Douglass’ Women (8 page)

It was them bones. Bones raging, stumbling, telling me I was going to die. I, too proud, thinking I could face any storm, any struggle with Freddy by my side.

Freddy not even with me. Even then Freddy be a ghost. Freddy Bailey, now named Douglass, wasn’t the man I supposed. My sin be I never once felt them bones at the sea’s bottom. I was crossing over their pearly grave, over their glistening, moaning bones and I never once thanked them. Never once thought of them. Ungrateful gal.

New York

Valiant
landed and I worried I didn’t look my best. My clothes were all storm-tossed, salt-stained, and wrinkled. Still I swept back my hair and held my head up proudly. New York. New land. The harbor was larger, busier, noisier than Baltimore’s. But I loved the colors—red, yellow, gray, and green. Carriages had pink and purple ribbons. Carts carried rainbow flowers—whites whiter than white, roses redder than red; and orange marigolds. It was the last harvest before winter. Some carts carried silvery fish and black mollusks; some carts shined with shimmering silk and delicate lace. The people, too, were amazing—mainly white, but I saw red Indians, and many brown and black people strolling in fancy clothes. This land—this North—be a miracle.

I walked down the plank into color, into a noisy world. Shouts of homecoming: “Welcome, boy”; “You’re home, John”; selling: “Please buy. Two a penny, two a penny”; “Lift anchor. Set sail”; and the screech of masts, sails fluttering to life. Noise was beyond great and in that noise, color. I looked every which way.
Freddy, come get me
.

Brown men dressed in black spats, brown pants and shirt, stepping forward to white folks around me, saying, “Porter? Need Porter, Miss?”

I wondered why none of them came to help me? I shifted my bag’s weight onto my hip and stared slowly in every direction.
Where’s Freddy? Where’s Freddy?
Expecting any minute for him to say, “I’m here.”

Instead, a black-frocked man with round hat shading his pink face stepped forward.

“Anna Murray?”

“That’s me.”

He reached for my bag and I stepped back. He looked up, startled. “I won’t harm you.” His eyes were pale blue, his lashes almost white. “I am devoted to the colored.”

What he mean? Devoted to the colored?

The tiredness of my journey overtook me. I wanted to run.

His nose crinkled like I was some wild thing. Some mare that needed gentling. But I didn’t trust myself to strangers. Maybe this a trick? Maybe this white man suspected I was a runaway? Maybe he stole women to be the worst kind of slave?

My heart pulled in my chest. My breath came quick. I stood as tall as I was able and I ignored him. I looked beyond him, sure that Freddy will soon join me. I looked beyond to the only hope I had left.

“I’ll take you to our mutual friend.”

I blink, confused.

“Our mutual friend is waiting.”

What friends we got in common? I thought. I’d never trafficked with white men. I did my work, lived my life with
what peace be left a colored woman. This man was mistaken.

“Our friend,” he said slow, like I’m dumb, “our mutual friend, of late from Baltimore, is waiting.”

I shook my head.

“Your wedding day is here.”

My body felt flush and the earth was no longer solid. Legs shook, knees buckled. The world had turned topsyturvy, worse than the wild sea.

I couldn’t keep myself from pleading, “Take me. Take me to him.”

He took my bag and I crossed my hands over my baby growing inside me.

I walked away from that harbor, following the black hat of this strange man. I walked away from “Last call. Set sail.” Walked away. “Good-bye, good-bye,” I heard sons and mothers call. Walked—my legs stiff, shuffling forward to keep pace with this man. And even if them bones had started rising from the sea—hard and lovely, rising like ghostly spirits, stretching their ivory colored fingers—they couldn’t have stopped me.

I would’ve paid them no heed. I was going to Freddy. Frederick Douglass.

My new land of dreams.

I had passion. Courage to walk toward my dream. Step inside it.

I don’t know how much time passed. Seemed there be no time, no smell, no sound, no sight, only feeling. This was the last stage of my journey. Riding in a buggy pulled by an ebony horse, my body pressed forward, trying to hurry to Freddy.

This crow man handed me down, lifted my bag, then
opened a door to a storied house—smaller than the Baldwins’, but elegant, with brass fittings, red brick, and sparkling windows.

A maid opened the door. She waved me and the crow man inside a walnut-paneled hallway, then inside a room that felt too hot, smelled too sweet with hyacinths. A gilt-framed mirror hung over the fireplace.

First, I only saw three white men, a white woman speaking softly by the window to a man with black hair curling to his shoulders.

“They have come.”

I knew him by his hair. Thick waves of hair—not quite silk, not quite coarse
.

A smile tugged at Freddy’s lips, lightening his eyes. His hand stretched toward me.

My breath rushed. Except for his skin, he looked like the other white men. Dressed in a fine, gray suit. A watch chain dangling from a pocket. Lace at his wrists. Proud and handsome. Freddy wasn’t a slave no more. He was a man among men, a man among white men. This astonished me. His shoulders back, chin high. Freddy was easy here. Comfortable. Not just clothes, not just good food that made him seem more solid, but something I couldn’t figure had changed him. Or maybe made clearer who he was?

I don’t know if he called my name or not. But I went to him, hearing,
“Anna.”

The yellow-haired lady was bubbling, “It’s your wedding day.” One man spoke to Freddy, false whispering so I’d hear, “She’s a beauty. A rare beauty.” But I knew that was a lie.

I was sea-stained, dirty all over. Still, I smiled. Freddy’s palms clasped mine.

The crow man lifted off his hat. “We should hurry,” he say. “Perform the ceremony and leave for New Bedford tonight.”

“Freddy—” I began.

“Frederick.” He squeezed my hand. “Frederick Douglass.”

I wetted my lips, nervous. “Frederick—” Maybe he want me to call him that in front of these strangers? “Freddy,” he be with me alone.

“Frederick, I’d like to wash. Change my clothes.”

The room dulled like nightfall. I could still see sun on the carpet but it had no glitter, no spark. In the hush quiet, I heard the soft gong of a clock.

The white woman, kindly meant I think, stepped close, soothing, “But of course. We are hurrying like there is no tomorrow. We haven’t even introduced ourselves. I am Mrs. Ruggles. These are my friends—yours, too, I hope. Mr. Garrison, my husband, Mr. Ruggles, and Mr. Stevenson.” Each, in turn, nodded their heads at me.

“Mister Quincy, you’ve met.” She looked at the black-frocked man. “Oh, John, you didn’t. You failed to introduce yourself?” Her face warmed, turning pink. “What barbarians you must think us, Anna. May I call you Anna? I’m Lydia.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, knowing better than to say, “Lydia.” Freddy’s fingers digged into mine. I sucked air rather than cry out.

“We will marry now,” he said. “Promptly. We must get to New Bedford.”

The men nodded their heads again. The one named Garrison said, “Very wise.”

Miz Ruggles laid her hand on Freddy’s arm. “Please reconsider,”
she said, like a bee touching a flower. Her voice be drawling, not twangy like the men. “A few hours won’t undo your haste.”

I liked Miz Ruggles. She ain’t pretty like Miz Baldwin but there be power in her words. I could tell she got her way sometimes. I felt, too, she understood me some as a woman. Only one wedding day. This be mine and I had no planning. I felt guilty that I’d doubted Freddy.

Felt tiredness, too, coming down hard. Felt tears behind my eyes. Felt ever so lonely.

Oh, Mam. Lost Lena.

Another heartbeat, I prayed Miz Ruggles would gather me and lead me to a room with scented soap and a basin of water. I’d like to press the wrinkles in my dress. I’d like, too, to carry a flower. Just one. One flower to remind me when Freddy gave me marigolds.

“I am an escaped slave. My time is not my own.”

There was nothing to say to that.

Strange, being a slave gave Freddy power. For Miz Ruggles’s face changed, grew somber. The men nodded again, and Mister Quincy stepped forward, whispering dryly, “Prepare for blessings. You are entering a sanctified union. A holy state deemed by God.”

I thought Northerners must truly feel sorry for slavery. It be a revelation to me, a new thought like a Bible miracle. Still, I wished my desires for a wedding were taken into account.

I felt real sorrow but, then, I plucked up. I not my mother’s daughter for nothing. This weakness of mine ain’t no real trouble. I was still marrying. I still carried a child. I still had good news to tell to Freddy, in private, in our wedding bed. I put my hand in his.

I felt light as water. In the mirror, Freddy and me seemed frozen. Surrounded by strange men. Miz Ruggles, the only one with a smile. Freddy strained to fit my ring. We were married. He kissed me on both cheeks.

Miz Ruggles’s maid served wine. My first taste. Bubbles rested on my tongue.

Freddy held up his hands. “Friends, thank you all for your good care of me. These weeks, months, waiting for Anna have been filled with trials and tribulations. But, also, filled with joy knowing that decent people abound in the North. Thank you. From a most grateful heart.”

The men clapped and Miz Ruggles beamed.

I took a bite of the pound cake, thinking it ain’t as good as I could make it. Later, I thought I’ll make another cake. Maybe even send Miz Ruggles my recipe. Freddy could teach me how to write it.

Looking up at my husband, at the men clapping him on the back, wishing him well, I thought, “Amazing.” North, way better than Baltimore. In the North, slaves made miracles. I’d been blessed with a good husband.

“We must not tarry here,” say Freddy.

With a quick flurry, I was off on another journey. Quincy and Garrison planned to drive us to a place called New Bedford. Miz Ruggles murmured, “There is a cottage. A new home waiting you.” I wanted to hug her but I just smiled, and said, “Thank you,” as polite as I know how. She be still white; I, still black. African.

In the carriage, Freddy said, “Miss Ruggles likes you. She is a good friend of the Negroes. You did well, Anna.” He squeezed my hand.

I closed my eyes and slept. I caught fever. Four days and three nights, I was sick with fever and dreaming. I remember
posting houses and Freddy’s hands smoothing my brow. I remember seeing tops of trees, some with red and yellow leaves, others just thrusting sticks in the blue sky. At night, I glanced at stars, sparkling in and out like tiny miracles. I dreamed my baby swimming in a wide sea, bones made a net beneath her. She’d not drown.

I dreamed I was in a deep bucket of cool water and a strong, tender arm was cradling me upright while a sponge dripped water down my shoulders, my breasts. Someone wiped my face.

I’m never sick. But I’d be always for this feeling. It reminded me of Mam loving me, yet I knew it wasn’t Mam. I was safe in hands strong enough to hold a woman grown.

I pressed my head deeper into the seat cushions. Or maybe it be Freddy’s shoulder?

I did not wake ’til we arrived at our new home.

New Bedford, Massachusetts

Sleep, Anna. We are in our own home now.”

I stirred, waking from heavy sleep. Waking cool, without fever. I felt strangely refreshed. Like my body had renewed itself. Been born again. I remembered little of our travels, yet here I was laying on soft feather down with Freddy’s face a breath away from mine, and him saying, “Sleep.”

I stretched my hand, stroked his chin, murmuring, “I’d rather be with you.”

“We’ve a hard day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Nothing hard if you here.”

Freddy kissed me lightly on the lips. Then he chuckled, and I was surprised, for I’d never heard him laugh. Never heard the richness in his joy.

“Are you well?”

“Yes.” I blushed. “Thank you for your care of me.”

He felt my brow. “I was worried for you.” Then he bent his head lower; I could see his eyes intent. “We need to be strong together. Your strength is what I most admire about you.”

“I’m strong. I won’t fall ill again. I’ve always been strong.”

“Sssh. Lie awhile. Rest.” Freddy’s hand stayed me from getting up. “I know you’re strong, Anna. Were it not for you, I wouldn’t be here. My dreams wouldn’t be coming true.”

His lips brushed mine and I sighed into the sweetness. “Tell me about your dreams.”

He smiled like a child.

“So many have provided me with support. It’s amazing. Time and again, men stepped forward to give me clothes, bread, money. But it is the abolitionists … Mr. Garrison, who writes a fine paper,
The Liberator
, who’ve counseled me and invigorated my pride. I feel more free than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

He kissed me again then got up, pacing, pulling off his black cravat, taking off his coat. So handsome. There was a fireplace bright against the fall chill, and tallow? no, beeswax candles brightly flaming on the mantel and dresser. It was a fine room with good comforts and warm light making Freddy’s shadow flicker on the wall, making his shadow seem bigger than a giant’s.

I nearly laughed with joy and stretched my arms out onto the softest, biggest bed of my life. “This house ours?”

“Not ours. Not yet. Abolitionists have lent it to us. But one day, I’ll have a home like this. No, better than this.”

“This house be fine.”

“You think so, Anna?” He turned and looked at me strangely.

“Well, I haven’t seen it all. But, any house you in be just fine.” I lifted onto my elbow.

He laughed, his head thrown back, his jaw open. He laughed and I turned my face into the pillow. He sat on the bed beside me.

“Anna, I’m lucky to have you. Lucky to be here. Lucky to have you here. God has answered my prayers. I went from a life with no joy to one where white men listen, respect me, where I have a home of my own—”