between the races.”
“No, I did not.” She had to lean around behind both Evie and Cassandra to speak. She whispered, her hand by her mouth: “Miss Bay and Caleb keep craning their necks around me to look at each other.”
“Well, perhaps you should trade places and let the two of them sit together.”
Miss Ketchum looked around the room. Most of the others at the table were ladies in their forties or fifties, quietly eating, or speaking together in close conversation. “I am not sure if it would be seemly.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
Cassandra glanced at Evie. She did not want to think about her becoming interested in a man. That would complicate their trip far more than she was prepared for. But though the two young people were stealing glances, they did not seem inclined to talk. Cassandra tried to focus on the conversations that were going on around her, Reverend Williams with his daughter and the other parishioners, Miss Johnston with Miss Ketchum. When the dishes were removed and Miss Ketchum, Miss Johnston and others got up to fetch the pamphlets to be folded, there seemed to be a general rearranging of seats; Cassandra saw Caleb maneuver himself next to Evie. Cassandra took the opportunity to scoot into Miss Ketchum’s chair next to Evie, and when the lady returned, she declared to her friend, “Oh, look, Cass, we are to be folding partners.”
Miss Johnston grinned broadly. Almost immediately, Evie whispered something to Caleb, and a quiet conversation was struck up. Miss Ketchum handed around stacks of unfolded pamphlets, and Cassandra read the material before beginning to fold it. It was an announcement for a lecture by a Mr. Thaddeus Evans on the subject of the Fugitive Slave Act. She was fascinated.
“Miss Johnston,” she asked her hostess, “may Miss Bay and I attend this event?”
“Oh, we are hoping that you will! Mr. Evans is a thrilling speaker.”
Evie overheard. “But this is not until Thursday night! Do you not need us again to help until then?”
“Goodness, no! We have imposed upon you enough. Lillian and I will be arranging the church, and we have Caleb and Samuel to help us as well. There is so much to see in our wondrous city in the meantime; the two of you must enjoy yourselves!”
*****
Travel Journal, Evelyn Bay, May 9, 1853—I met him! I met Caleb Stone! Oh, he is exquisite! The most beautiful man I have ever seen. I never expected this. I thought perhaps he would be old, or even white, or…I don’t know what I expected. History doesn’t tell us anything about him. There is only the one painting of his that survives and it is because of that and that alone that I made this trip, to find out why there are not more…what happened, why did he only paint this one? I asked him about his artwork, but he stammered and changed the topic altogether. But since he did not deny that he paints, he must be the Caleb Stone. How could there be another, right there at All Angels Church? Oh, and he was so well spoken, with a lovely North Carolina drawl. I hate to say that I am surprised that a young black man, he can’t be more than twenty-five, of this era, probably without education, can express himself so well. He was funny and sweet, more interested in me and my background than he would reveal about his own. He was fascinated to find that I was a young artist just beginning to travel and see the world. If only he knew what I really was! I am exhilarated, overjoyed! I will have to apply the sleep tonic to get any rest tonight. I cannot wait to see him again!
Chapter Seven
We slept in the barn in that sweet hay hours and hours till night fell. Lill’s cough was getting worse, and we were fearful someone would hear her. We thought she should rest some more, but the lady of the farm told us we had to move on, that folks thereabouts were not friendly to abolitionists and were on the lookout for runaways. She said we were close to the James River and that her husband would
“No, I did not.” She had to lean around behind both Evie and Cassandra to speak. She whispered, her hand by her mouth: “Miss Bay and Caleb keep craning their necks around me to look at each other.”
“Well, perhaps you should trade places and let the two of them sit together.”
Miss Ketchum looked around the room. Most of the others at the table were ladies in their forties or fifties, quietly eating, or speaking together in close conversation. “I am not sure if it would be seemly.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
Cassandra glanced at Evie. She did not want to think about her becoming interested in a man. That would complicate their trip far more than she was prepared for. But though the two young people were stealing glances, they did not seem inclined to talk. Cassandra tried to focus on the conversations that were going on around her, Reverend Williams with his daughter and the other parishioners, Miss Johnston with Miss Ketchum. When the dishes were removed and Miss Ketchum, Miss Johnston and others got up to fetch the pamphlets to be folded, there seemed to be a general rearranging of seats; Cassandra saw Caleb maneuver himself next to Evie. Cassandra took the opportunity to scoot into Miss Ketchum’s chair next to Evie, and when the lady returned, she declared to her friend, “Oh, look, Cass, we are to be folding partners.”
Miss Johnston grinned broadly. Almost immediately, Evie whispered something to Caleb, and a quiet conversation was struck up. Miss Ketchum handed around stacks of unfolded pamphlets, and Cassandra read the material before beginning to fold it. It was an announcement for a lecture by a Mr. Thaddeus Evans on the subject of the Fugitive Slave Act. She was fascinated.
“Miss Johnston,” she asked her hostess, “may Miss Bay and I attend this event?”
“Oh, we are hoping that you will! Mr. Evans is a thrilling speaker.”
Evie overheard. “But this is not until Thursday night! Do you not need us again to help until then?”
“Goodness, no! We have imposed upon you enough. Lillian and I will be arranging the church, and we have Caleb and Samuel to help us as well. There is so much to see in our wondrous city in the meantime; the two of you must enjoy yourselves!”
*****
Travel Journal, Evelyn Bay, May 9, 1853—I met him! I met Caleb Stone! Oh, he is exquisite! The most beautiful man I have ever seen. I never expected this. I thought perhaps he would be old, or even white, or…I don’t know what I expected. History doesn’t tell us anything about him. There is only the one painting of his that survives and it is because of that and that alone that I made this trip, to find out why there are not more…what happened, why did he only paint this one? I asked him about his artwork, but he stammered and changed the topic altogether. But since he did not deny that he paints, he must be the Caleb Stone. How could there be another, right there at All Angels Church? Oh, and he was so well spoken, with a lovely North Carolina drawl. I hate to say that I am surprised that a young black man, he can’t be more than twenty-five, of this era, probably without education, can express himself so well. He was funny and sweet, more interested in me and my background than he would reveal about his own. He was fascinated to find that I was a young artist just beginning to travel and see the world. If only he knew what I really was! I am exhilarated, overjoyed! I will have to apply the sleep tonic to get any rest tonight. I cannot wait to see him again!
Chapter Seven
We slept in the barn in that sweet hay hours and hours till night fell. Lill’s cough was getting worse, and we were fearful someone would hear her. We thought she should rest some more, but the lady of the farm told us we had to move on, that folks thereabouts were not friendly to abolitionists and were on the lookout for runaways. She said we were close to the James River and that her husband would
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