Stealing Freedom (24 page)

Aunt Mimi stood at the gate, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. “Ann Maria, is it you? Oh, Ann Maria!” she cried.

Ann ran to her, with cape flying and bonnet thrown back and bouncing on her shoulders. She fairly threw herself into her aunt's outstretched arms.

“We were talking about you today, and saying we would never see you again, and now here you are with us!” Aunt Mimi cried. She squeezed Ann tightly.

Ann rested her cheek on her aunt's soft shoulder and breathed in the old familiar smell of lye soap. Then she pulled her head back and stared at Aunt Mimi in alarm.

“What's wrong with your shoulder? Aunt Mimi, what happened to you?” she asked. There must have been some kind of accident to make Aunt Mimi's shoulder droop so low.

Aunt Mimi glanced at her own shoulder and moved it in a shrug. “Nothing happened, child. I'm just fine.”

Ann studied her aunt. It wasn't just the one shoulder, it was both of them. In fact, her entire aunt was much lower than she should be. Suddenly Ann burst out laughing, and could hardly catch her breath to explain. “It's
me”
she said finally. “I must have grown!”

Aunt Mimi herded them all inside, out of the cold. Ann wanted to touch everything—the wooden chairs, table and cabinets her uncle had built, the dishes and flatware they'd bought with wages earned as free people, the curtains her aunt
had sewn, the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, herbs they'd grown on their own land. It was theirs—the house and farm of her uncle's dreams—and now it was hers as well.

Aunt Mimi insisted that Reverend Freeman stay for supper before traveling back to Chatham. Ann helped her chop cabbage to fry and mix up a batch of corn bread. The commotion woke the babies from their naps, and Ann was introduced to her new cousins. Margaret, the older of the two, climbed into Ann's lap and gazed at her with happy curiosity. The parts of her hair that were long enough to braid were in neat plaits, and the rest of her black curls ringed her chubby face. Aunt Mimi changed baby Elias's clothes, which were soaking wet, and then handed him to Ann. He stuck his fingers in her mouth and she, obligingly, kissed them.

Over a supper of fried cabbage, pickled beets, and corn bread, Ann recounted her story, with Reverend Freeman chiming in on the last chapter. That got him talking, and he told them about the abolitionist work he'd done when he was pastor of the Abyssinian Congregational Church in Portland, Maine.

“We'd hide the fugitives in the vestry of the church,” he said, his eyes alive with the memories. “We'd have a ship waiting to take them to Canada or some other safe port, and a group of us ready to surround them as a kind of bodyguard so they wouldn't be seen while going between the church and the harbor.” He leaned forward. “We would wait until nightfall….” He shoved back his chair. “Then we'd rush from the church! Run down to the harbor! The fugitives would scurry up the gangplank onto the ship. The crew would pull in the
gangplank before anyone could say, ‘What's going on here?’ and the ship would be off.” He sat back with a look of satisfaction.

Ann and her aunt and uncle were very impressed, and Uncle William added his stories about escape to the ones already told. In between, Ann answered questions about her parents, her brothers, Catharine, Hannah, and David. And every once in a while, Aunt Mimi clasped her hands together and cried out, “My child, you are here! Thank God, you are free!”

The next day Aunt Mimi took out her needle and thread, some linen she'd bought to make a summer dress with, and corn-husks saved from the fall harvest, and in a couple of hours she'd made a brand-new bed for Ann. Soon Ann was sharing not only the bedroom but also her new bed with her young cousins, who found every opportunity to snuggle in with her. Reverend Freeman had left Ann with five dollars to help her get started in her new life. Ann had never held that much money before, so she immediately gave it to Aunt Mimi, who said she'd buy material to make her a nightgown and, come spring, a cotton dress.

This new life as a free person took a little getting used to. Sometimes, half awake in the morning, with rays of sunlight already filtering through her window, Ann had a moment of panic, thinking she had overslept and would get a beating from Mistress Carol. She welcomed the delicious flood of relief when she remembered where she was.

Ann fell naturally into working beside her aunt and uncle,
making soap, baking bread, feeding Elias, bathing Margaret, milking their one cow, carrying the slop to the barn for the pigs. She had assumed that this would be the rhythm of her life now—doing the work she'd always done, only doing it now as a free person, with time for rest, and the joy of eating anything and everything they grew on the farm. There was milk for the children, butter and cheese they made from the milk, real bread every day instead of only on Christmas, eggs from the chickens, and, when Uncle William decided it was time for a treat, candies bought from the grocer in Dresden. They even had meat on most Sundays, either from their collection of chickens and pigs, or brought home from a day's hunting by Uncle William. Ann felt contented working beside her aunt and uncle. Then, one day, Uncle William made an announcement that changed everything.

“I've talked to the Wallaces, and it's all worked out,” he said. It was late afternoon, and the sunset had turned the snowy fields to orange. “You'll start school Monday morning.”

Ann dropped the comb she'd been using to fix Margaret's hair. It clattered to the floor. “School?” she asked, not sure she understood.

“It's nothing fancy, mind you—just a group of children in the Wallaces’ kitchen—but Mrs. Wallace does a fine job of teaching. Now, the white children, they have a schoolhouse and a hired teacher and new books. We can complain all we want— and we
have
—but they're not going to let the colored children into that white school….”

He continued to talk about the unfair education laws, and the poor-quality ink that was all the Wallaces’ school could afford,
but Ann was hardly listening.
School.
In Rockville she'd always had the door slammed in her face, and the most she could do was stand under the window to hear snatches of what the teacher said. But come Monday, she would be welcomed inside as a student. She stood on tiptoe and hugged her uncle around his neck. “Thank you, Uncle William,” she cried. “Thank you so very much!”

It made sense, Ann decided, that the school in Dresden was in the Wallaces’ house. The seven Wallace children made up half the class. Ann was given a book—a reader—which was as tattered and worn as her uncle had warned her it would be. But it would be hers until school let out in the spring, and that was all that mattered. Mrs. Wallace was impressed with how well Ann could cipher numbers, read, and write already, and promised she would help her do even better.

The first person Ann noticed was Priscilla Wallace. She was tall and thin, with her hair in neat braids, and, as Mrs. Wallace pointed out, was about the same age as Ann. When class was let out for the day, Priscilla sidled up to Ann shyly. “Mum says I can walk you partway home, if you'd like,” she said.

Ann agreed happily, and they walked out into the brisk air.

Priscilla filled Ann in on the gossip about the children in the class: her older brother Samuel, who was nice but shy; her younger sister Helena, who once knocked over the inkwell and got a good paddling in front of everyone; and little Philip from up the road, who was always wetting his trousers and being sent home to change.

Ann enjoyed Priscilla's stories, and decided she would never do anything that would earn her a paddling in front of the class.

“I'll be fourteen next September, the twelfth,” said Priscilla. “When will you turn fourteen?”

Ann hesitated, then answered as best she could. “In the spring.”

“So you're a little older than me. What day in the spring?” asked Priscilla.

Ann felt a tightness in her throat. “At corn-planting time,” she said very softly. She felt her face burn red and wished she hadn't said anything at all.

“Don't you remember when your birthday is?” Priscilla said loudly, teasingly.

Ann stopped walking and jutted out her jaw. “I don't have a birthday,” she snapped. She turned and stomped down the road, leaving Priscilla startled and confused.

“Wait!” she called after Ann, running to catch up. “Everyone has a birthday. If you don't know yours, let's pick one for you.”

Ann gave her a suspicious glare. “Pick one?”

“My pa plants his corn around the first part of May. Pick a date, and you'll have a birthday.” Her expression was sincere and friendly.

But Ann shook her head. “I don't—”

Priscilla interrupted, “How can we celebrate if we don't have a date?”

Ann blinked. Celebrate? The way Richard Price had celebrated the year he turned eleven?

Priscilla continued, “You could pick May third, or May sixth, or—”

“May sixth,” Ann said quickly. There, she'd done it.

Priscilla grinned. “We'll still be in school. I'll ask my mum to bake a cake for you.”

A thrill went up Ann's spine. There was so much newness about living as a free person. What would be her next surprise?

At the post office in Dresden, Uncle William picked up a brown envelope addressed to “Miss Ann Maria Weems, c/o Mr. William Bradley, Dresden, Canada West.” Ann held it in her hands, almost afraid to open it, lest she break the spell of joy she felt when she read the return address: “Mrs. Arabella Weems, c/o E. L. Stevens, Duff Green's Row, Capitol Hill, Washington City, USA.”

“Open it before I die from the suspense,” said Aunt Mimi.

“Go ahead. It won't bite,” Uncle William chimed in.

Ann opened the envelope, being careful not to tear it, and read her mother's careful, flowing script.
“‘My dear daughter…’”
She shared the news with her aunt and uncle as she read, “They're so thankful I made it here safely, and they send you both their love. Oh! She had the baby! It's a girl, she's healthy, and they've named her Mary.”

“Thank the Lord,” said Aunt Mimi.

“And…” Ann's face lit up. She flapped one hand as if she'd touched something hot. She was barely able to get out the next words. “They've found Addison and Joseph in Alabama! They've found them!”

Ann clutched the letter and jumped up and down as she
hadn't done since she was a small child. Margaret jumped with her, giggling, and Elias clapped his hands.

“Keep reading. Keep on reading, now,” Uncle William said, trying to calm her.

Ann stood still and focused on the letter again. “Their owner has agreed to turn them over to my father once the price has been paid for them, and the Vigilance Committee has already raised the money. Oh, Aunt Mimi, Uncle William— they're going to be
free!”

Aunt Mimi was dabbing her eyes, and Uncle William put his arm around her. “This whole family is going to be free,” Uncle William said with conviction. “What does it say about Augustus?”

Ann read further and her joy dimmed. “They've still not found Augustus, but they will keep searching.” Then she crumpled with dismay. “Oh, no… oh, no,” she whispered.

“What is it, child? Tell us!” Aunt Mimi grasped Ann's hand and gave it a little shake.

“She heard from Cousin David that Master Charles has had himself appointed postmaster in Rockville. He intercepted a letter I sent there. He saw the postmark from Canada.”

“That snake…” Uncle William began.

“So now all of Rockville knows I'm in Canada, and Master Charles won't come after me, and he'll give up having me hunted.” The words she spoke were happy, even glorious, but her feelings were of despair.

“What is it, Ann Maria?” Aunt Mimi asked. “There must be something you're not telling us.”

Ann shook her head slowly. “She says I won't be able to
write to Hannah and David in Rockville because he'll likely grab any letter from Canada West, hoping to find proof of who helped me get here…” Her voice trailed off. “My letters won't get through.”

“That's no problem,” said Uncle William. “You won't return, and he won't cross into Canada to get you.”

Aunt Mimi nodded, but her eyes were still on Ann's crestfallen face. “There's something either in that letter or in your head you're not telling us, and I want to know what it is this instant before you worry me into my grave.”

Before Ann dissolved into tears, all she was able to blurt out was “Now he'll never know!”

Aunt Mimi helped Ann go over every piece of why she felt so sad about Alfred. First, that she'd left without a word after she'd promised not to.

“A slave's word is no good—not because of the slave, but because of the slavery,” said Aunt Mimi. “You would have kept your promise if you could, child. He'll know that in his heart, even without a letter.”

Second, she sorely missed him. Her aunt smiled and said she understood. Then she added, “But there are plenty of handsome young boys right here in Dresden. Once you take a shine to a new boy, you won't miss Alfred so much.”

Ann frowned.

And last, she felt awful that Alfred was still in slavery and she was not. “There is not a thing you can do about that,” said Aunt Mimi. She told Ann how many of the fugitives in Dresden, in Chatham, and farther south in Buxton had left wives and children, or husbands, behind in slavery and there wasn't
anything they could do except hope and pray that someday their loved ones would be free.

“And do they get married again here in Canada?” she asked.

Her aunt shook her head. “Sometimes. But if you ask me, that's wrong. Most times they don't. They just wait to be reunited in heaven.”

Ann rested her chin on her fist. “Then I won't ever get married,” she said.

“What do you want to go and decide that for?” her aunt asked, surprised.

“Because Alfred was going to ask me to marry him when I turned fifteen. That's as good as being married.”

Aunt Mimi smoothed Ann's hair away from her face. “Child, you've got lots of years left to meet a boy and fall in love and—”

“I'm not ever going to love any boy except Alfred,” Ann said emphatically.