The Gilded Years Read Online Free PDF Page B

deer in the woods.
    “Is that topic even worth a debate?” said a voice suddenly.It came from directly behind Anita. The roommates both turned to see Sarah Douglas, a senior from North Pleasureville, Kentucky, and president of the school’s Southern Club. “This is Vassar, not an abolitionist meeting. Shouldn’t we debate something more relevant?”
    Medora, who was from Ticonderoga, New York, merely smiled politely and said: “It was the most-talked-about Supreme Court case of the year, Sarah. I think that makes it important enough to debate here, don’t you agree? This is an esteemed debating club, not the school’s floral society, am I correct?”
    Sarah shrugged, and because Medora was the president, which meant she was going to win that or any other argument, the topic turned to which other issues of the day were worthy of dialogue.
    For the last half hour of the meeting, Anita sat as if someone had nailed her to her chair and taped her mouth shut. She was afraid of what she would do or say, so she said nothing. She was still sitting there rigidly when Lottie alerted her that the meeting had been adjourned. They stood up together, said goodbye to the other girls, and headed down the wide hallway. It was then that Anita realized that from the nape of her neck to the back of her knees, she was covered in a slip of sweat.
    “Can you believe Sarah Douglas speaking out at the meeting the way she did?” said Lottie, when they were a few yards from the parlor. “I know I uttered a few words out of turn, too, but I’m much more agreeable than she is and no one seemed to mind when I did. But then Sarah had to carry on with that nonsense. I do not care for her jejune opinions, not one bit. And she’s very set in her ways, that one. Her grandfather was one of the wealthiest slave owners in South Carolina before the war. Rumor has it they owned two hundredslaves, can you imagine? But the war hit them hard, as did the hurricanes in ’93, and the family moved to Kentucky. Brought their belief system up with them, too. I’m surprised her parents let her come up here at all. The wicked North. She rooms with Alice Sawyer from Jacksonville.”
    “Oh, Alice,” said Anita, thinking of the quiet brunette with the beautiful dresses who had sat next to her in French class the year before. “She’s a lovely girl.”
    “Lovely!” said Lottie. “Maybe if you’re Bloody Bill Anderson she’s lovely. She’s the one who told the story about the Negro children being used for alligator bait down in Florida. She swears up and down that it happens. Calls them pickaninnies when she tells the story. She said the mothers are given two dollars and their children may or may not come back alive after being tossed in a swamp to lure the animals. Something about their black skin that attracts them, she said. Tourists are captivated by it.”
    “That cannot be true,” said Anita, horrified.
    “It is Florida,” said Lottie, with big eyes. “Who knows what happens in that uncivilized swamp country. But of course, she loves boring old mouse-faced Sarah Douglas. Five girls from the South in our year, and two are rooming together. Certainly not a coincidence. Sarah’s father even fought in the war, under P. G. T. Beauregard, defending Charleston in ’63. I suppose he did a decent job, as the city is still standing. But don’t get her talking about all of that because she will never cease. She speaks about her father like he’s the unacknowledged fourth member of the Holy Trinity.”
    Lottie pulled another shortbread biscuit out of her bag and popped it in her mouth. Like an animal hunting its prey, she required constant refueling and was forever grazing on delicacies her mother sent up from New York. “Was she in the club last year?” she asked, her mouth full.
    “Yes, but she didn’t attend many meetings,” said Anita, thinking back.
    “I hope the same can be said for this year. I find her very tiresome.”
    “Did your father