Sex Wars (14 page)

Four days later, she and Susan were on the train to Philadelphia and thence to Harrisburg to confront the governor about Hester Vaughan, the woman to be hanged. They had written to a number of Pennsylvania women to meet them in Harrisburg. First they stopped to meet Hester in Moyamensing Prison, where she was confined. She stared at them when she met them, barely able to speak at first. Then she burst into tears and embraced them.

“I don’t want to die! I want to go home. My mum wants me home. I didn’t want to lose my baby, but I was so sick I couldn’t crawl out of bed.”

She told her story while Susan wrote down the account. She was thin as a piece of paper and as pale, only nineteen.

“We’ll save you,” Elizabeth promised. “I swear it on the heads of my children.” She wrote up the story and sent it to the Working Women’s Association in New York, urging them to get it into the papers. The more publicity they could stir up, the better. The
Revolution
would be coming out with a headline
SHOULD HESTER HANG?

They worried and harassed the governor every day They sent petitions, they harangued him wherever they could catch him. Elizabeth stood in front of his carriage and would not move. Susan waited in front of his house to buttonhole him. They called in the newspapers and gave them stories to make readers weep. Elizabeth cornered legislators and told the pitiful tale again and again. Susan pulled out troops of women. They held mass meetings in Philadelphia and New York where Elizabeth told Hester’s sad history. Back and forth they went to the prison to cheer her up. The guards all knew them and Elizabeth did her best to charm them, hoping for better treatment for Hester.

“Ladies,” the governor said, pulling on his beard, “don’t you have anything to do but pester me? You’re like a cloud of mosquitoes.”

“Oh, we can bite worse than any mosquito.” Elizabeth beamed at him. “Do you wish to be known in history as the man who hanged a sweet and wronged woman?”

Finally the governor pardoned Hester, and she was free. The governor insisted she be sent back to England, to her family. Hester wept with relief. Elizabeth, Susan and the contingent from the Working Women returned to New York with at least one little victory to warm them. The story had been carried in newspapers all over the country. Perhaps a judge somewhere else would think twice about killing a woman for her hard luck.

V
ICTORIA AND TENNIE
were dining with the Commodore at Delmonico’s. Dinner with Vanderbilt was always a long-drawn-out matter, not because of conversation or because he ate slowly—he didn’t—but because he ate such an enormous amount. Tennie was working on his habits, but so far she had only managed to cut back his girth an inch at the waist. He put up with admonishments from her he would not accept from anyone else. He had already eaten a turbot and a tenderloin of beef. Tennie and Victoria were sticking to woodcock on toast. He was in a great mood
tonight because Union Pacific had gone up—as Victoria and the spirits had advised him it would. Victoria sometimes wondered why an extra thirty thousand meant so much to him when he was worth a hundred million. Money to her meant freedom, power, the chance to fulfill the grand public destiny she had felt hovering before her since the time in her childhood when she began to experience visions and when the spirits began to talk with her. To him it seemed an entity in itself, far more real and potent in his life than his wife hidden away upstairs or his children, whom he despised. Money was his real lover and had certainly proved faithful. His other passion was winning. She doubted he had ever really loved a woman, but he was fond of Tennie. He preferred her company to just about everyone else’s and she herself probably came in second. But the company of his money was more stimulating by far.

“There’s a giant bim-bam-bang rally for Grant tomorrow,” Tennie said. “Are you for him or Greeley or whoever the Democrats are running? I forget his name.”

Victoria said, “The Democrats joined in with the radical Republicans and are for Greeley too. Before, they had somebody who dropped dead.”

The Commodore grunted, waving a leg of turkey at them. “Whoever they got don’t stand a chance. Even though the Congress didn’t succeed in impeaching Johnson, no Democrat could get elected. They could run George Washington and he’d go down to defeat.”

Victoria felt a gaze upon her, hard and determined. The man was perhaps thirty with a thick head of hair, lean, flashily dressed. Vanderbilt had noticed the whole thing. “That’s Alfred Kumble giving you the eye. Don’t bother with him. A minnow. One day he’s rich and the next he’s trying to rub two cents together to warm his mitts. Tries to corner stocks with no success. He used to follow Dan’l Drew around but now he’s on his own. If he didn’t have family money, he’d be sleeping in the street.”

“I’m not interested. I was only curious who was staring at me.” She was telling the truth; something predatory in the man’s gaze chilled her. She did not need that kind of lover.

“Why, who wouldn’t stare. I’m here with the two prettiest women in the place. Let them stare all they want. I won’t charge them for looking.”

“Old boy, you didn’t answer me, who you’re voting for.” Tennie tapped his knuckles with her fan.

“I ain’t voting. I don’t give a damn. I can buy and sell politicians by the carload. I go up to Albany and I pay them off, and some other businessman
goes up there and buys them off for more money. An honest politician is one who stays bought. That’s all there is to it.” He liked pie. He had already had two pieces, one of apple and one of cherry heaped with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream on top of that.

“How much does a legislator cost?” Victoria asked.

“No fixed price. Depends on the legislation and who’s bidding against you. Most I ever paid was ten thousand.”

“Still, you have to keep on eye on the laws they pass.”

“What do I care for the law? Ain’t I got the power?” He grinned and Victoria could see for a moment the handsome man he must have been in his prime. Tennie beamed warmly at him.

When they went off to the powder room to freshen up, Tennie said, “He’s been hinting how his wife is sickly. He asked me this afternoon if I wanted to be the next Mrs. Vanderbilt.”

Dropping her comb, Victoria turned to her sister. “Shhh. Don’t talk about it in here. But what did you say?”

“That I’d think about it. I sure will. If I said yes and started jumping up and down, I’d be in real trouble with him.”

Victoria turned back, meeting her sister’s eyes in the baroque mirror. “You play it the way you see it, Tennie. You understand him. Just don’t let his family get wind of this or they will do something to put an end to it.”

“They’ll blow up a hurricane, I know it. Besides, his wife’s still kicking, and when I see her she doesn’t look a bit frail to me.”

Victoria felt a chill on the back of her neck, as if a spirit had caressed her. “You think he’s capable of having something done to her?”

“He stuck her in an insane asylum at least once, didn’t he? But I don’t think he’s the murdering type. He’s too scared of ghosts.”

“Put this in the back of the closet for now. It’s too dangerous to talk about.”

They trekked back to the table, all elegance and smiles. They were better dressed these days. They each had some good new gowns and a couple that looked new, obtained through the network of madams. Victoria had no more useful or more intimate friend than Annie Wood. Annie passed on tips to Victoria, who passed them on from the spirits to the Commodore. In return, Victoria gave Annie any information that might be useful. Victoria had little to invest yet—a few dollars.

The next morning she had brunch with Annie in the conservatory. They met at least four times a week to exchange information, gossip, speculation,
or just to talk about their lives. After they had discussed the market, Annie said, “Stocks are all well and good, but I put most of my money into real estate.”

Victoria was startled. “Why? There’s plenty of land to be had cheap—dirt cheap, as they say.”

“There’s plenty of land out west, Victoria, but look at Manhattan. It’s a fixed size. Over in Brooklyn, they can make more land when they need it from swamps and marshes, and the same with New Jersey. But Manhattan is rock and there’s deep water on all sides. It can only grow north. So what’s good enough for the Astors—buying land that isn’t developed yet up by Central Park—is good enough for me.”

“I’ve been up there with the Commodore when he’s racing his horses. It’s just barren country and shacks. A few farms, slaughterhouses, squatters’ cabins.” Nothing she could imagine getting excited about, but Annie’s judgment in money matters was something to be respected.

“This city grows every year. The rich people keep trying to get away from the poor people, and north’s the only direction they can go. Madame Restell saw that years ago and bought land on Fifth Avenue near the big cathedral that’s going up.” Annie fanned herself briskly, excitement quickening her. Annie had a whole assortment of fine painted fans, landscapes, flowers.

“Who’s Madame Restell?”

“Ann Lohman. She’s the best abortionist in all of New York. If you ever find yourself in the family way and you don’t need another mouth to feed, you see Restell. She’s saved the wives and daughters of the richest families in New York, the so-called better people. Made a fortune doing it. She built herself a mansion just below where the park starts. You should go look at it. It’s enormous and every window has hangings that match. The rich people moving up there tried to get rid of her, tried to buy her out, but she wouldn’t be moved. She drives in the park every day with her gorgeous horses and her fine phaeton and the respectable ladies pretend they don’t see her.”

Victoria was intrigued. Here was a woman who had gotten rich on her own, nobody’s mistress, no wealthy family. “How can she be so bold? The regular physicians and their A.M.A. have made what she does illegal. When I was a girl, it wasn’t. Until the baby quickened, it was just something women did if they had to. Nobody thought twice about it. Now it’s against the law.” She had suspected her first husband, Dr. Woodhull, of occasionally giving a woman some relief.

“She pays off the police and the chief is a friend. When she entertains, politicians and lawyers and men with money drop in. They say she’s a fine lady with good manners and elegant taste—the finest food and wines and liquors. I’ve never had occasion to use her myself, but if any of my girls needs help, that’s where I send them. She’s reliable. She may lose a patient once in a while, but not often. They’ve tried to get her in court, but she has always escaped except once. I hear she did time years ago on Blackwell’s Island. You keep her in mind if you have to have something taken care of. Although I suspect you have your ways.”

“I do. I had my babies and now I take care of myself.”

“Two. One able and one feeble.”

Victoria drew herself up. Not even Annie was allowed to cast aspersions on Byron. “He’s a sweet boy. There are many worse things that can happen to a mother than to have a boy who never grows up. He’s a baby forever.”

“A rather large baby.”

“I love him, Annie. I would protect him with my life.”

“But you love the girl better. You have to.”

“She’s a bright child.” Victoria could remember her fear with Zulu, that there would be something wrong with her too. How obsessively she had watched over Zulu that first year, until she began to walk and talk. “She sees everything. She’s wise beyond her age. I keep her close to me.”

“Tennie’s never had children?”

“Byron scared her. She’s afraid, as I am, that there’s something bad running in our family. Our mother’s crazy at times. Buck is not to be trusted. I say this although I love both of them dearly. We all stick together. But I think we may have bad blood.” She inched her chair a little closer to Annie’s. “You never wanted to have children?” She wondered if Annie had a child stashed away someplace.

“I didn’t think it a great idea to bring them into this life, darling, although plenty of whores do. I got pregnant once. Now there’s no chance of it. The Virgin Mary is the only one on record who can do it alone. I hardly think I’m in her class.”

V
ICTORIA WATCHED HER CHILDREN
together. Zulu Maud was seven going on eight. She interpreted her brother’s grunts and brought him water or a toy he liked or showed him some bright object that caught his attention so that he reached out toward it, making those strange noises that
were all he had for speech. To her, what was he? More pet than brother. Byron felt safe and cared for with his sister and with her. He barely related to anyone else. James had about as much to do with him as he would with a goldfish in a bowl. Sometimes when he spoke of their immediate family, he would slip and refer to them as three—and she would have to remind him gently but firmly that they were four. His indifference to Byron bothered her, but she understood it. It was hard for anyone but herself and Zulu Maud to see him as a person. No other friend or lover seemed able to penetrate that barrier of strangeness to love her son, who could not speak or do any of the things the most ordinary child of paupers could perform. But he had a heart and feelings and probably inchoate thoughts. He reached out to her, his oversized head bobbing on his weak neck. Whenever he saw her, he burbled joy. He loved to be held in her arms. He was a being sent to her to be protected and loved, and she would never fail him. Actually there had been one other person who saw Byron as an individual and not a vegetable, and that had been his father, Canning Woodhull, when he was sober enough to notice anyone else. James’s older brother George was sometimes kind and patient with Byron. George often visited them now that they were lodged in a comfortable house which was gradually being well furnished. George was a more emotional man than James, and he loved children. He had a special place in his big heart for those who had afflictions, even keeping as a pet a three-legged dog.

Zulu Maud was spinning a top while Byron swatted ineffectually at it, giggling and drooling. Zulu would very seriously wipe his mouth from time to time with a big white linen handkerchief with James’s initials. Byron held still for these attentions. Other mothers with fourteen-year-old sons had to worry that they would be getting a maidservant pregnant or beginning to drink, to smoke, to gamble, to run with a bad crowd. Victoria was spared those worries. She could find something to be grateful for even in Byron’s affliction. She had been thinking of Lord Byron’s clubfoot when she named her son, for it was evident from birth he would not be a normal child.

Zulu Maud gritted her teeth and concentrated fiercely on the top Buck had given her. Victoria did her best to keep Buck and Roxanne away from the children, but it was hard, living under the same roof. She did not want them to have undue influence over Zulu, and she was afraid of Buck’s cruel streak with Byron. They needed a bigger house than this narrow brownstone, but she did not have the money. Tennie and she could barely manage to support this establishment.

Zulu Maud’s sausage curls bobbed and shook as she played. Her intense blue gaze was fixed upon the top as if to mesmerize it into spinning upright, not wobbling. Zulu had Victoria’s eyes, that intense clear blue that people found fascinating or disturbing, depending on their temperaments. Perhaps the Gaelic strain from Buck, whose people came from northern Scotland, gave Victoria the beauty she found useful: black hair, pale perfect skin and intense blue eyes. Zulu had her bone structure, that chiseled look some admirers called aristocratic. That made Victoria smile. She came out of the dirt, yes, but she had known since the spirits began to single her out that she was indeed special and would, as they promised, achieve wealth and great things. She had finally come to a place where that was within her ken. It only remained to pursue those goals intelligently and without distraction.

Clearly, the first goal had to be wealth. Once she had the wherewithal to keep her extended family, she would be free to pursue the other goals. She was, the spirits said, to lead a great cause. Fame would follow. She could see her path as a golden road unfolding before her, as if she had only to shut her eyes, visualize it and step forward. But she knew better. There was a lot of work involved in paving that road with gold. The best place to start was to keep filling Vanderbilt’s favor bank.

There was a final torchlight parade Sunday night for Grant. The election was Tuesday. Victoria thought she would probably vote for him, if she could. The fact that she couldn’t annoyed her. She was surely the equal of any man. Her first husband had been a smart man but weak-willed. James was much stronger, but if he had never met her and been swept into a storm of passion, he would still be sitting in St. Louis writing secret essays about free love with his boring family closing him in and his boring business on his back. The passion was intermittent by now, but there was enough of it, and they had the bond of common ideas and a common destiny to fulfill.