Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(80)

Addy tried to restrain herself as the two others gaped openly at the small oak table and my case of art supplies on the table. Then curiosity won out and Adelaide, drawn to my open traveling case, moved in to take a closer look. “Oh, what is in that one?” she asked. I withdrew the cut-glass bottle and unscrewed the silver top to let her sniff my Bay Rum cologne.

She closed her eyes. “Heavenly, Mr. Burton!”

I offered the experience to Clora, who put her face too close. She sputtered and coughed, then looked at me as though I had tricked her. “Here,” I said, showing her how to better take in the scent by wafting the bottle under her nose.

“You are a patient man,” Adelaide said. “I wish I shared that virtue.”

I chuckled at her outspokenness. When she smiled back, I reminded myself to use caution. The girl was immature and had lived an insulated life, and because of it I supposed that she might misinterpret much.

I threw on my old straw hat and slung a pair of field glasses around my neck. “But now you must take me for a walk,” I said. “Do you think we might spy a Carolina parakeet? Are we far from Southwood? I hear there are many in that area.”

“Oh, we don’t have to go as far as Southwood. I have seen them everywhere!” Adelaide said.

“When did you see them? What do they look like, Addy?” Patty asked innocently.

Adelaide blushed as she scowled at her sister and then looked at me. “I believe they are . . . colorful, are they not?”

I took pity on her. “You are so right,” I said. “They are exceptionally colorful. Their forehead and upper cheeks are orange, while their neck and head are yellow. The rest of their plumage is green, and their legs and feet are a pinkish brown. Imagine that.”

“Exactly so,” agreed Adelaide. “Those are the ones I have seen!”

“But have you seen the purple ones?” I teased, and when the three looked at me in disbelief, I winked at Patricia. For the first time Clora spoke up. “We don’t see no purple birds ’round here,” she said emphatically.

“I might have seen one or two,” Adelaide said.

“No, you don’t,” Clora answered.

Addy shot her a dark look. “You shouldn’t sass, Clora.”

Patricia reached for Clora’s hand. “She’s not sassing, are you, Clora?”

Clora shook her head.

“Might Addy have seen a purple bird, Mr. Burton?” Patricia asked.

“I believe that Miss Adelaide will see things that others might not,” I replied, and was rewarded with another smile from Adelaide. “And now for our walk,” I said, holding open the door to let the three of them dance out before me. “Could you show me the direction of Southwood from here?”


I DOUBTED WE would sight the bird, for the colorful parrot, the only species of its kind known to have existed this far north, had become scarce. The girls cared little if they saw the parrot but squabbled over the use of my field glasses until I took them back for myself. I asked again about the Southwood plantation border, and they pointed to the property that appeared less than a mile or so away. Was it possible that Pan was really this close? Again I had the thought of going directly over to claim him, but reminded myself that this was not Philadelphia and here he was considered someone else’s property. No, I must approach this carefully.

Later in the day I was back in my room debating my next move when Clora’s mother, Hester, came to ask for my soiled clothing. She seemed pleasant enough, and because of her connection to the neighboring plantation, I hoped she might have some useful information. “I must say that your young charges are a credit to this household,” I began, gathering the clothes that needed laundering.

“Mrs. Spencer raise them right. Mr. Spencer gon’ be lost without her. They all good girls,” she said, “but that Miss Addy, she somethin’.”

I smiled at her honest observation and decided to risk raising the subject of Southwood. “I believe you came from Southwood?” I asked, and recognized my mistake when she scooped away my garments. “I don’ talk ’bout that,” she mumbled, and made a quick exit.


NEWS OF A traveling artist from Philadelphia must have been intriguing to the local gentry, for within days of my arrival, servants from the surrounding plantations began to arrive by horse or buggy to deliver social invitations. Fortunately, I managed to avoid attending these affairs by using as excuse my respect for Mr. Spencer’s recent loss of his wife. However, with each new invitation I became more anxious to retrieve Pan so we could leave.

Though I doubted the museum would have made public the news of the withdrawal of their funding, or that Mr. Cardon would have told anyone of the intimate and sensitive details of his family crisis, I did fear the gossip of servants, which often traveled faster than fire into the wealthy homes of Philadelphia. My chief concern was avoiding this select Carolina group of merchants and planters, with their strong business and personal ties not only to one another but to Philadelphia as well.

There was a second concern, and it grew daily. With these Southern plantations so interconnected, I was afraid that news of my whereabouts might alert people such as Jake or Rankin. If only my eye weren’t such a distinctive feature.

I had not heard from Robert and I tried my best to set that concern aside, but my tension mounted. As etiquette dictated, I was obliged to wait for my host to arrange a meeting with his neighbor, but Mr. Spencer appeared to be in no hurry to do so. Keeping to my end of the bargain, I began art classes with the girls; finding them receptive, I included some penmanship as well. Meanwhile, Mr. Spencer, clearly suffering the loss of his wife, sat for hours alone in his study or rode off by himself for long stretches of the day. When he was home, I saw how easily his daughters found their way around him and noted, too, how at a loss he appeared with them. Finally, one evening at the beginning of June, the two of us were alone in his study, and I could hold off no longer.