American Dream

by Colleen L. Reece

  “Since Maggie’s around medicine all the time,” Julia put in, “she probably doesn’t find it fascinating at all.”

  “Her father has taught her Latin,” Adelaide told them. “How interesting,” Nelda said, tapping her fan against her cheek. “How I wish my father thought my mind was worth cultivating.”

  “Oh, Nelda,” Julia said, laughing, “Father has opened his entire library to you—of course he values your mind.” Turning back to Maggie, she said, “Adelaide has told us you have a very handsome older brother. Does he have red hair like yours?”

  “Evan is not a redhead,” Adelaide answered for Maggie, “and shame on you for telling on me. Evan’s hair is a rich, dark chestnut color.”

  “If my hair were as pretty a color as yours,” Julia said to Maggie, “I would never cover it with a wig!”

  And so it went all the way to the Drury home. The girls chattered continually, seeming to accept Maggie, yet never letting her get in a single word.

  Maggie had often heard that Salem could boast of many more wealthy ship merchants than Boston. The sight of so many ornate carriages was testimony to that fact. And if the carriages weren’t enough, the grand Drury house bore further evidence. This house was every bit as large and grand as the governor’s province house in Boston. But in Salem, all along Chestnut Street, rows of houses just as grand as the Drurys’ lined both sides of the street.

  A party was in progress when they arrived, and the house was vibrant with lights and music. Maggie noticed elaborate carvings of eagles and anchors decorating the door lintel as they were escorted through the wide front entryway.

  Once they were inside, Nelda turned to Julia. “You go on back and rejoin the party, and I’ll show our guests to their rooms.”

  “Oh, thank you, Nelda,” Julia said, appearing quite eager to return to the fun. To Adelaide and Maggie, Julia said, “You’ll hurry down, won’t you? It shouldn’t take you but a few minutes to freshen up and change.”

  Come back down? Maggie could hardly believe it. All she wanted was to crawl into bed. But she was soon to learn that the society of Salem held parties late and slept till noon. As they followed Nelda up the stairs, Maggie asked Adelaide about Melee’s whereabouts.

  “Now, Maggie, don’t you worry about that girl. Johnson has taken her to the slaves’ quarters down in the basement. She’ll be fine.”

  “You have your own slave girl now, Adelaide?” At the top of the stairs, Nelda turned to lead them down a long hallway.

  “She’s a Christmas gift from my parents.” “Don’t you find it is a great deal of work to train them? Mother spends hours trying to train our slaves properly. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it all.” She stopped and opened the door of a large bedchamber, where a good fire had been laid in the fireplace. It looked cozy and inviting.

  “We gave you this room, Maggie, and Adelaide will be right across the hall. I hope you’ll be comfortable. If you need anything, simply use the bellpull there by the draperies.”

  Maggie’s trunk had arrived ahead of her and sat open at the foot of the tall cherrywood bed.

  “Thank you very much. I know I shall be very comfortable.” “Put on one of your party dresses,” Adelaide told her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Every time Maggie tried to sit out a dance, either Julia or Adelaide pulled her back in again. Never could she have imagined not wanting to dance, but she’d slept very little the night before and was exhausted. By the time she did climb the stairs to her room, she could barely hold her eyes open long enough to get out of her dress and into her nightgown.

  As she settled into the high, soft bed, her thoughts turned to Melee. No matter what Adelaide said, Maggie’s heart went out to the girl. Why, she wondered, does there have to be such a terrible thing as slavery?

  When Maggie awakened the next morning, it was broad daylight. The last time she’d slept this late, it was because she was ill. Having no idea what she should do, she arose and dressed. No one told her when breakfast would be served. She looked at the bellpull. At least she could ask one of the servants. Cautiously, she tugged at the tasseled pull.

  Presently a tap sounded at the door. She opened to see one of the uniformed slaves neatly dressed in a dark bodice and skirt, with a starched white collar and apron. A ribboned mobcap with long ruffles in back covered her dark hair.

  “Morning, m’lady,” she said. “My name’s Bessie. You is up mighty early.”

  “Early?” She glanced at the sun streaming in the windows. “Why, it must be nearly noon.”

  “Most folks in this house don’t get up ‘fore noon, m’lady. Less it’s them menfolk going on a hunt. But that don’t happen till weather warms. Shall I bring breakfast?”

  “Is breakfast being served downstairs?” Maggie would much rather eat with someone.

  The girl shook her head. “They take breakfast in they rooms, then come down for lunch,” Bessie explained.

  “Very well, Bessie.” Maggie was too hungry to object. “Please bring my breakfast.” She felt silly ordering this girl about, and she’d never been called “my lady” in her life.

  When the tray arrived, she ate at a small table by the window overlooking the formal gardens. There were fountains, stone benches, and tall, well-manicured shrubs. The outlines of flowerbeds showed promise of an explosion of color when spring fully arrived.

  She quickly devoured the light milk biscuits and pieces of salty ham, washing it down with cups of hot tea. But when she’d finished eating, she had nothing to do. Another full hour dragged by before Adelaide knocked at her door, urging her to come down for lunch.

  Many of those who had been at the dance the night before were overnight guests, as well, so the lunch table was large and spread with a fare as fine as Hannah’s Thanksgiving dinner.

  That afternoon Mrs. Drury accompanied the girls in the carriage to the shops in Salem. Maggie had never in her life seen so many pretty and expensive things. The number of fine shops far outnumbered those in Boston, and the women seemed intent on taking in every one.

  Adelaide, of course, had money with her and made several purchases. Maggie had just a little money her father had given her, but she’d planned to purchase gifts for her family members. So while the others were buying for themselves, she searched for the needed gift items.

  On their return home, the ladies were served a light tea and then encouraged to rest in their rooms before the frolic that was scheduled for that evening.

  In Maggie’s world, a frolic referred to quilting bees or apple-paring time, when groups of people gathered to work together. In the world of the Drury family, a frolic simply meant traveling from one home to the next or sometimes to a large tavern, where the young people gathered for games, dancing, and refreshments.

  Maggie soon learned that activities had been planned for nearly every evening of their two-week stay. The afternoons were filled with needlework and reading, but occasionally there were activities in the afternoon, as well. Maggie asked Nelda for permission to borrow books from the library, because she continually awakened before the others of the household.

  Kindly, Nelda led her to the library and allowed her to make her own choices.

  Before the first week was out, Maggie was plagued with an intense case of homesickness. Everything here seemed frivolous and meaningless. Even the Sabbath was taken less seriously than in Boston. Other than snippets of men’s conversation regarding business, most of the conversation was empty and hollow. She recalled how she could talk to Evan about almost anything—especially things of a serious nature. She missed him terribly. She even missed the Latin assignments she’d been so happy to end after her birthday.

  Her hands ached for something substantial to do. If she’d seen the servants doing laundry, she would have pushed them aside and started wringing clothes out herself! But, of course, she never saw them doing any work. The house was so large, all the laundry was done in the basement
, and the kitchens were at the far end of the lower floor.

  She caught quick glimpses of Melee as the slave girl went in and out of Adelaide’s room, waiting on her mistress. In spite of the girl’s dark skin coloring, she appeared sallow and ashen. Maggie was more concerned for her than ever.

  Two nights before they were to leave, Maggie was in her room preparing for bed. The Drury home was like a wayside inn, with guests coming and going continually. That afternoon they had ridden in carriages to Crowinshield’s Wharf to meet a new set of friends arriving from London. That evening there was yet another party held in Adelaide and Maggie’s honor.

  Maggie was thoroughly exhausted. Sitting on the chair by the windows, she pulled off her dance pumps and studied them,

  fully expecting to see holes worn in the soles from so much dancing. Suddenly, movement in the garden below caught her attention. She pushed open the window to get a better look. There on one of the stone benches sat a small, hunched form. In the dim, soft moonlight, Maggie could barely see, but she was certain the form was Melee!

  CHAPTER 14

  Maggie Dares to Help

  There was only one way for Maggie to find out for sure who was huddled all alone in the garden. She pulled her wrapper about her, grabbed her cloak, and ran down the stairs. Winding through a maze of hallways, she searched for the back entrance. When she found it, it took a few minutes for her to get her bearings from where she saw the figure. While the March night air wasn’t as frigid as winter, it was still very cold. Weaving in and out through the tall shrubberies, she drew her cloak more tightly around her.

  At last, she followed around a curving path, and there on the bench sat the weeping, trembling Melee.

  “Melee, whatever are you doing out here? You’ll freeze.” Melee looked up and drew back with fear in her eyes. “Sorry. Melee sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? You haven’t done anything.” Maggie sat down on the cold bench beside her. “Why are you out here? Don’t you have a room and a bed?”

  “They laugh at Melee.”

  “Who laughs?” “House people.” “The servants?”

  Melee nodded. “Other slaves laugh.”

  “Sometimes people make fun of what they don’t understand, Melee.” She remembered how Hannah had said that to her once. Since most of the Drury slaves were from Africa, could they have made fun of her speech? Perhaps her appearance? Who knew?

  “Don’t listen to them, Melee.” Not sure how much Melee actually understood, Maggie put her hands over her ears. “Ignore them. Pretend you don’t hear. Now you need to get back inside and get to bed.”

  Melee’s thin body convulsed in a hard shiver. “Lock door,” she said.

  “Who locked the door? What door?” Melee shrugged.

  “The room where you sleep? Is that the door that is locked?” She nodded.

  “Poor girl,” Maggie said, gently putting her arm around her. It was then she realized Melee was not shivering from cold. She had a fever and was shaking from chills. That settled it! She helped Melee to her feet. “You’re coming with me,” Maggie told her.

  Not bothering to attempt to find the servants’ entrance, she led Melee along the paths. Making her way slowly to the door, she helped Melee inside and then up to her room, where the fire was still banked and warm. With a bit of effort, Maggie assisted the girl up the steps into the high bed and tucked her in.

  She dampened a cloth in the water pitcher and laid it across Melee’s forehead. “I’m sure Massachusetts is nothing like Trinidad,” she said softly. “How difficult all this must be for you.”

  “Trinidad.” Melee’s eyes fluttered open in response to the word. “Flowers,” she said weakly. “Pretty flowers. Much sunshine. Mama, Papa.”

  “Poor girl,” Maggie said, patting her shoulder. Nourishment was what she needed, and soon. Maggie stepped to the window and tugged at the tasseled bellpull. Within minutes, Bessie was at the door, sleepy-eyed and dressed in a white wrapper.

  “Bessie, I need your help.” Maggie drew her inside and waved to the bed. “This girl is very sick. I need warm milk, a bowl of gruel, and perhaps a few stewed quince. Can you do that for me?”

  “What girl be sick?” Bessie asked. “Mrs. Drury should be told.”

  “No, no, don’t tell anyone. I have Melee here.”

  Suddenly Bessie’s eyes flew open. “You have the slave girl in your bed? Oh my! Oh my!”

  With that, she was out the door and across the hall banging on the door and shouting, “Miss Adelaide, Miss Adelaide, come quick. Come see. Miss Margaret done put a slave in her bed! In her bed!”

  One door opened in the hallway, then another and another. Questions were whispered. Slippered feet shuffled. Presently, Adelaide was standing incredulous in the room, followed quickly by Nelda, Julia, and their parents.

  “Maggie,” Adelaide demanded, “what’s the meaning of this? Why is this girl in your own bed?”

  Maggie’s fear of what Adelaide might think had vanished. “She’s sick. She was locked out of her room by the others in the basement quarters. She has a fever, and she would have died in the night air. I had no choice but to bring her in.”

  “You had no right. She’s my slave. You should have brought her to me.”

  “Perhaps I should have. But I didn’t.”

  “Please,” Mrs. Drury interrupted, “let there be no anger.” Turning to Adelaide, she said, “Didn’t you tell me Maggie has no servants or slaves? So how could she possibly know the right way to handle the situation?”

  The condescending tone infuriated Maggie further. “I would never own a slave,” she snapped. “But if I did, I’d know enough to extend help when one is suffering.”

  Mrs. Drury smiled and ignored the outburst as though Maggie were a child throwing a tantrum. “Bessie.”

  “Yes, m’lady?”

  “Fetch Adelaide’s footman. Have him come and take this girl back to her quarters. Then you stay with her tonight.” Bessie rolled her eyes. “Yes, m’lady.”

  The crowd in the hallway was still buzzing when Mr. Drury ordered everyone back to bed. “Just a simple mistake,” he told them. “Nothing to get upset about.”

  As Adelaide turned to go, she whispered to Maggie, “Wait till Mother learns how terribly you behaved and how you embarrassed me before all my friends.”

  “I was not thinking of you,” Maggie stated flatly, “but of the girl.”

  After Melee had been carried away by Johnson, Mrs. Drury ordered the linens to be completely stripped from the bed and fresh ones put on before Maggie could retire for the night. By the time all the commotion had quieted down, Maggie was still fuming. The copper kettle was definitely steamed up.

  The remaining two days in Salem were rather awkward. Guests looked at Maggie with mirthful eyes and twittered behind spread silk fans. The Drurys now spoke to her in patronizing tones, but Maggie had ceased to care. She no longer ached to please Adelaide or to “think like a lady,” according to Pert’s orders.

  Her attempts to learn of Melee’s condition were ignored. Had there been more than two days before departure, she would have searched for the servants’ quarters and banged on every door until she found the sick slave girl.

  As the carriages were being loaded before dawn on Saturday morning, Johnson came from the rear of the house, carrying Melee. Maggie was relieved to see that the girl’s dark eyes were brighter, but she was still too weak to walk.

  The journey home was punctuated by Adelaide’s complaints about having a sick slave girl. At last, Maggie could bear no more. “If you were to take care of her properly,” she said, “Melee would not only be well and healthy, she would be more pleased to serve you.”

  “You know nothing about owning a slave,” Adelaide retorted with a little sniff.

  “Owning another person is wrong,” Maggie stated. She was surprised at her own brashness, but once the words were out, she felt good. For once she’d spoken what she truly believed.

  “I didn’t make Mele
e a slave,” Adelaide shot back. “She was already a slave. We simply made a purchase. If you’re so against slaves, why don’t you talk to your uncle Reuben? Melee came in on one of his ships.”

  Maggie didn’t answer because she knew Adelaide was right. But her comment gave Maggie an idea.

  That evening they were met in Cambridge by Pert and several footmen in one of the Chiltons’ carriages. Adelaide wasted no time in relating the incident with Melee in vivid detail. Pert reacted to the incident exactly as Mrs. Drury had—attributing Maggie’s action to simple ignorance.

  “Maggie still has a great deal to learn,” Pert said to Adelaide as though Maggie were not sitting right there in the carriage with them.

  Maggie gave a polite smile and let the comment pass. How relieved she was when they drove up to the Baldwin house and all her family was there to greet her. Caleb bounced around everywhere, excited to see if Maggie brought him a gift. Even Evan gave her a warm hug of welcome.

  Once her things were unloaded and the Chiltons were gone, she was treated to some of Hannah’s wonderful plain cooking. How she’d missed it in the endless array of rich dainties at the Drurys’!

  As they gathered about to hear all her stories, she told them of Melee’s illness—carefully omitting the part about Melee in her bed. “Can you attend to her, Father? She needs help desperately.”

  “I understand your concern, Maggie, but I can’t go unless they call me.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I’m not sure they will.”

  “But we can pray for her,” Hannah said. “Of course,” Maggie agreed. Why hadn’t she thought of prayer?

  They bowed their heads, and Father led the prayer, asking for Melee’s safety and well-being.

  As they ate, Maggie surprised her father by asking him to reinstate her Latin lessons. When he asked her what prompted the decision, she simply said, “I now appreciate the fact that you think my mind is worth cultivating.”

  When their meal was finished, Maggie turned to her brother and said, “Evan, let’s go for a ride.”