everywhere. There are languages spoken that you can’t identify, people from all over the world, growth in every industry. It’s fascinating. It doesn’t have the trappings of the East Coast, the separation of the classes, the races, old money, new money. If you are industrious there, the world is open to you, you can make something of yourself.”
“If you’re an industrious man there,” Anita corrected him.
“Yes, that’s true,” he said. “If you are an industrious man. Which I am. I know my father has already done very well for himself, but I want to do even better. I don’t want to be known as the son of. Rather, I want my father to be known as the father of.”
Anita beamed at his ambition and pointed to a stretch of wall where they could sit together.
“I’m excited to return next year,” said Porter after he had laid out his suit jacket for Anita to rest on. “A great many Poles work for my father. I’ve been trying to learn the language at Harvard from some of the janitorial staff, but I’m not proving to be much of a linguist, unlike you. Still, Chicago, it’s the future of America. So many people say we will never meet the standards of New York, but it’s exactly the lack of those standards that makes it so exciting. There’s a freedom to the city. It’s because of that, the fact that there are so few conventions to be broken, that I plan to return.”
“It all sounds wonderful,” Anita replied. “I don’t know much about it. We have a few girls here from Chicago, but they don’t speak about it quite the way you do.”
“You should speak with my mother. She likes to think of herself as the unofficial mayor. She’ll lead the suffrage movement for the whole state of Illinois soon.”
Anita nodded, thinking about her own mother, who had attended school for just two years in Virginia before the Civil War.
Despite that, Dora Hemmings knew what education meant for her children. Ever since her two eldest had shown academic promise, she and her husband, Robert, had lived frugally and saved for their children’s studies. The tuition at Vassar was four hundred dollars a year. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where Frederick was a senior, wassimilarly expensive. Though younger than Anita, Frederick had not prepped for the entrance exam after high school and found himself entering college the same year as his sister. But unlike Anita, he had been awarded several scholarships, as he was not attending the school under false racial pretenses. The institute accepted Negro students, and Frederick was able to study chemistry. Anita never spoke of her brother, and the few times she had been forced to, she used the story that he was a white student at far-flung Cornell University. He, like Anita, was poised to graduate in the spring.
She thought of what her mother could have done if she’d had the opportunities Porter’s mother had. Would her mother be a voice for suffrage if she was not supporting an overworked husband and working herself? If she were able to pass for white? Anita liked to think that she would be.
“Anita,” said Porter, looking down at her. “You look pensive. Are you sure it’s all right that I’m here? Am I making you uncomfortable? Or, perhaps, you don’t have an interest in seeing me past one afternoon. Maybe I interpreted the day differently than you. I just—”
“No, Porter,” she said, interrupting him. “I’m very glad you came to Vassar. I shouldn’t be as glad as I am. It scares me quite a bit. But I’m very pleased you’re here.”
And with that reassurance, he leaned down and kissed her. The first kiss of her life. As his lips met hers, she stopped thinking of herself as Anita Hemmings the Negro—Anita Hemmings the liar, the coward, the dreamer—and let herself be simply Anita Hemmings, a girl being kissed under the pine trees on a beautiful autumn day.
CHAPTER 7
A nita’s first three years at Vassar had been a spiral of intense
“If you’re an industrious man there,” Anita corrected him.
“Yes, that’s true,” he said. “If you are an industrious man. Which I am. I know my father has already done very well for himself, but I want to do even better. I don’t want to be known as the son of. Rather, I want my father to be known as the father of.”
Anita beamed at his ambition and pointed to a stretch of wall where they could sit together.
“I’m excited to return next year,” said Porter after he had laid out his suit jacket for Anita to rest on. “A great many Poles work for my father. I’ve been trying to learn the language at Harvard from some of the janitorial staff, but I’m not proving to be much of a linguist, unlike you. Still, Chicago, it’s the future of America. So many people say we will never meet the standards of New York, but it’s exactly the lack of those standards that makes it so exciting. There’s a freedom to the city. It’s because of that, the fact that there are so few conventions to be broken, that I plan to return.”
“It all sounds wonderful,” Anita replied. “I don’t know much about it. We have a few girls here from Chicago, but they don’t speak about it quite the way you do.”
“You should speak with my mother. She likes to think of herself as the unofficial mayor. She’ll lead the suffrage movement for the whole state of Illinois soon.”
Anita nodded, thinking about her own mother, who had attended school for just two years in Virginia before the Civil War.
Despite that, Dora Hemmings knew what education meant for her children. Ever since her two eldest had shown academic promise, she and her husband, Robert, had lived frugally and saved for their children’s studies. The tuition at Vassar was four hundred dollars a year. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where Frederick was a senior, wassimilarly expensive. Though younger than Anita, Frederick had not prepped for the entrance exam after high school and found himself entering college the same year as his sister. But unlike Anita, he had been awarded several scholarships, as he was not attending the school under false racial pretenses. The institute accepted Negro students, and Frederick was able to study chemistry. Anita never spoke of her brother, and the few times she had been forced to, she used the story that he was a white student at far-flung Cornell University. He, like Anita, was poised to graduate in the spring.
She thought of what her mother could have done if she’d had the opportunities Porter’s mother had. Would her mother be a voice for suffrage if she was not supporting an overworked husband and working herself? If she were able to pass for white? Anita liked to think that she would be.
“Anita,” said Porter, looking down at her. “You look pensive. Are you sure it’s all right that I’m here? Am I making you uncomfortable? Or, perhaps, you don’t have an interest in seeing me past one afternoon. Maybe I interpreted the day differently than you. I just—”
“No, Porter,” she said, interrupting him. “I’m very glad you came to Vassar. I shouldn’t be as glad as I am. It scares me quite a bit. But I’m very pleased you’re here.”
And with that reassurance, he leaned down and kissed her. The first kiss of her life. As his lips met hers, she stopped thinking of herself as Anita Hemmings the Negro—Anita Hemmings the liar, the coward, the dreamer—and let herself be simply Anita Hemmings, a girl being kissed under the pine trees on a beautiful autumn day.
CHAPTER 7
A nita’s first three years at Vassar had been a spiral of intense
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