Chapter Forty-Six
JUNE 30, 1848
It may be nothing, that little circle over the letter i. It may be only a personal conceit, and not an identification code, but such a whimsical liberty taken with the written language does not seem like Sarah, a purist when it comes to writing and speaking English, nor like Mr. Handley. I would not dare inquire about the practice in my correspondence to Sarah for fear that a postal clerk, seeing a letter addressed to a northern city, would open it to expose a sympathizer. In regard to Mr. Handley, I keep looking for signs but so far there has been no indication “the tutor of Houston Avenue” supports the Northern cause. We—and the DuMonts and Warwicks—refer to him in that vernacular because he now tutors their children in the afternoons following his lessons with Thomas.
Mr. Handley arrived two months ago. I collected him from the coach station and brought him here for our interview. He was not as I, nor Silas, expected. I could tell that Silas was surprised when they were introduced. We discussed the subject later in private. Both of us had thought we’d meet a pale, myopic, fastidious man with lily-white hands and a limp handshake, definitely someone who spent most of his days indoors, absorbed in a book when not tutoring students. Mr. Handley, while slight of build and of no great height, quickly proved our assumptions wrong. We could read his intelligence and zest for life in his clear-eyed, steady gaze and feel his confidence in his firm handshake. His attire was indeed impeccable without giving the impression he was above removing his spotless frock coat and rolling up his crisp linen sleeves if a situation called for it. Silas and I, Jeremiah and Maddie—unerring weather vanes of people—and especially Thomas, liked him immediately, to my great relief. Our son even showed a little jealousy at having to share his tutor with his friends.
We installed Mr. Handley in the apartment above the carriage house, which he says suits him perfectly, and have settled down to a routine. From nine o’clock in the morning until noon, he tutors Thomas. He brought books with him, the latest editions addressing reading, writing, and arithmetic, but Thomas’s favorite part of the session is the study of Homer’s Iliad. It will be interesting to hear from Thomas the slant Mr. Handley gives the poem. Will he emphasize that war is glorious or that it decimates families and property and constitutes a waste of time and human life?
I have tried to sound Mr. Handley out about the growing tensions between the North and South to determine if we have an abolitionist in our midst, and if so, whether he’s an active member or a simple believer, but neither by word or deed has he given me a hint of where his loyalties lie. He treats Jeremiah and Maddie with a respect deeper than the common politeness a superior accords a servant, perhaps because he feels he shares their status. On one occasion, he stepped in for Jeremiah, who was ill, and a guest mistook him for our houseman. Our guest treated him with the contempt a man of his self-importance would, and upon his departure when Mr. Handley handed him his cane and hat, the man snapped, “Is this my hat?”
Without missing a beat, Mr. Handley replied, “I wouldn’t know, sir, but it’s the one you came with.”
The Mexican-American War ended in February, and Mexico ceded approximately seven territories to the U.S. that in time will be annexed to the union . The acquisition has incited another confrontation between anti- and pro-slavery members of Congress. If the territories are admitted as free states, the balance of power will be upset, and the North can outvote the South on issues regarding slavery—could even abolish it.
I asked Mr. Handley straight out for his view of what will be the outcome of the debate, hoping he would confide to me what should be the outcome.
“Compromise,” he said, “where neither side gets what it wants.”
His neutral answer left my curiosity unsatisfied, but not dampened, and so I decided to smoke him out by revealing where my sympathies lie. I wanted him to know that he was not alone.
The Warwicks and DuMonts are frequent guests to our house, and Guy Handley has become a welcome addition to our gatherings. He has great wit and charm, and Jeremy and Camellia, Henri and Bess are delighted with his instruction of their children. He even has the boys reciting passages from Shakespeare’s plays, and in August there is to be a theatrical performance of Macbeth in which our sons and Nanette DuMont are to be players.
My sympathies are no secret among these, our closest friends. They are like family to Silas and Thomas and me. None of them possess slaves, and if truth be told, out of the group, only Silas believes slavery is essential to the southern economy. I picked my moment well. We were all seated at supper, and I said, quite casually, “I understand there is to be a Women’s Rights Convention held in New York next month.”
“Really?” Camellia said, her blue eyes round. “Whatever for?”
“To declare that women should have the right to vote, to have access to equal education, control of their body and property, and equal pay for equal work,” I recited.
“I read about that,” Jeremy said. “Good luck to them, I say.”
“Sounds fair to me,” Henri said.
Silas looked down the table at me, a smile curving his mouth. “I thought our ladies already had those rights except the one to vote. Gentlemen, can you imagine what would happen if we denied our wives anything they want?”
There was laughter at this, and then I said, “That is only saying that we ladies at this table are not called upon to fight for what should rightfully be ours, but the truth is that in this country women have no more rights than a field Negro, may he live to see the day that he is free.”
Mr. Handley stared at me while the others spooned up their dessert, no more bothered by my remark than if a mosquito had landed on their dollops of cream. I had no idea what he was thinking. Was he merely shocked that the wife of a slave owner held such an opinion, or that he’d discovered a fellow ally in the enemy camp? Whatever his thoughts, I had declared myself. Now I must simply wait to see what happens.