The Invention of Wings(35)
Mother reclined against the red velvet of her rosewood Récamier, which had been brought up from her bedroom. I’d observed five of Mother’s gestations, and clearly this was her most difficult. She’d enlarged to mammoth proportions. Even her poor face appeared bloated. Nevertheless, she’d created an elaborate fete. The room blazed with candles and lamplight, which reflected off mirrors and gilt surfaces, and the tables were laid with white linen cloths and gold brocade runners in keeping with the colors of the Epiphany. Tomfry, Snow, and Eli served, wearing their dark green livery, hauling in trays of crab pies, buttered shrimps, veal, fried whiting, and omelet soufflé.
My prodigal appetite had returned, and I occupied myself with eating and listening to the whirr of bass voices across the room. They conversed about the reelection of Mr. Jefferson, whether Mr. Meriwether Lewis and Mr. William Clark had any chance of reaching the Pacific coast, and most tantalizing, what the abolition of slavery in the Northern states, most recently in New Jersey, boded for the South. Abolition by law? I’d never heard of it and craned to get every snippet. Did those in the North, then, believe God to be sided against slavery?
We finished the meal with Thomas’ favorite sweet, macaroons with almond ice, after which Father tapped a spoon against his crystal goblet and silenced the room. He wished Thomas well and presented him with An Abridgement of Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Mother had allowed Mary and me to each have half a flute of wine, my inaugural taste, and I gazed at the book in Thomas’ hand with a downy feeling between my ears.
“Who will send Thomas off with a tribute?” Father said, scanning the faces of his sons. Firstborn John tugged on the hem of his vest, but it was I, the sixth-born child and second daughter, who leapt to my feet and made a speech.
“. . . . . . Thomas, dear brother, I shall miss you. . . . . . I wish you God’s speed with your studies . . .” I paused and felt an upwelling of courage. “One day I intend to follow in your footsteps. . . . . . To become a jurist.”
When Father found his tongue, his tone was full of amusement. “Did my ears deceive? Did you say you would follow your brother to the bar?” John twittered, and Fredrick laughed outright. Father looked at them and smiled, continuing, “Are there female jurists now? If so, little one, do enlighten us.”
Their hilarity burst forth, and I saw Thomas, too, was laughing.
I tried to answer, not fully comprehending the depth of their derision, that his question was for the benefit of my brothers alone.
“. . . . . . Would it not be a great accomplishment if I should be the first?”
At that, Father’s fun turned into annoyance. “There will be no first, Sarah, and if such a preposterous thing did occur, it will be no daughter of mine.”
Still, I went on stupidly, blindly. “. . . . . . Father, I would make you proud. I would do anything.”
“Sarah, stop this nonsense! You shame yourself. You shame us all. Where did you ever get the notion you could study the law?”
I fought to stand there, to hold on to what felt like some last dogged piece of myself. “. . . . . . You said I would be the greatest jurist—”
“I said if you were a boy!”
My eyes flitted to Anna and Eliza, who gazed up at me, and then to Mary, who would not meet them.
I turned to Thomas. “. . . . . . Please. . . . . . do you remember . . . you said I should be the jurist?”
“Sarah, I’m sorry, but Father is right.”
His words finished me.
Father made a gesture with his hand, dismissing the matter, and the band of them turned from me and resumed their conversation. I heard Mother say my name in a quiet way. She no longer reclined, but sat upright, her face bearing a commiserate look. “You may go to your room,” she said.