Douglass’ Women

by Jewell Parker Rhodes

  I stepped aside, letting both our bodies cool down. It wouldn’t do to have the Preacher or anyone else find us. But I kept a secret smile, ’cause I believed tonight, when he walked me home, he’d take my hand, lead me into my room and love me good, before saying “bye.”

  This last night we’d make a memory to keep me warm, ’til he say, “Anna, come,” and I’d fly up North, quicker than any bird.

  We never made that memory.

  Walking home, Freddy got colder. Sullen. Spoke nary a word. And I got colder, too, feeling my job was to give and give. Love was a hard toll. I wanted a breath of kindness from him, a sweet word to soothe my worry.

  “I can be hanged,” I murmured, turning over the uniform, eighty dollars—the rest of my life’s savings, the ship’s ticket. “I can be hanged.”

  He said nothing. Just took everything. Then, kissed me like a father kisses his child and patted my back.

  Sweat shone on his skin. He be a giant. Hands locked tight, eyes half-closed, there was a strength and power in him, waiting for release. He was already on his way. Journeying on. He’d already left me.

  “Hold me,” I begged. He did and I heard his heart drum. But his desire had fled.

  “I’ll send for you.”

  “Stay safe,” I whispered when I wanted to shout, “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll send for you.” He left and I didn’t, couldn’t move. I heard his boots crossing the kitchen, the screen door opening then clicking shut, heard his footfalls on the steps, then silence as I imagined him walking, then running, speeding swiftly across the yard. A dog howled. I wanted to howl. Howl ’til my heart broke, howl my longing so that no matter how far Freddy went, he could hear me.

  But because he was escaping, I kept my mouth shut. Swallowed my pain. I’d cast my lot with Frederick Bailey.

  “I’ll send for you.” Deep inside me, I felt, “Liar, liar.”

  Lena rubbed against my leg, wanting to be fed. I stooped and buried my face against her fur. “Do you think he loves me, Lena? Will he keep his word?”

  Lena’s tail flicked; she purred. Her yellow eyes blinked.

  “You know, don’t you, cat?”

  I fell upon the pillow, stuffing my hands into my mouth to quiet my scream. Lena sauntered out the room like she didn’t need me, either.

  I cried, thinking this loneliness was worse than hanging.

  When the stars grew light and the sun started peeking over the horizon, I imagined Freddy already far away, already on the ship north. And I cursed, ’cause at the prayer meeting, Preacher could’ve married us. I didn’t think of it.

  Freddy didn’t either.

  The Penny-letter-man came to call. He had a message from Mam, from over a month ago. Penny-man say, “Can only travel so fast. Got more customers than you.”

  “Just say what Mam had to say,” I said nervous. Mam never wasted a penny unless it was bad news. Somebody hurt. Sick.

  “No sense to pay a penny to Penny-man to speak my love,” Mam always say. “Penny-man shouldn’t have to tell what you already know.”

  But two months ago, I’d asked Mam a question. I tried not to be embarrassed telling my words to Penny-man. I would’ve kicked him if he’d laughed. Would’ve cursed him every Sunday. I’d asked: “How do you know when a man love you?”

  I wasn’t sure if Mam would spend a penny to answer or not. She might think me silly or, worse, a fool. Ain’t a woman supposed to know? But, unlike Pa, I suspected Freddy might never say the words. And if he didn’t say them, how would I know?

  Penny-man spit, then climbed down from his perch. He patted his horse. He say, “You sure you don’t need some soap?” He lifted the flap on his wagon. “I’ve got good tallow, too. Kerosene.”

  Penny-man lean and ugly. His face burnt red, he stank of scum and whiskey. He made money carrying messages but colored folks usually had to buy something before he’d give them their folks’ words.

  “Soap, Penny-man. A bar of soap. Nothing more.”

  Penny-man chuckled. “Cleanliness, godliness.”

  “You done gone to the Devil then,” I said, giving him a penny. “Well.”

  He look at me. Toothy-grin. “Little things.”

  “What?”

  “Little things.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Just saying the words I’m paid.”

  “There must be something more, Penny-man. Mam must’ve said something more.”

  “No more.”

  I shook my head. “What’s it supposed to mean?”

  “Give me a penny and I’ll ask.”

  “I’m not giving you any more money. Go on. Get.”

  “Can’t blame me if you don’t like the message.”

  “Get.”

  He clicked, his horse trotted, pulling his cart. Pans clanging, Penny-man whistling. He grinned his toothy-self and winked.

  I sat on the porch step. Mind whirling, I was sorry I’d asked anything.

  “Little things.”

  “Mam, what’s that mean? What it mean?” I felt empty. Buried my head in my lap. Damn Freddy. Damn the whole blessed world.

  Little things. “Oh, Mam,” I moaned. “Oh, Mam.” I needed her good sense. But I surely didn’t understand her words.

  I wanted to be a child again. Wanted her comfort. Wanted her circling her hand on my back, whispering “It’s all right.”

  Little things. Like a hand comforting.

  That’s what she meant—

  Memories rose and I could see Pa courting, loving Mam long after their babies. I could see his hand resting softly on Mam’s shoulder. See Pa smiling at her, holding her yarn. See Pa bringing a fish, already cleaned, ready to be fried. Pa, handing Mam a glass of water while she worked in the garden. Watching her drink, then bringing another glass. Pa rubbing Mam’s toes. Making her laugh. During fall and spring, he’d bring her the first red leaf or the first flower. Winter, he’d drape a shawl about her shoulders.

  Little things.

  Wiping my face, I went inside the house, pulled my wedding dress from beneath my bed. Once Freddy brung me flowers. But other than him being inside me, there’d been no little things and I doubted there ever would be.

  Two weeks, I’d heard not a word from Freddy. Two weeks, I’d sewed my hopes and dreams into my wedding dress. Cotton, lace, satin ribbons and rows of even stitches were signs of my love.

  Now I didn’t have any hope or dreams left.

  Little things.

  The dress was hateful. I snatched it up, shook it, tore the sleeves, ripped the ribbons. Shredded the lace threads. Hateful, hateful dress.

  Two weeks had passed and I still didn’t know if Bailey made it to New York, if he was walking the streets alive, or dead in some pauper’s grave or, sold, being marched south to Mississippi. My heart was chained.

  If he was dead, I think I would’ve felt it. The sun would’ve dimmed; the sky would’ve been less blue. Him dead, I could take. But what scared me was him alive, not sending for me.

  This my sore. Bailey free and me chained here. All I had to do was look in the mirror to know why Freddy left me.

  This isn’t how I dreamt it. I needed to leave today. Now. Soon as I started showing Miz Baldwin going to fire me.

  I sucked air, letting myself think for the first time, what my body knew to be true. Bailey’s seed in me. And I’m chained to a man who doesn’t want me—who’d never do little things, anything, to show his love.

  I wiped my tears. Life goes on. I will, too. I’d better ’cause a baby’s on the way and Murrays always take care of their own. Married or not, my family would accept me and mine.

  I exhaled. Roads were hard but I could walk.

  Next time I see Mam, I’ll ask: “What’s the best thing Pa ever did?” She’ll think I’m silly, maybe a child to feel sorry for. But she’ll sit me down and tell me stories, memories to pass on to my child. While my memories, what didn’t happen for me, be weighing me down.

  Two weeks mo
re, two weeks more. Every day I say I’m leaving; every day, I wait one day more. No word from Freddy. I didn’t expect it but deep inside I kept a thin sliver of hope. More fool me.

  New life was swimming in me like the bones were swimming in the sea. My girl—it must be a girl, I wanted a girl—be raised by the sea. She’d learn gardening, how to make preserves, and how to turn a fine seam. Mam would help me and I would help Mam in her dying days. Mam would love my baby like she loved me.

  At the kitchen table, a steel bowl between my knees, I was snapping sugar peas, breaking those poor peas something terrible, snapping away ’cause today I was going to do what every day I couldn’t do. I was going to give notice. Tell Miz Baldwin Gates broke my heart. She’ll understand this, I think. Tell her Kate Malhew gladly work for her. Kate be Irish but I didn’t think Miz Baldwin would mind.

  Snapping those peas, a rap came at the door.

  “Come in.”

  No answer.

  “You’re welcome. Come on in.”

  Still no answer but a rat-a-tat-tat again. Maybe whoever it be, be hard of hearing? I lift myself up.

  “I’m coming.”

  At the screen door, nobody there. I heard, “You Anna?” but didn’t see nobody. I stepped outside and, like a thief, there be a young boy, hiding, ducking his head out from under the porch.

  “Anna Murray?”

  “I’m Anna.”

  “This yours.” He shoved an envelope into my hand, then, took off running.

  Amazed, I stared after the stranger who disappeared as quick as lightning. I turned the envelope over:

  Anna

  My brother George taught me to recognize my name. Two A’s bracketing two N’s. “Anna.” But that was all I knew. I opened the envelope and there were marks all over the paper. Made no sense to me.

  Then, the paper shook. I thought this be from Freddy. That’s why the secret. Why the young man ran away.

  Why couldn’t Freddy send a Penny-man? Maybe there was no Penny-man to trust? Lord, have mercy. My life was caught up inside those markings and I couldn’t read a word. More like chicken scratch to me.

  Preacher could read. But I couldn’t get to him ’til my chores were done. Lord, six weeks I’d waited, and the truth was in my hands and still I had to wait.

  I swore I’d learn reading. I didn’t want to feel this way again.

  Then, I think this letter must be bad news. Freddy know I can’t read. He could’ve gotten a message to me somehow. He had friends. Even that young colored boy could’ve said, “Freddy wants you.” Maybe Mister Bailey writes to shame me before the Preacher? It be his way of letting the world know he ain’t my man. I’ve got no claim.

  Grim, I went back to snapping peas, steaming fish, and mashing potatoes with cream. Damn that Bailey. I kindly let little Thomas have two glasses of lemonade. For dessert, I served strawberries over cake. I cleared the dishes, listened quietly to Miz Baldwin’s instructions to sort through the table linens tomorrow, polish her silver. She be planning a party for Mister Baldwin’s clerks. She wanted oyster stew, roast beef with carrots, and a butter-rum cake. I say, “Yes, ma’am.” Then, bathed little Thomas and Beth while Miz Baldwin settled the baby in the cradle.

  I cleaned the kitchen, thinking I might as well wait ’til morning to see the Preacher. But I also knew the sooner I swallowed pride, the sooner I’d be over this love I carried for Mister Bailey.

  When the Baldwins slept, I walked to the colored quarters, a quarter mile from town. Feeling the letter, the fine stock paper, I thought Freddy must be doing just fine. Spending my money.

  At Preacher’s house, the light was still on. I felt relieved. Then, scared. Maybe Preacher called to a meeting, called away ’cause somebody dead? But Preacher answered my knock. Dressed in black, his collar open, his wife behind him in a flannel robe, Preacher look worried, “Miz Anna, you hurt?”

  “Here.” I shoved the letter at him. “I need you to read this letter.”

  “Sister Anna,” Preacher’s wife say, “come on in. Sit, you look ill.”

  I didn’t move. “Just tell me what’s in the letter. Please, before I can’t take it.”

  Preacher must’ve known I was barely living, holding myself tight. There in the hall, a light hanging low, he read my fate. First, he read silent; I could see surprise on his face. I wet my lips.

  “Even if it’s bad … tell me.”

  He looked at me, smiling. “It’s good.”

  Anna, I am free. I made it safely to

  New York. My plan is to travel on to

  New Bedford. Quakers told me I’d

  find work. Many of our people live

  productive lives in New Bedford.

  I have changed my name to

  Douglass. It has a fine ring and will

  confuse my would-be captors. Come to

  New York as quickly as possible.

  Don’t delay for it is unsafe for me to

  wait. Come. We will marry.

  You will be Anna Murray

  Douglass.

  Frederick

  “Love be true.”

  “Oh, Anna,” the Preacher’s wife squealed. Preacher put his hand on mine. “If you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you to the ship tomorrow.”

  Big, fat tears rolled down my face. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good girl.” Preacher squeezed my hand. His wife say, “What news … what news!” By tomorrow noon, everybody in the church and colored town would know my business.

  I walked away, then stopped. “Preacher, get word to my Mam. Tell her I’m safe.”

  “I will.”

  I walked, stepping softly on the gravel, staring at the beautiful world around me. Smelling salt in the air. I might never be in Baltimore again. Might never see my family again.

  * * *

  But I thought Freddy be Samson. Having faith in me. Faith that my love can make all right. He may not love me now but he will.

  My heart soared. I wanted to jump and shout. I free. Free to love as best I knew how.

  I’d ride the waves, crooning lullabies, telling my baby her father be a great man. The bones keep us safe ’til the ship arrive in the harbor.

  Tomorrow, I’d ask Preacher, “Where’s New Bedford?”

  Tomorrow, I’d put Lena in a basket, take her with me as my dowry. I’d take my torn wedding dress and mend it as the ship sailed over blue-green waves.

  Walking home, walking to my last night in the Baldwin house, my last night before I sailed to my love, I sang to the baby in my belly.

  “Love be true. Love frees a woman’s heart.”

  But even as I sang, rejoiced at my future, I felt the pain of it too. Somehow I’d get to a Penny-man and tell him to tell Mam, “You inside me. Inside your grandbaby too.” All the way to New York, to New Bedford, I be smiling, thinking what Mam will say to that!

  “I be the luckiest woman,” I shouted, hugging myself in the middle of the road, beneath milky stars. “Anna Murray Douglass, wife of Frederick Bailey Douglass.”

  I couldn’t find Lena, my cat. That night of all nights, Lena didn’t come home. I thought maybe she be making more babies. Taking her chance at a new litter of kittens. But I couldn’t wait. If Preacher took me to the ship, Miz Baldwin might try to stop me. If I was going, I needed to go now. Leave like a thief, a runaway.

  My heart just broke, leaving Lena. I consoled myself that she’d survive. Miz Baldwin would give her milk, I knew, if she wailed at the kitchen door. ’Sides, Lena had her own magic of caressing, curling about a leg. But she’d only do it if she felt like it. She could be sassy, independent, but when the mood was in her, every step and sound and every curve of her body said, “love me.” Somebody just had to stroke her softly and lay down food.

  I figured Miz Baldwin would give me nothing if I ever came back. Even if I was starving. I was burning my bridges and nobody was going to take me in—a too-proud colored woman.

  Only Mam would always love me. But even Mam’s eyes would
be wet, her spirits low, ’cause I’d left without saying “good-bye.” Mam wouldn’t easily get over that. “Family be the only proud you need,” she say. And she surely wouldn’t get over why after months of waiting for Freddy, I didn’t make him wait one week while I got my family’s blessings.

  Deep down though, I’m ashamed for Mam to see my belly round. Others might not see it but she would. She’d know I’d sinned with my flesh.

  “Come. We will marry.”

  I packed, laid down a whole chicken for Lena, then sneaked out the door into the night. Said no good-byes to the Baldwins, didn’t even blow a kiss at the baby, I just ran like fate was snipping at my heels. I ran to the harbor, waited on the wharf ’til the sun rose. I imagined Freddy’s face in that sun. His face warming my soul, warming my body and making me forget my lonely waiting. That afternoon I boarded the ship V-a-l-i-a-n-t. I didn’t know what the marks meant. I only knew if Mister Baldwin tried to drag me off ship, I’d hold steady.

  Preacher would make Mam understand.

  I’d have Freddy write her, too. Write and send a Penny-man with the longest message of how much I loved her.

  She’d understand I had to take my chance at loving. Understand I couldn’t expect Fate to give me another chance. With the baby in my womb, I had to fly to Freddy, sail away over the great waves. Sail far north without bittersweet good-byes, no exchanging of kisses or locks of hair. No words of comfort.

  Forgive me, Mam. Forgive me, Lena. I gone. I slipped away. Even Jesus say, “God helps those who help themselves.”

  First hour on board, I wept. Wept for Lena. For her new kittens I’d never see. Wept for my family. My loss of Mam. Mam, who taught me everything—taught me how to sing songs, keep house, even how to be nice to a husband with encouraging words, tender looks, and the best yams and dumplings.

  I didn’t believe the Good Lord meant for me and Mam never to meet again. I said a prayer. Then, I didn’t look back. I turned my body north, marched to the prow and watched the open sea.