Read Online Douglass’ Women by Jewell Parker Rhodes - Free Book Online
Authors: Jewell Parker Rhodes
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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 withwhat 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, thenopened a door to a
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 withwhat 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, thenopened a door to a
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