to the city? Why not the country?”
“Oh, I had never been here before,” replied Cassandra on cue, “and I felt I could not wait any longer to see New York City.”
“After Mr. Reilly passed away,” Evie piped up, “Mrs. Reilly felt it was time to do some traveling. Her husband was always reluctant to leave home.”
Mr. Evans stared at her a moment without blinking.
“Do you have children, Mrs. Reilly?” he asked briskly, turning to Cassandra.
“Yes, a son. He is eighteen and has started at the university.”
“A son of eighteen? Impossible!”
“I assure you, it is quite possible.”
“Is he attending Harvard?”
“Yes.”
“I was there for a year myself.”
“Were you? But you did not graduate?”
“No, I was too restless to sit in the classroom. I had a great many other things I wanted to do.” He jumped up and swatted a tree branch hanging above the street. “May I ask what brings you to be traveling together?”
“My aunt is a friend of Mrs. Reilly’s,” said Evie. “She knew that she was looking for a companion for her travels and introduced us. I have just completed my education and wanted to take some time to travel and see the world before I launch my career.”
Cassandra started. “Career” was not a word to be used by a lady in reference to her own work.
“Career?” inquired Mr. Evans.
Evie laughed. “I do not mean career, of course. I do not know why I said that. I am a painter, so seeing the world is important for me as an artist.”
“A painter, really?”
“Yes, a very talented one,” offered Cassandra. “I thought it was important to encourage her.”
“That is very kind of you,” Mr. Evans said to her.
“Not at all,” Cassandra replied.
“I am very grateful to Mrs. Reilly,” Evie stated.
“I am mutually gratified to have Miss Bay accompany me,” remarked Cassandra.
There was a pause in the conversation as they continued down the blossom-strewn street. The fragrance of the crushed flowers under their feet improved the scent of the night, and moonlight added to the luminescence that the intermittent gas streetlamps provided.
“I have always wanted to paint,” Mr. Evans said suddenly.
“Really?” said Evie, “so why do you not?”
“Well, I never learned.”
“You must try. You do not necessarily need training. Perhaps you have natural talent.”
“I do draw a little.”
“You must show me sometime.”
“Why, thank you. I would love to get your professional opinion. So far, I have only allowed two or three to be seen by the general public, in my published pamphlets. Have you read any of them?”
“Um—” Evie began.
“Yes, yes of course,” Cassandra cut in. “They have circulated about Boston, you know.”
“Yes, they have gotten around in most of the Northern cities,” he remarked.
“Certainly.” It now occurred to Cassandra that she did vaguely remember reading something like a manifesto against the current fugitive slave policies amongst other historical records, in preparation for their travel. The name attached to it may have been Evans. She went on, faking it as best she could. “It is one reason we were so keen to hear you speak tonight, sir. Your writing is very impassioned.”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head slightly.
They had crossed Lafayette and then Broadway, and had turned onto Waverly Place.
“What plans do you have for the evening?” Evie inquired.
“Oh, I promised to meet some friends,” he said vaguely. “What will you ladies do with the remainder of your night?”
“We have had a long day,” replied Cassandra. “We will probably read before retiring; we usually do.”
“May I ask what?”
“I am reading Cooper,” Cassandra replied.
“And I Austen,” said Evie.
“I love them both!” cried Mr. Evans enthusiastically. “Do you enjoy Melville? I have just finished Moby Dick. Extraordinary!”
Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “It is one of my favorite books,” she said truthfully.
“I believe I read it in school,” said Evie.
Mr. Evans looked puzzled. “But it was only just published recently.”
Evie looked at Cassandra for help.
“Miss Bay is constantly building on her education and reads voraciously. Perha
ps you only think you read it in school, although you probably read it just a few months ago, Miss Bay.”
“Yes, yes, you must be right,” Evie acknowledged.
“And what was your opinion?” he asked.
She hesitated, then spoke. “It was great!”
Mr. Evans frowned. “Well, I only ask because Herman is a friend of mine. I thought perhaps you would like to meet him.”
“Oh yes,” said Cassandra, delighted. “We would love that!”
“Wonderful. I will see if I can arrange it. How long are you in town?”
“Until the first week of June,” Cassandra replied.
“Perfect. I shall send you my card.”
They had arrived in front of the hotel.
“This is where we are staying. Goodnight, Mr. Evans,” said Cassandra, holding out her hand to him. “It has been a pleasure.”
He took her gloved hand and kissed it. “The pleasure is all mine.” He turned to Evie. “Miss Bay—”
Evie held out her hand and he took it and pressed it to his lips.
“I am enchanted.”
“Thank you, sir.” She giggled slightly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight ladies, I hope to see you again very soon.”
“The pleasure will be ours,” replied Cassandra.
Chapter Eight
We lay down for the day in the spring grass of an open field so the sun could warm us. The area seemed to be deserted. We had not seen any sign of civilization for a day and a night, so we thought we would take the chance. We had fallen asleep and had maybe been sleeping a few hours when we were woken by a voice. “Hello!” it called. I started up, fearing the worst. A tall black man stood there, shadowing me like a tree that had suddenly shot up in the middle of the meadow. He said nothing but: “Come with me.”
He led us to a shack in the woods off to the west of the field. There he had a wife. They were older than us, about as old as my ma and pa might be. The lady gave Lill her bed and wrapped her up good, and we all shared between us the food we had. She made Lill some broth from some greens and helped her drink it. Those folks had a sad, haunted look to them and did not talk much. I asked about their children, and they said they had all been sold away. All seven.
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