“Good. Let us review the ABC’s. Numbers. How well do you add? Subtract? Do you know your geography? Where’s England? Germany?”
Rosetta knew most things and what she didn’t know she learned quickly.
So, all summer, we spent pleasant afternoons in the garden. In the evenings, I told Douglass of her progress and I knew he was pleased.
I bought Rosetta several dresses. Poplin. Checkered cottons. A yellow muslin. Even a night rail with a lace cap.
I invited Rosetta to take tea with me and Douglass in his office. Anna had filled the teapot, jam pot, and baked delicious pastries. Rosetta was so delighted! Her first grown-up tea. When she’d prettily eaten a slice of lemon cake, I set a box beside her. She looked to her father.
“Open it,” he encouraged.
Rosetta squealed with delight. She lifted the dresses as though they were precious gold. “My first store-bought clothes. Store-bought dresses.”
She held a dress in front of her and curtsied.
“You look good enough to eat,” said Douglass. He winked at me. I felt joyous, basking in his approval.
Anna came to clear the tea. I saw her dismay before she veiled her expression.
I should’ve known Anna would make Rosetta’s new gowns. Wasn’t she always cutting patterns, sewing as June gave way to July, then August? Some nights, she practically hurried dinner so she could put out her basket, thread a needle and stitch. How thoughtless I’d been.
Rosetta was bubbling with laughter. “Aren’t they pretty?” Anna hugged her. “Yes, they pretty,” she said, then looked at me.
I stood, nearly upsetting the tea cart. “I’m sorry, Anna.”
“For what?” asked Douglass. “Your gifts are lovely and generous.”
Anna and I looked at each other. My gaze fell first.
Anna didn’t travel to Miss Seward’s Academy for Ladies in Albany. She said she was too sick: “The new baby, almost due.”
Rosetta said, “Have a sister. I’ll watch over her at Christmas.”
Anna did look ill. I’d never seen her so sad. Not even when Douglass first left for England. Face puffy, I suspected she’d spent the entire night crying. Rosetta, with all the goodness of a child, understood her mother’s grief. She held her tightly, kissed her sweetly good-bye. Douglass tipped his hat. Then gathered each of his children into his arms and kissed them soundly.
I waved from the carriage. Blew kisses at the boys, now crying, hanging on to their mother’s skirt. Douglass and Rosetta climbed into the carriage. Anna just watched, stone-faced.
I shouted as the carriage jolted forward: “Safe passage with the baby.” The horses clip-clopped onward.
Anna didn’t blink. Rosetta waved and waved until there was nothing left to see but a road of dust. She threw herself against my bosom and cried.
Douglass opened a book, Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter. I much preferred Washington Irving’s tales and sketches.
I’d begged Douglass for time together. Away from Anna’s house. He’d agreed to travel onward to New York. I was thrilled. He’d have a chance to talk with new investors for his paper. Money always flowed in fits and starts. And once Rosetta was safely stowed, I’d imagined the two of us on holiday. Yet, holding the weeping child, I felt hesitant to give her up.
Rosetta wasn’t a strong traveler. The swaying motion upset her stomach. We stopped by the side of the road more than twice. I pressed compresses to her head. Pleaded with Douglass for an early evening. “What does it matter to arrive a day late?”
When Rosetta vomited again, spoiling the carriage, he ordered the driver to find the first inn.
Two rooms, Douglass thought more than enough. A bed for him; Rosetta, on a cot. A bed for me across the hall.
I didn’t expect Douglass to come to me. But he did.
“You should go. It isn’t proper with Rosetta here.” But Douglass insisted it was all right; and, God forgive me, I let myself be convinced.
Maybe it was my fear of discovery or the long years we’d known each other, but I felt less than satisfied. Romance wasn’t triggered deep inside me. I kissed without passion. Stroked out of duty rather than desire. Douglass seemed satiated as usual.
He lay, eyes closed, legs spread-eagled atop me. He’d said nothing. Went about his business. Inhaling, exhaling. Pushing, pulling. In and out.
Moon waning, there was a soft tap at the door and Rosetta, wiping away sleep, shuffled in, calling, “Miss A. Where’s Father? I’m scared.”
Her eyes widened; lashes fluttered, then blinked once. Like one of those new daguerreotypes, she’d taken a memory picture.
“Leave, Rosetta. I’ll be there shortly.” Douglass sat, his chest exposed. “Go, Rosetta.”
She turned, closed the door softly.
She knew. Of course, she knew. Douglass would hear none of it. He dressed, went back to his room. Did he tuck Rosetta in? Speak to her? Or did he merely say “good night” before crawling into his bed?
“Mam say, ‘Don’t get lost in the wilderness. Don’t get lost. Don’t get lost in the wilderness.’” She was staring up at her new school.
“Rosetta, stop that at once. You’re to make a good impression.”
“Yes, Father.”
Rosetta quieted but I noticed her lips still moved. “Don’t get lost. Don’t get lost.”
I bent before her. “Miss Seward’s Academy isn’t a wilderness.”
“Mam says anyplace can be a wilderness.”
“Nonsense,” said Douglass.
“What does your mother say you should do? To keep from getting lost?”
“Remember I’m loved.”
“That’s good advice. Your mother is a wise woman. Remember you’re loved.”
Rosetta flung herself into my arms. I hugged her and we followed, hands clasped, behind Douglass.
The new school was impressive—a towering brown-stone with lace curtains. Douglass hurried up the steps; Rosetta held back. I tugged her along. The sky was missing the sun; the air felt too thick to breathe. Perhaps I should’ve insisted Rosetta be schooled in New York City. I could’ve kept an eye on her through the long winter. But Anna wouldn’t have approved. A thin maid with red marks on her face opened the door.
The hallway was marble with a huge chandelier. How rich, I thought. To think such luxury existed inside a school! But while it was lovely, it felt cold. Harsh. Rosetta pinched my hand. I felt anxious. Girls, with wide, mocking eyes, peeked down at me through the wooden banisters. An old woman with a white lace cap shooed them away.
We were escorted into the parlor. The headmistress was in black bombazine, looking withered, I thought. Like one of the stepmothers in a Grimm’s fairy tale. But I calmed myself. This was a good American school. Not a German forest. Not a land of make-believe.
Sitting in the headmistress’ parlor, I felt unbearably old. Rosetta was a good girl. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t break the teacup though her knees shook so. I offered her another cake.
Douglass was busy, telling the headmistress about his escape from slavery, his travels in Europe, his newspaper. The headmistress said she was “sincerely delighted” to have such a famous abolitionist in her room. She was “delighted,” too, by me. “A continental woman of such intelligence and learning.”
But I didn’t think she was delighted by Rosetta. She spoke not a word to her. In between smiles toward me and Douglass, she looked blankly at the girl. The dullness of her stare unnerved me. I wanted to grab Rosetta, run from the room.
“She’s to be treated as all the others,” said Douglass. “Color-blind. I want her education to be color-blind.”
Miss Seward smiled thinly. “She’s not as fair as you.”
Douglass simply tilted his head. “She favors her mother.”
Rosetta’s shoulders slumped. I wanted to hold her. Instead, I said, “Douglass, I wish to speak with you.”
And he misinterpreted me—purposefully, I don’t know. But he rose, saying, “Yes, it’s time for us to go
. Time for Rosetta to become familiar with her new school.”
“Douglass, we should talk—”
He bent before Rosetta. Kissed her cheek, murmured softly. I was close enough to hear. “Don’t embarrass me,” he said. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Rosetta squared her small shoulders. I wrapped her in my arms. Trying to convey my deep affection, trying to undo my growing alarm that Miss Seward’s Academy was the wrong place for her. I whispered, “Don’t get lost in the wilderness.”
Her lips puckered. I kissed her tiny rosebud mouth. As gently, fervently, as I imagined Anna would.
Douglass was shaking the headmistress’ hand.
“Remember your Mam loves you.” I gave her my handkerchief to dry the tears brimming in her eyes. “Write to me. Be strong.”
“Don’t embarrass Father.”
“No,” I lifted her chin. “Don’t embarrass Rosetta.” One last fierce hug. “Who loves you?”
We were soon out the door. Douglass, when he made up his mind to go, rarely lingered. Behind me, I heard the headmistress: “How coarse your hair is. Make sure it doesn’t tangle. Else we’ll have to cut it.”
Douglass helped me into the carriage. He opened his book again. I peered out the carriage window. There was a hard glint in Miss Seward’s eyes. Rosetta was waving. Then, Miss Seward spoke to her and Rosetta bobbed a curtsy like a maid. I was furious. But I knew Douglass wouldn’t tell the coachman to stop. Rosetta, her father’s daughter, would survive.
The main door shut. Rosetta was lost deep inside.
John Coachman cracked his whip. “Aie-yah,” he shouted.
I looked up at the many curtained windows. In the far right, on the tallest floor, I saw one curtain lift.
Oluwand, like a sentinel, stared at me from behind the glass.
I waved and waved. Irritable, petulant, Douglass asked, “Ottilie, what’s the matter with you?”
John Coachman rounded the corner.
“Who loves you? Who loves you?” I repeated.
Douglass stroked the back of my neck. “We’re to have a fine time,” he said. “A fine time.”
Anna
“We raise children only to say good-bye.
Don’t seem fair.”
—ANNA DOUGLASS,
AT ANNIE’S BIRTH, 1847
“War is justified for a righteous cause.”
—FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
1851
Rochester
I wilight crisscrossed the sky. Penny-man didn’t even need to get off the wagon. He come like a great shadow. Like Mister Death himself. Yelling, “Whoa.” He looked at me, shook his head. My knees buckled. He made to get down from the wagon and I just shouted, “Naw.” His head jerked up then, he cracked his whip, and went on. Mam’s dead.
I clasped my belly. Charles Redmond was deciding to come.
Freddy Junior and Lewis come flying out the house. “Candy,” they hollered. “Penny-man bring candy?”
I clasped Freddy Junior’s hand. He just five. Still a babe.
“Mam needs to lie down,” I say. “You and Lewis play in the house. In the kitchen, there be a jar of cookies and candy.”
“Wheee,” he squealed, pulling Lewis, running back inside the house. I took my time. Pausing to breathe. To bend over when Charles Redmond kicked rough inside. I knew it was a boy. Just as I knew Freddy wouldn’t be home to see our fourth child born.
Just as I knew I’d failed Mam. I broke my promise. Landlocked. Not near no kind of water. How long my Mam been dead? Shame on me. I didn’t feel it. Surely the earth knew. Ground must’ve shook. Flowers must’ve faded. Wind whistled it through trees.
I crawled into the bed, hoping this baby be quick. Nobody here but me and the children. How come Mam’s spirit not come to me? The pain made me roar.
I hurt too bad to light a candle, to light the fire. I writhed, twisting in the bedsheets. Everything going to get bloody. In the darkness, I whispered, “Oh, Mam.”
From far, far away I hear, “Oh, Mam.” Rosetta calling. I hoped she’d keep her promises better’n me.
Charles’s head pushed its way out. Tearing me like a dozen knives.
Everything dark. I couldn’t see my child’s face. But in my mind’s eye, I see Mam.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I said.
Moon raised herself high. Charles Redmond wailed. Curtains flared and a breeze rushed over me. Holding my bloodied babe to my breast, I heard a song: “Here. Here. I’m here.” Heard Rosetta cooing, “Mam. I love you.”
Dear Father,
We are reading the Revolutionary War.
The new Americans were very brave.
I am well. Please write.
Tell Mam I miss her. Tell the boys to draw pictures.
Love,
Rosetta
I stared at the words. Freddy read them to me and I memorized them. Rosetta didn’t know she had a new brother. I should draw pictures too. Of me and the baby. I thought about how little she said. Almost nothing.
Christmas. School holiday. Rosetta was home. I was happy.
All Freddy did was talk politics: “War will come one day. See if it won’t. The North can’t ride the fence forever.”
His words scared me. But he was jubilant. “War for the rights of slaves,” he exclaimed. “Freedom for everyone.”
All I wanted was home. Christmas feast. Hymns. Prayers to the good Lord. My children’s safety.
I wanted, too, not to be so tired. Everything tired me. Rosetta was a big help. She fed Lewis and Freddy Junior. Helped clean the kitchen. Washed clothes. She didn’t talk much about school. Freddy talked all the time. He be leaving again. To speak in New England. He practiced:
“I changed my paper’s name from the North Star to Frederick Douglass’ Paper … to distinguish it from the many papers with ‘Stars’ in their titles. There were ‘North Stars,’ ‘Morning Stars,’ ‘Evening Stars,’ and I know not how many in the firmament… .”
I didn’t think his speech too interesting. Only when he say: “There were those who regarded the publication of a Negro paper, in the beautiful city of Rochester, as a blemish and a misfortune” did he perk my interest. Though I never thought Rochester beautiful.
In time, Freddy’s voice became noise. His babble mingled with the boys’ rough games.
I watched Rosetta. She be moody, be staring at herself in the mirror.
In the New Year, Freddy would be gone traveling. Rosetta would leave after. Freddy had planned to take her early to school. But Deacon Thomas offered to take her. Offered ’cause he knew I didn’t want to lose a moment of me and Rosetta’s time. Freddy didn’t think of that.
Christmas Eve. Me and the children strung popcorn. Rosetta mixed cranberries with orange rind. We sang carols. Charles Redmond gurgled. We ate fine roast beef. Freddy even kissed me before the children. It be a fine night. We gathered in the parlor to exchange presents. Our tree be lit with candles and decorated with bows. Freddy Junior liked his wood whistle. Lewis, his ball. We saved extra to give Rosetta a doll. But when she unwraped the white china doll, she burst into tears and ran from the room.
Freddy be right angry. I told him, “Please, put the children to bed.” He shrugged. I knew he’d only say, “Children. Go to bed.” Then, hide in his office and preach abolition to the walls.
Fine. I laid my sleeping baby in his cradle. I found Rosetta on the front porch. Facedown, bent over her knees, crying her heart out. “I’m ugly. Always going to be ugly.”
Then, I understood her dislike for the doll. Girls at school must’ve tried to dull her shine. I sat beside her on the step. “Did I ever tell you about how your granddad, my Papa, wooed your grandma, my Mam?”
“Naw. I mean, no.”
“Naw be all right. My Mam said ‘Naw.’ She was the prettiest colored girl in all of Maryland. She said ‘naw’ to all her beaus. It be your granddad who got her to say, ‘Yeah.’ Not yes. Just ‘Yeah, I do.’ Didn’t need proper speech to make a happy marriage.”
Rosetta giggled.
“Didn’t need no cream in her coffee, either.” I held out my hand. “Darker than me. Pa was proud to marry Mam. She be a beautiful Egypt queen.”
“Am I an Egypt queen?”
“No. Still a princess. Lovely, though, like Mam. You understand?”
She nodded.
“It be cold out here. Should we get our coats? Or get some hot chocolate and snuggle in Mam’s bed?”
We talked all night. Talked until neither one of us could keep our eyes open. Freddy never came. Which was fine. Rosetta drifted to sleep, snuggling beneath quilts, soft against my bosom.
I whispered, “You beautiful. Just like Mam. Inside and out. Better than a china doll.”
Half-wake, half-sleep, lids heavy, Rosetta sighed, “I won’t forget again.”
Them words made my best Christmas.
Rochester
Late spring, my garden was in full bloom. All my children be home.
Rosetta cut and arranged dahlias. I taught her how to make corn relish.
Freddy Junior be six; Lewis, five; and Charles Redmond, almost one. Freddy had been gone for forever. I felt guilty ’cause I was glad he wasn’t home, glad Miz Assing wasn’t in the back bedroom.
My bones be hurting. I felt like I was “making memories.” Like my whole life be passing by a lot faster than I wished. I felt Death coming. Not quite near but coming just the same. So, I let my children make mud pies, build campfires in the backyard, and sleep beneath the stars. I told them stories about the sea bones and the taste of crabs.
Some days, Rosetta played the pianoforte. Freddy Junior and Lewis made up songs. Nonsense tunes. I sang, too. They laughed since my notes be flat. Children didn’t mind. They happier than they’d ever been. Even Rosetta didn’t mind when Lewis ripped her paper dolls. Or when Charles Redmond sucked their heads off like sugar candy.
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