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Bartholomew’s Day, the French Catholics launched a general massacre of all Protestants. Before it ended, over six hundred thousand people died and the country was convulsed by civil war. Tens of thousands of French Protestants fled France to settle in England and the American colonies.
    â€œI begin to think the world is a terrible place,” I said. “The Evil Brother seems at work everywhere, sowing hatred and war.”
    â€œThat’s as good an explanation as any,” Grandfather said.
    â€œI believe that in America, as it grows, we will see an end to such hatreds,” Nathan Franks said. “They are rooted in envy and greed more than anything else. Here, there will be abundance for all.”
    â€œLet us drink to that noble vision,” William Laurens said.
    The three old men raised their glasses to an America that existed only in their hopes. Clara and I would soon discover the real America was still far from their benevolent dreams.

FIVE
    I N ABOUT THREE MONTHS, WHEN WE could express ourselves in English, Grandfather summoned Madame Mercereau, New York’s best dressmaker, to outfit us. A tiny woman who talked rapidly in a heavy French accent, she tempted us with a half dozen fashion dolls wearing the latest Paris and London styles. We were dazzled by the profusion, the detail, the luxury of the dresses, with their rococo shell motifs, combined with flowers, feathers, ribbon bowknots, and every imaginable curve and curl. The range of fabrics—silks, satins, woolens of a dozen different textures—was equally incredible to us. Told we would have to tolerate corsets to wear them, we capitulated instantly.
    Grandfather gave us each an allowance of fifty pounds—two hundred and fifty Spanish dollars—to spend on our clothes. 5 We both bought expensive dresses that dismayed the old man, who had urged us to be frugal and sensible. “These could only be worn at the King’s Birthday Ball,” he said.
    He mournfully added that there was very little chance of Clara being invited to such a ball. “In that case I won’t go either!” I said.
    Grandfather paid for the gowns and gave Madame Mercereau another fifty pounds for some everyday dresses. We paraded around the house in our ball gowns, learning to maneuver the hoops through doorways, curtsying to each other, posing in front of mirrors, reveling in our womanhood. The full-length mirrors in Grandfather’s house had almost as much influence as the maps in changing our Seneca identities. A mirror made us aware of ourselves in a new way. We saw ourselves in our beautiful gowns and felt reborn. We could believe we had become new women.
    Looking in the mirror, with rouge and lipstick on my white face and my hair crimped in the latest style, I convinced myself I was almost as attractive as Clara. I was a head taller, and my breasts were not as luxurious, but I had a long, graceful neck and a passable face. My nose was either sharp or fine, depending on your generosity, but my eyes were a bold blue. I told myself I was like a piece of fine filigreed ivory, while
Clara’s beauty was a dark glowing opal. Men might love both kinds of women.
    For almost six months, we lived in our unreal world of learning and luxury. Our meals were prepared by Grandfather’s aging Negro cook, Shirley, and her husband, Peter. In the evenings we were entertained by musicians and singers Grandfather invited to perform the latest scores from London. He was particularly fond of George Frideric Handel, who was King George’s court musician. Clara found the music thrilling. She could not hear enough of it. I listened to it, but my mind traveled up the Hudson to Albany and imagined agonizing deaths for my parents’ murderers.
    On other nights Grandfather entertained us with the story of his life. It was full of narrow escapes from death in the northern forests and on the sea. Listening to him, I concluded that the hidden