“You want to be what?” Nathaniel scowled fiercely.
We were in his room the very next day. He was overseeing my reading.
“Free.” I had displeased him. He was angry. He was fearful when angry, but his anger had never yet been directed at me.
“Wherever did you get such a notion?” Then he laughed. And it was worse than anger. “Free! Of all the flapdoodle! Do you know the meaning of the word?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“It means that when you buy me my lovely new dresses, I’ll be someone. And not just poor little Phillis the slave forever. Because fine feathers don’t make fine birds.”
He was peering at me intently. “Go on.”
“Only way to be anybody is to be free. Even if I learn to read, there’s no profit in it, unless I’m free.”
“You can read now. Is there no profit in it?”
I hung my head. “Yes, sir, there is.”
“Who told you this nonsense?”
I should not have said, but I did. “Prince.”
“Well, if that’s the kind of folderol that rascal is filling your head with, then I say you are no longer to speak to Prince!”
Fear gripped me. “But he’s my friend.”
“No friend counsels a little girl to such sentiments. Tell me, Phillis, what you would do with this freedom if my parents were to give it to you? Where would you live? For then you would be free to leave here.”
“I don’t want to leave.” My voice shook.
“Ah, but you would have to. Did Prince tell you that?”
“No, sir.”
“Did he advise you of how you would earn your living? How you would buy your bread? Where you would sleep at night?”
I was near tears. “No, sir.”
“Well, that is what being free is all about, Phillis.” He knelt in front of me and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Being free means you must take responsibility for yourself. And ofttimes for others. Are you ready to do that?”
Tears streamed down my face. “No, sir.”
“Do you see me running about these days, doing everything I can to plan my future? I’m free, Phillis. I want to be a merchant. I’m well placed, schooled—and yet, I’m near daft trying to get out from under the yoke of my parents. How do you think you would fare?”
I did not answer.
“Phillis”—his voice grew even more gentle—“my parents will be panic stricken. Is this what my teaching you to read has wrought?”
I shook my head no.
“You have so much to learn, Phillis. And you have such a fine mind. I thought this was an agreeable arrangement. But if you persist in this nonsense about being free, I shall have to stop teaching you to read. Do you want that?”
I told him no, I didn’t.
“Then let me hear no more of the matter,” he said.
It was May, and Mrs. Wheatley’s birthday. I was in the kitchen. Aunt Cumsee was helping me ice the golden cake.
“Come, Phillis,” Nathaniel said. He stood in the doorway, holding out his hand. “It’s time.”
I was in a frenzy of excitement. Aunt Cumsee took off my apron and kissed me. “Do me proud,” she said.
“Give me the cake, please.”
She handed it to me and I carried it carefully, walking with Nathaniel into the dining room, where Mrs. Wheatley, in rose silk, sat ready to pour the tea. Her husband, Mary, and Reverend Lathrop had all given her presents. Now Nathaniel and I were about to give ours.
They looked up, smiled, and clapped for the cake. I set it down. “I made it myself,” I told Mrs. Wheatley.
“It’s lovely, dear.”
“And we’ve another surprise for you,” Nathaniel said. “Phillis can read. We’d like to show you before we have dessert.”
“Read?” Mrs. Wheatley’s hand flew to the lace kerchief at her throat.
“Surely you jest, Nathaniel.” His father’s face went grave. “Don’t use the child in this manner. Not even for jest.”
“You sly fox,” Mary said. “John, I told you they were up to something.”
“The child has extraordinary abilities. I told you, Mary,” Reverend Lathrop said.
Nathaniel held up a hand for silence, then produced a copy of the Lively Lady’s manifest. “Read, Phillis.”
So I read. I recited the items. Not once did I look up. But I heard their gasps; heard the polished floorboards creak as Aunt Cumsee came in with a platter of fresh fruit. I felt Prince come into the room to pour some wine for the men.
Sulie came in next to clear some dishes. I kept reading.
Finally, I finished and looked up. For a dreadful moment there was such silence that I could hear my own heart.
Were they displeased? Angry?
“Phillis!” Mrs. Wheatley said. “How ever did you learn?”
“Nathaniel taught me.”
“By heaven!” his father said.
“I told you the ordinary person could better himself, didn’t I, Father?” Nathaniel asked. “It’s what I have based my whole theory of selling on. Times are changing. We must change with them or be outdistanced by other merchants.”
Thanks to the advertisements in the Post, the merchandise Nathaniel had stocked in the shoppe had sold. Mr. Wheatley was hard put to keep up with his customers’ demands. And, as Nathaniel had said, they were all the common man and woman.
“You’ve done fine, son,” Mr. Wheatley said. “You have proved yourself. But let’s not talk selling now. The child has a brilliant mind. And you were the one to see it.”
“Phillis, come here and give me a hug,” Mrs. Wheatley said.
I ran to her to be embraced.
“She can say some Latin, too,” Nathaniel boasted. “Phillis, what does Post nubile phoebus mean?”
“After clouds, the sun,” I answered.
“Par nobile fratrum.”
“A noble pair of brothers.”
Nathaniel looked about to explode with pride. “Pulvis et umbra sumus.”
“We are dust and shadows.” I caught Prince’s eyes as I said it. Silently, he left the room.
“She can write, too, Mother,” Nathaniel boasted.’
Tears were streaming down Mrs. Wheatley’s face. “Dear child! And to think they were selling you on the block. Mr. Wheatley, I am confused. What are we to do?”
He was not confused. “For now we are to sit and enjoy the lovely cake,” he said, “and Phillis is to sit at the board with us. Aunt Cumsee, another plate and some sterling.”
“Yes, sir!” She left the room.
Of a sudden I was frightened. Sit at the table with them? “I’m supposed to fetch in the cider punch,” I said.
Nathaniel was pulling out a chair for me. “Sulie will fetch it. You are to sit with us, as Father says.”
“Hhmph,” Sulie said. And she pinched me as she passed.
Nathaniel lifted me onto the chair. I looked around. The board was shining and polished. White linen was under each plate of delicate china. Crystal goblets, silverware, blazing candles in candelabra. From here I could see the sideboard, where sat the silver coffee urn, Baltimore chocolate pot, punch bowl.
Mr. Wheatley stood at the head of the table. “Henceforth, you will take all your meals with us, Phillis. You need special nurturing. And I say you shall receive it. What say you, Mrs. Wheatley?”
“That you are right, Mr. Wheatley.”
Then there was Prince again, hovering over me, setting down a gold-edged plate, a fork, and a spoon. He took a white linen napkin and set it, just so, in my lap.
“You mind your manners, now,” he said softly. Then he was gone.