“Back in Savannah you said that you could make me into someone who could help a lot of our people.”
After breakfast Victoria and Dorcas Vashon had retired to the sitting room.
“While I have been having a marvelous time, I fail to see how going to teas and dances, playing parlor games and such does anything for our people. In fact so many of colored society do not seem to care about the lowly.”
The roses were in stunning display on this early June morning.
“They care as they can,” responded Dorcas Vashon. “They have charities for the needy.” After a pause she added, “Patience, my dear. One does not barge into society. You are still a newcomer, an outsider. Give it time. Wait until you are invited to join this committee or that. Your time will come.”
May it come soon, Victoria thought. “Aunt Dorcas, there is something else.”
“Yes?”
“Why were you so keen on my becoming friends with Fanny, Penelope, and Clementine? They are rather obnoxious.”
“It was another test of sorts.”
“A test?”
Dorcas Vashon nodded.
“A test of what?”
“Have you become obnoxious?”
Victoria laughed. “No, thank goodness, I have not!”
“Bravo!” Dorcas Vashon then changed the subject. “Peruse the Advocate and decide where we shall spend some of the summer?”
There was Myrtle Hall in Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia, operated by a Mrs. W. B. Evans. A Mrs. Neal had a boardinghouse in Old Point Comfort, Virginia. Those ads left Victoria cold but not an item about a place in Rockville, Maryland.
“Mr. Samuel Proctor has added to his Rockville home addition rooms sufficient to accommodate 30 persons,” said the Advocate of a house that stood high upon a hill. It boasted an exquisite view of the surrounding countryside, a cool spring, and a fine lawn, perfect for archery and croquet.15
Victoria circled the article, showed it to Dorcas Vashon later that day.
“Proctor’s Resort,” said Dorcas Vashon, skimming the item. “I have heard very good things about that place.”
Proctor’s Resort it was.
The sixteen-mile, one-hour B&O train ride to Rockville—past fields, past cows chewing the cud, past laborers swinging scythes—was delightful. So too the half-hour carriage ride from the depot up to the Proctors’ huge clapboard house with a wide wraparound veranda.
They arrived near dusk, greeted by evergreen Chinese lanterns and hooded candles on the lawn. And by Samuel and Alice Proctors’ warm smiles.
There were only ten other guests at the time, none of whom Victoria or Dorcas Vashon knew. And Victoria would not have it any other way. What a relief it was to be far away from society, from gossip, from boasts and brags.
Then he came.