by Carter, Noni
“Cautious? Didn’t think it was against the law fo’ us black folks to learn nothin’, sah.”
“It’s not, Anna. That’s not quite what I mean. There’s nothing dangerous, here, about learning. Education itself is something every person in Ohio should have the right to, and here, unlike the South, people don’t take learning as a serious threat. Perhaps you’d be surprised to know that here in the North, there are quite a few places where black folks are getting educated.” I was engrossed in his words and hardly noticed Mama Bessie’s place materializing in the distance. The man was speaking with an attitude so unlike that of most of the white folks I had run into in the North that I figured if the nighttime had swallowed the color of his skin, and if it weren’t for his accent and his sophisticated way of speaking, then perhaps I would’ve believed he was a black man.
“But at some point in getting educated, Miss Anna, you start to wonder what it is you can and will do with that education. Now, I’ve seen folks with a smart head on them who begin to use education in ways that make it dangerous.”
“But gettin’ educated ain’t dangerous!” I said, feeling the need to hold on to the possibility that I might have that chance, and to defend it as much as I could.
“It’s not the education that threatens them, Anna. Like I said, it’s the way you go about using it.”
“Who’s ‘them’?” I asked.
“Well, let’s hope you don’t encounter them. Most of them won’t have much patience for you protesting against things you don’t like or you using what you’ve learned from books to try to change the way black folks are treated around here. They will hurt you—they’ll beat you, scare you out of it, and force you to use that education for nothing more than burying yourself under dreams that cannot be achieved.”
“But who are they? Don’t mean no disrespect to you, sah, but do you mean the white folks who make laws an’ don’t want nothin’ to do wit us?”
“Why would they do all of this?” he asked rhetorically, completely disregarding my question, as if to say I already knew the answer. “It’s because you’re the dangerous kind.”
“The dangerous kind?” I asked.
“Sure you are, or have the potential to be.”
“To who?”
“You’ve already told me that, Anna. Education is a tool—it makes you less ignorant and more likely to find ways to be heard. You have a determination that many others don’t, as I noted from the school incident. I understand this about you, most probably due to the fact that I’m the same way.”
I felt my guard melt away just a little bit more.
“But I believe it’s my job to give you the warnings. A Negro becoming educated is just as powerful as a Negro discovering what true freedom is. It gives you a power some folks don’t like and a voice that some people won’t stand for. I can see how badly you want this, how it leaks from your actions and toys with your senses. But once you have that voice, you step into a dangerous world.”
A heaviness filled the empty spaces that arose when the man’s words turned to silence. Thoughts rushed in once more, and with them came the knowledge that the things he spoke of only mattered after I had already been educated. But I wasn’t educated—I had no means of getting educated. Surely he knew that! Did all this talk really lead to something I could wrap my hands around?
“Sah, I appreciate what you tellin’ me ’bout bein’ cautious with what I choose to do after I get educated. But, sah, I ain’t gettin’ educated. You talk to me like you undastand us black folk, like you really undastand how it is to have thoughts of learnin’ runnin’ through you like your own blood, but it’s nowhere in sight. Be lovely if I could have that opportunity to learn like otha folks …”
“No one said you don’t, Anna.”
“Sah, everyone been sayin’ it ain’t my choice.” I felt passionate about everything I was saying. I needed him to hear me out.
“My respects in sayin’ so, but ain’t no way for me to learn here. Tried everything I could, an’ I don’t have anything left to try. I’m not quite sure if you’re here to change that or if you just talkin’ to me ’bout dreams of mine that cain’t even come true.” I listened to his breathing, waiting for it to turn into an answer on his lips.
“It sounds to me as if you’re telling me to go ahead and say what I came to say to you.” he finally responded. I said nothing.
“Miss Anna,” he said slowly, “the education you want may take more than reading newspapers and street signs.” His words were ringing like church bells around me and lit a small spark in my chest.
“You’re … you’re offering me an’ education, sah?” He was silent, but his silence seemed to cloak possibility.
“Sah?” I asked again. He stopped in his tracks and turned to me. I stared boldly back, waiting, still, for an answer.
“I know a black woman who tutors. She doesn’t much like to be mentioned—that’s just her choice—but I believe I’ll have a word or two with her.”
“A … a tutor? You mean, I’m … I’m really gonna get educated? With a tutor?”
He laughed. “I’ll speak with her, Miss Anna, though I have little doubt she’ll work with you.”
“Really? You speakin’ the truth? But sah”—my face fell a little bit—“sah, what am I s’pose to give? I don’t really have nothin’.”
“Anna, I have little more to do with the matter than to give you the opportunity to meet and talk with the tutor. Couldn’t expect anything for that, could I?”
I smiled. “Guess not sah, but I don’t really know how to …”
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Anna,” he said, gesturing for us to continue walking. I followed, feeling as giddy as a little girl.
“Sah, who are you? You doin’ all this fo’ me, but I don’t even know who you are!”
“I don’t come around these parts too often and, ah, well, I’m a passerby, Anna. My identity lies in the darkness.”
“But … what’s your name?” I asked, intent on finding out something about him, afraid that if he walked away without leaving any evidence that he’d been there, I’d lose the dream he was offering to make come true.
“The name’s Caldwell, and I assure you, I’m a friend.”
“Mr. Caldwell,” I repeated.
“Please don’t ask around for me. That’s the only favor I ask of you,” he said. “If folks want to know how you’re getting educated, tell them you found a tutor.”
I nodded. “But sah, how will I know …”
He held up his hand. “Anna, you’ll know. You’ll get the news about meeting her and studying with her sooner than you can imagine. Now I’ve said what I had to say.”
After a minute, he said, “Education is a beautiful thing. What you do with it, however, makes all the difference in the world.” We came to Mama Bessie’s, and he stood by the steps, sharing his last words.
“Well, sah, can you wait a moment and jus’ meet Mama Bessie, the woman of this household? I want to tell her ’bout all the things you say, an’ I want her to see your face—”
“Miss Anna, as much as I would enjoy that—”
“Please, sah,” I said, already bounding up to the house, “at least wait one quick moment. Let me get her.” I dashed into the house, leaving the man leaning on the rail at the bottom of the stairs. I ran inside, called out for Mama Bessie in an excited whisper until I found her, and dragged her to the door with me. But when we neared the spot where the man had been just a moment before, nobody was there. I stared down the road, but the man had disappeared before I could thank him properly.
“Mama Bessie, Mama Bessie, he was jus’ here, he was jus’ …” I started, an edge of disappointment showing up in my voice.
Mama Bessie smiled, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t matter, Anna. I got somethin’ for you.”
“What’s that, Mama Bessie?” I asked, shutting the door behind me as we turned and headed into the kitchen. Her grin was as wide a
s ever.
“What’s got you grinnin’ like that, Mama Bessie?” I asked her, giggling at her shining face.
“Man came by today to say somethin’ to me. Asked me if a ‘Miss Anna’ was a ‘resident’ of my place. I told him you was. He gave me the name an’ the home of some woman that … that …”
“That tutors, Mama Bessie?” I asked, standing before her with unbelieving ears.
She nodded. “You’ll meet with her in ’bout a week’s time. Gonna fix yourself up, go on down there. Take Florence with ya, if ya like, an’ ask ’bout learnin’.”
“Mama Bessie, you talkin’ the truth?” I asked, knowing the question was unnecessary. I felt tears ready to spring from my eyes.
“Sho’ is talkin’ truth, Anna. You know that.”
“Mama Bessie, who was it that came by? He was a white man, wa’an’t he? Or somebody else?”
Mama Bessie simply shrugged. “He was a good man, Anna—that’s all I got to say ’bout it.”
“But, Mama Bessie—”
“Leave it be, Anna,” she said simply, placing a hand gently on my cheek.
“I hear you talk of this dream, see you readin’ whateva it is you can get your hands on. Now it’s time you get the real thing. Gonna be learnin’ now. You worked hard at fulfillin’ this dream—an’ cain’t nothin’ make me prouder. You’se a blessin’ here, an’ I’m glad the Lord done what he done.”
With that, Mama Bessie left me standing in the kitchen alone.
“Learnin’ …,” I whispered to the empty room.
“Me … me learnin’?” I questioned. I dropped lightly into a seat, and stared before me, allowing the feelings inside to run excitedly through me. I thought about the mysterious man and his gift to me, wondering if I’d ever find out who he really was. But the thought swam away as quickly as it came. All I could think of was standing by the schoolhouse back on the plantation, trying to listen to the lessons, saving newspaper scraps, reading the titles of the books in Masta’s study.
“You hear that, Mary? You listenin’, John? I’m ’bout to get educated! No more sneakin’ around on a plantation tryin’ to learn. No more just readin’ words on buildings. I’m gonna be learnin’! Me—gettin’ educated!”
CHAPTER
36
TODAY WAS THE DAY. I STOOD OUTSIDE MAMA BESSIE’S HOME with a smile that nothing and no one could make fade away. A new starched outfit outlined my figure. I had bought these clothes with the money I had saved and money Daniel had given me.
Today was the day I would meet Mrs. Rosa, the tutor. It almost seemed silly to me that a woman who had lived so close by on a secluded plot of land, just between Hadson and Gibson, had, this whole time, held my passion.
When I told Florence about the matter, she immediately decided to join me that day. She’d itched with about as much excitement as I had. Florence reminded me so much of Daniel—enjoying my joys, ready to stand by me when I needed her, but steadily moving along her own path. Florence’s passion was in designing and repairing clothes, but for right now, she chose to continue helping Mama Bessie with the housework.
Side-by-side, Florence and I walked to Mrs. Rosa’s on that September day, a day I won’t ever forget. Even the breeze welcomed us as we walked. The house stood a short distance from the road, but as soon as we saw it, we ran all the way to the front door. My anticipation almost spilled over as I stepped up to knock, but Florence held me back.
“You sure this her house?” she asked me.
“Flo, I’m sure.”
The hollow sound of my knocking echoed.
No answer.
“Knock again!” Florence whispered.
I did, three more times. I shook my head in frustration. It seemed we had walked all the way down here only to be disappointed.
“Well, Anna, …” But before Florence could finish, the latch clicked and the door swung open. In front of me stood a gorgeous black woman whose thick black hair lay in short, neat curls all over her head. She was a young woman, but seemed to be a decent number of years older than me. Mrs. Rosa was dressed rather nicely, in a flowing skirt that just touched the floor and a white blouse buttoned up almost to her chin. Her skin color was somewhere between my own and Florence’s.
“Hi there, ladies.” She smiled, showing two rows of straight white teeth. Her accent dipped beautifully out of her mouth and reminded me of a couple who had visited Masta’s house many years ago, people who had traveled across the seas.
“What can I do for you?” she asked in a soft, warm voice that lacked the roughness of the language I had heard from people most of my life. I stood in place, speechless, gazing at this woman. There was a perfection about her—her grace, refinement, and composure—that set off longing in my spirit.
How is it that this woman reminds me of Mathee?
I felt Florence nudge me gently in the back. Immediately, I straightened up and lifted my chin just slightly.
“You Mrs. Rosa?” I asked her.
She smiled. “Yes, I am. Can I do something for you?”
“Well, ma’am, I’m Anna. This, here, is Florence,” I said.
She nodded, waiting. “I’m here to see ’bout learnin’.”
“Are you?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Bin looking for some kinda school for black folks since I came here but couldn’t find none. Man found me the otha day, telln’ me he’d help me get educated like I’ve bin dreamin’ ’bout.”
“What did he say?” she asked patiently, as if she already knew.
“He told me ’bout you an’ ’bout what gettin’ educated means. Don’t know who he was. Was a white man, I believe. I ain’t seen him around here none.”
She nodded slowly, looking carefully at me.
“Ma’am, you … you know the man? You teach fo’ him or somethin’?” I asked, my curiosity still biting.
She looked slowly from my face to Florence’s and didn’t answer right away.
“Well, now, I’m not one to answer many questions, but I can say this. I don’t teach for anybody. I tutor sometimes, that’s all.” She raised her eyebrows. “But no more talk about how you ended up on my doorstep. It seems that there’s other business to attend to, anyhow, concerning you wanting to learn. So, please, come in.” Having deliberately washed the mystery from the air, she then took a step back into her home and motioned for us to join her inside.
There was something familiar about the place that caught my attention. The room’s calming scent reminded me of something ancient, perhaps an herb Mathee had used to freshen up the air of our hut back in Africa. The room was large, warm, and pleasantly decorated. Portraits of fancy-looking folks with black skin hung from several walls. My eyes would have lingered on them, but something else caught my attention: two large bookcases at opposite ends of the room. They were filled with books. I gasped in wonder.
“You got a lot of books in here,” I said, excited. Mrs. Rosa glanced at me, considering my excitement for a moment, but said nothing.
Florence and I sat down in chairs that had carved wooden legs. Mrs. Rosa pulled up a seat for herself in front of us. As we waited for her to sit down, I envisioned myself slowly running my fingertips across the books, then pulling one down, slowly opening it up, taking in the smell of the pages, and burying myself in the words.
“Anna,” Mrs. Rosa said, prompting me to return my thoughts to her. There was an elegance about the way she sat that made me aware of my own posture. “You say you want to learn. Learn what?”
“Well, I guess I wanna learn to write, and to be able to read whatever I pick up.”
“Can you do either already?”
“Yes, ma’am, I can read some and write a little bit. I reckon I don’t really know what else I could learn in school. I suppose, maybe, I can get better with my numbers.” I paused to consider her question more deeply.
What do I want to learn?
“Mrs. Rosa”—I looked her squarely in her eyes—“I’ve bin carrying this i
dea in my mind fo’ a long time that one day, I’d be able to read an’ have a real honest answer to why some things are the way they are. Figure I wanna be like those educated folks who use their minds all the time.”
Mrs. Rosa looked at me for what seemed a long time. She got up, after a while, went to one of the bookcases, and began searching through books until she found the two she wanted.
Handing me the first, she pointed to the name at the bottom.
“What name is this and who does it belong to?” she asked as she sat again, placing a long finger on her lips and awaiting my response.
“P-h … Fil-lis … W-hee-at-ly … Filis W-heeatly.” I thought for a moment, running the name through my head, but I knew no such person. “I dunno—I mean, I don’t know, Mrs. Rosa,” I said after I glanced over at her.
“Phillis Wheatley,” she replied with no change in her expression.
“Oh,” I said, wondering who the name belonged to.
“Where do you live, Anna? Who are your parents? Or do you live alone, or are you married?” she asked all at once, moving quickly to the next order of business.
“Parents? Well, I don’t have no … I don’t have any parents. I live with Mama Bessie, and—”
“She a slave!” Florence said, cutting me off. “I mean, she used to be a slave, ma’am. She was freed,” Florence said as steadily as she could as she batted guilty eyes at me, “and came here earlier this year.”
I glared at my friend, and she looked sheepishly away. I had not anticipated sharing that information with this woman. If anything, that fact might take away my chances of getting educated.
“A slave? How did you learn to read and write, Anna?” I stared down at the quilt, not answering the question. I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t tell the truth. Of what importance was that to her, anyhow? To my surprise, Mrs. Rosa laughed, a beautiful sound to my ears. I brought my eyes back up to see that her face showed admiration rather than distaste.
“Ahh, I know the answer well. You must be determined, Anna, and quite brave, if I dare say.”
