Chapter Text
All throughout the drive to the North, Mother does not stop pestering me about exactly the kind of man I expect to find there.
“Mother, you’ve heard Tom talk of his business partners there, this could be my opportunity to find a man that would benefit the plantation and my brother’s career! Besides, the men that have visited us in the South just don’t humor me the way a Northern businessman would.”
“Lydia, darling, there are plenty of intelligent men back in Virginia. Don’t you remember young Robert McNeal? He was quite the clever boy, very good with numbers, has his own business at 25! Though he did inherit it from his father, who got it from his grandf-“
“Yes, mother, I do remember Robert. I’ll make sure to consider him when making my choice.” I say, turning back to my book of Shakespearean sonnets. I vowed to memorise as many as I could before meeting with Chapel.
Despite my greatest efforts to concentrate, my mind drifts to the last time I met with Chapel, a week ago, the night before I left the plantation with my family.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to get away from your mother?” he asked, a glimmer of fear in his dark eyes.
“I’ll find a way, don’t worry.” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek.
I drew the map out of my pocket, the rough corners loosely caught on the fabric, and placed it in his hands. I guided his finger with mine, showing the paths I traced out, the way my family was travelling and the way he was to go.
“It should take you ten days to reach the train station if you walk fast enough. At twilight on midwinters eve – that’s one month away now – I will meet you there.”
His hand raised and with his gentle fingers he tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Lydia, are you sure this is safe?” he whispered, lest he wake his family sleeping in their hut not too far away.
“No.” I choke out, as tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, “But it’s the best way. You and I both, we can’t go on like this.”
Chapel’s eyes shifted to the damp ground, and he tucked the map into his waistband before he took both my hands in his.
“I know we can’t. I trust you.” He said. From inside, the old grandfather clock faintly chimed midnight, “You should go back inside, its late.”
I blinked back the oncoming tears long enough to kiss Chapel one more time and remind him of the expected weather. I suggested taking his mother’s coat, for the Virginia winter is rarely harsh enough for it.
I hurried back inside and quietly tiptoed up the stairs to my room so I could watch Chapel’s shadowy figure as he returned to his hut for the night. I gazed at the vast night sky, observing how only the brightest stars shine through the clouds. Do the stars look the same from Boston? A sharp prod in my shoulder wakes me from my daydreams – well, evening dreams now – as the slaves working for the inn begin to unload our trunks. I gaze to the sky and find out that the stars do, in fact, look the same from Boston. I make sure to hold on to it as a fond reminder of home.
“Goodness, Lydia, what have you packed in here?” exclaims Mother, watching on as a slave struggles to lift mine from our carriage.
Internally I sigh but maintain the calm composure she spent hours drilling me on, “Just some books, Mother. To pass the time until I find a suitable man.”
“You and your books, my goodness. When will you devote your time to something to benefit your husband? Since you seem to expect so much downtime, I think you should learn some needle skills, hm?” she says, exasperated.
Despite my frustration with her nagging, I can’t help but feel a stirring of excitement in my stomach. Midwinter’s eve was in 10 days, and Chapel should have left the plantation this morning. If it goes to plan – and I’m sure it will – we’ll be free. My mind drifts to what our life will look like in Boston; what will we cook for dinner? What kind of house will we have? What friends will we make? I feel light as air as Father, Mother, Tom and I head to our rooms upstairs at the inn and go to bed. I fall asleep thinking of Chapel.
Each passing day at the inn becomes increasingly unbearable, between Mother’s needlework lessons, memorising verses, and the endless river of eligible bachelors looking for my hand in marriage, I hardly have the time nor energy to plan my escape. Its two days before I’m to meet Chapel when I have some downtime.
Father and Tom are at a business meeting and Mother is paying an old friend a visit, so I don my coat and walk to the Park Street Station. On the walk I see that Tom’s observations were correct. I count four different couples equally dispositioned as Chapel and I and feel the hope in my heart grow stronger. It would be easier than I thought to blend in here, if different-raced couples are as common as it seems. I glance at the church clock next to the station and see that it was only a five-minute walk. Marvellous. I hurry back to the inn before an innkeeper notifies my father of my absence.
***
My heart pounds as I discreetly slip out of the door of my room, the old door squealing on its hinges, with some small possessions tucked into my carpet bag. I tiptoe down the hall, as to not make a sound, down the stairs and then out the door, easily blending with the crowd in the downstairs tavern.
The dusk air chills my face and fogs my breath. I pull my scarf up over my nose and begin the brief walk to the station. My heart pounds and my hands shake around the handle of my bag. My brain is so overwhelmed with the prospect of seeing Chapel again that I barely notice the eyes watching me, a young girl, walking alone at night.
The dusk becomes twilight as the sun disappears behind the city. I look at the illuminated church clock: 7pm. My heart sinks but I stake out the station for another hour, looking on every platform and walking the perimeter for some sight of him. The clock strikes eight, then nine before I dejectedly make the walk back to the inn.
The tavern has emptied somewhat, and the bartender gives me a look. I glare back at him, and he averts his eyes. I climb the stairs exhausted, but my mind is racing with everything that could have happened to Chapel. Did he get lost? Did someone find him? Did he decide not to come after all?
I ease open the aging door to my room, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and cry, but I am greeted by Father waiting for me, a letter and the map I gave to Chapel in hand.