Free Douglass’ Women by Jewell Parker Rhodes Page B

house. We found water—a colder, rougher Atlantic, with all manner of ships: whalers, fishing junkets, navy ships. The Bedford wharf was a busy place, not as big as Baltimore, but big enough for me to buy new cloth, pins, a candy stick. Freddy bought paper and a small slate to teach me words. He bought a Bible and inside it wrote our names on a family tree, etched in gold. He also bought some “fine vellum,” he called it, to write to Mam.
    There were many, many colored folk. As we walked the wharf, most nodded at us or smiled. Several spoke with Frederick. Told him about work, all kinds: blacksmithing, welding, caulking. I was proud. Freddy could turn his mind to anything.
    Freddy said I should turn my mind to caring for our children. He doesn’t want me working for anyone—colored or white. I told him I’d like that just fine. I’d sew, cook, garden, put up preserves, and clean our house so lovely, that everyone would know I be a happy wife.
    Colored men said they’d send their wives. Right away. But, then, they say, “In a day or two,” when they discover we just married. Suited me fine. I didn’t want visitors. I wanted our house quiet, just filled with me, and Freddy and the baby-to-be.
    The third day, the Preacher and his wife came. He be fine-boned and thin. She be a big woman—bigger than me. Preacher be quiet. Polite. She chattered and wore a hat with purple feathers which swayed every time she moved. Swayed as she bobbed her head, telling me gossip. She had stories about everyone in the congregation. I said little for I didn’t want her to gossip about me. Preacher just say, “Bless you. Bless this house.”
    Freddy and I both laughed when they were gone. But after the Preacher’s visit, there be a flood of people coming to meet us. I was worn out, making seed cakes, serving tea. But I saw how everyone respected and admired Freddy. He’d be a big man among these people, I thought. He might rise to deacon in their church.
    My thoughts about our world were too small. The next day a letter came. Freddy, face delighted, told me Garrison has asked him to speak before the Nantucket Anti-Slavery Society. Three days hence at 7:00 P.M. In Mercantile Hall.
    “But you still a slave. Won’t slave-trackers be there, too?”
    “It’s something I must do, Anna.”
    “But the danger? We don’t need this house if it means you must speak and be in danger.”
    “Anna, you don’t understand.”
    “Quakers can take it back.”
    “They will once I have means to support us. This house is but a way station for slaves with families. We’ll be journeying on, Anna.”
    “And I’ll be ready. Long as you safe. Long as no man’s hunting my baby’s father.”
    Freddy brushed aside his hair and sighed. His frustration reminded me he be much younger than me. I wanted to stay inside; he wanted to go out into the world.
    “Anna, we can’t abandon those less fortunate. I did speak once in New York. It was dangerous, I know. Mr. Garrison convinced me to say a few words at a meeting.
    “Anna, you’d be surprised at the people who’ve never heard a slave speak. Some thought slave hardships were fairy tales—”
    “What?”
    “Stories, lies made up by abolitionists. When they saw me, Anna, they began to believe a little. Believe that not all slaveholders were kindly and good-intentioned. I spoke no more than five minutes, but those five minutes, I felt, meant something. Did good.”
    I was still frowning.
    “Anna, please come here.” I walked to Freddy by the back window. “See,” he say, “you bought seeds to grow in that little plot of earth.”
    The yard was a mess but there were old trestles, marking a square where once a thriving garden had been.
    “You hope your seeds will take root and grow. So, too, my words.” He touched me beneath my chin, urging my head up, to face him, eye to eye. He knew I couldn’t help but give in. He be too handsome to refuse.
    “Only a few words. Only this time. Then I’ll