Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons (6 page)

I did not understand what a novel was. But I did understand the words "Don't tell my mother." Mary said them often when with her friends.

How I envied her her mother. How I ached with longing, seeing them together. How I wished I had my mother to tell things to. How I missed my father, the great hunter.

I was trained up by now to help when Aunt Cumsee served tea. She poured it into cups for the girls. I was expected to walk around and offer a little tray of cakes. And another of purple grapes.

Aunt Cumsee left the room and I walked from one to the other, offering the cakes.

"Curtsy when you do that," Mary said sharply.

I just stared at her.

"You know how. I showed you."

"Nigras can't curtsy," one of the girls said.

The others giggled at the very thought.

"She knows how," Mary insisted. "She's just lazy. And spoiled. Curtsy, I say, Phillis. Now!"

Still holding the tray of cakes, I grabbed my skirt with one hand. Then I tried to bend my knee. But I lost my balance and the cakes went toppling off the tray to the floor.

"See what you've done!" And there was a sharp slap on my arm from Mary. "Pick them up!"

I did so.

"Are you allowed to hit her, Mary?" one young woman asked, wide eyed. "My mama doesn't hold with hitting the nigras."

"My mama says you shouldn't belabor a point with them," another chimed in. "They are, after all, like children."

"She's mine," Mary said. "She was given to me. And it's my job to train her. Mama wants to make a Christian of her. To what aim, I don't know. The little noodlehead can't even follow simple directions." She sighed. "I try with her. I know I shouldn't hit, but I am so vexed with her. She keeps me awake, crying at night. And during the day, she's useless. But there is one thing she can do, isn't there, Phillis?"

My heart fell inside me.

"Dance," Mary said. "Like they made them do on the ship. My mama is friends with Mrs. Fitch, whose husband owns the ship. She told Mama about it. They whipped the slaves if they didn't dance." Mary's eyes glittered with mischief. "Dance for my friends, Phillis."

Tears came to my eyes.
Dance.
All I could think of was my mother, dancing with the others, jeered at by the crew. Obour and I had never been made to dance. But I knew how. Twice, Mary had made me dance for her, holding a little switch in her hand to threaten me. I had resolved I would never dance for her again.

"Dance!" she ordered.

I shook my head. "No," I said.

"What mean you by that?" Mary's voice was shrill. "Do as I say. Now!"

I shook my head no. Her friends gasped.

"I'll teach you to say no to me, you little savage." She reached for me, but I ran. I dashed across the room.

"Come back here!" she ordered.

But I wouldn't.

She stamped her foot. "Go ahead, run, you little varlet. You'll be sorry you ever drew breath when I get hold of you! And I will! Go ahead, run! I'll find you. You can't go far!"

But I did go far. To a place where Mary couldn't find me. I went to Nathaniel's room. No one would look for me there. I went there often to hide from Mary. The door was closed but not locked. I crept inside. Rain slashed against the windows. But a fire had been started in the hearth for his return.

I closed the door carefully behind me and, as I'd seen Aunt Cumsee do so many times, I lit one candle on the desk.

Its flickering light brought everything to life. The books, the long feather he used for writing, his papers and maps.

I climbed up and knelt on the chair and drew a book toward me. I opened it. Oh, it smelled lovely! Musty and old and spicy and new, all at the same time. I stared at the markings on the page. And something happened to me.

I became both chilled and feverish. I fair trembled at the touching of the pages. The markings leaped off the paper at me.

These books said things to Nathaniel. And he understood. If only I could understand these strange markings! I would be smarter than Mary then. And she could no longer treat me so shabbily. She would have to respect me. For then I would know more than she did.

Mary and her silly friends did not care for books. Except for novels, whatever they were. All they talked about was boys.

I settled down into the chair. I tucked my feet under me. All around me were Nathaniel's things. There was an ivory chess set, on a small table. There, on a wall peg, were a linen coat and a tricorn haL On still another peg was slung a set of pistols.

A clay pipe, a water pitcher and bowl, a razor, a linen towel that he had likely used that morning. A pair of slippers on a small rug by the bed. A discarded ruffled shirt.

The fire crackled in the hearth. The candle flickered. I put my head down on the desk. Beyond the closed door, from belowstairs, I could hear Aunt Cumsee's voice. And Mary's. Then sounds of the harpsichord. I breathed a sigh of relief. Mary and her friends would be taken with their music now.

For a while, at least, I was safe. I fell asleep.

"So here you are, you little minx."

A hand on my shoulder. I roused myself and looked up to see Nathaniel.

"What are you about in my room? They're all looking for you. I heard you're in trouble with Mary. What did you do?"

His kindness was too much. I burst into tears. Next thing I knew he was holding me in his lap, and with halting words I told him how I would not dance for Mary.

He frowned. "And you say she struck you? I hope this is not a thing she often does."

I twisted my apron in my hands.

"The devil, you say. I'll not have it. Have things come to such a turn in our house that we have to strike the servants? I'll speak to Mother about it." He set me down in a nearby chair, got up, and began to pace.

But something else was bedeviling him. "Yes, I'll speak to Mother. I have other things to speak to her about. And the time has come to have my say."

He stood, hands clasped behind his back, and looked at me. "Autumn's here. A time for making decisions. I'm supposed to go to Harvard. But I have decided that I don't wish to be a minister, as Mother wants. But a merchant. Like Father."

He sat down again and peered at me. He was very agitated. "This is the time to be a merchant, Phillis. The French war ended last year. Canada is ours. The old king is dead. Money is flowing. There is a boom in building, in shipping. Ships from around the world crowd our wharves. They can't be unloaded fast enough!"

I sat entranced, listening.

"Why, there are eighteen thousand people living in Boston alone! Do you know what Father is selling in his King Street shoppe? Lisbon wine, spermecetti candles, and the ordinary staples. Do you know what a woman came in asking for today? Lavender kid gloves from Paris. Tincture for the teeth! A silk umbrilloe!"

I did not understand all his words, but I understood well his fervor.

"Here," and he took a paper from his coat pocket and laid it on the desk. "Here is a page of the
Lively Lady's
manifest. She docked just yesterday. Look what she carried. And the lot of it was purchased by Joseph Rotch the merchant."

My eyes fell on the paper, on the neat, scrawled writing that listed things. I pointed to a long word. "Umbrilloes!" I said.

"Father must expand! He must start to carry paints, oils, varnishes. Even farm people are tired of floors made of clay and fish oil. I must learn Father's business and forget the ministry. There's a fortune to be made."

Then he stopped short. "What's that you said?"

"Umbrilloes."

"Where? Show me."

I pointed to the long word.

"By god," Nathaniel said. "You can read!"

I grinned at him. I had pleasured him and I liked that. No, I could not read, but it was such a long word. It stood, then, that it must be the longest piece of scrawled writing on the page, didn't it?

"Phillis! You can read!"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "But I wish to, Nathaniel. Teach me."

"Teach you! Yes!" He picked me up off the chair and whirled me around. "Yes, why not? Why shouldn't you read? Why shouldn't I become a merchant if I so wish? We've a new king on the throne! George the Third. Only twenty-two he is. Anything is possible!"

That very evening, in the parlor, right before prayers, he told his parents he did not want to go to Harvard College.

His mother wept at his announcement. "Is this what you want for him, Mr. Wheatley?" she asked her husband.

"My dear, it would warm my heart to have my son take my place when I am old. But if the Lord wants him for a minister, I am willing to make that sacrifice."

"How did this
happen
?" Mrs. Wheatley looked at her son.

"It's all that drinking of flip he does at the Salutation," Mary said. "If you ask me, he's allowed too much freedom."

Mary had little freedom. Her formal schooling was finished, but she was expected to stay close to her mother, learn the feminine arts, stitch a fine seam, and discourse only on women's subjects. Yet she was as clever as Nathaniel. Even at my young age, I knew she envied him. And that if she had been allowed to use her mind, she might not have been so mean.

"Nobody's asking you," Nathaniel growled.

"Children, don't fight," Mrs. Wheatley admonished.

Mary glared at her brother across the Persian carpet. "How can you turn down a chance at Harvard? You fool."

"Enough, Mary!" Mr. Wheatley spoke as sharply as I had ever heard him. I trembled at his anger.

"I don't need any advice from anyone who strikes the servants," Nathaniel said.

"Who has struck a servant?" Mrs. Wheatley asked him.

"Ask Mary, why don't you?" Nathaniel mumbled.

"Mary?" her mother asked.

Mary wouldn't answer.

"Ask Phillis, Mother," Nathaniel urged.

All eyes were on me.

"Phillis, has Mary struck you?" Mrs. Wheatley asked.

My lips went dry. Tears came to my eyes. Mary's gaze was fixed on me. If I said yes, I would pay for it later. If I said no, I would make Nathaniel a liar. He did not need that now.

"Yes," I said.

Mrs. Wheatley gasped. "Mary, how could you?"

"We don't strike servants in this house, Mary," her father reminded her.

"Is she a servant?" Mary asked. "Nobody treats her like one. Aunt Cumsee coddles her in the kitchen. Sulie has to do twice the work because she's not doing her share. She's a spoiled little piece. Insolent and spoiled. I can't make her do anything, Mother. She refuses to learn."

"What did she do that earned her a slap?" her mother persisted.

"Everything." Mary glowered. "Ask her, why don't you?"

Again all eyes were on me. I was expected to tell.

"Go ahead," Nathaniel urged me gently. "Don't be afraid."

Mrs. Wheatley nodded at me in encouragement. So I told.

"Dance," I said. "Mary wanted me to dance. I wouldn't."

"Dance?" Mrs. Wheatley's face went white. Would there be no end of agony for her this night? "To what end?"

Mary shrugged. "They did it on the ship."

And then her mother knew. "The
ship?
You mean the onerous business Mrs. Fitch told us about?"

Mary bowed her head. "I just wanted to show my friends, that's all, Mother."

"Heaven preserve us!" Mrs. Wheatley looked about to faint.

At once her husband was at her side, comforting her. His face was set and resolute.

"This is intolerable," he said. "I'm ashamed. Mrs. Wheatley, I fear your daughter needs more instruction in the sober Christian virtues. This is what comes from allowing her to attend Old North Church with her friends."

"Don't blame Reverend Lathrop. He's a good man. Mary is taken with his sermons," Mrs. Wheatley told him.

"She's taken with the Reverend Lathrop," Nathaniel put in.

"Hush, Nathaniel!" Mary's face went red.

"Be that as it may, you go to Old South with us from here on in," her father announced. "Those sermons of Lathrop's are too agitating for young girls." Then he crossed die room and stood before me. "Phillis, I apologize for any ill-usage Mary has made of you. You are no longer her servant. You are to sleep, henceforth, in the room with Aunt Cumsee at night."

"Father!" Mary protested. "I need a servant. All my friends have personal nigras."

"Well, you no longer have one," he said severely. "You have abused your authority. So keep a still tongue in your head. As for you, Nathaniel, I have a plan. Mrs. Wheatley, I would hope you agree."

She smiled weakly. "Whatever you say, Mr. Wheatley. It seems my methods with the children have failed."

"Nathaniel, you have six months to prove to me you should not attend Harvard and become a minister as your mother wishes. In those six months you shall continue your studies."

"But I've completed the sixth form at Boston Latin, Father. What do you expect me to do?"

"A tutor will come to the house every day to further prepare you for Harvard. Reverend Mather Byles, perhaps. Or Reverend Ebenezer Pemberton of New Brick."

"Puffing Pem? I'd sooner perish," Nathaniel said.

"Don't be disrespectful!" his father boomed.

"To what end, all this?" Nathaniel asked. "And how can I prove to you I shouldn't be a minister if I'm studying with one?"

"You will study two hours a day. The rest of the day you will devote to showing me why I should allow you to become a merchant. If you do not convince me by spring, you will start at Harvard next fall. Is this fair?"

Nathaniel slumped down in the settee. "Yes, sir."

"Mrs. Wheatley?" He looked at his wife.

"I think it entirely fair," she said.

"Good. Now there will be no more arguing. I will not tolerate it."

"I'll go have Phillis's bed moved into Aunt Cumsee's room," Mrs. Wheatley said, "and I'll be back for prayers."

She left. Mr. Wheatley went to throw another log on the fire. "Beasdy night," I heard him say.

"Father," Mary said.

"Yes? What is it now?"

"If Mother allows it, may I sit in on some of Nathaniel's tutoring sessions?"

"In heaven's name, to what aim? You know it's unladylike for a young woman to have too much learning, Mary. You'll scare away all your beaux."