Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(12)

“SO, MR. BURTON? I hear that you are soon to leave us?” the minister addressed me. I nodded, not caring to encourage a conversation. This offended him, which suited me. He drew back his coat and put his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat. Thrusting his significant stomach forward, he slowly surveyed the room. “I would suppose that some husbands and fathers will breathe easier while you are away,” he said to no one in particular. His wife had the decency to give a faint gasp.

I was about to respond when Mrs. Cardon, always the expert hostess, addressed the minister and his wife. “Well, I’m afraid that Mr. Burton and I must leave the two of you to Mr. Cardon. Mr. Burton is, after all, our man of the hour, and we must give others their chance to wish him good fortune.” She leaned in to me as she skillfully led me away. “You must ignore him,” she said, “as I have learned to do.”

I glanced down at her, but she was not smiling. She was what? Fifty years, give or take five on either side? Her bad teeth were a distraction, but her fair complexion remained, and though she carried extra weight, her corsets and beautifully cut blue silk gown enhanced her full figure. Considered one of the most powerful women in Philadelphia society, she used her quick wit and charm to rule from the throne of her husband’s vast wealth.

As we moved away from earshot of her husband, she spoke over the music, and her voice held an edge. “Mr. Burton, you must know that it was because of my support that you were given this opportunity?”

“You know how grateful I have always been for your support,” I said.

“Indeed,” she said, thrusting her chin forward as she propelled us in Caroline’s direction. “I promised my daughter to bring you to her. This is her last evening out, as tomorrow Caroline and I will leave for the country. I am concerned about her health.” Her hand was clenched viselike on my arm, but she responded only with charm when various guests waylaid us to offer congratulations on my good fortune.

As we grew closer to Caroline, Mrs. Cardon leaned in to me once again. “It is too early in the season for Mr. Cardon and Mr. Preston—Caroline’s husband,” she added pointedly, “to be joining us at Stonehill, so they will be staying here in town. It is quiet in the country, so we shall have privacy. However, Caroline agreed to go to Stonehill only on the condition that I extend an invitation for you to visit. You will find time to do so before you leave?”

I met her penetrating gaze. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” I said. “I shall await your invitation.”

I could think of little but loosening my damp collar, but I quickly forgot that as we grew closer to Caroline and I saw how thin she had grown. Then I noticed her small waistline. Wouldn’t the tight stays of her corset harm our child?





CHAPTER SIX


1830


Pan


BY THE TIME I’m ten years old, I’m old enough to go on my own to see my daddy on Sundays. Because I’m dressed clean and I’m learning to talk like Mr. Burton, when I ask nice, the wagons going out of town give me a ride. My daddy always waits for me at the barns behind the tavern, then takes me to his shelter in the woods that he keeps moving around.

“Why don’t you stay put?” I ask. “Then I could come find you on my own.”

“I got to keep movin’ ’case that ol masta come lookin’ for me,” he says.

“But Daddy, don’t you think he forgot about you by now?”

“That old masta is sly, and I ’spect I see him any day. I’s ready to head out soon’s I catch sight a him.”

“You’d just go and leave me?” I ask.

“Son, the best chance you got is stayin’ with Mr. Burton. All we’d be doin’ is runnin’.”

“What was it like bein’ a slave?” I ask.

“It nothin’ I like to talk ’bout.”

“But was it bad?”

“It bad enough that I’d sooner die as go back to livin’ like that.”

“But what if they ever get you again?” I ask.

“They never gon’ get me again. They got to kill me before that happen,” he says.

After he tells me that, when I go to meet him, my head is always hurtin’ till I see him waitin’ in the trees. Then I run to him, and when I give him a hug, I always got to stop myself from crying. I count on seeing him every Sunday, ’cause that’s how it was all of my life. The rest of the time it was just me and Mama. The best times we had was when my mama’s friend Sheila came by. Then I’d sit back and listen to the two of them talk. I liked to hear them laugh, even though Sheila had troubles of her own. Her two boys, both of them bigger than me, were always getting in a mess, and then her girl, just fourteen, goes out and gets her own baby.

One day after Sheila leaves, I ask Mama, “Why that girl of hers go out and bring in another baby? Sheila say she can’t feed the ones she got.”

“Those folks don’ know no better ’cause they was slaves, comin’ here to Phil’delphia from the farm where they don’t have nobody tellin’ them how to live free,” Mama says. “It hard on them, tryin’ to figure out how to make a livin’ when they can’t read or write. Mos’ come from workin’ in the fields and don’ even know how to serve in a big house. Too, a lot a them still scared a the white folks.”