The Secrets of Mary Bowser (18 page)

“I never knew a dancing master could be such a despot,” I said when at long last she deemed me schooled enough in the Redowa and the waltz cotillion to bathe and then don my gown.

“You think I’ve worried you, wait until my sisters get a hold of that hair.” She laughed and turned me over to the sororal jurisdiction of Emily, Fanny, and Gertie, who primped and prodded me until I thought I’d never get to the festivities. Finally they led me with my eyes closed to the rosewood-edged mirror that hung in Mr. Jones’s front hall. When they declared I could open my eyes, I nearly didn’t recognize my own reflection.

“Miss Mary Van Lew of Paris, France, you might as well be,” Hattie said, giving a little clap of joy at my transformation.

I thanked Hattie, and each of her sisters, and Hattie again. I studied every inch of myself, from the curls Emily had set in my hair to the dancing slippers Fanny had set on my feet. I made sure to memorize each detail, so I could write it all out for Mama and Papa, even as I fretted to myself over whether I’d know just how to carry it all off when we finally arrived at the ball.

Hattie and I hardly had time enough to set our wraps in the Cattos’ cloak-room, before George Patterson whisked her off to dance. I was watching them glide among the other couples when Theodore Hinton appeared at my elbow.

“Miss Van Lew, I’m so glad to see you. I’ve something of yours I’ve been meaning to return.” He reached into his pocket and drew out one of my handkerchiefs. “I must have taken it up by accident when we were reading together.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “What a coincidence that we arrived at the library to read Mr. Longfellow on the same day. Especially since you must have your own copy of
Evangeline
at home.”

“Miss Van Lew, are you accusing me of bribing the custodian to reveal your reading habits, just so I could have a chance to meet you?” Those long lashes came together and then apart, as though pleading his eyes’ hazel innocence. “Next you’ll say that isn’t your handkerchief at all, that I merely noted the style and monogram on the one you held that day and had a matching one made up, so that I would have an excuse to speak to you at this dreadfully dull party to which I somehow contrived to have us both invited.”

“Why me? I mean, why go to all that trouble, when you don’t know me, Mr. Hinton?”

“I will tell you, on two conditions.” He paused long enough for me to nod. “The first, that we do away with Mr. Hinton and Miss Van Lew, and try Theodore and Mary instead. Mr. Hinton is my father, not me.”

“And Miss Van Lew is my former owner, even worse. Very well, Theodore.” I took more than a little pleasure in pronouncing those three syllables. “What’s the second condition?”

“That you won’t denounce me at the next Lyceum meeting, now that you know what a duplicitous scoundrel I can be.”

All at once, the same dizzying fury I’d felt at the debate about Mrs. Stowe’s novel set upon me. I wasn’t about to abide anyone ridiculing me for defending Papa and Mama. “I’m trying to avoid any such public proclamations in the future, lest I offend the better sort of colored Philadelphia.” I turned and headed down the hall.

“Mary, wait.” Theodore strode to catch up. “Your audacity that evening was quite impressive. I was longing to say something to that lot of pompous fops myself. When I saw you around the Institute this term, I vowed to find a way to meet you.” He smiled that easy smile. “I would even be willing to subject myself to your outspokenness, for the honor of dancing with you.”

He wasn’t mocking my outburst at the Lyceum, he was praising it. And I had practiced dancing for the longest time, hoping I might be asked. Hoping Theodore Handsome Hinton would be the one asking. I held my gloved hand out to him, matching his smile with one of my own.

Though I’d tripped in nervous confusion when Hattie and I rehearsed the various steps, with Theodore leading me I executed the quadrilles and germans and all quite well, until at last he steered me toward the edge of the room. “I’ve shown off my good fortune to the other dancers long enough. Now I’d like to parade my lovely partner before the wall-flowers, if you will do me the honor.”

I slipped my hand through the arm he offered. Show me off, Handsome Hinton? More the other way around. “Everyone here seems to know you,” I said as various clusters of guests nodded at us.

“It’s my family they know. There’s not a dollar spent in colored Philadelphia without my father’s knowledge, nor a bouquet given, a gown worn, or a baby born without my mother’s.”

“I hadn’t realized I was under surveillance by the entire Hinton clan.”

“Oh, I think I’m the only one who’s observed you yet. But I suppose we must rectify that by introducing you to Mother.”

He led me toward an elegant side table where two ladies sat surveying the party. Between them, they wore more jewels than Bet and her mother owned altogether. They both beamed so brightly at Theodore, I could hardly tell which was his mother, until he faced the broader of the two.

“Miss Mary Van Lew, my mother, Mrs. Edward Hinton.” He turned to the thinner lady. “And my aunt, Mrs. Phillip Thayer. I trust you will enjoy getting acquainted, while I fetch Miss Van Lew some punch.”

As soon as Theodore left us, Mrs. Hinton narrowed her eyes at me. “Van Lew—I don’t believe I recognize the name. Where are your people from?”

“I was born in Richmond, although we’re not from there, exactly. Old Master Van Lew brought Mama with him when he came from New York, way back in ’16. And Papa, he was born on a plantation in the Tidewater. I’m not sure which one, as he doesn’t like to talk about it. But they’re in Richmond now, at least until Master Mahon—”

“Yes, well.” She turned to Mrs. Thayer. “How is Phillipa coming on at school? I understand she is now Grace Mapps’s star pupil.”

I listened silently to Mrs. Thayer’s recounting of Phillipa’s triumphs, until Theodore returned and steered me off to see the conservatory that Mrs. Catto had fashioned out of a sunporch at the back of the house. As we stood among the flowers crowding the candlelit room, he insisted on knowing why I was suddenly so glum. Fiddling with the crystal punch cup, I told him what had happened.

“Oh, you mustn’t mind Mother and Aunt Gwen. They’ve been plotting my betrothal to Cousin Phillipa since before either of us could walk or talk.”

I nearly sputtered out my punch. “Your betrothal?”

“You needn’t be so worried. I have no interest in becoming a stepping stool for my stuck-up cousin’s rise to the zenith of colored Philadelphia. Not when there are girls as sweet and lovely as you about.” His wooing warmed me faster than the brandy-punch, until I heard what he said next. “Only, you oughtn’t go on about your parents being slaves. People might hold it against you.”

“Hold it against me? Whatever for?” I looked past the conservatory to the sitting room, full of colored people of every complexion, dressed in as much finery as their varying financial means allowed. “Surely everyone here is descended from slaves.”

“Indeed, and they hardly wish to be reminded of their own proximity to the ‘unfortunate condition.’ When it comes to Mother, I suggest you accommodate that wish. After all, you wouldn’t want to abandon me to Cousin Phillipa, would you?”

I couldn’t help but grin. “I suppose not.”

“Good. Then may I have the honor of the next dance?” He bowed with mock formality.

“Of course you may.” I returned his bow with as deep a curtsy as I could manage in my moiré and crinolines. The pianist played the first delicate minor notes of a mazurka. As we took our places among the dancers, I soon forgot all about his family, and my own.

“I never expected your head to be turned by light skin and a large fortune,” Hattie teased once Theodore and I began courting.

“I didn’t seek him out,” I reminded her. “And I didn’t know he was rich till you told me.”

Even among all Miss Douglass’s and Miss Mapps’s students, Phillipa was the only one who was truly rich, and her carrying on didn’t make the small group of wealthy colored families seem any too admirable. And whatever complaints Papa had about Mama raising me dicty, she never fell in for the worship of light complexions, not as dark as she and Papa both were. So though I shivered with pleasure over Theodore’s good looks, I assured myself that it wasn’t his coloring or his money but his confidence, his charm, and that easy smile that attracted me. I half hoped some of his aplomb might rub off on me, if I spent enough time with him.

Theodore had his own little phaeton, maroon with gold wheels, his initials embroidered in gold all over the maroon leather seat and inside the hood. “I see Mr. Hinton has sent his most gracious driver to collect me,” I joked the first time he handed me up and then settled in beside me.

“My mother has a driver.” He flicked the reins, and the white Arabian pranced off. “I can’t bear him. A man should handle his own horses.”

I recalled Mama’s reports of Bet’s antics with her gig.
Folks on Church Hill finaly found a way to keep there Chickens from wandering in to the Road. Just let Miss Bet come careening arownd a turn & Feathers are flying every wich way till them Birds are out of site. Course she dont know Herself what a Terror she is. She even offers to drive Me on my errands! No Mam I say finding every Excuse I can why I need to walk down to First Market insted of ride. She drove Terry Farr out to the farm one day to see what Produce to ecspect in to the house all Season & by the time they got home Terry was Whiter then Mistress V from frite over how Miss Bet ran that gig all over the Streets.

“And what about a lady?” I asked, wondering what Theodore would make of Bet.

“Why don’t we see about that for ourselves?” He held the gold-studded reins out to me.

I was about to laugh and push his hands away when he added, “I thought you were the type who’d take on a whole team of wild horses. Perhaps I was wrong.”

I snatched the reins right then. I wasn’t the type to take on a whole team of wild horses, or at least I didn’t think I was. But if Theodore wanted to believe that of me, I was willing to try.

It felt good to hold the weight of the leather straps in my hands, Theodore leaning against my arm as he instructed me on how to guide the Arabian. That easy smile was all over his face, and I met it with one of my own as I led us along Washington Square. “You’re not worried it will damage your reputation, to be driven by a female?”

“I can only be the envy of anyone who sees me, to have such a lovely and skillful companion. My sole concern is that some rival will try to steal you away. To drive his coach, I mean.” But from the pleased look on his face, I knew he wasn’t worried one whit. And from the thrill of pleasure I felt riding with him, I knew he had no reason to be.

Though Hattie and George happily kept company the way all of her sisters and their beaux had, visiting at each other’s houses in the evening, the same couldn’t be said for me and Theodore. I couldn’t bear the idea of submitting him to the Upshaws, but I didn’t much care for calling at his home or his aunt’s, either. Those mansions made me long for the tiny houses where free negroes or boarding-out slaves lived in Richmond. At least there, everyone was together, making their own good time laughing and talking and singing. But the two families that declared themselves the very best of colored Philadelphia naturally had better ways to do things, or so they thought. Which meant that after the guests endured a solemn six-course supper beneath the marble-eyed hunting trophies that lined the dark-paneled dining room, the men disappeared into a separate parlor to smoke and play cards. Theodore couldn’t possibly join the ladies, he explained, it just wasn’t done. So I was left with the womenfolk, who only addressed me when they thought I needed to be put in my place.

After effusing praise for a tune Phillipa played on the pianoforte, or complimenting another young lady’s performance on the Spanish guitar, Mrs. Thayer would turn to me. “But we mustn’t be rude to our new guest. Do play something for us, Miss Van Lew.”

“You’ve forgotten, dear sister,” Mrs. Hinton would say, “Miss Van Lew can’t play.”

“How unfortunate,” Mrs. Thayer would reply, “I am so sorry to hear of it.”

But she wasn’t really sorry to hear of it, nor to remind me of it, because she brought it up on just about every visit I paid. The years her pretty, pale daughter studied music, I spent waiting on a white family, and she wasn’t about to let anyone in the ladies’ parlor forget it.

Though the ladies lavished admiration on each other’s fancywork, only one other guest ever asked after what I sewed. When I proudly held up the glengarry cap I was trimming and explained it was to be sold months later at the fair, her curiosity withered away.

“A seamstress for customers, how . . . interesting,” she said, turning back to her own needlework.

Mrs. Thayer, Mrs. Hinton, and their guests didn’t bother with any charity fairs. They sewed only gifts for new brides or new mothers. And sometimes it seemed they only did that to make me feel more unwelcome.

“What a fine match Mrs. Dunbar’s son has made. Precisely the daughter-in-law she always knew was right for her boy,” Mrs. Hinton said as she embroidered a pillow for the young couple.

“The Dorsey baby is lovely,” Mrs. Thayer assured everyone while she sewed lace onto her newest godchild’s christening gown. “And so promising, descended on both sides from the oldest and best families in Philadelphia.”

Colored families, she meant. Because though the Hintons and the Thayers seemed to want more than anything else to be white, they acted as if white people didn’t exist, and especially as though negroes, at least the few negroes they deemed worthy of inclusion in their social set, never faced such a thing as race prejudice. Even Theodore carried on that way, and I couldn’t possibly explain to him why I felt less at ease sitting with the ladies of his family than working beside Zinnie Moore and the other women in my sewing circle, or listening to the impassioned lectures at the Lyceum.

Though it had taken all Hattie’s persuading to convince me to return to the Lyceum after the Stowe debate, when I did, I found the speeches of visiting abolitionists like Mr. Frederick Douglass, Mr. William Wells Brown, and Miss Frances Watkins—a woman who spoke with such eloquence and fervor even the menfolk leapt to their feet to applaud her—enthralling. But Theodore refused to accompany me, complaining, “They’re as predictable as parrots, repeating the same dull phrases over and over.”