The Gilded Years (13 page)

“And did my sister see him at Vassar?” said Frederick, without looking at Anita.

At Frederick’s change in tone, Lottie checked Anita’s expression, but Anita was sitting motionless, praying for Lottie to stop speaking.

“Well . . . she did,” said Lottie, with less zeal. “But he came unannounced. No letter or telegram. He just tromped into the visitors’ parlor and demanded to see her. Demanded in a gentlemanly fashion. Your sister couldn’t leave him there to rot, now, could she?” said Lottie.

“No, I suppose she couldn’t,” said Frederick, lowering his voice.

“My, my,” said Lottie, fanning herself with a linen napkin. She placed one of her monocles on her left eye for effect. “Who knew Anita had such a protective brother? It might not be much fun for her, but I find it charming. I appreciate a man who looks after his family. But as someone who knows a bit about these things, let me tell you, Frederick, that Porter Hamilton isn’t one to be worried about. If he’s showing interest in Anita, he’s serious. He hasn’t flirted with anyone the past three years, besides a dance or two. And his family is very highly regarded in Chicago. I’d say he’s one of the most eligible men at Harvard in the class of ’97, so you can’t be too cross with your sister.”

“My sister is here to study and graduate as close to the top of her class as she can,” said Frederick, putting down his cup with a rattle. “But no, as you say, I can’t be too cross with her.”

Lottie, thought Anita, would never have any idea how angry Frederick was with her at that moment, for she, Anita, had done the unthinkable. She had let a reputable white man become interested in her, and then had encouraged him by seeing him a second time. She knew that as soon as she was alone with her brother, he wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue, and she would have to listen because he
was right. She couldn’t see Porter again. That’s what Frederick would tell her. And she’d been aware of that from the beginning.

“Let’s leave all this talk of romance alone, shall we?” said Lottie, with a sympathetic glance Anita’s way. “Tell me more about Cornell, Frederick.”

“It’s frigid half the year,” he said, his tone light again. “What else interests you, Lottie?” he asked. “Politics?”

“Domestic policy tends to bore me,” said Lottie, nodding yes as Frederick offered her more tea. “I’m more interested in foreign policy. If I could, I would go straight into the Foreign Service and work as a diplomat in Asia. We, as in the country, have an envoy extraordinary in Japan now, one very lucky Edwin Dun, and he is but a rancher from Ohio, of all places. Can you imagine, of all the men to represent the United States in a country newly open to foreigners, they choose a rancher. It’s ghastly.”

“Lottie is very taken with Japan,” Anita explained to Frederick, happy at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Now, I don’t speak the language yet, but I
have
visited and can say, ‘This fish is delicious’ in their dialect: ‘
Kono sakana wa oishii desu
,’ ” Lottie went on. “Father has started frantically collecting the art. He’s excellent at staying ahead of the movements in the art market. ‘Respectable for a man from Pittsburgh,’ he always declares when assessing his collection, and now, it’s nothing but Japanese art for him. He even sold a small Thomas Cole and replaced it with an intricate woodblock print of naked courtesans doing the most shocking things. When I first saw the print, I held it upside down, but my father assured me that the woman in the center was supposed to be in such a position. They call them geishas there. As you can imagine, my poor mother was beside herself.”

Lottie proceeded to elaborate on what was and was not in vogue in the art world, to which Frederick nodded politely, as he did when he knew nothing of a subject.

When Lottie’s disquisition had run its course, she put both her hands on the table and said, “Well! I think it’s time I left the Hemmings siblings to themselves. Thank you for letting me impose on your tête-à-tête. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bore. I so wanted to meet you, Frederick. I knew Anita would keep you hidden away if I didn’t do a little spying on my own. That’s just her style, isn’t it?”

Anita opened her mouth to protest, but Lottie winked at her. “Don’t take offense, my dear, we can’t all be the hurricane. You’re more of a light drizzle.” She looked at Frederick and said, “Will you be a gentleman and escort me back to campus? Anita, you don’t mind, do you? It’s just a few steps.”

“I’d be happy to,” said Frederick, before his sister had time to answer. “Anita, will you order more Darjeeling? I’ll return shortly.”

Lottie beamed at her friend and went off with Frederick. Anita ignored her brother’s request and ordered a root beer. She wanted to follow them and listen to every word, but she knew it wasn’t necessary. Frederick was more careful with her reputation than she was.

When he returned, as Anita knew they would be, the first two words out of his mouth were “Porter Hamilton.”

“Anita, I don’t even have to say it, do I?”

“Of course you don’t, Frederick,” she said, refusing to look at him.

“I hope this disaster isn’t out of hand yet. Tell me it hasn’t gone far.”

“Far?” she said. “I’ve only seen him twice. Once at Harvard and once here.”

“And there haven’t been letters?”

Anita looked away.

“There can’t be any more, Anita,” he warned, his voice stern with anger. “You are conscious of that. It’s very dangerous. And weak on your part. You are fully aware that you can’t behave this way.”

“Fully aware,” she mumbled.

“You could ruin everything you’ve worked for. You can’t form relationships, even friendships, with anyone. You’ve known that for three years and now you decide to abandon caution? In your very final year? What has possessed you to act that way?”

She sat up and lowered her voice. “Frederick, I mean no disrespect, but you have no idea what the position I am in is like.”

With a nervous glance at the other customers, Frederick settled the bill and motioned for his sister to finish her root beer and leave the restaurant with him.

They walked outside into the brisk October air, down Raymond Avenue to a quiet corner a few paces from campus. Frederick gazed around to make sure there was no one nearby and suggested they walk a bit farther.

When they hadn’t passed another person for several minutes, Anita said as quietly as she could, “Frederick, you will never fully understand my situation. You, as a Negro, can speak to women like us and no one will condemn you. I can’t converse with Negro men, and I can’t speak to white men, either. I can’t make white friends, nor can I make colored friends. Bessie Baker is at Wellesley, and I don’t dare send her a letter in fear of having to acknowledge that I know her. Here I am white, Frederick, just like every other student. And I have to act that way. I need to dance with white men at proms, I need to be civil to my white roommate. I need to keep up the act that I have been keeping up successfully
for three years. You are allowed to have your own identity. I have to create mine.”

“I have an identity that keeps me completely excluded from my peers,” said Frederick, raising his voice. “I don’t room on campus, and you know why. I do not have friendships with other students. They do not invite me to football games or their homes. Some of them flinch when they have to work in the laboratory with me. It pains them to be near me. Embarrasses them. It’s only when I’m out of Boston, out of our Negro world, that I know what it’s like to be treated the way you are treated here every single day.”

“You speak as if it’s a gift!”

“It is a gift,” said Frederick, pitilessly. “Do not ruin it for yourself. Do not see Porter Hamilton again. Do not write to him. Do not dance with him. Do not enter a room that he is already in. Excise him from your life immediately.”

Anita didn’t respond, and they walked in silence, in anger, until they were close to campus again.

“I didn’t come here to scold you, Anita. I came here to make sure you were continuing to do well. To see you.”

“You saw me,” she replied. “And I’m glad you came, Frederick, but I’ve been handling myself here for three years. I think I can manage for nine more months.”

“I am sure you can. Just remember, you are not allowed the same luxuries as every other girl here. You can never let your guard down. Don’t let the affections of Porter Hamilton undermine all of your hard work.”

“I know,” Anita snapped. “Frederick, I know.”

She thought of her conversation on campus with Porter and how progressive he was. He wasn’t like the white men Frederick knew, or the men they read about. Porter’s parents, the city where he lived, and the new ideals that some Americans had begun to believe had shaped him into the kind of
man she knew Frederick would approve of if he would only broaden his position.

But she did not want to let Frederick’s disapproval stop the movements of her heart. After all, her brother would not return to campus again that year, but she was sure Porter would.

When Frederick had collected his things from the hotel and boarded the crowded streetcar for the rail station, Anita walked back to campus and up to her room. Lottie was sitting at her desk, writing a letter.

“It’s to your brother,” she said, without turning around. “He’s dashing, isn’t he?”

“Is he? I have a lot of trouble thinking about him as anything but my younger brother.”

“He doesn’t look much younger. He has quite a mature face. A wonderful jawline.”

“I’m just one year his senior,” said Anita, walking over to try to read Lottie’s letter. “But that shouldn’t make him any more striking.”

Lottie turned around. Her hair was down and falling in big curls around her shoulders. She looked like everything Anita was not. “Anita, he certainly is striking. Just like you. It’s those hypnotic Hemmings eyes. You should be forced to wear eyeglasses. How are the rest of us to keep up?” She turned back to her letter when Anita sat down. “It would be rude of me not to write him something about how lovely it was to make his acquaintance, so I’m doing so before I forget. Not that I would forget. You aren’t upset, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m glad you could meet.”

“So am I,” said Lottie, folding her paper and reaching for an envelope, which she had Anita address. It was the fashion for the women to have their own stationery pressed before they arrived at the college, with a gold-embossed
VC
, their
class year, and a poignant Latin phrase underneath. Lottie had already gone through fifteen sets in three years.

Anita folded the blanket on their little velvet divan and went into her bedroom. From the window, she could see girls coming in for the night, walking toward Strong Hall, happy and laughing. She hadn’t exaggerated her words to her brother. She had flourished at school for three years, trying desperately to be another Vassar girl amid the throng. But now she had Porter Hamilton; she was no longer part of the throng, and she could never go back.

B
y November, the cardinal leaves of autumn were browning and falling rapidly, and the Vassar campus was taking on its winter appearance, crinkling around the edges like burning pages of a book. But while the Northeast was sliding into its winter silence, Anita was doing anything but. In her senior year, protected by Lottie and the storied world she represented, and with the name Porter Hamilton now linked to hers, Anita had started to shed her long-ingrained caution, despite her brother’s warning. In the two months she’d been back on campus, she was quickly becoming the person she had dreamed she might be at Vassar.

Anita was still exchanging daily letters with Porter, who had yet to make another trip down to Poughkeepsie but had promised he would come for the Phil Day dance on December 4. Anita had read his letters until the paper felt thin, and then they grew even thinner from Lottie reading them, too. She often plucked them out of Anita’s hand when she was done, lying down on her bed with them as if they had been addressed to her.

Porter often wrote to Anita not only of his days at Harvard, full of club activities and sporting events, but also of his Chicago life and what he was looking forward to after
graduation. He wrote about riding the elevated railway system with his mother for the first time and how much they both loved it. Passionate about all forms of transportation, when Anita told him about cycling around campus on Lottie’s new bicycles, he wrote back and said he could not wait to show her what a wheelman he was and that they could bicycle together not only on the grand avenues of the city but along Lake Michigan. The city was expanding faster than any other city in American history, he explained to Anita, and he couldn’t wait to go back and be a big part of the reason why. Anita imagined herself right next to him, living a life marked by freedom, just like his mother had. With every letter she received, the idea of Chicago, of continuing her education there, of a life with Porter, became more vibrant, more real.

If the circumstances were different, Lottie might have been jealous of the attention Porter was paying Anita, but it was apparent that she had her sights fixed very close to her new circle, squarely on Anita’s brother. Lottie brought the same passion to everything she did. So, just as she had taken to Anita as the sister she never had, she focused her romantic aspirations on Frederick. She had written him several letters, and though he had only responded to a few, Henry Silsbury of Harvard was quickly fading from the scene. He had proved to be a terrible correspondent, and Lottie had her mind set on taking Frederick to the Phil Day dance. Meanwhile, not only was Anita more than aware that Lottie and Frederick were exchanging letters; she was playing a hand in it.

Since Frederick and Anita’s freshman year, the two had used a go-between at Cornell. A friend of Anita’s from Boston who taught in Ithaca knew of Anita’s situation and allowed Frederick to use her address. She would then forward his 
mail to him so that no one could discover that the white Frederick Hemmings who pretended to attend Cornell was actually the colored Frederick Hemmings who was a senior at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.