That very evening, in the parlor, right before prayers, he told his parents he did not want to go to Harvard College.
His mother wept at his announcement. “Is this what you want for him, Mr. Wheatley?” she asked her husband.
“My dear, it would warm my heart to have my son take my place when I am old. But if the Lord wants him for a minister, I am willing to make that sacrifice.”
“How did this happen?” Mrs. Wheatley looked at her son.
“It’s all that drinking of flip he does at the Salutation,” Mary said. “If you ask me, he’s allowed too much freedom.”
Mary had little freedom. Her formal schooling was finished, but she was expected to stay close to her mother, learn the feminine arts, stitch a fine seam, and discourse only on women’s subjects. Yet she was as clever as Nathaniel. Even at my young age, I knew she envied him. And that if she had been allowed to use her mind, she might not have been so mean.
“Nobody’s asking you,” Nathaniel growled.
“Children, don’t fight,” Mrs. Wheatley admonished.
Mary glared at her brother across the Persian carpet. “How can you turn down a chance at Harvard? You fool.”
“Enough, Mary!” Mr. Wheatley spoke as sharply as I had ever heard him. I trembled at his anger.
“I don’t need any advice from anyone who strikes the servants,” Nathaniel said.
“Who has struck a servant?” Mrs. Wheatley asked him.
“Ask Mary, why don’t you?” Nathaniel mumbled.
“Mary?” her mother asked.
Mary wouldn’t answer.
“Ask Phillis, Mother,” Nathaniel urged.
All eyes were on me.
“Phillis, has Mary struck you?” Mrs. Wheatley asked.
My lips went dry. Tears came to my eyes. Mary’s gaze was fixed on me. If I said yes, I would pay for it later. If I said no, I would make Nathaniel a liar. He did not need that now.
“Yes,” I said.
Mrs. Wheatley gasped. “Mary, how could you?”
“We don’t strike servants in this house, Mary,” her father reminded her.
“Is she a servant?” Mary asked. “Nobody treats her like one. Aunt Cumsee coddles her in the kitchen. Sulie has to do twice the work because she’s not doing her share. She’s a spoiled little piece. Insolent and spoiled. I can’t make her do anything, Mother. She refuses to learn.”
“What did she do that earned her a slap?” her mother persisted.
“Everything.” Mary glowered. “Ask her, why don’t you?”
Again all eyes were on me. I was expected to tell.
“Go ahead,” Nathaniel urged me gently. “Don’t be afraid.”
Mrs. Wheatley nodded at me in encouragement. So I told.
“Dance,” I said. “Mary wanted me to dance. I wouldn’t.”
“Dance?” Mrs. Wheatley’s face went white. Would there be no end of agony for her this night? “To what end?”
Mary shrugged. “They did it on the ship.”
And then her mother knew. “The ship? You mean the onerous business Mrs. Fitch told us about?”
Mary bowed her head. “I just wanted to show my friends, that’s all, Mother.”
“Heaven preserve us!” Mrs. Wheatley looked about to faint.
At once her husband was at her side, comforting her. His face was set and resolute.
“This is intolerable,” he said. “I’m ashamed. Mrs. Wheatley, I fear your daughter needs more instruction in the sober Christian virtues. This is what comes from allowing her to attend Old North Church with her friends.”
“Don’t blame Reverend Lathrop. He’s a good man. Mary is taken with his sermons,” Mrs. Wheatley told him.
“She’s taken with the Reverend Lathrop,” Nathaniel put in.
“Hush, Nathaniel!” Mary’s face went red.
“Be that as it may, you go to Old South with us from here on in,” her father announced. “Those sermons of Lathrop’s are too agitating for young girls.” Then he crossed die room and stood before me. “Phillis, I apologize for any ill-usage Mary has made of you. You are no longer her servant. You are to sleep, henceforth, in the room with Aunt Cumsee at night.”
“Father!” Mary protested. “I need a servant. All my friends have personal nigras.”
“Well, you no longer have one,” he said severely. “You have abused your authority. So keep a still tongue in your head. As for you, Nathaniel, I have a plan. Mrs. Wheatley, I would hope you agree.”
She smiled weakly. “Whatever you say, Mr. Wheatley. It seems my methods with the children have failed.”
“Nathaniel, you have six months to prove to me you should not attend Harvard and become a minister as your mother wishes. In those six months you shall continue your studies.”
“But I’ve completed the sixth form at Boston Latin, Father. What do you expect me to do?”
“A tutor will come to the house every day to further prepare you for Harvard. Reverend Mather Byles, perhaps. Or Reverend Ebenezer Pemberton of New Brick.”
“Puffing Pem? I’d sooner perish,” Nathaniel said.
“Don’t be disrespectful!” his father boomed.
“To what end, all this?” Nathaniel asked. “And how can I prove to you I shouldn’t be a minister if I’m studying with one?”
“You will study two hours a day. The rest of the day you will devote to showing me why I should allow you to become a merchant. If you do not convince me by spring, you will start at Harvard next fall. Is this fair?”
Nathaniel slumped down in the settee. “Yes, sir.”
“Mrs. Wheatley?” He looked at his wife.
“I think it entirely fair,” she said.
“Good. Now there will be no more arguing. I will not tolerate it.”
“I’ll go have Phillis’s bed moved into Aunt Cumsee’s room,” Mrs. Wheatley said, “and I’ll be back for prayers.”
She left. Mr. Wheatley went to throw another log on the fire. “Beastly night,” I heard him say.
“Father,” Mary said.
“Yes? What is it now?”
“If Mother allows it, may I sit in on some of Nathaniel’s tutoring sessions?”
“In heaven’s name, to what aim? You know it’s unladylike for a young woman to have too much learning, Mary. You’ll scare away all your beaux.”
“I don’t have any beaux. And likely, I never will!” Mary burst into tears. “Even Nathaniel’s friends think that.”
“Who thinks it?” her brother demanded.
Mary wiped her eyes. “Josiah Thornton, John Hitchbourne, all of them. Hitchbourne even said once that I was not likely to come to much. That I was not pretty enough.”
“I’ll call him out for that,” Nathaniel said.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” his father told him. “You know I despise dueling. Do you wish to break your mother’s heart even more?”
Mary commenced weeping again. Her father did not know what to do. He turned back to attend the fire.
In that moment I felt a mixture of sorrow and fear. Sorrow for Mary. And fear for myself. For if Mary, the daughter in a well-placed family, was not allowed to learn, why should I be? A slave?
Clearly, Nathaniel was moved by his sister’s distress, too. “You’ll have beaux, Mary,” he said huskily. “I promise.” Then he looked at his father. “I think I’d like to have Reverend Lathrop tutor me. He’s nearer my own age, he’s known to be a masterful tutor, and he could use the extra money.”
Mary looked up, surprised. She dried her tears.
Their father scowled, seemed about to object, then softened. “Very well, Nathaniel, I’ll speak to Lathrop tomorrow.”
“And I don’t mind if Mary sits with us. Part of the time, anyway.”
“Didn’t you just hear me?” his father asked. “I’ve forbidden Mary to go to Old North to hear Lathrop’s sermons.”
“Greek and Latin aren’t sermons, Father.” Nathaniel grinned. “If Mary can abide Greek and Latin, I can abide her being there. It will make it more pleasant, Father.”
“Study is supposed to be not pleasant but serious.”
Nathaniel stood up, walked to his father, put an arm on his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. Mr. Wheatley turned to look at Mary, then turned quickly back to the fire.
“No,” he said in disbelief.
“Yes,” Nathaniel whispered.
“Very well then, providing everyone behaves,” Mr. Wheatley agreed.