by Jeanne Gehret
by Jeanne Gehret
In the Victorian world, few objects carried as much quiet power as the calling card. About the size of a modern business card—and often far more elegant—these small rectangles of card stock acted as keys to social belonging. A calling card announced one’s presence, one’s manners, and even one’s aspirations. It was the prelude to the real introduction.
Social calls began with a gentle knock on the door. When the maid answered, the visitor would offer her card, which the maid would place on an ornate tray for family and visitors to admire. From that simple ritual bloomed entire relationships.
If the resident was home, the maid would announce the caller, giving the lady of the house the opportunity to receive the visitor by saying that she was “at home.”
In the image above, you’ll see a card inviting Leavenworth society to visit Annie Anthony “at home” to many callers during a specified period. The date indicates that she probably held this reception as soon as she reached town after her January marriage to Daniel Anthony in Martha’s Vineyard. The Planters Hotel, one of the most fashionable addresses in town, made a fine setting for her entrance into Leavenworth society, because, from the the hotel steps, Abraham Lincoln spoke. There, she and Daniel lived until they could occupy their new home on North Esplanade.
I was fortunate to snap this image of Annie’s calling cards in 2013 when the Leavenworth County Historical Society did a wonderful exhibit on the Anthonys. (Be sure to watch the Carroll Mansion video! At 1:33 you can catch a quick glimpse of D.R. Anthony’s portrait on the right of the screen.)
How Calling Cards Worked: Ritual, Etiquette, and Social Rules
More than pretty stationery, calling cards were part of the elaborate choreography of Victorian society, where rank, respectability, and reputation intertwined. A newly arrived woman, like Annie in Born of This Fire, watched her social standing grow one card at a time.
In many Victorian households, calling cards accumulated in bowls, trays, and albums, becoming a visible register of who had called, who had shown loyalty, and who had decided to ignore the latest rumor. The ritual mattered: you returned calls within a few days; you left your husband’s card alongside your own; and if you wished to deepen a friendship, you delivered the card personally instead of sending it by servant. Declining a card—or failing to return one—sent its own silent message.
Design, too, had meaning. A plain card signaled dignity and reserve, while ornate fonts and flourishes showed fashion and flair. Some included the lady’s formal name; others carried only initials, relying on handwriting and context to do the rest.
Take a moment to enjoy these delightful trays and cases that held these oh-so-important cards announcing visits and conveying social rank.
Women’s Networks and Community Support in the 19th Century
By the 1860s in bustling towns like Leavenworth, calling cards served another purpose: they stitched together a sisterhood of women who tended and befriended each other. Women involved in charities, relief work, and social causes bestowed cards as connections—tiny endorsements of trust. For Annie, whose home life and marriage were shaken by violence and betrayal, a handful of cards from the Sanitary Relief Commission becomes something tender: a reminder that she was neither alone nor forgotten.
Today we might think of calling cards as relics of a too-rigid age. Yet in their heyday, they were tokens of intention—an elegant, tangible way to say, Welcome. I see you. Please call again.
Please pin and share, and read on for some wonderful free books!
Book Gifts for You!
This month, I’m participating in two author group swaps. Load up your eReader with free books (with signup), just in time for the holidays!
I’m featuring my Christmas story about Annie, The Heart of Christmas.
About the book:
Who knew Christmas benevolence on the frontier would require so much courage?
In Kansas, Annie yearns for the warmth of Christmas traditions she loved in Massachusetts. But her new husband Daniel, raised as a Quaker, resists. Torn between her longing for connection and Daniel’s reserved nature, she discovers unexpected courage on a cold Christmas night. When she encounters a desperate traveler seeking freedom, Annie risks everything to help. As carols ring out and unexpected gifts emerge, Annie begins to understand that family—and Christmas spirit—can manifest in the most surprising ways.
A poignant tale of love, bravery, and finding one’s true self in unlikely moments.
The Heart of Christmas is a standalone companion story to the Dauntless series, which traces Annie Osborn Anthony and Daniel Read Anthony from Bleeding Kansas through the Civil War into the fight for equal rights. He’s an abolitionist with enemies. She’s a woman who stands her ground. Together, they build a marriage strong enough to face a nation in turmoil.
Get The Heart of Christmas and many more titles in the swaps below:
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I love the information about calling cards. And knowing that you pictured them from the Leavenworth archives is above and beyond a ‘fiction’ writer.
So full of history makes your books more than entertaining to read.