Vivid

  When the evening came to a close, the Vachons walked them out to the rented rig. Abigail lingered over goodbyes with her good friends, while Nate, Vivid, and Magic climbed in. Magic scooted onto the driver's seat near her father while Vivid took a spot in the back.

  "Pa, can I ask something?"

  Nate looked over at his daughter and said, "Certainly."

  "Why does Mrs. Vachon have purple hands?"

  Vivid had also noticed the digo hued hands of their hostess.

  "She was a slave on an indigo plantation when she was young. The dye colored her hands that way." Nate leaned down and kissed his daughter on the forehead, saying, "Thank you for being polite enough to hold on to that question until now."

  Magic beamed with her father's praise.

  The next morning after a hearty breakfast at Mrs. Fisher's table, Abigail headed everyone out to tour the city. The first stop was city hall. It was a magnificent structure with turrets and towers and a balcony. On the lawn were six cast-iron deer which Magic found delightful. However, the huge clock centered high on the upper face of the building drew Vivid's attention.

  "When the clock was dedicated on July 4 in '71, it was touted as the largest one of its kind in America. The famous clockmaker W. A. Hendrie of Chicago called it his masterpiece," Abigail explained.

  Vivid read further information on the clock, courtesy of the printed broadsides provided at the entrance. She read aloud, "The clock's four dials measure eight feet and three inches in diameter. The pendulum weighs one hundred and twenty-five pounds. The bell weighs seven thousand, six hundred seventy pounds."

  Nate whistled.

  "And the clock cost two thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars," Vivid stated with amazement. "That's quite a sum."

  "Yes, it is," Abigail agreed, "and you should have heard the outraged cries of the taxpayers at the time."

  Inside people were milling about in pursuit of whatever business they'd come to conduct.

  "Look at all the steps," Magic exclaimed, marveling at the iron staircase. “How many do you think there are, Aunt Gail?"

  "I don't know, Majestic. Why don't you count them as you climb to the top? I'll sit here and wait for you all to come back."

  Magic went outside to count the stairs to the entrance and came back declaring there were thirteen in all. Added to Magic's count were the sixty-seven to the stairway, the one hundred forty-three to the clock, and the two hundred thirteen to the top.

  Tired and winded, Vivid did not want to climb another stair for at least six months. Fanning herself, she refused to believe the claim that Detroit's oldest citizens made this climb to the top regularly. She didn't think she'd ever lose the burning sensation in her legs.

  But the view was magnificent. One could see for miles around. The river stretched like a blue ribbon out before them, dotted with many boats both small and large. Nate pointed out Canada, and Vivid was amazed at how close it appeared. She now understood why the escaped slaves chose to travel here. One could stand on the riverbank and see freedom beckoning on the other side.

  Climbers who made it to the top of the Detroit city hall were also given an up-close look at the four iron maidens on the cornices of the tower. Magic read the plaques underneath. "They are Justice, Industry, Art, and Com—" She paused and called, "Pa, what does this last one say?''

  Nate came over and peered at the name. "Commerce."

  As he explained to Majestic what commerce was, Vivid watched them. He reminded her so much of her own father. Nate cared about the things Majestic cared about, took the time to answer the ten thousand questions she seemed to wake up with every morning, and loved her without restraint. A daughter couldn't ask for a better father.

  After leaving city hall they hailed a hack and took in the waterfront where the biggest attraction, as far as Magic was concerned, turned out to be the huge sign advertising Queen Anne Soap. Abigail said the Queen Anne Soap Company had a store downtown where you could redeem their wrappers for merchandise.

  They had lunch at a dining room near Mrs. Fisher's place, and Vivid had her first taste of Mr. Vernor's ginger ale. She found the sweet but peppery beverage quite different. Nate, who'd had the drink before and loved its flavor, ordered a large chilled pitcher for himself and Abigail. Magic coughed and set her cup aside. She didn't like it at all.

  "Mr. Vernor is a pharmacist, Viveca." Abigail pointed out. "And Detroiters use his ginger ale for everything. They float ice cream in it, use it to baste hams, take it for an upset stomach, and drink it piping hot when the winter sniffles come around."

  Vivid stared at the golden-colored liquid in her glass, impressed. "Really?"

  "Wait until you taste ice cream floating in it, Lancaster," Nate exclaimed. "There's nothing to compare, especially on a hot day."

  "I think it tastes like medicine, Pa."

  Nate ordered Magic a glass of the more conventional lemonade and Magic smiled happily.

  They spent the rest of the day taking in more sights and shopping. Abigail steered them into a shop to pick up some teas for Miss Edna. While the man behind the counter prepared Abigail's order, Nate, Vivid, and Magic marveled at the bins containing teas from all over the world.

  When they returned to the boardinghouse late that evening they were laden down with enough packages and purchases to found their own dry goods store.

  The next day was spent at a much slower pace. Nate went to get a haircut and Abigail spent the day visiting with Hester Vachon, which left Vivid and Magic on their own. Abigail had purchased tickets for that evening's speech by Mary Jane Garrett. A reception was to follow and neither Vivid nor Magic wanted to be too tired, so they spent the day relaxing, eating Mrs. Fisher's pound cake, and playing marbles in the dirt behind the house.

  When Nate came upon his daughter and Lancaster on their knees, he paused a moment to discreetly feast his eyes on the doctor's upraised hips as she sighted her shot. The flowing black skirt only hinted at the beauty it concealed and Nate swore at himself for letting his imagination linger. He had not come out here to become aroused, though he found it to be a state easily attained when he was around the good doctor. He'd spent most of yesterday trying to find a way to be alone with her. He'd had to settle for a caress with his eyes, a polite hand on the arm as he helped her in and out of the buggy, and the faint trail of her perfume as she passed him by. They'd spent no time alone since the night on the swing and his hands itched to hold her once again.

  That evening, Vivid dressed in a beautiful, full-skirted green gown. She placed her grandmother's emeralds in her ears, patted her hair one more time, then went to help Magic with the buttons and sash on her own fancy dress. When all three women were ready they met Nate in Mrs. Fisher's parlor. Vivid had never seen Nate in anything other than the clothes he wore every day back home in the Grove, and she had to admit that formal evening dress made him even more handsome.

  On the carriage ride to the Detroit Opera House where Miss Garrett would be speaking, they listened to Abigail reminisce on another Detroit Opera House event that figured very prominently in the city's postwar history.

  On April 7, 1870, Blacks and Whites had come to the Detroit Opera House to celebrate the ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution. The day had been declared a civic holiday by the mayor and the state governor, and all the buildings downtown were draped with patriotic flags and bunting. The day began with a cannon salute from the artillerymen of Fort Wayne, one of the oldest forts in the United States. At the sound of the cannon, the troopers from the First Michigan Cavalry, resplendent in Union blue, began the parade up Woodward Avenue, the city's main downtown thoroughfare. Behind them marched the Black Civil War veterans of the Loyal League, followed by more than a thousand Black citizens of Detroit. All along the parade route were banners hailing U.S. Grant, a war hero, then in his first term as president, and banners hailing the Great Emancipator, killed in 1865. Other banners praised Frederick Douglass, William Lloyd Garrison, and John Brown. r />
  The marchers, still heading up Woodward, circled Grand Circus Park, then on to Campus Martius, the spot from which the Phalanx, Detroit's own Black regiment, had marched off to war. The marchers broke ranks to enter the flag-draped opera house. On stage were thirty-two young women dressed in white. From the African Baptist and Methodist churches in the area, they symbolically represented the thirty-two states that had ratified the Fifteenth Amendment, thereby making it the law of the land. In the center of the thirty-two stood two tall young women also clad in white. They represented the goddesses of Truth and Liberty.

  After the audience stood at attention to hear the "Star-Spangled Banner," the Reverend W. R. G. Mellen led the opening prayer. He was followed by five hours of speeches given by such dignitaries as Michigan Governor Henry P. Baldwin, who declared that the day of "jubilee" rightfully belonged to Detroit's Black citizens, and by local tailor and Underground Railroad agent William Lambert. Lambert, the chairman of the day's events, introduced some formerly escaped slaves who never would have witnessed jubilee had it not been for the "Road" and its agents. He went on to speak of John Brown and his journey to Detroit before his illfated raid at Harper's Ferry, then began praising such men as Detroit hotelier Seymour Finney, whose secret barn loft sheltered hundreds of fugitives as they passed through the city on their way to freedom in Canada and elsewhere. Then as the celebration ended, he introduced well-known caterer John DeBaptiste, who came on stage and promptly resigned as the superintendent and main engineer of the Underground Railroad. "We don't need it anymore," he laughingly told the throng.

  The resignation was accepted with ovations and cheers.

  In the silence that followed DeBaptiste's resignation, the familiar opening strains of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic" came out of the stillness. The crowd sang quietly at first, but as the chorus swelled and the blended voices gained strength, many sang the final line with tears in their eyes.

  Abigail finished the story just as they arrived at the opera house. Vivid and the Graysons joined the hundreds of others who'd come to listen to Mary Jane Garrett speak.

  And speak she did. She began by recounting the madness taking place in her home state of Louisiana. Vivid, like everyone else in the country, knew of the horrors being heaped upon the South's duly elected Black Republicans by men proclaiming themselves Redemption Democrats. The nation's Black press had been loudly voicing their anger for years about the country sitting back and doing nothing to protect Black men from being systematically murdered for exercising their dearly won right to vote. Yet hearing Miss Garrett talk about the terrifying massacres occurring in parishes such as Caddo, Catahoula, and Orleans was even more chilling.

  To combat this rampage of evil, Garrett and the women of Louisiana were calling for emigration. She eloquently but steadfastly demanded that the husbands and brothers of the race take their women to places out of the South where they could live in security and peace and get homes for themselves and education for their children.

  She called upon all those living in the North to lend their support by informing their Southern relatives about the call and by signing the petitions she planned to send to the Congress with the demand that members of the race be given the rights and privileges that the Constitution guarantees.

  Her hour-long talk was met by thunderous applause. During the reception held in the lobby, Abigail, Nate, and Vivid penned their signatures to the petitions, and Abigail and Vivid also added their names to the list of women who wished to form a local chapter of Garrett's fledgling organization called the Committee of Five Hundred Women.

  They left the opera house and returned to Mrs. Fisher's boardinghouse. During the ride, Magic vowed to stay awake all night to ensure the wonderful day would never end, but she was soon fast asleep in her father's arms.

  Nate, cradling his softly snoring daughter, climbed die stairs to the women's rented room. He coaxed her out of her dress and shoes, then covered her with a thin blanket. With a smile, he bent to press a paternal kiss upon her brow. "I'd like to take the early train back in the morning," he said to Vivid and Abigail.

  Both women nodded in understanding; tonight would be their last one here. His eyes touched Vivid's, then he exited, closing the door softly.

  Abigail prepared for bed but Vivid, still feeling the excitement of the evening, did not want to turn in yet. "Gail, I think I'm going to go out and get some air. Will you and Magic be all right?"

  "We'll be fine, but you shouldn't stray far."

  "I won't," Vivid promised, then picked up her emerald cape and stole out quietly.

  The hallway was empty as Vivid made her way to the stairs. When she passed Nate's door it suddenly opened. He seemed as surprised as she at the abrupt appearance.

  "I was going out for some air," she felt compelled to explain. She wondered if she would ever become accustomed to his powerful bearing. His shoulders rivaled the width of the door frame.

  "I was on my way down to settle our bill," he replied.

  It was his eyes, she decided; they were mesmerizing and Vivid had to shake herself free from their spell. "Please ask Mrs. Fisher to separate my portion. I will pay her before we leave in the morning."

  "That isn't necessary. I planned on paying her the full amount."

  Vivid shook her head. "That's very nice of you, but I'd prefer not to be indebted."

  For a moment he said nothing. The two of them simply stood there staring at each other; he fighting the urge to run his finger over the lush set of her lips and she fighting to breathe.

  "Come," he said. "I'll walk with you outside. We can discuss it there." He closed his door and escorted her down the hall to the stairs.

  It was a beautiful windy night. The full breeze blew across Vivid's face and caught the edges of her cape and dress, whipping the emerald silk softly and rippling the loose tendrils of her hair. She brushed them back, loving the rush of air against her skin.

  She and Nate were standing inside a small gazebo centered far out in the field behind the boardinghouse. On the walk down the cleared narrow path, neither spoke a word; she felt awkward and tongue-tied, like a young girl out with a new beau.

  His low-toned voice interrupted her thoughts. "You really should let me pay your portion, Lancaster. Look at it as my way of saying thanks for inviting Majestic along."

  "I've enjoyed her company immensely."

  "Then thank me for having such an adorable daughter by letting me pay your bill. Besides, after all the money you spent yesterday, you could probably use a helping hand."

  "I made reasonable purchases," Vivid countered in mock offense.

  "Cuban cigars?"

  "Who knew I could find hand-rolled Cuban cigars here? I'll ship them to my father for Christmas."

  "The silver baby rattle?"

  "My sister in Boston is expecting early next year. It'll be a christening gift. See, all reasonable purchases."

  Nate shook his head. "Is your daddy going to eventually pay for all the things you purchased?"

  "Heavens no." Vivid laughed. "I have enough money of my own that I can afford to splurge now and again."

  "So you're telling me you can afford to pay your portion."

  “With the money I have in my accounts, I can probably pay the bills of everyone in the place."

  Nate cocked his head sideways and peered at her. "We've never talked about this before, have we?"

  "No, we haven't." Vivid wondered if this was going to be another problem between them. Her father had become a wealthy man. Her mother, Francesca, had amassed a sizable portfolio of California land and property over the years, thanks to her shrewd business sense and her friendship with the even shrewder Black businesswoman Biddie Mason. Vivid knew men sometimes resented a woman who didn't need to look to them for financial support.

  "Does it bother you that I have a bit of money?"

  "No. No, it doesn't." He'd answered without thought, then realized he meant it. He didn't care if she was rich as an ancient Egyp
tian queen. He just wanted to make love to her.

  "Then if it doesn't bother you, I will let you pay my bill."

  The awkward silence fell between them again and Vivid turned back to their surroundings, glad for the distraction of the wind and the rustling response of the grasses nearby. Aided by the sliver of the moon above, she could see the shadowy outlines of trees off in the dark distance across the wide open field. The gazebo seemed so isolated, she felt as though she and Nate were the only people in the world.

  The temperature had dropped a few degrees, so she pulled the cape closer against the chill. "What are the winters like here?" she asked.

  "Fierce, cold. Think a California girl like you can survive?"

  "I believe so."

  He chuckled.

  Vivid was about to take offense; she'd heard that smug chuckle before. "You don't think I'm capable?"

  The softness of his reply deflated her temper. "I think you're very capable."

  She shivered then, but couldn't be certain whether it originated from the wind or from her attraction to his volatile nearness.

  "If you're cold, we can head back inside," he offered.

  "I'd like to stay for a few moments more, if we could."

  "Then take this," he said as he held out his coat for her.

  "What will you wear?" she asked, looking up at him in the darkness.

  “Lancaster, for once, no questions, just accept the offer graciously."

  Vivid nodded, smiled, and undid the frogs at the neck of her cape. Raising her arms, she held the silk cape behind her head and the night winds lifted it like a sail. Despite the cool temperature, she enjoyed the caress of the air blowing across her shoulders and throat. "I love this Michigan of yours, Nate. The trees, the wind..."

  She turned and looked over at him. Although shadows masked his eyes, the intensity she sensed made her pause and slowly drop her arms. "Is something wrong?"