Colonel and Mrs. Trevelyne have returned from the city and pronounce themselves delighted to see me again, which is big of them, considering the fact that I almost caused an international incident when last I was in their house. I think they put up with having me around mostly because I seem to bring some cheer to their children.
Christmas approaches and we have a fine, deep snowfall, and horse-drawn sleighs are rigged and we bundle up and go out caroling and wassailing. It is great fun, careening about the countryside and pulling up in front of houses, their lighted windows buried up to their sills in the snow, us piling out, getting into a group somewhat resembling a chorus, and belting out "Good King Wenceslaus," to the great hilarity of all. We are then invited in, to great house or small, and if the people within have a treat to give us, they give it. If not, then we give treats to them.
Toasts are drunk—in the rich houses, great bowls of wine that have spices like cinnamon and clove and nutmeg in them, and little pieces of toast floating, a piece of which is gathered up with each cup, and hence, a toast is said and drunk—and eaten, if the chunk of toast ends up in your mouth. In the poorer houses, some simple cakes are offered and we accept them in the spirit in which they are given. When we go, we leave more than we take.
Amy says that in the country, this custom is not just for fun—though I do find it great, glorious fun to be crammed in the back of a crowded sleigh, wrapped up in mufflers and scarves, thigh to thigh with Randall, his arm around my shoulders, all of us singing at the tops of our lungs, our breath, puffs of white fog in the cold winter's night. No, another reason for this practice is that it is an excuse to check on your neighbors without them taking shame or offense, to see if they are going to get through the winter all right—for we stop at the poor cottages, too, as well as the rich ones. To see if old Widow Crenshaw has enough wood stored in her shed, or if the Winslow family has enough food put up in their root cellar to feed the four children till spring, and if not, then steps are quietly taken to make things right—stacks of wood cut the proper size for the fireplace for some, sacks of potatoes, beets, and a few hams brought in for others. I find I like my country friends more and more, day by winter day.
Christmas Eve comes and we decorate the tree in the Great Hall and sing more carols, and all the people of Dovecote come with their children and we have a huge roaring party. The hall has a small stage on one end, and it doesn't take long for Jacky Faber to be up on it and doing a set. When I finish with a flourish of fiddle and dancing feet, I get generous applause, which, as always, warms the very depths of my show-off soul.
Christmas Day is quieter, with just family and me. We have a great feast, then later, when we are seated about the fireplace, we exchange gifts. I get some lovely dress fabric from the Colonel and his missus, a fine new fiddle bow from Amy, and a silver comb-and-mirror set from Randall. I protest that it is all much too much, and I can only give them something small and worthless: To each, I give a piece of the whalebone scrimshaw I had made on my whaling voyage. A naval battle scene goes to Colonel Trevelyne, an angel playing a harp to his wife, and a spouting whale to Amy. All say they like them and shall display them proudly.
When I give Randall his, I ask him to unwrap it in private, and he looks intrigued and slips it in his pocket, but the Colonel will hear nothing of it—"Come, come, let him open it now! We'll have no coyness here! Say you will allow it, my dear!"
I blush and nod.
The piece that I gave to Randall pictures a very saucy mermaid sitting on a rock. She is playing a pennywhistle, and, well ... maybe she looks a bit like me.
Part II
Chapter 10
The holidays are behind us and we are back at school.
Being January, it was too cold to take the Star, so we had to come by coach, and we clattered up Beacon Street and piled out at the front door of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls. The vile Dobbs came out, surly and ill-tempered as ever, and carried our bags inside and put them in the foyer, whereupon they were carried up to the dormitory by the serving girls, all of whom I warmly embraced, having once been one of their number and treated very kindly by them as well. The vile Dobbs was not allowed up there without Mistress being with him, thank God. He gave me an especially black look, me having caused him some trouble in the past.
More coaches were pulling up, and other girls were getting out of them, and many fathers and mothers were saying farewell to their daughters, the mothers primping them up and the fathers shaking fingers in their faces, no doubt telling them to be good. As if we could be anything else but good here.
Now there is another, louder clatter of hooves from outside and I peek out the little side window and see that it is none other than Clarissa Worthington Howe, being delivered in a full coach and four. It seems that I am not to be spared the joy of her company, after all. The door is opened and out steps a large man, finely dressed and one plainly aware of his own importance. He reaches up a hand and it is taken by Miss Clarissa, a vision of pink-and-white silk-and-chiffon loveliness as she floats to the ground, light as a feather. That big fellow must be her father, poor man.
Father and daughter see each other off with bow, curtsy, and quick peck of a kiss, while five large trunks are put on the pavement. Dobbs begins hauling them inside.
I step away from the window and wait for her to come in.
"You be civil, now, Jacky," warns Amy, who stands by my side.
"Oh, I will be, Sister, and I will be careful, too. I well remember our past encounters." I have a neat, semicircular scar on my forearm, a mark left upon me by Clarissa's perfect and oh-so-well-bred teeth when she sank those selfsame teeth into me. I don't really blame her for that, though, since at the time, I was trying to beat her senseless myself. But I do blame her for plying me with strong but oh-so-sweet-and-smooth bourbon liquor at the great ball at Dovecote, she pretending that we would be friends from then on, and me, stupid me, believing her and drinking down what she offered to my trusting self. Oh, yes, I do blame her for that, and I know that things ain't over between us, count on it.
"...and don't scratch my things, my man, or I'll see your pay docked. Damn, could you be any more clumsy and slow? The help here, I swear." I hear Clarissa say this to the bent-over and mumbling Dobbs as she sweeps into the room before him. He puts down the trunk and heads out for another. "You, there," she says to Annie and Sylvie, who have just come back into the room. "Take this trunk upstairs. You know where it goes. Do it."
"Yes, Miss," murmurs Annie, and she and Sylvie each take an end and struggle up the stairs with it. I give them a sympathetic wink, and I know they appreciate it, especially when I hold my nose and glance toward Clarissa.
Clarissa senses something going on behind her. She spins around and spies me standing there, hand brought quickly off my nose and back to my side. Not quickly enough, I suspect. She starts but quickly recovers, a little spot of pink appearing on each of her flawless cheeks.
"So. You, again. I would have thought they would have hanged you by now," she says. She looks me up and down. "A pity they have not."
"So good to see you, too, Clarissa dear." I give the very slightest of dips without taking my eyes off hers. "I am sure that since last we met, you have been passing the time in doing good works that bring relief to your fellow man and reflect honorably on your name"
"I am as sure of that, Jacky dear, as I am sure that you've been off whoring," she says shortly.
My hands hook into claws, but Amy's hand is on my arm and I hold back. I ready a retort, but then I say nothing, for there comes into the foyer something that makes my jaw drop in disbelief: It is a young black girl, simply dressed in a maid's uniform of white linen dress, apron, and cap. She stands there, hands folded, and awaits instructions from her mistress. Clarissa has brought a slave back with her. How could she do that? How could...
Clarissa sees my reaction and turns to the girl. "Go upstairs and put my things away. You know how I like things done."
The girl nods, bobs, and turns to leave.
"Till later, then," says Clarissa, with a nod to Amy. "I must go greet Mistress and tell her that I have arrived. And register my protest that scum such as she has again been allowed into our midst." And then she, too, leaves.
I am astounded and speechless. For a while, anyway.
"How can she get away with that?" I ask Amy, whose stand against slavery is well known to all who know her. "This is Massachusetts!"
"Yes, it is, but Massachusetts outlawed slavery only two years ago—and then only by a judge striking the practice down, not by a popular vote, you may count on that."
I'm standing there steaming, and Amy takes my arm and gives me a bit of a shake. "Come, now, we'll talk about that later. Right now, here comes Dolley ... yes, and Martha, too."
And as they come in, joyous greetings are exchanged. Dear, dear Dolley, you who are the absolute best of us! And Martha, so good to see you! Oh, please, come and embrace me, for you could not be more well met!
All thirty of us arrive. I greet the ones I know and am introduced to the new ones. Exclamations of gleeful surprise—"It can't be you." "Oh, yes, Jacky it is!"—at seeing me back in black dress and back in school. And from my own amazed mouth: "Rebecca, little Rebecca, how you have grown!" Everything is a whirl of ribbons and bows. Everything is joyful, giddy, and gay.
But I just can't get that black girl out of my mind. Damn that Clarissa! Damn her straight to Hell!
Chapter 11
"In the classic Greek play, we have the stage divided into the following parts: the proscenium, which is where the main action took place, the ... Ahem! Miss Faber, could that be your head that is nodding in slumber? Ah. I thought not. Forgive me. Well, then, to continue..."
Yes, we have settled in, all of us, friend and foe alike, back into the rhythm of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls. Classes did begin again and I turned myself to my studies, while January turned to February, and February turned to March.
Most things are as they were when I left—all the teachers are back, and all the same courses: French, Art, History, Geography, the Classics, Math, Science, and Music. Yes, and Embroidery and Household Management are still there, too.
I know most of the girls, and everybody certainly knows me, or of me, anyway, because of Amy's book. There are some who have moved away—none have died, thank God—and there are a few new ones. One of these is Elspeth Goodwin, who has just moved to the city with her family, from Philadelphia. She's a bright, cheerful, pretty girl, who quickly attached herself to me, which was all right. I liked her, and accepted her early invitation to spend a weekend at her house. We had a g*y time of it and it was good to get out of the school, at least for a short time. Her parents could not have been nicer to me and they are certainly proud of their daughter, her going off to a fine school and all. She is the very apple of their eye, and she plainly loves them very much, too. Amy finds her a bit flighty, a bit shallow, all ribbons and bows, but what the hell, Amy, not everybody can be as deep as you, and Elspeth's girlish, bubbly enthusiasm gives me cheer.