When I arrived in Dayton, I left the train with a handful of people. It must have been easy for the man with the bushy yellow hair to find and approach me. He had a hat pushed down over his hair, and it seemed to escape and fluff out when he removed the hat and addressed me. I thought he was badly in need of a haircut.
“Are you Miss Bébinn?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Missus Livingston sent me to fetch you. I’m Stephen. Let me get your luggage, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Thank you, Stephen.”
At the carriage he loaded my trunk and I got in.
“How far are we going?”
“About ten miles, miss.”
The horses ambled along. I was excited to be so near the end of my travels and very curious about Fortitude Mansion. I wondered if it would be as grand as the name sounded. I touched the cushions of my seat. The carriage was comfortable, but it wasn’t as big or as fine as one of Papa’s or the one the Holloways rode in to church on Sundays. Judging from the plainness of both Stephen and the carriage, I guessed that Missus Livingston would be just as plain. This would give me a better chance of liking her. But she must be kind. She must be some sort of benefactress of the village for her to inquire about a teacher for the children of former slaves. I wondered if she had any family living with her in the mansion, how far it was from the school, and where I would live. It was only at the end of these ruminations that the question of Will I like it there? entered my mind. When it did, I realized I didn’t have to be concerned, because if I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to stay. I was free to do as I wanted.
I let down the window and looked out. Dayton was behind us. It was nowhere near the size of New York City, but it was a city of considerable size. I was grateful there was plenty of daylight left so I could see the countryside that was to be my new home. There was a large river twisting through the land. Eventually the road rose away from this river. When we made the final approach to the mansion, I saw that it was situated on a generous but not-too-steep hill.
We slowly ascended the drive, which wove around into a semicircle in front of a large house. But it seemed more like a cross between a house and a small castle. It had a porch that went all along the front like a house. But the posts supporting it were made of stone and were wide and rectangular, not the elegant white posts of a Southern home. The part above the supports had the up-and-down block pattern that I’d only seen in illustrations of castles. But above that Fortitude looked again like a house, with two stories of windows and topped by a red-tiled roof flanked by four chimneys, two on each side. The coloring of the stone was a light sandy brown, which I guessed must have come from an area quarry. It was a curious house, and I liked it right away.
A young woman in a black dress and blue-and-white apron opened the wide mahogany door. “Welcome to Fortitude, miss,” she said. “Missus Livingston is waiting for you.” I followed her across a square hall with high doors that, I assumed by their height, enclosed large rooms. The one I stepped into, though, located more toward the back of the house, was a small room that seemed to be a combination of parlor and office. There was a small writing desk by the window, which looked out over an immense garden. Near the fireplace, empty for the summer, were a round table covered with a burgundy cloth and two wing chairs. Some knitting work lay on one of the chairs. A vase of yellow roses decorated the table.
A lady sat writing at the table, and when I came in, she rose, and I saw that she was tall and elderly but moved with ease and elegance as she walked toward me and extended her hand. She wore black as well, but her dress was made of silk, and her apron was a pristine white. Her light-brown hair was streaked with white. She smiled kindly, and I knew at once I had nothing to fear.
“How do you do, my dear? I’m Missus Livingston. Come sit. You’ve had such a long journey.”
“I have,” I said. “But I’m glad to be here.” I sat in the chair without the knitting. She picked up the blue yarn and needles and sat in the other.
I removed my bonnet and looked around the room. In a moment, the young lady returned with a tray of tea and small sandwiches. Missus Livingston poured tea for us and spoke to the woman as she did so. “Leah, please tell Stephen to take Miss Bébinn’s trunk up to the blue room.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I enjoyed the attention, but I was surprised. Missus Livingston treated me like a visitor. I had expected a more formal reception, with a serious recital of a list of what was expected of me in my position. But perhaps she wasn’t my supervisor, I thought. Perhaps the severe person had yet to appear.
She handed me my cup and then a plate with two small sandwiches. I hadn’t thought about food since I was on the train, but suddenly I was quite hungry and found the sandwiches, made of ground-up ham and dressing, delicious. Since Missus Livingston was so natural and comfortable, I decided it would be all right to ask questions instead of waiting to be told what I should be doing.
“Will I meet my students today?”
“Oh, dear, that can wait until tomorrow. The village is within walking distance, but I need to take the carriage, and I won’t ask you to get in it again so soon. Just rest this evening, get your things unpacked, and I’ll show you the school tomorrow.”
I had wanted to ask about her connection to the village but realized that might be too intimate. Instead I asked about Fortitude Mansion.
“As you can see, it’s a lovely place. You might enjoy taking a walk in the garden later on, when you get settled. I am so glad you are here. The house really should be filled with guests, but recently there’s been just me, Leah, Stephen, and the kitchen staff. Oh, and there’s Founder. She lives in a suite on the third floor. But she keeps to herself so much. I’ve often invited her to sit with me as you’re doing now, but she prefers her solitude, I suppose.”
“Founder? Who is she?”
“She is a fine woman who came north with the other slaves, but she stays here, not in the village.”
The mention of the village and its people made me forget about Fortitude. I wanted to know more about their story, which was sure to be impressive.
“Where in the South did they come from?”
“Well, I don’t know the state well enough to give you an exact location, but they came from a plantation called Belle Meade, in Louisiana.”
“Louisiana!”
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“A little.” I could have said more but thought better of it. I should learn more about the people first, see if there was a chance that they might know Papa or Catalpa Valley. But the state was large; I knew that from Papa’s maps. It was possible that they knew nothing about my home.
“I know it’s unusual,” Missus Livingston continued. “But the owner denounced the practice of keeping slaves. He sold his property, gave the people their freedom, then assisted those who wanted to do so in moving here and getting established.”
“That is . . .” I searched for the word. “Stunning.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Quite extraordinary. But I’ll not keep chattering on. There’s plenty of time to learn all this. You have been traveling for so long. You must be tired. I’ll show you your bedroom. I’ve had the room down the hall from mine prepared for you. I hope you’ll be comfortable there.”