Douglass’ Women (36 page)

Freddy came home from Scotland. I’d worried he’d blame me for Annie dying. But all he did was hold me and cry. Wailed like he, himself, was a little-bitty baby. I rocked him and let him stroke me until my body was afire with more than fever.

In the morning, though, he seemed embarrassed. Like loving wasn’t true to Annie’s memory. He didn’t say that but I felt it. He said, “I’ll sleep in my office, Anna. So you can rest better.” I was hurt. But I was often racked with fever, hauntings. I flailed, tangled myself in sheets.

Each evening, Freddy spent an hour with me after dinner and just talked and talked. His hands moved like fans, and from time to time, he slapped his thigh to make a point. I liked watching his face, seeing the fire was still in him.

Some nights, my bedroom be like a parlor. Freddy and the children crowded in, talking about the day’s news. Most times I stared out the window, watching whatever life swept by. Sometimes a bird. A rabbit. A baby doe. Sometimes I listened. Or, at least, well enough to know Lincoln be running for president.

“Lincoln’s not an abolitionist,” Freddy said, “but he’s antislavery.”

“Don’t antislavery and abolition be the same?”

“Lincoln would return runaways.” A shadow crossed Freddy’s face. Fists clenched, pounding his thigh, he remembered his time on the run. “I hope to change his mind.”

“War,” I exhaled.

“Yes. It’s coming.”

“Truly. This time.”

Freddy Junior hollered, “Praise the Lord.”

Lewis and Charles pretended to fire guns from behind my rocker. Freddy Junior clutched his heart like he’s hurt. Just like children. ’Cept they grown men with no more sense than chickens. War, when it comes, will make rivers run red. Plenty of bones buried in dirt. I started to cry.

Freddy shooed everybody out. Rosetta offered to make me tea.

Seasons came and went.
I dreamt Mam and Annie be waiting for me
.

My spring garden be a tangled mess. First time in a good while, I felt like I should get up. Put my house in order. Annie’s been dead a year now.

I was still ill, light-headed. My heart raced, then slowed. I thought I was going to die. But Mister Death didn’t come. Shame on him.

I felt sorrow that Annie never met Mam, never saw the ocean. She be buried in a plot under an oak, well beyond my garden. I didn’t visit it. Rosetta kept it nice with polished rocks and flowers. But I didn’t visit because I knew, like Mam, Annie’s spirit be elsewhere and everywhere. I told Rosetta I saw Annie. Rosetta was so alarmed, she sent for the doctor. He gave me a draught. I slept for three days. Now I don’t tell anyone that Annie’s waiting for me.

I abided. But, finally, there came a time to be doing. Time to get up. My feet touched the floor. Time to set grief aside. Be the Mam and wife of my house. Annie would know I still carried her in the center of my heart.

I heard a great whoop. Freddy opened the door, grinning, waving a telegraph. “Lincoln’s won, Anna. He’s won.”

“I’m right pleased, Freddy. Hand me my wrap.”

“I mean to have great influence, Anna. Time’s come to dismantle slavery once and for all.”

“You’ll do it, Freddy. If anybody can, you can. Please hand me my shawl.”

“I’ve been dreaming of this day.”

“Praise the Lord.”

“Praise the Republicans who had sense enough to nominate Lincoln. Praise the men who voted.”

“God had a hand in it, too.” I gathered up my wrap. Freddy would be talking politics all day.

He sat beside me, put his arm about my shoulder. I thought he might kiss me.

“We’re moving to Washington, Anna. I’ve already found our new home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Our new home.”

“This my home.”

“Cedar Hill. You’ll like it, Anna. I promise you. Right in the heart of our government. I’ll make headway with representatives and senators. Match my wits with them and win.”

He sat beside me, squeezed me quick, then he was up again, couldn’t keep still, pacing like a soldier journeying to high adventure. Never once did he think to admire and say, “Anna, you’re up. You must be feeling better.” All Freddy’s thoughts be big: changing the world, ending slavery, talking to the president. This be good. But I wished he’d stay focused on the small. Take into account I’d raised my children in Rochester, buried one.

“It’s near Baltimore. Talbot County. You can visit your Mam.”

“She’s dead. I told you so.” He looked away, flushed.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He stooped, both hands on my knees. “You’ll be nearer to the shore. Nearer those bones you’ve told me about.”

I clasped his hands. I wasn’t sure I’d the spirit to start over. I was comfortable
here
. In Rochester. Ain’t perfect. But good enough. I had my house. My garden. But I didn’t say any of this. With Annie dead, what did it matter where I be?

I say, “Fine, Freddy. Just fine.”

He stood tall, proud as ever. A little more stout. Grayer. Still, he was Samson-man, standing, perched on the edge of his horizon.

I touched his back. Now clothed in fine wool rather than burlap. But I knew if I pressed hard enough, I’d feel the scars on his back. “Freddy.” I wanted to tell him how much I admired and loved him. Wanted to say it in a way that meant something. That he’d hear. Say it lovely like his speeches.

“Freddy.” I tugged his sleeve but he didn’t turn. “Freddy,” I say again.

“This is a fine time in history, Anna. Fine time to be colored in America. This time next year, slaves are going to be free.”

My face felt hot. I wanted him to acknowledge we’d done some good together. Raised a fine family.

“In a month, Anna,” he said. “Be ready to move in a month.”

Words bubbled out my throat. “How big this house? Big enough for Miz Assing?” I wanted to call them back, instead I fell into a fit of coughing.

Freddy handed me a glass of water.

Twelve summers she’d visited my house like a haint.

“No,” he said, surprising me. “No room for Miss Assing.”

And I surprised myself by feeling almost sorry for Miz Assing. Freddy done said good-bye. Flat. Done gone. She’d a taste of my bitter medicine.

Then, he turned sharply, walked to the door, and ever so gently, closed it while whispering, “Rest, Anna. Annie would want you to rest.”

I exhaled, let myself fall back upon the pillow, feeling tension lift off me like a cloud. Like Freddy said, Annie would’ve wanted me to rest. So I did. More contented than I’d ever felt in a good long while.

Rochester

Fort Sumter’s been fired upon. War’s here! War’s here!”

Lewis and his friends hollered like Christ had risen. My sons—Freddy Junior, Charles, Lewis—dashed off to Washington. Didn’t know if there’d be a colored troop. But they wanted to beg enlistment. Wanted to beg their chance to die. “Bless me, Mother”; “Give me a kiss”; “It’ll be finished by Christmas”; and they were gone. Rosetta left, too. She planned to nurse the wounded, to “take care of Father” at Cedar Hill until I came. She was a good girl. A good help. Freddy insisted he’d have Lincoln’s ear. “Colored dignity demands it.” If he was younger, I know he’d pick up the sword. But he was going to slay the world with words. Bend justice to his will. “Bye,” I said. “Bye.” And I didn’t once let them see me cry.

Each morning, I sniffed the air, sensing blood. Mister Death going to be busy, busy. He’d have no time for me. “Make time,” I prayed, “if it’ll save Freddy’s life. Save the lives of my children.” But Death didn’t answer; so, I sang
songs to the bones. Spoke prayers to God. Sunup. Midday. Twilight.

I rambled about the house and fields. Everyone was gone. And I was glad.
Sometimes I saw Annie drawing quick, bright pictures of the garden. Or Mam poking about the kitchen. I nodded, Mam nodded back. Annie always waved with a wide smile
.

I went about my business, glad I didn’t have to explain myself, muster the strength to be polite. I could be me. Alone with my thoughts and feelings. Alone with my ghosts.

Alone, pretending America was at peace. My children, visiting friends. My husband, giving a speech.

Some days, seemed like nothing in the world mattered. Other days, everything mattered. One minute, I felt cheery. Next, I was crying. Everything, a sign.

Outside my kitchen window, a baby crow fell from its nest. It didn’t die. Just lay in the dirt ’til I picked it up. Though I held it warm by the fire, fed it worms, it still died. A calico showed up on my doorstep, looking for all the world like Lena. I cooed, “Kitty, kitty.” She stayed for two days, warming my feet at night in bed. Then, she just sauntered away. And yesterday, I saw a man slip in the market and I felt like I’d caused it. Like I’d pushed him with my two hands when I knew I hadn’t.

I studied myself in the mirror, wearing black, which didn’t flatter me. But Annie’s death was still raw. Seeing the old woman in the mirror made me wonder, “Where’s Lil’ Bit? Where’d she go?” A blink of time. My young world gone.

I cleaned the house from top to bottom. Whoever bought it, I wanted them to know, colored folks had pride. I scrubbed and scrubbed even though my hands and back ached. I cleaned out the pantry, collected the children’s toys, books and gave them to the church. I dried flowers and herbs from my garden. I took those dried plants and scented me and Freddy’s bedroom with them. Sprinkled dried roses on the bed. Rosemary in the drawers. Jonquils on the window ledge. It’d been a long time since I’d been held. A long time of me laying in bed, longing for a touch.

I hadn’t forgotten what loving once meant between me and Freddy. What loving meant for my body, my heart.

I said my prayers into my pillow and cried for my old, shriveled-up body. Stark as midnight, I realized nobody was ever going to touch me no more. I be a woman with a woman’s feelings. Freddy showed me the way, but it was me who did the feeling. Me who allowed passion to claim my body. Like drowning.

Something I never admitted before—I was born for loving. How else explain why I let Freddy take me before marriage? Take me all those years even when I knew about his unfaithfulness? Over fifty now and I know the passion still be inside me. My body.

I was meant for loving and Freddy never enjoyed all I had to give.

I never betrayed Freddy. He betrayed me.

Freddy was the man to make my love blossom. He just never had the time. Instead of feeling sorry, I felt peaceful. Like I finally knew who I be. Freddy sacrificed more than he knew. Freddy who knew so much, who could debate,
read all the pages in a book, didn’t know me. Didn’t know I be an ocean.

I heard a carriage pull up in front of the house. My heart raced, thinking maybe Rosetta came to support her old Mam. Or maybe, just maybe, it be Freddy coming to tell me I didn’t need to leave for Cedar Hill.
Love be true
.

I breathed deep, smoothed my dress and hair. Morning sun made diamonds on the floor. I pressed a kiss to my wedding ring. “Freddy,” I murmured.

But opening the front door, I didn’t see the sweet brown of my husband. Saw instead Miz Assing, all white and shiny like a silk handkerchief freshly laundered and starched.

I folded myself up, wrapped my heart in lamb’s wool and nearly cried.

Miz Assing had aged. Wrinkles were on her face just like mine. My hair had streaked white; her blond tresses had turned to silver. Funny, Freddy looked younger than us both. I hoped Miz Assing dried up like a prune. But she’d be a golden one. I couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.

But I was beautiful, too. Just different. I remembered Pa saying, “Dark coffee be best.” Mam saying, “Your inside-self be your glory.”

Seeing Miz Assing made my stomach sick. Made me think Freddy done sent her to say good-bye. Did he lie? Was there room for her and not for me at Cedar Hill? I almost wailed.

I watched her eyes. She didn’t flinch. For the first time, she and I be alone. Nobody else around, in my house. I could say and do whatever I pleased.

“Good morning, Anna,” she said boldly. Her voice less harsh.

“Morning,” I said, keeping my manners. No sense forsaking pride.

“You’ve been ill.”

I stepped back. A colored woman would’ve been more polite, said I looked well even if it weren’t true.

“May I speak with Douglass?”

My hand slapped the porch rail. “Freddy ain’t here. He’s speaking with President Lincoln. Making big plans.”

“He is? Yes, of course, he is.” There was no sass in her voice. Something else—a longing? Sorrow maybe?

“You’ve been ill. May I come in, Anna? Fix you tea?”

“I can get it.” And I did. Turned around and walked through the front door. I could hear the soft patter of Miz Assing’s slippers on the floor. My knees and knuckles ached. I’d wanted to take the tea to my bedroom, lay down and rest. But I didn’t want Miz Assing to think she’d run me out of my own kitchen. Didn’t want her to think I was afraid of her.

“Sugar?” Miz Assing took some and I was surprised. Thought she’d drink it strong. Black.

I sat and stared at Miz Assing’s blue-vein hands, holding my best china cup. You could easily prick her vein, make her bleed. She sipped from the cup; on the rim, was pink. I was shocked. No man to lure here. But then she’d expected to find Freddy.