Free Douglass’ Women by Jewell Parker Rhodes Page A

be shameless and rose up to meet him. I gave him joy as best I could. And when he began to make small moaning noises, when I could feel all the power of him finding a place inside of me, I cried out with him. Shameless, shameful Delilah. But if such pleasure-taking be sin, then God would just have to forgive me.
    He talked almost all night. “Abolitionists are a new force.” “There will be a war.” “The righteous will prevail.” “Garrison has his own paper. Devoted to colored people’s liberation.”
    “Mmm,” I murmured.
    I got up from the bed, stepped into my dress, fallen on the floor, and he followed me, still talking, not caring he was bare. It be cold. I took secret delight ’cause I think maybe all this time, with these new people, these white people, he had nobody just to talk with—to sing out his ideas.
    I thought, “It matter that I his woman.” I knew him in Baltimore when he slaved on the docks. Our history be deeper than these new acquaintances. Would always be deeper. I his wife.
    I went to the kitchen and found a good stock of bread, butter, and apples. A side of smoked ham. Found even a flask of wine. I found two mugs, then a tray and carried the food and wine back to bed. Freddy would surely freeze if we sat at the kitchen table. I pretended that the bed was our shore and spread our food. In between his many words, I fed Freddy a slice of ham, a tuft of bread, a slice of apple. So many words. I watched him eat. Said, “Mmm,” when he paused and offered more wine and food. I got giddy seeing him so happy, so alive. My heart was full and my body, warmed from the wine, asked for more of him. I set the tray on the floor, slipped off my dress, and reached for him in the bed.
    Later, when we were wrapped in each other’s arms, with only embers left in the fire and dawn sneaking in the window, I spoke, “Freddy—”
    “Frederick.”
    “I like Freddy better.”
    “I’m a new man with a new name. If a wife accords a husband dignity, others will follow. You must understand that, Anna.”
    “I do,” I say. “But when I touch you like this …” I touched him low, between his thighs, and watched his face change. “Freddy seems the name.”
    “Anna, please. I must insist. It’s how cultured people speak. ‘Frederick’ is even lenient—most wives call their husbands Mister. Mister Ruggles. Mister Quincy.”
    “These all white people you speaking about?”
    “White people are our model. If colored people propose to advance, we must show all whites, we, too, are cultured, respectable.”
    “Mam called Pa any name she wished.”
    “So she should, if your father didn’t mind. But, I do mind, Anna.”
    I didn’t want him to talk anymore. I didn’t want to argue. I touched between his thighs again.
    “In private,” I whispered, kissing him. “In private, I must call you Freddy as I wish.”
    I felt him tense despite my touch, my kiss.
    “A mother-to-be should get some respect. Some wishes granted.”
    That stopped him. He searched my face and, for the first time, I let him hear my laugh. We held fast. And soon it be my head pushing into the pillows and my Freddy, above me, eyes closed, face shining, moving like a man trying to find home inside my body’s horizon.
    When the cock crowed, Freddy was asleep beside me both like a baby and a man satisfied with life. I told the sunrise, “Thank you. Jesus,” I say, “thank you.”
    I hoped New Bedford had a sea. I could open the window to see if I smelled it. But I didn’t want to wake Frederick. My Freddy. There must be a shoreline with clams, starfish, and shells… . There must be a world outsidethat be familiar to me. While the people be new, the town be new, water be as old and as ancient as ever.
    I smiled at how far I’d come. Wife. Mother. Anna Douglass. I looked at my husband and thought:
Inside this house there will be much love
. I vow:
My body will never be closed to his
.

 
    Two days we lived private. Much joy in our