…
Upon my visit to Philadelphia, whither one of my old friends had moved, I took lodging in Germantown in the home of Michael's mother's kinsfolk, and recalled the gentleman there to whom Mrs. Smith had recommended me. So one morning I put on my bonnet and walked until I found Queen Lane, where I made inquiry for a Mr. K—— and was soon knocking on his door. The oddest looking figure, a sort of gargoyle you might say, comprised his door knocker, and I felt a faint shudder to look at it.
The door was opened by a kindly old gentleman clad in an Oriental robe. Upon mention of my Indian tutor, Mr. K—— nodded. "So old Injun Annie sent you. You know, years ago she sent word to me to watch for a beautiful lady named Patience." I allowed such was my name. He bowed, "Do come in, ma'am!"
As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior, I perceived that his entire room was furnished in the arts of India. Was my host a merchant who sailed the seas, bringing these artifacts from the Indies along with tea and spices? I gazed at peacock feathers amidst the figures of Mohammedans, Hindoo fakirs, ladies wrapped in great lengths of fine fabric. He gestured for me to be seated, "Please be my guest. I have just brewed coffee, as a good Yankee should!" and laughed. "I gave up good old German beer for my adopted country, not to speak of English tea. Drinking coffee is the least an American patriot can do," and he laughed again, merrily. "Remind me sometime to tell you how I came to America… but later, when we are better acquainted, hmm? I had been expecting you someday, though it has been years since I last heard from Injun Annie. So I made use of the power found in your name, and passed all these years till now by having the gift of patience… in the absence of Patience." His aspect turned presently somber.
Over coffee I related a synopsis of my Indian apprenticeship on the frontier. Mr. K—— nodded sagely when I described matters such as setting out bunches of different herbs on a medicine wheel, arranged to correspond with the seasons; stories of the Great Bear in the stars; or how to read natural signs in the forest, and who were the old-time famous Indians who had their spirits in certain features of the landscape, and what that had to do with reading signs around there. His eyes flashed with a keen interest to hear me speak so. I concluded my narrative by bringing it into the present, for the herblore I learned from Mrs. Smith formed the foundation of my midwifery vocation.
"Mrs. McGuire," he spoke up, "I have a hunch that you may be an initiate of authentic mysteries," making a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement — a grotesque one. “You do not comprehend?” he said. “Not I,” I replied. He sighed. "There is yet much I may not reveal to you. Know you aught of any sacred mysteries?" I allowed a brief description of my vision of the Blessed Virgin upon my arrival on the frontier—omitting certain gory details, I nonetheless related the honest gist of her conversation with me. He closed his eyes, pondered long, and then nodded in affirmation. "Mrs. McGuire, I believe you are describing what could be called a genuine spiritual initiation. If so, you are destined for higher knowledge. Have you heard of… Freemasonry?"
"Heaven forbid, sir, that I should ever be tempted away from the true faith by any such Protestant mummery! I follow the faith of the Holy Father of Rome. And by your leave, sir, I believe it is time for me to go. I thank you for your hospitality."
He did not get all up in arms as I'd come to expect from Protestants. (Such as the combative Scotch-Irish who settled the uplands, who would shoot you soon as look at you. My brother said no wonder they are wary and belligerent: land up there is all the more meager and valuable a commodity, as so much of it is vertical.) Rather, he smiled benignly and said in farewell: "We are the beneficiaries of an intellectual and moral Enlightenment. The
illumination to come will supplant all such priestcraft… but you may comfort yourself with it for now," threw back his head, and laughed.
I wasted no time but continued on my way. My next destination was down near the riverfront, the new home of my girlhood friend Adelia McGraw, as she had married a gentleman who served as civil engineer to the national government of the United States. She received me warmly, and our conversation went as follows:
--Patty, so glad you could call, dear, we just received a shipment of books from England!
--Remember, Adelia, you promised me a set of Shakespeare for our Allegheny settlement?
--Here it is. And may I suggest you take a copy of this? It's becoming all the talk of the ladies here.
--
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman? What rights? I don't understand.
--The author Miss Wollstonecraft argues that women are just as capable of learning as men, and that we have been kept ignorant only through custom. Therefore it is only just and fitting that we ought to enjoy rights equal to those of men.
--How can a woman have rights like men? As well ask a horse to fly, or a bird to swim, or a fish to walk. As well ask an apple tree to bear hickory nuts! Each creature behaves according to its born nature.
--She says that this very nature of women, of which you speak, is potentially equal in learning to that of men, given sufficient education and nurturance. Once we have advanced thus, we shall become fit to assume equal positions of authority to guide our own destinies as we will.
--
A Mhuire, such a strange idea! Have all these revolutions nowadays knocked the earth from its axis too? Then who'll do the women's work, sure and won't your Harry look dandy a-scrubbing the floor in his apron! Can you picture it! Shall he suckle your babes? No one else can do what we do, Adelia, and that suits me fine out on the frontier. We don't have to argue for rights. Rights? Everyone lends all their hands to the common survival. Women and men alike. That's all we know out there. I'll leave it to your drawing rooms of Philadelphia to plan the women's revolution, and then shall ye write it up in a fine handsome document. Meanwhile, I have corn to plant, cows to milk, raccoons to skin, butter to churn, wounds to dress, babes and calves to birth, pots to scrub... Adieu for now!
--Wait, don't you want to hear about the scandalous new fashions in Paris?