Passing to Freedom, chapter 9: Impossible Choices

Chapter 9

Not long after beginning our lessons, Mrs. H. had noted a peculiarity about me.    While Anna was quick to learn her letters and put them together as sounds, spelling out her name and mine, I was not.    One evening, wishing to hear the story of Moses leading the Children of Israel through the Red Sea, I had asked Mrs. H. if she would read it to us.    She did so with excellent cheer, pointing to each word as she spoke it.    Not long into our reading, she was suddenly called away, and had handed me the Good Book to continue looking at it.    It was wondrous in my eyes, having always been forbidden the liberty of seeing any books, and having been closely watched for any signs of excessive curiosity.    Even my embroidery was forbidden to use any lettering.    The samplers I had been told of in the homes of white women were forbidden to my eyes, and thus I had to make due with flower and other designs taught to me by Miss Mary.    That evening, I had eagerly grasped the chance to devour these words.   

The memory of sitting there, free to drink in both the words before me and the scent of my dear Anna, brought the first joy I had ever felt:

“Shall we see what we can read now, Miss Anna?”   

I’d lowered my head just a tad, and favored her with my best coquettish regard, batting my eyelids twice for effect.    It had worked.

“Are you inviting me to try reading from the Song of Songs, Miss Willow?”   

She’d moved closer to me on the bed, her warmth spreading over me like the softest of comforters.    I blushed now to remember how I had quite nearly forgotten myself.

“Well, I do not know how we are to find the right place in this enormous Book, but I…”

She had taken my hand in hers.    I had then found myself lost for words, gazing at her lips, feeling the smooth paper in one hand, and the taper of her fingers in the other.

“Let us start at the Beginning, then, my dearest Willow.”

All I could do was nod.

Anna and I had made a game of it, seeing which words we could puzzle out for ourselves.    Imagine our surprise upon finding that looking back at the words to which Mrs. H. had pointed, I could recall each of them perfectly, even in other places in the Good Book.    Now, that strange ability, it seemed, might come to some good use.

“Mrs. H. you must put our dear Willow here to the test, if you please.”

Anna’s voice shook me from my reverie, as I realized that the good doctor’s wife was standing in our room, somehow having managed to escape my notice.    This was very odd, for I never missed the sounds, however slight, of a person approaching my doorway.    I took it as a sign that I must be coming to feel safer in this place.    Sadly, I knew that we couldn’t stay much longer.    Each day that we passed here put us all in greater danger.   

“Why of course, young Joe.    What did you have in mind?”

The doctor and his wife were always calling her Joe, now that little Tilly was here.    Perhaps preparing for the roles we must play upon departing this station.

“Well, Mrs. H, I have an inkling of an idea, but I believe that it hinges upon Miss Willow here being able to use her particular talent to recognize certain words where ever they might appear.”

We both looked at her with questions in our eyes.    Little Tilly simply smiled.    What did this young child know that we did not?

Anna looked at us, her mischievous smile mirroring that of little Tilly. They looked at each other, and Anna gave a slight nod. I was sure there had been a wink of her eye in there, too, although her head was turned away from me.

Little Tilly skipped over to the writing desk, withdrawing a particularly small but official seeming document with great care. Then, turning to face me, she folded her body into the most graceful curtsy I had ever seen from a child so young. I glanced in confusion at Anna, who merely lifted an eyebrow at me. Tilly arose from her curtsy and carried the paper to me, holding it out with her head bowed, as if I were…

“No, oh, no, Tilly. Anna -” I shook my head as my eyes began to fill with tears. I would not play the role of those from whom we had so lately escaped.

“Yes, Miss Willow, it must be this way. And you must conform.” The steady look Anna placed upon me was almost stern.

Poor Mrs. H. looked quite bewildered.

“I cannot do it.”

“You can, Miss Willow, and for all of our sake, you must succeed.”

Anna crossed the few steps separating us, which had suddenly begun to seem like a great chasm. She took my hand in both of hers, those hazel eyes looking directly into mine.

“Willow,” she whispered, “this is our best chance to get away safely, all three of us. Free.”

I’d begun to tremble so violently that I could hardly speak. This was apparently what Anna had been expecting, for she nodded once again to Tilly, who turned, now facing Mrs. H., and held out the paper to her. Mrs. H. patted the tiny hand as she took the paper and glanced at it, before looking back up.

Tilly held her hand out for the paper again, which Mrs. H. relinquished. Again, that demure approach, deep curtsy, and the paper held up to me, with her head bowed. Anna squeezed my hand, nodding toward Tilly. I felt like a small child being encouraged to eat. I reached out for the paper, hefting its weight as if it were my sewing scissors. I looked at it, waiting for the marks on the paper to resolve themselves into words. None did.

I looked up at Anna in despair, but she merely nodded again, this time winking her eye, at me! What was going on, here?

I looked back at the paper, knowing that I had missed something. It became our old game once again, as I sought for words that Mrs. H. had shown us, now not on the printed page, but on a handwritten paper. Mrs. H. had been schooling us in reading her handwritten copy of that passage through the Sea which I loved so, and we grew to love her, for that great labor.

“My hand” was the first phrase I was able to make out.

I jumped slightly, as Mrs. H. nodded her approval. She had drawn very near, reading the paper over my shoulder as I worked to puzzle out the handwritten words.

Anna nodded at me again, encouraging my return to our reading game. This challenge was far greater, but I now understood how great would be our reward. I must not fail.

“Servant!”

I looked up in time to see a rapid look pass between the two women, no longer shocking me by it’s equality. I was now too bound up in the task at hand. The final word on the paper sprang out at me, setting my teeth on edge as it came clear. The one word I would know without ever needing to be taught. My throat caught as I read out the name of that odious Dominion.

“Virginia.”

Just as I cleared my throat of that last word, Mrs. H. tilted her head, as if waiting to speak. She’d not had a moment since entering the room to make known the reason for her presence. We had just dined, and she normally busied herself downstairs at this time. She wore an expression of worry upon her face that augured nothing good.

“That is an excellent reading, Willow, in so short a time of study.”

Her words were kind, but her voice was uncertain. She looked at Anna with expectancy.

Anna merely smiled, and nodded again toward Tilly. The child inched closer to me, looked up with a wicked grin, and proclaimed:

“I am to be your Body Servant, Miss Willow.”

“Certainly not!”

Mrs. H. finally understood.

“It is the best, indeed the only, way for us to proceed, Mrs. H.” Anna lifted her head, her eyes level with those of the doctor’s wife.

My mouth must surely have fallen open, for never had I seen a Negro, slave or free, openly contradict a white person! As the two women looked sternly at one another, the doctor strode into the room.

“I fear Anna is correct. It must be so, for they must leave us. Tonight.”

***

This has been another new chapter arrangement in my third draft of what was formerly the short serial story set about Willow and Anna, called Ann & Anna, which now forms Act I of the historical novel Passing to Freedom: Willow’s Story, and I found, as I rewrote these first sections and added to Act II, coming up shortly, that I needed, unfortunately, to change the known historical itinerary followed by Anna Marie Weems, which can be looked up on several different web sites, including those of the state of Maryland, the National Park Service, and several other sites which cite primary sources, as well as at least one source or two that I have not been able to validate from up in Canada, claiming to have traced descendants of Ms. Weems after she escaped to freedom up north. As many have reminded us, words, and even, or especially, stories, are crucial tools in the Work of building a more equal and safer, kinder, more empathetic world for all human beings. The Project Do Better by ShiraDest Fund makes one more small tool available to the children and parents aided by early childhood education not for profit organization Bright Beginnings in DC, through the GWCF, as part of the work of the suggested umbrella movement proposed in the free first edition of the book Project Do Better: Enough for All in Four Phases. The book is available for reading and also for editing by community organizers, always freely, in service to humanity,

Nia,

Injustice Delenda Est

Passing to Freedom, Chapter 8: Knowledge is Power

Chapter 8

During the time that we stayed in that place of respite, we always took our meals up in our room. It had a small window very high up, and thus seemed safe enough from curious glances. Though I gained steadily in strength each day, all the household, it seemed, hung on tender-hooks for my recovery. We ate simple fare, whether due to my delicate condition, or to Mrs. H.’s lack of kitchen help, I did not know. But we ate often, and the food was filling. We knew we would need it for the journey ahead.

One morning, the doctor knocked on our door. This was unusual, now that my head injury no longer needed such precise looking after. Anna normally performed this service for me, several times per day. I wasn’t sure it was always strictly necessary, but I enjoyed the closeness of her attentions. As she opened the door, the smell of an apple pie wafted in with Dr. H. He looked a bit nervous, as did the young dark-skinned girl behind him. Who was she?

He was holding some papers, which he looked at so long that I thought they must burst into flame. At last, he cleared his throat.

“I am sorry to impose a change of plans on all of us, but I have found myself presented with a situation for which I had not been entirely prepared.”

He glanced down at the child, who lowered her head even further, as if attempting to make herself invisible. Just at that moment, the doctor’s wife appeared in the doorway, stepping in and bending down to take the girl into her arms in one graceful movement.

“Don’t be afraid, Tilly. None of this is your fault. You are a very good and brave little girl.”

The woman’s whisper had somehow managed to carry all the way across the room, filling each of us with a dread that grew heavier with every passing moment. The doctor broke the silence by holding up the sheaf of papers in his hand.

“Poor Tilly, here, has come to us with a Porter from another town. Unbeknownst to him, our house was not empty, as it was scheduled to be. He brought her here from a Departure that did not go as planned elsewhere. I cannot tell you more, of course, but I could not bear to turn her away. I hope that you can make do with this situation until we find a way to resolve it.”

I looked at little Tilly, seeing how small she was, like my dear Little Sal. Before the tears could come to my eyes, I beckoned for the child, who came cautiously toward me, as if approaching a hot frying pan. I held out my hand, waiting for her to reach out, and found Anna there beside me holding both of our hands together. She was looking from me to this child as if the oddest notion had just occurred to her. I wondered what new mischief that agile mind of hers was cooking up.

“Doctor, what are those papers you’ve got there?”

He looked relieved to finally have an question to answer.

“These are your Free Papers, Joe, and your Hack License to drive up to Philadelphia. This was to have been a simpler affair, but now we have had to improvise, as Mr. D. is no longer available for you to drive him up there.”

I looked at Anna. Would she, or could she, explain who this was? So much of this affair was shrouded in deliberate mystery. I hoped to hear at least some of it brought to light.

Anna looked back at me, shaking her head ever so slightly. Now was not the time for questions. Apparently the state of things was more delicate than I had surmised.

“Well, no decisions should be made on an empty stomach. Young Tilly has helped me to prepare dinner, and there is to be pie afterward. Then, and not a moment before, we will find some manner of resolving this situation.”

The doctor’s wife had spoken, and not an objection was there to be heard. The doctor placed the sheaf of papers upon the writing desk by the bedside, nodded at both of us, and left the room, his wife having already gone down to see to dinner. The smell of pie was now being joined by that of what seemed to be a collection of roasted vegetable smells, as though it were Sunday after church.

The three of us shared a basin to wash up and dress for dinner, only just sitting in a row on the bed by the time the doctor’s wife arrived carrying a larger tray than usual. Anna and Tilly helped her arrange our place settings, while I made sure that all remained in equilibrium, seated as we were upon the bedside.

“I must return and dine downstairs with my husband, in case any curious neighbors look in, but I shall come back up shortly to collect the dishes. I do wish you all a good meal.”

We each nodded our thanks, and she gave a gracious nod in return before closing the door behind her. I looked at Anna, nodding toward little Tilly’s plate. Anna turned to the child, encouraging her to eat, but the little girl shook her head.

“Grace.”

By all the heavens. At last! I was overjoyed to finally be able to say grace without seeming to be a troublesome patient. Anna smiled, and all three of us bowed our heads. Tilly looked up at me, and I decided to give some small thanks to the good Lord for getting us here safely. Then, our hearts more at ease, we ate with less worry. It was still plain that each of us feared this new development, but things suddenly seemed just a little bit better.

After clearing about half her plate, seeming to be absorbed in her thoughts as she ate, Anna looked up at me.

“Miss Willow?”

“Yes, Miss Anna?”

“How do you feel about your reading, now?”

My heart sank. I had been sure that this question would come soon, and equally sure that I would not be up to the challenge which the question was meant to represent.

During the time I spent convalescing at the home of Dr. H., we had not been not idle. The doctor’s wife had spent every spare moment, it seemed, showing me a new eye chart, with diverse characters of the alphabet.

This served two purposes. First, in checking my vision after each meal, we could all see the progress of my recovery. Second, and most urgently, Anna and I were learning our letters. We would need to know how to read if we were to make sure our escape, for many papers and postings made mention of our evasion, and according to a certain Mr. Bacon, knowledge was power.

Little had we known how just soon the need for such power would arrive.

***

Project Do Better agrees…

Nia,

Injustice Delenda Est

Passing to Freedom, Chapter 7: Torture by Smell

Chapter 7

The smell of grits pulled me out of the dark place to which I had been dragged by the lightening bugs. It was a welcome change from that odor of fear in which I had last bathed. As I opened my eyes, half expecting to see Old Mary’s muzzle, instead, I saw only a band of white. It was evident that I lay upon a bed, softness all around me. I gave a start, that terrible notion of being back in Virginia taking hold for an instant.

“She’s awake! Doctor!”

That was Anna’s voice! My sweet, courageous Anna! Then, what I had seen was no fevered illusion. It had been her, in the flesh, if only one of her. She had indeed come back for me. I nearly cried with gratitude to the Lord above. She was safe. I was safe. Even Old Mary, whom my torpid limbs had endangered, was safe. And warm! It was so blessedly warm here.

Where was here, as a matter of fact? I turned my head gingerly toward the source of those dulcet tones, wary of the pain I’d felt the last time I’d tried to move. Now, I felt no pain at all. I did feel the softest touch, though, upon my face. The warmth of those fingers was as the kiss of the sun on a cold winter’s morn. I tried to reach up, but my arm felt like lead.

“Don’t try to move, honey child.”

That whisper into my ear fed me more than any manna from heaven. I felt my whole body relax, letting go of the fear and tension of the past days. But why were my eyes covered?

“I can’t see you.”

I felt another hand take hold of mine, caressing it tenderly as one would a comfort a wounded house cat.

“Shh, shh. Don’t you worry.”

How could I worry? I was too happy to be here, with her by my side. She must have intuited my thoughts, for she gave my hand a gentle squeeze, before continuing,

“Your head is bandaged all the way around, to protect you from moving too much. You took a right good fall from Old Mary.”

My happiness turned instantly to sorrow. I felt ashamed of my clumsiness, having again thrown our plans into disarray. My mouth must have turned down, because Anna recognized my shame right away.

“No, no, don’t you even.”

My hand got a slightly sharper squeeze, now. Not painful at all, but enough to know that she felt I was thinking nonsense.

“That fall was all my fault.”

Her fault? But I was the one who’d fallen off of the horse!

She took both of my hands by those long tapered fingers, shifting to sit up, as nearly as I could tell, directly in front of my propped up head.

“Now look, Miss Willow.”

That formal tone got my attention.

“I knew that you had never sat such a saddle before in your life, so it was my responsibility to keep you from falling. I failed. Had Old Mary not obeyed my calls, we might still be out there looking for you.”

Her calls? What calls? Did she mean to say that the cry of that strange bird had been her, all along? I set my head slowly to one side, pondering the possibility until a mild ache reminded me not to move. She must have taken my meaning, for she burst into a laugh so sudden that she let go of both of my hands.

“You mean -do you mean to tell me that you thought my calls to Old Mary were some animal out there in the woods? Is that what you were trying to say that made you pass out when I found you?”

I closed my mouth, only just having realized that it was hanging open. What a fool I was.

“Oh, my dear Willow, I forget how little of the outside world you have seen, trapped in that big old house. I am sorry, I do not mean to laugh, it’s just that I never even thought of it!”

Of course, I finally understood. No bird in the woods could be dangerous. Just like the lightening bugs. I’d been delirious. I hung my head just a little. Then I felt warm arms around my shoulders, gently hugging me.

“Well, now, you are not to worry. We’ve arrived safely at our station, and can rest here a few days before going on. You need time to mend.”

She paused, and I felt the bed lighten, as she must have stood up.

“Doctor H. here is going to have a look at your head. Don’t be afraid.”

I felt her pat my hand, before placing my arm at my side. Then the bed tilted again, as a heavier weight sat beside me. A smell of rose water told me that this man was a gentleman of standing.

“Hello, Willow. Welcome to my home. I am the Conductor in this town. My wife is preparing some breakfast, if you can hold a bit of food down, but first I must see to your head.”

He spoke like a white man accustomed to authority, but kind in it’s use. His accent was from Maryland, but if Anna trusted him, then so would I. I opened my mouth to thank him, but he quickly cut me off.

“No, no, don’t try to speak. You have a serious concussion, and need to save your strength.”

I felt the bandages unwinding, my head feeling more light, as if a pressure were lifting away. While the ache grew a bit sharper, the growling of my stomach was beginning to compete quite successfully. After re-wrapping my head, the doctor pronounced me in good recovery, and withdrew from the room, if the sound of his retreating footsteps and the soft click of a door was any judge.

I felt Anna sit back down on the bed beside me and take up my hand.

“I can hear your stomach rumbling, so that makes two of us.”

I smiled, hearing the mischief in her voice.

“Dr. H. and his wife are good white folks. We can rest here, for a while.”

I recalled dimly that Dr. H. had been meant to meet us with a carriage out there, in the woods. From there, ‘Joe’ was to have driven us along the road into town.  But that was before we met with the bear, and the patrollers. I felt a pity for the poor beast, and a guilty gratitude, as well. Had it not been for that terrible sacrifice, we might now be sitting in a slave gaol, rather than this warm refuge. My stomach rumbled again, reminding me that I needed to sit up a bit more to eat. Just then, the door opened again, and a smell hit me that I had never in my life expected to enjoy.

Bacon!

Anna helped me sit up, and then pushed the bandages a bit higher on my forehead. The doctor had left my eyes mostly uncovered when he renewed my head dressing, but the bandages still covered my eyes a bit. It was as if he’d wanted to cover them again, but opted to allow me enough vision to feel safer in my new surroundings. I was glad of it, for I was quite curious to see who was coming through the door, now.

“Here you are, dears.”

The woman serving us was white, and seemed as pleased to be bringing us our breakfast as if we had been, too. My eyes finally allowed me to confirm what my nose and stomach had already told me.

There was indeed bacon. On both our plates!

All my life I had been denied the pleasure of eating bacon. That torturous smell haunted me, for I was never allowed to eat any. The Senator, displeased with my refusal to feign happiness with him, had ordered the kitchen staff to cook bacon for breakfast every day, but never to allow me to have any. Thus, I was always treated to the sight of others enjoying this luxury, but never indulged, myself. Today, it seemed, that was to change.

She handed us our plates, patting my hand in a motherly fashion as she guided the trembling hand holding my plate into my lap. Our cutlery was bundled in white linen napkins, not monogrammed, I was surprised to see. She held up a perfectly soft hand, as I made to thank her for her kindness. She must have had some household help, but they were no where to be seen, or heard, rather.

“You must save your strength, young Willow, and recover. You are safe here.”

She had a very mild Northern accent, from which state, I could not tell. It seemed she had lived here long enough to learn to hide her true origin, or to forget, as I had. As she turned to go, I sent a look to Anna, wondering if she would catch my meaning. She did.

“Mrs. H. Will you stay, if you please?”

The doctor’s wife turned back toward us, looking at me for just a moment, before nodding graciously.

“I shall have to go downstairs to bring up my own breakfast, but yes, I will stay with you awhile, if you both like.”

I tried to give her an appreciative smile, as I took in the shock. She acknowledged me with another nod, before turning to go back down to the kitchens, leaving the door open, this time. There must indeed have been no servants about, this day. I hoped we were not too much of a burden on this kind woman. She was evidently not accustomed to rough work, and with no burns or callouses, not even to cooking, I imagined. What trouble must we be for these good people, and danger of a much worse fate, if caught helping us, to boot. The very idea that she would eat with us was as foreign to me as being served by her. And yet, here, it seemed, this wonder was about to come to pass.

A light tread upon the stairs announced the return of Mrs. H., the same tray now carrying her plate and cutlery, wrapped in the same sort of napkin as ours had been. But her plate was lacking something. She had no bacon.

“Oh!”

A thought had startled me so that I failed to hide my chagrin. As both Anna and the doctor’s wife looked at me expecting some malady, I blushed to the very tips of my toes, my face burning with shame.

“I’m so terribly sorry, M-”

Again, she held up her hand, sharply, this time. I knew, I was to save my strength, and I also felt that she must have some similar horror of what I might have been about to call her. Being raised up North, as I supposed she’d been, our ways of addressing one another must have been a cause of consternation for her. For me, however, there was a greater cause, still. This woman, it seemed, had sacrificed her own meal for us. There was a slice of bacon each, upon our plates, yet only grits and an egg upon hers. I felt that, for the first time, I must have taken the food out of another woman’s mouth. It was a thought that turned my stomach. Bad enough that the poor animal who provided us with this food must be sacrificed for our needs.

“What’s the matter, Honey?”

Anna was right at my side, her hand against my face as if to check my temperature. I looked down at my plate, toward the bacon, and she again seemed to understand in an instant. How did she do that?

“If you don’t think that this bacon will sit well in your stomach, I might have to say the same for myself. Mrs. H., we’ve not been used to eating such rich fare, neither of us. We may both do well to forgo this kindness, much as we appreciate it, Ma’am.”

I saw a steady look pass between them, one I had never imagined could pass between a Negress and a white woman. The doctor’s wife nodded once again. Then she leaned over from the chair where she had sat while Anna came to me, taking the slice from my plate, and adding it to hers. To Anna, though, she looked, almost sternly:

“Now Anna, sorry, Joe. You are a driver, and need more meat to keep up your strength, especially in this cold. You should try to eat this bacon, and let me know how you feel, then, alright?”

I had the feeling that this woman would be quite at home giving lessons to unruly school boys. Anna actually lowered her head a bit, as if abashed.

“Yes M-”

“And no more of this Ma’am business, if you please, young Joe.”

Then she smiled, and sat back in her chair, taking up her fork and stirring the melted butter into her grits before nodding encouragingly at each of us, in an invitation to join her in the meal. I was surprised again, having half expected to say grace before eating, but decided that it might be impolite to do so. Instead, I picked up my fork and edged it into my own grits. They were a bit chewy, but not bad for northern cooking. As the other women ate their bacon, I relaxed, enjoying my grits as if for the first time in my life. No longer was the lack of bacon a torment. Now, it was a gift. I’d been able, for once, to treat another person to a luxury, and it felt as if, in that moment, the world was indeed a better place to live.

At least for a while.

***

Willow and Ann’s story will continue, the danger increasing, of course, as they continue to make their escape north, and bear witness to the determination shown by so many enslaved people to win their freedom by learning, and by teaching others, and through the cooperation of many others of good will, as I hope that the young children and parents worked with by Bright Beginnings in DC will learn teach, and continue to cooperate with others who share the values and empathy that our stories like this one teach, with a little help from the GWCF, and The Project Do Better by ShiraDest Publications Fund,

Injustice Delenda Est,

Nia

Growing list of those born or died on April 27 in any year

Today is the Independence Days of both Sierra Leone and Togo

Melissa Viviane Jefferson (born April 27, 1988), known professionally as Lizzo, is an American singer, rapper, songwriter,

#blackwomen #blackhistory #blackmastodon

Passing to Freedom, Chapter 6: Hunters with Hound Dogs, and Bears! Oh, My!!

Chapter 6

          We’d started on our way again, in spite of it being daylight. It was early morning, with the rising sun just as freshly awakened as we were. I was awake and worrying about our plan so as not to worry about little Sal and Miss Mary. Anna had agreed that there was no point in waiting, since we were only about a day’s ride to our next station. Still, I fretted, though I tried not to let it show. I did not want my companion troubled by my inconstant humors. That turned out to be a good thing, it would seem.

“Stop!”

Her urgent whisper had sent pins and needles from my belly up through my arms.

“Get your head down, quick!”

Anna had grabbed the reins out of my hands and led the way over to a large fallen tree
before I even knew she was beside me. Our horses must have been well trained, for they followed her tightly together with their heads down, so that I could hardly move at all. I flattened my body along Old Mary’s neck, feeling as if I might fall off any moment. Then Anna did a thing I had never even heard of.

“Just hold right on, and be still, like a rock.”

She clucked her tongue and patted both horses heads. To my utter amazement, we four, like the Children of Israel, fell to the ground as one man. What was more, we did so in complete silence. The sounds of a few birds, preparing for the long winter ahead, and a light breeze rustling the fallen leaves of a few trees also preparing to brave the coming cold, were all that my untrained ears could tell me. I started to raise my head to look around, but felt the lightest touch of Anna’s hand upon my arm, warning me not to move. Then I heard them.

Voices, moving through the woods, only just coming within my hearing. Yet my sweet
Anna had heard them well before, and had acted with steadier nerve than many a man would have done. How did she do that?

Then came another sound which I heard at a distance, but well enough to bring the taste of
bile to my throat.

A dog had barked.

I began to pray, as the smell of my own sweat hit me, mingled with the smell of horse and
pine needles. My face was buried between the necks of our two horses, who had somehow
managed to lay themselves down with us still mounted upon them. Not if I lived a hundred years and finally got to see a circus perform did I ever expect to see something like that again. I gave thanks for this minor miracle, and asked the Almighty for the grace to let us remain unseen and unheard by those who sought our return to bondage. I also prayed for forgiveness. I would need it, if I got to my sewing basket before those patrollers got to me.

“Stay here, and don’t move.”

What was she up to, now? I felt Anna move, silent as the grave, from off of her horse,
gliding low across the ground over to a large bush that might have had some berries on it, a few weeks ago, and scatter something, then glide back to our hiding place, almost in the blink of an eye, despite the distance she had covered. The dog barked again, closer this time, and I heard shouts, as if several men were following.

As the racket grew louder, Anna looked both ways, as if about to cross a street in the Federal City, then whispered:

“Hold on tight, Old Mary won’t let you fall.”

Before I had time to ponder those words, she had clucked her tongue and patted both horses heads again. I felt both of our mounts surging up into the air, and wrapped my fingers in Old Mary’s mane as my feet found the stirrups. With another click of her tongue, we both began to walk backwards! My stomach roiled as the shouts and barking grew closer, and we were finally able to see our pursuers. They were indeed slave patrollers, and most likely looking specifically for us.

Then, I saw another sight which I shall never forget. A black bear, which I had somehow
utterly failed to notice, was sniffing at the bush Anna had just left. As the shouts became orders to stop, directed at us, and the barking became the baying of a hound which has cornered its quarry, the bear looked at them, and stood up. Growling.

As if this were exactly what Anna had been waiting for, she gave a sharp whistle, and the
ears of both our mounts perked up to points.

“Hold on!” Anna spurred her horse, and jerked to the left.

All I’d had time for was a glance her way, as Old Mary surged forward, in time with her
companion, wheeling around so sharply that I only just managed to stay seated. I heard the sounds of a dog crying out in pain, a bear growling at the sky, and a gun shot.

I leaned over Old Mary’s neck, flattening out with her as she and our friends beside us
stretched their necks. I clung to good Old Mary’s mane for dear life, my legs wrapped around her flanks as my fingers clutched the hair of her mane, my face nearly buried in that hair whipping around mingled with mine. Over the noise of our hooves, I could hear the commotion behind us.

It sounded closer.

In my fear of the slave hunters, I had forgotten my fear of riding.

That was a grave error.

“Shoot ‘im again! Shoot ‘im!!”

As I looked back I could just make out that bear, its terrible face lifted to the sky. Then my grip on Old Mary’s mane slipped a little. I let go with my right hand, reaching down as I turned my head back, feeling for the reins. More shots rang out, and I flinched, losing the right rein I had just retrieved. I was barely managing to keep my seat, stretched over the pommel as I was.

Then I saw the log.

When I awoke, it seemed like days must have passed. Night had fallen, cold and still. The smell of pine needles and earth was mingled with a foul under-taste. Blood. I lifted my head a little, and saw lightning bugs appear just above my eyes. Wait, that couldn’t be right. It was too cold now, for lightening bugs. I tried to get up, and immediately regretted it. My aching body protested, the slightest movement producing a jolt of pain that yanked a whimper from my lips. As if in reply to that pained prayer, a sound like somebody sweeping dirt under the carpet came from beside me. Try as I might, though, I could not make my body turn over to see the source of that sound. I sighed in despair. Even that hurt.

Dear Lord, please let me go.

It was the only prayer I could make. But it was not the good Lord who answered me. Instead, I felt a familiar muzzle nudging my shoulder, just as a strange sounding bird made a double cry. I felt a shuffling against my left arm, and then the fall of four hooves stepping over me just as gently as could be, touching the ground inches away from my chilled limbs. That muzzle lowered itself back to my head, breathing into my face as I’d gotten used to Old Mary doing.

Old Mary!

That strange bird called again, closer this time, and I began to worry, alone out here in these woods. I had tried once to be still like a rock, and look at me. Instead of being like a rock, I appeared to have hit my head on one. Not exactly walking by faith. Even worse, I’d gotten Old Mary here into danger along with me. Anna would not be happy with me. But right now, that was the least of my troubles, for she was not here. In point of fact, I didn’t even know where here might be. My dear guide Anna could navigate these woods in surety, while I could not.

And now, we’d gone and gotten separated.

I heard that strange bird make it’s call again, closer still, which augured nothing good. If this was to be my end, I wanted to at least let Old Mary here get away. I tried to lift my head, and got kicked by more lightening bugs for my trouble. Never knew those bugs could kick anything, but they sure did. I tried to puff out a breath. No. That only made her come closer. I began to feel myself tremble, and even thought I smelled the stench of fear that could only come from my body. Horse sweat smelled sweeter and pure. That smell was so close I could see myself rolling up onto Old Mary’s back, my leg levitating over the saddle as if by some art of magic. The pain that exploded through my body as my head came up was no magic. Try though I did to stay quiet, a croak escaped my throat.

“Hush, now.”

I was sure I’d finally gone mad. I imagined I had heard the voice of my dear sweet Anna, whom I feverishly hoped was far away, safe from these dangers. Feeling a gentle touch upon my neck, I tried opening my eyes again, and beheld four familiar windows into the soul of the one I most feared to see: Anna was indeed there beside me, rolling me onto Old Mary, who had apparently once again done her circus trick of laying her large frame right down on the ground. This blessed creature had practically wormed herself under my body, somehow. Kneeling right beside her, in double beauty, were two images of my Anna. My dear, sweet, wonderful, and now also in danger, Anna. I tried to warn her about that strange bird, but my mouth only admitted a grimace, and then the lightening bugs had their say, forcing my eyes closed again in a nauseated haze. I felt a finger upon my lips as the earth seemed to pull my limbs down, and then, forgive me, the pain and smells all faded away again.

***

This is part of my current women’s historical WiP Passing to Freedom: Willow’s Story

a novel by D. Antonia Jones, aka Nia or Ni,

fka Shira Destinie Jones, dedicated to the children, parents, staff, and volunteers of early childhood non-profit Bright Beginnings in DC, and the staff of the GWCF who help them, via The Project Do Better by ShiraDest Publications Fund, and the ideas freely given to all in the Do Better manual/manifesto, in the hope of building a better and more cooperative edifice for all of us.

#Yale #HigherEd #BlackHistory #BlackExcellence

'The website features profiles of Black students who attended Yale from 1830 to 1940— the first known comprehensive effort to identify the Black students in Yale’s history. '

https://library.yale.edu/news/mohamed-diallo-26-reassembles-story-yales-early-black-students-archival-research-and-arcgis

Passing to Freedom: Chapter 4, Willow, and Horses?

When we left our two escaping young heroines, in chapter 2, there were horses bearing down on them. Now what will they do?

Chapter 4

The apple in my mouth turned to bile, as the smell of corn meal and tobacco leaves mingled with the odor of my own fear. My entire body began to tremble, my hand shaking almost uncontrollably. It moved as if of its own accord, seeking out the solace of my sewing basket. What I began hours ago, I would finish, now, before those horses arrived, carrying a far worse fate with them. I was drawing the scissors out of my basket when I saw a shadow fall across me. The moon had come out, and Anna had just stood up, still leaning against the wagon:

“Right on time.”

She looked from my wide eyes to my sewing basket, nodding toward my still bloody left forearm.

“You didn’t really think I’d stop here and just wait on those patrollers to come collect us up, now did you? Really? Miss Willow, you-”

The thundering of hooves drowned out the last of her words, but her eyes, and her down-turned mouth, told me all I needed to know. She was such a young thing, but held so much more wisdom than I’d yet learned. When, after all, could I ever have learned to trust my fate, given what I’ve seen of this world?

She touched me almost tenderly on the shoulder, bringing my thoughts back to the present.

“Do you know how to ride a horse?”

She looked at me, then glanced at the two white men who were now dismounting in front of the wagon. I shook my head no.

“Well, you will just have to learn something quick, because we are taking these two very good horses across country for a while, at least until we get out of Maryland, Delaware, too.”

“I heard we had to go all the way up to Canada now.”

I had no idea of what the new plan might be. I’d heard talk of a law that the Senator was proud to have forced through, buying him two horses for the price of one, some said. Coffles were no longer to be seen, chained misery shuffling up the Market Street from the Wharf, so that our good White citizens could look respectable in the eyes of those envoys sent from distant lands. Particularly the English. At the same time, any of us who managed to escape our bonds could now be safe only across the border from the land of our own birth, in British Canada.

“Yes, yes we do. And there we will go.”

She looked at me so steadily that I could feel my former mourning turning to hope, if not to joy, beneath her gaze. Just then, one of the white men cleared his throat. He was standing nose to nose, at the head of a horse, holding the reins of both the wagon and his horse.

Anna patted me on the shoulder, turned, and walked over to him, straight and tall. She now seemed to be far taller than she had first appeared. They exchanged a few words as they turned toward the second horse. Anna took the reins from the other white man. She showed no fear of them whatsoever, as if they had known each other for some time. She turned back to me, leading both horses over to the side of the wagon where I still sat, my head nearly level with the wagon’s walls.

She switched the reins of both horses to her right hand, holding out her left to me, and I rose up, stepping over the side of the wagon, and down to the ground. It hadn’t been nearly as far as I’d imagined. That wagon had been my world for some hours, but now it seemed small, fragile. Then I looked up at those horses, and I felt small, and fragile. Gather up your courage, girl! Oh, Willow, don’t you weep, either. The song reminded me of Miss Mary, bringing my sorrow from yesterday back with it. Not now. There is a time to mourn, and a time to dance. With horses, too. I looked to see where the white men were. They were facing away from us, as respectful as could be. It was a wonder to me, though I was grateful. I gathered up the hem of my dress and bunched it around my waist. I felt indecent, but there was no help for it, if I didn’t want to break my neck up on this huge beast. My head hardly reached the animal’s back.

“I guess it’s time for me to learn to love this horse. Miss Anna, will you teach me?”

I saw that twinkle in her eye, for sure, this time!

“I surely will, Miss Willow.”

And with that, she patted the saddle of the horse nearest me, “Her name is Mary,” bent down and touched my left foot, looking up at me “Put your foot in the stirrup, and I’ll catch you around the waist to help you up into the saddle.”

“You mean I’m to ride like a man?” I had no idea how I would ever stay on top of that horse, as big as he, I mean to say she, was.

“If you want to get away, yes Ma’am, you do. You might want to open your bodice a little, too, so you can breathe.”

One of the white men cleared his throat, just loud enough for us to notice. Time to get a move on. Then, as if she’d read my thoughts,

“Time to get a move on, here, Miss Willow. You just trust me and Old Mary here. You’ll be fine, she won’t let you fall, and neither will I.”

For a moment, as I looked into her almond eyes, I thought I might just fall.

***

Just as Willow must learn new skills, overcoming her fear of a beast far larger than herself to do so, so must the children helped by the early childhood education not-for-profit Bright Beginnings in DC, and learn they shall, with a little help from The Project Do Better by ShiraDest Publications Fund, and the Greater Washington Community Foundation, aka the GWCF, as they too learn to handle both new skills, and bearing witness to the change that such learning can help build for our world.

Nia, writing as both Toni Morrison and Octavia Butler did, to bear witness and to show that change is possible, and contributing my pebble to the engineering of a new social structure as the reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. suggested for “an edifice which no longer produces beggars” by giving away the first edition of the Do Better manifesto for community organizers and members.