We let this sit between us for a moment.

“Yes. Yes. You see …” I licked my lips, readying for the lie. “You see, I’ve come to a sort of conclusion.”

Alma Curtis looked at me skeptically.

“The Graces—that is, Louisa and Experience—they mentioned that President Curtis wished for them to found a chorale. In the mode of the Jubilee Singers in Tennessee.”

“Yes,” she said. “I am aware.”

“And Miss Experience,” I said. I figured the formal address would help my cause. “Miss Experience was uncertain about performing the slave songs for a different audience. For our white friends.”

Alma Curtis looked unconvinced.

“She says she would feel distressed,” I said, “to sing the slave songs in front of them.”

Alma Curtis sighed again and under her breath said, “These young people.”

“So …” I wet my lip. “So I have been formulating an idea. A compromise of sorts. That they could perform in Brooklyn, for the colored people there. I know that the women’s groups are planning many celebrations for the summer. We could raise some good money. I could organize it. My mother has friends in Philadelphia and Boston who would gladly support. It would be a kind of jubilee.”

Alma Curtis blew out a breath.

“If anything,” I said, “it would help convince them that performing is possible. And then, perhaps, they would not be so shy of mixed company.”

The dean sat back for a moment. “This is what’s been distracting you?”

“I very much love this college,” I said, “and wish to aid in any way that I can.”

Alma Curtis shook her head. “You may love it,” she said, “but I have come to tell you that you cannot return next year. We do not have a place for you.”

I searched her face to see if she might regret it, if she might leave me an opening to argue. But there was nothing, not even pity, not even sympathy. Just resolve.

She patted my hand, and then she stood up, shook out her skirts, and walked away.

“For colored people,” I said to Louisa and Experience later that day. “The women’s club my mother founded will organize a benefit, and you two will be the stars. Louisa, we can raise the money for your home. And, Experience, you will not have to sing your pain for anyone else but people who already know it.”

“If these colored ladies are so rich,” Experience said, “why can they not just give the money to the college? Why do we have to sing for them?”

Louisa snorted. “Can’t get nothing without giving nothing. Anyone knows that.”

“They’ll raise more if it’s a celebration,” I said. “A talented duet all the way from Ohio? If it is new people in town, we can get our friends from Jersey and from outside the city to come. It will be a whole celebration. You’ll see.”