“What you doin’ to me?” I ask when right away he starts soapin’ me and scrubbin’ away, like Mama do with the pig’s feet before she cook ’em.
“Stay still,” he says, pouring water over me, but when my eyes start burnin’ from the soap, I grab at him and pull myself up.
“I can’t see nothin’, I can’t see nothin’,” I say, forgettin’ not to be loud.
He cleans the soap from my eyes, then gives me a big rag to dry myself off before he hands me my new clothes.
“Where’d you get these clothes?” I ask. “How’d you get ’em to fit me?” The white shirt and the brown pants, even though they’s too long, look almost good as his. He don’t say nothin’ but leans down and rolls up the pants, and while I still got ’em on, he stitches ’em up. Then he stands back lookin’ at me before he gives me some black shoes to put on. I never have shoes before, just a old pair of boots that Mama and me both use when we go out in winter. The shoes feel funny.
“They’s too small,” I say. “They squeezin’ me in.”
“They are fine,” he say, “and I don’t want to see you without them.”
ROBERT TAKES ME upstairs to show me how to clean out the fireplaces and to set a fire. There’s five rooms we go to, and I stick close to him, wonderin’ how we ever gon’ find our way back, but he do. Back in the kitchen he sets me up in a small room where he shows me how to clean boots. First you got to take off all the dirt with a brush, then you stir up what’s called the blacking, and then you use another brush to put it on the boots.
“What’s in that stuff?” I ask, not sure if I like the smell.
“Some sweet oil, some beer, some molasses . . .”
“I already taste molasses,” I say.
“Well, don’t go tasting this,” he says, then shows me how to finish up with the last brush that he calls the polisher. After he goes, I get to work and keep workin’, even though my arms is ’bout to drop off, until Molly comes and tells me it’s time to eat.
“We gon’ eat again?” I say, ’cause it’s the middle of the day!
“Come on,” she says, and sets me down at the table with another plate of food. This time it’s fried potatoes and a whole pork sausage. She sits down across from me and starts eatin’ at her own plate, but I jus’ can’ take in all that food. I keep lookin’ at it till I start snifflin’.
“You cryin’, chil’,” she asks. “What? You don’ like Molly’s cookin’?”
“I like your cookin’!”
“Well, then, what’s troublin’ you?”
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout my mama. I jus’ wish she was here to be tastin’ some of this.”
“Nothin’ would make your mama happier than if you’d start eatin’ so’s you could get yourself back to work,” Molly says.
“How ’bout I save it till later?” I ask. “I’m goin’ to be hungry then.”
“That be fine,” she said, “but you sit here awhile, maybe you change your mind.”
I don’t know what to do, so I just sit there watchin’ her eat and lookin’ at the small green flowers on the red rag that she got tied up ’round her head. Molly’s got a big head, but then she’s a lot bigger all ’round, and I’m guessin’ it’s all the food she gets to eat.
“Mmm,” she says, “I sure do like this sausage.” She got big brown eyes and I like the way they look at me. “Potatoes good, too,” she says. “The onions and the butter make ’em taste real good. You sure you don’ want some?”
“No,” I say, “I keep mine for later.”
“Jus’ so you know, long as you here, you get all the food you want,” she says.
When she finishes her food, she sits back and drinks some coffee from a blue and white china cup. “You want some milk?” she asks, but I say, “No, my stomach is still big from eatin’ them two eggs.”
She tips up her cup and finishes her drink, then pushes back from the table and stands up. “Well, you go on, then,” she says. “Get back to polishin’ those boots.”
That night when Molly sends me to bed, I ask if I can leave the door open so I can call out to her if I need somethin’. She say that fine by her, and not long after, I hear her snorin’, so it ain’t so quiet, and even though I still cry for my mama, I get to sleep easier. Next day I get up before the sun an’ I’m waitin’ for her and Robert in the kitchen when they show up.
“Give me some work,” I say, afraid that if they don’t get me goin’, Mr. Burton send me off. So Molly gets me to carry in wood and sweep the floor. When it’s time to eat, she hands me a plate with two eggs and some warm biscuits that got butter drippin’ off. I eat it all, even though my stomach rumblin’ ’cause it don’ know what to do with all this food, then she sets me up to help her wash the pots an’ pans.
CHAPTER THREE
1830
James
IT WAS DARK after Henry left, and in my dressing room Robert had already put flame to the candle sconces on my tall cheval mirror. I slipped off my day coat and draped it carefully over the back of the tapestry-covered armchair, yet another fine piece of furniture that I inherited after Mrs. Burton died. But this night, appreciation for what my adopted parents had given me was overridden by my worry. In fact, I was so filled with concern that I, a man who is always punctual, sat down in the chair knowing full well I was already behind schedule and that tonight a late entry would not do.
To blend into this aristocratic society, through the years I had painstakingly studied the unwritten rules. Knowing when to arrive and, as important, when to take leave, was only the beginning. Whom to greet, whose hand to take, the clothes to wear, the gift to send, all reflected back, and that, for me, left no room for error.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, I questioned if I could meet the challenge. This evening’s event, hosted at the home of leading society members, Mr. and Mrs. Cardon, was meant as a celebration for artists awarded grants from the Peale Museum. Most of the attention would fall on known artists, and though I was one of the minor recipients, my appearance was required. I should have been eager to attend, yet I sat, head in hands: Pan’s disappearance and Henry’s visit had raised buried fears.
When the museum offered to fund an art excursion, I leaped at the opportunity. Their support was given so I might travel south along the coastline to study the natural habitat of birds native to that region. If, on my return, my work was approved, it would result in a small book for print, meant for travelers to better identify bird species. Now, after Henry’s visit, I questioned my quick decision to accept. In the twenty years since I had escaped Virginia, time had dulled my fears, but when faced with Henry’s alarm about Pan’s disappearance, I was reminded of the dangers that might await me in those Southern slave states. Might I be recognized? Was it possible that patrollers were still searching for me? Why hadn’t I considered my safety more carefully? Yet these worries came too late, for I was committed, and there was no turning back.
My anxiety about the evening only increased when I considered another concern, one as troubling as my first. It was Caroline. I was torn, for seeing her again would mean an end to the agony of our separation. But in what state would I find her? She had every right to be furious that I had stayed away.
I heard the clock strike and forced myself to my feet. Quickly, I removed my clothes, then shivered as I lowered myself into the bath, for though there was heat from the fireplace, the water had already cooled in the metal tub. I had no sooner soaped myself than Robert entered, bearing a large bucket of steaming water. “I was hoping you would wait,” he said.
“I am already late.”