Two Wings to Fly Away

by Penny Mickelbury

  “My name is Genie and I want to help you, to answer your questions, to make sure you understand that this is your home. This is where you live now. The food here is yours. The clothes in the drawers are yours. You can open the door and go outside whenever you like. Do you understand?”

  They looked at her wide-eyed, processing her words, looking for truth in them. “We ain’t slaves?” Mary said. “We really ain’t slaves no more?”

  “You are free people. You will never see Montague Wright again. He does not know where you are or how to find you.” She went to the door and opened it. “Come with me and I’ll show you where you live.” She walked out, leaving the door open, and took several steps away from the building. They followed timidly, ready to turn and flee if necessary. “Close the door, Robert, so you’re not heating up the outside.” She walked around the building to the main street, then to the front door of the watch repair shop and opened it. She beckoned to the three frightened people and they slowly approached. “This is the front of where you live. The man who owns this shop, Peter Blanding, has given you the place where you live.”

  Peter saw them and hurried from behind the counter. “Good morning, friends,” he said, extending his hand, and one by one his new friends shyly shook it. “Do you like your apartment?”

  “Yessir,” they said in unison.

  “We’re going to walk a little, Peter, then I’ll take them home so they might eat breakfast and sleep.”

  “Thank you, Genie,” Peter said. “Robert, Josephine, Mary—if you need anything, just ask.”

  “Yessir,” they said again, and followed Genie out into the street. They walked in silence, looking and watching.

  “Probably half the Black people you see around you once were slaves—you have no way to know which ones because they don’t act like slaves! But they all will know you for slaves if you continue this behavior.”

  She knew that her words were harsh. She also knew as well as anyone how difficult it was to abandon the slave mentality.

  And the behavior that came with it. Carrie Tillman had taught her that truth. Looking back Genie could see that it was a difficult task, but Carrie never gave up. “I’m not telling you to forget you were a slave, Eugenia. You couldn’t if you wanted to. What I’m telling you is to forget acting like one.” At the time Genie didn’t know what that meant. She knew now. And she knew it was necessary to teach these slaves how to act free. Fortunately, there were people to help, including Jack Juniper. He was the only one of them who had the time to spend with Josephine, Mary and Robert. He could make them understand this simple truth in these complex times: If one behaved like a slave, one would be recognized as a slave.

  Robert wanted to speak, began to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Josephine looked ready to faint from fear. Finally, Mary spoke. “You, too, Mistress? Was you a slave?”

  “My name is Genie,” Genie snapped, “and yes, I was.”

  “Mistress Genie, can we go back now?” Robert asked timidly.

  “Back to Montague Wright?” Genie asked.

  The three newly freed slaves shrank into themselves. “N-n-no, ma’am, back to where we just come from,” Robert managed.

  “And where was that?” Genie asked.

  “That new place,” Mary said. “Home. The place you said was our home.”

  “Robert. Josephine. Do you want that place to be your home?”

  They nodded.

  “Robert and Josephine, yes or no: Do you want that place to be your home?”

  “Yes,” Robert said.

  “Yes,” Josephine whispered.

  “Then go home,” Genie said, and turned away from them and walked in the opposite direction, hating herself in that moment for her cruelty but knowing that it was necessary, and also hoping that freeing them had not been a mistake. Mrs. Tubman had discovered that slave behavior was so deeply ingrained in some runaways that the reality of freedom was less desirable than the horror of slavery. But Josephine had sounded so certain! Her feet, she said, would have wings because she was running to freedom! And now that she was free she was petrified. Genie turned to look for Robert and his family. They were gone. To their new home she hoped. She would leave it to William to explain the concept of being paid for their work. And to Jack Juniper to explain how to be free.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “How delightful to have you welcome the New Year with us, Abigail,” Dorrie Woodhull enthused. “I do hope that your presence is a harbinger of what is to be.”

  “Indeed, Abigail! We have missed you.”

  “And you are as beautiful as ever. Your mother would be so proud,” someone said.

  “She may be even more beautiful than her mother, and her mother was a real beauty,” said another.

  Abby stole a glance at Auntie Florence who correctly read the message and interjected. “Ladies please! If you continue to overwhelm Abby, she may absent herself again and never return! Now in all fairness, let us not forget the reason for Abby’s absence.”

  There was a stunned, confused silence, which Abby broke.

  “May we put the past behind us and begin 1857 on a positive note? I will always miss my mother and I will never be as beautiful as she was, but I share her belief in and commitment to abolishing the horrible, disgraceful practice of slavery in this country.”

  Shouts of hear, hear! rang out among the dozen or so assembled women of the Philadelphia Women’s Abolitionist Society. Not all were as wealthy as Dorrie Woodhull or Florence Mallory or Abigail herself, but none had been required to take in boarders, and Abby’s decision to do just that had been a gross violation of propriety. She honestly did regret having offended them, but she knew she’d do it again to avoid having to marry a man she didn’t want or need. Or love.

  “How do you take your tea, Abigail? As your mother did, I’ll wager.”

  Abby smiled, nodded, accepted a cup of tea, sipped, then said, “May I share with you some things I’ve recently learned?” And she told them most of what Genie, Ezra and Donald had told her about freeing Robert, Josephine and Mary. The room went airless. Then a woman Abby didn’t know exclaimed, “I don’t believe it! I know Montague Wright and I don’t believe it! Whoever told you this . . . this . . . tale . . . is lying. Montague is an excellent doctor!”

  “But that’s not the issue, is it?” Florence asked. “The issue is his holding slaves—”

  “That is a lie!” Sheilagh Callahan practically shouted.

  Abby controlled her temper and gave the woman what she hoped was a pitying smile. “I was speaking with Montague Wright myself when he asked if his apprentice and his slave could live in my house.”

  “Why should we believe anything you say? You don’t have the most sterling reputation.”

  “That will be quite enough, Sheilagh,” Auntie Florence hissed. “You may not remain in this group if—”

  “I don’t want to remain if this is the kind of thing you do,” Sheilagh said.

  “What on earth do you mean, the kind of thing we do? We are an abolitionist group! What did you think we did?” an astounded Dorrie asked.

  “That a doctor, right here in the middle of Philadelphia, would hold slaves—” someone said.

  “I didn’t think you engaged in character assassination!”

  “As you just did?” Auntie Florence was scathing. “I think it would be best if you left.”

  “Now Florence—” Dorrie began.

  “Or Abigail and I will leave.”

  “No.” Dorrie stood, holding herself as upright as if she wore a crown. “Mrs. Callahan apparently will not be comfortable with what we do and we’ll not temper our discussion for her comfort. It would be best if you left,” she said.

  ✴ ✴ ✴

  “You should have seen the look on her face!” Abby was telling Genie and Maggie that evening as they prepared dinner. “She most certainly had never been asked to leave a gathering before—”

  “Especially one where defense of a fallen woman over th
e reputation of an honorable man was the cause,” Genie said bitterly.

  They worked in silence for a while until Maggie said, “I am glad they took your side over hers, fallen woman that you are.”

  “Perhaps I’m not the only fallen woman,” Abby said with a raised eyebrow, “and they were merely looking after their own interests rather than mine?”

  “Now there’s a thought worth considering,” Genie said. “Who else do you imagine sleeps in the same bed with her Black escaped slave house maid?”

  Maggie gave a whoop, covered her face with her apron, and ran into the scullery for vegetables.

  After dinner, when Eli was driving Maggie home, Ezra provided a very different thought for consideration, one which left them no room for laughter. “I think Sheilagh Callahan was a spy,” he said, “who allowed her true feelings to sabotage her mission.”

  “Sabotage her mission!” Abby was aghast. “What mission? Surely, Ezra, you can’t be serious!”

  “Indeed, I am serious, Abigail,” a very grave Ezra replied. “There exist spies in most, if not all, anti-slavery organizations. Job Mayes almost got me and the Cortlandt boy killed and Mrs. Tubman caught and hanged. And if Sheilagh Callahan were not a novice she would have feigned both horror and interest long enough to learn whether you knew who stole Montague Wright’s slaves from under his nose.”

  Genie was first to recognize and accept Ezra’s suspicion as truth for she, too, had been betrayed by Job Mayes. It was their good fortune that Abby had not revealed all she knew about the disappearance of Wright’s slaves, but before they could feel relieved Donald articulated the real danger. “That Wright, he’s not the kind to leave well enough alone. He’ll be looking for vengeance.”

  “You’re right about that, Donnie. He’ll want someone to pay,” Ezra said, adding, “He already harbors resentment for Abby for rejecting his apprentice. Her having knowledge of his escaped slaves will be too much for him to bear. Genie, you must not remain here,” he said gravely. “Leave tomorrow.”

  “But . . . but . . . ” Abby sputtered, “where will she go? She’s given up her home!”

  “I can stay at the dress shop for several days at least,” Genie said. Ezra was right, and she knew it. “How long do you think, Ezra?”

  “I think Dr. Wright will make his presence known sooner rather than later. He’s not a . . . contemplative man.” Anyone who had spent more than five minutes with the man knew that. Whatever came to his mind came out of his mouth, no matter whether right or wrong or true. He talked to hear himself talk and he listened to no one. Yes, Ezra was correct: Abigail Read was the only person Wright could connect to his slaves and, bully that he was, he would confront her.

  ✴ ✴ ✴

  Three days later, shortly after breakfast, a furious and blustery Montague Wright pushed Eli aside and strode into the front hall. “Where is she?” he brayed distinctively. “I demand to speak with her!”

  “Is Miss Abigail expecting you, sir?” Eli asked politely.

  “You damned impudent Black bastard, you get out of my way!” Wright thundered and brushed past Eli.

  “If you’ll wait here in the foyer, sir—”

  “Get out of my way!” he screamed at Eli and raised a hand to hit him. Eli quickly grabbed the arm as Donald had taught him and just as quickly twisted it behind the angry man’s back with such force he screamed in pain and fell to his knees.

  Abby came running down the stairs, hair flying behind her, and Ezra came running from the opposite side of the foyer, from his suite, pulling on his jacket. “What on earth is happening here? What are you doing here, Dr. Wright?”

  “Tell this Black bastard to release me immediately!” He meant for his words to be a thundered roar, but they were a whimpered plea—or prayer—for the pain to cease.

  “I’ll not have that kind of language in my home, nor will I have it directed at someone in my employ.” Abby emphasized the word employ and noted its effect on the good doctor, who was still in Eli’s grip and still on his knees.

  “I will not be treated in this manner,” he brayed.

  “Then you should have waited in the foyer as requested,” Ezra said, buttoning his waistcoat as he approached.

  “I don’t take orders from niggers,” Wright said in his best snarly voice.

  Ezra nodded at Eli who released Wright and stepped back toward Abby. “Then get up off your knees and walk your arse back to the front door or I’ll throw you back there.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t come down from the boudoir behind Mistress Read,” Wright said in his now recovered, braying voice.

  Ezra slapped him with his open hand across the face, hard, and Wright stumbled backward into the wall, knocking over a table and a vase of flowers. “Get up,” Ezra ordered, “and get out, and don’t ever come here again or I’ll beat you like you beat slaves.”

  “Who took them?” Wright whined. “Who took my Robert and Josephine and Mary? Where are they? They’re mine and I want them back!” He had struggled to his feet and was backing toward the front door. “You had no right!” He was whining piteously.

  “You had no right to think you could own human beings,” Abby said.

  “They’re not human beings! They’re niggers!”

  Ezra slapped him again, opened the front door, pushed him out, and slammed the door. Then he stood and watched through the glass to make sure Wright left, pleased to notice that he was in a hired carriage.

  “What an odious man!” Abby exclaimed. “I’d never have believed I’d hear myself say such words but I am so glad you struck him, Ezra. I understand now why you wanted Eli to open the door when Wright came instead of Maggie.”

  Donald and Maggie came silently into the hallway, Donald grinning, Maggie weeping. Abby rushed to embrace Maggie and to assure her that all was well.

  “And Master Eli handled himself quite well, did he not?” a beaming Donald asked.

  “That he did,” Ezra said with a pat on Eli’s back that made the boy beam proudly.

  “Would he really have struck Maggie?” Abby asked, and both Donald and Ezra nodded assent.

  “That’s who he is: a coward and a bully,” Donald said with disgust. “You said as much, Ezra, and while I believed you, I also hoped you’d be wrong, so he’d put up more of a fight. Then I could have been of some assistance.”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done if he had hit you, Maggie!” Abby was now weeping, too.

  “I’d have kilt him,” Eli said quietly, sounding very much like Ezra.

  “As well you should have done,” Donald said, drawing the boy in close to him. “It’s what a man should do to the bastard who hurts his mam.”

  “Or burn his boats,” Ezra muttered, earning him a speculative glance from Maggie and a puzzled one from Abby.

  “What if he returns, Ezra?” a worried Maggie asked.

  “He won’t,” Ezra said. “The coward in him won’t allow him to have to defend himself physically again.”

  “Perhaps I should take fighting lessons,” Abby mused.

  “You are safe as long I am here,” Eli announced, and stretched into his constantly increasing height and breadth, making himself as tall as Donald if not yet as broad.

  “I think you should visit Mrs. Mallory today, Abby, and tell her what happened. She should know that Sheilagh Callahan is a spy, and she and her friends should look carefully at any other new members.”

  “Why don’t I ever think of these things on my own!” Abby berated herself.

  “Because you’re not accustomed to there being treachery around every corner,” Maggie said.

  “What’s treachery?” Eli asked.

  “It’s when someone you trust betrays you,” Donald said, then asked, “you know betrays?”

  Eli nodded. “Turns on you, cuts you in the back.” And all the adults nodded at him. “Somebody betrayed me once. He was my friend. I thought he was until he betrayed me.” Eli sounded as sad as if the betrayal had occurred yesterday. />
  “What did you do?” Donald asked.

  “I pushed him in the river,” Eli answered. “He couldn’t swim.” They watched him retrieve the memory he had long ago put into a hole dug deep.

  ✴ ✴ ✴

  “You tole Boss Johnny I goes to stay with my ma at night. Why?”

  “Why you such a baby you got to sleep wit your ma?”

  “You just mad ’cause your ma ain’t here no more, but that ain’t no reason to hurt mine!”

  “Don’t nobody need a ma! You just a stupid baby.”

  “Everybody need their ma and you the cause my ma gon’ get whipped, ’Zekiel. You ’spozed to be my friend.”

  “My onliest friend is a extra piece of fatback at suppertime. Anyway, we’s niggers and niggers don’t have friends.”

  “What kinda talk is that?”

  “It’s what Boss Johnny say. I tole him you was my friend and he say niggers cain’t have friends ’cause we ain’t people.”

  “Well you for sho’ ain’t my friend no more.”

  “Put me down, Eli! This bridge rail ain’t that strong and you know I cain’t swim! Put me down, Eli! Please!”

  Eli watched as his former friend coughed and gagged on the dirty river water as the strong current carried him along. It wouldn’t be long before people saw him. Perhaps he would be saved but Eli doubted it because only other slaves would see him and niggers didn’t swim. Everybody knew that. Which was why Eli could swim: His ma always told him to be able to do one thing that white people didn’t know you could do. Eli’s ma could read—not a lot, just some few words—but she would never let Boss know that. She also could understand some of the African words spoken by the cross-the-water people and even they didn’t know that about her.