“Then if you’re still in town when I go out, you’re welcome to come along.”
Garrett stood and the men shook hands. “Thanks, Dr. Lee.”
“Thank you for coming all this way. Makes a man feel important.”
On his walk back to Dovie’s, Garrett thought back to his interview with Colton Lee. The doctor was impressive not only for his accomplishments, but also for not looking down his nose at him for having been enslaved. Some freebornpeople did, and back East it often influenced how you were perceived for things like employment and your social circle.
As a former slave and a lowly carpenter, he’d never been invited to the homes of many of the people holding the coveted government jobs he and Lee briefly discussed. Although not everyone wrapped themselves in the born-free snobbery, there were those who did. His father was a bit of a social climber. Being a coachman had given him a status lacked by those who labored in the fields. In his mind, being a doorman offered the same elevated rank, but his past enslavement often barred him from the higher social circles he wanted to be a part of.
It was one of the reasons he was pushing for Garrett to marry Emily Stanton. Her father, Henry, a celebrated chef at the same hotel, was a descendant of people free since the Revolutionary War, and so was accepted in the rarefied places his father was not. The two men were longtime friends, and the Stantons occasionally invited Garrett’s parents to dinner. Mr. Stanton looked upon Garrett as someone he wouldn’t mind his daughter marrying if she could be convinced to do so, and if Garrett returned to the practice of law.
Garrett loved his father, but he refused to bea pawn to further his social ambitions. Creating furniture and working with his uncle Quincy to build homes held all the satisfaction he needed in life. The feel of the tools, the scent of the wood, and turning that wood into something functional and often pleasing to the eye, was a joy difficult to convey. His uncle understood; his father did not. Garrett respected his father’s desire for a son who championed the law; the race needed such men, but it wasn’t his calling. Being enslaved, who he wanted to be had been beyond his grasp. Now free, his life, ambitions, and dreams were his own. He’d not turn the reins over to anyone else.
Per the arrangement, Arnold Cale and Chauncey Miller arrived promptly at seven, and joined Garrett at a table in the back of the boardinghouse’s dining room.
As they took their seats, Garrett asked, “Are the other council members on the way?”
“No,” Cale replied. “Mayor Nelson is in Laramie on business, Heath Leary’s doing inventory at the saloon, and Beck’s handling a funeral, so it’ll just be the two of us for your story.”
Garrett had hoped to speak with the entire group. “Shall we postpone the interview until they’re available?”
Cale shook his head. “I think Chauncey and I can provide you with all you need to know.”
The dour Miller studied Garrett through the thick lenses of his spectacles and asked, “Do lots of people read your newspaper?”
“A fair amount. There are a number of newspapers to choose from in Washington, so many people subscribe to more than one.”
Cale appeared pleased by that.
“How about President Cleveland? You think he’ll read about us in your paper?”
Garrett smiled. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if he reads Colored newspapers.”
Both men appeared perplexed, and Miller asked, “What do you mean by Colored newspapers?”
“Newspapers for the Colored population.”
They drew back as if he was contagious. “Coloreds have newspapers?” Cale asked.
The astonishment on his face forced Garrett to swallow an urge to laugh out loud. “Yes. There are quite a few, to be honest. In fact, the first one,Freedom’s Journal, was published way back in 1827.”
Miller’s eyes were wide, as well. “And that’s where your story about us will be? In a Colored paper?”
“Yes.” He opened his journal. “So tell me how long you’ve both been on the council.”
Cale began to stammer. “I—I just remembered Glenda needed me to do something for her this evening. So sorry. She always teases me about how forgetful I am.” He stood up so hastily he knocked his chair to the floor.
Miller rose, too. “I have a shipment coming in I need to see to. I don’t think I’ll have free time to talk to you again before you leave town.”
“I understand,” Garrett replied. “Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”
They practically ran to the exit.
Garrett sighed with irritation. Although their reactions were common, he still found them disappointing.
Dovie walked over. “Are you ready to eat? What happened to Arnold and Chauncey?”
“When they found out I write for a Colored newspaper they suddenly remembered they had someplace else to be.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry they were so rude. We have spittoons with better manners.”
“No apologies needed. And yes, I’m ready to eat. I’ll have the pork chops and rice, please.”
“Coming right up. If you decide to write about a tall blonde woman making her way alone while raising her son, I’m available.”
“Good to know.”