Read Online Douglass’ Women by Jewell Parker Rhodes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jewell Parker Rhodes
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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
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
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