The Secrets of Mary Bowser by Lois Leveen

for now that Miss Bet was my owner, she insisted I tend this room. She meant the assignment as a way to give me leave to read, not understanding how little time I had for such pursuits—especially since Old Sam’s departure, which made the rest of our workloads that much heavier.
    Miss Bet hadn’t made a public show of her plan to free all the family’s slaves just yet, because so much with me and Mama was undecided. But it was generally known that Old Sam had been given his liberty, and Mama’s presence in the drawing room reminded the guests of this unusual development.
    “Why, it must be right much of a loss to you, Old Sam leaving after so many years.” Mrs. Randolph’s high, haughty voice condescended clear across the hall. “He came to Richmond way back with your husband, didn’t he?”
    Before Mistress Van Lew could respond, Mrs. Whitlock said, “Your Bet and her odd ways, sending the man off to some distant relations at his age. But then, I suppose that’s a product of her Yankee education.”
    “I myself had a Philadelphia education.” Mistress Van Lew made the name of her native city sound especially mellifluous against the hard syllables of the word Yankee . “And an excellent one it was. Young ladies were schooled at fine academies there even in the last century. It is a tradition of which we are proud.”
    “Proud, yes, of course,” Mrs. Whitlock said. “But your education did not keep you from marrying and raising a family, rather than taking up such fool-nonsense as abolition. Some of your daughter’s peculiar leanings must try a mother’s pride, and her patience, too.”
    Whatever puncheons and barrels of consternation Bet provoked in her mother, Mistress Van Lew wasn’t about to admit a drop of it to the neighborhood gossipry. I was so curious to hear how she might answer without fibbing outright, I stepped into the archway between the library and the hall. I set my dust-cloth to the mahogany and brass-wire birdcage with such feigned diligence that the goldfinch twittered in dismay. When Mistress Van Lew looked over to see what disturbed her beloved Farinelli, she held her eyes on me for a long moment. But instead of reprimanding me, she turned to reprove her guest.
    “A child is not a thistle-bird to be kept in a cage, happy only to peck at her seed. My late husband and I educated our daughter that she might know her mind and act on it. Her independence and her interest in causes of freedom are nothing less than the legacy of Pennsylvania’s Revolutionary fervor, in which my own father was very much involved, you know.”
    The First Families of Virginia always carried on as though their forebears had invented the American Revolution single-handed. Mistress Van Lew tended more to amity than antagonism with her neighbors, so on the rare occasion when she reminded the Richmond FFVs of Philadelphia’s role in the birth of the Republic, everyone knew she was upset.
    The visitors must have been relieved when she shifted her attention to Mama, who was tending the blaze in the large marble hearth. “There is no need to brood about. You have built a strong enough foundation, and you can trust your handiwork not to smolder out, even when you are not present.” Her voice softened a bit. “Mind what I’m telling you, Aunt Minnie, mind what I’m telling you.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I’ll mind you of course,” Mama replied, curtsying her way out of the room.
    She barreled down the broad hall without so much as glancing my way, then disappeared through the china closet to the servants’ stair. I heard the rear door to the cellar open and close, and from the back window I watched her scurrying toward the privy, cleaning supplies in hand. This was Mama’s especial task, the thing she set herself to whenever she wanted an excuse for serious contemplation. “Time to set the privy to right,” she’d declare, disappearing for half an hour or so before returning quiet and determined. It was our