THE CARRIAGE FINALLY RUMBLED TO a stop in front of a midsized building far from the main streets. In this neighborhood the streets were dark, without the gaslight lampposts that illuminated the main streets. The footman opened the door and gracefully bowed to us; offering a white-gloved hand, he assisted us out of the carriage. As I descended the carriage steps I glanced about, wondering why we were meeting Kip here.

“Father, I wonder why Kip would suggest we meet at a restaurant off the beaten path.”

Ducking to exit the carriage without knocking off his hat, Father stopped on the lowermost step to make his own inspection of our surroundings. I saw my confusion mirrored in his eyes. Turning to me, he offered a wary smile. “I say we find out.” He strode over to open the wooden door with a window in its upper half.

The restaurant was not like the brownstone buildings on the main streets, but simply constructed of lumber, with a few wide windows in its front wall. Through the windows I saw both Negro and white patrons at the white-draped tables. I sent an open-mouthed stare of shock at Whitney. She returned one of her own, then shrugged.

We followed Father into the establishment to be greeted warmly by a black man dressed in a crisp waiter’s uniform.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. A table for five?”

“Um…” Father’s eyes darted around the room, scanning the diners who laughed and conversed over their meals. Skepticism had replaced his earlier jovial manner. Then his face relaxed as his eyes found Kipling, who was in deep conversation with a young black lady. “We are meeting Mr. Reed this evening,” Father blandly informed the man.

“Ah, Mr. Reed; let me show you to his table. Please, follow me.” The man guided us toward the table.

Kip glanced up as we approached and instantly stood to bow in a grand gesture accompanied by a boyish grin that put us at ease. “Well, hello, my Southern comrades. Welcome to New York. I hope you are ready for some fine hospitality.”

“I missed you and your craziness, my friend.” I offered a cheek as he leaned in to kiss it.

“I second that.” He stepped back with a wide smile.

He kissed Whitney’s cheek, then moved to shake Father’s hand. “Mr. Hendricks, always a pleasure, sir.”

“Likewise, Kipling.” Father delivered a wavering smile.

Looking at the twins, Kipling frowned, resting his fingers on his chin in thought. “Now, who are these grown-ups?” They beamed up at him, and Jack stood up straight.

“Those rascals belong to me,” Whitney said, and ushered the children to their seats.

“I would like you to meet Miss Ruby Stewart, my assistant and a godsend.” Kipling placed a friendly hand on her back. She was tall for a woman, and dressed plainly, though tastefully. I guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. She regarded us with interest as she greeted us. Her eyes rested longer on me, and her brow furrowed. Then it passed as I smiled openly at her.

I glanced at my father, hoping he would remember his manners, as it was not our custom to address blacks by anything but their first name. Father seemed rendered speechless, so I quickly stepped in. “On behalf of us all, we are pleased to meet you, Miss Ruby.” I held out my hand and with a firm grip, she shook it.

“You as well, Miss Willow. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Well, I hope he hasn’t been filling your head with nonsense.” I feigned a glower at Kipling.

“On the contrary, I assure you,” she replied politely, and offered me a seat by hers.

When the waiter came to our table, Father, who remained uneasy, managed to order a bottle of wine.

Kip addressed the waiter. “And could we get an order of those lovely sweet rolls you make here with the pecan butter, my good man.”

“Of course, Mr. Reed.”

“I was under the impression from your telegram that Mary Grace was accompanying you on this trip too. I thought she would be joining us tonight.” Kipling aimed his question at me.

“I, um, I was unaware how things worked here—I mean, I didn’t…” I stammered.

Father took over. “What my daughter is trying to say is, this is not the norm. We do not dine with the blacks. No offense, Miss…?” He looked at Ruby.

“Ruby, sir. Ruby Stewart.” She exuded remarkable confidence as she answered Father.

“Yes, Miss Stewart.”

I grimaced at Father’s bluntness and begged Kip and Ruby with my eyes to forgive his frankness.

Kipling spoke for them. “That is understandable. Do not forget, I am from the South too. I assure you, it is no different here. The free blacks are banned from almost all establishments. That’s why we met here tonight. I was eager for you to meet my assistant, and as I said, I thought Mary Grace would be joining us. The owner is a Dutch woman who is open to providing work for the blacks, regardless of threats and boycotting by the whites. She opens her doors to blacks or whites alike.”

“But why would these other, seemingly higher-class, people dine here if it is frowned upon?” Whitney asked.

“Because these folks are allies of the free blacks, and all blacks, at that. Many are standing in the fight for change and for equality. The abolitionist movement is rising even more than it was twenty odd years ago. Their voices are a powerful accompaniment to those of the blacks, and we are seeing the effects of standing united. We need to end the racial segregation and discrimination. The friction between the North and South concerning slavery is growing rapidly and spreading far and wide with every passing day.”

Kipling’s matter-of-fact explanation rattled me briefly. I gulped a mouthful of my wine as I eyed Father over the rim of my glass. I resisted the urge to squirm in my chair.

Father leaned back and observed the ambitious young man sitting before him, his expression thoughtful. “I would be careful who you become friends with, young Kipling,” he warned.

I seethed inside as I waited for Father to indulge in his opinions of how things should be run. After all, he was a Southern gentleman, and this was our way. To my surprise, he glanced at me and smiled softly before steering the conversation to agreeable pleasantries. Father remained a gentleman. The conversation remained light and sophisticated at this mixed-race table, making for a delightful evening.