Papa hated Republicans. He frequently rushed off to evening meetings of the Democratic party, which he supported with his effort as well as his money. Marie-Louise wished he'd spend more time with the family and less attending meetings and writing letters to newspapers castigating the Republicans. He had no time for his daughter when she tried to plead that she needed a beau, if not several. She decided she would have to acquire one of her own or be forever humiliated in front of her classmates at Mrs. Allwick's.
Finally, Marie-Louise was bothered by a competition at the female academy where she studied Latin and Greek (a bore), algebra (a mystery), and social deportment (useful with beaux; at least so she was told). To conclude the spring term, Mrs. Allwick planned an evening of dance demonstrations under the supervision of Mr. LaMotte, the academy's part-time dancing master. LaMotte was a peculiar man with a huge body, almost feminine grace, and eyes that Marie-Louise found unsettling; they always seemed to be focused on someone other than those he was teaching.
LaMotte frequently harangued the young ladies about "Southern womanhood." He said they represented its finest flowering and must protect themselves against men who would degrade it. Marie-Louise knew that "degrading" had something to do with men and women together physically, but when she mentally ventured beyond that, she was soon in the fogs of ignorance again. Two of her classmates giggled at such references; they understood everything, or pretended they did. It made her so mad she wanted to spit.
To open the program for parents, there would be a grand tableau. One of the six girls in Marie-Louise's class was to be chosen to represent this self-same Southern Womanhood. Mrs. Allwick would make the selection. Marie-Louise had decided that being picked was the most important matter in her life, next to beaux. She also feared the prize would go to a sow named Sara Jane Oberdorf, who said she had seven beaux. Marie-Louise had seen three. One was an undertaker's boy who liked to discuss and compare, funerals. One was the shy son of a local magistrate; he never answered anyone who said hello, merely grunted. The third was a lout so overweight that his neck bulged like those of certain old women afflicted with a condition Mama called "the goiter." But at least the three boys were alive and breathing, not creatures of some scarlet dream. Botheration!
One afternoon in early April, Marie-Louise left school at half past four, only to discover, when she stepped on the porch, that it was raining hard. She couldn't see Fort Sumter in the harbor.
Her chattering friends skipped off to parents or servants waiting in carriages. Marie-Louise clutched her Virgil and her algebra text and prepared for a soaking walk to Tradd Street. Then a familiar two-passenger buggy rounded the corner from the South Battery, and there was Papa, driving and waving his gold-knobbed stick.
"I was at a committee meeting at Ravenel's house. I saw it start to rain and thought I'd save you a drenching. Climb in. I must stop at the Mills House to drop off some papers. Then we'll drive home."
Marie-Louise's side curls bobbed as she jumped up beside him, sheltered by the buggy's top. With adoring eyes she gazed at her pale, tired-looking father. This was the most attention he'd paid to her for months.
A great many carriages and saddle horses were tied along the Meeting Street frontage of the hotel. Cooper found a space and told her to wait. He was gone more than the ten minutes he'd promised.
The rain diminished, swift-flying dark clouds moved on out to sea, and a steamy sunshine pierced through while she waited. She noticed a small crowd of men and women listening to a speaker on the steps of Hibernian Hall. Nearby, other men held placards. One said, republicans for free schools.
Bored, Marie-Louise left the carriage and strolled toward the crowd. The hoarse-voiced speaker, who might or might not have been a mulatto, was urging his listeners to vote in favor of the new state constitution. Marie-Louise paused at the back of the crowd. The two men just in front of her were unshaven farmer types. They gave her suspicious looks.
Suddenly she noticed a young man not far from her on her left. He wore a fawn coat and breeches and a billowing brown cravat. He was staring.
She almost sank through the ground. She recognized the pale face, light hair and curling mustache, and those brilliant blue eyes. It was the young civilian who'd given his seat to the Negress on the train from Coosawhatchie.
He smiled and tipped his hat. Marie-Louise smiled, feeling she must be red as fire. She clutched her textbooks to her bosom. Was she acting like a perfect fool?
"— and it behooves every citizen of good conscience to support free schools for South Carolina by voting aye on the constitution one week from —"
"Just a moment."
Heads turned. Marie-Louise pirouetted. Her legs wobbled from shock. Where had Papa come from so silently? Well, obviously from the Mills House, while she was all wrapped up in wondering about the young man.
Cooper pushed through the crowd. "I'm a citizen with a conscience. I'd like to ask a question."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Main. I recognize you," said the speaker, defensive and a bit sardonic. Marie-Louise flashed a look at the young man, trying to say that Cooper was her father, but of course the young man didn't understand. To the crowd, the speaker said, "This gentleman is a factor and shipping agent. A Democrat."
Predictably, the people growled. When someone said, "Hell with him," Marie-Louise reacted with a wrathful expression. How dare they be so rude to Papa?
Cooper elbowed his way to the steps of Hibernian Hall. Marie-Louise could tell that he was in one of his angry moods. "I listened to the fine platitudes this gentleman purveys as part of his Republican cant. I wonder if any of you know their true cost?"
"Shut him up," yelled one of the rough men standing in front of Marie-Louise.
"No," said Cooper, "I'm sure you don't. So I'll remind all you tenderhearted idealists that before the late unpleasantness, when South Carolina had some claim to prosperity, only seventy-five thousand dollars a year could be raised from property taxes to support public schools. Most of that money came from the tax on black bondsmen —"
"Get him down," shouted the rough man. Marie-Louise wanted to hike up her skirts and kick him with her pointed shoe. The speaker signaled to a couple of ragged musicians, who began to play "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" on fifes.
"Damn you, I'll have my say." Cooper was flushed. Marie-Louise grew alarmed. She didn't see the young man drop back and circle the crowd, coming toward her.
Over the music Cooper shouted, "The stupendous and ill-conceived school scheme is estimated to cost nearly a million dollars a year. It can only come from taxes. If you vote for the Republican-inspired constitution, you'll be placing an intolerable burden on the state. South Carolina is on her knees, struggling to rise. This school plan will keep, her down forever."
A woman shook her parasol at him. "It isn't taxes you hate. It's the colored people."
The rough man yelled, "Either step down or we'll pull you down."
Marie-Louise didn't pause to consider her next action. She just beat the man's shoulder twice, hard, with her Virgil. "Let him alone. He has as much right to speak as you do."
The man turned, and so did his companion. Marie-Louise looked at them closely and grew petrified with fright. The one doing the yelling had a milky eye and wore a gold ring in his left ear. He glanced at Marie-Louise's bosom and smirked. "They take their concubines young in Charleston, don't they?" He said it in a hard Yankee accent.
"Watch your mouth, sir," said a low voice at her elbow. She turned to see the blue-eyed stranger. He confronted the two older men without apparent worry. "I believe the gentleman speaking is related to the young lady. You owe her an apology."