Stealing Freedom (10 page)

Just before they got to their house, she opened Sarah's primer to the first page. “If you read so well, what's this?” she asked, pointing.

“That's an ‘A,’ ‘ah,’ and that's a ‘B.’ It sounds like ‘buh.’”

“And this one?” Ann turned the page.

Sarah yanked the book out of Ann's hands and glared at her. “Do you want me sent to jail?” she snapped. She marched on ahead and up the front walk to the house.

Ann went immediately to the kitchen to begin preparing supper. She'd been trying very hard to do well in her cooking, to watch the pots so that nothing burned, to use the right amounts of water, salt, and herbs. And for the most part, she'd been successful both in cooking well and in avoiding Mistress
Carol's stick. She went outside to the pump and brought in a bucketful of water to start a stew. She placed a chunk of salt pork in a pot and hung it over the fire to sear. Then she fetched potatoes and turnips from the larder and sat down at the table to peel them.

From the living room she could hear Sarah talking with Mistress Carol, telling her about her day at school. As Ann peeled and chopped, she listened. Outside it grew dark, but inside there was the fire and lit candles. There was a cheerfulness in Mistress Carol's voice that Ann had never heard before. She even heard her laugh once or twice.

“Tomorrow I'll braid your hair and put ribbons in it,” Mistress Carol said.

“Really?” Sarah clapped her hands. “Oh, please do it now, so I can see.”

Ann crossed the kitchen to flip over the piece of salt pork and glanced into the living room. Sarah stood in front of Mistress Carol smiling as her aunt wove her hair into two skinny braids. Sarah held two red ribbons ready to tie at the ends.

Ann stopped and stared. The sight of the red ribbons brought a rush of memory, of her own cabin, the smells of cornmeal mush and fatback, the laughter of her brothers, and her mother's fingers working swiftly braiding Catharine's ebony hair with red ribbons rescued from the Prices’ kindling box.

Mistress Carol gave Sarah a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. Ann suddenly felt the coldness around her own cheeks and arms. There had been no one to kiss, no one to hug, for so many months now. The ache she'd held down for so long
began to rise up. She covered her mouth, biting her hand to hold back a sob. It was too late.

She ran out the back door into the frosty air and let the tears come. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to feel, again, the softness of her mother's arms around her, the strength of her father's hug. She'd sworn that she'd never forget, but her memories of them were fading—she couldn't hold on.

She let out a hoarse sob and tried to picture her brothers’ faces. But all she could see were the backs of their heads, bobbing as they walked away from her that last dark, muddy morning.

“Come back!” she cried out loud, begging the memories, at least, to stay.

One memory flashed with a vengeance: Master Charles standing, arms crossed, between her and her parents and Catharine, forbidding them to visit her. “Thief.” Her voice tightened with anger around the word. Had he not robbed her of everything she'd ever loved? She clenched her teeth and fists. “Thieves—both of them!” How could they do this to her and her family? How could they sell her brothers, send Benjamin off without a mother, and keep her here as a prisoner, not even allowed to visit her parents and Catharine? She wanted to thrash, to throw something, to hit something
hard.

The smell of burning salt pork reached her in the backyard. She wiped her face on the hem of her dress and marched up the back steps to the kitchen. Mistress Carol was already there, pouring water into the pot, making great clouds of steam rise into the air.

“You stupid girl! Another precious piece of meat ruined!” Mistress Carol reached for her beating stick.

But Ann was closer. She grabbed the stick in both hands and, with all her might, slammed it against the bricks of the hearth. With a loud crack the stick broke in two. Her hands still shaking with fury, Ann picked up the two halves and threw them into the fire. Then she turned her angry face to Mistress Carol.

Mistress Carol stood there, shocked. Her hands hung limp at her sides and her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

A long moment of silence stretched between them. It was Sarah, frightened and timid, who broke the silence. She tugged at her aunt's dress. “Aunt Carol?” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on Ann.

Mistress Carol looked as if she'd been startled from a trance. “Yes, dear,” she said vaguely.

“I have to go to the privy and I don't want to go alone. It's dark out.”

Mistress Carol took Sarah's hand, seeming to forget what had just happened, and led her to the back door. Just before they went outside, she turned and addressed Ann, taking on an air of exaggerated authority. “Get a new piece of meat, and see to it that you have supper ready on time. And clean that pot thoroughly—I don't want the stew tasting of burned meat.”

After they'd left, Ann stared down at her shaking hands. Where had she found the courage to challenge her mistress, she wondered? Nervously, she ran her hands through her hair, remembering the way Mistress Carol's mouth had opened and closed with nothing to say. So the mistress was not as powerful
and unyielding as she seemed. In fact, now with young Sarah to care for and protect from things that might upset her, Mistress Carol might well be less cruel. Ann watched the fire crackle merrily, burning the beating stick. Then she went into the larder to cut a new chunk of salt pork.

Miss Sarah did like to get up early. She was in the habit, each morning, of shoving Ann with her foot to wake her up, the way one might rouse a sleeping dog. It was another of the things Ann was fed up with.

One morning, Ann was already awake when Sarah arrived. She opened her eyes a slit. When Sarah lifted her foot to shove, Ann grabbed it and pulled. Sarah fell squarely on her rump. Her face turned bright red, but she picked herself up and swung her foot way back, ready to kick. Ann snatched Sarah's foot in mid-arc and yanked. Sarah landed even harder. Her eyes filled with tears. She flailed at Ann with her fists. Ann grasped her skinny wrists and wrestled them to her sides.

“Do you want breakfast, Miss Sarah?” she asked her.

Sarah bit her bottom lip, scowled, and nodded.

Ann let go of her wrists. “Then just say so, and I'll hear you and wake up,” she said.

That was the last time Sarah tried to wake her with a foot.

Outside, the town of Rockville was settling into the dark days of winter. Smoke curled from every chimney, and the first light snow fell. But inside, Ann felt herself coming back to life. It was as if her thoughts and body had been clouded by a thick fog since she'd come to Rockville, and only now was the fog clearing. And the first thing she wanted to do was go to church with Hannah and David.

“Just do what everyone else does,” said Hannah that first Sunday. Ann sat in the balcony, crowded in with the other slaves and free blacks. The smell of wet wool mixed with the incense Father Dougherty burned on the altar below. The low winter light gave a soft glow to the pastel greens, pinks, and blues of the stained-glass windows lining each side of St. Mary's. Ann copied Hannah as the churchgoers kneeled, stood, and crossed themselves.

Because Father Dougherty performed the service in a language Ann could not understand (Latin, Hannah explained), she simply closed her eyes and allowed the lilting of his voice, the responses of the worshipers, and the pungent smell of incense to carry her thoughts to a peaceful place. She remembered times with her mother and father, Catharine and her brothers, and little Benjamin, and though tears ran down her cheeks and splashed onto her woolen shawl, she felt a sweet calmness inside.

She could have stayed in that delicious place forever, it seemed, but a commotion behind her distracted her.

“That's who I saw. I know it is,” a girl whispered.

“You're crazy, Edmonia. Now hush,” came a man's quiet voice.

“I'm getting out of here. It's a curse!”

Ann turned to see who was whispering. A young man was looking directly at her. He had bronze skin, round, bright eyes, and a full lower lip that made him look as if he were pouting. When he saw her glance at him, he broke into a grin. The little girl next to him hid her face against his sleeve and tugged urgently at his arm.

It was time to stand, and Ann turned around to face forward.

“Edmonia, be
still
, “ she heard a woman say.

Father Dougherty gave the blessing, and when all the amens were said, Ann followed Hannah and David down the narrow stairway and outside into the cold sunshine.

“You come on over for Sunday dinner, Ann Maria,” said David.

But before Ann could accept the invitation, the young man from the balcony came toward her, dragging the little girl.

“You leave me be, Alfred! It's a curse—now you let go my arm or I'll bite you!”

“Edmonia, we're going to talk to her and you'll see she's flesh and blood.”

“Noooooo!”

Edmonia flailed like a chicken stuck in a fence while Alfred held on to her. “I'm Alfred Homer,” the young man told Ann over the noise of Edmonia's cries, “and my friend here would like to talk to you.” As he said the word “talk,” he yanked Edmonia sternly.

The little girl hid her face against Alfred's chest. She stopped struggling and said nothing.

Ann assumed the girl was a halfwit and Alfred was trying to teach her some manners. “Good morning, Edmonia,” she said politely.

Edmonia didn't answer.

“She thinks you're an apparition,” said Alfred in a hoarse whisper, as if the girl plastered against his chest couldn't hear him. “She's got a mind full of stories. Says she saw you dead in the graveyard a while back.”

Ann gasped. So this was who saw her.

“She doesn't mean you any insult by it,” Alfred continued, “I just want to show her you're no apparition and she didn't see you in any graveyard.”

Ann looked away, ashamed. “She
did
see me in the graveyard,” she said softly.

Edmonia started to wail. Alfred whistled.

“But I'm not dead!” Ann shouted over the wailing.

Edmonia peeked at Ann with one eye.

“I'm flesh and blood, just like you, and I am sorely sorry that I scared you.”

The little girl peeked with both eyes. “You
looked
dead,” she said.

Ann squirmed. “I know,” she admitted. “But I was just… sad.”

“Ann Maria, are you coming?” Hannah called as she and David started toward home.

“Yes,” Ann answered. She reached out her hand for Edmonia. “Here, see? This is no ghost hand.”

Edmonia examined Ann's hand and touched it gingerly. She smiled.

Alfred was smiling, too. “I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Ann Maria…”

“Weems,” said Ann.

Alfred nodded, and Ann ran to catch up with her cousins.

Each morning Ann walked Sarah to school, and each morning she caught a glimpse of the schoolroom before the door shut in her face. Sometimes she stood outside under one of the windows, trying to hear what the teacher was saying. But the windows were closed tight against the cold, and the teacher's voice was usually too muffled for her to understand much.

Ann's spirit was buoyed by the fact that Christmas was only weeks away. She had not forgotten Master Charles's promise that he would write her a travel pass to visit her parents.

One particularly cold day, a carriage was parked in front of the Prices’ house when Ann returned from walking Sarah to school. She hurried up the steps. If there was to be company for the noon meal, she'd better start cooking right away.

Inside, she heard loud voices coming from Master Charles's study.

“Seven hundred is the most I can offer, Mr. Price.”

“I will accept nothing less than sixteen hundred. And now
that my niece has grown attached to her, even sixteen hundred may not be enough.”

The door to the study opened, and Ann froze, caught eavesdropping in the hallway.

“Mr. Bigelow, I will thank you to leave my house, as you were instructed not to come here in the first place.”

When the two men saw Ann, they stopped in mid-stride. Then Jacob Bigelow smiled at her and attempted to act as if there were nothing strange about the situation at all.

“Good morning, Miss Ann Maria,” he said, bowing slightly.

Ann stared hard at Mr. Bigelow. She had not yet decided within herself whether the man had brought blessings or trouble to her family. To her, certainly, he'd brought trouble.

“Your parents send their love,” he said. “Your sister and new baby brother send love as well, and we have
not
given up trying to buy your freedom from your master.”

Ann startled, both at the news and at how glad she was, suddenly, that Jacob Bigelow had come to call.

“I'll not have you talking to her!” Master Charles blocked them from each other and began to push Mr. Bigelow toward the front door.

Mr. Bigelow was forced into backing up, but he continued talking in a jovial tone: “Your father said to have your cousin David bring you at Christmastime. They are living at 422 New Jersey Avenue.”