Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons (17 page)

"After what?"

"Plenty of time," was all he would say.

I nodded, waiting. Surely there would be more.

There was.

"You gotta think on the important things now."

I waited again.

"You know this Jonathan Williams they're out visitin' today?"

"Only as a neighbor."

"His uncle-in-law is a man named Benjamin Franklin, who is colonial agent for Pennsylvania over in London."

I felt something coming. I looked up into Prince's lean, dark face.

"Mrs. Wheatley, she wants to fix things so as you meet Mr. Franklin over there. Franklin has influence. Mr. Nathaniel, he isn't so fond of Franklin."

"Why?"

"He's from Philadelphia. A Quaker."

"I never heard Nathaniel speak ill of Quakers."

"Reason Mr. Nathaniel doesn't like him got nuthin' to do with religion."

"Why then?"

"Think on it, Phillis. It will come to you. You smart enough to go to London, you smart enough to figure it out."

Before he left the room, he paused. "If Benjamin Franklin calls on you over there, you see him, Phillis. Even if Mr. Nathaniel don't like it. Promise."

I promised. But for all the world, I did not know what pledge this was that I had given.

Two weeks later Scipio Moorhead, the Negro artist, was drawing my likeness in his studio. The Countess of Huntington, to whom my book would be dedicated, had written saying a likeness of me should appear in front of the book. Mrs. Wheatley had commissioned Scipio to do it.

"You be free in England. You know that, don't you?" Scipio did not mince words.

I sat at a desk in front of a large window in his studio. In a far corner of the room Scipio's wife, Sarah, was painting in lacquer on glass.

"How can that be?"

"Didn't they tell you? No, I suppose not."

"Tell me what? Don't play with me, Scipio. What is there that I should know?"

"Just what Lord Mansfield said a year ago in London."

"Who is Lord Mansfield?"

"A judge. You know. The kind what wears a long white wig, with all those curls? And black robes?"

"I know what a judge
wears,
Scipio. What did he
say
that has to do with my being free in London?"

"Scipio," Sarah warned, "you got this job from the Wheatleys. And we need the money. So don't go and ruin it."

"Hush, Sarah. What's the harm in telling Phillis what to expect in London?"

"The harm is that she'll go home and tell the Wheatleys. And they'll never commission you to do a sketch again. Or recommend you to their friends."

"Then Phillis won't
tell
the Wheatleys. Will you, Phillis?"

"I know when to keep a still tongue in my head."

So he told me then. "A year ago this British judge, Lord Mansfield, handed down a decision. And there it is, written plain as the nose on your face. 'As soon as a slave sets foot on the soil of the British islands, he becomes free.'"

I turned to look at him. "He never did."

"There you go turnin'. You know this is a profile, Phillis. Now you sit properlike."

"I'm sitting properlike."

"What happened is," he explained, "this Jamaican slave, name of James Somerset, was brought to England by his master. No sooner he gets there, he sues in court for his freedom. Judge Mansfield ponders on it and says, 'The air of England has long been too pure for a slave, an' every man is free who breathes it.'"

"Women, too?"

"'Course."

"Then why didn't he say so?"

"You know how these judges like to talk in riddles. Makes them seem smarter than the rest of us. So you just remember, when you get to England, you breathe some of that pure air. And you get yourself free."

"But how will I do that, Scipio?"

"You just keep your mouth shut and your ears open. And sooner or later someone will tell you how. You'll see."

"So we're going to England, Phillis," Nathaniel said.

"Yes."

"Together. On the
London Packet.
"

"As your mother wishes."

"And you don't?"

"I want to go, but I'm afraid of ships."

"You have better things to fear. The ship is sound and smart. She's a three-masted schooner merchantman. I'm engaging a woman to travel with you. A Mrs. Chelsea from Boston. She's joining her husband in London. She brings two servants. I'm giving her an allowance of milk from the cow Mother is sending aboard. And fresh eggs from the chickens. In exchange for having one of her servants assist you. And for her companionship."

"Companionship?"

"Yes. You two and the servants will be the only women aboard. Because you will be the object of considerable attention, I expect you to spend most of your time in your cabin and behave with the utmost decorum at all times. People will be watching."

"How will they be watching me if I'm in my cabin?"

"It's a very commodious cabin, with everything you need."

"Will I have my own bed?"

"Of course, but it's called a bunk. You were on a ship before. Didn't they call it a bunk?"

"When the sea was calm, I had a small corner on deck. With a canvas over me."

"Yes, of course. Well, you will be permitted to stroll on the deck at certain times. If the sea is calm, you and Mrs. Chelsea will be invited to dine with me and the captain."

"And if it isn't calm? Where do I dine then?"

"If it isn't calm, you won't feel like dining."

"Oh."

"If anyone asks, you are traveling under my protection. You are not my servant. And you are not to behave like one. Neither are you to tag all over with me on the ship."

"Why should I want to do that?"

"Yes. Well, you'll have your work to do, going over the poems. And I have my work. I just thought I'd make mention of these things. We have to keep matters seemly."

"Yes," I said, "seemly."

"We clear Boston Harbor on the eighth of May. The voyage will take five weeks. Captain Calef makes this trip often."

"Does he have a first mate?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered."

"We have a full hold, lumber from Vermont, cases of smoked salmon, crates of candles, stacks of woolen fabric, pelts of beaver, and at least fifty-eight pipes of rum. Don't look at me like that. I'm not engaged in the triangular slave trade. When we get to London, you will not enter into any discourse on politics. Or go about spouting any Patriot folderol. I have gone out of my way to remain neutral in the current unpleasantness. And I am about to expand our mercantile interests in England. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Nathaniel. I understand."

I lay in my bed, which I must remember to call a bunk, dying.

We were both dying, I and Mrs. Chelsea. It had been so for the whole first week at sea. I was more wretched than I ever recollected, though I was waited on hand and foot and covered with velvet and propped up against lace pillows.

The
London Packet
pitched and heaved. And I pitched and heaved with it. As did Mrs. Chelsea in her own bunk.

Her two servants, Susan and Passy, held porcelain bowls for us to vomit in, cleaned us, and attempted to spoon broth into our mouths.

I did not eat for four days. Dimly, I was mindful of Mrs. Chelsea on her feet, having recovered. Why didn't I?

Because I was plagued by my old cough, is why, the one that claimed me every winter, that gave Mrs. Wheatley a regular fixation of worry about me.

Now she was not here. And the cough raged. I got over my seasickness, but I developed a fever. Soon I was in delirium.

Mrs. Chelsea was young, blond, and possessed a sense of humor that served her in even the most dolorous situation. She could joke at her own seasickness. And once well, she took charge.

I was somewhat aware that she was having the cabin scoured all around me. But I did not care. I was too busy—not dying now, but trying to live and breathe without gasping for air.

I heard Nathaniel's voice. "Mother sent along this remedy. Just in case the cough came."

"Bless your mother," Mrs. Chelsea said. Then she pushed a spoonful of the familiar hateful stuff between my lips.

I swallowed and slept.

I awoke drenched with sweat, and coughing. Every cough sent drums through my head, like the ones held by the Negro drummers the British had once sent to Boston.

Was I in Boston? Where was I? The place was pitch dark, except for a small candle hanging overhead. It cast shadows. I heard fearful creakings. There was nothing solid under me.

I was on a ship.

Then I smelled vinegar. The crew had just washed the stench from below, yes. Where the slaves were shackled.

From the upper bunks came breathing. Was I belowdecks? Shackled? I moved. No, I was free. But where was Obour?

"Obour!" I yelled for her.

Someone was leaning over me.

"
Do you want to be thrown to the sharks? Do you want to be flogged?
"

It was Captain Quinn's voice.

Next thing I knew he was forcing food into my mouth and yelling, "Eat!"

I thrashed in my bunk. I pushed the spoon aside. "I want my mother!" I yelled. "Don't throw her overboard. She did nothing! Mother!"

"Bring the lantern closer," I heard a man's voice say. I knew the voice, but I could not name it.

"I want my friend Obour!" I yelled. "I will eat, and I will tell her to eat, if you leave us both unshackled. I promise!"

"Dear child," a soothing woman's voice said, "what have they done to you? What have you suffered? Nathaniel, you will not believe it, but I was in the room when she dressed. She has a brand on her hip!"

Nathaniel! No, she must not tell him that. I had told no one.

"Your friend is here," the woman said. And a cold cloth was laid on my forehead. "Your friend is here." I felt a hand in mine.

I clenched it and opened my eyes. The lantern glowed above me, held by one of the servant girls.

"Phillis? Are you all right, child?"

The voice and the hand belonged to Mrs. Chelsea.

And sure enough, the man hovering over me was not Quinn but Nathaniel. I struggled to sit up. They helped me.

"You must eat, Phillis," Nathaniel said. His brow was furrowed. He looked frightened. He took the bowl of soup from the serving girl and sat on the side of my bunk. "You must get well, or my mother will kill me."

I took a spoon of the broth. It was too salty. I pushed the spoon away.

"You must eat, Phillis," Nathaniel said sternly, "or you will never reach London alive."

"It's too salty."

"What would you like?" Mrs. Chelsea asked. "Tell me, and I'll see to it that you get it."

"I want pudding," I said of a sudden. "I'm hungry. We have a cow. And two goats. I want pudding. Like Aunt Cumsee makes."

Mrs. Chelsea looked up at Nathaniel. "Can you get me into the galley?"

"At this hour of night?" He was incredulous.

"Yes. I'm a good hand at cooking."

"All right." He stood up, took some paper from the desk, wrote a note, and gave it to one of the serving girls.

Mrs. Chelsea and the girl left.

The door closed after them. Nathaniel stood leaning against it. His face was as white as his ruffled shirt.

"Your mother was thrown overboard?" He could scarce say the words.

But I did not answer.

"Cover her," he said to the serving girl. "She must stay warm."

She did so.

"Please take some broth, Phillis," he begged.

I took some, to please him.

He nodded and backed out the door. But he never took his eyes from my face. And his own face was ashen.

The sea calmed. Yet not so much that we languished without wind in our sails. Recovered, I spent about an hour a day on deck, getting some sunshine and exercise. Mrs. Chelsea accompanied me.

Sometimes Nathaniel did, too. And he was very solicitous. When we strolled on deck he took my arm, as he would that of a white woman.

"Shall I hold an umbrillo over you to protect you from the sun?" he asked one hot afternoon. Indeed, he had one in hand. And we both laughed at the significance of the word.

It seemed that he had forgotten all his stern admonitions to me from before we sailed. Or else my near dying had frightened him.

Or mayhap he felt guilty now that he was sensible of what had happened to my mother. At the captain's table he was especially courtly.

Still, I obeyed his rules. I did not tag after him on deck. I did not make a nuisance of myself. I let him seek me out.

As much as I disliked the voyage, my instincts told me that I should enjoy this time on the sea with Nathaniel, and the comfort our mutual history gave, so far away from home.

Once we got to London, I would lose him. My instincts told me that, too.

London!

The first morning I awoke in the rooms Nathaniel had rented in the Bath Hotel in Picadilly, I rushed to the large ceiling-to-floor windows and opened them to gaze down.

Never had I seen such color and excitement! The streets were wide and clean. The squares of green neatly stitched with colorful flowers. People rushed by intent on some important missions, as if life were moving too fast for them and they had to catch up. Never had I seen so many luxurious coaches!

"Phillis, you must dress." The maid came in, bearing a silver tray of breakfast. "You must eat."

I turned from the window. My room itself filled my eyes with awe. It was done in blue and gold, the carpets were soft, the mirrors large. Our rooms were really an apartment with a kitchen and parlor. Nathaniel had engaged a cook and kitchen maid as well. He had his own coach and footman.

The maid handed me a note from Nathaniel.

"I await your presence in the tearoom at one. We go first to Vauxhall Gardens, then to a festival of music by Handel. Work on your poems this morning. I have a business meeting. This afternoon, wear your pale green with the lace shawl collar."

The maid's name was Maria. She cared for my clothes, helped me dress, fussed with my hair. She was white and spoke with a slight cockney accent. In one day we became friends.