Douglass’ Women (37 page)

“Humpf.” I shifted in my seat, glad to see Miz Assing’s hands trembling.

We sat across from each other at my kitchen table. But we weren’t facing each other. Not really. We were looking at my garden. Looking at the ball of sun, high up from the
horizon. A bright, brand new day. Looking at the birds perched on a tree. Looking everywhere ’cept in each other’s eyes.

“You waiting for me to die?”

“No, Anna. I’m not. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

“You telling me, if I was dead, you wouldn’t marry him?” I glanced sideways, Miz Assing’s mouth was buried in her lace collar. “Don’t matter what I feel, then?”

“No, it does. But I can’t help what I feel.”

I wanted to smack her. Hit her across her mouth, breasts, and face. “People ain’t animals. You never learned anything that wasn’t in books.”

“What other learning is there?”

Her blue eyes stared straight into mine, something twisted inside me. I could tell she was ignorant. Ignorant, like Miz Baldwin, of a colored woman’s feelings. But unlike Miz Baldwin, she was sincere. She really wanted to know.

“Passion. I think you’ve learned that.”

“Yes.”

I acted like I didn’t hear. “Sharing Freddy’s bed ain’t in books. For a while, you climbed in the bed right with us. But I pushed you out. Each time I tried to love as best I knew how. Tried to take what I needed. Tried to give what I could. You understand?”

“Yes. I did the same. But Douglass, Anna, I mean Freddy—”

“—don’t call him that.”

“I’m sorry. But Douglass is a free man. Even as a slave, his heart was his own.”

“Little things.”

“What?”

“I was thinking of my Mam. She taught me love was
‘little things.’ Not big words or books of poetry but fresh-baked bread, a hand on your back. A kind word. A good laugh.

“Taught me the earth brimmed with learning. Soil that healed, nurtured food and flowers. But it was the sea, said my Mam, that brimmed with the spirit-bones, lost souls who never had a chance at life or love.”

“Oluwand,” Miz Assing whispered like a breeze.

I didn’t answer.
I was seeing Mam sitting in my garden, snapping green beans for supper. Crabs, swimming in a bucket, were beside her
. “Lost souls living in the ocean’s cold bottom. Lost souls who gloried in colored people living their lives full and complete.”

“Lost souls who gloried in
all
people? Do you think, Anna? Lost souls who gloried in all people living their lives full and complete?”

“You’ve seen the bones?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I saw Oluwand, a slave girl, drown herself. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen her. She used to haunt me. No, that’s not quite right. She used to live, be with me, appearing at the oddest times. I haven’t seen her in a long while. Not since I left Rosetta at school. Strange, sometimes I saw Oluwand and you.”

“What you think she wanted?”

Miz Assing didn’t answer. She went to the window, pressed her hands and brow against the pane. Like she was looking for something, yet trapped behind strong glass.

“See,” I said. “All this time, you never learned.”

“My mother tried to teach me things beyond books. Tried to explain that mutual love was the highest love. Divine.”

“Does Freddy love you?”

Miz Assing paled and her hands trembled like they’d a will of their own.

“You don’t know, do you?”

She shook her head.

I laughed. I didn’t mean to but I did, loud and clear. Insulted, poor Miz Assing who brushed past me, eager to go.

“Please.” I caught her hand. “I’m not laughing at you. But at the two of us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sit down.” I leaned forward, poured more tea like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I never knew if Freddy loved me, either. He never said, never did little things. Not truly. Not from his heart. Maybe he felt he had to marry me. But didn’t really want to. You, he wanted. That’s what hurt. I thought he choose you over me. I thought he must love you, but now I see Freddy never really learned to love.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Miz Assing. German woman. Smart. Unloved.

She bobbed her head down like a baby bird. “I haven’t heard from Douglass in over a year. My letters are returned.” She started weeping. No sound. Tears just welled and fell. Slid down her face. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Didn’t seem to mind I was seeing them.

“Poor Miz Assing.”

“Ottilie, please.”

I said as gently as I could: “But we ain’t friends.”

“No,” she said, mournful, “and never will be.”

Miz Assing, with all her book-learning, was worse off than me. I was free. She be chained by love. Locked in a jail, not knowing whether Freddy’d ever let her out. Worse, she came to America to free the slaves and became
herself enslaved. By a great man. The great abolitionist. But he just a man. Mam and Pa had taught me when to lay it all down, let it go. Time came to walk on. To turn heartache into strength.

Miz Assing be hanging on to the bitter end. Hanging on until my death. Hanging on for Freddy to prove his love with marriage.

“Drink your tea,” I said. “Forget Freddy.”

For a long while, we sat in silence. The sun rose higher and higher, showering us with light, rainbows on the floor. Of all the rooms, the kitchen soothed me best. Even when clouds graced the sky, light still poured in. Light to cook by, think by. Light to make my garden grow.

“I’m sorry Annie died.”

“Thank you.” But she ain’t gone.
Maybe tonight, Annie will come running up the stairs and sit in the rocker by my bed. She’ll sit beside me all night while I sleep
.

“I must go now.”

Miz Assing stood, face pinched tight, lips dry, her dignity cloaked about her. “Look, Anna. Do you see her?” She moved quick, opening the screen door. Her mouth open, shaped into an O. She stood riveted like a wood plank on the porch. “Do you see her?”

A young black woman, smiling, was standing beside my Mam
. “Bones-woman,” I sighed.

Miz Assing hesitated. “Anna, do you know what she wants?”

“She telling you to get on with it. Live your life. Find happiness where and while you can.”

“You think so?”

I smiled. “I know so. Mam don’t keep company with just anybody.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck to you,” I said. And I meant it.

On the other side of the screen door, she paused. “I’m glad Freddy wasn’t here. I’m pleased to have met you, Anna.”

I didn’t follow. I stayed on the back porch, staring through the screen, watching her silver head bob, her white gown sway until I couldn’t see her no more. I heard the front door open, then shut. She was leaving the house where she’d spent over a dozen summers. Her home, too, in a way. I wondered after she climbed into the carriage whether she looked back. Or forward. I heard the the “hiyah” of the driver. Imagined the horses’ hooves kicking up dust.

I turned back to my garden. Mam was beckoning me down from the porch. All day, we worked, side by side, weeding, harvesting the tenderest greens. The sweetest peas. The bones-woman, Oluwand, had the biggest smile. Sometimes she plucked plants; other times, she just swirled, her dress snapping at her ankles and knees. When twilight come, Mam shook her bucket. Blue crabs snapped, clicked, crawled atop one another. Oluwand took a stick and dug a hole. Shallow and wide. She laid twigs on it, dry grass, and clean branches. The setting sun lit the fire
.

Annie would visit soon. Probably when Mam was ready to boil them crabs
.

“I don’t believe in an afterlife.”

—O
TTILIE
A
SSING
, 1882

“When I die, bury me in water.”

—A
NNA
D
OUGLASS
, 1882

August 21, 1884
Paris

Though I’ve asked the hotel maids to build the fire, I still feel cold. As though my heart has already stopped pulsing blood. My scribbling is almost ended.

“Tell it all. Tell it true.” Such was Douglass’ advice.

Like Rip Van Winkle, I feel as though I’m waking from a dream. But no daughter or grandchild welcomes me. No neighbors cry, “We’ve missed you.” Even my cat has died. Time has blurred, fallen by the wayside.

Like love … drifting away.

Lincoln never wished for a colored regiment. He even turned a blind eye when Union soldiers returned slaves to their owners. Oh, how he frustrated Douglass!

But I was there to bear witness to the truth. I wrote, furiously and feverishly, day and night, for
Morgenblatt:

“As with the French peasantry, slaves will
throw off their chains and rise up. Lincoln
cannot stop a swelling tide of justice and
enlightenment.”

“Ottilie,” Douglass said, reading my work, “you’re remarkable.”

I loved the sound of that word:
“remarkable.”
But not remarkable enough.

His hair grew white. Distinguished. I stopped looking into the mirror. Whereas Douglass never failed to attract silly, young admirers, patience was my only armor. But it didn’t end loneliness.

I embarrassed the abolitionists. Even Garrison pretended not to know me.

The suffragettes disowned me. My dislike of Julia Griffiths had lost me friends. Fine for Julia to be a whore. But my fidelity was meaningless.

Only Anna’s children eased my loneliness.

An odd circumstance. Yet, not so odd considering the dozen summers I stayed in Rochester, watching them grow. My apartment became a haven for them to air complaints, to discuss war strategy, to buoy their spirits and ease the burden of being Douglass’ children. There was no need for posturing or perfection in my small apartment. Freddy Junior could chew tobacco—a habit his father loathed. Lewis, always serious, dignified, could practice his magic tricks with abandon. (Oh, how he loved to make coins appear, then disappear!) And Charles Redmond, the liveliest and most mischievous, could roll back the rug and dance.

They brought guests from the most accomplished to the most lowly. They knew such distinctions mattered little to me. They honored me when they brought Lucius—a runaway slave eager to join the Union Army. One word from me, a white woman, and I could’ve claimed a reward.

Lucius was so quiet: “Yes, ma’am.” “No, ma’am.”

He had the sincerest demeanor. Faithful, trusting eyes. And I watched his expression change when he first saw Rosetta. His gaze nearly took my breath away. It was as if he’d seen heaven, paradise, utopia, all rolled into one. My heart lurched.

If William had looked at me that way—if anyone—I think I would’ve married him. Would’ve thrown off my years of waiting for Douglass.

Rosetta didn’t yield at once. The girl who’d admonished herself:
“Don’t embarrass Father,”
had grown to become an accomplished teacher, a graduate of Oberlin. Lucius could neither read nor write. But his loyalty and love were clear. He accepted Rosetta’s instructions with the best grace: “A fork is held this way”;
“Isn’t
, Lucius, not
ain’t
”; “Stand tall”; “Shake Father’s hand firmly.” Within a span of months, she tutored him in the fine arts: painting, literature, and especially music. “Liszt’s
Consolations
were inspired by a Princess,” she said. (Indeed, a German princess married to another!) She played
Consolation No. 3
while her brothers stomped and hooted for more popular, raucous tunes. Lucius never took sides. He faded into the woodwork while the Douglass siblings argued and debated.

Lewis teased, “You’re henpecked.” Rosetta blushed furiously. Lucius only smiled.

Later, when the boys had settled down to tea, Lucius went to Rosetta, sitting rigid on the window seat. He placed his hand on her shoulder, his thumb gently stroking, ever so gently, the slope of her neck. Exhaling, Rosetta closed her eyes.

I was transported too. A woman ages but her body still feels. Even at a distance, I could sense Lucius’ passion. I could see, too, Rosetta returned his fire. A slight inclination of the body, a parting of lips. Yet everything banked down. Everything proper. It made me wonder:
Is that the secret? To be proper?

But if I’d been proper, I would’ve run from Douglass. What glories I would’ve missed!

For months, Rosetta kept Lucius from meeting Douglass. One day, Lucius and I found ourselves alone. I’d offered to sketch him as a gift for Rosetta. He posed quietly, as still as a statue. Light draining, shadows deepening beneath his eyes, he spoke unexpectedly, “Rosetta has her mother’s strength.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Tea, Lucius?”

His face grew plain and dull again. “That be fine, ma’am.” And without quite understanding why, I felt irritable. Felt I failed him as well as myself.

When Lincoln approved the colored regiments, I planned a grand celebration. Rosetta asked if Lucius could come: “He’s got false freedom papers. He’ll enlist.”