American Daughters by Piper Huguley

Author:Piper Huguley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Portia

1908

Teaching the White House butler’s children how to play the piano worked out well for me. Word spread at local churches and a busy summer came the next month in June when I would have days full of pupils coming to my house and learning their scales on the piano that my father gifted to me.

The baby was due in August and my father wrote me to reassure me he would be there in time to see the birth of his first grandchild, a fact that touched my heart. It was even better that he managed to say, in his usual politic way, that Margaret would not be accompanying him, but was staying behind to oversee campus operations. Good. I knew she didn’t care for babies anyway. She never managed, or wanted from what I understood, to have her own, something many, including myself, had always wondered about.

But at the same time, I knew that my father was taking important time away from the campus before school started to come to visit with us to make sure that I would make it through my travail alive.

There was no escaping that particular worry. Alice even showed she felt it, with her overt generosity, sending us elaborate baskets of food every week, baskets that came in a car with someone from her house or in a car inveigled by the White House. The baskets had not just pastries but more substantial fare, like canned meats, cheeses, and fruits and vegetables. Whoever the chauffeur was would help unload the basket into my pantry, and then he would take the huge monstrosity back into the car to load it up with more food for the next week.

Sid had finished his work on the Negro building for the Jamestown Centennial, which was received well with rave reviews. I was so proud of him. Everyone marveled about its beauty and that a Negro had designed it, Booker T. Washington’s son-in-law no less, bringing a wonderful highlight to his achievement.

What it did not bring, unfortunately, were any more commissions for Sid to work on. That’s why we were running low on money. The piano teaching made the difference for us in a lot of ways, as well as Alice’s generosity.

One week, the chauffeur was a few hours later than usual, due to a fundraising ball held at the White House the night before, and Sid was there when he came. “Afternoon, Miss Portia,” the chauffeur said amiably. “How’s those children of mine doing?”

“Making wonderful progress. It’s a delight to teach them both.” It was getting harder for me to stand these days, but I made the effort and stood to hold the door open for him. Sid, smoking a cigar on the other side of the porch, just watched the man carry the basket into the kitchen, not offering to help.

“As are you. Looking healthy and strong. No need to help. I know the way.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” I couldn’t help but run a hand down my front, calming my wriggling baby just under my untucked shirtwaist.

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