Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons

by Ann Rinaldi

  Again his plan was brilliant. He had some money of his own, left to him by his grandmother Wheatley. He would purchase some merchandise from a ship that had just docked, advertise it in the Boston Evening Post, and get one of his father's trusted workers to stock it in the shoppe on King Street.

  "Come on, Phillis, put on a warm cloak. I'm taking you with me to the wharves."

  Besides the thriving shoppe on King Street, Nathaniel's father owned several warehouses on the docks, much wharfage, other fine houses over on Union Street that he rented, and a two-hundred-ton merchantman, London Packet.

  So Nathaniel knew his way around the wharves. Workers and merchants greeted him. He knew what coffeehouse to drop into to get information, what ships were due and from where, and who would be at what alehouse.

  "Likely, Prince, this time of day young Hancock is at the Cromwell Head on School Street, having a late repast of fish and chips and striking a deal to split the cost of a cargo of South Carolina rice."

  Prince drew the chaise up outside the Cromwell Head.

  "Wait here," Nathaniel told us.

  Across the street was Hancock's Wharf. There were things to see aplenty, and Prince pointed them out to me.

  "There's old Mr. Hancock's countinghouse. He's uncle to John. They say he's worth seventy thousand pounds."

  "Is that a lot of money?" I asked.

  Prince laughed. "Enough for him to have bought Clark's Wharf and have plenty left over ... There's a lady there on the wharf what makes waxworks. She makes kings and queens and dresses 'em like they was real. Name of Mrs. Hiller. Ask Master Nathaniel to take you there someday."

  I nodded solemnly. Prince knew everything.

  "Old Mr. Hancock just gave young Mr. Hancock a three-masted schooner, the Liberty. Young John be only four-and-twenty and they say he gonna inherit everythin'... There's another shoppe owned by Mr. Fletcher. He has toys. A little town wif houses you can fit in your hand. And he has little moons and suns and he shows how they go 'round. It takes four shillings sixpence to get in there."

  For an hour, Prince pointed out sights to me. I felt the excitement, the bustle, the mystery, and the sense of purpose. Then suddenly my fancy was caught by a young nigra dressed in a blue satin suit trimmed with yellow. He even wore a wig.

  "Who is that?" I asked Prince.

  "Robin. You doan wanna know 'bout him. He's a bad one."

  "He looks like a peacock." The Wheatleys had peacocks in their yard. The birds made noises when intruders came around.

  Prince chuckled. "Fine feathers doan make fine birds." And then he told me about Robin and how he'd supplied the arsenic to Phillis and Mark, ten years ago.

  "One of these days I'm going to have fine clothes, too. Nathaniel said he'd buy them for me when he becomes a merchant."

  His face went solemn. "What you want fine dresses for?"

  "So I can be somebody."

  "You ain't never gonna be nobody, little one. You is always gonna jus' be little Phillis the slave."

  "That's not true, Prince. I'm learning to better myself. Master Nathaniel said I could."

  "You kin strut around in fancy clothes like Robin there, but it won't matter none. You still be a nobody. No matter what you do."

  Even if I learn to read? But I couldn't ask that Because that was our secret, Nathaniel's and mine.

  "Only way to be anybody is to be free," Prince told me. He seemed so sad. This was not like him. He was always happy, cheering everyone else up. He took life as it came.

  "How can I do that, Prince?"

  "They can do it. It's done alla time. Master writes a paper and you is free. You wanna better yourself, get them to write that paper and make you free. If'n they don't, you be like Robin all your life, a slave struttin' 'round in fancy clothes."

  A cloud seemed to darken the sun of a sudden. I shivered. "Does Robin still work for Dr. Clark?" I asked.

  "Uh-huh. Dr. Clark still owns the apothecary shoppe. It be bad, that apothecary shoppe. Dark. Damp. He mixes things. They smell. Like eye of cat and tail of dog. But people go there and he knows what to give 'em when they be sick."

  "Do you think he'll ever free Robin?"

  "He'd. sooner drink his own remedies," Prince said.

  I pondered all this as we waited for Nathaniel. Masters can make their slaves free. All they have to do is write a paper.

  I pondered it in silence until Nathaniel came back. He returned jubilant. "I'm in luck. The Liberty just dropped anchor this morning. I had some flip with young John and he's agreed to sell me some merchandise. And to use his influence to get me good space to advertise in the Post."

  I just stared at him. I felt betrayed. Why had he never told me it would do no good to read if I would never be free?

  Chapter Eleven

  "You want to be what?" Nathaniel scowled fiercely.

  We were in his room the very next day. He was overseeing my reading.

  "Free." I had displeased him. He was angry. He was fearful when angry, but his anger had never yet been directed at me.

  "Wherever did you get such a notion?" Then he laughed. And it was worse than anger. "Free! Of all the flapdoodle! Do you know the meaning of the word?"

  "Yes."

  "Then tell me."

  "It means that when you buy me my lovely new dresses, I'll be someone. And not just poor little Phillis the slave forever. Because fine feathers don't make fine birds."

  He was peering at me intently. "Go on."

  "Only way to be anybody is to be free. Even if I learn to read, there's no profit in it, unless I'm free."

  "You can read now. Is there no profit in it?"

  I hung my head. "Yes, sir, there is."

  "Who told you this nonsense?"

  I should not have said, but I did. "Prince."

  "Well, if that's the kind of folderol that rascal is filling your head with, then I say you are no longer to speak to Prince!"

  Fear gripped me. "But he's my friend."

  "No friend counsels a little girl to such sentiments. Tell me, Phillis, what you would do with this freedom if my parents were to give it to you? Where would you live? For then you would be free to leave here."

  "I don't want to leave." My voice shook.

  "Ah, but you would have to. Did Prince tell you that?"

  "No, sir."

  "Did he advise you of how you would earn your living? How you would buy your bread? Where you would sleep at night?"

  I was near tears. "No, sir."

  "Well, that is what being free is all about, Phillis." He knelt in front of me and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Being free means you must take responsibility for yourself. And ofttimes for others. Are you ready to do that?"

  Tears streamed down my face. "No, sir."

  "Do you see me running about these days, doing everything I can to plan my future? I'm free, Phillis. I want to be a merchant. I'm well placed, schooled—and yet, I'm near daft trying to get out from under the yoke of my parents. How do you think you would fare?"

  I did not answer.

  "Phillis"—his voice grew even more gentle—"my parents will be panic stricken. Is this what my teaching you to read has wrought?"

  I shook my head no.

  "You have so much to learn, Phillis. And you have such a fine mind. I thought this was an agreeable arrangement. But if you persist in this nonsense about being free, I shall have to stop teaching you to read. Do you want that?"

  I told him no, I didn't.

  "Then let me hear no more of the matter," he said.

  It was May, and Mrs. Wheatley's birthday. I was in the kitchen. Aunt Cumsee was helping me ice the golden cake.

  "Come, Phillis," Nathaniel said. He stood in the doorway, holding out his hand. "It's time."

  I was in a frenzy of excitement. Aunt Cumsee took off my apron and kissed me. "Do me proud," she said.

  "Give me the cake, please."

  She handed it to me and I carried it carefully, walking with Nathaniel into the dining ro
om, where Mrs. Wheatley, in rose silk, sat ready to pour the tea. Her husband, Mary, and Reverend Lathrop had all given her presents. Now Nathaniel and I were about to give ours.

  They looked up, smiled, and clapped for the cake. I set it down. "I made it myself," I told Mrs. Wheatley.

  "It's lovely, dear."

  "And we've another surprise for you," Nathaniel said. "Phillis can read. We'd like to show you before we have dessert."

  "Read?" Mrs. Wheatley's hand flew to the lace kerchief at her throat.

  "Surely you jest, Nathaniel." His father's face went grave. "Don't use the child in this manner. Not even for jest."

  "You sly fox," Mary said. "John, I told you they were up to something."

  "The child has extraordinary abilities. I told you, Mary," Reverend Lathrop said.

  Nathaniel held up a hand for silence, then produced a copy of the Lively Lady's manifest. "Read, Phillis."

  So I read. I recited the items. Not once did I look up. But I heard their gasps; heard the polished floorboards creak as Aunt Cumsee came in with a platter of fresh fruit. I felt Prince come into the room to pour some wine for the men.

  Sulie came in next to clear some dishes. I kept reading.

  Finally, I finished and looked up. For a dreadful moment there was such silence that I could hear my own heart.

  Were they displeased? Angry?

  "Phillis!" Mrs. Wheatley said. "How ever did you learn?"

  "Nathaniel taught me."

  "By heaven!" his father said.

  "I told you the ordinary person could better himself, didn't I, Father?" Nathaniel asked. "It's what I have based my whole theory of selling on. Times are changing. We must change with them or be outdistanced by other merchants."

  Thanks to the advertisements in the Post, the merchandise Nathaniel had stocked in the shoppe had sold. Mr. Wheatley was hard put to keep up with his customers' demands. And, as Nathaniel had said, they were all the common man and woman.

  "You've done fine, son," Mr. Wheatley said. "You have proved yourself. But let's not talk selling now. The child has a brilliant mind. And you were the one to see it."

  "Phillis, come here and give me a hug," Mrs. Wheatley said.

  I ran to her to be embraced.

  "She can say some Latin, too," Nathaniel boasted. "Phillis, what does Post nubile phoebus mean?"

  "After clouds, the sun," I answered.

  "Par nobile fratrum."

  "A noble pair of brothers."

  Nathaniel looked about to explode with pride. "Pulvis et umbra sumus."

  "We are dust and shadows." I caught Prince's eyes as I said it. Silently, he left the room.

  "She can write, too, Mother," Nathaniel boasted.'

  Tears were streaming down Mrs. Wheatley's face. "Dear child! And to think they were selling you on the block. Mr. Wheatley, I am confused. What are we to do?"

  He was not confused. "For now we are to sit and enjoy the lovely cake," he said, "and Phillis is to sit at the board with us. Aunt Cumsee, another plate and some sterling."

  "Yes, sir!" She left the room.

  Of a sudden I was frightened. Sit at the table with them? "I'm supposed to fetch in the cider punch," I said.

  Nathaniel was pulling out a chair for me. "Sulie will fetch it. You are to sit with us, as Father says."

  "Hhmph," Sulie said. And she pinched me as she passed.

  Nathaniel lifted me onto the chair. I looked around. The board was shining and polished. White linen was under each plate of delicate china. Crystal goblets, silverware, blazing candles in candelabra. From here I could see the sideboard, where sat the silver coffee urn, Baltimore chocolate pot, punch bowl.

  Mr. Wheatley stood at the head of the table. "Henceforth, you will take all your meals with us, Phillis. You need special nurturing. And I say you shall receive it. What say you, Mrs. Wheatley?"

  "That you are right, Mr. Wheatley."

  Then there was Prince again, hovering over me, setting down a gold-edged plate, a fork, and a spoon. He took a white linen napkin and set it, just so, in my lap.

  "You mind your manners, now," he said softly. Then he was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  FEBRUARY 1764

  "I'm not happy with your Latin today, Phillis. Tell me one reason why I should take you to the wharf."

  "Because you promised."

  "Did I, now? Tell me of it. I disremember."

  He was going to be vile. In almost three years I had become well acquainted with his moods. Times he was given to melancholy. And when the notion took him he could be surly, even mean.

  "You said that if I made no more mention of being free, you would take me to the wharves whenever a ship arrived from the coast of Africa."

  "What kind of ship?"

  He would have me say the word. "A slave ship."

  "And? Has one arrived, then?"

  "The Belisarius is due this morning." I took the latest copy of the Boston Post and turned to the page of marine news. "It's listed under arrivals."

  "So you are reading the newspaper every day as I asked. And not only Scripture."

  "I read Scripture for your mama. The newspaper for you."

  "And what pleases you most, Phillis?"

  "The newspaper," I allowed.

  My answer satisfied him. "Let's go, then. But I still expect improvement in your Latin. You can do better than that with your translations of Virgil."

  Nathaniel drove the chaise himself. I think he did not want Prince to know we were going to the wharves for the arrival of a cargo of slaves.

  I liked it when we went places together, just the two of us. And he always kept his promises. It was part of being a successful merchant, he said, to honor your agreements.

  And he was a successful merchant now. More and more he was taking over his father's interests. He had the respect of everyone in town. He was making money faster than he could spend it. Last summer he'd had a fountain put in his mother's garden. She had always wanted one.

  There were days we did not see him at all, he was so busy. On such days I sorely missed him. On such days Mrs. Wheatley stepped in, instructing me in Scripture. She was of a mind that a girl couldn't know too much Scripture. Then, just as I felt mired in it, Nathaniel would stop home unexpectedly in the middle of the day, as he had just done. To check on my progress.

  Hancock's Wharf was crowded with nigras come to see the arrival of the slave ship. They came to see if anyone from home was aboard.

  Nathaniel had promised me that if I saw anyone from home, he would purchase them. We had come once or twice before. But I never saw anyone.

  The Boston nigras would stand bearing mute witness while the cargo was unloaded and the dirty, stunned wretches, some still in chains, were led to the warehouse.

  "Why I indulge you in this, Phillis, I will never know," Nathaniel said.

  I was about to give a saucy reply. I had found that sauciness pleased him more than humility at times. But the words never got past my lips.

  "Mr. Wheatley! Ho there, sir!"

  A young man came running out of the Hancock countinghouse. "Message from Mr. John."

  Nathaniel read it, swore softly, then handed the young man a shilling. "Are the Hancocks all right?"

  "Yes, sir. Mr. Thomas has the servants readying things to take his wife to the country. Miz Lydia, she's in a awful tizzy. Says she won't go unless he goes with her. So young John is staying to take care of things."

  "Thank you, my good man. Give the family my regards. I must get home." And with that, Nathaniel turned the carriage so fast it near toppled over.

  "Home? Nathaniel, what about the Belisarius?"

  "We're going home, Phillis. Now."

  "What's happened?"

  "Smallpox."

  Smallpox!

  That word was as dreaded as the word fire in Boston. By the third week in February it had spread through town. Seven well-known families had it. The Glentwoods, the Flaggs, the Gylers, the Deans, the Jenningses, the Reveres
, and the Hitchbournes.

  I was not allowed out. Neither was Mary. Shoppes and markets were closed, but Nathaniel and his father went to their countinghouse. Business fell off. Carriages and carts rumbled outside in the streets as people fled town. The lieutenant governor adjourned the General Court. Everything was in a state of mayhem. And the Wheatleys were no different.

  By the last week in February, the pesthouses were full. And it seemed as if every other house on our street flew a smallpox flag.

  Aunt Cumsee sprinkled sulfur all over the house. It smelled horrible. Then she took to smoking a pipe and puffing smoke all over the place.

  "Things can't get much worse," Mr. Wheatley said. We were taking our main meal—at two during the winter, because the light was better. "Isn't the pox enough? Now we hear that Harvard Hall has burned down."

  "Things can and will get worse if we don't get inoculated," Nathaniel said.

  "Inoculated?" Mrs. Wheatley dropped her spoon. "You heard what Reverend Sewall said about that. If God sent the pox to scourge His people, what He desired was not inoculation but repentance!"

  "With all due respect for the good reverend, Mrs. Wheatley," her husband said, "if God gave us the intelligence to discover inoculation, I am sure He wishes us to seize the remedy and use it."

  I had heard the Reverend Sewall's passionate sermon. I shivered, knowing I was one of the sinners for whom God had visited the disease upon us.

  I had taken too readily to the Koomi ways, too easily forgiven them for enslaving my people. I had fallen prey to their soft words, their riches, their gifts.

  I had never repented for disobeying my mother and running off to meet with Obour that morning. My mother was dead because of it.

  "We must pray," Mrs. Wheatley was saying.

  "We can do that better if we live than if we die," her husband answered. "And apparently many others agree. They are pouring into town for inoculation."

  "The selectmen have agreed to let the inhabitants try it, Mother," Nathaniel said carefully.

  "But it's dangerous!"

  "What choice do we have, Mother?" he asked. "Boston fought against inoculation in the epidemic of twenty-one, but we are now ready. Dr. Sprague has agreed to come to the house and do it. He and Drs. Warren, Kast, Perkins, and Lloyd are wearying themselves to the bone, inoculating people all over town. Dr. Clark is doing it free for the poor."