Douglass’ Women (10 page)

I trembled. I felt like my dinner wouldn’t stay down. But Freddy was calm as folks shouted encouragement, shouted foul words at him.

Then, everyone quieted. Freddy’s voice, like music, filled the lull.

“Friends,” he say, “I was born a slave.”

Speak from the heart
.

“Slavery separates the child from the mother. So I seldom got to feel her caress, hear her voice, or see her face. Sunup to sundown, my mother worked in the fields. At night, her body tired and sore from work, she walked from the fields to my grandmother’s house. My grandmother
raised everyone’s babies. I guess I was just lucky to have her be my blood relative.

“My mother walked a good hour and lay down beside me as I slept. Sometimes I remember her kissing me, always I remember her holding me, giving me warmth. Most often she was gone before I woke, for she had an hour to make it back to the fields. I thought she was an angel, a ghost I dreamed about. It was my grandmother who told me my mother slept beside me.”

Tears streamed down my face. Freddy hadn’t ever told me all this.

“My mother was sold south. And like a child, I soon forgot her face. I do not know whether she is even living or dead. But she was sold because, I suspect, my Mistress was jealous of the time my Master spent with my mother.”

He didn’t have to say: “Master was my father.” It was clear to everyone there, I thought. Like a wave had overtaken the crowd, there was silence. They could see Freddy’s face. Some, I thought, might wonder if it be the whiteness in him that made him sound so proper and educated. If so, they couldn’t mistake the colored in him, too. Colored didn’t make him dumb. An animal. Colored made him even finer. His Mam’s child. She’d be proud.

I looked right and left. All eyes were on Freddy.

He seemed bigger on stage, not just ’cause he was standing high on a block. He seemed like a giant, with a voice that rung out and said to the world, “See. This be a man.” I started rocking my body to and fro, feeling like the Holy Spirit was upon me. Freddy was preaching a sermon about his life.

Freddy be great Samson man, his hands on the pillars
of slavery, pushing, shoving, tearing at the walls of injustice.

He spoke for fifteen, twenty minutes and all those people stayed quiet. Like they never heard such words before. Such rich sounds floating from a colored man’s mouth. Freddy came to his end:

“I always looked for a way to be free. When Fate offered me a chance, I, took it.”

I sat up straight, my hands clasped in my lap.

“I found courage to escape slavery’s wretched existence and sail to freedom. I will not tell you of the many that helped me. But the good Lord blesses them all.”

Who helped more than me? How come Freddy didn’t mention me?

“Though I stand before you, I am not free. Slavery’s hand still reaches out to me, ready to snatch me back into its grasp. Good Christians, like you, can reverse this evil. Abolish slavery and you abolish the invisible chains that hold slaves apart and wrest from them feeling, life, and knowledge.”

There was thunder, clapping like thunder. Folks rushed forward, surrounding Frederick on stage. Chairs toppled. People pushed and shoved. I cried out. Seemed like everybody was pushing past me. My hem was ripped. “Freddy,” I shouted, but he couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t see him. He be surrounded by dozens of people, waving, trying to shake his hand.

Someone chanted, “Free him, free him.” Soon, everyone be screaming it. The sound so loud it made me dizzy again. I struggled back, away from the crowd rushing to the front.

My feelings be confused. I wanted to run from the
noise, the shouting, shoving people. Yet, I wanted Freddy to take me by the hand, pull me to the center of the circle, and tell everyone, “This be my helpmate. My true love and wife.” I felt shame, too. For I shouldn’t need glory. It be Freddy who offered hope to the slaves. Not mentioning me, Freddy be protecting me. I swayed, imagining Freddy caught, sent back to Master Auld, leaving our baby fatherless. I squeezed my mouth to hold back bile. I thought maybe Freddy ain’t just Samson. He also be Shadrach stepping into the oven’s fire.

Mister Quincy reached me. He seemed so small in his dark suit, his hand clutching his black hat. His eyes were beady like a crow.

“Do not fear, Mrs. Douglass. Do not fear.”

How this white man know what I feel? How he know?

“Come. There’s a reception line. You must stand with your husband.”

I stepped back. “Naw.” I didn’t have the strength for this. I didn’t want to meet people. I wanted my own home.

Pages of the
Liberator
, cigar butts, and tobacco spit stained the floor.

Mister Quincy lightly touched my hand. His eyes be all sympathy.

“Your husband needs you. He is a great man. Let me take you to him.”

I thought this Quaker truly be my friend. He married me to Freddy and in his quiet voice (how I hear him over the crowd’s roar, I don’t know—but I do hear) I heard this man offering to help me.

I tried to pin the strands of my hair, smooth my torn, almost wedding dress. What a fury these abolitionists be!

“I ready.” Looking up at the stage, I saw Freddy beside
Mr. Garrison. A line of people, bulging and twisting like a snake, waited to meet them. Freddy, at ease, shook hands, smiling, meeting these strangers like it be the easiest thing in the world.

“Let us through. Let us through.”

Everybody looked at me, at Mister Quincy pulling me along. My palms sweat and my skin began to itch like I’d fallen into an ivy patch.

Freddy smiled at me, then his smile froze, for I looked a mess. Looked ready to run.

“This is my wife,” Freddy said, loud. His hand on my back lent me support. But then he took it away to shake hands with a man shouting, “Fine words. Fine words,” and grinning like Christmas had come.

My turn next. I shook this man’s hand. His grip nearly broke every bone. But he be looking past me, back at Freddy. I breathed deep, trying to calm myself.

“Wonderful speech.” A matron, finely dressed, sang Freddy’s praises. Her husband slapped Freddy on the shoulder, “Good show,” and I could feel Freddy getting taller, bigger beside me. These people be giving Freddy new air.

“Charmed,” the woman said to me, but I knew she wasn’t. I was getting heavier, sweatier by the minute.

Too many faces, hands. Too many strangers. I didn’t know my place. Mam said, “Do your work and leave white folks alone.”

I wanted to laugh crazy. What would Mam say now?

I kept my eyes low. I couldn’t look in these folks’ eyes. I was afraid to speak. Afraid they’d hear my stupid tongue. But what I feared most, I already felt—their judgment. Their judgment that I was not the wife for Frederick Doug-lass—too awkward, too old and fat.

Freddy stood beside me, dignified. He say, “How do you do?” “Thank you.” “Thank you kindly.”

Another white man bowed, saying, “Mrs. Douglass. You must be proud of your husband.”

I stared at his hand. Rough, one finger missing, I did not want to touch it. This hand frightened me. It might grip me and haul me and Freddy both into slavery. This might be the hand that punishes.

I saw down the line more hands. Hairy, thick, thin, rough, soft, big, and small. And I was supposed to press their flesh. Smile and say words of sense. The hand still hung in midair. It scared me awful. I wanted to run, crying out, “Can’t stay. Can’t stay.”

Flee, rush headlong out the door, into the chill night air where there’d be less noise, more peace. Instead, I inhaled. This be a new world for me. But I’m a Murray and a Douglass and I’ll make my family—make myself, as best I can—proud.

I clasped the hand. Did my duty.

This be Freddy’s last speech. I could live with that.

We stood for hours. Hand sore, feet numb. I heard church bells strike ten. I wanted to go home but if I took the blacksmith’s wagon we borrowed, Freddy would have to walk.

I waited but I was fearsome tired.

Everybody was pretty much gone. Any minute, Freddy would clutch my hand and say, “Home. Let us go home.” I felt a lightening of spirit. I’d survived. Hadn’t brung shame.

“Frederick, I’d like you to meet Miss Assing.”

Freddy’s breath caught. Like he’d been startled, surprised
anew. His smile be joyful. He bowed before the tall, golden-haired woman, dressed in blue silk. A pretty picture. Fine, straight nose; wide, blue eyes and dark brows that sweep and arch. Truly lovely.

Freddy and this woman speak but I couldn’t hear.

Someone threw open the door. Cold rushed in. Time stilled. I be outside the warm, bright circle Freddy and this woman have made. He’d forgotten me. Me, standing beside him. Only colored woman in a white dress. In a big, nearly empty hall. How could he not see me? Feel my love? Feel me?

“Anna.” He didn’t even glance at me. “Let me introduce Miss Assing.”

“A fine man, your Frederick.” Her tongue sounded funny. Clipped and strong.

“Miss Assing is from Germany.”

I heard the wonder in Freddy’s voice. I knew he’d like to go to this place called “Germany.”

Curious, Miz Assing’s head tilted like a baby bird. She be surprised by me. She smiled and I felt her charm like sun, lifting shadows. “I care very much for the abolitionist cause.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even nod or smile. I was stone, lacked all grace. Only recently was I “Miz Douglass.” Most my life I’d been “Lil’ Bit,” “Hey, colored gal,” or “Baldwins’ maid.”

This woman had already stopped looking at me. She admired Freddy. She looked at him like he be special. And so Freddy be. A man unbowed. Reborn.

Miz Assing looked at Freddy a bit like I looked at him. Eyes soft, she leaned slightly toward him. Like she would gladly take his arm.

I saw with my heart that this woman might harm my happiness. I didn’t know how I knew this, but I did. Maybe it was my new Delilah’s heart, my marriage passion which helped me see. This woman, except for her voice, be soft where I was hard, lean where I was too round. Her lips be thin and rosy, mine be thick and plum. She be at ease like Freddy. Like the two of them fit in a world of stages, speeches, and glory.

“We should go, Miss Assing.”

I was happy to hear Garrison’s voice.

Miz Assing offered her hand. “I look forward to hearing you speak again, Mr. Douglass. Your eloquence will surely hasten the end of slavery.”

Freddy bowed deep. His lips almost touched her hand. “I am honored.”

I watched Freddy watch her leave. Her silk rustled. Fur be wrapped warmly about her shoulders. She smiled at something Mr. Garrison said. Then, she looked back, over her shoulder. “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Douglass.”

Freddy bowed again. He swallowed, looked down at me, his eyes bright. His face filled with rapture.

“Let us go, Anna. It has been an important night.”

I crossed my hands over my belly. I felt dizzy, sicker than I had all night.
Love be true
.

Somehow Freddy wasn’t. Somehow his look denied me. Made me small, “little” in an unkindly way
.

I tried to speak on the ride home. The moon hid behind clouds. Trees and ground be frozen. No owl be calling. Like every spirit be dead. Horses just clip-clopped. Clip-clopped.

My eyes filled with water. Freddy’s not looking at
me. He be looking past the horse’s head, far down the road. Beyond where the moon made our path glow.

I heard him murmuring, repeating words from his speech. I thought he was seeing the crowd again, hearing the clapping, hearing the good, kind words from all those good, kind men. Those good, kind women. ’Specially women. Or be it woman?

Freddy needn’t tell me. He’d give more speeches. These abolitionists have a big and growing church. I could feel it. See it. Freddy’s ready to speak to the world. Never mind every word risked capture. Auld might snatch him back. This wouldn’t stop Freddy. He’d found his voice.

I’d found fear.

My mistake. I didn’t imagine Freddy big enough when I met him. I remembered seeing him like a ship’s captain, standing on the prow of a half-built ship, handsome, bold, even though he a slave. But that’s all I really wanted. Him, standing proud. I didn’t imagine he’d set sail. Rejoice in the wide, wide world.

Bedroom, garden, parlor, kitchen be all I needed. And when I strolled I wanted to smell the sea, see and feel shells, surf, and imagine my bones stirring on the sandy bottom.

Marrying Freddy, journeying to New Bedford was all the adventure I’d ever need. Babies would be my fruit, and the joy of settling, making a house a home.

But now I also knew something new. Freddy, with no head bowed, no shuffling, could look straight at a pretty, white woman. Eight years younger than me, I knew he might look at pretty women from time to time. Colored
women might look back. I just hadn’t counted on a white woman too.

Still, there be fight in me. I be carrying his child. I be the best wife, mother. I be the harbor, the safe home for when he grew tired of glory.

Him and me. Always. Love still true
.

Diary of

Ottilie Assing

Beloved of Frederick Douglass
1820–1884

“As in all things, love should be color-blind.”

—F
REDERICK
D
OUGLASS,
IN A LETTER
, 1863

“Why did I suppose love wouldn’t hurt?”

—O
TTILIE
A
SSING,
PRIOR TO HER
DEATH
, 1884

Paris
August 21, 1884

I didn’t expect my life to end this way. Me, fiftyeight, sitting like a moonling wrapped in furs, trying to stave off chills. The thought of America makes my heart cold. It didn’t always.

I am the Snow Queen. Love’s betrayal has frozen my heart, sliver by sliver. Except for one small piece, my heart is ice.

Frederick Bailey Douglass.
Dearest Douglass
. Do I dare say, “You did this to me?” Or was the blame mine all along? I, Ottilie Assing. So smart. Not smart enough.