AlsobySueMonkKiddNOVELS
TheMermaidChairTheSecretLifeofBees
NONFICTION
TravelingwithPomegranates(withAnnKiddTaylor)
TheDanceoftheDissidentDaughterFirstlight
WhentheHeartWaits
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LIBRARYOFCONGRESSCATALOGING-IN-
PUBLICATIONDATAKidd,SueMonk.
Theinventionofwings:anovel/SueMonkKidd.pagescm
ISBN978-0-698-17524-21.Grimké,SarahMoore,1792–1873—Fiction.2.Antislaverymovements—Fiction.3.Feminists—SouthCarolina—Fiction.4.Women’srights.—Fiction.
I.Title.PS3611.I44I582014
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PUBLISHER’SNOTE:Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareused
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Version_1
CONTENTS
AlsobySueMonkKiddTitlePageCopyrightDedication
PartOne|November1803–February1805
HettyHandfulGrimkéSarahGrimkéHandful
SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarah
HandfulSarahHandful
PartTwo|February1811–December1812
SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandful
SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandful
PartThree|October1818–November1820
Handful
SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarah
PartFour|September1821–July
1822SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandful
PartFive|November1826–November1829
HandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarah
PartSix|July1835–June1838
HandfulSarahHandful
SarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulSarahHandfulAuthor’sNoteAcknowledgments
VikingReaders
GuideAnIntroductiontoThe
InventionofWingsAboutSueMonkKiddAConversationwithSue
MonkKiddDiscussionQuestions
Ms.Winfrey’sHighlightedPassagesandNotesforThe
InventionofWings
ToSandyKiddwithallmylove
PARTONENovember1803–February1805
HettyHandfulGrimké
TherewasatimeinAfricathepeoplecouldfly.MaumatoldmethisonenightwhenIwastenyearsold.Shesaid,“Handful,yourgranny-maumasawitforherself.Shesaytheyflewovertreesandclouds.Shesaytheyflewlike
blackbirds.Whenwecamehere,weleftthatmagicbehind.”O
Mymaumawasshrewd.Shedidn’tgetanyreadingandwritinglikeme.Everythingsheknewcamefromlivingonthescarcesideofmercy.Shelookedatmyface,howitflowedwithsorrowanddoubt,andshesaid,“Youdon’tbelieveme?Whereyouthinkthese
shoulderbladesofyourscomefrom,girl?”
Thoseskinnybonesstuckoutfrommybacklikenubs.Shepattedthemandsaid,“Thisallwhatleftofyourwings.Theynothingbuttheseflatbonesnow,butonedayyougonget’emback.”
Iwasshrewdlikemauma.EvenattenIknewthisstoryaboutpeopleflyingwaspuremalarkey.Weweren’tsome
specialpeoplewholostourmagic.Wewereslavepeople,andweweren’tgoinganywhere.ItwaslaterIsawwhatshemeant.Wecouldflyallright,butitwasn’tanymagictoit.O
Thedaylifeturnedintonothingthisworldcouldfix,Iwasintheworkyardboilingslavebedding,stokingfire
underthewashpot,myeyesburningfromspecksoflyesoapcatchingonthewind.Themorningwasacoldone—thesunlookedlikealittlewhitebuttonstitchedtighttothesky.Forsummersweworehomespuncottondressesoverourdrawers,butwhentheCharlestonwintershoweduplikesomelazygirlinNovemberorJanuary,wegotintooursacks—these
thicksetcoatsmadeofheavyyarns.Justanoldsackwithsleeves.Minewasacast-offandtrailedtomyankles.Icouldn’tsayhowmanyunwashedbodieshadwornitbeforeme,buttheyhadallkindlylefttheirscentsonit.O
Alreadythatmorningmissushadtakenhercanesticktomeoncecrossmybacksideforfallingasleepduringherdevotions.Every
day,allusslaves,everyonebutRosetta,whowasoldanddemented,jammedinthediningroombeforebreakfasttofightoffsleepwhilemissustaughtusshortBibleverseslike“Jesuswept”andprayedoutloudaboutGod’sfavoritesubject,obedience.Ifyounoddedoff,yougotwhackedrightinthemiddleofGodsaidthisandGodsaidthat.
IwasfullofsasstoAunt-
Sisteraboutthewholemiserablebusiness.I’dsay,“Letthiscuppassfromme,”spoutingoneofmissus’verses.I’dsay,“Jesusweptcausehe’strappedintherewithmissus,likeus.”
Aunt-Sisterwasthecook—she’dbeenwithmissussincemissuswasagirl—andnexttoTomfry,thebutler,sheranthewholeshow.Shewastheonlyonewhocould
tellmissuswhattodowithoutgettingsmackedbythecane.Maumasaidwatchyourtongue,butIneverdid.Aunt-Sisterpoppedmebackwardthreetimesaday.
Iwasahandful.That’snothowIgotmyname,though.Handfulwasmybasketname.Themasterandmissus,theydidallthepropernaming,butamaumawouldlookonherbabylaidinits
basketandanamewouldcometoher,somethingaboutwhatherbabylookedlike,whatdayoftheweekitwas,whattheweatherwasdoing,orjusthowtheworldseemedonthatday.Mymauma’sbasketnamewasSummer,butherpropernamewasCharlotte.ShehadabrotherwhosebasketnamewasHardtime.PeoplethinkImakethatup,butit’strueas
itcanbe.Ifyougotabasketname,
youatleasthadsomethingfromyourmauma.MasterGrimkénamedmeHetty,butmaumalookedonmethedayIcameintotheworld,howIwasborntoosoon,andshecalledmeHandful.
ThatdaywhileIhelpedoutAunt-Sisterintheyard,maumawasinthehouse,workingonagoldsateen
dressformissuswithabustleontheback,what’scalledaWatteaugown.ShewasthebestseamstressinCharlestonandworkedherfingersstiffwiththeneedle.Youneversawsuchfineryasmymaumacouldwhipup,andshedidn’tuseastampingpattern.Shehatedabookpattern.Shepickedoutthesilksandvelvetsherownselfatthemarketandmadeeverything
theGrimkéshad—windowcurtains,quiltedpetticoats,loopedpanniers,buckskinpants,andthesedone-upjockeyoutfitsforRaceWeek.
Icantellyouthismuch—whitepeoplelivedforRaceWeek.Theyhadonepicnic,promenade,andfancygoing-onafteranother.Mrs.King’spartywasalwaysonTuesday.TheJockeyClubdinneronWednesday.Thebigfuss
cameSaturdaywiththeSt.Ceciliaballwhentheystruttedoutintheirbestdresses.Aunt-SistersaidCharlestonhadacaseofthegrandeurs.UptillIwaseightorso,Ithoughtthegrandeurswasashittingsickness.
Missuswasashort,thick-waistwomanwithwhatlookedlikelittleballsofdoughunderhereyes.Sherefusedtohireoutmaumato
theotherladies.Theybeggedher,andmaumabeggedhertoo,causeshewould’vekeptaportionofthosewagesforherself—butmissussaid,Ican’thaveyoumakeanythingforthembetterthanyoumakeforus.Intheevenings,maumatorestripsforherquilts,whileIheldthetallowcandlewithonehandandstackedthestripsinpileswiththeother,alwaysbycolor,
neatasapin.Shelikedhercolorsbright,puttingshadestogethernobodywouldthink—purpleandorange,pinkandred.Theshapeshelovedwasatriangle.Alwaysblack.Maumaputblacktrianglesonabouteveryquiltshesewed.
Wehadawoodenpatchboxforkeepingourscraps,apouchforourneedlesandthreads,andatruebrassthimble.Maumasaidthe
thimblewouldbemineoneday.Whenshewasn’tusingit,Iworeitonmyfingertiplikeajewel.Wefilledourquiltsupwithrawcottonandwoolthrums.Thebestfillingwasfeathers,stillis,andmaumaandIneverpassedoneonthegroundwithoutpickingitup.Somedays,maumawouldcomeinwithapocketfulofgoosefeathersshe’dpluckedfrommattress
holesinthehouse.Whenwegotdesperatetofillaquilt,we’dstripthelongmossfromtheoakintheworkyardandsewitbetweentheliningandthequilttop,chiggersandall.O
ThatwasthethingmaumaandIloved,ourtimewiththequilts.
NomatterwhatAunt-Sisterhadmedoingintheyard,Ialwayswatchedthe
upstairswindowwheremaumadidherstitching.Wehadasignal.WhenIturnedthepailupsidedownbythekitchenhouse,thatmeanteverythingwasclear.Maumawouldopenthewindowandthrowdownataffyshestolefrommissus’room.Sometimesherecameabundleofclothscraps—realnicecalicos,gingham,muslin,someimportlinen.
Onetime,thattruebrassthimble.Herfavoritethingtotakewasscarlet-redthread.Shewouldwinditupinherpocketandwalkrightoutthehousewithit.
Theyardwasoverbusythatday,soIdidn’thavehopeforataffyfallingfromtheclearblue.Mariah,thelaundryslave,hadburnedherhandoncharcoalfromtheironandwaslaidup.Aunt-
Sisterwasonatearaboutthebacked-upwash.Tomfryhadthemenfixingtobutcherahogthatwasrunningandscreechingatthetopofitslungs.Everyonewasoutthere,fromoldSnowthecarriagedriverallthewaydowntothestablemucker,Prince.Tomfrywantedtogetthekillingoverquickcausemissushatedyardnoise.
Noisewasonherlistof
slavesins,whichweknewbyheart.Numberone:stealing.Numbertwo:disobedience.Numberthree:laziness.Numberfour:noise.AslavewassupposedtobeliketheHolyGhost—don’tseeit,don’thearit,butit’salwayshoveringroundonready.O
MissuscalledouttoTomfry,saidkeepitdown,aladyshouldn’tknowwhereherbaconcomesfrom.When
weheardthat,ItoldAunt-Sister,missusdidn’tknowwhatendherbaconwentinandwhatenditcameout.Aunt-Sisterslappedmeintoyesterday.
ItookthelongpolewecalledabattlingstickandfishedupthebedcoversfromthewashpotandfloppedthemdrippingontherailwhereAunt-Sisterdriedhercookingherbs.Therailinthe
stablewasforbiddencausethehorseshadeyestoopreciousforlye.Slaveeyeswereanotherthing.Workingthestick,Ibeatthosesheetsandblanketstoaninchoftheirlives.Wecalleditfetchingthedirt.
AfterIgotthewashfinished,Iwasleftidleandpleasedtoenjoysinnumberthree.IfollowedapathI’dworninthedirtfromlooping
itten,twelvetimesaday.Istartedatthebackofthemainhouse,walkedpastthekitchenhouseandthelaundryouttothespreadingtree.Someofthebranchesonitwerebiggerroundthanmybody,andeveryoneofthemcurledlikeribbonsinabox.Badspiritstravelinstraightlines,andourtreedidn’thaveoneun-crookedplace.Usslavesmusteredunderit
whentheheatboredown.Maumaalwaystoldme,don’tpullthegraymossoffcausethatkeepsoutthesunandeverybody’spryingeyes.
Iwalkedbackpastthestableandcarriagehouse.ThepathtookmecrossthewholemapoftheworldIknew.Ihadn’tyetseenthespinningglobeinthehousethatshowedtherestofit.Ipokedalong,wishingforthe
daytogetusedupsomeandmaumacouldgotoourroom.Itsatoverthecarriagehouseanddidn’thaveawindow.Thesmellofmanurefromthestableandthecowhouseroseuptheresoripeitseemedlikeourbedwasstuffedwithitinsteadofstraw.Therestoftheslaveshadtheirroomsoverthekitchenhouse.
ThewindwhippedupandIlistenedforshipsails
snappingintheharborcrosstheroad,aplaceI’dsmelledonthebreeze,butneverseen.Thesailswouldgoofflikewhipscrackingandalluswouldlistentoseewasitsomeslavegettingfloggedinaneighbor-yardorwasitshipsmakingreadytoleave.Youfoundoutwhenthescreamsstartedupornot.
Thesunhadgone,leavingapuckeredplaceinthe
clouds,likethebuttonhadfallenoff.Ipickedupthebattlingstickbythewashpot,andfornogoodreason,jabbeditintoasquashinthevegetablegarden.Ipitchedthebutternutoverthewallwhereitsplattedinaloudmess.
Thentheairturnedstill.Missus’voicecamefromthebackdoor,said,“Aunt-Sister,bringHettyinheretome
rightnow.”Iwenttothehouse,
thinkingshewasinanuproaroverhersquash.Itoldmybacksidetobraceup.
SarahGrimkéMyeleventhbirthdaybeganwithMotherpromotingmefromthenursery.ForayearI’dlongedtoescapetheporcelaindolls,tops,andtinyteasetsstrewnacrossthefloor,thesmallbedslinedupinarow,thewholeglutandbedlamoftheplace,butnow
thatthedayhadcome,Ibalkedatthethresholdofmynewroom.Itwaspaneledwithdarknessandemanatedthesmellofmybrother—allthingssmokyandleather.Theoakcanopyandredvelvetvalanceofthebedsteadwassotoweringitseemedclosertotheceilingthanthefloor.Icouldn’tmovefordreadoflivingaloneinsuchanenormous,overweening
space.Drawingabreath,Iflung
myselfacrossthedoorsill.ThatwastheartlesswayInavigatedthehurdlesofgirlhood.EveryonethoughtIwasapluckygirl,butintruth,Iwasn’tasfearlessaseveryoneassumed.Ihadthetemperamentofatortoise.Whateverdread,fright,orbumpappearedinmypath,Iwantednothingmorethanto
dropinmytracksandhide.Ifyoumusterr,dosoonthesideofaudacity.ThatwasthelittlesloganI’ddevisedformyself.Forsometimenow,ithadhelpedmetohurlmyselfoverdoorsills.
Thatmorningwasfullofcold,brightwindpouringofftheAtlanticandcloudsblowinglikewindsocks.Foramoment,Istoodjustinsidetheroomlisteningtothe
saber-frondsonthepalmettosclatteraroundthehouse.Theeavesofthepiazzahissed.Theporchswinggroanedonitschains.Downstairsinthewarmingkitchen,MotherhadtheslavespullingoutChinesetureensandWedgwoodcups,preparingformybirthdayparty.HermaidCindiehadspenthourswettingandfasteningMother’swigwithpaperandcurlersandthesour
smellofitbakinghadnosedallthewayupthestairs.
IwatchedasBinah,thenurserymauma,tuckedmyclothesintotheheavyoldwardrobe,recallinghowsheusedafirepoketorockCharles’cradle,hercowrieshellbraceletsrattlingalongherarmswhilesheterrifieduswithtalesoftheBoogaHag—anoldwomanwhorodeaboutonabroomand
suckedthebreathfrombadchildren.IwouldmissBinah.AndsweetAnna,whosleptwithherthumbinhermouth.BenandHenry,whojumpedlikebansheesuntiltheirmattresseseruptedwithgeysersofgoosefeathers,andlittleEliza,whohadahabitofslippingintomybedtohidefromtheBooga’snightlyreignofterror.
Ofcourse,Ishould’ve
graduatedfromthenurserylongago,butI’dbeenforcedtowaitforJohntogoawaytocollege.Ourthree-storiedhousewasoneofthegrandestinCharleston,butitlackedenoughbedrooms,consideringhow...well,fruitfulMotherwas.Thereweretenofus:John,Thomas,Mary,Frederick,andmyself,followedbythenurserydwellers—Anna,Eliza,Ben,
Henry,andbabyCharles.Iwasthemiddleone,theoneMothercalleddifferentandFathercalledremarkable,theonewiththecarrotyhairandthefreckles,wholeconstellationsofthem.MybrothershadoncetracedOrion,theDipper,andUrsaMajoronmycheeksandforeheadwithcharcoal,connectingthebrightredspecks,andIhadn’tminded
—I’dbeentheirwholeskyforhours.
EveryonesaidIwasFather’sfavorite.Idon’tknowwhetherhepreferredmeorpitiedme,buthewascertainlymyfavorite.HewasajudgeonSouthCarolina’shighestcourtandatthetopoftheplanterclass,thegroupCharlestonclaimedasitselite.He’dfoughtwithGeneralWashingtonandbeen
takenprisonerbytheBritish.Hewastoomodesttospeakofthesethings—forthat,hehadMother.
HernamewasMary,andthereendsanyresemblancetothemotherofourLord.ShewasdescendedfromthefirstfamiliesofCharleston,thatlittlecompanyofLordsthatKingCharleshadsentovertoestablishthecity.Sheworkedthisintoconversationsso
tirelesslywenolongermadethetimeorefforttorolloureyes.Besidesgoverningthehouse,ahostofchildren,andfourteenslaves,shekeptuparoundofsocialandreligiousdutiesthatwould’vewornoutthequeensandsaintsofEurope.WhenIwasbeingforgiving,Isaidthatmymotherwassimplyexhausted.Isuspected,though,shewassimply
mean.OWhenBinahfinished
arrangingmyhaircombsandribbonsonthelavishHepplewhiteatopmynewdressingtable,sheturnedtome,andImusthavelookedforsakenstandingtherebecauseshecluckedhertongueagainsttheroofofhermouthandsaid,“PoorMissSarah.”
Ididsodespisethe
attachmentofPoortomyname.BinahhadbeenmutteringPoorMissSarahlikeanincantationsinceIwasfour.
It’smyearliestmemory:arrangingmybrother’smarblesintowords.Itissummer,andIambeneaththeoakthatstandsinthebackcorneroftheworkyard.
Thomas,ten,whomIloveabovealltheothers,hastaughtmeninewords:SARAH,GIRL,BOY,GO,STOP,JUMP,RUN,UP,DOWN.Hehaswrittenthemonaparchmentandgivenmeapouchofforty-eightglassmarbleswithwhichtospellthemout,enoughtoshapetwowordsatatime.Iarrangethemarblesinthedirt,copyingThomas’inked
words.SarahGo.BoyRun.GirlJump.IworkasfastasIcan.Binahwillcomesoonlookingforme.
It’sMother,however,whodescendsthebackstepsintotheyard.Binahandtheotherhouseslavesareclumpedbehindher,movingwithcautious,synchronizedstepsasifthey’reasinglecreature,acentipedecrossinganunprotectedspace.Isense
theshadowthathoversoverthemintheair,somedevouringdread,andIcrawlbackintothegreen-blackgloomofthetree.
TheslavesstareatMother’sback,whichisstraightandwithoutgive.Sheturnsandadmonishesthem.“Youarelagging.Quicklynow,letusbedonewiththis.”
Asshespeaks,anolder
slave,Rosetta,isdraggedfromthecowhouse,draggedbyaman,ayardslave.Shefights,clawingathisface.Motherwatches,impassive.
HetiesRosetta’shandstothecornercolumnofthekitchenhouseporch.Shelooksoverhershoulderandbegs.Missus,please.Missus.Missus.Please.Shebegsevenasthemanlashesherwithhiswhip.
Herdressiscotton,apaleyellowcolor.Istaretransfixedasthebackofitsproutsblood,bloomsofredthatopenlikepetals.Icannotreconcilethesavageryoftheblowswiththemellifluouswayshekeensorthebeautyoftherosescoilingalongthetrellisofherspine.Someonecountsthelashes—isitMother?Six,seven.
Thescourgingcontinues,
butRosettastopswailingandsinksagainsttheporchrail.Nine,ten.Myeyeslookaway.Theyfollowablackanttravelingthefarreachesbeneaththetree—themountainousrootsandforestedmosses,theendlessperils—andinmyheadIsaythewordsIfashionedearlier.BoyRun.GirlJump.SarahGo.
Thirteen.Fourteen...I
boltfromtheshadows,pastthemanwhonowcoilshiswhip,jobwelldone,pastRosettahangingbyherhandsinaheap.AsIboundupthebackstepsintothehouse,Mothercallstome,andBinahreachestoscoopmeup,butIescapethem,thrashingalongthemainpassage,outthefrontdoor,whereIbreakblindlyforthewharves.
Idon’tremembertherestwithclarity,onlythatIfindmyselfwanderingacrossthegangplankofasailingvessel,sobbing,stumblingoveraturbanofrope.AkindmanwithabeardandadarkcapaskswhatIwant.Ipleadwithhim,SarahGo.
Binahchasesme,thoughI’munawareofheruntilshepullsmeintoherarmsandcoos,“PoorMissSarah,poor
MissSarah.”Likeadecree,aproclamation,aprophecy.
WhenIarrivehome,Iamamussofsnot,tears,yarddirt,andharborfilth.Motherholdsmeagainsther,rearsbackandgivesmeanincensedshake,thenclaspsmeagain.“Youmustpromisenevertorunawayagain.Promiseme.”
Iwantto.Itryto.Thewordsareonmytongue—the
roundedlumpsofthem,shininglikethemarblesbeneaththetree.
“Sarah!”shedemands.Nothingcomes.Nota
sound.Iremainedmutefora
week.Mywordsseemedsuckedintothecleftbetweenmycollarbones.Irescuedthembydegrees,bypraying,bullyingandwooing.Icametospeakagain,butwithan
oddandmercurialformofstammer.I’dneverbeenafluidspeaker,evenmyfirstspokenwordshadpossessedacertainbelligerentquality,butnowtherewereugly,haltinggapsbetweenmysentences,endlesssecondswhenthewordscoweredagainstmylipsandpeopleavertedtheireyes.Eventually,thesehorridpausesbegantocomeandgo
accordingtotheirownmysteriouswhims.Theymightplaguemeforweeksandthenremainawaymonths,onlytoreturnagainasabruptlyastheyleft.
ThedayImovedfromthenurserytocommencealifeofmaturityinJohn’sstaidoldroom,Iwasn’tthinkingofthecrueltythathadtakenplacein
theworkyardwhenIwasfourorofthethinfilamentsthathadkeptmetetheredtomyvoiceeversince.Thoseconcernswerethefarthestthingfrommymind.Myspeechimpedimenthadbeenabsentforsometimenow—fourmonthsandsixdays.I’dalmostimaginedmyselfcured.
SowhenMothersweptintotheroomallofasudden
—me,inaparoxysmofadjustmenttomysurroundings,andBinah,tuckingmypossessionshereandthere—andaskedifmynewquartersweretomyliking,Iwasstunnedbymyinabilitytoanswerher.Thedoorslammedinmythroat,andthesilencehungthere.Motherlookedatmeandsighed.
Whensheleft,Iwilled
myeyestoremaindryandturnedawayfromBinah.Icouldn’tbeartohearonemorePoorMissSarah.
HandfulAunt-SistertookmetothewarmingkitchenwhereBinahandCindiewerefussingoversilvertrays,layingthemfullofgingercakeandappleswithgroundnuts.Theyhadontheirgoodlongapronswithstarch.Offinthedrawingroom,itsoundedlike
beesbuzzing.Missusshowedupand
toldAunt-Sistertopeeloffmynastycoatandwashmyface,thenshesaid,“Hetty,thisisSarah’seleventhbirthdayandwearehavingapartyforher.”
Shetookalavenderribbonfromthetopofthepiesafeandcircleditroundmyneck,tyingabow,whileAunt-Sisterpeeledtheblack
offmycheekswithherrag.Missuswoundmoreribbonroundmywaist.WhenItugged,shetoldmeinasharpway,“Stopthatfidgeting,Hetty!Bestill.”
Missushaddonetheribbontoosnugatmythroat.ItfeltlikeIcouldn’tswallow.IsearchedforAunt-Sister’seyes,buttheyweregluedonthefoodtrays.Iwantedtotellher,Getmefreeofthis,help
me,Ineedtheprivy.Ialwayshadsomethingsmarttosay,butmyvoicehadrundownmythroatlikeakitchenmouse.
Idancedononelegandtheother.Ithoughtwhatmaumahadtoldme,“YoubegoodcominguponChristmascausethatwhentheysellofftheextrachildrenorelsesendthemtothefields.”Ididn’tknowoneslavemaster
Grimkéhadsold,butIknewplentyhe’dsenttohisplantationinthebackcountry.That’swheremaumahadcomefrom,bearingmeinsideherandleavingmydaddybehind.
Istoppedallmyfidgetthen.Mywholeselfwentdownintheholewheremyvoicewas.ItriedtodowhattheysaidGodwanted.Obey,bequiet,bestill.
Missusstudiedme,howIlookedinthepurpleribbons.Takingmebythearm,sheledmetothedrawingroomwheretheladiessatwiththeirdressesfussedoutandtheirchinateacupsandlacynapkins.Oneladyplayedthetinypianocalledaharpsichord,butshestoppedwhenmissusgaveaclapwithherhands.
Everyeyefixedonme.
Missussaid,“ThisisourlittleHetty.Sarah,dear,sheisyourpresent,yourveryownwaitingmaid.”O
Ipressedmyhandsbetweenmylegsandmissusknockedthemaway.Sheturnedmeafullcircle.Theladiesstarteduplikeparrots—happybirthday,happybirthday—theirfancyheadspeckingtheair.MissSarah’soldersister,MissMary,sat
therefullofsulkfromnotbeingthecenteroftheparty.Nexttomissus,shewastheworstbirdintheroom.We’dallseenhergoingroundwithherwaitingmaid,Lucy,smackingthegirlsixwaysfromSunday.WeallsaidifMissMarydroppedherkerchieffromthesecondfloor,she’dsendLucyjumpingoutthewindowforit.LeastIdidn’tendupwith
thatone.MissSarahstoodup.She
waswearingadarkbluedressandhadrosy-coloredhairthathungstraightlikecornsilkandfrecklesthesameredcoloralloverherface.Shetookalongbreathandstartedworkingherlips.Backthen,MissSarahpulledwordsupfromherthroatlikeshewasraisingwaterfromawell.
Whenshefinallygotthe
bucketup,wecouldhardlyhearwhatshewassaying.“.........I’msorry,Mother......Ican’taccept.”
Missusaskedhertosayitover.ThistimeMissSarahbelloweditlikeashrimppeddler.
Missus’eyeswerefrostbluelikeMissSarah’s,buttheyturneddarkasindigo.Herfingernailsboreintomeandcarvedoutwhatlooked
likeaflockofbirdsonmyarm.Shesaid,“Sitdown,Sarahdear.”
MissSarahsaid,“...Idon’tneedawaitingmaid...I’mperfectlyfinewithoutone.”
“Thatisquiteenough,”missussaid.Howyoucouldmissthewarninginthat,Idon’tknow.MissSarahmisseditbyamile.
“...Couldn’tyousave
herforAnna?”“Enough!”MissSarahploppedon
herchairlikesomebodyshovedher.
Thewaterstartedinatrickledownmyleg.IjerkedeverywayIcouldtogetfreeofmissus’claws,butthenitcameinagushontherug.
Missusletoutashriekandeverythingwenthush.Youcouldhearembersleap
roundinthefireplace.Ihadaslapcoming,or
worse.IthoughtofRosetta,howshethrewashakingfitwhenitsuitedher.She’dletthespitrunfromhermouthandsendhereyesrollingback.Shelookedlikeabeetle-bugupsidedowntryingtorightitself,butitgotherfreeofpunishment,anditcrossedmymindtofalldownandpitchafitmyselfthebest
Icould.ButIstoodtherewithmy
dressplasteredwetonmythighsandshamerunninghotdownmyface.
Aunt-Sistercameandtotedmeoff.Whenwepassedthestairsinthemainhall,Isawmaumauponthelanding,pressingherhandstoherchest.
Thatnightdovessatupinthetreelimbsandmoaned.Iclungtomaumainourropebed,staringatthequiltframe,thewayithungoverusfromtheceilingrafters,drawntightonitspulleys.Shesaidthequiltframewasourguardingangel.Shesaid,“Everythinggonbeallright.”Buttheshamestayedwithme.Itasteditlikeabittergreenonmytongue.
ThebellstolledcrossCharlestonfortheslavecurfew,andmaumasaidtheGuardwouldbeouttheresoonbeatingontheirdrums,butshesaiditlikethis:“Bugsbeinthewheat’forelong.”
Thensherubbedtheflatbonesinmyshoulders.That’swhenshetoldmethestoryfromAfricahermaumatoldher.Howthepeoplecouldfly.Howtheyflewovertrees
andclouds.Howtheyflewlikeblackbirds.
NextmorningmaumahandedmeaquiltmatchedtomylengthandtoldmeIcouldn’tsleepwithheranymore.Fromhereonout,IwouldsleeponthefloorinthehalloutsideMissSarah’sbedchamber.Maumasaid,“Don’tgetoffyourquiltfornothin’butMissSarahcalling.Don’twander’bout.
Don’tlightnocandle.Don’tmakenoise.WhenMissSarahringsthebell,youmakehaste.”
Maumatoldme,“Itgonbehardfromhereon,Handful.”
SarahIwassenttosolitaryconfinementinmynewroomandorderedtowritealetterofapologytoeachguest.Mothersettledmeatthedeskwithpaper,inkwell,andalettershe’dcomposedherself,whichIwastocopy.
“......Youdidn’t
punishHetty,didyou?”Iasked.
“Doyouthinkmeinhuman,Sarah?Thegirlhadanaccident.WhatcouldIdo?”Sheshruggedwithexasperation.“Iftherugcannotbecleaned,itwillhavetobethrownout.”
Asshewalkedtothedoor,Istruggledtoprythewordsfrommymouthbeforesheexited.“......Mother,
please,letme......letmegiveHettybacktoyou.”
GiveHettyback.Asifshewasmineafterall.Asifowningpeoplewasasnaturalasbreathing.Forallmyresistanceaboutslavery,Ibreathedthatfoulair,too.
“Yourguardianshipislegalandbinding.Hettyisyours,Sarah,thereisnothingtobedoneaboutit.”
“......But—”
Iheardthecommotionofherpetticoatsasshecrossedtherugbacktome.Shewasawomanthewindsandtidesobeyed,butinthatmoment,shewasgentlewithme.Placingafingerundermychin,shetiltedmyfacetohersandsmiled.“Whymustyoufightthis?Idon’tknowwhereyougetthesealienideas.Thisisourwayoflife,dearone,makeyourpeace
withit.”Shekissedthetopofmyhead.“Iexpectalleighteenlettersbythemorning.”
Theroomfilledwithanorangeglowthatlitthecypresspanels,thenmeltedintoduskandshadows.Inmymind,IcouldseeHettyclearly—theconfused,mortifiedlookonherface,herhairbraidscockedineverydirection,the
disgracefullavenderribbons.Shewaspunyintheextreme,ayearyoungerthanI,butshelookedallofsixyearsold.Herlimbswerestickandbone.Herelbows,thecurvesoftwofasteningpins.Theonlythingofanysizeaboutherwashereyes,whichwerecoloredastrangeshadeofgoldandfloatedaboveherblackcheekslikeshinyhalf-moons.
ItseemedtraitoroustoaskforgivenessforsomethingIdidn’tfeelsorryforintheleast.WhatIregrettedwashowpatheticmyprotesthadturnedout.Iwantednothingmorethantosithereunyieldingthroughthenight,fordaysandweeksifneedbe,butintheendIgaveinandwrotethedamnableletters.Iknewmyselftobeanoddgirlwithmymutinous
ideas,ravenousintellect,andfunnylooks,andhalfthetimeIsputteredlikeahorsestrainingatitsbit,qualitiesinthefemalesexthatwerenotendearing.Iwasonmywaytobeingthefamilypariah,andIfearedtheostracism.Ifeareditmostofall.
OverandoverIwrote:
DearMadame,Thankyouforthe
honorandkindnessyoubestoweduponmebyattendingmyeleventhbirthdaytea.IregretthatthoughIhavebeenwell-taughtbymyparents,mybehavioronthisoccasionwasexceedinglyill-mannered.Ihumblybegyourpardonformyrudenessanddisrespect.
YourRemorsefulFriend,SarahGrimké
Iclimbedthepreposterousheighttothemattressandhadonlyjustsettledwhenabirdoutsidemywindowbegantotrill.First,astreamofpeltingwhistles,thenasoft,
melancholicsong.Ifeltaloneintheworldwithmyalienideas.
Slidingfrommyperch,IstoletothewindowwhereIshiveredinmywhitewoolengown,gazingalongEastBay,pastthedarkrooftopstowardtheharbor.Withhurricaneseasonbehindus,therewereclosetoahundredtopsailsmooredoutthere,shimmeringonthewater.
Plasteringmycheekagainstthefrigidpane,IdiscoveredIhadapartialviewoftheslavequartersabovethecarriagehousewhereIknewHettytobespendingherlastnightwithhermother.Tomorrowshewouldtakeupherdutiesandsleepoutsidemydoor.
ItwasthenIhadasuddenepiphany.Ilitacandlefromthedwindlingcoalsinthefire,openedmydoor,and
steppedintothedark,unheatedpassageway.Threedarkshapeslayonthefloorbesidethebedroomdoors.I’dneverreallyseentheworldbeyondthenurseryatnightandittookamomenttorealizetheshapeswereslaves,sleepingclosebyincaseaGrimkéranghisbell.
Motherwishedtoreplacethearchaicarrangementwithonethathadrecentlybeen
installedinthehouseofherfriend,Mrs.Russell.There,buttonswerepressedthatrangintheslaves’quarters,eachwithaspecialchime.Motherwasbentontheinnovation,butFatherthoughtitwasteful.ThoughwewereAnglicans,hehadamildstreakofHuguenotfrugality.TherewouldbeostentatiousbuttonsintheGrimkéhouseholdoverhis
deadbody.Icreptbarefooteddown
thewidemahoganystairstothefirstfloorwheretwomoreslavesslept,alongwithCindie,whosatwideawakewithherbackagainstthewalloutsidemyparents’chamber.Sheeyedmewarily,butdidn’taskwhatIwasdoing.
IpickedmywayalongthePersianrugthatranthenear-lengthofthemain
passage,turnedtheknobtoFather’slibrary,andsteppedinside.AnornatelyframedportraitofGeorgeWashingtonwaslitwithascrimofmoonlightcomingthroughthefrontwindow.Foralmostayear,FatherhadlookedtheotherwayasI’dslippedbeneathMr.Washington’snosetoplunderthelibrary.John,Thomas,andFrederickhadtotalreign
overhisvasttrove—booksoflaw,geography,philosophy,theology,history,botany,poetry,andtheGreekhumanities—whileMaryandIwereofficiallyforbiddentoreadawordofit.Marydidn’tseemtocareforbooks,butI...Idreamedoftheminmysleep.IlovedtheminawayIcouldn’tfullyexpresseventoThomas.Hepointedmetocertainvolumesanddrilled
meonLatindeclensions.Hewastheonlyonewhoknewmydesperationtoacquireatrueeducation,beyondtheoneIreceivedatthehandsofMadameRuffin,mytutorandFrenchnemesis.
Shewasasmall,hot-temperedwomanwhoworeawidow’scapwithstringsfloatingathercheeks,andwhenitwascold,asquirrelyfurcloakandtinyfur-lined
shoes.ShewasknowntolinegirlsupontheIdleBenchforthesmallestinfractionandscreamatthemuntiltheyfainted.Idespisedher,andher“politeeducationforthefemalemind,”whichwascomposedofneedlework,manners,drawing,basicreading,penmanship,piano,Bible,French,andenougharithmetictoaddtwoandtwo.IthoughtitpossibleI
mightdiefromtracingteensyflowersonthepagesofmyarttablet.OnceIwroteinthemargin,“IfIshoulddieofthishorridexercise,Iwishtheseflowerstoadornmycoffin.”MadameRuffinwasnotamused.IwasmadetostandontheIdleBench,wheresherantedatmyinsolence,andwhereIforcedmyselfnottofaint.
Increasingly,duringthose
classes,longingshadseizedme,foreign,torrentialachesthatoverranmyheart.Iwantedtoknowthings,tobecomesomeone.Oh,tobeason!IadoredFatherbecausehetreatedmealmostasifIwereason,allowingmetoslipinandoutofhislibrary.
Onthatnight,thecoalsinthelibrary’sfireplacelaycoldandthesmellofcigarsmokestillpooledintheair.Without
effort,IlocatedFather’sSouthCarolinaJusticeofthePeaceandPublicLaws,whichhehimselfhadauthored.I’dthumbedthroughitenoughtoknowsomewhereinthepageswasacopyofalegalmanumissiondocument.
Uponfindingit,ItookpaperandquillfromFather’sdeskandcopiedit:
Iherebycertifythatonthisday,26November1803,inthecityofCharleston,inthestateofSouthCarolina,Isetfreefromslavery,HettyGrimké,andbestowthiscertificateofmanumissionuponher.
SarahMooreGrimké
WhatcouldFatherdobutmakeHetty’sfreedomaslegalandbindingasherownership?Iwasfollowingacodeoflawhe’dfashionedhimself!Ileftmyhandiworkatopthebackgammonboxonhisdesk.
Inthecorridor,IheardthetingleofMother’sbell,summoningCindie,andIbrokeintoarunbackupstairsthatblewouttheflameonmy
candle.Myroomhadturnedeven
colderandthelittlebirdhadceaseditssong.Icreptbeneaththestack-pileofquiltsandblankets,butcouldn’tsleepforexcitement.IimaginedthethanksgivingHettyandCharlottewouldheaponme.IimaginedFather’spridewhenhediscoveredthedocument,andMother’sannoyance.Legal
andbinding,indeed!Finally,overcomewithfatigueandsatisfaction,Idriftedtosleep.
WhenIwoke,thebluishtintoftheDelfttilesaroundthehearthgleamedwithlight.Isatupintothequietness.Myecstaticburstofthenightbeforehaddrainedaway,leavingmecalmandclear.Icouldn’thaveexplainedthenhowtheoaktreelivesinsidetheacornorhowIsuddenly
realizedthatinthesameenigmaticwaysomethinglivedinsideofme—thewomanIwouldbecome—butitseemedIknewatoncewhoshewas.
IthadbeenthereallalongasI’dscouredFather’sbooksandconstructedmyargumentsduringourdinnertabledebates.Onlythepastweek,FatherhadorchestratedadiscussionbetweenThomas
andmeonthetopicofexoticfossilizedcreatures.Thomasarguedthatifthesestrangeanimalsweretrulyextinct,itimpliedpoorplanningonGod’spart,threateningtheidealofGod’sperfection,therefore,suchcreaturesmuststillbealiveinremoteplacesonearth.IarguedthatevenGodshouldbeallowedtochangehismind.“WhyshouldGod’sperfectionbe
basedonhavinganunchangingnature?”Iasked.“Isn’tflexibilitymoreperfectthanstasis?”
Fatherslappedhishandonthetable.“IfSarahwasaboy,shewouldbethegreatestjuristinSouthCarolina!”
Atthetime,I’dbeenawedbyhiswords,butitwasn’tuntilnow,wakingupinmynewroom,thatIsaw
theirtruemeaning.Thecomprehensionofmydestinycameinarush.Iwouldbecomeajurist.
Naturally,Iknewtherewerenofemalelawyers.Forawoman,nothingexistedbutthedomesticsphereandthosetinyflowersetchedonthepagesofmyartbook.Forawomantoaspiretobealawyer—well,possibly,theworldwouldend.Butan
acorngrewintoanoaktree,didn’tit?
Itoldmyselftheafflictioninmyvoicewouldn’tstopme,itwouldcompelme.Itwouldmakemestrong,forIwouldhavetobestrong.
Ihadahistoryofenactingsmallprivaterituals.ThefirsttimeItookabookfromFather’slibrary,I’dpennedthedateandtitle—February25,1803,LadyoftheLake
—onasliverofpaperthatIwedgedintoatortoise-shellhairclipandworeaboutsurreptitiously.Now,withdawngatheringinbrighttuftsacrossthebed,Iwantedtoconsecratewhatwassurelymygreatestrealization.
IwenttothearmoireandtookdownthebluedressCharlottehadsewedforthedisastrousbirthdayparty.Wherethecollarmet,she’d
stitchedalargesilverbuttonwithanengravedfleurdelis.UsingthehawkbillletteropenerJohnhadleftbehind,Isaweditoff.Squeezingitinmypalm,Iprayed,Please,God,letthisseedyouplantedinmebearfruit.
WhenIopenedmyeyes,everythingwasthesame.Theroomstillborepatchesofearlylight,thedresslaylikeablueheapofskyonthefloor,
thesilverbuttonwasclutchedinmypalm,butIfeltGodhadheardme.
Thesterlingbuttontookoneverythingthattranspiredthatnight—therevulsionofowningHetty,thereliefofsigninghermanumission,butmostlytheblissofrecognizingthatinnateseedinmyself,theonemyfatherhadalreadyseen.Ajurist.
Ituckedthebuttoninside
asmallboxmadeofItalianlavarock,whichI’dreceivedoneChristmastime,thenhiditatthebackofmydressingdrawer.
Voicescamefromthecorridormingledwiththeclink-clankoftraysandpitchers.Thesoundofslavesintheirservitude.Theworldwaking.
Idressedhurriedly,wonderingifHettywas
alreadyoutsidemydoor.AsIopenedit,myheartpickedupitspace,butHettywasn’tthere.ThemanumissiondocumentI’dwrittenlayonthefloor.Itwastornintwo.
HandfulMylifewithMissSarahgotoffonabadleftfoot.
WhenIgottoherroomthatfirstmorning,thedoorhungopenandMissSarahwassittinginthecold,staringattheblankwall.Istuckmyheadinandsaid,“MissSarah,youwantmetocome
inthere?”Shehadthicklittlehands
withstubbyfingersandtheywentuptohermouthandspreadopenlikealady’sfan.Hereyeswerepaleandspokeplainerthanhermouth.Theysaid,Idon’twantyouhere.Hermouthsaid,“......Yes,comein......I’mpleasedtohaveyouformywaitingmaid.”Thensheslumpedinherchairandwentbackto
whatshewasdoingbefore.Nothing.
Aten-year-oldyardslavewhohadn’tdonenothingbutchoresforAunt-Sisternevergotinsidethehousemuch.Andnevertothetopfloors.Whatsucharoom!Shehadabedbigasahorsebuggy,adressingtablewithalookingglass,adeskforholdingbooksandmorebooks,andlotsofpaddedchairs.The
chimneyplacehadafirescreenembroideredwithpinkflowersIknewcamefrommauma’sneedle.Uponthemantelweretwowhitevases,pureporcelain.
Ilookedeverythingover,thenstoodthere,wonderingwhattodo.Isaid,“Sureiscold.”
MissSarahdidn’tanswer,soIsaidlouder,“SUREISCOLD.”
Thissnappedherfromherwall-staring.“......Youcouldlayafire,Iguess.”
I’dseenitdone,butseeingain’tdoing.Ididn’tknowtochecktheflue,andherecameallthissmokeswarmingoutlikechimneybats.
MissSarahstartedthrowingopenwindows.Itmust’velookedlikethehousewasburningcauseoutinthe
yardTomfryyelled,“Fire,fire.”
Theneverybodytookitup.
Igrabbedthebasinofwaterinthedressingroomusedforfresheningupandhurleditonthefire,whichdidn’tdonothingbutcausethesmoketodoubleup.MissSarahfanneditoutthewindows,lookinglikeaghostthroughalltheblackclouds.
Therewasajibdoorinherroomthatopenedtothepiazza,andIrantogetitopen,wantingtoshouttoTomfrywedidn’thaveafire,butbeforeIcouldyankitfree,Iheardmissusflyingroundthehouseholleringforeverybodytogetoutandtakeanarmload.
Afterthesmokethinnedtoafewfloatingcobwebs,IfollowedMissSarahtothe
yard.OldSnowandSabehadalreadybridledupthehorsesandpulledthecarriagestothebackincasethewholeyardwentdownwiththehouse.TomfryhadPrinceandElitotingbucketsfromthecistern.Someneighbormenhadshowedupwithmorebuckets.Folksfearedafireworsethanthedevil.TheykeptaslavesittingalldayupinthesteepleonSt.
Michael’s,watchingtherooftopsforfire,andIworriedhe’dseeallthissmoke,ringthechurchbell,andthewholebrigadeshowup.
Irantomaumawhowasbunchedwiththerestof’em.Thestufftheythoughtworthsavingwasheapedinpilesbytheirfeet.Chinabowls,teacaddies,recordbooks,clothes,portraits,Bibles,
brooches,andpearls.Evenamarblebustwassittingoutthere.Missushadhergold-tipcaneinonehandandasilvercigarholderintheother.
MissSarahwastryingtocutthroughthefranticstotellTomfryandthementherewasn’tafiretothrowtheirwateron,butbythetimeshedraggedthewordsoutofhermouth,themenhadgonebacktohaulingwater.
Whenitgotworkedoutwhat’dhappened,missuswentintoafury.“Hetty,youincompetentfool!”
Nobodymoved,noteventheneighbormen.Maumamovedoverandtuckedmebehindher,butmissusjerkedmeoutfront.Shebroughtthegold-tipcanedownonthebackofmyhead,worstblowIevergot.Itdrovemetomyknees.
Maumascreamed.SodidMissSarah.Butmissus,sheraisedherarmlikeshe’dgoatmeagain.Ican’tdescribeproperwhatcamenext.Theworkyard,thepeopleinit,thewallsshuttingusin,allthatfellaway.Thegroundrolledoutfromundermeandtheskybillowedofflikeatentcaughtinthewind.Iwasinaspacetomyself,somewheretimecan’tcross.
Avoicecalledsteadyinmyhead,Getupfromthere.Getupfromthereandlookherintheface.Darehertostrikeyou.Dareher.
Igotonmyfeetandpokedmyfaceather.Myeyessaid,Hitme,Idareyou.
Missusletherarmdropandsteppedback.
ThentheyardwasroundmeagainandIreachedupandfeltmyhead.Alumpwas
therethesizeofaquailegg.Maumareachedoverandtoucheditwithherfingertip.
TherestofthatGod-forsookdayeverywomanandgirlslavewasmadetodragclothes,linens,rugs,andcurtainsfromeveryroomupstairsouttothepiazzaforairing-out.EveryonebutmaumaandBinahshoweredmewithlooksofdespising.MissSarahcameupthere
wantingtohelpandstartedhaulingwiththerestofus.EverytimeIturnedround,shewaslookingatmelikeshe’dneverseenmebeforeinherlife.
SarahItookmealsaloneinmyroomforthreefulldaysasaprotestagainstowningHetty,thoughIdon’tthinkanyonemuchnoticed.Onthefourthday,Iswallowedmyprideandarrivedinthediningroomforbreakfast.MotherandIhadn’tspokenofthe
doomedmanumissiondocument.Isuspectedshewastheonewho’dtornitintotwoevenpiecesanddepositedthemoutsidemyroom,therebyhavingtheLastWordwithoututteringasyllable.
Attheageofeleven,IownedaslaveIcouldn’tfree.O
Themeal,thelargestoftheday,hadlongbeenunder
way—Father,Thomas,andFrederickhadalreadyleftinpursuitofschoolandwork,whileMother,Mary,Anna,andElizaremained.
“Youarelate,mydear,”Mothersaid.Notwithoutanoteofsympathy.
Phoebe,whoassistedAunt-Sisterandlookedslightlyolderthanmyself,appearedatmyelbow,emanatingthefreshodorsof
thekitchenhouse—sweat,coal,smoke,andanacridfishiness.Typically,shestoodbythetableandswishedtheflybrush,buttodaysheslidaplatebeforemeheapedwithsausages,gritcake,saltedshrimp,brownbread,andtapiocajelly.
Attemptingtoloweraquiverycupofteabesidemyplate,Phoebedepositeditontopmyspoon,causingthe
contentstosloshontothecloth.“Ohmissus,Isorry,”shecried,whirlingtowardMother.
MotherblewoutherbreathasifallthemistakesofalltheNegroesintheworldrestedpersonallyuponhershoulders.“WhereisAunt-Sister?Why,forheaven’ssake,areyouserving?”
“Sheshowingmehowtodoit.”
“Well,seethatyoulearn.”
AsPhoeberushedtostandoutsidethedoor,Itriedtotossherasmile.
“It’sniceofyoutomakeanappearance,”Mothersaid.“Youarerecovered?”
Alleyesturnedonme.Wordscollectedinmymouthandlaythere.Atsuchmoments,IusedatechniqueinwhichIimaginedmy
tonguelikeaslingshot.Idrewitback,tighter,tighter.“......I’mfine.”Thewordshurledacrossthetableinasprayofsaliva.
Marymadeashowofdabbingherfacewithanapkin.
She’llendupexactlylikeMother,Ithought.Runningahousecongestedwithchildrenandslaves,whileI—
“Itrustyoufoundthe
remainsofyourfolly?”Motherasked.
Ah,thereitwas.Shehadconfiscatedmydocument,likelywithoutFatherknowing.
“Whatfolly?”Marysaid.IgaveMotherapleading
look.“Nothingyouneed
concernyourselfwith,Mary,”shesaid,andtiltedherheadasifshewantedtomendthe
riftbetweenus.Islumpedinmychairand
debatedtakingmycausetoFatherandpresentinghimwiththetornmanumissiondocument.Icouldthinkoflittleelsefortherestoftheday,butbynightfall,Iknewitwoulddonogood.HedeferredtoMotheronallhouseholdmatters,andheabhorredatattler.Mybrothersnevertattled,andI
woulddonoless.Besides,Iwould’vebeenanidiottorileMotherfurther.
Icounteredmydisappointmentbyconductingvigoroustalkswithmyselfaboutthefuture.Anythingispossible,anythingatall.
Nightly,Iopenedthelavaboxandgazeduponthesilverbutton.
HandfulMissussaidIwastheworstwaitingmaidinCharleston.Shesaid,“Youareabysmal,Hetty,abysmal.”
IaskedMissSarahwhatabysmalmeansandshesaid,“Notquiteuptostandard.”
Uhhuh.Icouldtellfrommissus’face,there’sbad,
there’sworse,andafterthatcomesabysmal.
Thatfirstweek,besidethesmoke,Ispilledlampoilonthefloorleavingaslickspot,brokeoneofthoseporcelainvases,andfriedapieceofMissSarah’sredhairwithacurlingtong.MissSarahnevertattled.Shetuggedtherugovertocovertheoilyplace,hidthebrokeporcelaininastoreroominthecellar,
andcutoffhersingedhairwiththesnufferweusedtosnipthecandlewick.
OnlytimeMissSarahrangherbellformewasifmissuswasheadedourway.Binahandhertwogirls,LucyandPhoebe,alwayssangout,“Thecanetapping.Thecanetapping.”MissSarah’swarningbellgavemesomeextraleadonmyrope,andItookit.Iwouldrovedown
thehallwaytothefrontalcovewhereIcouldseethewaterintheharborfloattotheoceanandtheoceanrollontillitsloshedagainstthesky.Nothingcouldholdagloryboundpicturetoit.
FirsttimeIsawit,myfeethoppedinplaceandIliftedmyhandovermyheadanddanced.That’swhenIgottruereligion.Ididn’tknowtocallitreligionbackthen,
didn’tknowAmenfromwhat-when,Ijustknewsomethingcameintomethatmademefeelthewaterbelongedtome.Iwouldsay,that’smywateroutthere.
Isawitturneverycolor.Itwasgreenoneday,thenbrown,nextdayyellowascider.Purple,black,blue.Itstayedrestless,neverceasing.Boatscomingandgoingontop,fishesunderneath.
Iwouldsingtheselittleversestoit:
Crossthewater,crosstheseaLetthemfishescarryme.Ifthatwatertaketoolong,Carrymeon,Carrymeon.
Afteramonthortwo,Iwasdoingmorethingsright
inthehouse,butevenMissSarahdidn’tknowsomenightsIleftmypostbyherdoorandwatchedthewaterallnightlong,thewayitbrokesilverfromthemoon.Thestarsshiningbigasplatters.IcouldseecleantoSullivan’sIsland.Ipinedformaumawhenitwasdark.Imissedourbed.Imissedthequiltframeguardingoverus.Ipicturedmaumasewing
quiltsbyherself.Iwouldthinkaboutthegunnysackstuffedwithfeathers,theredpouchwithourpinsandneedles,mypurebrassthimble.Nightslikethat,Ihightaileditbacktothestableroom.
Everytimemaumawokeandfoundmeinbedwithher,shehadafit,sayingallthetroubletherewouldbeifIgotcaught,howIalreadylived
toofaroutonmissus’badside.
“Ain’tnothin’goodgoncomefromyouwanderingofflikethis,”shesaid.“Yougottostayputonyourquilt.Youdothatforme,youhearme?”
AndI’ddoitforher.Leastforafewdays.I’dlayonthefloorinthehall,tryingtostaywarminthedraft,twistingroundinsearchofthesoftestfloorboard.Icould
makedowiththatmiseryandtakemysolacefromthewater.
SarahOnablearymorninginMarch,fourmonthsafterthecalamityofmyeleventhbirthday,IwoketofindHettymissing,herpalletontheflooroutsidemyroomcrumpledwiththeoutlineofhersmallbody.Bynow,shewould’vebeenfillingmy
basinwithwaterandtellingmesomestoryorother.ItsurprisedmethatIfeltherabsencepersonally.ImissedherasIwouldafondcompanion,butIfrettedforher,too.MotherhadalreadytakenhercanetoHettyonce.
Findingnotraceofherinthehouse,Istoodonthetopstepbythebackdoor,scanningtheworkyard.Athinhazehaddriftedinfrom
theharbor,andoverheadthesunglintedthroughitwiththedullgoldofapocketwatch.Snowwasinthedoorofthecarriagehouse,repairingoneofthebreechingstraps.Aunt-Sisterstraddledastoolbythevegetablegarden,scalingfish.Notwishingtorousehersuspicions,IambledtotheporchofthekitchenhousewhereTomfrywashandingoutsupplies.SoaptoElifor
washingthemarblesteps,twoOsnaburgtowelstoPhoebeforcleaningcrystal,acoalscooptoSabeforre-supplyingthescuttles.
AsIwaitedforhimtofinish,Iletmyeyesdrifttotheoakinthebackleftcorner.Itsbrancheswereadornedwithtightbuds,andthoughthetreeborelittleresemblancetoitssummervisage,thememoryofthat
long-agodayreturned:sittingstraddle-leggedontheground,thehotstillness,thegreen-skinnedshade,arrangingmywordswithmarbles,SarahGo—
Ilookedawaytotheoppositesideoftheyard,anditwasthereIsawHetty’smother,Charlotte,walkingbesidethewoodpile,bendingnowandthentopickupsomethingfromtheground.
Arrivingbehindherunseen,Inoticedthetidbitsshescavengedweresmall,downyfeathers.“......Charlotte—”
Shejumpedandthefeatherbetweenherfingersflutteredoffontheseawind.Itflittedtothetopofthehighbrickwallthatenclosedtheyard,snagginginthecreepingfig.
“MissSarah!”shesaid.
“Youscaredthejimminiesoutofme.”Herlaughwashigh-pitchedandfragilewithnerves.Hereyesdartedtowardthestable.
“......Ididn’tmeantostartleyou...Ionlywondered,doyouknowwhere—”
Shecutmeoff,andpointedintothewoodpile.“Lookwaydown’nthere.”
Peeringintoaberth
betweentwopiecesofwood,Icamefacetofacewithapointy-earedbrowncreaturecoveredwithfuzz.Onlyslightlybiggerthanahen’schick,itwasanowlofsomesort.Idrewbackasitsyelloweyesblinkedandboreintome.
Charlottelaughedagain,thistimemorenaturally.“Itain’tgonbite.”
“......It’sababy.”
“Icameonitafewnightsback.Poorthingontheground,crying.”
“......Wasit...hurt?”“Naw,justleftbehindis
all.Itsmauma’sabarnowl.Tookupinacrow’snestintheshed,butsheleft.I’m’fraidsomethinggother.Ibeenfeedingthebabyscraps.”
MyonlyliaisonswithCharlottehadbeendress
fittings,butI’dalwaysdetectedakeennessinher.OfalltheslavesFatherowned,shestruckmeasthemostintelligent,andperhapsthemostdangerous,whichwouldturnouttobetrueenough.
“......I’llbekindtoHetty,”Isaidabruptly.Thewords—remorsefulandlordly—cameoutasifsomepustuleofguilthaddisgorged.
Hereyesflashedopen,thennarrowedintosmallburrs.Theywerehoneycolored,thesameasHetty’s.
“......Inevermeanttoownher...Itriedtofreeher,but...Iwasn’tallowed.”Icouldn’tseemtostopmyself.
Charlotteslidherhandintoherapronpocket,andsilencewelledunbearably.She’dseenmyguiltandsheuseditwithcunning.“That’s
awright,”shesaid.“CauseIknowyougonmakethatuptoheronethesedays.”
TheletterMclampedontomytonguewithitslittlejaws.“.........M-m-makeitup?”
“Imean,Iknowyougonhepheranywayyoucantogetfree.”
“......Yes,I’lltry,”Isaid.
“WhatIneedisyou
swearingtoit.”Inodded,hardly
understandingthatI’dbeendeftlyguidedintoacovenant.
“Youkeepyourword,”shesaid.“Iknowyouwill.”
RememberingwhyI’dapproachedherinthefirstplace,Isaid,“...I’vebeenunabletofind—”
“Handfulgonbeatyourdoor’foreyouknowit.”
Walkingbacktothe
house,Ifeltthenooseofthatstrangeandintimateexchangepullintoaknot.
Hettyappearedinmyroomtenminuteslater,hereyesdominatinghersmallface,fierceasthelittleowl’s.Seatedatmydesk,I’donlyjustopenedabookI’dborrowedfromFather’slibrary,TheAdventuresofTelemachus.Telemachus,thesonofPenelopeand
Odysseus,wassettingouttoTroytofindhisfather.Withoutquestioningherearlierwhereabouts,Ibegantoreadaloud.Hettyploppedontothebed-stepsthatledtothemattress,restedherchininthecupofherhands,andlistenedthroughthemorningasTelemachustookonthehostilitiesoftheancientworld.
WilyCharlotte.AsMarchpassed,Ithoughtobsessivelyaboutthepromiseshe’dwrungfromme.Whyhadn’tItoldherHetty’sfreedomwasimpossible?ThatthemostIcouldeverofferherwaskindness?
WhenitcametimetosewmyEasterdress,Icringedtothinkofseeingheragain,petrifiedshewouldbringupourconversationbythe
woodpile.Iwouldratherhaveimpaledmyselfwithaneedlethanenduredmoreofherscrutiny.
“Idon’tneedanewdressthisEaster,”ItoldMother.
Aweeklater,Istoodonthefittingbox,wearingahalf-sewnsatindress.Onenteringmyroom,CharlottehadhastenedHettyoffonsomecontrivedmissionbeforeIcouldthinkofaway
tooverrideher.Thedresswasalightshadeofcinnamon,remarkablysimilartothetoneofCharlotte’sskin,alikenessInotedasshestoodbeforemewiththreestraightpinswedgedbetweenherlips.Whenshespoke,Ismelledcoffeebeans,andknewshe’dbeenchewingthem.Herwordssqueezedoutaroundthepinsintwistedcurlsofsounds.“Yougonkeepthat
wordyougaveme?”Tomydisgrace,Iused
myimpedimenttomyadvantage,strugglingmorethannecessarytoanswerher,pretendingthewordsfellbackintothedarkchuteofmythroatanddisappeared.
HandfulOnthefirstgoodSaturday,whenitlookedlikespringwasstayingputthistime,missustookMissSarah,MissMary,andMissAnnaoffinthecarriagewiththelanternsonit.Aunt-SistersaidtheyweregoingtoWhitePointtopromenade,saidallthe
womenandgirlswouldbeoutwiththeirparasols.
WhenSnowdrovethecarriageoutthebackgate,MissSarahwaved,andSabe,whowasdandiedupinagreenfrockcoatandliveryvest,washangingofftheback,grinning.
Aunt-Sistersaidtous,“Whatyawllookingat?Gettoworkcleaning,afullspitandshineontheirrooms.
Makehaywhilethemiceaway.”
UpinMissSarah’sroom,Ispreadthebedandscrubbedthegloomonthelookingglassthatwouldn’tcomeoffwithanykindofash-water.Isweptupdeadmothsfatfromgnawingonthecurtains,wipeddowntheprivypot,andthrewinapinchofsoda.Iscrubbedthefloorswithlimesoapfromthedemijohn.
Woreoutfromallthat,Ididwhatwecallshilly-shally.Pokingrounduptonogood.First,Ilookedtoseewasanyslaveinthepassageway—someofthemwouldassoontellonyouasblink.IshutthedoorandopenedMissSarah’sbooks.Isatatherdeskandturnedonepageafteranother,staringatwhatlookedlikebitsandpiecesofblacklacelaidcrossthe
paper.Themarkshadabeautytothem,butIdidn’tseehowtheycoulddoanythingbutconfuddleaperson.
Ipulledoutthedeskdrawerandrootedallthroughherthings.Ifoundapieceofunfinishedcrossstitchwithclumsystitches,lookedlikeathree-year-oldhaddoneit.Therewassomefine,glossythreadsinthedrawer
wrappedonwoodspools.Sealingwax.Tanpaper.Littledrawingswithinksmudges.Alongbrasskeywithatasselonit.
Iwentthroughthewardrobe,touchingthefrocksmauma’dmade.Inosedthroughthedressingtabledrawer,pullingoutjewelry,hairribbons,paperfans,bottlesandbrushes,andfinally,alittlebox.It
glisteneddarklikemyskinwhenitwaswet.Ipushedupthelatch.Insidewasabigsilverbutton.Itouchedit,thenclosedthelidthesameslowwayI’dclosedherwardrobe,herdrawers,andherbooks—withmychestfillingup.Therewassomuchintheworldtobehadandnothad.
Iwentbackandopenedupthedeskdraweronemore
timeandstaredatthethreads.WhatIdidnextwaswrong,butIdidn’tmuchcare.Itooktheplumpspoolofscarletthreadanddroppeditinmydresspocket.
TheSaturdaybeforeEasterweallgotsenttothediningroom.Tomfrysaidthingshadgonemissinginthehouse.Iwentintherethinking,Lord,
helpme.Therewasn’tnothing
worseforusthansomelittleoldpieceofnonsensedisappearing.Onedent-uptincupinthepantryoratoastcrumboffmissus’plateandthefeathersflew.Butthistimeitwasn’tapieceofnonsense,anditwasn’tscarletthread.Itwasmissus’brandnewboltofgreensilkcloth.
Therewewere,fourteenofus,linedupwhilemissuscarriedonaboutit.Shesaidthesilkwasspecial,howittraveledfromtheothersideoftheworld,howthesewormsinChinahadspunthethreads.Backthen,I’dneverheardsuchcrazinessinmylife.
Everyoneofuswassweatingandtwitching,runningourhandsinour
britchespocketsorupunderouraprons.Icouldsmelltheodorsoffourbodies,whichwasnothingbutfear.
Maumakneweverythinghappeningoutthereoverthewall—missusgaveherpassestotraveltothemarketbyherself.Shetriedtokeepthebadpartsfromme,butIknewaboutthetorturehouseonMagazineStreet.ThewhitefolkscalledittheWork
House.Liketheslaveswereintheresewingclothesandmakingbricksandhammeringhorseshoes.IknewaboutitbeforeIwaseight,thedarkholetheyputyouinandleftyoubyyourselfforweeks.Iknewaboutthewhippings.Twentylasheswasthelimityoucouldget.Awhitemancouldbuyaboutoffloggingsforhalfadollarandusethemwhenever
heneededtoputsomeslaveintherightframeofmind.
FarasIknew,notoneGrimkéslavehadgonetotheWorkHouse,butthatmorning,everyoneofusinthediningroomwaswonderingisthistheday.
“Oneofyouisguiltyofthieving.Ifyoureturntheboltofcloth,whichiswhatGodwouldhaveyoudo,thenIwillbeforgiving.”
Uhhuh.Missusdidn’tthinkwe
hadagrainofsense.Whatwereanyofus
gonnadowithemeraldsilk?
Thenightaftertheclothvanished,Islippedout.Walkedstraightoutthedoor.IhadtopassbyCindieoutsidemissus’door—shewasnofriendtomauma,and
Ihadtobewaryroundher,butshewassnoringaway.Islidintobednexttomauma,onlyshewasn’tinbedthistime,shewasstandinginthecornerwithherarmsfoldedoverherchest.Shesaid,“Whatyouthinkyoudoing?”
Ineverhadheardthattonetohervoice.
“Getup,wegoingbacktothehouserightnow.Thisthelasttimeyousneakingout,
thelasttime.Thisain’tnogame,Handful.Therebemiserytopayonthis.”
Shedidn’twaitformetomove,butsnatchedmeuplikeIwasastraypieceofbatting.Grabbedmeunderonearm,marchedmedownthecarriagehousesteps,crosstheworkyard.Myfeetdidn’thardlytouchtheground.Shedraggedmeinsidethroughthewarmingkitchen,thedoor
nobodylocked.Herfingerrestedagainstherlips,warningmetostayquiet,thenshetuggedmetothestaircaseandnoddedherheadtowardthetop.Goonnow.
Thosestairstepsmadearacket.Ididn’tgettenstepswhenIheardadooropendownbelow,andtheairsuckfrommauma’sthroat.
Master’svoicecameoutofthedark,saying,“Whois
it?Whoisthere?”Lamplightshotcrossthe
walls.Maumadidn’tmove.“Charlotte?”hesaid,calm
ascouldbe.“Whatareyoudoinginhere?”
Behindherback,maumamadeasignwithherhand,wavingatthefloor,andIknewshemeantmetocrouchlowonthesteps.“Nothing,massaGrimké.Nothing,sir.”
“Theremustbesome
reasonforyourpresenceinthehouseatthishour.Youshouldexplainyourselfnowtoavoidanytrouble.”Itwasalmostkindthewayhesaidit.
Maumastoodtherewithoutaword.MasterGrimkéalwaysdidthattoher.Saysomething.Ifitwasmissusstandingthere,maumacould’vespitoutthree,fourthingsalready.SayHandfulis
sickandyou’regoingtoseeabouther.SayAunt-SistersentyouinheretogetsomeremedyforSnow.Sayyoucan’tsleepforworryingabouttheirEasterclothes,howtheygonnafitinthemorning.Sayyou’rewalkinginyoursleep.Justsaysomething.
Maumawaitedtoolong,causeherecamemissusoutfromherroom.Peeringover
thestep,Icouldseeshehadhersleepingcaponcrooked.
IhaveknotsinmyyearsthatIcan’tundo,andthisisoneoftheworst—thenightIdidwrongandmaumagotcaught.
Icould’veshowedmyself.Icould’vegiventherightfulaccount,saiditwasme,butwhatIdidwasballupsilentonthestairsteps.
Missussaid,“Areyouthe
pilferer,Charlotte?Haveyoucomebackformore?Isthishowyoudoit,slippinginatnight?”
MissusrousedCindieandtoldhertofetchAunt-Sisterandlighttwolamps,theyweregoingtosearchmauma’sroom.
“Yessum,yessum,”saidCindie.Pleasedasaplanterpunch.
MasterGrimkégroaned
likehe’dsteppedinadogpile,allthisnastybusinesswithwomenandslaves.Hetookhislightandwentbacktobed.
Ifollowedaftermaumaandthemfromadistance,sayingwordsaten-year-oldshouldn’tknow,butI’dlearnedplentyofcussatthestableslisteningtoSabesingtothehorses.Goddamney,goddamney,dayandnight.
Goddamney,goddamney,allthemwhites.Iwasworkingmyselfuptotellmissuswhat’dhappened.IleftmyplacebesideMissSarah’sdoorandsneakedouttomyoldroom.Maumabroughtmebacktothehouse.
WhenIpeeredroundthedoorjamintoourroom,Isawtheblanketstornoffthebed,thewashbasinturnedover,andourflannelgunnysack
dumpedupsidedown,quilt-fillingseverywhere.Aunt-Sisterwasworkingthepulleytolowerthequiltframe.Ithadaquilt-toponitwithrawedges,brightlittlethreadsfluttering.
Nobodylookedatmestandinginthedoorway,justmaumawhoseeyesalwayswenttome.Herlidssankshutandshedidn’topenthemback.
Thewheelsonthepulleysangandtheframefloateddowntothatsqueakymusic.Thereontopoftheunfinishedquiltwasaboltofbrightgreencloth.
Ilookedattheclothandthoughthowpretty.Lamplightcatchingoneverywrinkle.Me,Aunt-Sister,andmissusstaredatitlikeitwas
somethingwe’ddreamed.Missusgaveusanearful
thenabouthowharditwasforhertovisitdisciplineonaslaveshe’dtrusted,butwhatchoicedidshehave?
Shetoldmauma,“IwilldelayyourpunishmentuntilMonday—tomorrowisEasterandIdonotwantitmarredbythis.Iwillnotsendyouoffforpunishment,andyoushouldbegratefulforthat,
butIassureyouyourpenaltywillmatchyourcrime.”
Shehadn’tsaidWorkHouse,she’dsaidoff,butweknewwhatoffmeant.Leastmaumawasn’tgoingthere.
Whenmissusfinallyturnedtome,shedidn’taskwhatwasIdoingouthereorsendmebacktoMissSarah’sfloorboards.Shesaid,“Youmaystaywithyourmotheruntilherpunishmenton
Monday.Iwishhertohavesomeconsolationuntilthen.Iamnotanunfeelingwoman.”
Longintothatnight,Islobberedoutmysorrowandguilttomauma.Sherubbedmyshouldersandtoldmeshewasn’tmad.ShesaidInevershould’vesnuckoutofthehouse,butshewasn’tmad.
Iwasaboutasleepwhenshesaid,“Ishould’vesewedthatgreensilkinsideaquilt
andsheneverwould’vefoundit.Iain’tsorryforstealingit,justforgettingcaught.”
“Howcomeyoutookit?”“Cause,”shesaid.“Cause
Icould.”Thosewordsstuckwith
me.Maumadidn’twantthatcloth,shejustwantedtomakesometrouble.Shecouldn’tgetfreeandshecouldn’tpopmissusonthe
backofherheadwithacane,butshecouldtakehersilk.Youdoyourrebellionsanywayyoucan.
SarahOnEaster,weGrimkésrodetoSt.Philip’sEpiscopalChurchbeneaththePrideofIndiatreesthatlinedbothsidesofMeetingStreet.I’daskedforaspotintheopen-airSulkywithFather,butThomasandFredericksnaredtheprivilege,whileIwas
stuckinthecarriagewithMotherandtheheat.Theairoozedthroughslitsthatpassedforwindows,blowinginthinlypeeledwisps.IpressedmyfaceagainsttheopeningandwatchedthesplendorofCharlestonsweepby:brightsinglehouseswiththeircapaciousverandas,flowerboxesbulgingonrowhouses,clippedjunglesoftropicalfoliage—oleander,
hibiscus,bougainvillea.“Sarah,Itrustyou’re
preparedtogiveyourfirstlesson,”Mothersaid.I’drecentlybecomeanewteacherintheColoredSundaySchool,aclasstaughtbygirls,thirteenyearsandolder,butMotherhadproddedReverendHalltomakeanexception,andforonceheroverbearingnaturehadyieldedsomethingthat
wasn’taltogetherrepugnant.Iturnedtoher,feelingthe
burnofprivetinmynostrils.“...Yes...Istudiedv-veryhard.”
Marymockedme,protrudinghereyesinagrotesqueway,mouthing,“...V-v-veryhard,”whichcausedBentosnicker.
Shewasamenace,mysister.Lately,thepausesinmyspeechhaddiminished
andIrefusedtoletherfazeme.Iwasabouttodosomethingusefulforachange,andevenifIhemmedandhawedmywaythroughtheentireclass,sobeit.Atthemoment,IwasmoreconcernedIhadtoteachitpairedwithMary.
Asthecarriagenearedthemarket,thenoisemountedandthesidewalksbegantooverflowwithNegroesand
mulattoes.Sundaywastheslaves’onlydayoff,andtheythrongedthethoroughfares—mostwerewalkingtotheirmasters’churches,requiredtoshowupandsitinthebalconies—butevenonregulardays,theslavesdominatedthestreets,doingtheirowners’bidding,shoppingthemarket,deliveringmessagesandinvitationsforteasanddinner
parties.Somewerehiredoutandtrekkedbackandforthtowork.Naturally,theynickedalittletimetofraternize.Youcouldseethemgatheredatstreetcorners,wharves,andgrogshops.TheCharlestonMercuryrailedagainstthe“unsupervisedswarms”andcalledforregulations,butasFathersaid,aslongasaslavepossessedapassoraworkbadge,hispresencewas
perfectlylegitimate.Snowhadbeen
apprehendedonce.Insteadofwaitingbythecarriagewhilewewereinchurch,he’ddrivenitaboutthecitywithnooneinside—akindofpleasureride.He’dbeentakentotheGuardHousenearSt.Michael’s.Fatherwasfurious,notatSnow,butattheCityGuard.Hestormeddowntothemayor’scourt
andpaidthefine,keepingSnowfromtheWorkHouse.
AglutofcarriagesonCumberlandStreetpreventedusfromdrawingclosertothechurch.TheonslaughtofpeoplewhoattendedservicesonlyonEastertideincensedMother,whosawtoittheGrimkéswereintheirpeweverydull,commonSundayoftheyear.Snow’sgravellyvoicefilteredtousfromthe
driver’sseat.“Missus,yawlshastowalkfromhere,”andSabeswungopenthedoorandliftedusdown,onebyone.
Ourfatherwasalreadystridingahead,notatallman,buthelookedimposinginhisgraycoat,tophat,andcravatofsilksurah.Hehadanangularfacewithalongnoseandprofusebrowsthatcurledabouttheledgeofhis
forehead,butwhatmadehimhandsomeinmymindwashishair,awildconcoctionofdark,auburnwaves.Thomashadinheritedtherichbrown-redcolor,ashadAnnaandlittleCharles,butithadcometomeinthefeebleshadeofpersimmonsandmybrowsandlashesweresopaletheyseemedtohavebeenskippedoveraltogether.
Theseatingarrangement
insideSt.Philip’swasaveritableblueprintofCharlestonstatus,theelitevyingtorentpewsdownfront,thelessaffluentintheback,whilethepointblankpoorclusteredonfreebenchesalongthesides.Ourpew,whichFatherrentedforthreehundreddollarsayear,wasamerethreerowsfromthealtar.
IsatbesideFather,
cradlinghishatupsidedownonmylap,catchingawaftofthelemonoilheusedtodomesticatehislocks.Overhead,intheuppergalleries,theslavesbegantheirbabbleandlaughter.Itwasaperennialproblem,thisnoise.Theyfoundboldnessinthebalconythewaytheyfounditonthestreets,fromtheirnumbers.Recently,theirrackethadescalatedtosucha
degreethatmonitorshadbeenplacedinthebalconiesasdeterrents.Despitethem,therumblingsgrew.Then,thwack.Acry.Parishionersswungabout,glaringupward.
BythetimeReverendHallmountedthepulpit,afull-scalehubbubhadbrokenoutattherafters.Ashoesailedoverthebalconyandplummeteddown.Aheavyboot.Itlandedonalady
midwayback,topplingherhatandconcussingherhead.
Astheshakenladyandherfamilyleftthesanctuary,ReverendHallpointedhisfingertowardthefarleftbalconyandmoveditinaslowcircleclockwise.Whenallwassilent,hequotedascripturefromEphesians,recitingfrommemory.“Slaves,beobedienttothemthatareyourmasters,with
fearandtrembling,insinglenessofheart,asuntoChrist.”Thenhemadewhatmany,includingmymother,wouldcallthemosteloquentextemporizationonslaverythey’deverheard.“Slaves,Iadmonishyoutobecontentwithyourlot,foritisthewillofGod!Yourobedienceismandatedbyscripture.ItiscommandedbyGodthroughMoses.Itisapprovedby
Christthroughhisapostles,andupheldbythechurch.Takeheed,then,andmayGodinhismercygrantthatyouwillbehumbledthisdayandreturntoyourmastersasfaithfulservants.”
Hewalkedbacktohischairbehindthechancel.IstareddownatFather’shat,thenupathim,stricken,confused,stupefiedeven,tryingtounderstandwhatI
shouldthink,buthisfacewasablank,implacablemask.
Aftertheservice,Istoodinasmall,dingyclassroombehindthechurchwhiletwenty-twoslavechildrenracedaboutinanarchy.Uponenteringthedim,airlessroom,I’dflungopenthewindowsonlytosetusadriftintreepollen.Isneezed
repeatedlyasIrappedtheedgeofmyfanonthedesk,tryingtoinstallorder.Marysatintheonlychairintheroom,adilapidatedWindsor,andwatchedmewithanexpressionperfectlysituatedbetweenboredomandamusement.
“Letthemplay,”shetoldme.“That’swhatIdo.”
Iwastempted.Sincethereverend’shomily,Ihadlittle
heartforthelesson.Apileofdusty,discarded
kneelingcushionswereheapedinthebackcorner,theneedlepointfrayedbeyondrepair.Iassumedtheywereforthechildrentositon,astherewasn’tastickoffurnitureintheroomotherthantheteacher’sdeskandchair.Nocurriculumleaflets,picturebooks,slateboard,chalk,oradornmentforthe
walls.Ilaidthekneeling
cushionsinrowsonthefloor,whichstartedagameofkickingthemaboutlikeballs.I’dbeentoldtoreadtoday’sscriptureandelaborateonitsmeaning,butwhenIfinallysucceededingettingthechildrenperchedonthecushionsandsawtheirfaces,thewholethingseemedatravesty.Ifeveryonewasso
keentoChristianizetheslaves,whyweren’ttheytaughttoreadtheBibleforthemselves?
Ibegantosingthealphabet,anewlittlelearning-ditty.ABCDEFG...Marylookedupsurprised,thensighedandreturnedtoherstateofapathy.HIJKLMNOP...TherehadneverbeenhesitationinmyvoicewhenI
sang.Thechildren’seyesglitteredwithattention,QRS...TUV...WX...YandZ.
Icajoledthemtosingitinsectionsafterme.Theirpronunciationswerelacking.Qcameoutcoo,LMasellem.Oh,buttheirfaces!Suchgrins.ItoldmyselfwhenIreturnednexttime,Iwouldbringaslateboardandwriteouttheletterssothey
couldseethemastheysang.IthoughtthenofHetty.I’dseenthedisarrangementofbooksonmydeskandknewsheexploredtheminmyabsence.Howshewouldlovetolearnthesetwenty-sixletters!
Afterhalfadozenrounds,thechildrensangwithgusto,half-shouting.Marypluggedherearswithherfingers,butIsangfull-pitch,usingmy
armslikeconductorsticks,wavingthechildrenon.IdidnotseeReverendHallinthedoorway.
“Whatappallingmischiefisgoingonhere?”hesaid.
Wehaltedabruptly,leavingmewiththedizzysensethelettersstilldancedchaoticallyintheairoverourheads.Myfaceturneditsusualflamboyantcolors.
“.........Wewere
singing,ReverendSir.”“WhichGrimkéchildare
you?”He’dbaptizedmeasababy,justashehadallmysiblings,butonecouldhardlyexpecthimtokeepusstraight.
“She’sSarah,”Marysaid,leapingtoherfeet.“Ihadnopartinthesong.”
“......I’msorrywewereboisterous,”Itoldhim.
Hefrowned.“Wedonot
singinColoredSundaySchool,andwemostassuredlydonotsingthealphabet.Areyouawareitisagainstthelawtoteachaslavetoread?”
Iknewofthislaw,thoughvaguely,asifithadbeenstoredinarootcellarinmyheadandsuddenlyduguplikesomemoldyyam.Allright,itwasthelaw,butitstruckmeasshameful.Surely
hewouldn’tclaimthiswasGod’swill,too.
Hewaitedformetoanswer,andwhenIdidn’t,hesaid,“Wouldyouputthechurchincontradictionofthelaw?”
ThememoryofHettythatdaywhenMothercanedherflashedthroughmymind,andIraisedmychinandglaredathim,withoutanswering.
HandfulWhatcamenextwasafast,bitterwind.
Monday,afterwegotdonewithdevotions,Aunt-Sistertookmaumaaside.Shesaidmissushadafriendwhodidn’tlikefloggingsandhadcomeupwiththeone-leggedpunishment.Aunt-Sisterwent
toalotoftroubletodrawusapictureofit.Shesaidtheywindaleathertieroundtheslave’sankle,thenpullthatfootupbehindhimandhitchthetieroundhisneck.Ifheletshisankledrop,thetiechokeshisthroat.
Weknewwhatshewastellingus.Maumasatdownonthekitchenhousestepsandlaidherheadflatagainstherknees.O
Tomfrywastheonewhocametostrapherup.Icouldseehedidn’twantanypartofit,buthewasn’tsayingso.Missussaid,“Onehour,Tomfry.Thatwilldo.”Thenshewentinsidetoherwindowperch.
Heledmaumatothemiddleoftheyardnearthegardenwheretinyshootshadjustbrokethroughthedirt.Alluswereouttherehuddled
underthespreadingtree,exceptSnowwhowasoffwiththecarriage.Rosettastartedwailing.Elipattedherarm,tryingtoeaseher.LucyandPhoebewerearguingoverapieceofcoldhamleftfrombreakfast,andAunt-Sisterwentoverthereandsmackedthembothcrosstheirfaces.
Tomfryturnedmaumasoshewasfacingthetreewith
herbacktothehouse.Shedidn’tfight.Shestoodtherelimpasthemossonthebranches.Thescentoflowtidecomingfromtheharborwaseverywhere,arottedsmell.
Tomfrytoldmauma,“Holdontome,”andsherestedherhandonhisshoulderwhileheboundheranklewithwhatlookedlikeanoldleatherbelt.Hepulled
itupbehindhersoshewasstandingononeleg,thenhewoundtheotherendofthestraproundherthroatandbuckledit.
MaumasawmehangingontoBinah,mylipsandchintrembling,andshesaid,“Youain’tgottowatch.Closeyoureyes.”
Icouldn’tdoit,though.Afterhegothertrussed
up,Tomfrymovedoffsoshe
couldn’tgrabontohim,andshetookahardspill.Splittheskinoverherbrow.Whenshehittheground,thestrapyankedtightandmaumastartedchoking.Shethrewbackherheadandgulpedforair.Irantohelpher,butthetat-tat,tat-tatofmissus’canelandedonthewindow,andTomfrypulledmeawayandgotmaumatoherfeet.
Iclosedmyeyesthen,but
whatIsawinthedarkwasworseastherealthing.Icrackedmyeyesandwatchedhertryingtokeepherlegfromdroppingdownandcuttingoffherair,fightingtostayupright.Shesethereyesontopoftheoaktree.Herstandinglegquivered.Bloodfromherhead-cutrandownhercheek.Itclungtoherjawlikerainontheroofeave.O
Don’tletherfall
anymore.That’stheprayerIsaid.MissustoldusGodlistenedtoeverybody,evenaslavegotapieceofGod’sear.IcarriedapictureofGodinmyhead,awhiteman,bearingasticklikemissusorgoingrounddodgingslavesthewaymasterGrimkédid,actinglikehe’dsiredaworldwheretheydon’texist.Icouldn’tseehimliftingafingertohelp.
Maumadidn’tfallagain,though,andIreckonedGodhadlentmeanear,butmaybethatearwasn’twhite,maybetheworldhadacoloredGod,too,orelseitwasmaumawhokeptherownselfstanding,whoansweredmyprayerwiththestrengthofherlimbsandthegripofherheart.Sheneverwhimpered,nevermadeasoundexceptsomewhisperingsfromher
lips.Lateron,IaskedifherwhisperswereforGod,andshesaid,“Theywasforyourgranny-mauma.”
WhenthathourpassedandTomfryloosedthestrapoffherneck,shefelldownandcurleduponthedirt.TomfryandAunt-Sisterliftedherupbythearmsandluggedherandhernumblegsupthestairsofthecarriagehousetoherroom.Iran
behind,tryingtokeepheranklesfrombumpingonthesteps.Theylaidheronthebedlikefloppingdownasackofflour.
Whenwewerelefttoourselves,Ilaybesideherandstaredupatthequiltframe.Fromtimetotime,Isaid,“Youwantsomewater?Yourlegshurting?”
Shenoddedheranswerswithhereyesshut.
Intheafternoon,Aunt-Sisterbroughtsomericecakesandbrothoffachicken.Maumadidn’ttouchit.Wealwaysleftthedooropentogetthelight,andallday,noiseandsmellsfromtheyardwanderedin.LongadayasIeverlived.
Mauma’slegswouldwalkagainsameasever,butsheneverwasthesameinside.Afterthatday,itseemedpart
ofherwasalwaysbacktherewaitingforthestraptobeloosed.Itseemedlikethat’swhenshestartedlayinghercoldfireofhate.O
SarahThemorningafterEaster,therewasstillnosignofHetty.BetweenbreakfastandmydepartureforMadameRuffin’sschoolonLegareStreet,MothersawtoitthatIwasshutinmyroom,copyingaletterofapologytoReverendHall.
DearReverendSir,Iapologizefor
failinginmydutiesasateacherintheColoredSundaySchoolofourdearSt.Philip’s.Ibegforgivenessformyrecklessdisregardofthecurriculumandaskyourforgivenessformyinsolencetowardyouandyourholyoffice.
Your
RemorsefulandRepentantSoul,SarahGrimké
NosoonerhadIsignedmynamethanMotherwhiskedmetothefrontdoorwhereSnowwaitedwiththecarriage,Maryalreadyinside.Typically,MaryandImetthe
carriageoutback,whileSnowtarried,makinguslate.
“Whyhashecometocollectusatthefront?”Iasked,towhichMotherrepliedIshouldbemorelikemysisterandnotasktediousquestions.
Snowturnedandlookedatme,andakindofforebodingleakedfromhim.
Thewholedayseemedstrunguponathin,vibrating
wire.WhenImetwithThomasthatafternoononthepiazzaformystudies—myrealstudies—myuneasehadreachedapeak.
Twiceweekly,wedelvedintoFather’sbooks,intopointsoflaw,Latin,thehistoryoftheEuropeanworld,andrecently,theworksofVoltaire.ThomasinsistedIwastooyoungforVoltaire.“He’soveryour
head!”Hewas,butnaturallyI’dflungmyselfintotheSeaofVoltaireanywayandemergedwithnothingmorethanseveralaphorisms.“Everymanisguiltyofallthegoodhedidn’tdo.”Suchanotionmadeitvirtuallyimpossibletoenjoylife!Andthis,“IfGoddidnotexist,manwouldhavetoinventhim.”Ididn’tknowwhetherReverendHallhadinvented
hisGodorI’dinventedmine,butsuchideastantalizedanddisturbedme.
IlivedforthesesessionswithThomas,butseatedonthejogglingboardthatdaywiththeLatinprimeronmylap,Icouldn’tconcentrate.Thedaywasfulloftorpidwarmth,ofthesmellofcrabsbeingtrolledfromthegingerwatersoftheAshleyRiver.
“Goon.Proceed,”said
Thomas,leaningovertotapthebookwithhisfinger.“Water,master,son—nominativecase,singularandplural.”
“......Aqua,aquae...Dominus,domini...Filius,filii......Oh,Thomas,somethingiswrong!”IwasthinkingofHetty’sabsence,Mother’sbehavior,Snow’sglumness.I’dsensedamorosenessinallofthem—
Aunt-Sister,Phoebe,Tomfry,Binah.Thomasmust’vefeltit,too.
“Sarah,youalwaysknowmymind,”hesaid.“IthoughtI’dconcealedit,Ishould’veknown.”
“...Whatisit?”“Idon’twanttobea
lawyer.”He’dmisreadmyintent,
butIdidn’tsayso—thiswasasrivetingasecretashe’d
everrevealedtome.“...Notalawyer?”“I’veneverwantedtobea
lawyer.Itgoesagainstmynature.”Hegavemeatiredsmile.“Youshouldbethelawyer.FathersaidyouwouldbethegreatestinSouthCarolina,doyouremember?”
Irememberedthewayoneremembersthesun,themoon,andthestarshanging
inthesky.Theworldseemedtorushtowardme,sheenedandbeautiful.IlookedatThomasandfeltconfirmedinmydestiny.Ihadanally.Atrue,unbendingally.
Runninghishandsthroughthewavesofhishair,torrentiallikeFather’s,Thomasbegantopacethelengthofthepiazza.“Iwanttobeaminister,”hesaid.“I’mlessthanayearfrom
followingJohntoYale,andI’mtreatedasifIcan’tthinkformyself.FatherbelievesIdon’tknowmyownmind,butIdoknow.”
“Hewon’tallowyoutostudytheology?”
“Ibeggedforhisblessinglasteveningandherefused.Isaid,‘Don’tyoucarethatit’sGod’sowncallIwishtoanswer?’Anddoyouknowwhathesaidtothat?‘Until
Godinformsmeofthiscall,youwillstudythelaw.’”
Thomasploppedintoachair,andIwentandkneltbeforehim,pressingmycheekagainstthebackofhishand.Hisknuckleswerepricklywithheatbumpsandhair.Isaid,“IfIcould,Iwoulddoanythingtohelpyou.”
Asthesunloweredoverthebacklot,Hettywasstillnowheretobeseen.Unabletocontainmyfearsanylonger,Iplantedmyselfoutsidethewindowofthekitchenhouse,wherethefemaleslavesalwayscongregatedafterthelastmealoftheday.
Thekitchenhousewastheirsanctum.Here,theytoldstoriesandgossipedand
carriedontheirsecretlife.Attimes,theywouldbreakintosong,theirtunessailingacrosstheyardandslippingintothehouse.Myfavoritewasachantthatgrewrowdierasitwent:
Breaddonebroken.LetmyJesusgo.Feetbetired.LetmyJesusgo.Backbeaching.
LetmyJesusgo.Teethdonefellout.LetmyJesusgo.Rumpbedragging.LetmyJesusgo.
Theirlaughterwouldringoutabruptly,asoundMotherwelcomed.“Ourslavesarehappy,”shewouldboast.Itneveroccurredtohertheirgaietywasn’tcontentment,butsurvival.
Onthisevening,though,thekitchenhousewaswrappedinapall.Heatandsmokefromtheovengluggedoutthewindow,reddeningmyfaceandneck.IcaughtglimpsesofAunt-Sister,Binah,Cindie,Mariah,Phoebe,andLucyintheircalicodresses,butheardonlytheclunkofcastironpots.
Finally,Binah’svoicecarriedtome.“Youmeanto
saysheain’teatallday?”“Notonething,”Aunt-
Sistersaid.“Well,Iain’teating
neitheriftheystrapmeupliketheydoneher,”Phoebesaid.
Acoldswellbeganinmystomach.Strappedherup?Who?NotHetty,surely.
“Whatshethinkwouldhappenifshepilferlikethat?”Ibelievedthatvoiceto
beCindie’s.“What’dshesayforherself?”
Aunt-Sisterspokeagain.“Shewon’ttalk.Handfulupthereinbedwithher,talkingforbothof’em.”
“PoorCharlotte,”saidBinah.
Charlotte!They’dstrappedherup.Whatdidthatmean?Rosetta’smelodickeeningroseinmymemory.Isawthembindherhands.I
sawthecowhidesplitherbackandtheblood-flowersopenanddieonherskin.
Idon’trememberreturningtothehouse,onlythatIwassuddenlyinthewarmingkitchen,ransackingthelockedcupboardwhereMotherkepthercuratives.HavingunlockeditoftentoretrieveabromideforFather,Ieasilyfoundthekeyandremovedthebluebottleof
linimentoilandajarofsweetbalmtea.Intothetea,Idroppedtwograinsoflaudanum.
AsIstuffedthemintoabasket,Motherenteredthecorridor.“What,praytell,areyoudoing?”
Ithrewthequestionbackather.“......Whatdidyoudo?”
“Younglady,holdyourtongue!”
Holdmytongue?I’dheldthepoor,torturedthingthenearwholeofmylife.
“......Whatdidyoudo?”Isaidagain,almostshouting.
Shedrewherlipstightandyankedthebasketfrommyarm.
Anunknownferocitytookmeover.Iwrenchedthebasketbackfromherandstrodetowardthedoor.
“Youwillnotsetfootfromthishouse!”sheordered.“Iforbidit.”
Isteppedthroughthebackdoorintothesoftgloom,intotheterrorandthrillofdefiance.Theskyhadgonecobalt.Windwascoursinginhardfromtheharbor.
Motherfollowedme,shrieking,“Iforbidit.”Herwordsflappedoffonthebreezes,pasttheoak
branches,overthebrickfence.
Behindus,shoesscrapedonthekitchenhouseporch,andturning,wesawAunt-Sister,Binah,Cindie,allofthemshadowedinthebillowydark,lookingatus.
Motherstoodwhite-facedontheporchsteps.
“I’mgoingtoseeaboutCharlotte.”Isaid.Thewordsslideffortlesslyovermylips
likeacascadeofwater,andIknewinstantlythenervousafflictioninmyvoicehadgonebackintohibernation,forthatwashowithadhappenedinthepast,thedebilitygraduallyweakening,untilonedayIopenedmymouthandtherewasnotraceofit.
Mothernoticed,too.Shesaidnothingmore,andItrodtowardthecarriagehouse
withoutlookingback.
HandfulWhendarkfell,maumastartedtoshake.Herheadlolledandherteethclattered.Itwasn’tlikeRosettaandherfits,whereallherlimbsjerked,itwaslikemaumawascoldinsideherbones.Ididn’tknowwhattodobutpatherarmsandlegs.Aftera
while,shegrewstill.Herbreathingdrewheavy,andbeforeIknewit,Idriftedoffmyself.
IstarteddreamingandinthatdreamIwassleeping.Isleptunderanarborofthickgreen.Itwasbentperfectoverme.Vineshungroundmyarms.Scuppernongsfellalongsidemyface.Iwasthegirlsleeping,butatthesametimeIcouldseemyself,likeI
waspartofthecloudsfloatingby,andthenIlookeddownandsawthearborwasn’treallyanarbor,itwasourquiltframecoveredinvinesandleaves.Iwentonsleeping,watchingmyselfsleeping,andthecloudswentonfloating,andIsawinsidethethickgreenagain.Thistime,itwasmaumaherselfinsidethere.
Idon’tknowwhatwoke
me.Theroomwasquiet,thelightgone.
Maumasaid,“Youwake?”Thosewerethefirstwordsshe’dsaidsinceTomfrystrappedher.
“I’mawake.”“Awright.Igontellyoua
story.Youlistening,Handful?”
“I’mlistening.”Myeyeshadgotusedto
thedark,andIsawthedoor
stillproppedwidetothehallway,andmaumabesideme,frowning.Shesaid,“Yourgranny-maumacomefromAfricawhenshewasagirl.’Boutsameasyounow.”
Myheartstartedtobeathard.Itfilledupmyears.
“Soonasshegothere,hermaumaanddaddywastakenfromher,andthatsamenightthestarsfelloutthesky.Youthinkstarsdon’tfall,butyour
granny-maumasworeit.”Maumatarried,lettingus
picturehowtheskymight’velooked.
“Shesayeverythingoverheresoundlikejibberjabbertoher.Thefoodtastelikemonkeymeat.Sheain’tgotnothin’butthislittleoldscrapofquilthermaumamade.InAfrica,hermaumawasaquilter,bestthereis.TheywasFonpeopleandsewed
appliqué,samelikeIdo.Theycutoutfishes,birds,lions,elephants,everybeasttheyhad,andsewed’emon,butthequiltyourgranny-maumabroughtwithherdidn’thavenoanimalsonit,justlittlethree-side-shapes,whatyoucallatriangle.SamelikeIputonmyquilts.Mymaumasaytheywasblackbirdwings.”
Thefloorcreakedinthe
hallwayandIheardsomebodyouttherebreathinghighandfast,thewayMissSarahbreathed.Ieaseduponmyelbowandcranedmyneck,andthereshewas—hershadowblottedonthehallwindow.IloweredmyselfbacktothemattressandmaumawentontellingherstorywithMissSarahlisteningin.
“Yourgranny-maumagot
soldtosomemanfortwentydollars,andheputherinthefieldsnearGeorgetown.Theyeatboiledblack-eyepeasinthemorning,andifyouain’tdoneeatingintenminutestime,youdon’tgetnomorethatday.Yourgranny-maumasayshealwayseattooslow.
“Ineverdidknowmydaddy.HewasawhitemannamedJohnPaul,notthemassa,buthisbrother.AfterI
come,wegotsoldoff.MaumasayIbethefairsideofbrown,andeverybodyknowwhatthatmean.
“WegotboughtbyamannearCamden.HekeptmaumainthefieldsandIstayouttherewithher,butnightssheteachmeeverythingsheknows’boutquilts.Itoreupoldpantlegsanddresstailsandpieced’em.MaumasayinAfricatheysewcharmsin
theirquilts.Iputpiecesofmyhairdowninsidemine.WhenIgottwelve,maumastartbraggin’totheCamdenmissus,howIcouldsewanything,andthemissustookmetothehousetolearnfromtheirseamstress.Igotbetter’nshewasinahurry.”
Shebrokeoffandshiftedherlegsonthebed.Iwasafraidthatwasallshehadtosay.Ineverhadheardthis
story.Listeningtoitwaslikewatchingmyselfsleep,cloudsfloating,maumabentoverme.IforgotMissSarahwasoutthere.
Iwaited,andfinallyshestartedbacktelling.“MaumabirthedmybrotherwhileIwassewinginthehouse.Sheneversaywhohisdaddywas.Mybrotherdidn’tliveouttheyear.
“Afterhedie,your
granny-maumafoundusaspirittree.It’sjustaoaktree,butshecallitaBaybobliketheyhaveinAfrica.ShesayFonpeoplekeepaspirittreeanditalwaysbeaBaybob.Yourgranny-maumawrappedthetrunkwiththreadshebeggedandstole.Shetookmeoutthereandsay,‘Wegonputourspiritsinthetreesotheysafefromharm.’Wekneelonherquiltfrom
Africa,nothingbutashrednow,andwegiveourspiritstothetree.Shesayourspiritsliveinthetreewiththebirds,learningtofly.Shetoldme,‘Ifyouleavethisplace,gogetyourspiritandtakeitwithyou.’Weusedtogatherupleavesandtwigsfromroundthetreeandstick’eminpouchestowearatournecks.”
Herhandwenttoher
throatlikeshewasfeelingforit.
Shesaid,“Maumadiedofacrouponewinter.Iwassixteen.Icouldsewanythingtherewas.’Boutthattimethemassagotinmoney-debtandsoldoffeveryoneofus.IgotboughtbymassaGrimkéforhisplaceinUnion.Night’foreIleft,Iwentandgotmyspiritfromthetreeandtookitwithme.
“Iwantyoutoknow,yourdaddywasgoodasgold.HisnamewasShanney.HeworkinmassaGrimké’sfields.OnedaymissussayIgottocomesewforherinCharleston.Isayawright,butbringShanney,hemyhusband.ShesayShanneyafieldslave,andmaybeIseehimsometimewhenIbackforavisit.Youwasalreadyinsideme,andnobodyknew.
Shanneydiefromacutonhisleg’foreyouayearold.Heneversawyourface.”
Maumastoppedtalking.Shewasdone.Shewenttosleepthenandleftthestorybentperfectoverme.
NextmorningwhenIeasedoutofbedheadedfortheprivy,Ibumpedintoabasketsittingbythedoor.Insideit
wasabigbottleoflinimentandsomemedicine-tea.
ThatdayIwentbacktotendingMissSarah.Islippedintoherroomwhileshewasreadingoneofherbooks.Shewasshytobringupwhathappenedtomauma,soIsaid,“Wegotyourbasket.”
Herfaceeased.“TellyourmotherI’msorryforhertreatment,andIhopeshe’llfeelbettersoon,”andit
wasn’tanytoilinherwords.“Thatmeanalottous,”I
said.Shelaidthebookdown
andcamewhereIwasstandingbythechimneyplaceandputherarmsroundme.Itwashardtoknowwherethingsstood.Peoplesaylovegetsfouledbyadifferencebigasours.Ididn’tknowforsurewhetherMissSarah’sfeelingscame
fromloveorguilt.Ididn’tknowwhetherminecamefromloveoraneedtobesafe.Shelovedmeandpitiedme.AndIlovedherandusedher.Itneverwasasimplething.Thatday,ourheartswerepureastheyeverwouldget.
SarahSpringturnedtosummer,andwhenMadameRuffinsuspendedclassesuntilthefall,IaskedThomastoexpandourprivatelessonsonthepiazza.
“I’mafraidwehavetostopthemaltogether,”hesaid.“Ihavemyownstudies
toconsider.FatherhasorderedmetoundertakeasystematicstudyofhislawbooksinpreparationforYale.”
“Icouldhelpyou!”Icried.
“Sarah,Sarah,quitecontra-rah.”Itwasthephraseheusedwhenhisrefusalwasforegoneandfinal.
HehadnoideatheextentI’denmeshedhiminmy
plans.TherewasastringofbarristerfirmsonBroadStreet,fromtheExchangetoSt.Michael’s,andIpicturedthetwoofuspartneredinoneofthemwithasignboardoutfront,GrimkéandGrimké.Ofcourse,therewouldbeanout-and-outskirmishwiththerankandfile,butwithThomasatmysideandFatheratmyback,nothingwouldpreventit.
IboredownonFather’slawbookseveryafternoonmyself.
Inthemornings,IreadaloudtoHettyinmyroomwiththedoorbolted.Whentheaircookedtounbearabledegrees,weescapedtothepiazza,andthere,sittingsidebysideintheswing,wesangsongsthatHettycomposed,mostofthemabouttravelingacrosswaterbyboator
whale.Herlegsswungbackandforthlikelittlebatons.Sometimeswesatbeforethewindowsinthesecond-flooralcoveandplayedLacetheString.Hettyalwaysseemedtohaveastashofredthreadinherdresspocketandwespenthourspassingitthroughourupstretchedfingers,creatingintricate,bloodshotmazesintheair.
Suchoccupationsare
whatgirlsdotogether,butitwasthefirstoccasionforeitherofus,andwecarriedthemoutascovertlyaspossibletoavoidMotherputtinganendtothem.Wewerecrossingadangerousline,HettyandI.
OnemorningwhileCharlestonturnedmiserablyonthebrazierofsummer,
HettyandIlayflatonourstomachsontheruginmyroomwhileIreadaloudfromDonQuixote.Theweekbefore,Motherhadorderedthemosquitonettingsoutofstorageandaffixedabovethebedsinanticipationofthebloodsuckingseason,buthavingnosuchprotection,theslaveswerealreadyscratchingandclawingattheirskin.Theyrubbed
themselveswithlardandmolassestodrawouttheitchandtraileditseaudecolognethroughthehouse.
Hettydugataninflamedmosquitobiteonherforearmandfrownedatthebookpagesasiftheyweresomekindofirresolvablecode.IwantedhertolistentotheexploitsoftheknightandSanchoPanza,butsheinterruptedmerepeatedly,
placingherfingeronsomewordorother,asking,“Whatdoesthatonesay?”andIwouldhavetobreakoffthestorytotellher.She’ddonethesamethingrecentlyaswereadTheLifeandStrangeSurprizingAdventuresofRobinsonCrusoeofYork,andIwonderedif,perhaps,shewasmerelyboredwiththeanticsofmen,fromtheshipwreckedtothe
chivalrous.AsIsentmyvoiceinto
dramaticliltsandaccents,tryingtolureherbackintothetale,theroomgrewdark,tincturedwithanapproachingstorm.Windblewthroughtheopenwindow,comingthickwiththesmellofrainandoleander,swirlingtheveilsofthemosquitonet.Istoppedreading,asthunderbrokeandrainsplattedacrossthesill.
HettyandIleaptupinunisonanddrewdownthepane,andthere,swoopinglowintheyellowgloom,wastheyoungowlthatCharlotteandHettyhadfedfaithfullythroughthespring.Ithadgrownoutofitsfledglingways,butithadnotvacateditsresidenceinthewoodpile.
Iwatcheditflystraighttowardus,arcingacrossGeorgeStreetandgliding
overtheworkyardwall,itscomicalbarnowlfacestrikinglyvisible.Asthebirddisappeared,Hettywenttolightthelamp,butIwasfixedthere.WhatcametomewasthedayatthewoodpilewhenCharlottefirstshowedmethebird,andIrememberedtheoathI’dmadetohelpHettybecomefree,apromiseimpossibletofulfillandonethatcontinuedtocausemeno
endofguilt,butitsuddenlyrangclearinmeforthefirsttime:CharlottesaidIshouldhelpHettygetfreeanywayIcould.
Turning,Iwatchedhercarrythelanterntomydressingtable,lightswillingaboutherfeet.Whenshesetitdown,Isaid,“Hetty,shallIteachyoutoread?”O
Equippedwithanelementaryprimer,twoblue-backspellers,aslateboard,andlumpofchalk,webegandailylessonsinmyroom.NotonlydidIlockthedoor,Iscreenedthekeyhole.Ourtutorialswentonthroughoutthemorningfortwoormorehours.Whenweendedthem,Iwrappedthematerialsinaswathofcoarsecloth,knownasNegrocloth,andtucked
thebundlebeneathmybed.I’dnevertaughtanyoneto
read,butI’dbeentutoredincopiousamountsofLatinbyThomasandsubjectedtoenoughofMadametodeviseareasonablescheme.Asitturnedout,Hettyhadaknack.Withinaweek,shecouldwriteandrecitethealphabet.Withintwo,shewassoundingoutwordsinthespellers.I’llneverforgetthemoment
whenshemadethemagicalconnectioninhermindandthelettersandsoundspassedfromnonsenseintomeaning.Afterthat,shereadthroughtheprimerwithgrowingproficiency.
Bypageforty,shehadavocabularyofeighty-sixwords.Irecordedandnumberedeachoneshemasteredonasheafofpaper.“Whenyoureachahundred
words,”Ipromisedher,“we’llcelebratewithatea.”
Shebegantodecipherwordsonapothecarylabelsandfoodjars.“HowdoyouspellHetty?”shewantedtoknow.“Howdoyouspellwater?”Herappetitetolearnwasvoracious.
Once,IglimpsedherintheworkyardwritinginthedirtwithastickandIracedintotheyardtostopher.
She’dscrawledW-A-T-E-Rwithexactpenmanshipfortheentireworldtosee.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Isaid,rubbingthelettersawaywithmyfoot.“Someonewillsee.”
Shewasequallyexasperatedwithme.“Don’tyouthinkIgotmyownfoottoruboutletters,ifsomebodycomesalong?”
Sheconqueredher
hundredthwordonthethirteenthofJuly.
Weheldhercelebratoryteathenextdayonthehippedroofofthehouse,hopingtocatchsightoftheBastilleDayfestivities.WehadasizeableFrenchpopulationfromSt.Domingo,aFrenchtheatre,andaFrenchfinishingschooloneverycorner.AFrench
hair-dresserfrizzedandpowderedMotherandherfriends,regalingthemwithaccountsoftheguillotiningofMarieAntoinette,whichheclaimedtohavewitnessed.CharlestonwasBritishtothesolesofitsfeet,butitobservedthedestructionoftheBastillewithasmuchzealasourownindependence.
Weclimbedintotheatticwithtwochinacupsandajar
ofblackteaspikedwithhyssopandhoney.Fromthere,wemountedaladderthatledtoahatchintheroof.Thomashaddiscoveredthesecretopeningatthirteenandtakenmeuptowanderamongthechimneys.SnowspottedusashedroveMotherhomefromoneofhercharitymissions,andwithoutawordtoher,he’dclimbedupandretrievedus.I’dnotventured
heresince.HettyandInestledinto
oneofthegulliesonthesouthsidewithourbacksagainstaslope.Sheclaimednevertohavedrunkfromachinacupandgulpedquickly,whileIsippedslowlyandstaredatthehardbluepaneoverourheads.WhenthepopulacemarchedinprocessionalongBroadStreet,theyweretoofarawayforustosee,butwe
heardthemsingingtheHymnedesMarseillois.ThebellsofSt.Philip’schimedandtherewasasaluteofthirteenguns.
Birdshadbeenloiteringontheroof,andscatteringsoffeatherswerehereandthere.Hettytuckedthemintoherpockets,andsomethingaboutthiscreatedafeelingoftendernessinme.PerhapsIwasalittledrunkonhyssop
andhoney,onthenoveltyofbeinggirlstogetherontheroof.Whateveritwas,IbegantellingHettyconfidencesI’dkeptonlywithmyself.
ItoldherIwasaccomplishedateavesdropping,thatI’dstoodoutsideCharlotte’sroomthenightshewaspunishedandheardthestoryshetold.
“Iknow,”shesaid.“You
notsogoodatsnoopingasyouthink.”
Ispilledeverypossiblesecret.MysisterMarydespisedme.Thomashadbeenmyonlyfriend.I’dbeendismissedasanunfitteacherofslavechildren,butsheshouldn’tworry,itwasnotduetoincompetence.
AsIwenton,myrevelationsturnedgrave.“IsawRosettabeingwhipped
onetime,”Itoldher.“Iwasfour.Thatwaswhenthetroublewithmyspeechbegan.”
“Itseemslikeyou’retalkingallrightnow.”
“Itcomesandgoes.”“WasRosettahurtbad?”“Ithinkitwasverybad.”“What’dshedowrong?”“Idon’tknow.Ididn’t
ask—Icouldn’tspeakafterward,notforweeks.”
Weturnedtaciturn,leaningbackandgazingatthecrenulatedclouds.TalkofRosettahadsoberedusmorethanI’dintended,fartoomuchforateacelebratingahundred-wordvocabulary.
Hopingtorestorethemood,Isaid,“I’mgoingtobealawyerlikemyfather.”Iwassurprisedtohearmyselfblurtthisout,thecrownjewelofsecrets,andfeeling
suddenlyexposed,Iadded,“Butyoucan’ttellanyone.”
“Idon’thavenobodytotell.Justmauma.”
“Well,youcan’teventellher.Promiseme.”
Shenodded.Satisfied,Ithoughtofthe
lavaboxandmysilverbutton.“Doyouknowhowanobjectcanstandforsomethingentirelydifferentthanitspurpose?”Shelooked
atmeblankly,whileItriedtothinkofawaytoexplain.“Youknowmymother’scane,forinstance—howit’smeanttohelpherwalk,butweallknowwhatitstandsfor.”
“Whackingheads.”Afterapause,sheadded,“Atriangleonaquiltstandsforablackbirdwing.”
“Yes,that’swhatImean.Well,Ihaveastoneboxin
mydresserwithabuttoninside.Abuttonismeantforfasteningclothes,butthisoneisbeautiful,justplainuncommon,soIdecidedtoletitstandformydesiretobealawyer.”
“Iknowaboutthebutton.Ididn’ttouchit,Ijustopenedtheboxandlookedatit.”
“Idon’tmindifyouholdit,”Itoldher.
“Ihaveathimbleandit
standsforpushinganeedleandkeepingmyfingertipfromturningsore,butIcouldletthatstandforsomethingelse.”
WhenIaskedherwhat,shesaid,“Idon’tknow,’ceptIwannasewlikemauma.”
Hettygotintothespirit.SheretoldtheentirestoryI’doverheardhermothertellthatnightabouthergrandmothercomingfromAfrica,
appliquéingquiltswiththetriangles.WhenHettytalkedaboutthespirittree,hervoicetookonareverentialtone.
Beforewewentbackdownthehatch,Hettysaid,“Itookaspoolofthreadfromyourroom.Itwaslayinginyourdrawernousetoanybody.I’msorry,Icanbringitback.”
“Oh.Well,goaheadandkeepit,butpleaseHetty,
don’tstealanymore,evenlittlethings.Youcouldlandinterribletrouble.”
Aswedescendedtheladder,shesaid,“MyrealnameisHandful.”
HandfulMaumacamedownwithalimp.Whenshewasinherroomorinthekitchenhouseformeals,shedidn’thaveanytrouble,buttheminuteshesteppedintheyard,shedraggedherleglikeitwasadeadlog.Aunt-Sisterandthemwatchedhergolame
andshooktheirheads.Theydidn’tlikethatkindoftrickanddidn’tmindsayingit.Maumatoldthem,“Afteryougetyourone-leggedpunishment,youcansayallyouwant.Tillthen,youbestshutup.”
Afterthat,theystayedclearofher.Stoppedtalkingifsheshowedup,startedbackwhensheleft.Maumasaiditwasahatefulshun.
Hereyesburnedwithangerallthetimenow.Sometimessheturnedherblackenedstareonme.Sometimessheturnedittocleverness.OnedayIfoundheratthefootofthestairs,explainingtomissusshehadahardtimeclimbinguptodohersewing,andforthatmatter,ahardtimeclimbingthecarriagehousestepstoherroom.Shesaid,“ButIgon
makeoutsomehow,don’tworry.”Thenwhilemissusandmewatched,shepulledonthebannisteranddraggedherselftothetop,callingonJesusthewholeway.
Nextweknow,missushadPrinceclearoutabigroominthecellar,onthesideofthehousethatbackeduptotheworkyardwall.Hemovedmauma’sbedinthereandallherstuff.Tookthe
quiltframedownfromheroldceilingandnaileditonthenewone.MissussaidmaumawoulddoallthesewinginherroomfromhereoutandhadPrincebringdownthelacquersewingtable.
Thecellarroomwaslargeasthreeslaveroomsputtogether.Itwasbrightwhitewashandhaditsowntinywindowneartheceiling,
butlookingthroughit,youdidn’tseecloudsinthesky,yousawbricksinthewall.Maumamadeitacalicocurtainanyway.Shegotholdofsomepicturesofsailingshipsfromacast-offbookandtackedthemonthewall.Apaintedrockingchairturnedupinthere,alongwithabeat-uptoilettableshecoveredwithTicklingburgcloth.Ontop,shesetempty
coloredbottles,aboxofcandles,acakeoftallow,andatindishpiledwithcoffeebeansforherchewingpleasure.Whereshegotallthishoard,Idon’tknow.Alongthewallshelf,shelaidoutoursewingstuff:thepatchbox,thepouchwithneedlesandthread,thesackofquiltstuffing,pincushion,shears,tracingwheel,charcoal,stampingpapers,
measuringribbons.SittingoffbythemselveswasmybrassthimbleandtheredthreadIstolefromMissSarah’sdrawer.
Oncemaumagottheplacefixedlikeapalace,sheaskedAunt-Sistercouldtheyallcomegiveaprayerforher“poorsorryroom.”Oneeveningherecamethelotofthemalltoogladtoseehowpoorandsorryitwas.Mauma
offeredeachofthemacoffeebean.Sheletthemlooktotheirhearts’content,thenshowedthemhowthedoorlockedwithanironslidebolt,howshehadherownprivypotunderthebed,whichitfelltometoempty,consideringhowcrippleshewas.Shemadealotoverthewoodencanemissushadgivenherforgettinground.
WhenAunt-Sisterleft
mauma’sparty,shespitontheflooroutsidethedoor,andCindiecamebehindheranddidthesamething.
Bestthingwas,Icouldgettothenewroomwithoutleavingthehouse.Morenightsthannot,IcreptdownthetwoflightsfromSarah’sroom,sidesteppingthecreaks.Maumalovedthatlockonherdoor.Ifshewasinherroom,youcouldbe
sureitwaslatched,andifshewassleeping,Ihadtopoundmyknucklessoretillsheroused.
Maumadidn’tcareanymoreaboutmeleavingmypost.She’dsnatchopenherdoor,yankmein,andboltitback.Underthecovers,I’daskhertotellmeaboutthespirittree,wantingmoredetailofit,everyleaf,branch,andnest.WhenshethoughtI
wassleeping,shegotupandpacedtheroom,hummingaquietsoundthroughherlips.Thosenights,somethingdarkandheedlesswaslooseinher.
Byday,shesatinhernewroomandsewed.MissSarahletmegodowneveryafternoonandstaytillsuppertime.Alittleairmightfussroundmauma’swindow,butitwaslikeasmelterintheremostofthetime.
Maumawouldsay,“Getyoselfbusy.”Ilearnedbaste,gather,pleat,shire,gore,andgusset.Everystitchthereis.Ilearnedtodoabuttonholeandashank.Cutapatternfromscratchwithoutstampingpowder.
Thatsummer,Iturnedelevenyears,andmaumasaidthepalletIsleptonupstairswasn’tfitforadog.Weweresupposedtobeworkingon
thenextrationofslaveclothes.Everyyearthemengottwobrownshirtsandtwowhite,twopants,twovests.Womengotthreedresses,fouraprons,andaheadscarf.Maumasaidallthatcouldwait.Sheshowedmehowtocutblacktriangleseachonebigastheendofmythumb,thenweappliquédtwohundredormoreonredsquares,acolormaumacalled
oxblood.Wesewedontinycirclesofyellowforsunsplatter,thencrankeddownthequiltframeandpiecedeverythingtogether.Ihemmedonthehomespunbackingmyself,andwefilledtheinsidewithallthebattingandfeatherswehad.Icutaplugofmyhairandplugofmauma’sandputtheminsideforcharms.Ittooksixafternoons.O
Maumahadstoppedstealingandtakenupsaferwaystodoharmandwreckage.She’dforget,so-callforget,thatmissus’sleeveswerebastedloose,andoneofthemwouldpopopenatchurchorsomewhere.Maumahadmesewonbuttonswithoutknots,andtheywouldfalloffmissus’bosomonthefirstwear-round.Everybodywithanear
couldhearmissusshoutatmaumaforherlaziness,andmaumacryout,“Oh,missus,prayforme,Iwantstodobetter.”
Ican’tsaywhatallmischiefmaumadid,justwhatIsaw,andthatwasplenty.She“accidently”brokewhateverpieceofchinaortablefigurinewassittinground.Flippeditoverandkeptwalking.Whenshesaw
theteatraysAunt-SisterleftinthewarmingkitchenforCindietotakeup,shewoulddropwhateverbitofnastinessshecouldintotheteapot.Dirtoffthefloor,lintofftherug,spitfromhermouth.ItoldMissSarah,stayclearoftheteatrays.
Daybeforethestormcame,astillfeelingweighedonthe
air.Youfeltlikeyouwerewaiting,butyoudidn’tknowwhatfor.Tomfrysaiditwasahurricaneandbattendown.PrinceandSabeclosedthehouseshutters,storedtheworkyardtoolsintheshed,andfasteneduptheanimals.Inside,werolledupcarpetsonthefirstfloorandmovedthefragilesfromnearthewindows.Missushadusbringthefoodrationsinside
fromthekitchenhouse.Itcameinthenightwhile
Iwasinbedwithmauma.Thewindscreamedandthrewlimbsagainstthehouse.Somanypalmtreesrattledinthedark,maumaandIhadtoshouttoheareachother.Wesatinthebedandwatchedtherainpitchagainstthehighwindowandpourinroundtheedges.Floodwaterwashedunderthedoor.Isangmy
songsloudasIcouldtotakemymindfromit.
Crossthewater,crossthesea,Letthemfishescarryme.Ifthatwatertaketoolong,Carrymeon,Carrymeon.
Whenthestormfinallypassed,weswungourlegs
ontothefloorandthewatercutcirclesaboveourankles.Mauma’sso-callpoorsorryroomhadturnedintoapoorsorryroom.
Atlowtidenextday,thefloodwaterdrewbackandeveryonegotcalledtothecellartoshoveloutthemud.Theworkyardwasamessofsticksandbrokenpalmfans,waterpailsandhorsefeed,thedoorofftheprivy,
whateverthewindhadgrabbedanddropped.Apieceofshipsailwashunginthebranchesofthespreadingtree.
Oncewegotmauma’sroomcleanedup,Iwentouttoseethesailinthetree.Itwavedinthebreeze,makingastrangesight.Beneaththebranches,thegroundwasawetslateofclay.Takingastick,IwroteBABYBOY
BLUEBLOWYOURHORNHETTY,diggingthelettersdeepinthestarchymud,pleasedatmypenmanship.WhenAunt-Sistercalledmetothekitchenhouse,Ismearedoverthewordswiththetoeofmyshoe.
Therestoftheday,thesunshonedownanddriedouttheworld.
Nextmorningwhilemeandmaumawereinthe
diningroomwaitingfordevotions,MissMarycamehurryingdownthehallwaywithmissustrottingbehindher.Headedforthebackdoor.
Maumaleanedonhercane,said,“Wheretheytearingoffto?”
Lookingfromthewindow,wesawLucy,MissMary’swaitingmaid,underthetreeandthesailstill
caughtinthebranches.WesawMissMaryleadmissuscrosstheyardrighttowhereLucystoodlookingattheground,andahotfeelingcameupfrommystomachandspreadovermychest.
“Whattheylookingat?”maumasaid,watchinghowthethreeofthemtippedfromtheirwaistsandstudiedthedirt.
ThenLucyranfull-tilt
backtowardthehouse.Drawingclose,sheyelled,“Handful!Handful!Missussaycomeouthererightnow.”
Iwent,full-knowing.Mywords,straightfrom
thespeller,werebakedintheclay.Thesmear-overofmudfrommyshoehadcrackledandthinnedaway,leavingthedeepcreviceoftheletters.
BABYBOYBLUEBLOWYOURHORN
HETTY.
SarahTwodaysafteraSeptemberhurricanesenttidewateroverEastBayallthewaytoMeetingStreet,Binahknockedonmydoorbeforebreakfast,hereyesfilledwithfearandconsolation,andIknewsomecatastrophehadfallen.
“Hassomeonedied?IsFather—”
“No,ain’tnobodydie.Yourdaddy,hewantyouinthelibrary.”
I’dneverbeensummonedlikethisanditcausedanodd,plummetingsensationinmylegs,somuchsoIdippedalittleatthekneeswhilewalkingbacktotheHepplewhitetoinspecttheivoryribbonI’dbeentyingin
myhair.“What’shappened?”I
asked,tuggingthebow,smoothingmydress,lettingmyhandrestforamomentacrossmyjitterystomach.
Icouldseeherreflectionintheglass.Sheshookherhead.“MissSarah,Ican’tsaywhathewant,butitain’thelptopoke.”
Placingherhandatthesmallofmyback,shenudged
mefromtheroom,pastHandful’snewquiltlyinginthehallway,itsmassoftrianglespinionedonthefloor.Wewalkeddownthestairs,pausingoutsidethelibrarydoor.AbstainingfromherPoorMissSarahs,Binahsaidinstead,“ListentoBinahnow.Don’tbecrying,anddon’tberunningaway.Buckyourselfupnow.”
Herwords,meantto
steadyme,unnervedmefurther.AsItappedonthedoor,theairyfeelingreturnedtothebackofmyknees.Hesatathisdeskwithhishairoiledandcombedbacksmoothanddidn’tlookup,intentonastackofdocuments.
Whenheliftedhisface,hiseyeswerehardened.“Youhavedisappointedme,Sarah.”
Iwastoostunnedtocryorrunaway,thetwothingsBinahhadwarnedagainst.“Iwouldneverknowinglydisappointyou,Father.Ionlycareto—”
Hethrustouthispalm.“Ihavebroughtyouheretolisten.Donotspeak.”
Myheartbeatsoferociouslymyhandswenttoeithersideofmyribstokeepthemfromunhinging.
“Ithasbeenbroughttomyattentionthatyourslavegirlhasbecomeliterate.Donotthinktodenyit,asshewroteanumberofwordsonthemuddygroundintheyardandeventookcaretosignhername.”
OhHandful,no!Ilookedawayfromhisharsh,accusingeyes,tryingtoarrangethingsintoperspective.Handfulhad
beencareless.We’dbeenfoundout.ButmydisbelievingmindcouldnotacceptthatFather,ofallpeople,believedherabilitytoreadwasanunpardonableoffense.Hewouldchastisemeashemust,undoubtedlyatMother’surging.Thenhewouldsoften.Inthedepthsofhisconscience,heunderstoodwhatI’ddone.
“Howdoyousupposeshe
acquiredthisability?”heaskedcalmly.“Diditdescenduponheronedayoutoftheblue?Wasshebornwithit?Didsheteachherowningeniousselftoread?Ofcourse,weknowhowthegirlcametoread—youtaughther.Youdefiedyourmother,yourfather,thelawsofyourstate,evenyourrector,whoexpresslyadmonishedyouaboutit.”
Herosefromhisleatherchairandwalkedtowardme,stoppingatarm’sreach,andwhenhespokeagain,someofthehostilityhadlefthisvoice.“I’veaskedmyselfhowyouareabletodisobeywithsucheaseanddisregard.Ifeartheanswerisyouareacoddledgirlwhodoesnotunderstandherplaceintheworld,andthatispartlymyownfault.I’vedoneyouno
favorswithmylenience.Myindulgencehasgivenyoutheideayoucantransgressaseriousboundarysuchasthisone.”
Feelingthechillofsomenewanddifferentterror,Idaredtospeak,andfeltmythroatclenchinthefamiliaroldway.Isqueezedmyeyesandforcedoutmythought.“.........I’msorry,Father......Imeantno
harm.”“Noharm?”Hehadn’tnoticedthe
returnofmystammer.Hepacedaboutthestuffyroomandlecturedme,whileMr.Washingtongazedserenelyfromthemantel.“Youthinkthere’snodetrimentinaslavelearningtoread?Therearesadtruthsinourworld,andoneisthatslaveswhoreadareathreat.Theywouldbe
abreastofnewsthatwouldincitetheminwayswecouldnotcontrol.Yes,it’sunfairtodeprivethem,butthere’sagreatergoodherethatmustbeprotected.”
“.........ButFather,it’swrong!”Icried.
“Areyousoimpudentastochallengemeevennow?Whenyouleftthedocumentonmydeskfreeingyourslavegirl,Ishouldhavebrought
youtoyoursensesthenandthere,butIcossetedyou.Ithoughtbytearingthefoolthingintwoandreturningittoyou,youwouldunderstandweGrimkésdonotsubverttheinstitutionsandlawsbywhichwelive,evenifwedon’tagreewiththem.”
Ifeltconfusedandverystupid.Fatherhadtornupmymanumissionpaper.Father.
“Donotmistakeme,
Sarah,Iwillprotectourwayoflife.Iwillnottolerateseditioninthisfamily!”
WhenI’despousedmyanti-slaveryviewsduringthosedinnertabledebates,Fatherbeamingandspurringmeon,I’dthoughtheprizedmyposition.I’dthoughthesharedmyposition,butithitmesuddenlythatI’dbeenthecollaredmonkeydancingtohismaster’saccordion.Father
hadbeenamusinghimself.Orperhapshe’dencouragedmydissentingopiniononlybecauseitgavetherestofthemawaytosharpentheirownopposingviews.Perhapshe’dtoleratedmynotionsbecausethedebateshadbeenapityingoralexercisetohelpadefectivedaughterspeak?
Fathercrossedhisarmsoverhiswhiteshirtandstaredatmefrombeneaththe
unclippedhedgeofhisbrows.Hiseyeswereclearandbrownandemptyofcompassion,andthat’swhenIfirstsawmyfatherashereallywas—amanwhovaluedprincipleoverlove.
“Youhavequiteliterallycommittedacrime,”hesaidandresumedhispacing,makingawide,sloworbitaroundme.“Iwillnotpunishyouaccordingly,butyou
mustlearn,Sarah.”“Fromnowon,youare
deniedentrancetothisroom.Youshallnotcrossthisthresholdatanytime,dayornight.Youaredeniedallaccesstothebookshere,andtoanyotherbookswherevertheymightbe,exceptforthoseMadameRuffinhasallottedforyourstudies.”
Nobooks.God,please.Mylegsgavewaythen,andI
wentontomyknees.Hekeptcircling.“You
willstudynothingbutMadame’sapprovedsubjects.NomoreLatinsessionswithThomas.Youwillnotwriteit,speakit,orcomposeitinyourhead.Doyouunderstand?”
Iliftedmyhands,palmsup,ashighasmyhead,moldingmyselfintotheshapeofasupplicant.
“.........Father,Ibegyou...P-please,don’ttakebooksfromme...Ican’tbearit.”
“Youhavenoneedofbooks,Sarah.”
“......F-f-father!”Hestrodebacktohis
desk.“Itcausesmedistresstoseeyourmisery,Sarah,butit’sfaitaccompli.Trynottotakeitsohard.”
Fromthewindowcame
therumbleofdraysandcarriages,thecriesofslavevendorsonthestreet—theoldwomanwiththebasketatopherheadwhosquawked,“RedROSEto-may-TOES.”Thedinofcommercewentonwithoutregard.Openingthelibrarydoor,IsawBinahhadwaited.Shetookmyhandandledmeupthestairstothedoorwayofmyroom.“Igetyousomebreakfastandbring
ituphereonatray,”shesaid.Aftersheleft,Ipeered
beneaththebedwhereI’dkepttheslateboard,spellers,andprimer.Theyweregone.Thebooksonmydeskweregone,too.Myroomhadbeenscoured.
ItwasnotuntilBinahreturnedwiththetraythatIthoughttoask,“......Where’sHandful?”
“Oh,MissSarah,thatjust
it.She’bouttogetherownpunishingoutback.”
Ihavenomemoryofmyfeetgrazingthestairs.
“Itjustonelash,”Binahcried,racingbehindme.“Onelash,missussay.Thatbeall.”
Iflungopenthebackdoor.Myeyesswepttheyard.Handful’sskinnyarmsweretiedtotheporchrailofthe
kitchenhouse.Tenpacesbehindher,Tomfryheldastrapandstaredattheground.Charlottestoodinthewheelrutsthatcutfromthecarriagehousetothebackgate,whiletherestoftheslavesclusteredbeneaththeoak.
Tomfryraisedhisarm.“No!”Iscreamed.“Nooooo!”Heturnedtowardme,hesitating,andrelieffilledhisface.
ThenIheardMother’scanetaptheglassontheupstairswindow,andTomfryliftedhistiredeyestowardthesound.HenoddedandbroughtthelashdownacrossHandful’sback.
HandfulTomfrysaidhetriednottoputmuchforceinit,butthestrikeflayedopenmyskin.MissSarahmadeapoulticewithBalmofGileadbudssoakedinmasterGrimké’srum,andmaumahandedthewholeflasktomeandsaid,“Here,goon,drinkit,too.”I
don’thardlyrememberthepain.
Thegashhealedfast,butMissSarah’shurtgotworseandworse.Hervoicehadgonebacktostallingandshepinedforherbooks.Thatwasonewretchedgirl.
It’dbeenLucywhorantattlingtoMissMaryaboutmyletteringunderthetree,andMissMaryhadruntattlingtomissus.I’djudged
Lucytobestupid,butshewasonlyweak-willedandwantingtogetingoodwithMissMary.Ineverdidforgiveher,andIdon’tknowifMissSarahforgavehersister,causewhatcamefromallthatsnitchingturnedthetideonMissSarah’slife.Herstudyingwasoveranddone.
Myreadinglessonswereover,too.Ihadmyhundredwords,andIfiguredouta
goodmanymorejustusingmywits.Nowandthen,IsaidmyABCsformaumaandreadwordstoheroffthepicturepagesshe’dtackedonherwall.
OnedayIwenttothecellarandmaumawasmakingababygownfrommuslinwithlilacbands.Shesawmyfaceandsaid,“That’sright,
anotherGrimkécoming.Sometimethiswinter.Missusain’thappy’boutit.Iheardhertellmassa,that’sit,thisthelastone.”
Whenmaumafinishedhemmingthelittlegown,sheduginthegunnysackandpulledoutashortstackofcleanpaper,ahalffullinkwell,andaquillpen,andIknewshe’dstoleeveryoneofthesethings.Isaid,“Whyyou
keepdoingthis?”“Ineedyoutowrite
something.Write,‘CharlotteGrimkéhaspermissionfortraveling.’Underthat,putthemonth,leaveofftheday,andsignMaryGrimkéwithsomecurlicue.”
“Firstoff,Idon’tknowhowtowriteCharlotte.Idon’tknowthewordpermissioneither.”
“Then,write,‘Thisslave
isallowedfortravel.’”“Whatyougonnadowith
it?”Shesmiled,showingme
thegapinherfrontteeth.“Thisslavegontravel.Butdon’tworry,shealwayscomingback.”
“Whatyougonnadowhenawhitemanstopsyouandaskstoseeyourpassanditlookslikesomeeleven-year-oldwroteit?”
“Thenyoubestwriteitlikeyouain’tsomeeleven-year-old.”
“Howyouplanongettingpastthewall?”
Shelookedupatthewindowneartheceiling.Itwasn’tbigasahatbox.Ididn’tseehowshecouldwrigglethroughit,butshewouldgreaseherselfwithgoosefatifthat’swhatittook.Iwroteherpasscause
shewasbentonhelltohaveit.
Afterthat,leastoneortwoafternoonsaweek,shetookoff.Stayedgonefrommiddleoftheafternoontillpastdark.Wouldn’tsaywhereshewent.Wouldn’tsayhowshegotinandoutoftheyard.Iworkedoutherescapepathinmyhead,though.Outsideherwindow,itwasn’tbutacoupleoffeet
betweenthehouseandthewall,andIfiguredonceshesqueezedthroughthewindow,shewouldpressherbackagainstthehouseandherfeetagainstthewallandshimmyupandover,droppingtothegroundontheotherside.
Course,shehadtofindanotherwaybackin.Myguesswasthebackgatewherethecarriagecameand
went.Shenevercamebacktillitwasgoodanddark,soshecouldclimbitandnobodysee.Shealwaysmadeitbeforethedrumsbeatforcurfew.Ididn’twannathinkofherouttherehidingfromtheCityGuard.
Oneafternoon,whilemeandmaumawerefinishinguptheslaveclothesfortheyear,Ilaidoutmyreasoning,howshewentoutthewindowin
daylightandcamebackoverthegateatdark.Shesaid,“Well,ain’tyousmart.”
Inthefarbackofmyhead,Icouldseeherwiththestraptiedonherankleandroundherneck,andIfilledupandstartedbegging.“Don’tdoitnomore.Please.Allright?Yougonnagetyourselfcaught.”
“Itellyouwhat,youcanhelpme—ifsomebodyhere
findmemissing,yousitthepailnexttothecisternwhereIcanseeitfromthebackgate.Youdothatforme.”
Thisscaredmeworse.“Andifyouseeit,whatyougonnado—runoff?Justleaveme?”ThenIbrokedown.
Sherubbedmyshouldersthewayshealwayslikedtodo.“Handful,child.Iwouldsoondie’foreIleaveyou.Youknowthat.Ifthatpailsit
bythecistern,thatjusthelpmeknowwhat’scoming,that’sall.”
Whentheirsocialseasonwasstartingoffagain,andmeandmaumacouldn’tkeepupwithallthegownsandfrocks,sheupandhiredherselfoutwithoutpermission.Ilearneditonedayafterthesuppermeal,whilewewerestanding
inthemiddleoftheworkyard.MissSarahhadbeeninoneofherdespairsallday,andIthoughttheworstthingsIhadtofretoverwashowlowshegotandmaumaslippingoutthewindow.Butmauma,shepulledaslavebadgeoutfromherpocket.Ifsomeownerhiredhisslaveout,hehadtobuyabadgefromthecity,andIknewmasterGrimkéhadn’tbought
anysuch.Havingafakebadgewasworsethanhavingmissus’greensilk.
Itookthebadgeandstudiedit.Itwasasmallsquareofcopperwithaholepokedthroughthetopsoyoucouldpinittoyourdress.Itwascarvedwithwords.IsoundedthemouttillitfinallycameclearwhatIwassaying.“Dome-stic...Do-mes-tic.Ser-vant.Domestic
Servant!”Icried.“Number133.Year1805.Where’dyougetthis?”
“Well,Iain’tbeenouttheregroggingandlazingroundthiswholetime—Ibeenfindingworkformyself.”
“Butyougotmoreworkherethanwecanseeto.”
“AndIdon’tmakenothin’fromit,doI?”Shetookthebadgefrommeand
droppeditbackinherpocket.“OneoftheRussellslaves
nameTomhashisownblacksmithshoponEastBay.MissusRusselllethimworkforhirealldayandshedon’ttakebutthree-quarterofwhathemake.Hemadethisbadgeforme,copieditoffarealone.”
Ihadthemindofaneleven-year-old,butIknewrightoffthisblacksmith
wasn’tjustsomenicemandoingherafavor.Whywasheputtinghimselfindangertomakeafakebadgeforher?
Shesaid,“IgonbemakingbonnetsanddressesandquiltsforaladyonQueenStreet.MissusAllen.ItoldhermynamewasPearl,andIbelongtomassaDupréonthecornerofGeorgeandEastBay.Shesaytome,‘YoumeanthatFrench
tailor?’Isay,‘Yessum,hecan’tfillmytimenomorewithwork,sohelettingmeoutforhire.’”
“Whatifshechecksonyourstory?”
“Sheanoldwidow,sheain’tgoncheck.Shejustsay,‘Showmeyourbadge.’
Maumawasproudofherbadgeandproudofherself.
“MissusAllensayshepaymebythegarment,and
hertwodaughtersneedclothesandcoveringsfortheychildren.”
“Howyougonnagetallthisextraworkdone?”
“Igotyou.Igotallthehoursofthenight.”
Maumaburnedsomanycandlesworkinginthedark,shetooktoswipingthemfromwhateverroomshehappenedon.Hereyesgrewdowntosquintsandtheskin
roundthemwrinkledlikedrawingastraightstitch.Shewastiredandfrayedbutsheseemedbetteroffinside.
Shebroughthomemoneyandstuffeditinsidethegunnysack,andIhelpedhersewdayandnight,anytimeIdidn’thavedutiesdrawingMissSarah’sbaths,cleaningherroom,keepingupwithherclothesandherprivypot.Whenwegotthewidow’s
ordersdone,maumawouldsquirmoutthewindowandcarrytheparcelstoherdoorwhereshegotmorefabricforthenextbatch.Thenshewouldwaittilldarkandsneakoverthebackgate.Allthisdangerousbusinessgotnaturalasthedaywaslong.
OneafternoonduringarealwarmspellinJanuary,missus
sentCindietothebasementtofetchmauma,somethingaboutrosettesfallingoffhernewempirewaistdress,andcourse,maumawasgoneoverthewall.Shedidn’tlockthedoorwhileshewasoutcausesheknewmissuswouldhavePrincesawthedooroffitshingesifshedidn’tanswer,andhowwasshegonnaexplainanemptyroombehindalockeddoor?
Newsofamissingslaveflieslikebrushfire.WhenIheardthenews,myheartdroppedtomyknees.Missususedherbellandgatheredeverybodyintheyard,upnearthebackdoor.Shelaidherhandsontopofherbigpregnantbellyandsaid,“IfyouknowCharlotte’swhereabouts,youaredutyboundtotellme.”
Notapeepfromanybody.
Missuscasthereyesonme.“Hetty?Whereisyourmother?”
Ishruggedandactedstumped.“Idon’tknow,missus.WishIdidknow.”
MissustoldTomfrytosearchthekitchenhouse,laundry,carriagehouse,stable,storageshed,privy,andslaverooms.Shesaidcombeverynookintheyard,lookdownthechutewhere
Princesenthayfromthelofttothehorses’trough.Ifthatdidn’tturnupmauma,shesaidTomfrywouldgothroughthehouse,thepiazza,andtheornamentgarden,toptobottom.
Sherangherbell,whichmeantgobacktowork.Ihurriedtomauma’sroomtocheckthegunnysack.Allhermoneywasstillatthebottomunderthestuffing.ThenI
creptbackoutsideandsetthepailnexttothecistern.Thesunwascomingdownthesky,turningitthecolorofapricots.
WhileTomfrydidhissearchinghighandlow,Itookupmyspotinthefrontalcoveonthesecondfloortowait.Atthefirstshadeofdark,lo-to-behold,Ilookeddownthroughthewindowandtherewasmaumaturning
thecorner.Shemarchedstraighttothefrontdoorandknocked.
ItoredownthestairsandgottothedoorthesametimeasTomfry.
Whenheopenedit,maumasaid,“Igongiveyouhalfofadollarifyougetmebackintheresafe.Youoweme,Tomfry.”
Hesteppedoutontothelanding,mebesidehim,and
closedthedoor.Ithrewmyarmsroundmauma.Shesaidtohim,“Quicknow,whatitgonbe?”
“Theyain’tnowheretoputyou,”hesaid.“Missushadmesearcheverycorner.”
“Nottherooftop,”Isaid.Tomfrymadethecoast
clear,andIledmaumatotheatticandshowedhertheladderandthehatch.Isaid,“Whentheycome,yousayit
wassowarmyoucameoutheretoseetheharborandlaydownandfellasleep.”
Meantime,Tomfrywentandexplainedtomissushowheforgotabouttherooftopwhenhewassearching,howheknewforafactCharlottehadbeenupthereonetimebefore.
Missuswaitedatthefootoftheatticstepswithhercane,huffingfromclimbing
thestairs,bigasshewas.Ilurkedbehindher.Iwastremblingwithnerves.
Maumacamedowntheladder,shivering,tellingthiscockamamiestoryI’dcomeupwith.Missussaid,“Ididnotthinkyouwereasnaturallydumbastherest,Charlotte,butyouhaveprovedmewrong.Tofallasleepontheroof!Youcouldhaverolledoffontothestreet.
Theroof!Youmustknowsuchaplaceiscompletelyoff-limits.”
Sheraisedhercaneandbroughtitdowncrossthebackofmauma’shead.“Seeyourselftoyourroom,andtomorrowmorningafterdevotions,youaretosewtherosettesbackonmynewdress.Yoursloppinesswiththeneedlehasonlyworsened.”
“Yessum,”maumasaid,hurryingtothestairs,wavingmeinfrontofher.Ifmissusnoticedhowmaumadidn’thavehercaneorherlimp,shedidn’tsayso.
Whenwereachedthecellar,maumashutthedoorandthrewthelock.Iwaswinded,butmauma’sbreathwassteady.Sherubbedthebackofherhead.Shesetherjaw.Shesaid,“Iisa
’markablewoman,andyouisa’markablegirl,andweain’tnevergonbowandscrapetothatwoman.”
SarahTheideaofanewsiblingdidn’tstrikemeashappynews.Shutawayinmyroom,Iabsorbeditwithgrimresignation.Whenpregnant,Mother’smoodbecameevenfouler,andwhoamonguswouldwelcomethat?MyrealdismaycamewhenItook
paperandpenandworkedoutthearithmetic:Motherhadspenttenofthelasttwentyyearspregnant.Forpitysake!
Soontobetwelve,Iwasonthecuspofmaidenhood,andIwantedtomarry—truly,Idid—butsuchnumberspetrifiedme.Coming,astheydid,sosoonaftermybooksbeingtakenaway,quitesouredmeonthefemalelife.
SinceFather’sdressing-
down,Ihadn’tleftthefourwallsofmyroomexceptformeals,MadameRuffin’sclassthreemorningsaweek,andchurchonSunday.Handfulkeptmecompany,askingquestionstowhichshedidn’tcaretoknowtheanswer,askingonlytoanimateme.Shewatchedmemakefeebleattemptsatembroideryandwritestoriesaboutagirlabandonedtoan
islandinthemannerofRobinsonCrusoe.Motherorderedmetosnapfrommyinwardnessandmisery,andIdidtry,butmydespaironlygrew.
Mothersummonedourphysician,Dr.Geddings,whoaftermuchprobingdecidedIsufferedfromseveremelancholy.IlistenedatthedoorashetoldMotherhe’dneverwitnessedacasein
someonesoyoung,thatthiskindoflunacyoccurredinwomenafterchildbirthoratthewithdrawalofawoman’smenses.Hedeclaredmeahigh-strung,temperamentalgirlwithpredilectionstohysteria,asevidencedbymyspeech.
ShortlyafterChristmas,IpassedThomas’doorandglimpsedhistrunkopenonthefloor.Icouldn’tbearhis
leaving,butitwasworseknowinghewasgoingofftoNewHaventopursueadreamImyselfhad,butwouldneverrealize.Consumedwithenvyforhisdazzlingfuture,IfledtomyroomwhereIsobbedoutmygrief.Itgushedfrommeinblackwaves,andasitdid,mydespondencyseemedtoreachitsextremity,itsfartherlimit,passingoverintowhatIcan
onlynowcallananguishedhope.
Allthingspassintheend,eventheworstmelancholy.Iopenedmydresserandpulledoutthelavaboxthatheldmybutton.Myeyesglazedatthesightofit,andthistimeIfeltmyspiritriseuptomeetmywill.Iwouldnotgiveup.Iwoulderronthesideofaudacity.ThatwaswhatI’dalwaysdone.
MyaudaciouserringoccurredatThomas’farewellparty,whichtookplaceinthesecond-floorwithdrawingroomonTwelfthNight.Duringthepastweek,I’dcaughtFathersmilingatmeacrossthediningtable,andI’dinterpretedhisChristmasgift—aprintofApolloandtheMuses—asanofferingofloveandtheendofhis
censure.Tonight,heconversedwithThomas,Frederick,andJohn,whowashomefromYale,alloftheminblackwoolentopcoatsandstripedvestsofvariouscolors,Father’sflaxen.SeatedwithMaryatthePembroketable,Iwatchedthemandwishedtoknowwhattheydebated.AnnaandEliza,who’dbeenallowedatthefestivities,satontherug
beforethefirescreen,clutchingtheirChristmasdolls,whileBenpittedhisnewwoodensoldiersinbattle,shouting“Charge!”everyfewseconds.
MotherreclinedagainsttheredvelvetofherrosewoodRécamier,whichhadbeenbroughtupfromherbedroom.I’dobservedfiveofMother’sgestations,andclearlythiswashermost
difficult.She’denlargedtomammothproportions.Evenherpoorfaceappearedbloated.Nevertheless,she’dcreatedanelaboratefete.Theroomblazedwithcandlesandlamplight,whichreflectedoffmirrorsandgiltsurfaces,andthetableswerelaidwithwhitelinenclothsandgoldbrocaderunnersinkeepingwiththecolorsoftheEpiphany.Tomfry,Snow,
andEliserved,wearingtheirdarkgreenlivery,haulingintraysofcrabpies,butteredshrimps,veal,friedwhiting,andomeletsoufflé.
Myprodigalappetitehadreturned,andIoccupiedmyselfwitheatingandlisteningtothewhirrofbassvoicesacrosstheroom.TheyconversedaboutthereelectionofMr.Jefferson,whetherMr.Meriwether
LewisandMr.WilliamClarkhadanychanceofreachingthePacificcoast,andmosttantalizing,whattheabolitionofslaveryintheNorthernstates,mostrecentlyinNewJersey,bodedfortheSouth.Abolitionbylaw?I’dneverheardofitandcranedtogeteverysnippet.DidthoseintheNorth,then,believeGodtobesidedagainstslavery?
Wefinishedthemealwith
Thomas’favoritesweet,macaroonswithalmondice,afterwhichFathertappedaspoonagainsthiscrystalgobletandsilencedtheroom.HewishedThomaswellandpresentedhimwithAnAbridgementofLocke’sEssayConcerningHumanUnderstanding.MotherhadallowedMaryandmetoeachhavehalfafluteofwine,myinauguraltaste,andIgazedat
thebookinThomas’handwithadownyfeelingbetweenmyears.
“WhowillsendThomasoffwithatribute?”Fathersaid,scanningthefacesofhissons.FirstbornJohntuggedonthehemofhisvest,butitwasI,thesixth-bornchildandseconddaughter,wholeapttomyfeetandmadeaspeech.
“......Thomas,dear
brother,Ishallmissyou......IwishyouGod’sspeedwithyourstudies...”Ipausedandfeltanupwellingofcourage.“OnedayIintendtofollowinyourfootsteps......Tobecomeajurist.”
WhenFatherfoundhistongue,histonewasfullofamusement.“Didmyearsdeceive?Didyousayyouwouldfollowyourbrotherto
thebar?”Johntwittered,andFredricklaughedoutright.Fatherlookedatthemandsmiled,continuing,“Aretherefemalejuristsnow?Ifso,littleone,doenlightenus.”
Theirhilarityburstforth,andIsawThomas,too,waslaughing.
Itriedtoanswer,notfullycomprehendingthedepthoftheirderision,thathis
questionwasforthebenefitofmybrothersalone.
“......WoulditnotbeagreataccomplishmentifIshouldbethefirst?”
Atthat,Father’sfunturnedintoannoyance.“Therewillbenofirst,Sarah,andifsuchapreposterousthingdidoccur,itwillbenodaughterofmine.”
Still,Iwentonstupidly,blindly.“......Father,I
wouldmakeyouproud.Iwoulddoanything.”
“Sarah,stopthisnonsense!Youshameyourself.Youshameusall.Wheredidyouevergetthenotionyoucouldstudythelaw?”
Ifoughttostandthere,toholdontowhatfeltlikesomelastdoggedpieceofmyself.“......YousaidIwouldbethegreatestjurist—”
“Isaidifyouwereaboy!”
MyeyesflittedtoAnnaandEliza,whogazedupatme,andthentoMary,whowouldnotmeetthem.
IturnedtoThomas.“......Please......doyouremember...yousaidIshouldbethejurist?”
“Sarah,I’msorry,butFatherisright.”
Hiswordsfinishedme.
Fathermadeagesturewithhishand,dismissingthematter,andthebandofthemturnedfrommeandresumedtheirconversation.IheardMothersaymynameinaquietway.Shenolongerreclined,butsatupright,herfacebearingacommiseratelook.“Youmaygotoyourroom,”shesaid.
Islinkedawaylikesomescraped-outsoul.Onthefloor
besidemydoor,Handfulwascoiledintoherredsquaresandblacktriangles.Shesaid,“Iputonyourlampandstokedthefire.Youneedmetohelpwithyourdress?”
“...No,staywhereyouare.”Mywordssoundedflatwithhurt.
Shestudiedme,uncertain.“Whathappened,MissSarah?”
Unabletoanswer,I
enteredmyroomandclosedthedoor.Isatonthedresserstool.Ifeltstrangeandhollow,unabletocry,unabletofeelanythingbutanempty,extinguishedplaceinthepitofmystomach.
Theknockatmydoormomentslaterwaslight,andthinkingitwasHandful,Igatheredthelastcrumbsofmyenergyandcalledout,“...Ihavenoneedofyou.”
Motherentered,swayingwithherweight.“Itooknojoyinseeingyourhopesquashed,”shesaid.“Yourfatherandbrotherswerecruel,butIbelievetheirmockerywasinequalportiontotheirastonishment.Alawyer,Sarah?TheideaissooutlandishIfeelIhavefailedyoubitterly.”
Sheplacedherpalmonthesideofherbellyand
closedhereyesasifwardingoffthethrustofanelboworfoot.Thegentlenessinhervoice,herverypresenceinmyroomrevealedhowdistressedshewasforme,andyetsheseemedtosuggesttheirunkindnesswasjustified.
“Yourfatherbelievesyouareananomalousgirlwithyourcravingforbooksandyouraspirations,buthe’s
wrong.”Ilookedatherwith
surprise.Thehauteurhadlefther.TherewasalamentinherI’dneverseenbefore.“Everygirlcomesintotheworldwithvaryingdegreesofambition,”shesaid,“evenifit’sonlythehopeofnotbelongingbodyandsoultoherhusband.Iwasagirlonce,believeitornot.”
Sheseemedastranger,a
womanwithoutallthewoundsandarmaturetheyearsbring,butthenshewenton,anditwasMotheragain.“Thetruth,”shesaid,“isthateverygirlmusthaveambitionknockedoutofherforherowngood.Youareunusualonlyinyourdeterminationtofightwhatisinevitable.Youresistedandsoitcametothis,tobeingbrokenlikeahorse.”
Shebentandputherarms
aroundme.“Sarahdarling,you’vefoughtharderthanIimagined,butyoumustgiveyourselfovertoyourdutyandyourfateandmakewhateverhappinessyoucan.”O
Ifeltthepuffyskinofhercheek,andIwantedbothtoclingtoherandshoveheraway.Iwatchedhergo,noticingshehadn’tclosedthedoorwhenshe’dentered.
Handfulwould’veheardeverything.Thethoughtcomfortedme.There’snopainonearththatdoesn’tcraveabenevolentwitness.
AsHandfulappeared,regardingmewithherlarge,soulfuleyes,Itookthelavaboxfrommydresser,removedthesilverbutton,anddroppeditintotheashbinbythefire,whereitdisappearedbeneaththegray
andwhitesoot.
Thefollowingday,thewithdrawingroomwasclearedformother’slying-in.She’dbirthedherlastsixchildrenthere,surroundedbyBinah,Aunt-Sister,Dr.Geddings,ahiredwetnurse,andtwofemalecousins.Itseemedunlikelyshewouldgrantmeavisit,butaweek
beforeherlaborbegan,sheallowedmeintoseeher.
ItwasafrostymorninginFebruary.Theskywasbunchedwithwinterclouds,andthefireplacesthroughoutthehousecrackledandhissed.Inthewithdrawingroom,thefireprovidedtheonlylight.Mother,whowasaweekfromherfortiethbirthday,wassprawledonherRécamier,lookingperfectly
miserable.“Ihopeyouhaveno
troubletospeakof,forIhavenostrengthtodealwithit,”shesaidthroughswollenlips.
“......Ihavearequest.”Sheraisedherselfslightly
andreachedforhercupontheteatable.“Wellthen,whatisit?Whatisthisrequestthatcannotwait?”
I’dcomepreparedwithaspeech,feelingresolute,but
nowmyheadswamwithanxiety.IclosedmyeyesandwonderedhowIcouldmakeherunderstand.
“......I’mafraidyou’llrefusemewithoutthought.”
“Forheaven’ssake,whyshouldIdothat?”
“......Becausemywishisoutoftheordinary......Iwishtobegodmothertothenewbaby.”
“Well,you’recorrect—
it’soutoftheordinary.It’salsooutofthequestion.”
I’dexpectedthis.Ikneltbesideher.“......Mother,ifIhavetobeg,Iwill...I’velosteverythingprecioustome.WhatIthoughttobethepurposeofmylife,myhopeforaneducation,books,Thomas...EvenFatherseemslosttomenow...Don’tdenymethis,please.”
“ButSarah,thebaby’s
godmother?Ofallthings.It’snotsomefrippery.Thereligiouswelfareofthechildwouldbeinyourhands.You’retwelve.Whatwouldpeoplesay?”
“...I’llmakethechildthepurposeofmylife...YousaidImustgiveupambition...Surelytheloveandcareofachildissomethingyoucansanction...Please,ifyou
loveme—”Loweringmyheadtoherlap,IcriedthetearsI’dnotbeenabletocrythenightofThomas’farewellorsince.
Herhandcuppedthebackofmyhead,andwhenIfinallycomposedmyself,Isawthathereyesweremoist.“Allrightthen.You’llbethebaby’sgodmother,butseetoityoudonotfailhim.”Ikissedherhandandslipped
fromtheroom,feeling,oddly,thatI’dreclaimedalostpartofmyself.
HandfulItwinedredthreadroundthetrunkofthespreadingtreetilleverylastbithadcomeoffthespool.Maumawatched.Itwasallmeandmyideatomakeusaspirittreelikehermaumahadmade,andIcouldtellshewasjusthumoring.Sheclutchedherelbowsand
blewfogwithherbreath.Shesaid,“You’boutgotit?It’scoldasthebluemoonouthere.”
ItwascoldasCharlestoncouldget.Sleetonthewindows,blanketsonthehorses,SabeandPrincechoppingfirewooddaylighttodark.Igavemaumaalookandspreadmyred-and-blackquiltontheground.Itmadeabrightspotlayingunderthe
barelimbs.Isaid,“First,wegotto
kneelonthisandgiveourspiritstothetree.Iwantustodoitthewayyousaidgranny-maumadid.”
Shesaid,“Awright,let’sdoitthen.”
Wedroppedonourkneesandstaredatthetreetrunkwithourcoatsleevestouching.Thegroundwashard-caked,coveredwith
acorns,andthecoldseepedthroughthesquaresandtriangles.Aquietnesscamedownonus,andIclosedmyeyes.Insidemycoatpocket,myfingertipsstrokedMissSarah’ssilverbutton.Itfeltlikealumpofice.I’dpluckeditfromtheashcanaftershecastitoff.Ifeltbadshehadtogiveupherplan,butthatdidn’tmeanyouthrowoutaperfectgoodbutton.
Maumashiftedherkneesonthequilt.Shewantedtomakethespirittreequick,andIwantedtomaketheminuteslast.
Isaid,“Tellitagainhowyouandgranny-maumadidit.”
“Awright.Whatwedidwasgetdownlikethisonthequiltandshesay,‘Nowweputtingourspiritsinthetreesotheysafefromharm,so
theylivewiththebirds,learningtofly.’Thenwejustgiveourspiritstoit.”
“Didyoufeelitwhenithappened?”
Shepulledherheadscarfoverhercoldearsandtriedtobottleuphersmile.Shesaid,“LetmeseeifIcanremember.Yeah,Ifeltmyspiritleavefromrighthere.”Shetouchedthebonebetweenherbreasts.“Itleave
likealittledraftofwind,andIlookupatabranchandIdon’tseeit,butIknowmyspirit’suptherewatchingme.”
Shewasmakingallthisup.Itdidn’tmattercauseIdidn’tseewhyitcouldn’thappenthatwaynow.
Icalledout,“Igivemyspirittothetree.”
Maumacalledoutthesameway.Thenshesaid,
“Afteryourgranny-maumamakeourspirittree,shesay,‘Ifyouleavethisplace,yougogetyourspiritandtakeitwithyou.’Thenshepickupacorns,twigs,andleavesandmakepouchesfor’em,andwewear’emroundourneck.”
Someandmaumapickedupacornsandtwigsandyellowcrumblesofleaves.Thewholetime,Ithought
aboutthedaymissusgavemeasapresenttoMissSarah,howmaumatoldme,Itgonbehardfromhereon,Handful.
Sincethatdayayearpast,I’dgotmyselfafriendinMissSarahandfoundhowtoreadandwrite,butit’dbeenaheartlessroadlikemaumasaid,andIdidn’tknowwhatwouldcomeofus.Wemightstayheretherestofourlives
withtheskyslammedshut,butmaumahadfoundthepartofherselfthatrefusedtobowandscrape,andonceyoufindthat,yougottroublebreathingonyourneck.O
PARTTWOFebruary1811–December1812
SarahSittingbeforethemirrorinmyroom,IstaredatmyfacewhileHandfulandsix-year-oldNinawovemyponytailintobraidswiththeaimofloopingthemintoacircletatthenapeofmyneck.EarlierI’drubbedmyfacewithsaltandlemon-vinegar,which
wasMother’sformulaforremovinginkspots.Ithadlightenedmyfreckles,butnoterasedthem,andIreachedforthepowdermufftofinishthemoff.
ItwasFebruary,theheightofCharleston’ssocialseason,andallweek,astreamofcallingcardsandinvitationshadcollectedonthewaitingdeskbesidethefrontdoor.Fromthem
Motherhadchosenthemostelegantandopportuneaffairs.Tonight,awaltzingparty.
I’denteredsocietytwoyearsago,atsixteen,thrustintothelavishroundofballs,teas,musicalsalons,horseraces,andpicnics,which,accordingtoMother,meantthedazzlingdoorsofCharlestonhadflungopenandfemalelifecouldbegininearnest.Inotherwords,I
couldtakeupthebusinessofprocuringahusband.Howhighbornandmoneyedthishusbandturnedouttobewoulddependentirelyontheallureofmyface,thedelicacyofmyphysique,theskillofmyseamstress,andthecharismaofmytête-à-tête.Notwithstandingmyseamstress,Iarrivedattheglitteryentrancelikealambtoslaughter.O
“Lookatthismessyou’vegoneandmade,”HandfulsaidtoNina,who’dtangledthelockofhairassignedtoherintowhatwecommonlyreferredtoasarat’snest.Handfulrakedthebrushthroughitatnosmallexpensetomyscalp,thendividedthestrandsintothreeevenpieces,andpronouncedtwoofthemtoberabbitsandoneofthemalog.Nina,who’dgoneinto
apoutathavingherbraidconfiscated,perkedupattheprospectofagame.
“Watchnow,”Handfultoldher.“Thisrabbitgoesunderthelog,andthisrabbitgoesoverthelog.Youmakethemhoplikethatallthewaydown.See,that’showyoumakeaplait—hopover,hopunder.”
Ninatookpossessionoftherabbitsandthelogand
createdaremarkablypassablebraid.HandfulandIoohedandahhedasifshe’dcarvedaFlorentinestatue.
Itwasawintereveninglikesomanyothersthatpassedinquietpredictability:theroomflushedwithlamplight,afirenestingonthegrate,anearlydarkflatteningagainstthewindows,whilemytwocompanionsfussedoverme
atthedresser.Mysisterandgodchild,
Angelina—Ninaforshort—alreadyboretheovalfaceandgracefulfeatureswithwhichouroldersisterMaryhadbeenblessed.HereyeswerebrownandherhairandlashesdarkasthelittlestoneboxinwhichI’doncekeptmybutton.MypreciousNinawasstrikinglybeautiful.Betteryet,shehadalivelyintellect
andshowedsignsofbeingquitefearless.Shebelievedshecoulddoanything,aconditionItookpainstofosterdespitethedisasterthathadcomefrommyownfearlessbelieving.
MyaspirationtobecomeajuristhadbeenlaidtorestintheGraveyardofFailedHopes,anall-femaleestablishment.OThesorrowofithadfaded,butregret
remained,andI’dtakentowonderingiftheFatesmightbekindertoadifferentgirl.Throughoutmychildhood,aframedsketchoftheThreeFateshadhungprominentlyatthetopofthestairs,wheretheywentabouttheirbusinessofspinning,measuring,andcuttingthethreadoflife,allthewhilekeepinganeyeonmycomingsandgoings.Iwas
convincedoftheirpersonalanimositytowardme,butthatdidn’tmeantheywouldtreatmysister’sthreadthesameway.
I’dvowedtoMotherthatNinawouldbecomethepurposeofmylife,andsoshewas.Inher,Ihadavoicethatdidn’tstammerandaheartthatwasunscathed.It’strueIlivedaportionofmylifethroughhers,andyes,I
blurredthelinesofselfforbothofus,buttherewasnoonewholovedNinamorethanIdid.Shebecamemysalvation,andIwanttothinkIbecamehers.
She’dcalledmeMotherfromthetimeshecouldtalk.Itcamenaturally,andIdidn’tdiscourageit,butIdidhavethegoodsensetokeepherfromdoingitinfrontofMother.FromthedaysNina
wasinhercrib,I’dproselytizedherabouttheevilsofslavery.I’dtaughthereverythingIknewandbelieved,andthoughMothermusthavehadsomeideaIwasmoldingherinmyownimage,shehadnoideatowhatextent.
Withherbraidcomplete,Ninaclimbedintomylapandbeganherusualpleading.“Don’tgo!Staywithme.”
“Oh,Ihaveto,youknowthat.Binahwilltuckyouin.”Nina’slipflutedout,andIadded,“Ifyoudon’twhine,I’llletyoupickoutthedressIwear.”
Shefairlyleaptfrommykneestothewardrobe,whereshechosethemostluxuriantcostumeIhad,amaroonvelvetgownwiththreesatinchevronsdownthefront,eachwithanagraffeofchipped
diamonds.ItwasHandful’sownmagnificentcreation.Atseventeen,shewasaprodigywiththeneedle,evenmoresothanhermother.Shenowsewedmostofmyattire.
AsHandfulstretchedontiptoetoretrievethedress,Inoticedhowundevelopedshewas—herbodylitheandskinnyasaboy’s.Shedidn’treachfivefeetandneverwould.Butassmallasshe
was,itwasstillhereyesthatdrewattention.I’donceheardafriendofThomas’refertoherasthepretty,yellow-eyedNegress.
Weweren’tascloseaswe’dbeenasgirls.PerhapsitwasduetomyabsorptionwithNina,ortoHandful’sextradutiesastheapprenticeseamstress,ormaybewe’dsimplyreachedanagewhenourpathsnaturallybeganto
diverge.Butwewerefriends,Itoldmyself.
Asshepassedthefireplacewiththedressinherarms,Inoticedthefrownthatseemedpermanentlyetchedinherfeatures,asifbynarrowingherenormouseyesshefeltlessoftheworldcouldreachher.Itseemedshe’dbeguntofeeltheboundariesofherlifemorekeenly,thatshe’darrivedat
somemomentofreckoning.Thepastweek,Motherhaddeniedherapasstothemarketforsomeminor,forgettablereason,andshe’dtakenithard.Hermarketexcursionsweretheacmeofherdays,andtryingtocommiserate,I’dsaid,“I’msorry,Handful,Iknowhowyoumustfeel.”
ItseemedtomeIdidknowwhatitfelttohave
one’slibertycurtailed,butsheblazedupatme.“Sowejustthesame,meandyou?That’swhyyoutheonetoshitinthepotandI’mtheonetoemptyit?”
Herwordsstunnedme,andIturnedtowardthewindowtohidemyhurt.Iheardherbreathinginfurybeforeshefledtheroom,nottoreturntherestoftheday.Wehadn’tspokenofitagain.
Shehelpedmenowstepintothegownandslideitovermycorset,whichI’dlacedaslooselyaspossible.Iwasofaveragebuild,anddidn’tthinkitnecessarytoobstructmybreathing.Afterfasteningmein,Handfulpinnedablackmantillaofpoult-de-soietothecrownofmyheadandNinahandedmemyblacklacefan.Flickingitopen,Iswannedaboutthe
roomforthem.Motherenteredatthe
momentIpirouetted,tramplingonmyhemlineandpitchingforward—thepictureofgrace.“IhopeyoucanrefrainfromthiskindofclumsinessatMrs.Alston’s,”shesaid.
Shestood,buttressedbyhercane.Atforty-six,hershoulderswerealreadyroundingintoanoldlady’s
stoop.She’dbeenwarningmeofthetravailofspinsterhoodforayearnow,elaboratingonthesad,maidenlifeofherauntAmeliaJane.Shelikenedhertoashriveledflowerpressedbetweenthepagesofaforgottenbook,asifthismightscaresomepoiseandbeautyintome.IfearedthatMotherwasabouttoembarkagainonheraunt’sdesiccated
existence,butsheasked,“Didn’tyouwearthisgownonlytwonightsago?”
“Idid,but—”Ilookedatmybabysisterperchedonthedresserstool,andgaveherasmile.“Ninachoseit.”
“It’simprudenttowearitagainsosoon.”Motherseemedtobespeakingsolelytoherself,andItooktheopportunitytoignoreher.
HergazefellonAngelina,
herlastchild.Shemadeasummoninggesture,herhandscoopingattheairforseveralsecondsbeforeshespoke.“Comealong,Iwillseeyoutothenursery.”
Ninadidn’tmove.Hereyesturnedtome,asifIwerethehigherauthorityandmightoverridethecommand.ItwasnotlostonMother.“Angelina!Isaidcome.Now!”
IfI’dbeenathorninMother’sside,Angelinawouldbethewholebriarpatch.Sheshookherhead,aswellashershoulders.Herentireframeoscillateddefiantlyonthestool,andknowingverywellwhatshewasdoing,sheannounced,“IwanttostayherewithMother!”
IbracedforMother’soutburst,butitdidn’tcome.
Shepushedherfingersintohertemples,movedtheminacircle,andmadeasoundthatwaspartgroan,partsigh,partaccusation.“I’vebeenseizedbyamaliciousheadache,”shesaid.“Hetty,fetchCindietomychamber.”
Witharollofhereyes,Handfulobeyed,andMotherdepartedafterher,thedulltapofhercanerecedingalongthecorridor.
IkneltbeforeNina,sinkingdownintomyskirt,whichbillowedoutinsuchawayImusthaveappearedlikeastameninsomemonstrousredbloom.“HowoftenhaveItoldyou?Youmustn’tcallmeMotherunlesswe’realone.”
Nina’schintrembledvisibly.“Butyou’remymother.”Ilethercryintothevelvetofmydress.“Youare,
youare,youare.”
TheupstairsdrawingroominMrs.Alston’shouseonKingStreetwaslittoanexcessivebrightnessbyacrystalchandelierthatblazedlikeasmallinfernofromtheceiling.Beneathit,aseaofpeopledancedtheschottische,theirlaughterdrowningouttheviolins.
MydanceprogramwasbareexceptforThomas,who’dwritteninhisnamefortwosetsofthequadrille.He’dbeenadmittedtothebartheyearbeforeandopenedapracticewithMr.LangdonCheves,amanIcouldn’thelpbutfeelhadtakenmyplace,justasI’dtakenMother’s.ThomashadwrittentomefromYale,remorsefulforridiculingmyambitiononthe
nightofhisfarewell,buthewouldn’tbudgefromhisposition.We’dmadepeace,nevertheless,andinmanywayshewasstillademi-godtome.Ilookedabouttheroomforhim,knowinghewouldbeattachedtoSallyDrayton,whomhewassoontomarry.Attheirengagementparty,FatherhaddeclaredthatamarriagebetweenaGrimkéandaDraytonwould
bringforth“anewCharlestondynasty.”IthadirkedMary,who’denteredintoasuitableengagement,herself,butonewithoutanyregalconnotations.
MadameRuffinhadsuggestedIusemyfantoadvantage,concealingmy“strongjawandruddycheeks,”andIdidsoobsessivelyoutofself-consciousness.Positioning
thefanoverthelowerhalfofmyface,Ipeeredoveritsscallopededge.IknewmanyoftheyoungwomenfromMadameRuffin’sclasses,St.Philip’s,ortheprevioussocialseason,butIcouldn’tclaimafriendshipwithanyofthem.Theywerepoliteenoughtome,butIwasneverallowedintothewarmthoftheirsecretsandgossip.Ithinkmystammermadethem
uneasy.That,andtheawkwardnessIseemedtofeelintheirpresence.Theywerewearinganewstyleofhead-turbanthesizeofsetteecushionsmadefromheavybrocadesandstuddedwithpins,pearls,andlittlepalettesonwhichthefaceofournewpresident,Mr.Madison,waspainted,andtheirpoorheadsappearedtowobbleontheirnecks.Ithoughttheylooked
silly,butthebeauxswarmedaboutthem.
Nightafternight,Ienduredthesegrandaffairsalone,revoltedbywhatobjetsd’artwewereandcontemptuousofhowhollowsocietyhadturnedouttobe,andyetinexplicably,Iwasfilledwithayearningtobeoneofthem.
Theslavesmovedamonguswithtraysofcustardand
Huguenottortes,holdingdoors,takingcoats,stokingfires,movingwithoutbeingseen,andIthoughthowodditwasthatnooneeverspokeofthem,howthewordslaverywasnotsuitableinpolitecompany,butreferredtoasthepeculiarinstitution.
Turningabruptlytoleavetheroom,IplowedheadlongintoamaleslavecarryingacrystalpitcherofDragoon
punch.Itcreatedamagnificentexplosionoftea,whiskey,rum,cherries,orangeslices,lemonwedges,andshardsofglass.Theyspilledacrosstherug,ontotheslave’sfrockcoat,thefrontofmyskirt,andthetrousersofatallyoungmanwhowaspassingbyatthemomentofthecollision.
Inthosefirstsecondsofshock,theyoungmanheld
mygaze,andIreflexivelyliftedmyhandtomychinasiftocoveritwithmyfan,thenrealizedI’ddroppedmyfaninthecommotion.Hesmiledatmeassoundrushedbackintotheroom,gaspsandthincriesofalarm.Hiscomposurecalmedme,andIsmiledback,noticinghehadatinypolypoforangepulponhischeek.
Mrs.Alstonappearedina
swishing,silver-graydress,herheadbareexceptforasmalljeweledheadbandacrosshercurlingbangs.Withaplomb,sheinquiredifanyonehadsufferedinjury.Shedismissedthepetrifiedslavewithherhandandsummonedanothertocleanthewreckage,allthewhilelaughingsoftlytoputeveryoneatease.
BeforeIcouldmakean
apology,theyoungmanspokeloudly,addressingtheroom.“Ibegyourforgiveness.IfearIamanawkwardlout.”
“Butitwasnotyou—”Ibegan.
Hecutmeoff.“Thefaultiscompletelymine.”
“Iinsistyouthinknomoreofit,”Mrs.Alstonsaid.“Come,bothofyou,andwe’llgetyoudriedoff.”She
escortedustoherownchamberandleftusinthecareofhermaid,whodabbedatmydresswithatowel.Theyoungmanwaited,andwithoutthinking,Ireachedoutandbrushedthepulpfromhischeek.Itwasovertlyforwardofme,butIwouldn’tconsiderthatuntillater.
“Wemakeadrownedpair,”hesaid.“MayIintroducemyself?I’mBurke
Williams.”“SarahGrimké.”Theonlygentleman
who’devershowninterestinmewasanunattractivefellowwithabulgingforeheadandraisineyes.AmemberoftheJockeyClub,he’descortedmeabouttheNewMarketCourseattheculminationofRaceWeeklastyear,andafterwarddepositedmeintheladies’standtowatchthe
horsesonmyown.Ineversawhimagain.
Mr.Williamstookthetowelandblottedhispants,thenaskedifIwouldlikesomeair.Inodded,dazedthathe’dasked.Hishairwasblond,mottledwithbrown,somethinglikethelightsandsonthebeachatSullivan’sIsland,hiseyesweregreenish,hischinbroad,andhischeeksfaintlychiseled.I
becameawareofmyselfstaringathimaswestrolledtowardthebalconyoffthedrawingroom,behavinglikeafoolofagirl,which,ofcourse,Iwas.Hewasawareofit.Isawasmilepullabouthismouth,andIsilentlyberatedmyselfformytransparency,forlosingmypreciousfan,forslippingintothesolitarydarknessofthebalconywithastranger.What
wasIdoing?Thenightwascold.We
stoodbytherailing,whichhadbeenfestoonedwithpinewreaths,andstaredatthefiguresmovingpastthewindowsinsidetheroom.Themusicwhirredbehindthepanes.Ifeltveryfarawayfromeverything.TheseawindroseandIbegantoshiver.Mystammerhadbeeninhibernationforalmosta
year,butlastwinterithadshowedupontheeveofmycomingoutandremainedthroughoutmyfirstseason,turningitintoaperdition.Ishooknowasmuchfromfearofitsreturnasfromthefrigidair.
“You’rechilled,”hesaid,removinghiscoatanddrapingitaboutmeingentlemanlyfashion.“Howisitwe’venotbeenintroduced
untilnow?”Williams.Ididn’t
recognizehisfamilyname.Charleston’ssocialpyramidwasruthlesslydefendedbythearistocraticplantersatthetop—theMiddletons,Pinckneys,Heywards,Draytons,Smiths,Manigaults,Russells,Alstons,Grimkés,andsoon.Belowthemdwelledthemercantileclass,whereina
littlesocialmobilitywassometimespossible,anditoccurredtomethatMr.Williamswasfromthissecondarytier,havingslippedintosocietythroughanopportunecrevice,orperhapshewasavisitortothecity.
“Areyouvisitinghere?”Iasked.
“Notatall,myfamily’shomeisonVanderhorst.ButIcanreadyourthoughts.
You’retryingtoplacemyfamily.Williams,Williams,whereforeartthouWilliams?”Helaughed.“Ifyou’reliketheothers,you’reworriedI’manartisanoralaborer,orworse,anaspirer.”
Icaughtmybreath.“Oh,Ididn’tmean—I’mnotconcernedwiththatsortofthing.”
“It’sallinjest—Icanseeyou’renotliketheothers.
Unless,ofcourse,you’reoff-puttolearnmyfamilyrunsthesilversmithshoponQueenStreet.I’llinherititoneday.”
“I’mnotoff-put,I’mnotatall,”Isaid,thenadded,“I’vebeeninyourshop.”
Ididn’tsaythatshoppingforsilverirkedmenoend,asdidmosteverythingIwasforcedtodoasawife-in-training.Oh,thedaysMother
hadforcedmetohandNinaovertoBinahandsitwithMary,doinghandworksamplers,hoopafterhoopofwhite-on-white,crossstitch,andcrewel,andifnothandwork,thenpainting,andifnotpainting,thenvisitations,andifnotvisitations,thenshoppinginthesombershopsofsilversmiths,wheremymotherandsisterswooned
overasterlingnutmeggrater,orsomesuch.
I’dfallensilent,uneasywithwhereourconversationhadled,andIturnedtowardthegarden,lookingdownintothefadedblackshadows.Thepeartreeswerebare,theirlimbsspreadopenlikethevisceraofaparasol.Stretchingintothedarknessbeyond,thesinglehouses,doublehouses,andvillas
werelinedupincramped,neatrowswhichrantowardthetipofthepeninsula.
“IseeI’veoffendedyou,”hesaid.“Iintendedtobecharming,butI’vebeenmockinginstead.It’sbecausemystationisanawkwardtopicforme.I’millateasewithit.”
Iturnedbacktohim,astonishedthathe’dbeensofreewithhisthoughts.I
hadn’tknownayoungmantodisplaythiskindofvulnerability.“I’mnotoffended.I’m—charmedlikeyousaid.”
“Ithankyou,then.”“No,Ishouldbetheone
tothankyou.Theclumsinessinthedrawingroom—thatwasmine.Andyou—”
“IcouldclaimIwastryingtobegallant,butintruth,Iwantedtoimpress
you.I’dbeenwatchingyou.Iwasabouttointroducemyselfwhenyouwhirledaboutanditrainedpunch.”
Ilaughed,morestartledthanamused.Youngmendidnotwatchme.
“Youcreatedabrilliantspectacle,”hewassaying.“Don’tyouthink?”
Regrettably,wewereveeringintothehazardsofflirting.I’dalwaysbeen
feebleatit.“Yes.I-Itry.”“Anddoyoucreatethese
spectaclesoften?”heasked.“Itry.”“You’vesucceededwell.
TheladiesonthedancefloorrecoiledwithsuchshockIthoughtaturbanmightsailoffandinjuresomeone.”
“Ah,but—theinjurywould’vebeenlaidatyourfeet,notmine.Imean,itwas
youwhoclaimedresponsibilityforthewholething.”Wherehadthatcomefrom?
Hebowed,conceding.“Weshouldreturntothe
party,”Itoldhim,peelinghiscoatfrommyshoulders,wantingtoendthebanteronahighnote,butworried,too,wemightbemissed.
“Ifyouinsist,butIwouldrathernotshareyou.You’re
theloveliestladyI’vemetthisseason.”
Hiswordsseemedgratuitous,andforaninstant,Ididn’tquitetrustthem.Butwhycouldn’tIbelovelytohim?PerhapstheFatesatthetopofthestairshadchangedtheirminds.Perhapshe’dlookedpastmyplainnessandglimpsedsomethingdeeper.Or,perhapsIwasnotasplainasIthought.
“MayIcallonyou?”heasked.
“Youwanttocallonme?”
Hereachedformyhandandpulledittohislips.Hekissedit,notremovinghiseyesfrommine,pressingtheheatandsmoothnessofhislipsontomyskin.Hisfaceseemedstrangelyconcentrated,andIfeltthewarmthfromhismouthmove
upmyarmintomychest.
HandfulThedaymaumastartedsewingherstoryquilt,weweresittingoutbythespirittreedoinghandwork.Wealwaysdidthetrouble-freeworkthere—hems,buttons,andtrimmings,orthetinystitchesthatstrainedyoureyesinapoor-litroom.The
minutetheweatherturnedfair,we’dspreadaquiltonthegroundandgototownwithourneedles.OMissusdidn’tlikeit,saidthegarmentswouldgetsoiled.Maumatoldher,“Well,Ineedtheoutdoorairtokeepgoing,butI’lltryanddowithoutit.”Rightafterthat,mauma’squotafelloff.Nobodywasgettingmuchofanythingnewtowear,so
Missussaid,“Allrightthen,sewoutside,butseetoitmyfabricsstayclean.”
Itwasearlyinthespringtime,andthetreebudswerepoppingopenwhilewesatthere.ThosedaysIdidalotoffrettingandfraying.IwaswatchingMissSarahinsociety,howsheworeherfineryandgoingwhicheverwayshepleased.Shewaswantingtogetahusband
soonandleave.TheworldwasaWiltoncarpetstretchedoutforher,anditseemedlikethedoorshadshutonme,andthat’snotevenright—thedoorsneverhadopenedinthefirstplace.Iwasgettingoldenoughtoseetheyneverwould.
Missuswasstilldraggingusintothediningroomfordevotions,preaching,“Becontentwithyourlot,forthis
isoftheLord.”Iwantedtosay,Takeyourlotandputitwherethesundon’tshine.
TheotherthingwasLittleNina.ShewasMissSarah’sownsister,morelikeadaughtertoher.IlovedNina,too,youcouldn’thelpit,butshetookoverMissSarah’sheart.Thatwashowitshouldbe,butitleftaholeinmine.
Thatdaybythetree,meandmaumahadthewholekit
andcomboodleofoursewingstufflineduponthetreeroots—threads,needlebags,pincushions,shears,andasmalltinofbeeswaxweusedtogreaseourneedles.Awaxedneedlewouldalmostglidethroughtheclothbyitself,andIgotwhereIhatedtosewwithoutthesmellofit.Ihadthebrassthimbleonmyfinger,finishingupadressingtablecoverformissus’
bedchamber,embroideringitwithsomescuppernongvinesgoingroundtheedges.MaumasaidI’doutshinedherwithmysewing—Ididn’tuseatracingwheellikeher,andmydartslayperfecteverytime.
Backtwoyears,whenI’dturnedfifteen,missussaid,“I’mmakingyouourapprenticeseamstress,Hetty.Youaretolearnallyoucan
andshareinthework.”I’dbeenlearningfrommaumasinceIcouldholdaneedle,butIguessthismademeofficial,anditspreadsomeoftheburdenoffmaumaovertome.
Maumahadherwoodenpatchboxbesideher,plusastackofredandbrownquiltsquares,fresh-cut.Sherootedthroughtheboxandcameupwithascrapofblackcloth.I
watchedhercutthreefigurespurelybyeye.Nohesitation,that’sthetrick.Shepinnedtheshapesonaredsquare,andstartedappliquéing.Shesatwithherbackrounded,herlegsstraightout,herhandsmovinglikemusicagainstherchest.
Whenwe’dmadeourspirittree,I’dsewedapouchforeachofusoutofoldbedticking.Icouldseehers
peekingoutfromherdresscollar,plumpedwithlittlepiecesofthetree.Ireachedupandgavemineapat.Besidethetreecharms,minehadMissSarah’sbuttoninsideit.
Isaid,“Sowhatkindofquiltyoumaking?”
“Thisastoryquilt,”shesaid,andthatwasthefirsttimeIheardofone.Shesaidhermaumamadeone,andher
maumabeforeher.AllherkininAfrica,theFonpeople,kepttheirhistoryonaquilt.
Ileftoffmyembroideryandstudiedthefiguresshewassewing—aman,awoman,andalittlegirlbetweenthem.Theywerejoinedatthehands.“Who’retheysupposedtobe?”
“WhenIgetitalldone,Itellyouthestorysquarebysquare.”Shegrinned,
showingthebigspacebetweenherteeth.
Aftershestitchedonthethreepeople,shefree-cutatinyquilttopwithblacktrianglesandseweditatthegirl’sfeet.Shecutoutlittleshacklesandchainsfortheirlegs,then,ahostofstarsthatshesewedallroundthem.Somestarshadtailsoflight,somelayontheground.Itwasthestoryofthenighther
mauma—mygranny-mauma—gotsoldandthestarsfell.
Maumaworkedinarush,needingtogetthestorytold,butthemoreshecutandstitched,thesadderherfaceturned.Afterawhileherfingerssloweddownandsheputthequiltsquareaway.Shesaid,“Thisgontakeawhile,Iguess.”Thenshepickedupahalf-donequiltwithaflowerappliqué.Itwasmilk-white
androse-pink,somethingsuretosell.Sheworkedonitlackluster.Thesungutteredintheleavesoverourheads,andIwatchedtheshadowspassoverher.
Forthesakeofsomegossip,Itoldher,“MissSarahmetaboyatoneofherparties,andhe’sallshewantstotalkabout.”
“Igotsomebodylikethat,”shesaid.
Ilookedatherlikeherheadhadfallenoff.Isetdowntheembroideryhoop,andthewhitedressercoverfloppedinthedirt.“Well,whoishe,where’dyougethim?”
“Nexttriptothemarket,Itakeyoutoseehim.AllIgonsayis:heafreeblack,andheoneofakind.”
Ididn’tlikeshe’dbeenkeepingthingsfromme.I
snappedather.“AndyougonnamarryMr.OneofaKindFreeBlack?”
“No,Iain’t.Healreadymarried.”
Coursehewas.Maumawaitedthrough
mypique,thensaid,“Hecomeintosomemoneyandboughthisownfreedom.Hecostafortune,buthismassahaveagambledebt,soheonlypayfivehundreddollars
forhisself.Andhestillhavemoneyafterthattobuyahouseat20BullStreet.Itsitthreeblocksfromwherethegovernorlive.”
“How’dhegetallthismoney?”
“WonitintheEastBayStreetlottery.”
Ilaughedoutloud.“That’swhathetoldyou?Well,Ireckonthisistheluckiestslavethateverlived.”
“Ithappentenyearsago,everybodyknow’boutit.Hebuyaticket,andhisnumbercomeup.Ithappen.”
Thelotteryofficewasdownthestreetfromthemarket,nearthedocks.I’dpasseditmyselfwhenmaumatookmeouttolearntheshopping.Therewasalwaysamish-mashofpeoplegettingtickets:shipcaptains,CityGuard,whitelaborers,free
blacks,slaves,mulattoes,andcreoles.There’dbetwo,threemeninsilkcravatswiththeircarriageswaiting.
Isaid,“Howcomeyoudon’tbuyaticket?”
“Andwasteacoinonsomefancychance?”
Forthelastfiveyears,everylickofstrengthmaumahadleftfromsewingformissushadgonetowardherdollarbillcollection.She’d
beenhiredoutsteadysinceIwaseleven,butitwasn’tontheslyanymore,andthankyoukindJesusforthat.Hercounterfeitbadgeandallthatsneakingoutshe’ddoneforthebetterpartofayearhadputwhitehaironmyhead.Iusedtopullitoutandshowittoher.I’dsay,“Lookwhatyou’redoingtome.”She’dsay,“HereIis,savinguptobuyusfreedomandyou
worrying’bouthair.”WhenIwasthirteen,
missushadfinallygiveninandletmaumahireout.Idon’tknowwhy.Maybeshegottiredofsayingthewordno.Maybeitwasthemoneyshewanted—maumacouldputahundreddollarsayearinmissus’pocket—butIknowthismuch,itdidn’thurtwhenmaumamademissusapatchworkquiltforChristmas
thatyear.Ithadasquareforeachofherchildrenmadefromsomeremnantoftheirs.Maumatoldher,“Iknowthisain’tnothingmuch,butIsewedyouamemoryquiltofyourfamilysoyoucanwrapupinitaftertheygone.”Missustouchedeachsquare:“Why,thisisfromthedressMaryworetohercomingout...ThisisCharles’baptismblanket...My
goodness,thisisThomas’firstridingshirt.”
Maumadidn’twasteabreath.Sheaskedmissusrightthentohireherout.AmonthlatershewashiredlegaltosewforawomanonTraddStreet.Maumakepttwentycentsonthedollar.Therestwenttomissus,butIknewmaumawassellingunderhandontheside—frilledbonnets,quilttops,
candlewickbedcovers,allsortsofwearsthatdidn’tcallforafitting.
Shehadmecountthemoneyregular.Itcametoahundredninetydollars.Ihatedtotellherhermoney-pilecouldhittheroof,butthatdidn’tmeanmissuswouldsellus,speciallytoourselves.
Thinkingaboutallthis,Isaid,“Wesewtoogoodfor
missustoletusgo.”“Wellifsherefuseus,
thenoursewinggongetrealbad,realfast.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkshewouldn’tsellustosomebodyelseforspite?”
Maumastoppedworkingandthefightseemedtoalmostleaveher.Shelookedtired.“It’sachancewehastotake,orelsewegonenduplikeSnow.”
PoorSnow,he’ddiedonenightlastsummer.Felloverintheprivy.Aunt-Sistertiedhisjawtokeephisspiritfromleaving,andhewaslaidoutonacoolingboardinthekitchenhousefortwodaysbeforetheyputhiminaburialbox.ThemanhadspenthiswholelifecarryingtheGrimkésroundtown.Sabetookhisplaceasthecoachmanandtheybrought
somenewboyfromtheirplantationtobethefootman.HisnamewasGoodis,andhehadonelazyeyethatlookedsideways.Hewatchedmesomuchwiththateyemauma’dsaid,“Thatboygothisheartfixonyou.”
“Idon’twanthimfixinghisheartonme.”
“That’sgood,”she’dsaid.“Ican’tbuynobody’sfreedombutmineandyours.
Yougetahusband,andheonhisown.”
Itiedoffaknotandmovedtheembroiderhoopover,sayingtomyself,Idon’twantahusbandanddon’tplanonendinguplikeSnowonacoolingboardinthekitchenhouseeither.
“Howmuchwillittaketobuythebothofus?”Iasked.
Maumarammedtheneedleinthecloth.Shesaid,
“That’swhatyougonfindout.”
SarahI’dneverbeeninclinedtokeepadiaryuntilImetBurkeWilliams.Ithoughtbywritingdownmyfeelings,Iwouldseizecontroloverthem,perhapsevencurbwhatReverendHallcalled“theparoxysmsofcarnality.”
Forwhatit’sworth,
chartingone’spassioninasmalldaybookkepthiddeninahatboxinsideawardrobedoesnotsubduepassionintheleast.
20February1811Ihadimaginedromanticlovetobeaconditionofsweetutopia,notanaffliction!Tothink,afewweeksago,I
thoughtmystarvedmindwouldbemyworsthardship.Nowmyhearthasitsownordeal.Mr.Williams,youtormentme.It’sasifI’vecontractedatropicalfever.IcannotsaywhetherIwishtobecured.
Mydiaryoverflowedwiththissortofpurpleoutburst.
3MarchMr.Williams,whydoyounotcall?It’sunfairthatImustwaitforyoutoact.WhymustI,asafemale,beatyourdisposal?Whycan’tIsendacallingnotetoyou?Whomadeuptheseunjustrules?Men,that’swho.Goddevisedwomentobetheminions.Well,I
quiteresentit!
9MarchAmonthhaspassed,andIseenowwhattranspiredbetweenMr.Williamsandmynaïveselfonthebalconywasafarce.Hehastoyedwithmeshamelessly.Iknewiteventhen!Heisafickle-heartedcad,andIwouldnosooner
speaktohimnowthanIwouldspeaktothedevil.
WhenIwasnotengagedinaeratingmyfeelings,orcaringforlittleNina,orfendingoffMother’sattemptstodrawmeintomydutifulfemaletasks,Iwasforagingamongtheinvitationsandcallingcardsleftonthedeskbythefrontdoor.WhenNina
nappedintheafternoon,IhadHandfulwheelthecopperbathtubintomyroomandfillitwithbucketsofblisteringwaterfromthelaundry.
ThiscoppertubwasamodernwonderimportedfromFrancebywayofVirginia,anditwasthetalkofCharleston.Itsatonnoisylittlewheelsandtraveledroomtoroomlikeaportabledippingcart.Yousatinit.
Youdidnotstandoverabasinandpatwateronyourself—no,youwerequiteimmersed!Totopitoff,onesideofthetubpossessedaventthatcouldbeopenedtoreleasetheusedwater.Motherinstructedtheslavestotrundlethetubontothepiazzaneartherailanddischargethebathwaterovertheside.Thewaterfallssplatteringintothegarden
alertedneighborsthehygienicGrimkéshadbeenbathingagain.
WhenanotewithscratchypenmanshiparrivedatthehouseshortlybeforenoonontheidesofMarch,IswoopeduponitbeforeMother.
15MarchBurkeWilliamscomplimentsSarah
Grimké,requestingthepleasureofhercompanytomorrownight.Ifhecanserveherinanywayinthemeantime,hewouldbehonored.
P.S.Pleaseexcusetheborrowedpaper.
Istoodstillforseveral
moments,thenplacedthenotebackonthepile,thinking,Whyshouldanyonecareifthepaperisborrowed,andthenthestupefactionworeoff.Caughtinasuddenswellofelation,Iascendedthestairstomyroom,whereIdancedaboutlikesometipsybird.I’dforgottenHandfulandNinawerethere.They’dspreadthedollteasetonthefloorbeneaththewindow,
andwhenIturned,Isawthemstaringatme,holdingtinycupsofpretend-teaintheair.
“Youmust’veheardfromthatboy,”Handfulsaid.Shewastheonlyonewhoknewofhisexistence.
“Whatboy?”Ninaasked,andIwasforcedtotellheraboutMr.Williams,too.AtthismomentMotherwouldbedispatchinganacceptance
whilesingingGlorybetoGodintheHighest.Shewouldbesojubilantwithallelujahs,itwouldnotoccurtohertowonderathiscredentials.
“WillyougetmarriedlikeThomas?”Ninaasked.Hisweddingwastwoandahalfmonthsawayandareferencepointforeverything.
“IdobelieveIwill,”Itoldher,andtheideaseemed
altogetherplausible.Iwouldnotbeapressedflowerinabookafterall.
We’dexpectedMr.Williamsat8:00P.M.,butattenpast,hewasstillabsent.Mother’sneckwassplotchedredwithpatchesofinsult,andFather,who’djoinedMotherandmeinthedrawingroom,heldhiswatchinhishand.Thethree
ofussatasifwaitingforafuneralprocessiontopass.Ifearedhewouldn’tappearatall,andifhedid,thatourvisitwouldbecutshort.Bycustom,theslave’scurfew—9:00inthewinter,10:00inthesummer—clearedgentlemencallersfromthedrawingrooms.WhentheCityGuardbeatdrumstosummontheslavesoffthestreets,thesuitorswouldrise
oncue.Herappedonthefront
doorataquarterpasttheappointedhour.WhenTomfryusheredhimintotheroom,Iliftedmyfan—anextravagantnosegayofhenfeathers—andmyparentsrosewithcoolcivilityandofferedhimtheDuncanPhyfechairthatflankedtherightsideofthefireplace.I’dbeenrelegatedtothechairon
theleft,whichmeantwewereseparatedbythefirescreenandforcedtocraneournecksforaglimpseofoneanother.Apity—helookedmorehandsomethanIremembered.Hisfacehadbronzedwithsunandhishairwaslonger,curlingbehindhisears.Detectingthescentoflime-soapdriftingfromhisdirection,myinsidesconvulsedinvoluntarily—a
full-blownparoxysmofcarnality.
Aftertheexcusesandthetrivialities,Fathergotrighttothepoint.“Tellus,Mr.Williams,whatisitthatyourfatherdoes?”
“Sir,myfatherownsthesilvershoponQueenStreet.Itwasfoundedbymygreat-grandfatherandisthelargestsilvershopintheSouth.”
Hespokewith
unconcealedpride,butthestiffsilencethathadprecededhisarrivaldescendedagain.AGrimkédaughterwouldmarryasonoftheplanterclasswhowouldstudylaw,medicine,religion,orarchitectureinordertooccupyhimselfuntilheinherited.
“Ashop,yousay?”Motherasked,givingherselftimetoabsorbtheblow.
“That’scorrect,madame.”
SheturnedtoFather.“Asilvershop,John.”
Fathernodded,andIreadhisthought:Merchant.Itroseintheairabovehisforeheadlikeadarkcondensation.
“We’vefrequentedtheshopoften,”Isaid,beamingasifthoseoccasionshadbeenthehighlightofmylife.
Mothercametomyaid.
“Indeedwehave.It’salovelyshop,John.”
Mr.WilliamsslidforwardinhischairandaddressedFather.“Sir,mygrandfather’swishwastoprovideourcitywithasilvershopthatwouldliveuptotheoneyourowngrandfather,JohnPaulGrimké,owned.IbelieveitwasonthecornerofQueenandMeeting,wasn’tit?Mygrandfatherthoughthimtobe
thegreatestsilversmithinthecountry,greaterthanMr.Revere.”
Oh,theadroitnessofthisman!Itwistedinmychairthebettertoseehim.Intheguiseofacompliment,he’dletitbeknownhewasnottheonlyoneintheroomdescendedfromthemerchantclass.Ofcourse,thedifferencewasthatJohnPaulGrimkéhadparlayedthesuccessofhis
shopintocottonventuresandlargelandholdingsinthelowcountry.He’dbeenambitiousandprudent,andtoiledhiswayintoCharlestonaristocracy.Nevertheless,Mr.Williamshadlandedhispunch.
Fathereyedhimsteadilyandspoketwowords.“Isee.”
Ithinkhedidsee,too.Inthatmoment,hesawMr.Williamsquitewell.
TomfryservedHysonteaandbiscuits,andtheconversationturnedbacktotrivialities,aninterludecutshortwhenthecurfewdrumsbegan.Mr.Williamsrose,andIfeltasuddendeflation.Tomywonder,Motherentreatedhimtovisitagain,andIsawoneofFather’sluxurianteyebrowslift.
“MayIseehimtothedoor?”Iasked.
“Ofcourse,dear,butTomfrywillaccompanyyou.”
WetrailedTomfryfromtheroom,butoncepastthedoor,Mr.Williamsstoppedandplacedhishandonmyarm.“Youlookenchanting,”hewhispered,drawinghisfaceclosetomine.“Itwouldeasemyregretinleaving,ifyoufavoredmewithalockofyourhair.”
“Myhair?”“Asatokenofyour
affection.”Iliftedthehenfeathersto
covertheheatinmyface.Hepressedawhite
handkerchiefintomyhand.“Foldthelockinsidemykerchief,thentossitoverthefencetoGeorgeStreet.I’llbethere,waiting.”Withthattitillatingdirective,hegavemeagrin,suchagrin,and
strodetowardthedoor,whereTomfrywaiteduncomfortably.
Returningtothedrawingroomtofacemyparents’evaluations,Ihaltedoutsidethedoor,realizingtheywerespeakingaboutme.
“John,wemustfacereason.Hemaybeheronlychance.”
“Youthinkourdaughtersopooramarriageprospect
shecandrawnobetterthanthat?”
“Hisfamilyisnotpoor.Theyarereasonablywell-to-do.”
“ButMary,itisamercantilefamily.”
“Themanisasuitor,andheislikelythebestshecando.”
Ifledtomyroom,chagrined,buttoopreoccupiedwithmy
clandestinemissiontobewounded.Havinglitthelampsandturneddownthebed,Handfulwasbentovermydesk,frowningandpickingherwaythroughthepoemLeonidas,whichwasanalmostunreadableodetomenandtheirwars.Asalways,sheworeapouchaboutherneckfilledwithbark,leaves,acorns,andothergleaningsfromtheoakinthework
yard.“Quickly,”Iblurted.
“Taketheshearsfrommydresserandcutoffalockofmyhair.”
Shesquintedatmewithoutmovingamuscle.“Whydoyouwannadosomethinglikethat?”
“Justdoit!”Iwasawreckofimpatience,butseeinghowmytonemiffedher,Iexplainedthereason.
Shecutawhorlaslongasmyfingerandwatchedmesecretitinsidethehandkerchief.ShefollowedmedownstairstotheornamentalgardenwhereIglimpsedhimthroughthepalisadefence,ashadowedfigure,leaningagainstthestuccoedbrickwalloftheDupréhouseacrossthestreet.
“Thathim?”Handfulasked.
Ishushedher,afraidhewouldhear,andthenIflungtheamorousbundleoverthefence.Itlandedinthecrushedshellthatpowderedthestreet.
ThenextdayFatherannouncedwewoulddepartimmediatelyforBelmont.BecauseofThomas’upcomingnuptials,it’dpreviouslybeendecided
Fatherwouldjourneytotheupcountryplantationalonethisspring,andnowsuddenlytheentirefamilywasthrownintoafrenziedmassexodus.Didhethinknooneunderstoodithadeverythingtodowiththeunsuitablesonofasilversmith?
Ipennedahurriedletter,whichIleftforTomfrytopost.
17MarchDearMr.Williams,Iamsorrytoinform
youthatmyfamilywillleaveCharlestoninthemorning.IwillnotreturnuntilthemiddleofMay.Leavinginsuchanimpromptumannerpreventsmesayingfarewellinperson,whichImuchregret.IhopeImightwelcome
youagaintoourhomeonEastBayassoonasIreturntocivilization.Itrustyoufoundyourhandkerchiefanditscontents,andkeepthemclose.
WithAffectionateRegards,IamSarahGrimké
ThesevenweeksofmyseparationfromMr.Williamswereacruelagony.Ibusiedmyselfwiththeestablishmentofaslaveinfirmaryontheplantation,installingitinacorneroftheweavinghouse.Ithadoncebeenasickbay,yearsbefore,buthadfallenintodereliction,andPeggy,theslavewhodidtheweaving,hadtakentostoringhercardedwoolonthe
infirmary’soldcot.Ninahelpedmescrubthecornerandassembleanapothecaryofmedicine,salves,andherbsthatIbeggedorblendedmyselfinthekitchenhouse.Itdidn’ttakelongforthesickandailingtoshowup,somanytheoverseercomplainedtoFatherthatmyhealingenterpriseinterferedwithfieldproduction.IexpectedFathertoshutour
doors,butheleftmetoit,thoughnotwithoutinstructingmeonthenumberlesswaystheslaveswouldabusemyefforts.
ItwasMotherwhonearlyendedtheoperation.UpondiscoveringI’dspentthenightintheinfirmaryinordertocareforafifteen-year-oldwithchildbirthfever,sheshuttheinfirmaryfortwodays,beforefinallyrelenting.
“Yourbehavioriswoefullyintemperate,”shesaid,andthentreadingtoocloselytothetruth,added,“Isuspectit’snotcompassionthatdrivesyouasmuchastheneedtodistractyourmindfromMr.Williams.”
MyafternoonswerefritteredawaywithneedleworkandteasorpaintinglandscapeswithMarywhileNinaplayedat
myfeet,allofwhichtookplaceinastuffyparlorwithpoorlylitwindowsdrapedinvelvetswagsthecolorofFather’sport.Myonerespitewasstrikingoutaloneonahigh-spiritedblackstallionnamedHiram.ThehorsehadbeengiventomewhenIwasfourteen,andsincehedidn’tfallintothecategoryofslave,slaveowner,orhandsomebeau,Iwaslefttolovehim
withoutcomplication.WheneverIcouldstealawayfromtheparlor,HiramandIgallopedatsplendiferousspeedsintoalandscapeeruptingwiththesameintractablewildnessIfeltinside.Theskieswerebrightcerulean,teemingwithferociouswinds,spillingmallardsandfatwooddrakesfromtheclouds.Upanddownthelanes,thefences
werelitwithyellowjasmine,itsmuskasweet,chokingsmoke.IrodewiththesamedrunksensualitywithwhichIhadreclinedinthecoppertub,ridingtillthelightsmeared,returningwiththefallingdark.
MotherallowedmetowritetoMr.Williamsonlyonce.Anythingmore,sheinsistedwaswoefullyintemperate.Ireceivedno
letterinreturn.Maryheardnothingfromherintendedeitherandclaimedthemailtobeatrocious,thereforeIdidn’toverlyfret,butquietlyanddailyIwonderedwhetherMr.W.andhisgrinwouldbetherewhenIreturned.Iplacedmyhopeinthebewitchingpropertiescontainedinthelockofmyredhair.Thiswasn’tsodifferentthanHandful
placingherfaithinthebarkandacornssheworearoundherneck,butIwouldn’thaveadmittedit.
I’dthoughtlittleofHandfulduringmyincarcerationatBelmont,butonthedaybeforeweleft,thefifteen-year-oldslaveI’dnursedappeared,curedofchildbirthfever,butnowwithboilsonherneck.Seeingher,Iunderstoodsuddenlythatit
wasn’tonlymilesthatseparatedHandfulandme.Itwasn’tanyofthosethingsI’dtoldmyself,notmypreoccupationwithNina,orHandful’sduties,orthenaturalcourseofage.Itwassomeothergrowinggulf,onethathadbeentherelongbeforeI’dleft.
HandfulLateintheafternoon,aftertheGrimkéshadgoneofftotheirplantationandthefewslavesleftonthepremisewereintheirquarters,maumasentmeintomasterGrimké’slibrarytofindoutwhatmeandherwouldsellfor.OShestoodlookoutforTomfry.I
toldher,don’tworryaboutTomfry,theoneyouhavetowatchforisLucy,MissCome-Look-at-the-Writing-Under-the-Tree.
AmanhadcomelastwinterandwrittendowneverythingmasterGrimkéownedandwhatitwasworth.Maumahadbeentherewhilehewrotedownthelacquersewingtable,thequiltframe,andeveryoneofhersewing
toolsinabrownleatherbookhe’dtiedwithacord.Shesaid,“Ifweinthatbook,thenitsaywhatourpriceis.Thatbookgottobeinthelibrarysomewhere.”
ThisseemedlikeatolerableideatillIclosedthedoorbehindme,thenitseemedlikeadamnfoolone.MasterGrimkéhadbooksintherethelikesyouwouldn’tbelieve,andhalfofthem
werebrownleather.IopeneddrawersandrummagedtheshelvestillIfoundonewithacord.Isatatthedeskandopeneditup.
AfterIgotcaughtforthecrimeofreading,MissSarahstoppedteachingme,butshesetoutbooksofpoems—thatwasallshegottoreadnow—andshe’dsay,“Itdoesn’ttakelongtoreadapoem.Justclosethedoor,andifthere’sa
wordyoucan’tmakeout,pointtoit,andI’llwhisperittoyou.”I’dlearnedalegionofwordsthisway,legionbeingoneofthem.SomewordsIlearnedcouldn’tbeworkedintoaconversation:heigh-ho;Ohither;alas;blitheandbonny;Jove’snectar.ButIheldontothemjustthesame.
Thewordsinsidetheleatherbookweren’tfitfor
poems.Theman’swritinglookedlikescribble.Ihadtocrackeverywordonebyoneandpickoutthesoundthewaywecrackedbluecrabsinthefallandpickedoutthemeattillourfingersbled.Thewordscamelumpsatatime.
CityofCharleston,towit...Wetheundersigned...Tothebestofour
judgment,...thepersonalinventory...Goodsandchattels...
2Mahoganycardtables...20.50.GeneralWashingtonpictureandaddress...30.2Brusselscarpets&cover...180.Harpsichord...29.
Iheardfootstepsinthepassage.Maumasaidshe’dsingifIneededtohitoutforcover,butIdidn’thearanythingandwentbacktorunningmyfingerdownthelist.Itwentforthirty-sixpages.Silkthisandivorythat.Goldthis,silverthat.ButnoHettyandnoCharlotteGrimké.
ThenIturnedthelastpageandtherewereallus
slaves,rightafterthewatertrough,thewheelbarrow,theclawhammer,andthebushelofflintcorn.
Tomfry,51yrs.Butler,Gentleman’sServant...600.Aunt-Sister,48yrs.Cook...450.Charlotte,36yrs.Seamstress...550.
Ireadittwotimes—Charlotte,mymauma,herage,whatshedid,whatshesellsfor—andIfelttheprideofaconfusedgirl,pridemaumawasworthsomuch,morethanAunt-Sister.
Binah,41yrs.NurseryServant...425.Cindie,45yrs.Lady’sMaid...400.Sabe,29yrs.
Coachman,HouseServant...600.Eli,50yrs.HouseServant...550.Mariah,34yrs.PlainWasher,Ironer,ClearStarcher...400.Lucy,20yrs.Lady’sMaid...400.Hetty,16yrs.Lady’sMaid,Seamstress...500.
Mybreathhunghighinmychest.Fivehundreddollars!Iranmyfingeroverthefigure,overthedregsofdriedink.Imarveledhowthey’dleftoffapprentice,howitsaidseamstressfullandclear,howIwasworthmorethaneveryfemaleslavetheyhad,besidemauma.Fivehundreddollars.IwasgoodonfiguresandIaddedmeandmaumatogether.We
wereathousandfiftydollars’worthofslaves.IwasblinkeredlikeahorseandIsmiledlikethismadeussomebodyandreadontoseewhattherestwerevalued.
Phoebe,17yrs.KitchenServant...400.Prince,26yrs.YardServant...500.Goodis,21yrs.Footman,Stable
Mucker,YardServant...500.Rosetta,73yrs.Useless...1.
Iputthebookback,thenwentoutandtoldmaumawhatIfoundout.Athousandfiftydollars.Shesankonthebottomstepofthestairsandheldontothebannister.Shesaid,“HowIgonraiseallthatmuchmoney?”
Itwouldtaketenyearstocomeupwiththatmuch.“Idon’tknow,”Itoldher.“Somethingscan’tbedone—that’sall.”
Shegotupandheadedforthebasement,talkingwithherbacktome.“Don’tbetellingme—can’tbedone.That’ssomegoddamneywhitetalk,that’swhatthatis.”
Iluggedmyselfupthestairsandwentstraightfor
thealcove.Nexttothetreeoutback,thiswasmychosenspot,upherewhereIcouldseethewater.Withthehouseempty,Iwastheonlyoneupstairs,andIstayedbythewindowtillallthelightbledfromtheskyandthewaterturnedblack.Crossthewater,crossthesea,letthemfishescarryme.ThesongsIusedtosingbackwhenIfirstbelongedtoMissSarahstill
cametome,butIdidn’tfeellikethewaterwouldtakememuchofanywhere.
Isaidundermybreath,Fivehundreddollars.
Goodsandchattel.Thewordsfromtheleatherbookcameintomyhead.Wewerelikethegoldleafmirrorandthehorsesaddle.Notfull-fledgepeople.Ididn’tbelievethis,neverhadbelieveditadayofmylife,butifyou
listentowhitefolkslongenough,somesad,beat-downpartofyoustartstowonder.OAllthatprideaboutwhatwewereworthleftmethen.Forthefirsttime,IfeltthehurtandshameofjustbeingwhoIwas.
Afterawhile,Iwentdowntothecellar.Whenmaumasawmyraweyes,shesaid,“Ain’tnobodycanwritedowninabookwhatyou
worth.”
SarahOurcaravanoftwocarriages,twowagons,andseventeenpeoplereturnedtoCharlestoninMayonthehighcrestofspring.Rainshadleftthecityrinsedandclean,scentedwithnewlyfloweringmyrtle,privet,andChinesetallow.Thebougainvilleahad
advancedenmasseovergardengates,andtheskywasbrightandcreamedwiththin,swirlingclouds.Ifeltexultanttobeback.
Aswelumberedthroughthebackgateintoanemptyworkyard,Tomfryhurriedfromthekitchenhouseatanoldman’strot,calling,“Massa,youbackearly.”Hehadanapkinstuffedathiscollarandlookedanxious,as
ifwe’dcaughthiminthedilatoryactofeating.
“Onlybyaday,”Fathersaid,climbingfromtheBarouche.“Youshouldlettheothersknowwe’rehere.”
Isquirmedpasteveryone,leavingevenNinabehind,andbrokeforthehousewhereIpillagedthecallingcardsonthedesk,andthereitwas—theborrowedpaper.
3MayBurkeWilliamsrequestsSarahGrimké’scompanyona(chaperoned)horsebackoutingatSullivan’sIsland,uponherreturntoCharleston.
Yours,mosttruly.
Iletoutanexhale,
behemothinnature,andascendedthestairs.
Irememberveryclearlycomingtoafullhaltonthesecond-floorlandingandgazingcuriouslyatthedoortomyroom.Italonewasshut,whiletheothersstoodopen.Iwalkedtowardituncertainly,withavaguesenseofportent.Ipausedwithmyhandovertheknobforasecondandcockedmy
ear.Hearingnothing,Iturnedtheknob.Itwaslocked.
Igavetheknobaseconddeterminedtry,andthenathirdandfourth,andthat’swhenIheardthetentativevoiceinside.
“Thatyou,mauma?”Handful?Thethoughtof
herinsidemyroomwiththedoorlockedwassoincongruentIcouldnotimmediatelyanswerback.
Shecalledout,“Coming.”Hervoicesoundedexasperated,reluctant,breathy.Therewasthesoundofwatersplashing,akeythrustintothelock.Click.Click.
Shestoodinthedoorwaydrippingwet,nakedbutforawhitelinentowelclutchedaroundherwaist.Herbreastsweretwosmall,purpleplumsprotrudingfromherchest.I
couldn’thelpgazingatherwet,blackskin,thesmallcompactpowerofhertorso.She’dunloosedherbraids,andherhairwasawildcoronaaroundherhead,shimmeringwithbeadedwater.
Shesteppedbackwardandhermouthparted.Behindher,thewondrouscoppertubsatinthemiddleoftheroom,filledwithwater.Vaporwas
liftingoffthesurface,turningtheairrheumy.Theaudacityofwhatshe’ddonetookmybreath.IfMotherdiscoveredthis,theconsequenceswouldbeswiftanddire.
Imovedquicklyinsideandclosedthedoor,myinstinctevennowtoprotecther.Shemadenoattempttocoverherself.Iglimpseddefianceinhereyes,inthewayshewrestedbackher
chinasiftosay,Yes,it’sme,bathinginyourprecioustub.
Thesilencewasterrible.Ifshethoughtmyreservewasduetoanger,shewasright.Iwantedtoshakeher.Herboldnessseemedlikemorethanafrolicinthetub,itseemedlikeanactofrebellion,ofusurpation.Whathadpossessedher?She’dviolatednotonlytheprivacyofmyroomandtheintimacy
ofourtub,she’dbreachedmytrust.
Ididn’trecognizehowmymother’svoicerantedinsideme.
Handfulstartedtospeak,andIwasterrifiedofwhatshewouldsay,fearfulitwouldbehatefulandjustifying,yetoddly,Ifearedanexpressionofshameandapologyjustasmuch.Istoppedher.“Please.Don’t
sayanything.Atleastdothatforme,saynothing.”
Iturnedmybackwhileshedriedherselfandpulledonherdress.WhenIlookedagain,shewastyingakerchiefaroundherhair.Itwaspalegreen,thesamecolorasthetinydiscoloredpatchesonthecopper.Shebenttomopthepuddlesfromthefloor,andIsawthescarfdarkeningasitsoakedthe
dampness.Shesaid,“Youwantme
toemptythewateroutnoworwait?”
“Let’sdoitnow.Wecan’thaveMotherwanderinandfindit.”
Witheffort,Ihelpedherrollthesloshingtubthroughthejibdoorontothepiazza,closetotherail,hopingthefamilywasinsidenowandwouldn’thearthegushof
water.Handfulyankedopentheventanditspilledinalong,silverbeakovertheside.Iseemedtotasteitinmymouth,thetangofminerals.
“Iknowyou’reangry,Sarah,butIdidn’tseeanyharmwithmebeinginthetub,sameasyou.”
NotMissSarah,butSarah.IwouldneveragainhearherputMissbeforemy
name.Shehadthelookof
someonewho’ddeclaredherself,andseeingit,myindignationcollapsedandhermutinousbathturnedintosomethingelseentirely.She’dimmersedherselfinforbiddenprivileges,yes,butmostlyinthebeliefshewasworthyofthoseprivileges.Whatshe’ddonewasnotarevolt,itwasabaptism.
IsawthenwhatIhadn’tseenbefore,thatIwasverygoodatdespisingslaveryintheabstract,intheremovedandanonymousmasses,butintheconcrete,intimatefleshofthegirlbesideme,I’dlosttheabilitytoberepulsedbyit.I’dgrowncomfortablewiththeparticularsofevil.There’safrightfulmutenessthatdwellsatthecenterofallunspeakablethings,andIhad
foundmywayintoit.AsHandfulbeganto
shovethevesselbackacrossthepiazza,Itriedtospeak.“......Wait......I’ll......help...”
Sheturnedandlookedatme,andwebothknew.Mytonguewouldonceagainattemptitssuicide.
HandfulMissussentmeandmaumatothemarketforsomegoodcottontomakeadressforNina.Shewasgrowingoutfromeverything.Missussaid,getsomethingpastelthistimeandseeaboutsomehomespunforTomfryandthemtohavenewvests.
ThemarketwasarowofstallsthatranallthewayfromEastBaytoMeetingandhadwhateverunderthesunyouwanted.Missussaidtheplacewasavulgarbazaar,thatwasherwords.Theturkeybuzzardswanderedroundthemeatstandslikeregularcustomers.Theyhadtokeepamanintherewithapalmbranchtoshoothem.Course,theyflewtotheroofs
andwaitedhimout,thencameonback.Thesmellsintherewouldknockyoudown.Oxtails,bullockhearts,rawpork,livechickens,crackedoysters,bluecrabs,fish,andmorefish.Thesweetpeanutcakesdidn’tstandachance.Iusedtogoroundholdingmynosetillmaumagotsomeeucalyptusleavestorubovermytoplip.
Theslavesellers,what
theycalledhigglers,wereshoutingtheirwares,tryingtoout-doeachother.Themensangout,“Jimmie”(that’swhatwecalledthemalecrabs),andthewomensangback,“Sook”(thosewerethefemales).“Jimmieeee...Soooook...Jimmieeee...Soooook.”Youneededsomethingforyournoseandyourears.
ItwasSeptember,andI
stillhadn’tlaideyesonthemanmaumahadtoldmeabout,theluckyfreeblackwhowonthemoneytobuyhisfreedom.Hehadacarpentershopoutbackofhishouse,andIkneweverytimeshewasletoutforhireorsenttothemarketwithoutme,shewasdallyingwithhim.One,twotimesaweek,shecamebacksmellinglikewoodshavings,thebackofher
dresssaw-dusted.Thatday,whenwegotto
thepiecegoodstalls,Istartedsayinghowhewasmade-up.“Awrightthen,”maumasaid.Shegrabbedupthefirstpastelshesawandsomedrabbrownwoolandweheadedoutsidewithourbasketsloaded.Ablockdown,theyweresellingslavesrightonthestreet,sowecrossedtheotherwaytowardKing.I
pattedthepassinsidemydresspocketthreetimesandcheckedtoseedidmaumastillhaveherbadgefastenedonherdress.Outinthestreets,Ialwayshadthebadfeelingofsomethingcoming,somemeannessgathering.OnComingStreet,wespottedaguard,couldn’thavebeenoldasme,stopanoldmanwhogotsonervoushedroppedhistravelpass.Theguard
steppedonit,havinghisfun.Wewalkedinahurry,
outpacingthecarriages.Maumadidn’tuseherwoodencaneanymoreexceptspecialoccasions.Thosecamealongwhensheneededaletupfrommissus.She’dtellher,“LookslikethecureIprayedformyleghaswornoff.Ijustneedtorestupandprayforafewdays.”Outcamethecane.
Mauma’sfreeblackmanlivedat20Bull.Itwasawhiteframesinglehouse,hadblackshudderswiththepaintfleckingoffandscruffybushesroundtheporch.Sheshookthepowdershellfromthestreetoffherhemlineandsaid,“IfIstandhere,heseemeandcomerightout.”
“Sowe’resupposedtostandheretillhelooksoutthewindow?”
“Youwantmetogoupthereandknockonthedoor?Ifhiswifecome,youwantmetosay,‘Tellyourhusbandhisgirlfriendouthere?’”
“Howcomeyou’refoolingwithsomebodywhohasawifeanyway?”
“Theynotmarriedlegal,shehisfree-wife.Hegottwomoreof’em,too.Allmulatto.”
Asshesaidtheword,
mulatto,hesteppedfromthehouseandstoodontheporchlookingatus.Abullofaman.Iwantedtosay,Wellhesuredoesliveontherightstreet.Hewasthicksetandsolidwithabigchestandlargeforehead.
Whenhecameover,maumasaidtohim,“Thismygirl,Handful.”
Henodded.Icouldseehewasstern,andproud.Hesaid,
“I’mDenmarkVesey.”Maumasidleduptohim
andsaidformybenefit,“DenmarkisacountrynexttoFrance,andarealfineone,too.”ShesmiledathiminawayIhadtolookawayfrom.
Heslidhishandupthesideofherarm,andIeasedoffdownthestreet.Iftheywantedtocarryon,allright,butIdidn’thavetostandthereandwatchit.
Inthecomingyear,we’dmakethisvisitto20BullmoretimesthanIcaretotell.Thetwolovebirdswouldgoinhisworkshop,andI’dsitoutsideandwait.Aftertheyweredone,he’dcomeoutandtalk.Andhecouldtalk,Lord,couldthatmantalk.DenmarkthemanneverhadbeentoDenmarkthecountry,justtheDanishIslands.Tohearhimtellit,though,he’dbeen
everywhereelse.He’dtraveledtheworldwithhisownerCaptainVesey,whosailedaslaveship.HespokeFrench,Danish,Creole,Gullah,andtheKing’sEnglish.Iheardhimspeakeveryoneofthesetongues.HecamefromtheLandofBarbadosandlikedtosayCharlestondidn’ttrustslavesfromthere,causethey’dslityourthroat.Hesaid
CharlestonwantedsaltwaterblacksfromAfricawhoknewriceplanting.
Theworsttroublingthinghetoldmewashowhisneighbordownthestreet—afreeblacknamedMr.RobertSmyth—ownedthreeslaves.Nowwhatyousupposedtodowithsomethinglikethat?Mr.Veseyhadtotakemetotheman’shousetomeettheslavesbeforeIallowedany
truthtoit.Ididn’tknowwhetherthisMr.Smythwasbehavinglikewhitepeople,orifitjustshowedsomethingvileaboutallpeople.
DenmarkVeseyreadtheBibleupanddown.Givehimfiveminutesandhe’dtellyouthestoryofMosesleadingslavesfromEgypt.He’dhavetheseaparting,frogsfallingfromthesky,firstbornbabyboysstabbedintheirbeds.He
mouthedaBibleversefromJoshuasomanytimes,itstillcomestomeinfull.Theyutterlydestroyedallthatwereinthecity,bothmanandwoman,bothyoungandold.Themanwashead-smartandreckless.Hescaredthewitsoutofme.
Thetwoofushadaclashthefirstdaywemet.LikeIsaid,I’deasedoffdownthestreettoletthemknowI
didn’thaveaneedtoseetheirurges.Thestreetwasbusy,everybodyfromfreeblackstothemayorandthegovernorlivedonit,andwhenawhitewomancamealong,walkinginmypath,Ididthecommonthingyoudo—Isteppedtothesidetoletherpass.Itwasthelaw,youweresupposedtogivewayonthestreet,butherecameDenmarkVeseychargingdowntowhereI
stoodwithfuryblowingfromhisnostrils,andmaumalookingpanicrightbehindhim.Heyankedmebythearm,yelled,“Isthisthesortofpersonyouwanttobe?Thekindthatstepsaside?Thekindthatgrovelsinthestreet?”
Iwantedtosay,Getyourhandoffme,youdon’tknownothingaboutme,Ibatheinacoppertub,andyou’re
standinghereandstinktoheaven.Theairroundmyheadturnedthickandmythroattightenedonit.Imanagedtosay,“Letmego.”
Behindhim,maumasaid,alittletoosweetformytaste,“Takeyourhandoffher.”
Hedroppedhisgrip.“Don’tletmeseethatfromyouagain.”Thenhesmiled.Andmauma,shesmiled,too.
Wewalkedhomewithout
awordbetweenus.InsidetheGrimkéhouse,
thedoortothelibrarywasopen.Theroomwasempty,soIwentinandspuntheglobe.Itmadeascreechsound.Likeanailonaslateboard.Binahsaidthatsoundwasthedevil’stoenail.Ilookedoverallthecountriesontheglobe,roundthewholeearth.Denmarkwasn’tnexttoFrance,itwasupby
Prussia,butlookingatit,Iknewwhymaumachosehim.He’dbeenplaces,andhewasgoingplaces,andhesetheralightwiththenotionshe’dgoplaces,too.
SarahNinacameupwiththeideathatmyspeechinfirmitymightbecuredbykneadingmytongue,aprocesstypicallyappliedtodough.Thechildwasnothingifnotpioneering.She’dlistenedtomytorturedsentencesthroughoutthesummerand
intothefallandcametobelievetheorneryprotuberanceinmymouthcouldbemoldedinawaythatcausedwordstoplumpandriseaseffortlessasyeast.Shewassixandahalf.
OnceNinawasseducedbyaproblem,shewouldn’tgiveupuntilshe’dimprovisedasolutionandactedonit,andthesesolutionsofherscouldbe
outlandish,butalsowondrouslyimaginative.Notwishingtodampenthisfascinatingproclivityofhers,IstuckoutmytongueandallowedhertograspitwithwhatIhopedtobeacleandryingtowel.
Thisexperimentwasbeingperformedonthesecond-floorpiazza—me,sittingontheswing,neckcraned,mouthopen,eyes
bulging—thevisionofavoraciousbabybirdawaitingherworm,thoughtoanyobserver,I’msureitappearedthewormwasbeingextractedratherthandeposited.
Anautumnsunwasclimbingovertheharbor,spillinglikeyolkontotheclouds.Fromthecornerofmywateringeye,IcouldseethesheenofitanglingsharplytowardSullivan’sIsland.Mr.
WilliamsandIhadcanteredalongthatisland’sshorelineonhorsebackinwhathadturnedouttobeasullenaffair.Fearingmyfreshlyreturnedstammerwouldcausehimtoabandonthecourtship,I’dbarelyopenedmymouth.Nevertheless,he’dcontinuedtocall—there’dbeenfiveoccasionssinceI’dreturnedfromBelmontlastJune.Iexpectedeachoneto
bethelast.TheboundaryoffeelingbetweenNinaandmewaspermeabletoafault,andIbelievemyfearhadbecomeNina’s.Sheseemeduncommonlydeterminedtocureme.
Graspingmytongue,shepressedandpulled.Inreturn,itflailedlikethetentacleofanoctopus.
Shesighed.“Yourtongueisbeingimplacable.”
Implacable!Wheredidthelittlegeniusgetthesewords?Iwasteachinghertoread,asI’doncetaughtHandful,butIwassureI’dneverintroducedthewordimplacable.
“Andyouareholdingyourbreath,”sheadded.“Letitout.Trytoloosenyourself.”
Verybossyshewas,too.Alreadyshepossessedmore
authorityandself-assurancethanI.“...I’lltry,”Isaid,thoughperhapswhatreallyhappenedwasanaccidentalnot-trying.Iclosedmyeyesandbreathed,andinmymind,IsawthebrightwaterintheharborandthentheimageofHandful’sbathwaterstreamingoverthesideofthepiazzalikeafallingribbon,andIfeltmytongueunknotandgrowtranquilbeneath
Nina’sfingers.Idon’tknowhowlong
shepersistedwithherefforts.Iquitelostmyselfintheflowofwater.Finallyshesaid,“Repeatafterme:WickedWillyWiggle.”
“WickedWillyWiggle,”Isaid,withoutatraceofstutter.
Thisoddinterludeonthepiazzabroughtmenotacure,butthenearestthingtoacure
Iwouldeverfind,andithadnothingtodowithNina’sfancifultonguekneading.Ithadsomehowtodowithbreathingandreposeandthevisionofwater.
Soitwouldbefromnowon—whenevermystintsofstammeringcame,IwouldclosemyeyesandbreatheandwatchHandful’sbathwater.Iwouldseeitpouringdownanddown,and
openingmyeyes,Iwouldoftenspeakwithease,sometimesforhours.
InNovembermynineteenthbirthdaycameandwentwithoutacknowledgementexceptMother’sreminderatbreakfastthatI’dreachedaprimemarriageableage.Therewereweeklydressfittingsinpreparationforthe
winterseason,providingpracticallytheonlycontactIhadwithHandful.ShespentherdayssewinginCharlotte’sroominthecellarorbeneaththeoakwhentheweatherwasmild.Herforbiddenbathallthosemonthsagostillhungleadenbetweenus,thoughHandfuldidn’tseemtheleastbitshamedbymydiscoveryofit.Rathertheopposite,she
waslikesomeonewho’drisentoherfullmeasure.Duringthefittings,Handfulsangasshepinnedmeintohalf-madedresses.Standingonthefittingbox,turningslowrotations,Iwonderedifshesangtoavoidconversation.Whatevermotivatedher,Iwasrelieved.
Then,onedayinJanuary,Inoticedmyfatherandolderbrothershuddledinthe
librarywiththedooragape.Thefirsticingofthewinterhadcomeinthenightandglazedthecity,andTomfryhadsetthefireplacesablaze.FromwhereIstoodinthemainpassage,IcouldseeFatherrubbinghishandsbeforetheflames,whileThomas,John,andFrederickgesturedandflittedlikemothsinthelightaroundhisshoulders.Frederick,who’d
recentlyreturnedfromYaleandfollowedThomastothebar,slammedhisfistintothepalmofhishand.“Howdarethey,howdarethey!”
“We’llmountadefense,”Thomassaid.“Youmustn’tworry,Father,wewon’tbedefeated,Ipromiseyouthat.”
SomeonehadwrongedFather?IdrewasclosetothedoorasIdared,butIcouldmakelittlesenseofthe
discussion.Theyspokeofanoutrage,butdidn’tnameit.Theyvowedadefense,butagainstwhat?Throughthegapinthedoor,Iwatchedthemmovetothedesk,wheretheyclosedranksaroundadocument.Theypointedatvariouspassages,jabbingitwiththeirfingers,debatinginlow,purposefultones.Thesightofthemrousedmyravenousoldhungertotake
myplaceintheworld,too,tohavemypartmatter.HowmanyyearshadelapsedsinceIthrewawaythesilverbutton?
Imovedfromthedoor,suddenlyflushwithanger.IwassorryforFather.He’dbeenwrongedinsomeway,butheretheyallwerereadytomoveheavenandearthtorightit,andtheirwives,theirmother,theirsistershadno
rights,noteventotheirownchildren.Wecouldn’tvoteortestifyinacourt,ormakeawill—ofcoursewecouldn’t,weownednothingtoleavebehind!Whydidn’ttheGrimkémenassembleinourdefense?
Myangerdissipated,butmyignorancewentonforanotherweek.Duringthose
interminabledays,MotherstayedinherchamberwithaheadacheandevenThomasrefusedmyqueries,sayingitwasFather’smattertodisclose,nothis.Asitturnedout,Iwouldlearnthenewsataparlorconcertheldatoneoftheplantationsnorthwestofthecity.
MaryandIarrivedontheplantationastheafternoonturnedgraywithtwilight,our
carriagemetbyabevyofpeacocksthatstrolledaboutthegroundsfornoreasonotherthanornamentation.Theycreatedabeautifulblueshimmerinthefadinglight,butIfoundthemasadspectacle,thewaytheymadelittlerushesattheair,goingnowhere.
TheconcertwasalreadyunderwaywhenIreachedtheparlordoor.Burkeslipped
fromhisseatandgreetedmewithunusualwarmth.Helookeddashinginhislongcerisevestandsilksuit.“Iwasworriedyouweren’tcoming,”hewhisperedandledmequicklytotheemptychairbesidehis.AsIslippedofftheemeraldjacketthatHandfulhadsowondrouslycrafted,heplacedaletteruponmylap.Iraisedmybrowstohimasiftoask
whetherIshouldbreakthesealandreaditwhileMissParodiandtheharpsichordviedfortheroom.“Later,”hemouthed.
Itwasunconventionaltopassanoteinthismanner,andmymindfrettedthroughouttheprogramatwhatitmightcontain.WhenMrs.Drayton,Thomas’mother-in-law,playedthefinalpieceontheharp,we
adjournedtothediningroomwherethetablewasspreadwithaCharlotteRussedessertandaselectionofFrenchwines,brandy,andMadeira,ofwhichIcouldn’tpartakeforallmyapprehension.Burkegulpedabrandy,thenmaneuveredmetowardthefrontdoor.
“...Wherearewegoing?”Iasked,unsureofthepropriety.
“Let’stakeastroll.”Westeppedontothe
porchbeneaththepalladiumfanlightandgazedatthesky.Itwaspurple,almostwatery-looking.Themoonwasrisingoverthetreeline.Icouldn’t,however,thinkofanythingbuttheletter.Ipulleditfrommypurseandrippedtheseal.
MyDearestDarling,Ibegtheprivilegeof
becomingyourmostattachedanddevotedfiancé.Myheartisyours.
Iawaityouranswer.Burke
Ireaditonce,thenagain,mildlydisoriented,asiftheletterhe’dslippedtomeearlierhadbeenswappedfor
thisonethathadnothingatalltodowithme.Heseemedentertainedbymyconfusion.Hesaid,“Yourparentswillwantyoutowaitandgiveyouranswerafteryou’veconsultedwiththem.”
“Iacceptyourproposal,”Isaid,smilingathim,overwhelmedwithaqueermixtureofjubilationandrelief.Iwouldbemarried!IwouldnotenduplikeAunt
AmeliaJane.Hewasright,though,
MotherwouldbehorrifiedI’dansweredwithouthersay-so,butIdidn’tdoubtmyparents’response.Afterswallowingtheirdisapproval,theywouldseizeuponthemiracleofBurkeWilliams’proposallikeitwasthecureforadreaddisease.
Wewalkedalongthecarriageway,myarmlooped
inhis.Alittletremorwasrunningribtoribtoribinsideofme.Abruptly,hesteeredmeoffthepathtowardacamelliagrove.Wedisappearedintotheshadowsthathunginswathsbetweenthehuge,floweringbushes,andwithoutpreamble,hekissedmefullonthemouth.Irearedback.“...Why...why,yousurpriseme.”
“MyLove,we’reengaged
now,suchlibertiesareallowed.”
Hedrewmetohimandkissedmeagain.Hisfingersmovedalongtheedgeofmydécolletage,brushingmyskin.Ididn’tentirelysurrender,butIallowedBurkeWilliamsagreatamountoffreedomduringthatsmallpeccadillointhecamelliagrove.WhenImusteredmyselffinally,
pullingfromhisembrace,hesaidhehopedIdidn’tholdhisardoragainsthim.Ididnot.Iadjustedmydress.Ituckedvagrantpiecesofhairbackintomyupsweptcoif.Suchlibertiesareallowednow.
Aswewalkedbacktothehouse,Ifixedmyeyesonthepath,howitwasriddledwithpeacockexcrementandpebblesshininginthemoon’s
light.Thismarriage,itwouldbelife-enough,wouldn’tit?Surely.Burkewasspeakingaboutthenecessityofalongengagement.Ayear,hesaid.
Aswedrewneartheporch,ahorsewhinnied,andthenamansteppedfromthefrontdoorandlithispipe.ItwasMr.Drayton,Thomas’father-in-law.
“Sarah?”hesaid.“Isthatyou?”Hiseyesshiftedto
Burkeandbacktome.Alockofmyhairflutteredguiltilyatmyshoulder.“Where’veyoubeen?”Iheardthereproof,thealarm.“Areyouallright?”
“...Iam...weareengaged.”Myparentsweren’tyetinformed,andI’dheraldedthenewstoMr.Drayton,whomIbarelyknew,hopingitwouldexcusewhateverhismindimagined
weweredoingoutthere.“Wetookaquickturnin
thenightair,”Burkesaid,trying,itseemed,tobringsomenormalcytothemoment.
Mr.Draytonwasnofool.Hegazedatme,plainSarah,returningfroma“turninthenight”withastartlinglyhandsomeman,lookingflushedandslightlyunkempt.“Well,then,congratulations.
Yourhappinessmustbeawelcomerespiteforyourfamilygiventhisrecenttroubleofyourfather’s.”
WasFather’stroublecommonknowledge,then?
“HassomemisfortunefallenuponJudgeGrimké?”Burkeasked.
“Sarahhasn’ttoldyou?”“...IsupposeI’vebeen
toodistressedtospeakofit,”Isaid.“...Butplease,sir,
informhimonmybehalf.Itwouldbeaservicetome.”
Mr.Draytontookadraughtfromhispipeandblewthespicysmokeintothenight.“Iregrettosaythejudge’senemiesseektoremovehimfromthecourt.Impeachmentchargeshavebeenbrought.”
Iletmybreathout.Icouldn’timagineagreaterhumiliationforourfather.
“Onwhatgrounds?”Burkeasked,properlyoutraged.
“Theysayhehasgrownbiasedandoverlyrighteousinhisjudgments.”Hehesitated.“Theychargeincompetence.Ah,butitisallpolitics.”Hewavedhishanddismissively,andIwatchedthebowlofhispipeflareinthesmallwind.
AnyflickerofgladnessImight’vehopedforfrommyfamilyaboutmyengagement,anyretributionImight’vefearedforacceptingtheproposalwithoutpermission,wasswallowedbyFather’strial.Mother’sreactiontomyannouncementwassimply,“Welldone,Sarah,”asifreviewingoneofmyembroiderysamplers.Fatherdidnotrespondatall.
Throughoutthewinter,hesequesteredinthelibrarydayandnightwithThomas,Frederick,andMr.DanielHuger,alawyerfriendofFather’swhowasknownforlegallyevisceratinghisopponents.Myhearingwasalmostpreternatural,cultivatedbyyearsofunsanctionedlistening,andIcaughtscrapsofconversationwhilesittingatthecardtable
inthemainpassage,pretendingtoread.
John,you’vereceivednomoney,nofavors.Youareaccusedofnothingthatrisestothelevelofhighcrimes.
Isn’tachargeofincompetencebadenough?Theyaccusemeofbeingbiased!Thestreetsandthepapersarefullofit.I’mruined,regardless.
Father,youhavefriends
inthelegislativechamber!Don’tbeafool,Thomas,
whatIhaveareenemies.Schemingbastardsfromtheupcountry,seekingthebenchforthemselves.
Theycannotpossiblygetatwo-thirdsmajority.
Makemeatofthem,Daniel,doyouhearme?Feedthemtothedogs.
WhenthetrialwasheardthatspringintheHouseof
RepresentativesinColumbia,Mr.HugerassailedFather’senemieswithavengeance,layingbaretheirpoliticalconnivingwithsuchforceFatherwasacquittedinasingleday,butthevotewasominouslyclose,andhereturnedtoCharleston,vindicated,butdirtied.
Atfifty-nine,Fatherwassuddenlyaveryoldman.Hisfacehadturnedhaggardand
hisclothesbaggyasifhe’dwiltedinsidethem.Atremorappearedinhisrighthand.
Asthemonthspassed,Burkepaidcourtingcallstomeweeklyinthewithdrawingroom,wherewewereallowedunchaperonedvisits.Hefilledtheserendezvouswiththesamefeverandexcesswe’dsharedinthecamelliagrove,andIcomplied,drawinglinesthe
bestIcould.IcounteditGod’smiracleweweren’tdiscovered,thoughI’msureourinvisibilitywasnotduetoGod,buttothefamily’sdistraction.Fathercontinuedtoshuffleandshrivelandtuckhishandinhispockettohideitsshake.Heturnedintoarecluseofaman.AndI,IturnedintoaJezebelofawoman.
HandfulMaumacouldn’tsleep.Shewasupfussingroundthecellarroomlikeusual.Shedidn’tknowthemeaningofthewordsquietasamouse.
Iwaslayinginthestrawbedwe’dalwayssleptin,wonderingwhatwasonhermindthistime.I’dstopped
sleepingontheflooroutsideSarah’sroomalongtimeback,justdecideditonmyown,andnobodysaidawordaboutit,notevenmissus.Duringthoseyears,hermeannesswashitandmiss.
Maumadraggedthechairovertothehigh-upwindowsoshecouldcraneherneckandseeapieceofskybeyondthewall.Iwatchedhowshesatthereandstudiedit.
Mostofherwakingnights,shewouldlightthelampandsewherstoryquilt.She’dbeenworkingonthosequiltsquaresbitsatatimeformorethantwoyears.“IfthereafireandIain’there,that’swhatyouget,”she’dsay.“Yousavethesquarescausetheypiecesofmesamelikethemeatonmybones.”
Ipesteredherallthetimewantingtoseethesquares
she’dfinished,butsheheldfirm.Maumalovedagoodsurprise.Shewantedtounveilherquiltliketheydidmarblestatues.ShehadputherhistoryonaquiltliketheFonpeople,andshemeanttoshowitallatonce,notpiecemeal.
Thedaybefore,she’dtoldme,“Youwait.I’m’boutreadytorolldowntheframeandstartquiltingitall
together.”Shekeptthesquares
lockedinawoodtrunkshe’ddraggedfromthestoreroominthebasement.Thetrunkhadabad,mustysmelltoit.Insidewe’dfoundmold,deadmoth-eggs,andalittlekey.Shecleanedthetrunkwithlinseedoil,thenlockedthesquaresinside,wrappedinmuslin.Iguessedshelockedourfreedommoneyinthere
too,causerightafterthatthebillsdisappearedfromthegunnysack.
LasttimeI’dcounted,she’dsavedupfourhundreddollarseven.
Layinginbednow,Ididthenumberinginmyhead—weneededsixhundredfiftymoredollarstobuythebothofus.
Ibrokethequiet.“Isthishowyougonnabeallnight—
sitinthedarkandstareupataholeinthewall?”
“It’ssomethingtodo.Goonbacktosleep.”
Gobacktosleep—thatwasalotofuseless.
“Wheredoyoukeepthekeytothechest?”
“Isthathowyougonbe?Laytherefigurin’howtopeekatmyquilt?Thekeyhidonthebackofnowhere.”
Iletitbe,andmymind
driftedofftoSarah.Ididn’tcareforthisMr.
Williams.Theonlythinghe’deversaidtomewas,“Removeyourselfhastily.”I’dbeenbuildingafireinthedrawingroomsothemancouldgethimselfwarm,andthat’swhathehadtosay,Removeyourselfhastily.
Icouldn’tseeSarahmarriedtohimanymorethanIcouldseemyselfmarriedto
Goodis.Hestilltrailedafterme,wantingyouknowwhat.Maumasaid,tellhim,gojumpinthelake.
Yesterday,Sarahhadasked,“WhenImarry,wouldyoucomewithmetolive?”
“Leavemauma?”Realquick,she’dsaid,
“Oh,youdon’thaveto...Ijustthought...Well,I’llmissyou.”
Eventhoughwedidn’t
havethatmuchtosaytoeachotheranymore,Ihatedtothinkaboutusparting.“IreckonI’llmissyou,too,”Itoldher.
Crosstheroom,maumasaid,“HowoldyoureckonIis?”Sheneverdidknowherageforsure,didn’thavearecord.“SeemsIhadyouwhenI’m’boutthesameoldasyounow,andyounineteen.Whatthatmake
me?”Icounteditinmyhead.
“You’rethirty-eight.”“Thatain’ttooold,”she
said.Westayedlikethata
while,maumastaringatthewindow,mullingoverherage,andmelayinginthebedwideawakenow,whenshecriedout,“Look,Handful!Lookahere!”Sheleapttoherfeet,bouncingonherknees.
“Therego’notherone!”Iboltedfromthebed.“Thestars,”shesaid.
“Theyfallingjustliketheydoneforyourgranny-mauma.Comeon.Hurry.”
Weyankedonourshoesandsackcoats,snatchedupanoldquilt,andwereoutthedoor,maumatearingcrosstheworkyard,metwostepsbehind.
Wespreadthequiltonthe
groundoutintheopenbehindthespirittreeandlaydownontopofit.WhenIlookedup,thenightopenedandthestarspoureddown.
Eachtimeastarstreakedby,maumalaughedlowinherthroat.
Whenthestarsstoppedfallingandtheskywentstill,Isawherhandsrubthelittlemoundofherbelly.
AndIknewthenwhatit
wasshewasn’ttoooldfor.
SarahSarah,youshouldsitdown.Please.”
ThatwashowThomasbegan.Hegesturedtowardthetwochairsbesidethewindowthatoverlookedthepiazza,butitwasIalonewhosat.
Itwashalfpastnoon,and
herewasmybrother,theaucourantofCharlestonbarristers,interruptinghislawyeringtospeakwithmeintheprivacyofmyroom.HisfacewaspalewithwhatItooktobedread.
Naturally,mymindwenttoFather.Onecouldscarcelylookathimthesedayswithoutworryingabouthim,thisthin,hollowed-outmanwiththeuncertaingaitand
erratichand.Despitethat,there’dbeensomeimprovementlately,enoughthathe’dreturnedtohisdutiesonthebench.
Justtheweekbefore,I’dcomeuponFatherlaboringalongthemainpassagewithhiscane.IthadconjuredupanoldSundaySchoolimagefromourcatechismofLazarushobblingfromthetombwithhisshroud
cleavingtohisankles.Father’slefthandwasshakingasifwavingtoapasserby,andbeforehesawme,hegrabbeditviolently,tryingtosubdueit.Noticingme,hesaid,“Oh,Sarah.Godisruthlesstotheaged.”Iwalkedwithhimtothebackdoor,movingwithacorrespondingslownessthatonlycalledattentiontohisfeebleness.
“Sotellme,whenwillyoumarry?”Itwastheonlyquestionanyoneeveraskedmenow,butcomingfromFather,itbroughtmetoastandstill.I’dbeenpromisedtoBurkesincelastFebruary,andnotoncehadFatherevenmentionedit.Ihadn’tblamedhimformissingtheengagementparty,whichThomasandSallyhadgraciouslyhosted—he’dbeen
bedriddenthen—butthere’dbeensomanymonthsofsilencesince.
“Idon’tknow,”Ianswered.“Burkeiswaitingonhisfathertoassignthebusinessovertohim.Hewantstobeintheproperposition.”
“Doeshe?”Histonewassardonic,andImadenoattempttoanswer.
Itwasdifficultnowto
rememberthosetimeswhenFatherhadletmeplunderhisbooksandbaskedinmyspeeches.There’dbeenakindofinvisiblecordrunningbetweenusthen,andItriedtothinkexactlywhenit’dbeenbroken.Thedayheforbademebooks?Thomas’farewellparty,whenhehurledhisviciouswords?Youshameyourself.Youshameusall.Wheredidyougetthenotion
thatyoucouldstudythelaw?“Iremindyou,Sarah,
thereisnodivorcelawinourstate,”hewassaying.“Onceyouaremarried,thecontractisindissoluble.Youareawareofthis?”
“Yes,Father,Iknow.”Henoddedwithwhat
seemedlikebleakacceptance.Thatwaswheremymind
alightedinthosefinalmomentsbeforeThomas
deliveredhisnews,uponFatherandmylastencounterwithhim,uponhisfrailty.
“You’vealwaysbeenmyfavoritesister,”Thomassaid.“Youknowthat.Intruth,you’vebeenthefavoriteofallmysiblings.”
Hepaused,stalling,gazingthroughthewindowacrossthepiazzaintothegarden.Iwatchedadropofperspirationslidetohis
templeandclinginthenetofwrinklesthatwasalreadyforming.Astrangeresignationsettledonme.Whateveritis,ithasalreadyhappened.
“...Please,I’mnotasfragileasyoumightthink.Tellmeplainly.”
“You’reright.Iwillsimplysayit.I’mafraidBurkeWilliamshasmisrepresentedhimselfto
you.Ithascometomyattentionthathehasotherfemaleacquaintances.”
Withoutconsideringthehiddenentendre,Isaid,“Surely,that’snotacrime.”
“Sarah,theseacquaintances—they’realsohisfiancées.”
Iknewsuddenlywhathesaidwastrue.Somanythingsmadesensenow.Thedelayinnamingamarriagedate.The
incessanttripshemadetovisitfamilyorconductbusiness.Thecuriousfactthatsomeonesofulloflooksandcharmhadsettledonme.
Myeyesfilled.ThomasdugforhishandkerchiefandwaitedwhileIdabbedthemdry.
“Howdidyoulearnofthis?”Iasked,composed,nodoubtprotectedbytherecoilofshock.
“Sally’scousinFrannyinBeaufortwrotetosayshe’dattendedasoiréethereandseenBurkeopenlycourtingayoungwoman.Shedidn’tapproachhim,ofcourse,butshediddiscreetlyquestiontheyoungwoman,whotoldherBurkehadrecentlyproposed.”
Ilookeddownatmylap,tryingtoabsorbwhathe’dsaid.“Butwhy?Whywould
hedothis?Idon’tunderstand.”
Thomassatandtookmyhands.“He’soneofthosemenwhopreyonyoungladies.Wehearofthiskindofthingnow.There’safast-setofyoungmenacquiringfiancéesinorderto—”Hepaused.“Tolurewomenintosexualliaisons.Theyassurethewomenthatgiventhepromiseofwedlock,such
compromisesareacceptable.”Hecouldbarelylookatme.“Itrusthedidn’ttakeadvantage—”
“No,”Isaid.“Hedidnot.”
Thomasexhaledwithreliefthatembarrassedmeinitsextravagance.
“...Yousaidfiancées.BesidetheacquaintanceinBeaufort,there’sanother?”
“Yes,Ibelieveshelives
inSavannah.”“Andhowdidyoulearn
ofthisone?Notanothercousin,Ihope.”
Hegavemeaweaksmile.“No,thisoneIheardoffromBurkehimself.Iconfrontedhimlastevening.Headmittedtobothyoungladies.”
“Youconfrontedhim?Butwhydidn’tyouletme—”
“Iwantedtospareyouthepainanddisgrace.Bothof
ourparentsagreedyoushouldbeleftoutofit.There’snoreasonforyoutoseehimagain.I’vebrokentheengagementonyourbehalf.”
Howcouldyou?He’dusurpedanychanceIhadforpersonalretribution.Inthatmoment,IfeltmoreenragedbyThomas’babyishprotectionthanbyBurke’scruelty.Isprangtomyfeetandstoodwithmybackto
him,almostgaggingonmouthfulsofjumbled,scathingwords.
“Iknowhowyoumustfeel,”hesaidbehindme.“Butit’sbetterthisway.”
HeknewnothingofhowIfelt.Iwantedtoshoutathimforutteringsoarrogantaclaim,butwhenIwhirledabout,IsawhiseyeswerefilledwithtearsandIforcedmyselftospeakwithcivility.
“...Iwouldliketobealone.Please.”
Hestood.“There’sonemorething.You’llneedtowithdrawfrompublicforabrieftime.Motherbelievesthreeweekswillbesufficientforthetalktodiedown.Thenyoucanreturntosociety.”
Heleftmebythewindow,engulfedwithangerandmortification,andwithnowheretohurlitexceptat
myself.HowcouldIhavefallenpreytosuchalasciviousperson?WasIsobesotted,soneedy,soblindthatIimaginedhelovedme?Icouldseemyselfintheglareofthewindow,theflushed,roundface,Father’slongnose,thepaleeyes,themis-coloredhair.I’dclippedapieceofthathairforhim.Hemusthavelaughedatthat.
Iwenttomydeskand
retrievedtheletterwithhisproposalofmarriage.Ididn’treaditagain,ItoreitintoasmanypiecesasIcouldmanage.Thetattersfellontothedesktopandtherugandthefoldsofmyskirt.
Itwasthetimeofyearwhenmigratingcrowswheeledacrossthesky,thunderousflocksthatmovedlikeasingleveil,andIheardthem,outthereinthewild
chirrupingair.Turningtothewindow,Iwatchedthebirdsfilltheskybeforedisappearing,andwhentheairwasstillagain,Iwatchedtheemptyplacewheretheyhadbeen.
HandfulSarahwasupinherroomwithherheartbrokesobad,Binahsaidyoucouldhearitjanglewhenshewalked.Herbrother,Thomas,hadn’tevengothishatontoleavebeforethewholehouseknewwhathappened.Mr.Williamshadhimselftwomorefiancées.
Nowwhohastoremovehimselfhastily?
Cometeatimethatday,missussaidtoTomfry,“Sarahwillnotbereceivingvisitorsforthenextthreeweeks.Explaintoanycallersthatsheisindisposed.Indisposed,Tomfry.That’sthewordIwouldlikeyoutouse.”
“Yessum.”Missussawmehovering.
“Quitdawdling,Hetty,andtakeatraytoSarah’sroom.”
Ifixedit,butIknewshewouldn’ttouchabite.Igotthehyssopteasheliked,thinkingofuswhenwewerelittle,howwedrankitontheroof,hertellingmeaboutthesilverbuttonandthebigplanshehad.I’dwornthatbuttoninmyneckpouchalmosteverydaysinceshe’dtosseditaway.
Islippedintothewarmingkitchen,slidoffthepouch,anddugthebuttonout.Itwasfulloftarnish.Lookedlikeabigshriveledgrape.Istudieditaminute,thenIgotoutthepolishandrubbedittillitgleamed.
Sarahwassittingatherdesk,writinginanotebook.HereyesweresorawfromcryingIdidn’tknowhowshecouldseetowrite.Isetthe
trayinfrontofher.Isaid,“Lookwhat’sontheteasaucer.”
Shehadn’tlaideyesonthebuttoninalltheseyears,butsheknewrightoffwhatitwas.“Howdid...Why,Handful,yousavedit?”
Shedidn’ttouchit.Onlystared.
Isaid,“Awrightthen,thereitis,”andwenttothedoor.
SarahThefollowingmorning,despitemyprotests,MothersentNinaofftospendthedaywithoneofthelittleSmithgirls,whosefamilylivedablockorsofromtheWorkHouse.DuringNina’slastvisitthere,she’dheardscreamsfloatingonthe
breezesandhadleaptupinalarm,scatteringjackstonesacrossthepiazza.Atthetime,mysisterknewnothingofCharleston’storturechamber—I’dtriedtoprotectherfromit—buttheSmithboyshadnosuchscruples.Theyinformedherthatthecriessheheardcamefromaslaveinthewhippingroom,describingitforherinluriddetail.Apparentlytherewasacrane
withpulleysbywhichtheslaves’boundhandsweredrawnovertheirheads,whiletheirfeetwerechainedtoaplank.Theboystoldherofotherhorrors,too,whichshereportedtomethroughsobs,storiesaboutthesplittingofearsandtheremovalofteeth,aboutspikedcollarsandsomesortofbirdcagecontraptionthatwaslockedoveraslave’shead.
I’dassuredNinashewouldn’thavetogoback.Butnow,withFather’scareerindirestraits,Motherwasnotaboveusingaseven-year-oldtomakeaninroadwiththepoliticallypowerfulSmiths.
TherainbegantofallnotlongafterNinaleft,atorrentcomingatthepeakofhightide,turningthestreetsintocanalsofmud.Byearlyafternoon,afterthestormhad
blownouttosea,Icouldbearitnolonger.IputonMary’soldblackridinghatwiththeveilsandslippedoutthebackdoor,determinedtocollectmysisternomatterthecost.
Sabewasn’tinthestable,onlyGoodis,whichseemedjustaswellasIfeltIcouldtrusthimmore.“Ijustthefootman,Iain’tmeanttodrivethecarriage,”hetoldme.Ittooksomedoing,butI
convincedhimitwasanerrandofgreaturgency,andoffwesetinthenewcabriolet.
Thecitywasabuzzthatdaywithtalkofanastralevent—acometstorm,itwassaid.EvensensiblepeoplelikeFatherandThomashadbeenspeakingabouttheapocalypse,butIknewmyscandalwithBurkewasbeingdiscussedinparlors
throughoutCharlestonwithmorefervorthantheendoftheworld.Thecabrioletwasnewenough,however,tobeunfamiliaronthestreets,andwithitshoodupandMary’shaton,Ididn’tseehowIcouldberecognized.Withanyluck,MotherwouldneverknowI’dbrokenmyseclusion.
FeelinganxiousaboutNina,Iclosedmyeyesand
imaginedscoopingherintomyarms.Thentherewasaterriblejolt,andthecarriagecametoashudderingstoponComingStreet,therightwheelsunkintoamudhole.
Goodiscoaxedthehorsewiththewhip,thenclimbeddownandtuggedatthebridleandcollar.Themare,knownforherkeenspiritofrevenge,jerkedherheadandsteppedbackward,sinkingthe
carriagefurther.IheardGoodisquietlycurse.
Hewenttotherearofthecarriageandshoved,causingittorockforwardalittle,butnothingmore.“Stayputwhereyouis,”hetoldme.“Igongetussomehelp.”
Ashelumberedoff,Isurveyedthestreet.Despitethesogginess,therewereladiesoutstrolling,menhuddledinconclaves,Negro
hawkerscarryingtroughsofshrimpandbasketsofFrenchcoconutpatties.Ireachedupnervouslyandtouchedtheveilatmyface,anditwasatthatmomentIglimpsedCharlotte,walkingtowardBullStreet.
Shepickedherwaylikearopewalker,movingalonganarrowshelfofgrassthatranbesideabrickwall.Sheworeherredbandanalowonher
foreheadandcarriedabasketbulgingwithcloth,unawareofmeorofthefinelydressedwomanwithwhiteskinwhoapproachedheronthesamegrassyledgefromtheoppositedirection.Oneofthemwouldbeforcedtoturnaroundandretraceherstepsallthewaybacktowherethebrickwallbegan,orelseyieldwaybysteppingoffintothemuddyroadway.Face-offsof
thissortplayedoutonthestreetssoregularlyacityordinancehadbeenpassedrequiringslavestogivedeference.HadtheslavebeenanyoneotherthanCharlotte—haditbeenBinah,Aunt-Sister,Cindie,evenHandful—Iwouldn’thaveworriedsomuch,butCharlotte.
Thetwowomenstoppedafewfeetapart.Thewhitewomanliftedherparasoland
tappedCharlotte’sarm.Movealongnow.Offwithyou.
Ididn’tdetecttheslightestmovementinCharlotte.Sheseemedtosolidifyasshestoodthere.Thewoman’sumbrellathumpedatheragain:Shoo.Shoo.
TheyexchangedwordsIdidn’tunderstand,theirvoicesrising,turningintojaggedantlersovertheir
heads.IlookedaroundfranticallyforGoodis.
AmanwearingaCityGuarduniformreinedhishorseinthemiddleofthestreet.“Stepaside,Negress,”heyelled.Heclimbedfromhishorse,handingthereinstoaslaveboywho’dwandereduppullingadray.
Beforetheguardcouldreachthescene,Charlotteswungherbasket.Itmovedin
anarc,spillingwhatIrealizedwerebonnets,thencrashingagainstthewoman’sarm,knockinghersideways.Themudinthestreetwaslikepudding,viscousandpale-brownastapioca,andwhenthewomanlanded,perfectlyseated,itmadealittlewaveoneithersideofher.
IleaptfromthecarriageandrantowardthemwithnothoughtofwhatImightdo.
TheguardsmanhadseizedCharlottebythearms,assistedbyanothermanwhomhe’denlisted.Theydraggedherdownthestreet,whileshespitandclawed.
IchasedthemallthewaytoBeaufainwherethemencommandeeredawagonandforcedherintotheback,pushingherflatontoherstomach.Theguardsmansatatopher.Thedriversnapped
thereins,thehorsesjerked,andIcouldonlystandtherespatteredwiththepuddingfromthestreet.
Isweptbacktheveilsonmyhatandscreamedhername.“Charlotte!”
Hereyesfoundme.Shedidnotmakeasound,butheldmygazeasthewagonrolledaway.
HandfulMaumadisappearedtwodaysafterwewatchedthestarsfall.
Wewerestandingintheworkyardnearthebackgate.Shehadtheredscarfonherheadandworehergooddress,theonedyedindigo.Herapronwaspressedtoa
crisp.She’doiledherlipsandborrowedBinah’scowrieshellbraceletstodressupherwrists.Inthesunlightherskinhadagoldlusterandhereyesshinedlikeriverrocks.That’showIseehernowinmydreams,withthelookshehadthen.Almosthappy.
Shepinnedonherslavebadge,fullofhaste.She’dgotpermissiontodeliverherfresh-madebonnets,butI
knewbeforethelastoneleftthebasket,she’dbeobligingthatman,Mr.Vesey.
Isaid,“Besureyourbadgeisongood.”
Maumahatedmypestering.“Itonthere,Handful.Itain’tgoin’nowhere.”
“Whataboutyourpouch?”Icouldn’tseethebulgeofitunderherdresslikeusual.Ikeptbothofour
pouchesfreshwithscrapsfromourtree,andImeantforhertowearit,whatwithmegoingtoallthattroubleandherneedingalltheprotectionshecouldget.Shefisheditupfromherbosom.Herfingershadfadedsmudgesonthemfromthecharcoalpowdershe’dusedtotracedesignsonherbonnets.
Iwantedtosaymoretoher.Why’reyouwearingthe
gooddresswithallthatmudoutthere?Whenareyouplanningontellingmeaboutthebaby?Nowwegottobuyfreedomforthethreeofus?ButIshovedallthistothesideforlater.
IlingeredwhileTomfryunlockedthebackgateandletherout.Aftershesteppedthroughtothealley,sheturnedroundandlookedatme,thenwalkedonoff.
Aftermaumaleftthatday,Idideverythingusual.Cutsleevesandcollarsforthemenslavestohaveworkshirts,gotbusyonmissus’splashers,thesesquaresofclothyoutackupbehindthewashstandscauseLordforbidyougetadropofwateronthewall.Eachandeveryonehadtobeembroideredtothehilt.
Middleoftheafternoon,I
wentouttotheprivy.Thesunhadstayedput,andtheskywasblueascornflowers.Aunt-Sisterwasinthekitchenhousebakingwholeappleswithcustardpouredroundthem,what’scalledabirdnestpudding,andthatwholesmellwasintheair.Iwasonmywaybackinside,relishingthesweetairafterbeinginthelatrine,whenthecarriagecameflyingthrough
thegatewithSarahandNina,bothofthemlookingscaredtopieces.Andlookwhowasdriving.Goodis.Whenitrolledtoastop,theirfeethitthegroundrunning.Theypassedmewithoutawordandstruckforthehouse.ThelittlegraytravelingcapeI’dsewedNinaflappedbehindherlikeadovewing.
Goodisgavemealonglookofpitybeforehetugged
thehorseinsidethestable.Whenthelongshadows
started,Isatontheporchstepstothekitchenhouseandwatchedthegateformauma.Crosstheyard,Goodisheldvigilwithmeinthestabledoor,whittlingonapieceofwood.HeknewsomethingIdidn’t.
Theapple-eggswerestillintheairwhenAunt-SisterandPhoebecleanedupand
blewoutthelamps.Thedarkcame,andnomoon.
Sarahfoundmehunchedonthesteps.Shesatdownclosenexttome.“...Handful,”shesaid.“...Iwantedtobetheonetotellyou.”
“It’smauma,ain’tit?”“Shegotinadisputewith
awhitelady...Theladywantedhertogivewayonthestreet.Sheproddedyour
motherwithanumbrella,and...youknowyourmother,shewouldn’tstandaside.She...shestruckthelady.”Sarahsighedintothedark,andtookholdofmyhand.“TheCityGuardwasthere.Theytookheraway.”
AllthistimeI’dbeenwaitingforhertosaymaumawasdead.Hopecamebackintome.“Whereisshe?”
Sarahlookedawayfrom
methen.“...That’swhatI’vebeentryingtodiscover...Wedon’tknowwheresheis...TheyweretakinghertotheGuardHouse,butwhenThomaswenttopaythefine,hewastoldCharlottehadmanagedtowrestlefree...Apparently,sheranoff...TheysaidtheGuardchasedher,butlostherinthealleys.They’reouttherelookingfor
hernow.”AllIcouldhearwas
breathing—Sarah,Goodiscrosstheyard,thehorsesinthestable,thecreaturesinthebrush,thewhitepeopleontheirfeatherbeds,theslavesontheirlittlepalletsthinaswafers,everythingbreathingbutme.
Sarahwalkedwithmetothebasement.Shesaid,“Wouldyoulikesome
warmedtea?Icanputalittlebrandyinit.”
Ishookmyhead.Shewantedtodrawmetoherforsolace,Icouldtell,butsheheldback.Instead,shelaidherhandgentleonmyarmandsaid,“She’llcomeback.”
Isaidthosewordsallnightlong.
Ididn’tknowhowtobeintheworldwithouther.
SarahCharlotte’sdisappearancebroughtasevereandterriblemercy,fornotoncethroughouttheharrowingweeksthatfollowedBurke’sbetrayalwasIuncertainwhicheventwastragicandwhichwasmerelyunfortunate.
Someone—Mother,Father,perhapsThomas—placedanadintheCharlestonMercury.
Disappeared,FemaleSlave
Mulatto.Widespacebetweenupperfrontteeth.Occasionallimp.AnswerstothenameofCharlotte.Wearingredscarfanddarkbluedress.Aseamstressofskillandvalue.BelongstoJudgeJohnGrimké.Largerewardforherreturn.
Theappealbroughtnoresponse.
EachdayIwatchedfromthebackwindowinmyroomasHandfulwalkedarepetitivecircuitintheworkyard.Sometimesshewalkedtheentiretyofthemorning.Nevervaryingherpath,shestartedatthebackofthehouse,movedtowardthekitchenhouse,pastthelaundry,cutovertotheoak
tree,whereshetouchedthetrunkasshepassed,thenbacktothehousebywayofthestableandcarriagehouse.Uponreachingtheporchsteps,shewouldsimplybeginagain.Itwasacircumambulationofsuchprecise,ritualisticgriefnooneinterfered.EvenMotherlefthertowalkarutofanguishintotheyard.
Ididn’tmuchmournthe
lossofBurkeorthedemiseofourwedding.Ifeltlittleheartbreak.Wasthatnotstrange?Ididcrybuckets,butmostlyfromtheshameofitall.
Ididn’tbreakmyseclusionagain.Instead,Itookrefugeinit.
AlmostdailyIreceivednotesofconcerninfloweryscripts.Iwasbeingprayedforbyeveryoneimaginable.
Itwashopedmyreputationwouldn’tsuffertoomuch.DidIknowthatBurkehadvacatedthecityandwasstayingindefinitelywithhisuncleinColumbia?Wasn’titashamethathismotherhadtakenillwithapoplexy?Howwasmyownmotherbearingup?Iwasmissedattea,butmyabsencewascommended.Ishouldn’tdespair,forsurelyayoungmanwouldcome
forthwhowouldn’tbeputoffbymydisgrace.
Iwroterantsandrebukesinmydiary,thentorethemoutandburnedthemalongwithallthesuperciliousnotes.Gradually,thelavainmesubsidedandthereremainedonlyayoungwomanwhoselifecoursehadbeendemolished.UnlikeHandful,Ihadnonotionwhatpathtowalk.
OnemonthafterCharlotte’sdisappearance,afrigidwindbroughtdownmostoftheleavesontheoak.Handfulstillwalkedobsessivelyeachmorning,butonlyaquicklooporsonow.Theweekbefore,Motherhadputastoptoherunremittingmarchandsentherbacktoherduties.Thehighsocialseasonwithitsquotaofgownsawaited—
allthesewingnowfelltoHandful.Charlottewasgone.Noonebelievedshewascomingback.
I’dmanagedtostretchmythreeweeksofseclusionintofour,butonthisday,myreprieveended.Motherhadorderedmebacktomyduties,aswell:procuringahusband.She’dinformedmethatarowboattraversingtheAtlanticmighteventuallybe
rescuedbyapassingship,butonlyiftherowboatbravelysetoutuponthewater—this,herhaplessmetaphorofmymaritalprospects.MysisterMaryarrivedwithsimilarencouragement.“Liftyourchin,Sarah.Behaveasifnothinghashappened.Begayandactassured.You’llfindahusband,Godwilling.”
Godwilling.Howstrangelythatstrikesmenow.
Ontheeveningmysolitudeended,IshovedmyselfoutintothepublicdomainbyattendingalectureattheSecondPresbyterianChurchdeliveredbytheReverendHenryKollack,afamedpreacher.ThosewerenotthewatersMotherhadinmind.TheEpiscopalChurchmightpassforsociety,butcertainlynotthePresbyterianswiththeir
revivalismandshoutsforrepentance—butshedidn’tobject.Iwasatleastrowing,wasn’tI?
Sittinginapewbesidethedevoutfriendwho’dinvitedme,Iscarcelylistenedatfirst.Words—sin,moraldegradation,retribution—flittedinandoutofmyawareness,butatsomepointduringthathour,Ibecamemorbidlyengrossed.
Thereverend’seyesfoundme—Ican’texplainit.Nordidhelookawayashespoke.“Areyounotsickofthefrivolousbeingyouhavebecome?Areyounotmortifiedatyourownfolly,wearyoftheballroomanditsgildedtoys?Willyounotgiveupthevanitiesandgaietiesofthislifeforthesakeofyoursoul?”
Ifeltutterlyspokento,
andinthemostdirectandsupernaturalway.Howcouldheknowwhatlayinsideme?HowdidheknowwhatIwasonlythatmomentabletoseemyself?
“Godcallsyou,”hebellowed.“God,yourbeloved,begsyoutoanswer.”
Thewordsravishedme.Theyseemedtobreakdownsomegreatartifice.Isatonthepewquietlyshakenwhile
ReverendKollacklookedatmenowwithoutfocusorinterest,andperhapsithadbeensoallalong,butitdidn’tmatter.He’dbeenGod’smouthpiece.He’ddeliveredmetotheprecipicewhereone’sonlychoicewasbetweenparalysisorabandon.
Withthereverendprayingalong,earnestprayerforoursouls,Itookmyleap.I
vowedIwouldnotreturntosociety.Iwouldnotmarry,Iwouldnevermarry.Letthemsaywhattheywould,IwouldgivemyselftoGod.
Twoweekslater,onmytwentiethbirthday,Ienteredthedrawingroom,wherethefamilyhadgatheredtooffermewellwishes,accompaniedbyNina,whoclungtomy
hand.SeeingthatI’dchosentowearoneofmysimplerdressesandnojewelry,MarysmiledatmesadlyasifIworethecostumeofanun.IgatheredMotherhadconfidedmyreligiousconversiontomysisters,perhapstomyfatherandbrothers,aswell.
Aunt-Sisterhadbakedmyfavoreddessert,atwo-tieredelectioncake,filledwithcurrantsandsugar.Such
cakesweremoldedonaboardwithyeastandlefttorise,iftheysoelected,andthisonehaddonesowithmajesty.NinaprancedaboutitimpatientlyuntilMothersignaledAunt-Sistertocuttheslices.
Fatherwasseatedwithmybrothers,whowereengagedinadebateofsomesort.Edgingtothefringes,IdeterminedthatThomashad
evokedtheirwrathbypromotingaprogramknownascolonization.FromwhatIcouldgather,thetermhadlittletodowiththeBritishoccupationofthelastcenturyandeverythingtodowiththeslaves.
“...What’sthisconcept?”Iasked,andtheyturnedtomeasifahouseflyhadpriedthroughaslatintheshuttersandwasbuzzing
wantonlyabout.“It’sanewandadvanced
idea,”Thomasanswered.“Despitewhatanyofyoubelieve,itwillsoonexpandintoanationalmovement.Markmywords.”
“Butwhatisit?”Isaid.“Itproposeswefreethe
slavesandsendthembacktoAfrica.”
Nothinghadpreparedmeforsoradicalascheme.“...
Why,that’spreposterous!”Myreactiontookthemby
surprise.EvenHenryandCharles,nowthirteenandtwelve,gapedatme.“Christpreserveus,”saidJohn.“Sarahisagainstit!”
HeassumedI’doutgrownmyrebellionsandbecomeliketherestofthem—aguardianofslavery.Icouldn’tfaulthimforit.Whenwasthelasttimeany
ofthemhadheardmespeakoutagainstthepeculiarinstitution?I’dbeenwanderingaboutintheenchantmentsofromance,afflictedwiththeworstfemalecurseonearth,theneedtomoldmyselftoexpectations.O
Johnwaslaughing.AfireragedonthegrateandFather’sfacewasbrightandsweating.Hewipedatitand
joinedthemirth.“Yes,Iamagainst
colonization,”Ibegan.Therewasnofalternowinmythroat.Iforcedmyselftokeepon.“I’magainstit,butnotforthereasonyouthink.Weshouldfreetheslaves,buttheyshouldremainhere.Asequals.”
Anoddintermezzoensuedduringwhichnoonespoke.There’dbeen
mountingtalkfromcertainclergyandpiouswomenabouttreatingslaveswithChristiansympathy,andnowandthensomeraresoulwouldspeakoffreeingtheslavesaltogether.Butequality,ludicrous!
Bylaw,aslavewasthree-fifthsofaperson.ItcametomethatwhatI’djustsuggestedwouldseemparamounttoproclaiming
vegetablesequaltoanimals,animalsequaltohumans,womenequaltomen,menequaltoangels.Iwasupendingtheorderofcreation.Strangestofall,itwasthefirsttimethoughtsofequalityhadenteredmyhead,andIcouldonlyattributeittoGod,withwhomI’dlatelytakenupandwhowasprovingtobemoreinsurrectionarythanlaw-
abiding.O“Mygoodness,didyou
learnthisfromthePresbyterians?”Fatherasked.“Aretheysayingslavesshouldliveamongusasequals?”Thequestionwassarcastic,meantformybrothersandforthemomentitself,yetIansweredhim.
“No,Father,I’msayingit.”
AsIspoke,arushof
picturesspilledthroughmymind,allofthemHandful.Shewastiny,wearingthelavenderbowonherneck.Shewasfillingthehousewithsmoke.Shewaslearningtoread.Shewassippingteaontheroof.Isawhertakingherlash.Wrappingtheoakwithstolenthread.Bathinginthecoppertub.Sewingworksofpureart.Walkingbereavedcircles.Isaweverythingasit
was.
HandfulMaumawasgonesureasI’msittinghereandIcouldn’tdoathingbutwalktheyardtryingtosiphonmysorrow.Thesorrytruthisyoucanwalkyourfeettoblisters,walktillkingdom-come,andyouneverwilloutpaceyourgrief.ComeDecember,I
stoppedallthat.Ihaltedinmytrackbythewoodpilewhereweusedtofeedthelittleowlwaybackthen,andIsaidoutloud,“Damnyouforsavingyourself.Howcomeyouleftmewithnothingbuttoloveyouandhateyou,andthat’sgonnakillme,andyouknowitis.”
ThenIturnedround,wentbacktothecellarroom,andpickedupthesewing.
Don’tthinkshewasn’tineverystitchIworked.Shewasinthewindandtherainandthecreakingfromtherocker.Shesatonthewallwiththebirdsandstaredatme.Whendarknessfell,shefellwithit.
Oneday,beforetheystartedtheDaysofChristmasinthehouse,Ilookedatthewoodtrunkonthefloor,shovedbehindmauma’s
gunnysack.Isaid,“Now,where’d
yougoandputthekey?”IhadgotwhereItalkedto
herallthetime.LikeIwouldsay,Ididn’thearhertalkback,soIhadn’tlostmysanities.Iturnedtheroomupsidedownandthekeywasnowhere.Itcould’vebeeninherpocketwhenshewentmissing.Wehadanaxeintheyardshed,butIhatedtochop
thetrunkapart.Isaid,“IfIwasyou,wherewouldIhidethekeythatlockeduptheonlypreciousthingsIhad?”
Istoodthereawhile.Then,Iliftedmyeyestotheceiling.Tothequiltframe.Thewheelsonthepulleywerefreshwithoil.Theydidn’tmakeapeepwhenIbroughttheframedown.Sureenough.Thekeywaslayinginagroovealongoneofthe
boards.Insidethetrunkwasafat
bundlewrappedinmuslin.Ipeeledbackthefoldsandyoucouldsmellmauma,thatsaltysmell.Ihadtotakeaminutetocry.Iheldherquiltsquaresagainstme,thinkinghowshesaidtheywerethemeatonherbones.
Thereweretengood-sizesquares.Ispreadthemoutcrosstheframe.Thecolors
she’dusedoutdidGodandtherainbow.Reds,purples,oranges,pinks,yellows,blacks,andbrowns.Theyhitmyearsmorethanmyeyes.Theysoundedlikeshewaslaughingandcryinginthesamebreath.Itwasthefinestworkevertocomefrommauma’shands.
Thefirstsquareshowedhermaumastandingsmall,holdinghermaumaand
daddy’shandsandthestarsfallingroundthem—thatwasthenightmygranny-maumagotsoldaway,thenightthestorystarted.
Therestwasahotchpotch,somesquaresIcouldfigure,someIcouldn’t.Therewasawomanhoeinginthefields—Iguessedhertobemygranny-mauma,too—wearingaredheadscarf,andababy,mymauma,was
layinginthegrowingplants.Slavepeoplewereflyingintheairovertheirheads,disappearingbehindthesun.
Nextonewasalittlegirlsittingonathree-legstoolappliquéingaquilt,redwithblacktriangles,someofthetrianglesspillingonthefloor.Isaid,“Iguessthat’syou,butitcouldbeme.”
Fourthonehadaspirittreeonitwithredthreadon
thetrunk,andthebrancheswerefilledwithvultures.Maumahadsewedawomanandbabyboyontheground—youcouldtellitwasaboyfromhisprivates.Ifiguredtheyweremygranny-maumawhenshediedandherboythatdidn’tmakeit.Bothweredeadandpickedbloody.Ihadtowalkoutinthecoldairafterthatone.Youcomefromyourmauma,yousleep
inthebedwithhertillyou’reneartwentyyearsgrown,andyoustilldon’tknowwhathaunchesinthedarkcornersofher.
Icamebackinsideandstudiedthenextone—ithadamaninthefield.Hehadabrownhaton,andtheskywasfullofeyessittingintheclouds,bigyelloweyesandredrainfallingfromthelids.Thatmanismydaddy,
Shanney,Isaidtomyself.Oneafterthatwasmauma
andababygirlstretchedonthequiltframe.Iknewthatgirlwasme,andourbodieswerecutinpieces,brightpatchesthatneededpiecingback.Itmademyheadsickanddizzytolookatit.
Anothersquarewasmaumasewingawildpurpledresscoveredwithmoonsandstars,onlyshewasdoing
itinamouse-hole,thewallsbentoverher.
Goingpicturetopicture,feltlikeIwasturningpagesinabookshe’dleftbehind,onethatheldherlastwords.Somewherealongtheway,Istoppedfeelinganything,likewhenyoulayonyourarmwrongandwakeupandit’spinsandneedles.Istartedlookingattheappliquésthathadtakenmaumatwoyears
tosewliketheydidn’thaveanybelongingtome,causethatwastheonlywayIcouldbeartoseethem.Iletthemfloatbylikepanesoflight.
Herewasmaumawithherleghitchedupbehindherwithastrap,standingintheyardgettingtheone-leggedpunishment.Herewasanotherspirittreesameliketheotherone,butitwasours,anditdidn’thavevultures,
onlygreenleavesandagirlunderneathwithabookandawhipcomingdowntostrikeher.
Lastsquarewasaman,abullofamanwithacarpenterapronon—Mr.DenmarkVesey—andnexttohimshe’dstitchedfournumbersbigashewas:1884.Ididn’thaveanotionwhatthatmeant.
Iwentstraightto
stitching.Hellwithmissusandhergowns.Allthatdayandfarinthenight,Ipiecedmauma’ssquarestogetherwiththetinystitchesyoucan’tbarelysee.Isewedontheliningandfilledthequiltwiththebestpaddingwe’dsavedandthewholecollectionofourfeathers.ThenItookshearstomyhairandcuteverybitofitoffmyhead,downtoascalpoffuzz.
Iloosedthecuthairallthroughthestuffing.
That’swhenIrememberedaboutthemoney.Eightyears,saving.Iwentoverandlookeddowninthetrunkanditwasemptyasair.Fourhundreddollars,gonesameasmauma.AndI’drunoutofplacestolook.Icouldn’tdrawabreath.
Nextday,afterI’dsleptalittle,Isewedthelayersofthequilttogetherwithatackingstitch.ThenIwrappedthefinishquiltroundmelikeaglorycloak.IworeitoutintotheyardwhereAunt-Sisterwasbundledupchoppingcanesugar,andshesaid,“Girl,whatyougotonyou?What’dyoudotoyourhead?”
Ididn’tsaynothing.I
walkedbacktothetreewithmybreathtrailingclouds,andIwrappednewthreadroundthetrunk.
Thenthenoisecameintothesky.Thecrowswereflyingoverandsmokefromthechimneysrisingtomeetthem.
“Thereyougo,”Isaid.“Thereyougo.”
PARTTHREEOctober1818–November1820
HandfulSomedaysI’dbecomingdownEastBayandcatchsightofawomanwithcinnamonskinslippingroundacorner,asnatchofredscarfonherhead,andI’dsay,Thereyouareagain.Iwastwenty-fiveyearsoldandstilltalkingtoher.
EveryOctoberontheanniversary-dayofmaumagoingmissing,usslavessatinthekitchenhouseandreminiscedonher.Ihatedtoseethatdaycomedragginground.
Onthesix-yearmark,Binahpattedmylegandsaid,“Yourmaumagone,butwestillhere,theskyain’tfallinyet.”
No,buteveryyearone
moreslatgotknockedoutfromunderit.
Thatevening,theydredgedupstoriesonmaumathatwentonpastsupper.Stealingtheboltofgreencloth.Hoodwinkingmissuswithherlimp.Wranglingthecellarroom.Gettingherselfhiredout.ThatwholeJesus-actshedid.Tomfrytoldaboutthetimemissushadhimsearchthepremiseand
maumawasnowhereonit,howweslippedherinthefrontdoortotheroof,thentrumpedupthatstoryaboutherfallingasleepthere.Sameoldtales.Samelaughingandslapping.
Nowthatshewasgone,theylovedheralotbetter.
“Yousuredohavehereyes,”Goodissaid,lookingatmemoon-facelikehealwaysdid.
Ididhavehereyes,buttherestofmehadcomefrommydaddy.Maumasaidhewasanundersizemanandblackerthanthebacksideofthemoon.
Onmysake,theyleftoutthestoriesofherpainandsorrow.Nothingaboutwhatmight’vehappenedtoher.Everyoneofthem,evenGoodis,believedshe’drunandwaslivingthehighlifeof
freedomsomewhere.Icouldmoreeasybelieveshe’dbeenontheroofallthistime,sleeping.
Outsidethedaywasfadingoff.Tomfrysaiditwastimetolightthelampsinthehouse,butnobodymoved,andIfelttheacheforthemtoknowtherealwomanmaumawas,notjustthecunningone,buttheonesmeltedfromiron,theonewhopacedthe
nightsandprayedtomygranny-mauma.Maumahadyearnedmoreinadaythantheyfeltinayear.She’dworkedherselftotheboneandcourteddanger,searchingforsomethingbetter.Iwantedthemtoknowthatwoman.Thatwastheonewhowouldn’tleaveme.
Isaid,“Shedidn’trunoff.Ican’thelpwhatyouthink,butshedidn’trun.”
Theyjustsatthereandlookedatme.Youcouldseethelittlewheelsturningintheirheads:Thepoormisledgirl,thepoormisledgirl.
Tomfryspokeup,said,“Handful,thinknow.Ifshedidn’trunoff,shegottobedead.Which-a-oneyouwantustobelieve?”
Noonehadputittomethatstraightbefore.Mauma’sstoryquilthadslavesflying
throughtheskyandslaveslayingdeadontheground,butinmywayofreckoning,maumawaslostsomewherebetweenthetwo.Betweenflyawayanddead-and-gone.
Which-a-one?Theairwasstiffasstarch.
“Notneitherone,”Itoldthemandgotupfromthereandleft.
Inmyroom,Ilaiddownonthebed,ontopofthestory
quilt,andstaredatthequiltframestillnailedtotheceiling.Ineverlowereditanymore,butIsleptundermauma’sstorieseverynightexceptsummersandtheheatofautumn,andIknewthemfront,back,andsideways.Maumahadsewedwhereshecamefrom,whoshewas,whatsheloved,thethingsshe’dsuffered,andthethingsshehoped.She’dfoundaway
totellit.Afterawhile,Iheard
footstepsoverhead—Tomfry,Cindie,Binahuptherelightinglamps.Ididn’thavetoworrywithSarah’slampanymore.Ijusthadsewingdutiesnow.Sometimeago,Sarahhadgivenmebacktomissus,officialonpaper.Shesaidshedidn’twantpartinowningahumanperson.She’dcomespecialtomy
roomtotellme,sonerve-rackedshecouldn’thardlygetthewordsup.“......Iwould’vefreedyouifIcould...butthere’salaw...Itdoesn’tallowownerstoeasilyfreeslavesanymore...Otherwise,Iwouldhave...youknowthat...don’tyou?”
Afterthat,itwasplainasthefrecklesonherface—theonlywayIwasgettingaway
frommissuswasdropdead,getsold,orfindthehid-placemaumahadgone.SomedaysImoonedoverthemoneymauma’dsaved—itneverhadturnedup.IfIcouldfindthatfortune,Icouldtryandbuymyfreedomfrommissuslikewe’dplannedon.LeastI’dhaveachance—ahorse-pissofachance,butitwouldbeenoughtokeepmegoing.
Sixyearsgone.Irolled
overonthebed,myfacetothewindow.Isaid,“Mauma,whathappenedtoyou?”
Whenthenewyearcameround,IwasinthemarketgettingwhatAunt-SisterneededwhenIoverheardtheslavewhocleanedthebutcherstalltalkingabouttheAfricanchurch.Thisslave’snamewasJesse,agood,kindman.
Heusedtotaketheleftoverpigbladdersandfillthemwithwaterforthechildrentohaveaballoon.Ididn’tusuallypayhimanymind—hewasalwayswagginghistongue,puttingPraisetheLordattheendofeverysentence—butthisday,Idon’tknowwhyitwas,Iwentovertheretohearwhathewassaying.
Aunt-Sisterhadtoldme
tohurryback,thatitlookedlikesleetcoming,butIstoodtherewiththerawsmellhangingintheairwhilehetalkedaboutthechurch.IfoundoutthepropernamewasAfricanMethodistEpiscopalChurch,anditwasjustforcoloreds,slavesandfreeblackstogether,anditwasmeetinginanemptyhearsehouseneartheblackburialground.Saidtheplace
waspackedtotherafterseverynight.
Aslavemannexttome,wearingsomeworn-out-lookinglivery,said,“Sincewhenisthecitysofool-trustingtoletslavesruntheirownchurch?”
Everybodylaughedatthat,likethejokewasonCharleston.
Jessesaid,“Well,ain’tthatthetruth,PraisetheLord.
There’samanatthechurchwho’salwaystalking’boutMosesleadingtheslavesfromEgypt,PraisetheLord.Hesay,CharlestonisEgyptalloveragain.PraisetheLord.”
Myscalppricked.Isaid,“What’stheman’sname?”
Jessesaid,“DenmarkVesey.”
Foryears,I’drefusedtothinkofMr.Vesey,how
maumahadsewedhimonthelastsquareonherstoryquilt.Ididn’tlikethemanbeingonit,didn’tlikethemanperiod.I’dneverthoughtheknewanythingaboutwhathappenedtoher,whywouldhe,butstandingthere,abellranginmyheadandtoldmeitwasworthatry.MaybethenIcouldputmaumatorest.
That’swhenIdecidedto
getreligion.FirstchanceIgot,Itold
SarahIwasburdeneddownwiththeneedfordeliverance,andGodwascallingmetotheAfricanchurch.Idabbedatmyeyesalittle.
Iwascutstraightfrommymauma’scloth.
Nextday,missuscalledmetoherroom.ShewassittingbythewindowwithherBiblelaidopen.“Ithas
cometomyattentionyouwishtojointhenewchurchthathasbeenestablishedinthecityforyourkind.Sarahinformsmeyouwanttoattendnightlymeetings.I’llallowyoutogotwiceaweekintheeveningsandonSunday,aslongasitdoesn’tinterferewithyourworkorcauseproblemsofanysort.Sarahwillprepareyourpass.”
Shelookedatmethrough
herlittleglasses.Shesaid,“Seetoityoudon’tsquanderthefavorI’mgrantingyou.”
“Yessum.”Formeasure,Iadded,“PraisetheLord.”
SarahIcouldn’timaginewhyNinaandIhadbeensummonedtothefirst-floordrawingroom—thatwasneveragoodthing.WeenteredtofindtheverycorpulentReverendGadsdenseatedontheyellowsilksettee,andbesidehim,Mother,squeezedwayoverto
oneside,grippinghercaneasifshemightboreitintothefloor.GlancingatNina,who,atfourteen,wastallerthanIwas,Inoticedhereyesflashbeneaththeirthick,darklashes.Shegaveherchinatinydefiantyankupward,andforamoment,Ifeltapassingbitofpityforthereverend.
“Closethedoorbehindyou,”Mothersaid.Downthepassageway,Fatherwasinhis
room,tooillnowtowork.Dr.Geddingshadorderedquiet,andforweeks,theslaveshadpaddedabout,speakinginwhispers,carefulnottorattleatrayforfearoftheirlives.Whenone’sphysicianprescribesquietasaremedy,alongwithasyrupmadefromhorseradishroot,hehasclearlygivenup.
ItookmyseatonthetwinsetteebesideNina,facingthe
pairofthem.TheaccusationagainstmewouldbefailingasNina’sgodmother.Asusual.
ThispastSunday,mysisterhadrefusedconfirmationintoSt.Philip’sChurch,anditwasn’teventhatasmuchasthewayshe’ddoneit.She’dmadeapageantofit.Whentheotheryouthslefttheirchairsonthedaisandwenttothealtarrailfor
thebishoptolayhishandsontheirsweetheads,Ninaremainedpointedlyinherseat.Ourentirefamilywasthere,exceptforFather,andIwatchedwithaconfusedmixofembarrassmentandprideasshesatwithherarmscrossed,herdarkhairgleamingaroundhershouldersandatinycircleofredblazingoneachofhercheeks.
Thebishopwalkedoverandspoketoher,andsheshookherhead.Motherwentstiffasapieceofwroughtirononthepewbesideme,andIfelttheairinthechurchclottingaroundourheads.Therewasmorecoaxingbythebishop,moreobstinacybyNina,untilhegaveupandcontinuedtheservice.
I’dhadnoinklingwhatsheplanned,thoughperhapsI
shouldhave—thiswasNina,afterall.Shewasfulloffieryopinionsandmutinousacts.Lastwinter,she’dscandalizedherclassroombytakingoffhershoesbecausetheslaveboy,whocleanedtheslateboards,wasbarefooted.I’dlostcountofthelettersofapologyMotherhadorderedhertowrite.Ratherthansubmit,shewouldsitbeforetheblank
paperfordaysuntilMotherrelented.Onhereleventhbirthday,Ninahadrefusedherhumanpresentwithsuchvehemence,Motherhadgivenupoutofsheerweariness.
EvenifI’dtriedtopreventNina’sdisplayatchurchthatday,shewould’vepointedoutthatI,too,hadspurnedtheAnglicans.Well,Ihad,butI’ddonesoto
embracethePresbyterians,whereasNinawould’vespurnedthePresbyterians,too,givenhalfachance.Shehatedthemforwhatshecalledtheir“gallandwormwood.”
Iftherewasawedgebetweenmysisterandme,itwasreligion.
Overthelastseveralyears,itseemedmyentirelifehadbeenpossessedofswings
betweenasceticismandindulgence.I’dbanishedsocietyintheaftermathofBurkeWilliams,yes,butI’dbeenachronicbackslider,succumbingeveryseasontosomepartyorball,whichhadleftmeemptyandsickened,whichhadthensentmecrawlingbacktoGod.Ninahadoftenfoundmeonmyknees,weepingasIprayed,beggingforgiveness,engaged
inoneofmyexcruciatingboutsofself-contempt.“Whymustyoubelikethis?”shewouldshout.
Why,indeed.Mr.Williamshadbeen
shakenfromthelapofCharlestonlikeasoilednapkin.Hewasmarriednowtohiscousin,keepingshopinhisuncle’sdrygoodsstoreinColumbia.I’dputhimbehindmelongago,butIhadn’t
beenabletomakepeacewithlivinghereinthishousetilltheendofmydays.IhadNina,butnotformuchlonger.Ascharismaticandbeautifulasshewas,shewouldbewooedbyadozenmenandleavemeherewithMother.Itwastheubiquitoustruthatthecenterofeverything,andithaddrivenmetomybacksliding.Buttherecouldbenomoreofthat
—attwenty-sixIwouldbetoooldforthecomingseason.Itwastrulyover,andIfeltlostandmiserable,galledandwormwood-ed,andtherewasnothingtobedoneaboutit.
Hereinthedrawingroom,ReverendGadsdenlookedreluctantanduncomfortable.Hekeptpursingandunpursinghislips.Ninasaterectbesideme,asiftosay,
Allright,letthecastigationbegin,butunderthecoverofourskirts,shereachedformyhand.
“I’mheretodaybecauseyourmotheraskedmetoreasonwithyou.Yougaveusallashockyesterday.It’sagravethingtorejectthechurchandhersacramentsandsalvation...”
Hewentonwithhisjabber,whileNina’shand
sweatedintomine.Shesawmyprivate
agonies,butIsawhers,too.Therewasaplaceinsideofherwhereithadallbroken.Thescreamsshe’dheardcomingfromtheWorkHousestillinhabitedher,andshewouldwakesomenights,shoutingintothedark.Sheputupaninvincibleshow,butunderneathIknewhertobebruisedandvulnerable.
AfterMother’sscathingreprimands,shewouldvanishintoherroomforhours,emergingwithhereyesbloodshotfromweeping.
Thereverend’skindbuttediousspeechhadbeenfloatinginandoutofmyawareness.“Imustpointout,”Iheardhimsay,“thatyouareplacingyoursoulinjeopardy.”
Ninaspokeforthefirst
time.“Pardonme,ReverendSir,butthethreatofhellwillnotmoveme.”
Mothersankhereyesclosed.“Oh,Angelina,fortheloveofGod.”
Ninahadusedthewordhell.EvenIwasalittleshockedbyit.Therectorsatbackwithresignation.Hewasdone.
Naturally,Motherwasnot.“Yourfatherliesgravely
ill.Surelyyouknowit’shiswishthatyoubeconfirmedintothechurch.Itcouldwellbehislastwish.Wouldyoudenyhimthat?”
Ninasqueezedmyhand,strugglingtoholdontoherself.
“...Shouldshedenyherconscienceorherfather?”Isaid.
MotherdrewbackasifI’dslappedher.“Areyou
goingtositthereandencourageyoursister’sdisobedience?”
“I’mencouraginghertobetruetoherownscruples.”
“Herscruples?”TheskinatMother’snecksplotchedlikebeetroot.Sheturnedtothereverend.“Asyousee,AngelinaiscompletelyunderSarah’ssway.WhatSarahthinks,Angelinathinks.WhatSarahscruples,shescruples.
It’smyownfault—IchoseSarahtobehergodmother,andtothisday,sheleadsthechildastray.”
“Mother!”Ninaexclaimed.“Ithinkformyself.”
Mothershiftedhercalm,pitilessgazefromthereverendtoNinaandutteredthequestionthatwouldalwaysliebetweenus.“JustsoI’mnotconfused,when
yousaid‘Mother’justnow,wereyoureferringtome,ortoSarah?”
Therectorsquirmedonthesetteeandreachedforhishat,butMothercontinued.“AsIwassaying,Reverend,I’matalossofhowtoundothedamage.Aslongasthetwoofthemareunderthesameroof,there’ssmallhopeforAngelina.”
Assheescortedthe
reverendtothedoor,rainbrokelooseoutside.IfeltNinaslumpslightlyagainstme,andIpulledhertoherfeetandweslippedbehindthemupthestairs.
Inmyroom,IturnedbackthebedsheetandNinalaydown.Herfaceseemedstarkandstrangeagainstthelinenpillow.Rainwasdarkening
thewindow,andshestaredatitwithhereyesgleaming,herbackrisingandfallingbeneathmyhand.
“DoyouthinkMotherwillsendmeaway?”sheasked.
“Iwon’tallowit,”Itoldher,thoughIhadnoideahowtostopsuchathingifMothertookitinherheadtobanishmysister.Arebelliousgirlcouldeasilybesentofftoa
boardingschoolordeportedtoouruncle’splantationinNorthCarolina.
HandfulDidn’tmyLorddeliverDaniel?”DenmarkVeseyshouted.
Thewholechurchanswered,“Nowhe’scomingforme.”
Must’vebeentwohundredofuspackedinthere.Iwassittinginthe
back,intheusualspot.Folkshadstartedleavingitfreeforme,saying,“That’sHandful’splace.”FourmonthsI’dbeensittingthereandhadn’tlearnedathingaboutmauma,butIknewmorethanmissusaboutthepeopleGodhaddelivered.
Abraham,Moses,Samson,Peter,Paul—Mr.Veseywentdownthelist,chantingtheirnames.
Everybodywasontheirfeet,clapping,andwavingintheair,shouting,“Nowhe’scomingforme,”andIwassmack-dabinthemiddleofthem,doingthelittlehoppingdanceIusedtodointhealcovewhenIwasagirlsingingtothewater.
OurreverendwasafreeblackmannamedMorrisBrown,andhesaidwhenwegotworkeduplikethis,itwas
theHolyGhostthathadgotintous.Mr.Vesey,whowasoneofhisfourmainhelpers,saiditwasn’ttheHolyGhost,itwashope.Whateveritwas,itcouldburnaholeinyourchest.
Theheatinthechurchwasawful.Whileweshouted,sweatdrenchedourfacesandclothes,andsomeofthemengotupandopenedallthewindows.Thefreshair
flowedinandtheshoutingflowedout.
WhenMr.VeseyranoutofpeopleintheBibleforGodtodeliver,hewentalongthebenchescallingnames.
LetmyLorddeliverRolla.LetmyLorddeliver
Nancy.LetmyLorddeliverNed.Ifhecalledyourname,
youfeltlikeitwouldflystraighttoheavenandhitGod
betweentheeyes.ReverendBrownsaid,becareful,heavenwouldbewhateveryoupictureit.HispicturewasAfricabeforetheslaving—allthefoodandfreedomyouwantedandnotawhitepersontoblightit.Ifmaumawasdead,shewouldhaveabigfinehousesomewhereandmissusforhermaid.
Mr.Vesey,though,hedidn’tlikeanykindoftalk
aboutheaven.Hesaidthatwasthecoward’sway,piningforlifeinthehereafter,actinglikethisonedidn’tmeanathing.Ihadtosidewithhimonthat.
EvenwhenIwassingingandhoppinglikethis,partofmestayedsmallandquiet,noticingeverythinghesaidanddid.Iwasthebirdwatchingthecatcirclethetree.Mr.Veseyhadwhite
woolynubsinhishairnow,butbesidethat,helookedlikebefore.Worethesamescowl,hadthesameknifebladesinhiseyes.Hisarmswerestillthickandhischestbigasarainbarrel.
Ihadn’tmusteredthenervetotalktohim.PeoplefearedDenmarkVesey.I’dstartedtellingmyselfthejokewasonme—maybeI’dcometotheAfricanchurchforthe
Lord,afterall.What’dIthinkIcouldlearnaboutmaumaanyway?
Nobodyheardthehorsesoutside.Mr.Veseyhadanewchantgoing—JoshuafoughtthebattleofJericho,andthewallscametumblingdown.GullahJack,hisright-handman,wasbeatingadrum,andwewerestompingthefloor.Jericho.Jericho.
Thenthedoorsbusted
open,andGullahJack’shandsstoppedpounding,andthesongdiedaway.Welookedround,confused,whiletheCityGuardspreadalongthewallsandintheaisle,oneateverywindow,fourbarringthedoor.
Theheadguardmarcheddownfrontwithapaperinonehandandamusketgunintheother.DenmarkVeseysaidwithhisboomingvoice,
“What’sthemeaningofthis?ThisisthehouseoftheLord,youhavenobusinesshere.”
Theguardlookedlikehecouldn’tbelievehisluck.HetookthebuttofthegunandrammeditinMr.Vesey’sface.Aminuteago,he’dbeenshoutingJericho,andnowhewasonthefloorwithashirtfullofblood.
Peoplestartedscreaming.Oneoftheguardsfiredinto
therafters,sendingwoodcrumbsandsmokeswirlingdown.Theinsideofmyearspounded,andwhentheheadmanreadthewarrant,hesoundedlikehewasatthebottomofadrywell.Hesaidtheneighborsroundthechurchfoundusanuisance.Wewerechargedwithdisorderlyconduct.
Hestuffedthepaperinhispocket.“You’llberemoved
totheGuardHouseandsentencedinthemorningwithdueandproperpunishment.”
Asobdriftedfromawomanonthefarside,andtheplacecamealivewithfearandmurmuring.WeknewabouttheGuardHouse—itwaswheretheyheldthelawbreakers,blackandwhite,tilltheyfiguredoutwhattodowiththem.Thewhites
onesstayedtilltheirhearings,andtheblackonestilltheirownerspaidthefine.YoujustprayedtoGodyoudidn’thaveastingymaster,causeifherefusedtopay,youwenttotheWorkHousetoworkoffthedebt.
Outside,themoonlookedweakinthesky.Theygatheredusinfourherdsandmarchedusdownthestreet.Aslavesang,Didn’tmyLord
deliverDaniel?andaguardtoldhimtohushup.Itwasquietfromthenonexceptforthecloppinghorsesandalittlebabytiedonitsmother’sbackthatwhimperedlikeakitten.IcranedmyneckforMr.Vesey,buthewasn’tanywheretosee.ThenInoticedthedarkwetspatter-dropsontheground,andIknewhewasonupahead.
Wespentthenightonthefloorinaroomfilledwithjailcells,menandwomencrammedintogether,allofushavingtopeeinthesamebucketinthecorner.Onewomancoughedhalfthroughthenightandtwomengotinashove-fight,butmostlywesatinthedarkandstaredwithflateyesanddozedinandout.Onetime,Icameawake,hearingthatsamelittlebaby
mewing.Atfirstlight,aguardwith
hairscruffinghisshouldersbroughtapailofwaterwithadipperandwetookturnsdrinkingwhileourstomachsrumbledforfood.Afterthat,wewerelefttowonderwhatwascoming.OnemaninourcellhadbeenpickedupbytheGuardsixtimesandhetoldusthefactsandfigures.Thefinewasfivedollars,and
ifyourmasterdidn’tpay,yougottwelvelashesattheWorkHouse,orworse,yougotthetreadmill.Ididn’tknowwhatthetreadmillwasandhedidn’tsay,justtoldustobegforthewhip.Thenheliftedhisshirt,andhisbackwasgroovedlikethehideofanalligator.Thesightbroughtbiletomythroat.“Mymassaneverpay,”hesaid.
Themorningstretchedout
andwewaited,andthenwaitedsomemore.AllIcouldthinkaboutwastheman’sback,wherethey’dputMr.Vesey,howhisbashedfacewasholdingup.Heatcookedtheairandthesmellturnedsourandthebabystartedbawlingagain.Somebodysaid,“Whydon’tyoufeedthechild?”
“Ican’traisenomilk,”itsmaumasaid,andanother
womanwithstainsonherdressfrontsaid,“Here,givemethebaby.Mine’sbackhomeandallthismilkwithnobodytosuckit.”Shepulledoutherbrownbosom,clearmilkleakingfromthenipple,andthebabylatchedon.
Whenthelong-hairguardcameback,hesaid,“Listenforyourname.IfIcallitout,you’refreetoleaveandgo
hometowhateverawaitsyou.”
Weallgottoourfeet.Isaidtomyself,NeverhasbeenaGrimkéslavesenttotheWorkHouse.Neverhas.
“SethBall,BenPringle,TinnieAlston,JaneBrewton,ApolloRutledge...”Hereadthenamestillitwasjustmeandthescarredmanandthemaumawiththebabyandahandfulofothers.“Ifyou’re
stillhere,”hesaid,“yourownerhasdecidedtheWorkHousewillputyouinawholesomeframeofmind.”
Amansaid,“I’mafreeblack,Idon’thaveanowner.”
“Ifyou’vegotthepapersthatsaythat,thenyoucanpaythefineyourself,”theguardtoldhim.“Ifyoucan’tpayitonthespot,thenyou’regoingtotheWorkHouse
withtherest.”Ifeltgenuineconfused.I
said,“Mister.Mister?Youleftoffmyname.It’sHetty.HettyGrimké.”
Heansweredmewiththethudofthedoor.
Thetreadmillwaschompingandgrindingitsteeth—youcouldhearitbeforeyougotintheroom.TheWorkHouse
manledtwelveofustotheuppergallery,pokingusalongwithastick.DenmarkVeseycamebehindmewiththesideofhisfaceswollensobadhiseyewasshut.Hewastheonlyoneofuswithshacklesonhishandsandfeet.Hetookshuffle-steps,andthechaindraggedandrattled.
Whenhetrippedonthestairs,Isaidovermy
shoulder,“Becarefulnow.”ThenIwhispered,“Howcomeyoudidn’tpaythefine?Ain’tyousupposedtohavemoney?”
“Whatevertheydototheleastofthem,theydoituntome,”hesaid.
Ithoughttomyself,Mr.VeseyfancieshimselflikeJesuscarryingthecross,andthat’sprobablycausehedoesn’thavefivedollarson
himforthefine.Knowinghim,though,hecould’vebeenthrowinghislotwiththerestofus.Themanwasbig-headedandproud,buthehadaheart.
Whenwegottothegalleryandlookedovertherailatthetormentwaitingforus,wejustfoldedupandsatdownonthefloor.
OneoftheoverseersfastenedMr.Vesey’schainto
anironringandtoldustowatchthewheelcarefulsowe’dknowwhattodo.Themaumawiththebabyonherbacksaidtohim,“WhogonwatchmybabywhileIdownthere?”
Hesaid,“Youthinkwegotpeopletotendyourbaby?”
Ihadtoturnfromher,thewayherheaddropped,thebabylookingwide-eyeover
hershoulder.Thetreadmillwasa
spinningdrum,twiceastallasaman,withstepsonit.Twelvescramblingpeoplewereclimbingitfastastheycouldgo,makingthewheelturn.Theyclungtoahandrailoverthetopofit,theirwristslashedtoitincasetheirgripslipped.Themillgroanedandthecorncrackedunderneath.Twoblack-skinoverseers
pacedwithcowhides—cato’ninetails,theycalledthem—andwhenthewheelslowed,theyhitthebacksandlegsofthosepoorpeopletillyousawpinkfleshripple.
Mr.Vesey’sgoodeyestudiedme.“Don’tIknowyoufromsomewhere?”
“Fromthechurch.”“No,somewhereelse.”Icould’vespitthetruth
out,butwewerebothin
Daniel’slion’sden,andGodhadleftustoit.Isaid,“Where’sallthatdeliveringGod’ssupposedtodo?”
Hesnorted.“You’reright,theonlydeliveranceistheonewegetforourselves.TheLorddoesn’thaveanyhandsandfeetbutours.”
“Thatdoesn’tsaymuchfortheLord.”
“Itdoesn’tsaymuchforus,either.”
Abellrangdownbelowandthejawsonthewheelstoppedchewing.Theoverseersloosedthepeople’swristsandtheyclimbeddownaladdertothefloor.Someofthemweresoused-uptheyhadtobedraggedoff.
TheoverseerunlockedMr.Veseyfromthefloorring.“Getonyourfeet.It’syourturn.”
SarahHandful’smangledfootwasproppedonapillow,andAunt-Sisterwaslayingaplantainleafacrossthewound.Fromthesmellthatdriftedintheair,Iknewherinjuryhadbeenfreshlyplasteredwithpotashandvinegar.
“MissSarah’sherenow,”Aunt-Sistersaid.Handful’sheadrolledsidetosideonthemattress,buthereyesstayedclosed.She’dbeenheavilysedatedwithlaudanum,theapothecaryalreadycomeandgone.
Iblinkedtokeeptearsaway—itwasthesightofherlyingtheremaimed,butsomeofmyanguishcamefromguilt.Ididn’tknowshe’d
beenarrested,thatMotherhaddecidedtolethersuffertheconsequencesintheWorkHouse.Ihadn’tevenmissedHandful’spresence.ThiswouldneverhavehappenedifIhadn’treturnedHandful’sownershiptoMother.I’dknownHandfulwouldbeworseoffwithher,andI’dgivenherbackanyway.Thatawfulself-righteousnessofmine.
SabehadbroughtHandfulhomeinthecarriagewhileI’dbeenawayatBiblestudy.Biblestudy.Ifeltshametothinkofmyself,probingversesinthethirteenthchapterofCorinthians—ThoughIhaveallknowledgeandallfaith,andhavenotcharity,Iamnothing.
IforcedmyselftolookacrossthebedatAunt-Sister.
“Howbadisit?”Sheansweredbypeeling
backthegreenleafsoIcouldseeformyself.Handful’sfootwastwistedinwardatanunnaturalangleandtherewasagashrunningfromherankletothesmalltoe,exposingrawflesh.Arowofbrightbloodbeadedthroughthepoultice.Aunt-Sisterdabbeditwithatowelbeforesmoothingtheleafbackinposition.
“Howdidthishappen?”Iasked.
“Theyputheronthetreadmill,sayshefelloffandherfootwentunderthewheel.”
AsketchofthenewlyinstalledmonstrosityhadappearedintheMercuryrecentlywiththecaption,AMoreResourcefulReprimand.Thearticlespeculateditwouldearnfive
hundreddollarsprofitforthecitythefirstyear.
“Theapothecarysaythefootain’tbroken,”Aunt-Sistersaid.“Thecordsthatholdthebonesaretornup,andshegonbecripplenow,Icantellfromlookingatit.”
Handfulmoaned,thenmutteredsomethingthatcameoutslurredandindistinguishable.Itookherhandinmine,startledbyhow
slightitfelt,wonderinghowherfoothadn’tcrumbledtodust.Shelookedsmalllyingthere,butshewasnolongerchildlike.Herhairwascutraggedaninchfromherhead.Littlesagsdroopedbeneathhereyes.Herforeheadwaspleatedwithfrown-lines.She’dagedintoatinycrone.
Herlidsfluttered,butdidn’topen,assheattemptedagaintospeak.Ibentcloseto
herlips.“Goaway,”shehissed.
“Go.Away.”
LaterIwouldtellmyselfhermindwasaddledwithopiates.Shecouldn’thaveknownwhatshewassaying.Orperhapsshe’dbeenreferringtoherowndesiretogoaway.
Handfuldidn’tleaveher
roomfortendays.Aunt-SisterandPhoebecarriedhermealsandtendedherfoot,andGoodisalwaysseemedtolingerbythebacksteps,waitingfornews,butIstayedaway,fearingherwordshadbeenformeafterall.
ThebanonFather’sstudyhadneverbeenliftedandIrarelysetfootthere,butwhileHandfulconvalesced,Islippedinandtooktwobooks
—Pilgrim’sProgressbyBunyanandShakespeare’sTheTempest,aseaadventureIthoughtshewouldespeciallylike—andleftthematherdoor,knockingandhurryingaway.
OnthemorningHandfulemerged,weGrimkéswerehavingbreakfastinthediningroom.Therewereonlyfourchildrenwhohadn’tyetmarriedorgoneofftoschool:
Charles,Henry,Nina,andofcoursemyself,thered-headedmaidenauntofthefamily.Motherwasseatedattheheadofthetablewiththehingedsilkscreendirectlybehindher,itshand-paintedjasmineallbuthaloingherhead.Sheturnedtothewindow,andIsawhermouthpartinsurprise.TherewasHandful.Shewascrossingtheworkyardtowardtheoak,usinga
woodencanetootallforher.Shemaneuveredawkwardly,thrustingherselfforward,draggingherrightfoot.
“She’swalking!”criedNina.
IpushedbackmychairandleftthetablewithNinachasingafterme.
“You’renotexcused!”Mothercalled.
Wedidn’tsomuchasturnourheadsinherdirection.
Handfulstoodbeneaththebuddingtreeonapatchofemeraldmoss.Thereweredragmarksinthedirtfromherfoot,andIfoundmyselfsteppingoverthemasiftheyweresacrosanct.Asweapproached,shebegantowindfreshredthreadaroundthetrunk.Icouldn’timaginewhatthisoddpracticemeant.It’dbeengoingon,though,foryears.
NinaandIwaitedwhileshepulledapairofshearsfromherpocketandcutawaythefadedoldthread.Severalpinkstrandsclungtothebark,andasshepluckedatthem,hercaneslippedandshegrabbedthetreetocatchherself.
Ninapickedupthecaneandhandedittoher.“Doesithurt?”
HandfullookedpastNina
atme.“Notallthatmuchnow.”
NinasquattedunselfconsciouslytoinspectthewayHandful’sfootpigeonedinward,theoddhumpthathadformedacrossthetopofit,howshe’dfittedashoeoveritbytrimmingtheopeningandleavingoffthelace.
“I’msorryforwhathappened,”Isaid.“I’mso
sorry.”“IreadwhatIcouldofthe
booksyoubrought.Theygavemesomethingtodobesidelaythere.”
“CanItouchyourfoot?”Ninaasked.
“Nina,”Isaid,thensuddenlyunderstood—herewasthenightmareshe’ddreamedaboutsinceshewasachild,herewasthehiddenhorroroftheWorkHouse.
MaybeHandfulunderstood,too,herneedtoconfrontit.“Idon’tmind,”shesaid.
NinatracedherfingeralongacrustingscarthatflamedacrossHandful’sskin.Silencejelledaroundus,andIlookedupattheleavesfeatheringonthebrancheslikelittleferns.IcouldfeelHandfullookingatme.
“Isthereanythingyou
need?”Iasked.Shelaughed.“There
anythingIneed?Well,let’sseenow.”Hereyeswerehardasglass,burningyellow.
She’dborneacrueltyIcouldn’timagine,andshe’dcomethroughitscathed,thescarmuchdeeperthanherdisfiguredfoot.WhatI’dheardinherruthlesslaughwasakindofradicalizing.Sheseemedsuddenly
dangerous,thewayhermotherhadbeendangerous.ButHandfulwasmoreconsideringandmethodicalthanhermothereverwas,andwarier,too,whichmadeitmoreworrying.Awaveofpresciencewashedoverme,ahintofdarknesscoming,andthenitwasgone.Isaidtoher,“Ijustmeant—”
“Iknowwhatitisyoumeant,”shesaid,andhertone
hadmellowed.Theangerinherfaceleft,andIthoughtforamomentshemightcry,asightI’dneverwitnessed,notevenwhenhermotherdisappeared.
Instead,sheturnedandmadeherwaytowardthekitchenhouse,herbodylistingheavilytotheleft.Thedeterminationinherpainedmealmostasmuchasherlameness,anditwasn’tuntil
NinawrappedherarmaroundmywaistandtuggedthatIrealizedIwaslistingwithher.
Somedayslater,Cindieknockedatmydoorwithanote,orderingmetothefirst-floorpiazza,whereMotherretreatedmostafternoonstocatchthebreezes.Itwasunusualforhertowriteout
hersummons,butCindiehadgrownabnormallyforgetful,wanderingintoroomsunabletorecallwhyshewasthere,bringingMotherahairbrushinsteadofapillow,anarrayofqueererrorsthatIknewwouldsoonconvinceMothertoreplaceherwithsomeoneyounger.
AsImademywaydownthestairs,itoccurredtomeforthefirsttimeshemight
alsoreplaceHandful,whoseresourcefulnessandabilitytowalktothemarketforfabricandsupplieswasnowinquestion.Ipausedonthelanding,theportraitoftheFatesleering,asalways,andmystomachgavealurchofdread.CouldthisbethereasonMotherhadsummonedme?
ThoughitwasearlyinMay,theheathadmovedin
withitssoakinghumidity.Mothersatintheswingandtriedtocoolherselfwithherivoryfan.Shedidn’twaitformetosit.“We’veseennoprogressinyourfather’sconditionforoverayear.Histremorsaregrowingworsebythedayandthere’snomorethatcanbedoneforhimhere.”
“Whatareyoutellingme?Ishe—”
“No,justlisten.I’vespokenwithDr.Geddingsandwe’reinagreement—theonlycourseleftistotakehimtoPhiladelphia.There’sasurgeonthereofrenown,aDr.PhilipPhysick.Iwrotetohimrecentlyandhehasagreedtoseeyourfather.”
Iloweredmyselfintoaporchchair.
“Hewillgobyship,”shesaid.“Itwillbeanexacting
tripforhim,andit’slikelyhe’llhavetoremainupnorththroughthesummer,oraslongasittakestofindacure,buttheplanhasbroughthimhope.”
Inodded.“Well,yes,ofcourse.Heshoulddoeverythingpossible.”
“I’mpleasedyoufeelthatway.You’llbetheonetoaccompanyhim.”
Ileapttomefeet.“Me?
Surelyyoucan’tmeanI’mtotakeFathertoPhiladelphiabymyself.WhataboutThomasorJohn?”
“Bereasonable,Sarah.Theycannotleavetheirprofessionsandfamiliessoeasily.”
“AndIcan?”“DoIneedtopointout
youhavenoprofessionorfamilytocarefor?Youliveunderyourfather’sroof.
Yourdutyistohim.”CaringforFatherweek
afterweek,possiblyformonths,allaloneinafarawayplace—Ifeltthelifedrainoutofme.
“ButIcan’tleave—”Iwasgoingtosay,Ican’tleaveNina,butthoughtbetterofit.
“IwillseetoNina,ifthat’swhatyou’reconcernedabout.”
Shesmiled,suchararething.Thememoryofbeinginthedrawingroomwiththerectorsweptbacktome:Mother’scoldstareasIdefendedNina’srighttofollowherconscience.Ihadn’ttakenherwarningseriouslyenough:Aslongasthetwoofyouareunderthesameroof,thereislittlehopeforAngelina....Ithadn’tbeenNinawhomMother
meanttoremove.IthadbeenI.
“Youleaveinthreedays,”shesaid.
HandfulMaumapretendedalimp,andIgottherealone.Iusedheroldwoodcane,butitcameuptomychest—morelikeacrutchthanacane.
OnedaywhentherainpouredandGoodiscouldn’tworkthegarden,hesaidtome,“Gimmethatcane.”
“Whatfor?”“Justgiveithere,”he
said,soIdid.Therestoftheday,hesat
inthestableandwhittled.Whenhecameback,hehadthecaneclaspedbehindhisback.Hesaid,“Isurehopeyoulikerabbits.”
Notonlyhadthemantrimmedoffthebottomendtomakeittherightsize,he’dcarvedthehandleintoa
rabbithead.Ithadaround,specklednose,bigeyes,andtwolongearsgoingstraightback.He’devennotchedthewoodtolooklikefur.
Isaid,“Ilikerabbitsnow.”
Thatwasoneofthekindliestthingseverdoneforme.OnetimeIaskedhimhowhegothisname,andhesaidhismaumagaveittohimwhenhewastencausehe
wasthegoodestoneofherchildren.
Icouldtravelwiththecanelikenobody’sbusiness.CindiesawmecomingtothekitchenhouseforsupperthatnightandsaidIwasspringingcrosstheyardlikearabbit.Ihadtolaughatthat.
ThedayafterCindiepraisedme,theytookheroffsomewhereandweneversawheragain.Aunt-Sistersaid
hermindhadwornout,thatmissushadsentheroffwithThomastotheirplantation,whereshe’dliveoutherdays.Thomas,hewastheonetakingcareoftheplantationnow,andsureenough,hecamebackwithanewmaidformissusnamedMinta.
Godhelpthegirl.Cindiegettingsentoff
likethatputascareinallofus.Iwentbacktomysewing
dutiesfasterthanyoucouldsaythewordrabbit.IshowedmissushowIcouldgoupthestairs.Iclimbedsureandsteady,andwhenIgottothetop,shesaid,“Welldone,Hetty.I’msureyouknowhowmuchitgrievedmetosendyoutotheWorkHouse.”
Inoddedtoletherknowwhataheavyburdenthismust’vebeenforher.
Thenshesaid,“Sadly,thesethingsbecomenecessaryattimes,andyoudoseemtohaveprofited.Asforyourfoot...well,Iregrettheaccident,butlookatyou.You’regettingaboutfine.”
“Yessum.”Igaveheracurtsyfromthetopstep,thinkingwhatMr.Veseysaidonetimeatchurch:Ihaveonemindforthemastertosee.Ihaveanothermindfor
whatIknowisme.
Iheardatap-taponmydooroneafternoonlate,andSarahstoodtherewithherfrecklefacewhiteasaneggshell.I’dbeenworkingonmasterGrimké’spants—missushadsentaslewofthemdown,saidtheywerehangingoffhimtoobig.WhenSarahcamein,Iwashobbling
roundthecuttingtable,spreadingoutapairofbritchestoseewhatIcoulddo.Isettheshearsdown.
“...Ionlywanttosay...Well,Ihavetogoaway...Upnorth.I...Idon’tknowwhenI’llbeabletoreturn.”
Shewastalkingwiththepausesbackinhervoice,tellingmeaboutthedoctorinPhiladelphia,herhavingto
nurseherdaddy,beingpartedfromNina,allthemiseriesofpackingthatwaitedforher.Ilistenedandthoughttomyself,Whitefolksthinkyoucareabouteverythingintheworldthathappenstothem,everytimetheystubtheirtoe.
“That’samillstoneforyou,”Itoldher,“I’msorry,”andtheminuteitleftmymouth,Iknewitwascomingfromthetruemindthatwas
me,notthemindforthemastertosee.Iwassorryforher.Sarahhadjimmiedherselfintomyheart,butatthesametime,Ihatedtheeggshellcolorofherface,thehelplesswayshelookedatmeallthetime.Shewaskindtomeandshewaspartofeverythingthatstolemylife.
“...YoutakecareofyourselfwhileI’mgone,”shesaid.
Watchingherwalktothedoor,Imadeupmymind.“RememberhowyouaskedmeawhileagoifIneededanything?Well,Ineedsomething.”
Sheturnedbackandherfacehadbrightened.“Ofcourse...whateverIcando.”
“Ineedasignednote.”“...Whatkindofnote?”“Onethatgivesme
permissiontobeonthestreet.Incasesomebodystopsmeoutthere.”
“Oh.”Thatwasallshesaidforaminute.Then,“...Motherdoesn’twantyougoingout,notforawhile...ShehasdesignatedPhoebetodothemarketing.Besides,theyclosedtheAfricanchurch—therewon’tbeanythingtoattend.”
Icould’vetoldyouthe
churchwasdoomed,butitwasablowtohearit.“Istillneedapass,though.”
“...Why?Wheredoyouneedtogo?...It’sdangerous,Handful.”
“Ispentmostofmylifegettinganddoingforyouandneverhaveaskedforathing.Igotplacestogo,they’remyownbusiness.”
Sheraisedhervoiceatme.Thefirsttime.“...And
howdoyouproposetogetofftheproperty?”
Lookingdownonuswasthelittlewindowmaumausedtoclimbthrough.Itwassittinghighup,lettingintheonlylightintheroom.Isaidtomyself,Ifmaumacandoit,Icandoit.I’lldoitlame,blind,andbackward,ifIhaveto.
Ididn’tspelloutmywaysforher.Inoddedatapieceof
paperontheshelfbesideapenandapotofink.Isaid,“Ifyoucan’tseefittowritemethispassforsafepassage,I’llhavetowriteitmyselfandsignyourname.”
Shetookadeepbreathandstaredatmeforamoment,thenshewentoveranddippedthepenintheink.
FirsttimeIsqueezedthrough
thewindowandwentoverthewall,Sarahhadbeengoneaweek.TheworstpartwaswhenIhadtoflopmyselfoverthetopofthebrickswithnothingbutthewhiteoleanderforcover.Ihadtherabbitcaneandathickburlapbundletiedonmybackthatmademecumbersome,andwhenIdroppedtotheground,Ilandedonmybadfoot.Isattheretillthethrob
woreoff,thenIslippedoutfromthetreestothestreet,justonemoreslavedoingsomewhiteperson’sbidding.
Ichosethisdaycausemissushadaheadache.Welivedforherheadaches.Whentheycame,shetooktobedandleftustoourblessedselves.ItriednottothinkhowI’dgetbackinsidetheyard.Maumahadwaitedfordarkandcrawledoverthe
backgateandthatwasthebestremedy,butitwassummertimeanddarkcamelate,givingplentyoftimeforfolkstowonderwhereIwas.
OneblockdownEastBay,IspottedoneoftheGuard.Helookedstraightatmeandstudiedmylimp.Walksteady.Nottoofast.Nottooslow.Squeezingtheearsontherabbit,Ididn’tbreathetillIturnedthecorner.
Ittookmetwiceaslongtogetto20Bull.Istoodcrossthestreetandstaredatthehouse,stillinneedofpaint.Ididn’tknowifDenmarkVeseyhadgotoutoftheWorkHouseorwhathadhappenedtohim.LastmemoryIhadfromthathellholewashisvoiceshouting,“Helpthegirldownthere,helpthegirl.”
Ihadn’tletmyselfthink
aboutit,butstandingthereonthestreet,thememorycamelikeapictureinapainting.I’muponthetreadmill,grippingthebarwithallthestrengthIgot.Climbingthewheel,climbingthewheel.Itneverwillstop.Mr.Veseyisquiet,notagruntfromhim,buttherestaremoaningandcryingJesusandtherawhidesplitstheair.Myhandssweat,slidingonthebar.The
knotthatlashesmywristtoitcomesloose.Itellmyselfdon’tlooksidetoside,keepstraightahead,keepgoing,butthewomanwiththebabyonherbackishowling.Thewhipslashesherlegs.Thenthechildscreams.Ilook.Ilooktothesideanditslittleheadisbleeding.Redandwet.That’swhentheedgesgoblack.Idrop,myhandspullingfreefromtherope.I
fallandthereain’tnowingssproutingoffmyshoulders.
Inthefrontwindowofhishouse,awomanwasironing.Herbackwastome,butIcouldseetheshapeofher,thelightnessofherskin,thebrightheadscarf,herarmswingingoverthecloth,anditcausedahitchinmychest.
WhenIgotupontheporch,Iheardhersinging.Waydownyonderinthe
middleofthefield,seemeworkingatthechariotwheel.Peeringintheopenwindow,Isawshehadherhipsswishing,too.Nowletmefly,nowletmefly,nowletmeflywayuphigh.
Iknockedandthetunebrokeoff.Sheopenedthedoorstillholdingtheiron,thesmellofcharcoalstragglingbehindher.Maumaalwayssaidhehadmulattowivesall
overthecity,butthemainonelivedhereinthehouse.Shestuckoutherchin,frowning,andIwondereddidshethinkIwasthenewbride.
“Who’reyou?”“I’mHandful.Icameto
seeDenmarkVesey.”Sheglaredatme,then
downatmytwistedfoot.“Well,I’mSusan,hiswife.Whatyouwantwithhim?”
Icouldfeeltheheat
glowingofftheiron.ThewomanhadbeenharddonebyandIcouldn’tblamehernotopeningthedoortostraywomen.“AllIwantistotalktohim.Ishehereornot?”
“I’mhere,”avoicesaid.Hestoodproppedinthedoorwaybehindherwithhisarmsfoldedonhischestlikehe’sGodwatchingtheworldgoby.Hetoldhiswifetofindsomethingtodo,andhereyes
trimmeddowntolittleslits.“Takethatironwithyou,”hesaid.“It’ssmokinguptheroom.”
Sheleftwithit,whileheeyedme.He’dlostsomefatfromhisface.Icouldseethetoprimofhischeekbones.Hesaid,“You’reluckyyoudidn’tgetrotinyourfootanddie.”
“Imadeout.Lookslikeyoudid,too.”
“Youdidn’tcometoseeaboutmyhealth.”
Hedidn’twannabeatthebushes.Finewithme.Myfoothurtfromtrudginghere.Itookthebundleoffmybackandsatdowninachair.Therewasn’tafrillintheroom,justcanechairsandatablewithaBibleonit.
Isaid,“Iusedtocomeherewithmymauma.HernamewasCharlotte.”
Thesneerhealwaysworeslidoffhisface.“IknewIknewyoufromsomewhere.Youhavehereyes.”
“That’swhattheytellme.”
“Youhavehergumption,too.”
Isqueezedtheburlapbundleagainstmychest.“Iwannaknowwhathappenedtoher.”
“Thatwasalongtime
ago.”“Comingonsevenyears.”Whenhekeptsilent,I
undidtheburlapandspreadmauma’sstoryquiltcrossthetable.Thesquareshungnearlytothefloor,brightenoughtosetafireinthedarkroom.
Peoplesayheneversmiled,butwhenhesawtheslavesflyingintheairpastthesun,hesmiled.Hegazed
atgranny-maumaandthefallingstars,atmaumaleavingmydaddybehindinthefield,meandherlayingincut-uppiecesonthequiltframe.Hestudiedthespirittreesandtheone-leggedpunishment.Didn’taskwhatanythingmeant.Heknewitwasherstory.
Istolealookatthelastsquarewheremaumahadsewedthemanwiththe
carpenterapronandthenumbers1884.Iwatchedcarefultoseeifhe’drecognizehimself.
“Youthinkthat’sme,don’tyou?”hesaid.
“Iknowthat’syou,butIdon’tknowaboutthosenumbers.”
Hechuckledoutright.“One,eight,eight,four.Thatwasthenumberonmylotteryticket.Thenumbersthat
boughtmyfreedom.”Theroomwasstiflehot.
Sweatdribbledonmytemples.So,that’sherlastword,then.That’swhatitcameto—achanceforgettingfree.Afancychance.
Ifoldedupthequilt,wrappeditbackintheburlap,andtieditonmyback.Ipickedupmycane.Isaid,“Shewaspregnant,youknowthat?Whenshewentmissing,
yourbabywentmissingwithher.”
Hedidn’tflinch,butIcouldtellhedidn’tknow.
Isaid,“Thosenumbersneverdidcomeupforher,didthey?”
SarahTheshipridewasharrowing.Wepliedupthecoastfornearlytwoweeks,sickenedbyheavingwavesoffVirginia,beforefinallymakingourwayalongtheDelawaretoPennLanding.Arrivingthere,Ihadanimpulsetobenddownand
kissthesolidground.WithFatheralmosttooweaktospeak,itwaslefttometofigureouthowtoretrieveourtrunksandhireacoach.
AswedrewclosetoSocietyHill,wherethedoctorresided,thecityturnedlovelywithitstreesandsteeples,itsbrickrowhousesandmansions.Whatstruckmewashowemptythestreetswereofslaves.Thesudden
realizationcausedatightnessinsideofmetorelease,oneIwasnotawareexisteduntilthatmoment.
IfounduslodginginaQuakerboardinghousenearFourthStreet,whereFatherrelinquishedhimselftome—whatheate,whathewore,alldecisionsabouthiscare.Heeventurnedoverthemoneypouchesandledgers.Everyfewdays,Inavigatedusto
thedoctor’shousebyhiredcarriage,butafterthreeweeksofseeminglyfutilevisits,Fatherstillcouldn’twalkmorethanastone’sthrowwithoutexhaustionandpain.He’dlostmoreweight.Helookedabsolutelydesiccated.
Seatedinthedoctor’sparloronemorning,IstaredatDr.Physick’swhitehairandaquilinenose,anoseverylikeFather’s.Hesaid,“Sadly,
IcanfindnocauseforJudgeGrimké’stremorsorhisdeterioration.”
Fatherwasnottheonlyonewhowasfrustrated.I,too,waswearyofcominghereoptimisticandleavingdismayed.“...Surely,theremustbesomethingyoucanprescribe.”
“Yes,ofcourse.Ibelievetheseaairwilldohimgood.”
“Seaair?”
Hesmiled.“You’reskeptical,butit’squiterecognized—it’sknownasthalassotherapy.I’veknownittobringeventhegravelyillbacktohealth.”
IcouldonlyimaginewhatFatherwouldsaytothis.Seaair.
“Myprescription,”hesaid,“isthatyoutakehimtoLongBranchforthesummer.It’sasmall,ratherisolated
placeontheNewJerseyshoreknownforitsseacure.I’llsendyouwithlaudanumandparegoric.Heshouldbeoutsideasmuchaspossible.Encouragehimtowadeintheocean,ifhe’sable.Byfall,perhapshe’llberecoveredenoughtotravelhome.”
PerhapsIwouldbehomewithNinabeforeSeptember.
ThedoctorhadsaidLongBranchwassmall,buthe’dexaggerated.Itwasnotsmall,itwasnotevenminiscule;itwasbarelyexistent.Therewerefourfarmhouses,onetinyclapboardMethodistchurch,andadrygoodsstore.Neitherwastheplace“ratherisolated”;itwaswoefullyisolated.WetraveledbyprivatecoachfromPhiladelphiaforsixdays,the
lastonebumpingoverafoottrail.Afterstoppingfortoiletrysuppliesinthedrygoods,wecontinuedawaysfurthertoFishTavern,theonlyhotel.Itwasperchedatopabluffoverlookingtheocean—alarge,sea-weatherededifice.Whentheclerkinformedusthatprayermeetingswereheldinthecommunaldininghallafterdinner,ItookitasasignGod
hadguidedus.Fatherhadcome
willingly,toowillingly,itseemed.I’dfeltsurehewouldinsistonreturningtoSouthCarolina.I’dexpectedhimtoquip,“Dowenothavesea-airinCharleston?”butwhenI’dbrokenthenewstohimthereinDr.Physick’sexaminationroom,carefultousethewordthalassotherapy,he’donlylookedatmefora
long,strangemoment.Ashadowpassedoverhisface,whatItooktobedisappointment.Hesaid,“Let’sgotoNewJerseythen.That’swhatwe’lldo.”
Thatfirstafternoonbeforedusk,IbroughtcodsouptoFather’sroom.Whenhetriedtoeatit,hishandquiveredsoviolently,spoonfulssplatteredontothebedsheets.Helaybackagainstthebedsteadand
letmefeedhim.Ichatteredaboutthesquallingocean,abouttheserpentinestepsthatledfromthehoteldowntotheshore,almostfrantictodivertusfromwhatwashappening.Hismouthopeningandclosinglikeababybird’s.Ladlinginthecolorlessbroth.Thehelplessnessofit.
WhileIfedhim,thecrushofwavesfilledtheroom.
Throughthewindow,Icouldseeaswatchofwaterthecolorofpewter,whippedbythewindintofrothingswells.Finally,heputuphishandtoletmeknowhe’dhadenoughofsoupandbabblingboth.
Iplacedthechamberpotonthefloornearby.“Goodnight,Father.”
Hiseyeswerealreadyclosed,buthishandfumbledformyforearm.“It’sallright,
Sarah.Wewillletitbewhatitis.”
17July1819
DearNina,Wearesettledat
FishTavern.Motherwouldcalltheplaceshabby,butitwasonceelegantandithascharacter.Therooms
arenearlyfilledwithboarders,butI’vemetonlytwo.TheyareelderlywidowedsistersfromNewYork,whocometoprayermeetingseacheveninginthediningroom.Iliketheyoungeronequitealot.Fathercommands
allofmyattention.Wecamefortheseaair,
buthehasn’tventuredfromhisroom.Iopenthewindow,butthesquawkinggullsannoyhim,andheordersthewindowclosedbynoon.I’mquitedevious—Ileaveitopenacrackandtellhimit’sshut.It’sallthemorereasonImustgotothediningroomandpraywiththesisters.
Atfifteen,youareoldenoughthatImayspeaksistertosister.Father’spaingrowsworse.Hesleepslong,fitfulhoursfromthelaudanum,andwhenIinsisthetakesomeexercisearoundtheroom,heleansheavilyagainstme.Imustfeedhimmostofhismeals.Still,Nina,Iknow
there’shope!Iffaithmovesmountains,GodwillrallyFathersoon.Eachday,IsitbyhisbedandprayandreadtheBiblealoudforhoursatatime.Don’tbeangryatmeformypiety.IamPresbyterianafterall.Asyouknow,we’refondofourgallandwormwood.Itrustyou’renot
provokingMothertoomuch.Ifpossible,restrainyourselfuntilmyreturn.IprayHandfuliswell.Keepyoureyeoutforher.Ifsheneedsprotectingforanyreason,doyourbest.Imissyour
company.PerhapsI’mabitlonely,butIhaveGod.Youmaytell
Motheralliswell.YourDevotedSister,Sarah
Everydayatspecifiedtimes,thehotelclerkraisedandloweredredandwhiteflagsnearthestepsthatleddowntothebeach.Atnineo’clocksharp,theredflagwentup,
signalingthegentlementotakepossessionoftheshore.Iwouldobservethemthunderingintothewaves,racingbeyondthebreakers,anddiving.Surfacing,theystoodwaist-deep,theirhandsontheirhips,andsurveyedthehorizon.Onthebeach,theytussledorhuddledtogetherandsmokedcigars.Ateleven,thewhiteflagwentup,andthemenclimbedthe
stairsbacktothehotelwithwoolentowelsdrapedabouttheirnecks.
Thentheladiesappeared.EvenifIwasinthemidstofprayer,IwouldmutterahastyAmenandflytothewindowtowatchthemdescendthestairsintheirbathingdressesandoilskincaps.I’dneverseenladiesbathing.Backhome,womendidn’tgointotheoceaninfancifulget-ups.
TherewasafloatingbathhouseintheharboroffEastBatterywithaprivateareaforfemales,butMotherthoughtitwasunseemly.Once,tomyastonishment,IspottedthetwoelderlysistersI’dwrittenabouttoNina,movinggingerlydownthestepswiththeothers.Theyoungerone,Althea,alwaystookpainstoinquirenotonlyaboutFather,butaboutme.
“Howareyou,dear?Youlookpallid.Areyougettingoutdoorsenough?”WhenI’dglimpsedheramongthebathersthatday,she’dglancedback,andseeingmeatthewindow,she’dmotionedmetojointhem.I’dshakenmyhead,butnothingwould’vepleasedmemore.
Thewomenalwaysenteredthewaterdifferentlythanthemen,holdingonto
heavyropesanchoredtotheshore.Attimestherewouldbeadozenofthemstretchedintothewater,clingingtoasingleline,squealingandturningtheirbacksagainstthespray.IfFatherwassleeping,Iwouldstayatthewindowandwatchwithalumpinmychestuntilthewhiteflagcamedown.
OnthemorningofAugusteighth,Iwasthereatthewindowsill,neglectingmyprayers,whenFatherwoke,cryingmyname.“Sarah!”Reachinghisside,Irealizedhewasstillasleep.“Sarah!”heshoutedagain,tossinghisheadinagitation.Iplacedmyhandonhischesttosteadyhim,andhewokewithhisbreathcominghardandfast.
Hegazedatmewiththe
feverishlookofsomeonestumblingbackfromanightmare.ItsaddenedmetothinkI’dbeenpartofit.DuringtheseweeksatLongBranch,Fatherhadbeenkindtome.Howareyoufaring,Sarah?Areyoueatingenough?Youseemweary.PutdowntheBible,goforawalk.Histendernesshadshockedme.Yethe’dremainedaloof,neverspeakingofdeeper
things.Ipressedacoolclothto
hisforehead.“...Father,Iknowcomingherehasbeenatrialforyou,andyourprogresshasbeen...ithasbeenslow.”
Hesmiledwithoutopeninghiseyes.“It’stimewespokethetruth.Therehasbeennoprogressatall.”
“...Wemustn’tgiveuphope.”
“Mustn’twe?”Theskinonhischeekswasasthinandsheerasaveil.“Icameheretodie,youmustknowthat.”
“No!Icertainlydon’tknowthat.”Ifeltaghast,evenangry.Itwasasifthebaddreamhadcrackedhisfaçade,andIsuddenlywishedforitback.“...Ifyoubelieveyou’redying,thenwhydidn’tyouinsistwegohome?”
“Itwillbehardforyouto
understandthis,butthelastfewyearsathomehavebeendifficult.Itseemedarelieftobefaraway,tobeherewithyouandgoquietly.IfeltlikehereIcoulddetachmoreeasilyfromthethingsI’veknownandlovedmywholelife.”
Myhandwenttomymouth.Ifeltmyeyesfilmoverwithtears.
“Sarah.Mydeargirl.
Let’snotindulgevainhopes.Idon’texpecttorecover,nordoIwantto.”
Hisfaceblazedintenselynow.Itookhishandandgraduallyhisexpressioneased,andhedriftedtosleep.
Hewokeatthreeintheafternoon.Thewhiteflaghadjustbeenraised—Icouldseeitframedinthewindow,snappingagainstthetranslucentsky.Iheldthe
waterglasstohislipsandhelpedhimtodrink.Hesaid,“We’vehadourquarrels,haven’twe?”
IknewwhatwascomingandIwantedtosparehim.Tospareme.“Itdoesn’tmatternow.”
“You’vealwayshadastrong,separatemind,perhapsevenaradicalmind,andIwasharshwithyouattimes.Youmustforgiveme.”
Icouldn’timaginewhatitcosthimtosaythesewords.“Ido,”Isaid.“Andyoumustforgiveme.”
“Forgiveyouforwhat,Sarah?Forfollowingyourconscience?DoyouthinkIdon’tabhorslaveryasyoudo?DoyouthinkIdon’tknowitwasgreedthatkeptmefromfollowingmyconscienceasyouhave?Theplantation,thehouse,our
entirewayoflifedependedontheslaves.”Hisfacecontortedandheclutchedathissideamomentbeforegoingon.“OrshouldIforgiveyouforwantingtogivenaturalexpressiontoyourintellect?YouweresmarterthanevenThomasorJohn,butyou’refemale,anothercrueltyIwashelplesstochange.”
“Father,please.Ihaveno
resentmentofyou.”Itwasn’tcompletelytrue,butIsaidit.
Gigglesfloatedupfromthebeachbelow,tangledinthewind.“Youshouldgooutsideandrefreshyourspirit,”hesaid.
Iprotested,buthewouldn’trelent.“Howwillyoutakecareofme,ifyoudon’ttakecareofyourself?Dothisforme.I’llbefine.”
Imeantonlytowadeinthesurf.Iremovedmyshoesandplacedthembesidetheportablechanginghousethathadbeenwheeledoutontothesand.Atthatmoment,thefriendlysister,Althea,drewbackthecanvasandsteppedoutwearingared-and-black-stripedbathinggownwithapeplumflounceandballoonsleeves.IwishedHandfulcould’veseenit.
“Howlovely.Areyoufinallybathingwithus?”shesaid.
“...Oh,no,Idon’thavetheattireforit.”
Shescrutinizedmyface,whichmust’veradiatedunhappinessineverydirection,forsheannouncedshe’dsuddenlylostthedesiretobatheanditwouldpleaseherenormouslyifIwoulddonherdressandtakea
plunge.AftermyconversationwithFather,Ifeltflayedopen,allpulpandredness.Iwantedtodisappearsomewherealone,yetIlookedattherope-lineofwomenjuttingintothesea,andthenbeyonditatthegreenmountainsofwater,solimitlessanduntamed,andIacceptedheroffer.
ShesmiledwhenIemergedfromthechanging
room.Shehadnocap,andI’dunpinnedmyhair,whichwasflamingoutinthewind.ShesaidIlookedlikeamermaid.
Itookholdofoneoftheropesandfolloweditintothewaves,handoverfist,untilIcametowheretherestoftheladiesstood.Thewaterslappedourthighs,tossingustoandfro,atinygameofSnaptheWhip,andthenwithoutknowingwhatIwas
abouttodo,Iturnedlooseandstrodeawayfromthem.Ipushedintotheseethingwater,andwhenIwassomedistance,Idroppedontomybackandfloated.Itwasashocktofeelthewaterholdme.Tolieintheseawhileupstairsmyfatherlaydying.
9August1819
DearMother,TheBibleassuresus
thatGodshallwipeawayeverytearfromoureyes...
Iloweredmypen.Ididn’tknowhowtotellher.ItseemedstrangeIshouldbetheoneinformingherofsuchnews.I’dimaginedhergatheringus,herchildren,intothedrawingroomand
saying,YourfatherhasgonetoGod.Howwasitpossiblethishadfallentome?
Insteadofthedistinguishedfuneralhewould’vehadinCharleston—thepompofSt.Philip’s,astatelyprocessionalongMeetingStreet,hiscoffinmountedonafloweredcarriageandhalfthecitywalkingbehindit—insteadofallthat,hewouldbeburied
anonymouslyintheovergrowncemeterybehindthetinyMethodistchurchwe’dpassedonthewayhere.Afarmwagonwouldpullhiscasket.Iwouldwalkbehindit,alone.
ButIwouldtellMothernoneofthis.NorwouldItellherthatatthehourofhisdeath,Iwasfloatingfreeintheocean,inasolitudeIwouldrememberallofmy
life,thegullscawingovermyheadandthewhiteflagflyingatthetopofthepole.
HandfulMissus’eyeswereswollenshutfromcrying.Itwasthemiddleofthemorningandshewasinbedwithhersleepingclotheson.Themosquitonetwasdrawnroundherandthecurtainswerepulledonthewindows,butIcouldseeherlidspuffed
out.Minta,thenewgirl,wasoverinthecornertryingtodisappear.
Whenmissustriedtospeaktome,shebrokedowncrying.Ifeltforher.Iknewwhatitwastoloseaperson.WhatIdidn’tknowwaswhyshe’dcalledmetoherroom.AllIcoulddowasstandthereandwaitforhertogetholdofherself.
Afterafewminutes,she
yelledatMinta,“Areyouorareyounotgoingtobringmeahankie?”
Mintawentscramblingthroughadrawerinthelinenpress,andmissusturnedtome.“Youshouldstartonmydressimmediately.Iwantblackvelvet.Withbeadingofsomekind.Mrs.Russellhadjetbeadsonhers.Iwillneedaspoonbonnetwithalongcrepeveildowntheback.
Andblackgloves,butmakethemfingerlessmittsbecauseoftheheat.Areyourememberingthis?”
“Yessum.”“Itmustbereadyintwo
days.Anditmustbeflawless,Hetty,doyouunderstand?Flawless.Workthroughthenightifyouhaveto.”
Seemedlikeshe’dgottenholdofherselfrealtight.
Shewrotemeapassfor
themarketandsentmeinthecarriagewithTomfry,whowasgoingouttopurchasethemourningcards.Saiditwouldtaketoomuchtimeformetohobbleallthatwayandback.That’showIgotthefirstcarriagerideofmylife.Alongtheway,Tomfrysaid,“Wipethegrinoffyourface,wesupposedtobegrieving.”
Inthemarket,Iwasatthehigh-classstallslookingfor
thebeadsmissushadtohavewhenIcameuponMr.Vesey’swife,Susan.Ihadn’tseenhersincethefirstofthesummerwhenI’dgoneto20Bull.
“Lookwhatthefieldcatdraggedup,”shesaid.Iguessshestillhadherdanderup.
Iwonderedwhatallsheknew.Maybeshe’dlistenedinthatdayI’dtalkedtoMr.Vesey.Shecouldknowabout
mauma,thebaby,everything.Ididn’tseeanysensein
keepingthefeudgoing.“Idon’thaveabickerwithyou.Iwon’tbebotheringyouanymore.”
Thattookthenettlefromher.Hershouldersdippedandherfaceturnedsoft.That’swhenInoticedthescarfshewaswearing.Red.Edgessewedwithaperfectchainstitch.Littleoilspotsonthe
side.Isaid,“That’smymauma’sheadscarf.”
Herlipsopenedlikethestopperhadpoppedfromthebottle.Iwaited,butshestoodthere,withhermouthempty.
“Iknowthatscarf,”Isaid.Shesetdownherbasket
ofcottonsandtookitoffherhead.“Goon,takeit.”
Iranmyfingeralongthestitchedhem,crossthecreaseswhereherhairhad
been.Iundidthescarfonmyheadandtiedmauma’son.Lowonmyforehead,thewaysheworeit.
“How’dyougetit?”Isaid.
Sheshookherhead.“Iguessyououghttoknow.Thenightyourmaumadisappeared,sheshowedupatourdoor.DenmarksaidtheGuardwouldbelookingforawomanwitharedscarf,soI
tookhersandgaveheroneofmine.Aplainbrownonethatwouldn’tdrawnotice.”
“Youhelpedher?Youhelpedhergetaway?”
Shedidn’tgiveanykindofanswer,shesaid,“IdowhatDenmarksaysdo.”Thenshesashayedoffwithherheadstrippedbare.
Isewedthroughthatdayand
nightandallthenextdayandnight,andthewholetimeIworemauma’sscarf.ThewholetimeIthoughtabouthershowingupatMr.Vesey’sthatnight,howheknewmorethanhewassaying.
EverytimeItookthedressupstairsforfittings,thehousewouldbeinatizzygettingreadyforthemourners.Missussaidhalf
thecitywascoming.Aunt-SisterandPhoebewerebakingfuneralbiscuitsandseeingtotheteasets.BinahshroudedthepaintingsandmirrorswithblackswagsandEliwasputtocleaning.Mintahadtheworstjob,intheregettinghankiesandtakingthebrunt.
TomfrysetupmasterGrimké’sportraitinthedrawingroomandfixeda
tablewithtokens.Hadhisbeavertophatandstickpinsandthebooksoflawhewrote.Thomasbroughtoveraclothbannerthatsaid,Gone,ButNotForgotten,andTomfryputthatonthetable,too,withaclockstoppedtothehourofhisdeath.Missusdidn’tknowthetimeexact.Sarahhadwrittenhepassedinthelateafternoon,somissussaid,justmakeit4:30.
Whenshewasn’tcrying,shewasfumingthatSarahhadn’thadthesensetocutoffalockofmasterGrimké’shairandputitintheletter.Itleftherwithoutanythingtogoinhergoldmourningbrooch.Anotherthingshedidn’tlikewasthenoticethatcameoutintheMercury.Itsaidhe’dbeenlaidtorestintheNorthwithoutfamilyorfriendsandthiswouldsurely
beatravailtoagreatsonofSouthCarolina.
Idon’tknowhowIgotthedressdoneintime.ItwasthefinestdressIevermade.Istrunghundredsofblackglassbeads,thensewedthestrandsintoacollarthatlookedlikeaspiderweb.Ifitteditroundtheneckandletitdrapetothebust.Whenmissussawit,shesaidtheoneandonlykindthingI
can’tforget.Shesaid,“Why,Hetty,yourmotherwouldbeproud.”
IwentthroughthewindowandoverthewallonaSundayafterthecallershadquitcomingbytogivetheircondolence.Itwasourdayoffandtheservantswerelollingroundandmissuswasshutawayinherroom.Ihad
ashortwalkpastthefrontofthehousebeforeIcouldfeelsafe,andcomingroundthesideofit,IsawTomfryonthefrontsteps,hagglingwiththeslaveboywhohucksteredfish.Theywerebentoverwhatlookedlikeafifty-poundbasketofflounders.Iputmyheaddownandkeptgoing.
“Handful!Isthatyou?”WhenIlookedup,
Tomfrywasstaringatmefromthetopstep.Hewasoldnow,withmilkinhiseyes,anditcrossedmymindtosay,No,I’msomebodyelse,butthen,hecould’veseenthecaneinmyhand.Youcouldn’tmisjudgethat.Isaid,“Yeah,it’sme.I’mgoingtothemarket.”
“Whosaidyoucouldgo?”
IhadSarah’spassinmy
pocket,butseemedlikehe’dquestionthat—shewasstillupnorth,waitingtosailhome.Istoodonthesidewalkstucktothespot.
Hesaid,“Whatyoudoingouthere?Answerme.”
Offinmyhead,Icouldhearthetreadmillgrind.
Ashapemovedatthefrontwindow.Nina.Thenthefrontdooropened,andshesaid,“Whatisit,Tomfry?”
“Handfulouthere.I’mtryingtoseewhatshe’sdoing.”
“Oh.She’sdoinganerrandforme,that’sall.PleasesaynothingtoMother,Idon’twantherbothered.”Thenshecalleddowntome,“Carryon.”
Tomfrywentbacktothefishhuckster.Icouldn’tgetmylegstomovefastenough.AtGeorgeStreet,Istopped
andlookedback.Ninawasstilloutthere,watchingmego.Sheliftedherhandandgavemeawave.
Closeto20Bull,therewasalittlejugbandgoing—threeboysblowingonbigjarsandGullahJack,Mr.Vesey’sman,slappinghisdrum.Acrowdofcoloredfolkswasgathered,andtwoofthewomenstarteddoingwhatwecalledstepping.I
stoppedtowatchcausetheywereStruttingMissLucy.Mostly,IkeptmyeyeonGullahJack.Hehadfatsidewhiskersandwasbouncingonhisshortlegs.Whenhefinishedthetune,hetuckedthedrumunderhisarmandheadeddownthestreettoMr.Vesey’s.Me,followingbehind.
Icouldseesmokefromthekitchenhouse,andwent
backthereandknocked.Susanletmein,saying,“Well,I’msurprisedittookyouthislong.”ShesaidIcouldgivehersomehelp,themenwereinthefrontroom,meeting.
“Meetingaboutwhat?”Sheshrugged.“Don’t
know,don’twannaknow.”Ihelpedherchop
cabbagesandcarrotsfortheirsupper,andwhenshecarried
abottleofMadeiratothem,Itrailedher.Iwaitedoutsidethedoor,whileshepouredtheirglasses,butIcouldseethematthetable:Mr.Vesey,GullahJack,PeterPoyas,MondayGell,plustwowhobelongedtothegovernor,RollaBennettandNedBennett.Ikneweveryoneofthemfromchurch.Theywereallslaves,exceptMr.Vesey.Lateron,he’dstartcalling
themhislieutenants.Islunkbackintothe
hallwayandletSusangobacktothekitchenhousewithoutme.ThenIeasedtothedoor,closeasIcouldwithoutgettingseen.
ItsoundedlikeMr.Veseywasdivvyingupalltheslavesinthestate.“I’lltaketheFrenchNegroesontheSantee,andJack,youtaketheslavesontheSeaIslands.The
onesthat’llbehardtoenlistarethecountryslavesoutontheplantations.Peter,youandMondayknowthembest.Rolla,I’mgivingyouthecityslaves,andNed,theonesontheNeck.”
HisvoicedroppedandIcreptalittlecloser.“Keepalistofeverybodyyoudraft.Andkeepthatlistsafeonpainofdeath.Telleverybody,bepatient,thedayis
coming.”Idon’tknowwherehe
camefrom,butGullahJackwasontopofmebeforeIcouldturnmyhead.Hegrabbedmefrombehindandthrewmeintotheroom,myrabbitcaneflying.Ibouncedoffthewallandlandedflat.
Hestuckhisfootonmychest,pressingmetothefloor.“Who’reyou?”
“Takeyournastyfootoff
me!”Ispitathimandthespewfellbackonmyface.
Heraisedahandlikehewasreadytostrike,andfromtheedgeofmyeye,IsawDenmarkVeseypickhimupbythecollarandflinghimhalfcrosstheroom.Thenhepulledmeup.“Youallright?”
MyarmsweretremblingsobadIcouldn’tholdthemstill.
“Everythingyouheardinhere,youkeeptoyourself,”hetoldme.
Inoddedagain,andheputhisarmroundmetostoptheshaking.
TurningtoGullahJackandtherestofthem,hesaid,“Thisisthedaughterofmywifeandthesisterofmychild.She’sfamily,andthatmeansyoudon’tlayahandonher.”
Hetoldthementogoonbacktohisworkshop.Wewaitedwhiletheyscrapedthechairsbackandeasedfromtheroom.
So,hecountedmaumaoneofhiswives.I’mfamily.
Hepulledachairforme.“Here,sitdown.What’reyoudoinghere?”
“Icametofindoutthetruthofwhathappenedtomauma.Iknowyouknow.”
“Somethingsarebetternottoknow,”hesaid.
“Well,that’snotwhattheBiblepreaches.Itsaysifyouknowthetruth,it’llsetyoufree.”
Hecircledthetable.“Allright,then.”Heclosedthewindowsothetruthwouldstayintheroomandnotfloatoutfortheworldtohear.
“ThedayCharlottegotintroublewiththeGuard,she
camehere.IwasintheworkshopandwhenIlookedup,thereshewas.They’dchasedherallthewaytothericemillpond,whereshehidinsideasackinthemillhouse.Shehadricehullsalloverherdress.Ikeptherheretilldark,thenItookhertotheNeck,wherethepolicingislight.Itookhertheretohide.”
TheNeckwasjustnorthofthecityandhadlotsof
tenementhousesforfreeblacksandslaveswhoseownersletthem“liveout.”Negrohuts,theycalledthem.Itriedtopictureone,picturemaumainit.
“Iknewafreeblacktherewhohadaroom,andhetookherin.ShesaidwhentheGuardstoppedsearchingforher,she’dgobacktotheGrimkésandthrowherselfontheirmercy.”He’dbeen
pacing,butnowhesatdownnexttomeandfinishedupthetruthquickashecould.“OnenightshewentouttotheprivyinRadcliffAlleyandtherewasawhitemanthere,aslavepoachernamedRobertMartin.Hewaswaitingforher.”
Anoisefilledmyhead,awailingsoundsoloudIcouldn’thear.“Apoacher,what’sapoacher?”
“Somebodythatstealsslaves.They’reworsethanscum.Weallknewthisman—hehadawagon-tradeintheseparts.First,regulargoods,thenhestartedbuyingslaves,thenhestartedstealingslaves.HehuntedforthemintheNeck.He’dkeephiseartothegroundandgoaftertherunaways.MorethanonepersonsawhimtakeCharlotte.”
“Hetookher?Hesoldheroffsomewhere?”
Iwasonmyfeet,screamingoverthenoiseinmyskull.“Whydidn’tyoulookforher?”
Hetookmebytheshouldersandgavemeashake.Hiseyesweresparkinglikeflint.Hesaid,“GullahJackandIlookedfortwodays.Welookedeverywhere,butshewasgone.”
SarahImadethelaboriousjourneybacktoPhiladelphia,whereIfoundlodgingatthesamehouseonSocietyHillwhereFatherandIhadboardedearlier,expectingtostayonlyuntiltheshipsailed,butontheappointedmorning—mytrunkpackedandthecarriage
waiting—somethingstrangeandunknowninsideofmebalked.
Mrs.Todd,whorentedtheroomtome,tappedatmydoor.“MissGrimké,thecarriage—it’swaiting.MayIsendthedrivertocollectthetrunk?”
Ididn’tanswerimmediately,butstoodatthewindowandstaredoutattheleafyvineonthepicketfence,
atthecobblestreetlinedwithsycamoretrees,thelightfallinginquiet,mottledpatterns,andbeneathmybreathIwhispered,“No.”
Iturnedtoher,untyingmybonnet.Itwasblackwithasmallrufflesuitableformourning.I’dpurchaseditonHighStreetthedaybefore,maneuveringaloneintheshopswithnoonetopleasebutmyself,thencomebackto
thissimpleroomwheretherewerenoservantsorslaves,noimmoderatefurnitureorfiligreeorgoldleaf,noonesummoningmetoteawithvisitorsIdidn’tcarefor,noexpectationsofanykind,justthislittleroomwhereItookcareofeverythingmyself,evenspreadingmyownbedandseeingtomylaundry.IturnedtoMrs.Todd.“...Iwouldliketokeeptherooma
bitlonger,ifImay.”Shelookedconfused.
“You’renotleavingasplanned?”
“No,Iwouldliketostayawhile.Onlyawhile.”
ItoldmyselfitwasbecauseIwantedtogrieveinprivate.Really,wasthatsoimplausible?
Mrs.Toddwasthewifeofastrugglinglawclerkandsheclaspedmyhand.“You’re
welcometostayaslongasyouwish.”
IwroteasolicitouslettertoMother,explainingtheunexplainable:FatherhaddiedandIwasn’tcominghomestraightaway.Ineedtogrievealone.
Mother’sletterinresponsearrivedinSeptember.Hersmall,tightscrawlwasthickwithfuryandink.Mybehaviorwas
shameful,selfish,cruel.“Howcouldyouabandonmeinmydarkesthour?”shewrote.
Iburnedherletterinthefireplace,butherwordsleftcontusionsofguilt.Therewastruthinwhatshe’dwritten.Iwasselfish.I’dabandonedmymother.Nina,aswell.Ianguishedoverit,butIdidn’tpackmytrunk.
Ispentmydaysasa
malingerer.IsleptwheneverIwastired,ofteninthemiddleoftheday.Mrs.Toddgaveuponmypresenceatappointedmealsandreservedmyfoodinthekitchen.Iwouldtakeittomyroomatoddhours,thenwashmyowndishes.Therewerefewbookstoread,butIwroteinalittlejournalI’dbought,mostlyaboutFather’slastdays,andIpracticedmyscriptureverses
withasetofBibleflashcards.Iwalkedupanddownthestreetsbeneaththesycamoresastheyturnedblonde,thenbronze,venturingfurtherandfurthereachday—toWashingtonSquare,PhilosophicalHall,OldSt.Mary’s,andonce,quitebyaccident,TheManFullofTroubleTavernwhereIheardshoutingandcrockerybreaking.
OneSundaywhentheairwascrispandrazor-cutwithlight,Iwalkedankle-deepinfallenleavesallthewaytoArchStreet,whereIcameuponaQuakermeetinghouseofsuchsizeIpausedtostare.InCharleston,wehadoneteenyFriendsHouse,somethingofadilapidation,towhich,itwassaid,noonecamebuttwocantankerousoldmen.AsIstoodthere,
peoplebegantostreamfromthecentraldoor,thewomenandgirlscladindismal,excoriateddressesthatmadeusPresbyteriansseemalmostflamboyant.Eventhechildrenworedrabcoatsandgravelittlefaces.Iobservedthemagainsttheredbricks,thesteeple-lessroof,theplainshutteredwindows,andIfeltrepelled.I’dheardtheysatinsilence,waitingforsomeone
toutterhismostinwardintimacieswithGodoutloudforeveryonetohear.Itsoundedterrifyingtome.
NotwithstandingtheQuakers,thosedayswereverymuchlikethemomentsI’dfloatedintheoceanatLongBranchbeneaththewhiteflag.Avitalityinhabitedthoseweeks,almostlikeasecondheartbeatinginmychest.I’dfoundIcould
managequitewellonmyown.HaditnotbeenforFather’sdeath,Imighthavebeenhappy.
WhenNovemberarrived,however,IknewIcouldn’tremainanylonger.Winterwascoming.Theseawouldbecometreacherous.Ipackedmytrunk.
Theshipwasacutter,which
gavemehopeofreachingCharlestonintendays.I’dbookedfirst-classpassage,butmystateroomwasdarkandcrampedwithnothingbutawallmereclosetandatwo-footberth.Asoftenaspossible,Ihazardedabovedecktofeelthecold,bracingwinds,huddlingwiththeotherpassengersontheleeside.
Onthethirdmorning,I
wokeneardawnanddressedquickly,notbotheringtobraidmyhair.Thestale,suffocatingroomfeltlikeasepulcher,andIsurfacedabovedeckwithmycarrothairflying,expectingtobealone,yettherewasanotheralreadyattherail.Pullingupthehoodofmycloak,Isoughtaspotawayfromhim.
Atiny,whiteballofmoonwasstillinthesky,
clingingtothelastbitofnight.Belowitathinlineofbluelightranthelengthofthehorizon.Iwatcheditgrow.
“Howarethee?”aman’svoicesaid,usingtheformalQuakergreetingI’doftenheardinPhiladelphia.
AsIturnedtohim,strandsofmyhairslippedfromthehoodandwhippedwildlyaboutmyface.“...
I’mfine,sir.”Hehadadramaticcleftin
hischinandpiercingbrowneyesoverwhichhisbrowsslantedupwardliketheslopesofatinyhill.Heworesimplebreecheswithsilverkneebuckles,adarkcoat,andathree-corneredhat.Alockofhair,darkascoal,tossedonhisforehead.IguessedhimtobesomeyearsolderthanI,perhapstenormore.I’dseen
himondeckbefore,andonthefirstnight,intheship’sdiningquarterswithhiswifeandeightchildren,sixboys,twogirls.I’dthoughtthenhowtiredshelooked.
“MynameisIsraelMorris,”hesaid.
Later,IwouldwonderiftheFateshadplacedmethere,ifthey’dbeentheoneswho’dkeptmelingeringinPhiladelphiaforthreemonths
untilthisparticularshipsailed,thoughofcourse,wePresbyteriansbelieveditwasGodwhoarrangedpropitiousencounterslikethese,notmythologicalwomenwithspindles,threads,andshears.
Themainsailsweresnappingandwheezing,makingagreatracket.Itoldhimmyname,andthenwestoodforamoment,gazingattherisingbrightness,atthe
seabirdssuddenlymakingsoaringarcsinthesky.Hetoldmehiswife,Rebecca,wasquarantinedintheircabintendingtheiryoungesttwo,who’dbecomesickwithdysentery.Hewasabroker,acommissionmerchant,andthoughhewasmodest,Icouldtellhe’dbeenprosperousatit.
Inturn,ItoldhimaboutthesojournI’dmadewithmy
fatherandhisunexpecteddeath.Thewordsslidfluidlyoffmytongue,withonlyanoccasionalstammer.Icouldonlyattributeittothesweepandflowofwateraroundus.
“Please,acceptmysympathies,”hesaid.“Itmusthavebeendifficult,caringforyourfatheralone.Couldyourhusbandnottravelwithyou?”
“Myhusband?Oh,Mr.Morris,I’mnotmarried.”
Hisfaceflushed.Wantingtoeasethe
moment,Isaid,“Iassureyou,it’snotamatterthatconcernsmemuch.”
Helaughedandaskedaboutmyfamily,aboutourlifeinCharleston.WhenItoldhimaboutthehouseonEastBayandtheplantationintheupcountry,hislivelyexpressiondiedaway.“Youownslavesthen?”
“...Myfamilydoes,yes.ButI,myself,don’tcondoneit.”
“Yetyoucastyourlotwiththosewhodo?”
Ibristled.“...Theyaremyfamily,sir.Whatwouldyouhavemedo?”
Hegazedatmewithkindnessandpity.“Toremainsilentinthefaceofevilisitselfaformofevil.”
Iturnedfromhimtoward
theglassywater.Whatkindofmanwouldspeaklikethis?ASoutherngentlemanwouldassoonswallowhistongue.
“Forgivemybluntness,”hesaid.“I’maQuaker.Webelieveslaverytobeanabomination.It’sanimportantpartofourfaith.”
“...IhappentobePresbyterian,andwhilewedon’thaveananti-slaverydoctrinelikeyou,it’san
importantpartofmyfaith,aswell.”
“Ofcourse.Myapologies.I’mafraidthere’sazealotinmeI’matalosstocontrol.”Hepulledattherimofhishatandsmiled.“Imustseeaboutbreakfastformyfamily.Ihopewemightspeakagain,MissGrimké.Goodday.”
Ithoughtofnothingbuthimforthenexttwodays.Hedisturbednearlyevery
wakingminute,andevenmysleep.IwasdrawntohiminadeeperwaythanI’dbeentoBurke,andthat’swhatfrightenedme.Iwasdrawntohisbrutalconscience,tohisrepulsiveQuakerism,totheforceofhisideas,theforceofhim.Hewasmarried,andforthatIwasgrateful.Forthat,Iwassafe.
Heapproachedmeinthediningroomonthesixthday
ofthevoyage.Theshipwasscuddingbeforeagaleandwe’dbeenbannedfromabovedeck.“MayIjoinyou?”heasked.
“...Ifyoulike.”Heatflaredinmychest.Ifeltittraveltomycheeks,turningthemtocrabapples.“...Areyourchildrenrecovered?Andyourwife?Hasshestayedwell?”
“Thesicknessismaking
itswaythroughallofthechildrennow,butthey’rerecoveringthankstoRebecca.Wecouldn’tmanageasingledaywithouther.Sheis—”Hebrokeoff,butwhenIwentongazingathimexpectantly,hefinishedhissentence.“Theperfectmother.”
Withouthishat,helookedyounger.Thatchesandsprigsofblackhairwavedinrandomdirections.Hehad
tiredsmudgesbeneathhiseyes,andIimaginedtheywerefromhelpinghiswifenursethechildren,buthepulledawornleatherbookfromhisvest,sayinghe’dstayeduplateinthenight,reading.“It’sthejournalofJohnWoolman.He’sagreatdefenderofourfaith.”
AstheconversationturnedonceagaintoQuakerism,heopenedthe
bookandreadfragmentstome,attemptingtoeducatemeabouttheirbeliefs.“Everyoneisofequalworth,”hesaid.“Ourministersarefemaleaswellasmale.”
“Female?”Iaskedsomanyquestionsaboutthisoddity,hebecameamused.
“ShouldIassumethatfemaleworth,likeabolition,isalsopartofyourpersonalfaith?”hesaid.
“...I’velongwishedforavocationofmyown.”
“You’reararewoman.”“SomewouldsayI’mnot
somuchrare,asradical.”Hesmiledandhisbrows
liftedonhisforehead,theiroddtiltdeepening.“IsitpossibleaQuakerlurksbeneaththatPresbyterianskinofyours?”
“Notatall,”Itoldhim.Butlater,inprivate,Iwasn’t
sure.Tocondemnslaverywasonething—thatIcoulddoinmyownindividualheart—butfemaleministers!
Throughoutthefewremainingdaysonship,wecontinuedourtalksinthewind-poundedworldabovedeck,aswellasthediningquarters,whereitsmelledofboiledriceandcigars.WediscussednotonlytheQuakers,buttheology,
philosophy,andthepoliticsofemancipation.Hewasofthemindthatabolitionshouldbegradual.Iargueditshouldbeimmediate.He’dfoundanintellectualcompanioninme,butIcouldn’tcompletelyunderstandwhyhe’dbefriendedme.
Thelastnightaboard,IsraelaskedifIwouldcomeandmeethisfamilyinthediningroom.Hiswife,
Rebecca,heldtheiryoungestonherlap,acryingtotnomorethanthree,whoseredfacebouncedlikeawoodpeckeragainsthershoulder.Shewasoneofthoseslight,gossamerwomen,whosebodyseemedspunfromair.Herhairwaslightasstraw,drawnbackandmiddle-partedwithwispsfallingaboutherface.
Shepattedthechild’s
back.“Israelspeakshighlyofyou.Hesaysyou’vebeenkindenoughtolistenasheexplainedourfaith.Ihopehedidn’ttireyou.Hecanbeunrelenting.”Shesmiledatmeinaconspiratorialway.
Ididn’twanthertobesoprettyandcharming.“...Well,hewascertainlythorough,”Isaid,andherlaughtergurgledup.IlookedatIsrael.Hewasbeamingat
her.“Ifyoureturntothe
North,youmustcomeandstaywithus,”Rebeccasaid,thensheherdedthechildrentotheircabin.
Israellingeredamomentlonger,pullingoutJohnWoolman’sjournal.“Pleaseacceptit.”
“Butit’syourowncopy.Icouldn’tpossiblytakeit.”
“Itwouldpleaseme
greatly—I’llgetanotherwhenIreturntoPhiladelphia.Ionlyaskthatafteryoureadit,youwritetomeofyourimpressions.”Heopenedthebookandshowedmeapieceofpaperonwhichhe’dwrittenhisaddress.
Thatnight,afterIblewoutthewick,Ilayawake,thinkingofthebooktuckedinmytrunkandtheaddresssecretedinside.Afteryou
readit,writetome.Thewatermovedbeneathme,rushingtowardCharlestonintotheswayingdark.
HandfulWhentheyplantosellyou,thefirstthingtheysayis,gowashyourteeth.That’swhatAunt-Sisteralwaystoldus.Shesaidwhentheslavesgotsoldonthestreets,thewhitemencheckedtheirteethbeforeanythingelse.Noneofuswerethinkingaboutteeth
aftermasterGrimkédied,though.Wethoughtlifewouldgooninthesameoldgrudgeries.
ThelawyershoweduptoreadthewilltwodaysafterSarahgotbackfromtheNorth.Wegatheredinthediningroom,everyoneoftheGrimkéchildrenandeveryslave.Seemedoddtomewhymissuswantedusslaveshere.Westoodinastraightlinein
thebackoftheroom,half-thinkingwe’repartofthefamily.
SarahwasononesideofthetableandNinaontheother.Sarahwouldlookoverathersisterwithasadsmile,andNinawouldglanceaway.Thosetwowereinamiff.
Missushadonherniceblackmourningdress.IwantedtotellhersheneededtotakeitoffandletMariah
launderitcauseithadgrayarmpitrings.Seemedlikeshe’dworniteverydaysincelastAugust,butyoucouldn’ttellherathing.Thewomangotworseinherwaysbytheday.
Thelawyer,hisnamewasMr.Huger,stoodupwithahandfulofpapersandsaiditwasthelastwillandtestamentofJohnFaucheraudGrimké,drawnuplastMay.
Hereadthewherefores,towits,andhithermores.ItwasworsethantheBible.
Missusdidn’tgetthehouse.ThatwenttoHenry,whowasn’tpasteighteen,butleastshecouldstayinittillshedied.“Ileaveherthehouseholdfurniture,plate,platedware,acarriageandtwoofmyhorses,thestockofliquorsandprovisionswhichshallbeonhandatthetimeof
mydeath.”Thiswentonandon.Allthegoodsandchattels.
Thenhereadsomethingthatmadethehairsonmyarmsraise.“SheshallreceiveanysixofmyNegroeswhomsheshallchoose,andtherestshewillsellordisperseamongmychildren,asshedetermines.”
Binahwasstandingnexttome.Iheardherwhisper,
“Lord,no.”Ilookeddowntherowof
slaves.Therewasjustelevenofusnow—Rosettahadpassedoninhersleeptheyearbefore.
Sheshallreceiveanysix...therestshewillsellordisperse.Fiveofuswereleaving.O
Mintastartedtosniffle.Aunt-Sistersaid,“Hushup,”butevenheroldeyesdarted
round,lookingscared.She’dtrainedPhoebetoogood.Tomfrywasgettingonwithage,too,andEli’sfingersweretwistedliketreetwigs.GoodisandSabewerestillyoung,butyoudon’tneedtwoslavesinthestablefortwohorses.Princewasstrongandworkedtheyard,buthehadglumspellsnow,sittingandstaringandblowinghisnoseonhisshirt.Mariahwas
agoodworker,andIfiguredshe’dstay,butBinah,shemoanedunderherbreathcauseshewasthenurserymaumaandtherewasnomorechildrentorear.
Isaidtomyself,Missuswillneedaseamstress,butthenInoticedtheblackdressagain.Fromhereonout,allshe’dneedwasafewofthosetowear,andshecouldhiresomebodyforthat.
Allofasudden,Sarahsaid,“...Fathercouldn’thavemeantthat!”
Missusshotheralookofvenom.“Yourfatherwrotethewordshimself,andwe’llhonorhiswishes.Wehavenochoice.PleaseallowMr.Hugertocontinue.”
Whenhestartedbackreading,Sarahlookedatmewiththesamesorrowfulblueeyesshe’dhadthedayshe
turnedelevenyearsoldandIwasstandingbeforeherwiththelavenderribbonroundmyneck.Theworldwasabashed-inplaceandshecouldn’tfixit.
InDecember,everybodywasontheirlastnervewaitingformissustosaywho’dgoandwho’dstay.IfIwassold,howwouldmaumafindmeif
shecameback?EverynightIputahot
brickinmybedtokeepmyfeetwarmandlaytherethinkinghowmaumawasalive.Outtheresomewhere.Iwonderedifthemanwhoboughtherwaskind.Iwonderedifhe’dputherinthefields.Wasshedoinganysewing?Didshehavemylittlebrotherorsisterwithher?Wasshestillwearingthe
pouchroundherneck?Iknewshe’dgetbackhereifshecould.Thiswaswhereherspiritwas,inthetree.ThiswaswhereIwas.
Don’tletmebetheonethathastogo.
Missusdidn’thaveChristmasthatyear,butshesaidgoaheadandhaveJonkonnuifyouwantto.Thatwasacustomthatgotstartedafewyearsbackbroughtby
theJamaicaslaves.Tomfrywoulddressupinashirtandpantstatteredwithstripsofbrightclothsewedon,andastovepipehatonhishead—whatwecalledtheRagman.We’dtraipsebehindhim,singingandbangingpots,windingtothebackdoor.He’dknockandmissusandeverybodywouldcomeoutandwatchhimdance.Thenmissuswouldhandoutlittle
giftstous.Couldbeacoinoranewcandle.Sometimesascarforacobpipe.Thiswassupposedtokeepushappy.
Wedidn’texpecttofeelinthemoodthisyear,butonJonkonnuday,herecameTomfryintheyard,wearinghisshaggyoutfit,andwemadealotofclatterandforgotourtroublesforaminute.
Missussteppedoutfrom
thebackdoorintheblackdresswithabasketofgifts,Sarah,Nina,Henry,andCharlesbehindher.Theyweretryingtosmileatus.EvenHenry,whotookafterhismauma,lookedlikeagrinningangel.
Tomfrydidhisjig.Twirled.Bounced.Waggedhisarms.Theribbonswhirledout,andwhenhewasdone,theyclapped,andhetookoff
thetallhatandrubbedthecrustofgrayonhisscalp.Reachinginthebasket,missusgavethewomenthesenicefansmadewithpaintedpaper.Themengottwocoins,notone.
Theskyhadbeencastdownallday,butnowthesunbrokefree.Missusleanedonhergold-tipcaneandsquintedatus.ShecalledoutTomfry’sname.ThenBinah.
Eli.Prince.Mariah.Shesaid,“Ihavesomethingextraforyou,”andhandedeachoneajarofgarglingoil.
“You’veservedmewell,”shetoldthem.“Tomfry,youwillgotoJohn’shousehold.Binah,youwillgotoThomas.Eli,I’msendingyoutoMary.”ThensheturnedtoPrinceandMariah.“I’msorrytosayyoumustbesold.It’snotmywish,butit’s
necessary.”Nobodyspoke.Thequiet
satonuslikeastoneyoucouldn’tlift.
Mariahdroppeddownandwalkedonherkneestomissus,cryingforhertochangehermind.
Missuswipedhereyes.Thensheturnedandwentinthehousefollowedbyhersons,butSarahandNinastayedbehind,theirfacesfull
ofpity.Theaxedidn’tfallonme.
Didn’tmyLorddeliverHandful?Theaxedidn’tfallonGoodiseither,andIfeltsurpriseoverthereliefthiscausedme.ButtherewasnoGodinanyofit.Nothingbutthefourofthemstandingthere,andMariah,stillonherknees.Icouldn’tbeartolookatTomfrywiththehatsquashedunderhisarm.
PrinceandEli,studyingtheground.Binah,holdingherpaperfan,staringatPhoebe.Adaughtershe’dneverseeagain.
Missusdoledouttheirjobstotheonesofusleft.SabetookoverforTomfryasthebutler.Goodishadtheworkyard,thestable,anddrovethecarriage.Phoebegotthe
laundry,andMintaandIgotEli’scleaningduties.
Whenthefirstoftheyearcame,missussetmetoworkontheEnglishchandelierinthedrawingroom.ShesaidElihadn’tshineditproperintenyears.Ithadtwenty-eightarmswithcrystalshadesandteardropsofcut-glasshangingdown.Usingtheladderandwearingwhitecottongloves,Itookitapartandlaiditout
onthetableandshineditwithammonia.Then,Icouldn’tfigureouthowtoputthethingbacktogether.
IfoundSarahinherroom,readingaleatherbook.“We’llfigureitout,”shesaid.Wehadn’ttalkedmuchsinceshegotback—sheseemedwoebegoneallthetime,alwaysstuckinthatsamebook.
Afterwefinallygotthe
chandelierbackontheceilinginonepiece,tearsflaredupinhereyes.Isaid,“Yousadaboutyourdaddy?”
Sheansweredmethestrangestway,andIknewwhatshesaidwastherealhurtshe’dbroughtbackwithher.“...I’mtwenty-sevenyearsold,Handful,andthisismylifenow.”Shelookedroundtheroom,upatthechandelier,andbackatme.
“...Thisismylife.Rightherefortherestofmydays.”Hervoicebrokeandshecoveredhermouthwithherhand.
Shewastrappedsameasme,butshewastrappedbyhermind,bythemindsofthepeopleroundher,notbythelaw.AttheAfricanchurch,Mr.Veseyusedtosay,Becareful,youcangetenslavedtwice,onceinyourbodyand
onceinyourmind.Itriedtotellherthat.I
said,“Mybodymightbeaslave,butnotmymind.Foryou,it’stheotherwayround.”
Sheblinkedatmeandthetearscameagain,shininglikecut-glass.
ThedayBinahleft,IheardPhoebecryingalltheway
fromthekitchenhouse.
Sarah
1February1820DearIsrael,HowoftenIhave
thoughtofourconversationsonboardship!Ireadthebookyouentrustedtomeandmyspiritwasdeeplykindled.Thereareso
manythingsIwishtoaskyou!HowIwishweweretogetheragain—
3February1820DearMr.Morris,Afterbeingaway
fromtheevilsofslaveryforsixmonths,mymindburstwithnewhorroratseeingitagainonmyreturntoCharleston.Itwasmadealltheworse
uponreadingthebookyougaveme.Ihavenowheretoturnbutyou—
10February1820DearMr.Morris,Itrustyouarewell.
Howisyourdearwife,Rebecca—
11February1820Thankyou,sir,for
thebook.IfindabewilderingbeautyinyourQuakerbeliefs—thenotionthereisaseedoflightinsideofus,amysteriousInnerVoice.WouldyoukindlyadvisemehowthisVoice—
Iwrotetohimoverandover,lettersIcouldn’tfinish.Invariably,Iwouldstopmid-
sentence.Iwouldlaydownthequill,foldtheletter,andconcealitwiththerestatthebackofmydeskdrawer.
Itwasthemiddleoftheafternoon,thewintergloomhoveringasIpulledoutthethickbundle,untiedtheblacksatinribbon,andaddedtheletterofFebruary11totheheap.Mailingtheletterswouldonlybringanguish.Iwastoodrawntohim.Every
letterheansweredwouldincitemyfeelingsmore.AnditwoulddonogoodtohavehimencouragingmetowardQuakerdom.TheQuakerswereadespisedsecthere,regardedasanomalous,plain-dressed,andstrange,atinyclusterofjarringlyeccentricpeoplewhodrewstaresonthestreet.Surely,Ididn’tneedtoinvitethatkindofridiculeandshun.And
Mother—shewouldneverallowit.
Hearinghercaneonthepineflooroutside,Isnatchedupthelettersandyankedopenthedrawer,myhandsfumblingwithpanic.Thestationerycascadedintomylapandontotherug.AsIstoopedtocollectit,thedoorswungopenwithoutaknockandshestoodframedintheopening,hereyesmoving
acrossmyhiddencache.Ilookedupatherwiththe
blackribbonfurlingfrommyfingers.
“You’reneededinthelibrary,”shesaid.Icouldn’tdetecttheslightestcuriosityinheraboutthecontentsI’dspilled.“Sabeispackingyourfather’sbooks—Ineedyoutooverseethathedoesitproperly.”
“Packing?”
“TheywillbedividedbetweenThomasandJohn,”shesaid,andturning,leftme.
Igathereduptheletters,tiedthemwiththeribbon,andslippedthembackintothedrawer.WhyIkeptthem,Ididn’tknow—itwasfoolish.
WhenIarrivedinthelibrary,Sabewasn’tthere.He’demptiedmostoftheshelves,stackingthebooksinseverallargetrunks,which
satopenonthefloor,thesamefloorwhereI’dkneltallthoseyearsagowhenFatherforbademethebooks.Ididn’twanttothinkofit,ofthatterribletime,oftheroomstrippednow,thebookslosttome,alwayslost.
IsankintoFather’schair.Theclockinthemainpassageclicked,magnifying,andIfelttheshadowsgatheringinsideofmeagain,worsethis
time.Sincereturning,I’dslippedfurtherintomelancholyeachday.ItwasthesametroughofdarknessI’dfallenintowhenIwastwelveandthelifehadgoneoutofeverything.MotherhadsummonedDr.Geddingsbackthen,andIfearedshemightdosoagain.Everyday,Iforcedmyselftocomedownfortea.Ienduredthevisitationsfromherfriends.I
keptupmyattendanceatchurch,atBiblestudy,atalmsmeetings.IsatwithMotherinthemornings,hoopsofembroideryonourlaps,willingtheneedlethroughthecloth.She’dgivenmethetaskofhouseholdrecords,andeachweekIsortedthroughthesupplies,writinginventoriesandprocurementlists.Thehouse,theslaves,Charleston,
Mother,thePresbyterians—theywerethewoofandwarpofeverything.
Ninahadpulledaway.ShewasangryatmeforremaininginPhiladelphiaafterFatherdied.“Youdon’tknowwhatitwaslikealonehere,”she’dcried.“Motherinstructedmeconstantlyintheerrorofmyways,everythingfromchurchtoslaverytomyrebellious
nature.Itwashorrible!”I’dbeenthebuffer
betweenherandMother,andmyremainingawayforsolonghadleftherexposed.“I’msorry,”Itoldher.
“Youonlywrotetomeonce!”Herbeautifulfacewascontortedwithhurtandresentment.“Once.”
Itwastrue.I’dbeensoenamoredwithmyfreedomupthere,Ihadn’tbothered.
“I’msorry,”Isaidagain.Iknewintimeshewould
forgivetheselfishmonthsI’dabandonedher,butIsensedtheestrangementcamefrommorethanthat.Atfifteen,sheneededtobreakaway,tocomeoutfrommyshadow,tounderstandwhoshewasseparatefromme.MyretreattoPhiladelphiawasonlytheexcusesheneededtodeclareherindependence.
Asshefledtoherroomthedayofourconfrontation,sheshouted,“Motherwasright,Ihavenomindofmyown.Onlyyours!”
Wepassednowlikestrangers.Iletherbe,butitaddedtomydespair.
Istaredatthetrunksofbooksonthelibraryfloor,rememberingthepangsI’doncehadforaprofession,forsomepurpose.Theworldhad
beensuchabeckoningplaceonce.
Sabestillhadnotreturned.Igotupfrommychairandrummagednostalgicallyamongthebooks,cominguponTheSacredBiographyofJeanned’ArcofFrance.Icouldn’tsayhowmanytimesI’dreadthatwondrouslittlevolumeofSaintJoan’sbraverybeforeFatherhadbannedmefrom
hislibrary.Openingitnow,Igazedatasketchofhercoatofarms—twofleursdelis.I’dforgottenitwasthere,anditmadesuddensensetomewhyI’dlatchedontothefleurdelisbuttonwhenIwaseleven.Islippedthebookbeneathmyshawl.
Thatnight,unabletosleep,Iheardtheclockdownstairsbongtwo,thenthree.Therainbegansoon
after,beatingwithoutmercyagainstthepiazzaandthewindows.Iclimbedfromthecoversandlitthelantern.IwouldwritetoIsrael.Iwouldtellhimhowmelancholyswallowedmeattimes,howIalmostfeltthegravewouldbearefuge.IwouldwriteyetanotherletterIwouldn’tmail.Perhapsitwouldrelieveme.
Ipulledopenthedeskdrawerandwatchedthelight
tumbleinsideit.There,asI’dleftit,wasmyBibleandmyBlackstonecommentary,mystationery,ink,pen,ruler,andsealingwax,yetIdidn’tseethebundleofletters.Idrewthelampcloserandreachedmyhandintotheemptycorners.Theblackribbonwasthere,curledlikeamaliciousafterthought.MyletterstoIsraelweregone.
Iwantedtoscreamather.
Theneedtookholdofmewithblindingviolence,andIflungopenmydoorandrusheddownthestairs,clingingtotherailasmyfeetseemedtosweepoutfromunderme.
Ibatteredherdoorwithmyfist,thenrattledtheknob.Itwaslocked.“...Howdareyoutakethem!”Ishrieked.“Howdareyou.Openthedoor.Openit!”
Icouldn’timaginewhatshe’dthoughtonreadingmyintimateimploringstoastrangerintheNorth.AQuaker.Amanwithawife.DidshethinkI’dremainedinPhiladelphiaforhim?
Behindthedoor,IheardhercalltoMinta,whosleptonthefloornearherbed.Ipoundedagain.“...Openit!Youhadnoright!”
Shedidn’trespond,but
Nina’sscaredvoicecamefromthestairlanding.“Sister?”
Lookingup,Isawherwhitegownglowinginthedark,HenryandCharlesbesideher,thethreeofthemlikewraiths.
“...Gotobed,”Isaid.Theirbarefeetslapped
thefloorandIheardthedoorstotheirroomsbangshutonebyone.Turning
back,Iliftedmyfistagain,butmyragehadbeguntorecede,flowingbackintotheterribleplaceit’dcomefrom.Limpandexhausted,Ileanedmyheadagainstthedoorsill,hatingmyself.
Thenextmorning,Icouldn’tgetoutofbed.Itriedveryhard,butitwasasifsomethinginmehaddropped
anchor.Irolledmyfaceintothepillow.Inolongercared.
Duringthedaysthatfollowed,Handfulbroughtmetraysoffood,whichIbarelytouched.Ihadnohungerforanythingexceptsleep,anditeludedme.SomenightsIwanderedontothepiazzaandstaredovertherailatthegarden,imaginingmyselffalling.
Handfulplacedagunny
sackbesidemeonthebedoneday.“Openitup,”shesaid.WhenIdid,thesmellofcharwaftedout.Inside,Ifoundmyletters,singedandblackened.She’dfoundMintatossingthemintothefireinthekitchenhouse,asMotherhadordered.Handfulhadrescuedthemwithapoker.
Whenspringcameandmystateofminddidn’t
improve,Dr.Geddingsarrived.Motherseemedgenuinelyafraidforme.Shevisitedmyroomwithhandfulsofdroopingjonquilsandspokesweetly,sayingIshouldcomeforastrollwithheronGadsdenGreen,orthatshe’daskedAunt-Sistertobakemearicepudding.Shebroughtmenotesofconcernfrommembersofmychurch,whowereunderthe
impressionIhadpleurisy.Iwouldgazeatherblankly,thenlookawaytowardthewindow.
Ninavisited,too.“Wasitme?”sheasked.“DidIcauseyoutofeellikethis?”
“Oh,Nina,”Isaid.“...Youmustneverthinkthat...Ican’texplainwhat’swrongwithme,butit’snotyou.”
ThenonedayinMay,Thomasappeared.Heinsisted
wesitontheporchwheretheairwaswarmandweighedwiththescentoflilacs.IlistenedashewentonheatedlyaboutarecentcompromiseinCongressthathadundonethebanonslaveryinMissouri.“ThatdamnableHenryClay!”hesaid.“TheGreatPacificator.Hehasstartedthecancerspreadingagain.”
Ihadnoideawhathewas
talkingabout.Tomysurprise,though,Ifeltcurious.Later,IwouldrealizethatwasThomas’intention—creatingalittlepulleytotryandtowmeback.
“He’safool—hebelieveslettingslaveryintoMissouriwillplacatethefirebrandsdownhere,butit’sonlysplittingthecountryfurther.”Hereachedforthenewspaperhe’dbroughtandspreaditout
forme.“Lookatthis.”Aletterhadbeenprinted
onthefrontpageoftheMercury,whichcalledClay’scompromiseafirebellinthenight.
Ithasawakenedandfilledmewithterror.IconsiderittheknelloftheUnion...Theletterwassigned,ThomasJefferson.
It’dbeensolongsinceI’dcaredwhatwashappening
outthere.Someoldwrathsparkedinme.Hostilitytowardslaverymustbefindingsomeboldnewfooting!Why,itsoundedasifmybrotherhimselfwashostiletoit.
“...YouaresidedwiththeNorth?”Iasked.
“Ionlyknowwecan’tgoonblindtothesinofputtingpeopleinchains.Itmustcometoanend.”
“...Areyoufreeingyourslaves,then,Thomas?”Askingitwasvindictive.Iknewhehadnosuchintention.
“Whileyouwereaway,IfoundedanAmericancolonizationchapterhereinCharleston.We’reraisingmoney.”
“...Pleasetellmeyou’renotstillhopingtobuyupalltheslavesandsendthemback
toAfrica?”Ihadn’tfeltsuchfervorsincemydiscussionswithIsraelduringthevoyage.Mycheeksburnedwithit.“...Thatisyouranswertothespreadingcancer?”
“Itmaybeapooranswer,Sarah,butIcanimaginenoother.”
“...Mustourimaginationsbesofeebleasthat,Thomas?IftheUniondies,asouroldpresident
says,itwillbefromlackofimagination...ItwillbefromSouthernhubris,andourloveofwealth,andthebrutalityofourhearts!”
Hestoodandlookeddownatme.Hesmiled.“Theresheis,”hesaid.“There’smysister.”
IcannotsayIbecamemyoldselfafterthat,butthemelancholygraduallylifted,replacedwiththejittery
feelingofemerging,likeacreaturewithoutaskinorashell.Ibegantoeatthericepuddings.IsippedteasteepedinSt.John’sWort,andsatinthesun,andrereadtheQuakerbook.Ithoughtoftenofthefirebellinthenight.
Atmidsummer,withoutanyforethought,Itookoutasheetofstationery.
19July1820
DearMr.Morris,Forgivemylong
delayinwritingtoyou.ThebookyougavemelastNovemberaboardshiphasbeenmyfaithfulcompanionforallthistime.TheQuakerbeliefsbeckontome,butIdonotknowifIhavethecouragetofollowthem.Therewouldbeagreat
anddreadfulcost,ofthatI’mcertain.Iasknothing,exceptyourcounsel.
YoursMostTruly,SarahGrimké
IgavethelettertoHandful.“Guarditcarefully,”Itoldher.“Postityourselfintheafternoonmail.”
WhenIsrael’sletterarrivedinreturn,Iwasinthewarmingkitchen,surveyingthepantriesandwritingalistoffoodsneededatthemarket.HandfulhadwaylaiditfromSabewhenitarrivedatthedoor.Shehandedittome,andwaited.
Itookabutterknifefromthedrawerandrippedtheseal.Ireadittwice,onceto
myself,thenaloudtoher.
10September1820DearMissGrimké,Iwasgratifiedto
receiveyourletterandmostespeciallytolearnthatyouareswayedtotheQuakers.God’swayisnarrowandthecostisgreat.Iremindyouofthescripture:“Hethatfindshislifeshalllose
it,andhethatloseshislifeshallfindit.”Donotfeartolosewhatneedstobelost.IregrettosayIhave
graveandsorrowfulnewstoimpart.MydearRebeccapassedawaylastJanuary.ShediedofamalignantinfluenzasoonafterourreturntoPhiladelphia.Mysister,Catherine,
hascometocareforthechildren.Theymisstheirmother,asdoI,butwearecomfortedthatourbelovedwifeandmotheriswithGod.Writetome.Iam
heretoencourageyouinyourpath.
YourFriend,Israel
Morris
Isatinmyroomatmiddaywithmyeyesclosedandmyfingerslacedinmylap,listeningfortheVoicetheQuakersseemedsosurewasinsideofus.I’dbeenindulginginthisdubiousactivitysincereceivingIsrael’sletter,thoughIdoubtedtheQuakers
would’vecalleditanactivity.Forthem,thislisteningwastheultimateinactivity,akindofcapitulationtothestillnessofone’sprivateheart.IwantedtobelieveGodwouldeventuallyshowup,murmuringlittlecommandsandilluminations.Asusual,Iheardnothing.
I’drespondedtoIsrael’sletterimmediately,myhandshakingsobadlytheinklines
hadappearedricketyonthepaper.I’dpouredoutmysympathy,myprayers,allsortsofpiousassurances.Everywordseemedtrite,liketheprattlethatwentonatmyBiblestudies.Ifeltprotectedbehindit.
He’drespondedwithanotherletterandourcorrespondencehadfinallybegun,consistingmostlyofearnestinquiresonmypart
andbitsofguidanceonhis.IaskedhimpointedlywhattheInnerVoicesoundedlike.HowwillIrecognizeit?“Icannottellyou,”hewrote.“Butwhenyouhearit,youwillknow.”
Thatdaythesilencefeltunusuallydullandheavy,liketheweightofwater.Itcloggedmyearsandthrobbedagainstmydrums.Fidgetythoughtsdartedthroughmy
mind,remindingmeofsquirrelslooseintheirtrees.PerhapsIwastooAnglican,tooPresbyterian,tooGrimkéforthis.Iliftedmyeyestothefireplaceandsawthecoalshadgoneout.
Justafewmoreminutes,Itoldmyself,andwhenmylidssankclosedagain,Ihadnoexpectations,nohope,noendeavoring—I’dgivenupontheVoice—anditwasthen
mymindstoppedracingandIbegantofloatonsomequietstream.
Gonorth.Thevoicebrokeintomy
smalloblivion,droppinglikeadark,beautifulstone.
Icaughtmybreath.Itwasnotlikeacommonthought—itwasdistinct,shimmering,anddensewithGod.
Gonorth.Iopenedmyeyes.My
heartleaptsowildlyIplacedahandacrossmybreastandpressed.
Itwasunthinkable.Unmarrieddaughtersdidn’tgoofftoliveunprotectedontheirowninaforeignplace.Theylivedathomewiththeirmothers,andwhentherewasnomother,withtheirsisters,andwhentherewerenosisters,withtheirbrothers.Theydidn’tbreakwith
everythingandeveryonetheyknewandloved.Theydidn’tthrowovertheirlivesandtheirreputationsandtheirfamilyname.Theydidn’tcreatescandals.
Irosetomyfeetandpacedbeforethewindow,sayingtomyselfitwasn’tpossible.MotherwouldraindownArmageddon.VoiceornoVoice,shewouldputaswiftendtoit.
Fatherhadleftallhispropertiesandthevastshareofhiswealthtohissons,buthehadn’tforgottenhisdaughters.He’dleftuseachtenthousanddollars,andifIwerefrugal,ifIlivedontheinterest,itwouldprovideformetherestofmylife.
Beyondthewindow,theskyloomedlarge,filledwithbrokenlight,andIrememberedsuddenlythat
daylastwinterinthedrawingroomwhenHandfulcleanedthechandelier,theallegationshe’dleveledatme:Mybodymightbeaslave,butnotmymind.Foryou,it’stheotherwayround.I’ddismissedthewords—whatcouldsheknowofit?ButIsawnowhowexacttheywere.Mymindhadbeenshackled.
Istrodetomydresserandopenedthedrawerofmy
Hepplewhite,theoneIneveropened,theonethatheldthelavabox.Insideit,IfoundthesilverbuttonHandfulhadreturnedtomesomeyearsago.Itwasblackwithtarnishandlongforgotten.Itookitinmypalm.
HowdoesoneknowthevoiceisGod’s?Ibelievedthevoicebiddingmetogonorthbelongedtohim,thoughperhapswhatIreallyheard
thatdaywasmyownimpulsetofreedom.Perhapsitwasmyownvoice.Doesitmatter?
PARTFOURSeptember1821–July
1822
SarahThehousewasnamedGreenHill.WhenIsraelwrote,invitingmetostaywithhisfamilyinthecountrysideofPhiladelphia,I’dimaginedanairy,white-framehousewithabigverandaandshuttersthecolorofpine.Itwasashocktoarriveattheendofspring
andfindasmallcastlemadeentirelyofstone.GreenHillwasamegalithicarrangementofpalegrayrocks,archedwindows,balconies,andturrets.Gazingupatitforthefirsttime,Ifeltlikeaproperexile.
Israel’slatewifeRebeccahadatleastmadetheinsideofthehousesoft.She’dfilleditwithhookedrugsandfloralpillows,withsimpleShaker
furnitureandwallclocksfromwhichlittlebirdspoppedoutalldayandcoo-cooedthehour.Itwasaveryoddplace,butIcametolikelivinginsideaquarry.Ilikedthewaythestonefaçadeglistenedintherainandsilveredoverwhenthemoonwasfull.Ilikedhowthechildren’svoicesechoedinslowspiralsthroughtheroomsandhowtheairstayed
dimandcoolintheheatoftheday.Mostly,Ilikedhowimpenetrableitfelt.
Itookupresidenceinagarretroomonthethirdfloor,followingmonthsofcorrespondencewithIsraelandendlessskirmisheswithMother.MytactichadbeentoconvinceherthewholethingwasGod’sidea.Shewasadevoutwoman.Ifanythingcouldtrumpher
socialobsessions,itwaspiety,butwhenItoldherabouttheInnerVoice,shewashorrified.Inhermind,I’dgonethewayofthelunaticfemalesaintswho’dgottenthemselvesboiledinoilandburnedatthestake.WhenIfinallyconfessedImeanttoliveundertheroofofthemanI’dwrittenthosescandalous,unsentlettersto,shebrokeoutinsymptoms,
coldsorestochestpain.Thechestpainswererealenough,asevidencedbyherdrawn,perspiringface,andIworriedmyintentionsmightliterallykillher.
“Ifthere’sashredofdecencyinyou,youwillnotrunofftoliveinthehouseofaQuakerwidower,”she’dshoutedduringourfinalclash.
Wewereinher
bedchamberatthetime,andIstoodwithmybacktothewindow,lookingatherfacestreakedwithanger.
“...Israel’sunmarriedsisterlivesthere,too,”Itoldherforthetenthtime.“...I’msimplyrentingaroom.I’llhelpwiththechildren,I’mtobeinchargeofthegirls’lessons...It’sallveryrespectable.Thinkofmeasatutor.”
“Atutor.”Shepressedthebackofherhandtoherforeheadasifwardingoffsomeheavenlydebris.“Thiswouldkillyourfather,ifheweren’talreadydead.”
“...Don’tbringFatherintothis.Hewouldwantmetobehappy.”
“Icannot—Iwillnotblessthis!”
“...ThenI’llgowithoutyourblessing.”Iwasdazedat
myboldness.Shedrewbackinthe
chair,andIknewI’dstungher.Sheglaredatmewithtaut,blisteringeyes.“Thengo!Butkeepthissordidbusinessofhearingvoicestoyourself.You’regoingnorthforyourhealth,doyouunderstand?”
“...Andwhatexactlyismyaffliction?”
Shelookedtowardthe
windowandseemedtosurveyapieceofthesaffronsky.Hersilencewentonforsolong,IwonderedifI’dbeendismissed.“Coughing,”shesaid.“Wefearyouhaveconsumption.”
ThatwasthepactImade.Motherwouldtoleratemysojournandrefrainfromseveringmefromthefamily,andIwouldpretendmylungswerethreatenedwith
consumption.Duringthethreemonths
I’dbeenatGreenHill,I’doftenfeltdislocatedandhomesick.ImissedNina,andHandfulwasalwaysattheedgesofmymind.Tomysurprise,ImissedCharleston,certainlynotitsslaveryoritssocialcastes,butthewashoflightontheharbor,thesaltbriningtheair,BirdsofParadiseinthegardenswith
theirorangeheadsraised,summerwindsflappingthehurricaneshuttersonthepiazzas.WhenIclosedmyeyes,IheardthebellsonStPhilip’sandsniffedthechokingsweetnessoftheprivethedgethatfelloverthecity.
Mercifully,thedaysherehadbeenbusy.Theywerefilledwitheightforlornchildrenrangingfromfive
yearsallthewaytosixteenandthedomesticchoresIundertookforIsrael’ssister,Catherine.EveninmymostseverePresbyterianmoments,I’dbeennomatchforher.Shewasawell-meaningwomanafflictedwithanincurableprimness.Despiteherspectacles,shehadweak,wateryeyesthatcouldn’tseeenoughtothreadaneedleormeasureflour.Ididn’tknow
howthey’dmanagedbeforeme.Thegirls’dresseswereunevenlyhemmedandwewereasapttogetsaltinthespongecakeassugar.
Therewerelong,weeklyridestotheArchStreetMeetinghouseintown,whereIwasnowaQuakerprobationer,havingenduredtheinterrogationfromtheCouncilofEldersaboutmyconvictions.Ihadonlyto
waitnowfortheirdecisionandbeonmybestbehavior.
Everyevening,toCatherine’simmensedispleasure,IsraelandIwalkeddownthehilltothelittlepondtofeedtheducks.Deckedingreeniridescentfeathersandfancyblackhoods,theywerethemostun-Quakerofducks.Catherinehadoncecomparedtheirplumagetomydresses.“Do
allSouthernladiesadornthemselvesinthisostentatiousmanner?”she’dasked.Ifthewomanonlyknew.I’dleftthemostgrandioseofmywardrobebehind.I’dgivenNinaanumberofsilkfrocksadornedwitheverythingfromfeatherstofur;alavishlaceheaddress;animportedvan-dykedcap;ashawlofflouncedtulle;alapisbrooch;
strandsofpearls;afaninlaidwithtinymirrors.
Atsomepoint,Iwouldhavetoun-trimmybonnet.Iwouldhavetogothroughtheformaldivestment,gettingridofallmylovelythingsandresortingtograydressesandbarebonnets,whichwouldmakemeappearplainerthanIalreadywas.Catherinehadalreadypresentedseveralofthesemousyoutfitstomeas
“encouragement,”asifthesightofthemencouragedanythingbutaversion.Fortunately,theun-trimmingritualwasn’trequireduntilmyprobationended,andIhadnointentionofhurryingit.
WhenIsraelandIvisitedthepond,wetossedcrustsofbreadonthewaterandwatchedtheduckspaddleafterthem.Therewasa
weatheredrowboatturnedupsidedowninthecattailsonthefarside,butweneverventuredintoit.Wesatinsteadonabenchhe’dbuilthimselfandconversedaboutthechildren,politics,God,andinevitably,theQuakerfaith.Hespokeagreatdealabouthiswife,who’dbeengoneayearandahalf.Shecould’vebeencanonized,hisRebecca.Once,after
speakingofher,hisvoicechokedandheheldmyhandaswelingeredsilentlyinthedeepeningvioletlight.
InSeptember,beforesummerleftus,IwasfathomsdeeponthemattressinmyroomwhenthesoundofcryingbrokeintomyslumberandIcameswimmingupfromadarkbluesleep.Thewindow
washingedopen,andforamomentIheardnothingbutthecricketsintheirpercussion.Thenitcameagain,akindofwhimpering.
IcrackedthedoortofindBecky,Israel’ssix-year-old,swallowedinanoversizedwhitegown,blubberingandrubbinghereyes.Shenotonlyhadhermother’sname,butherwilted,flaxenhair,andyetinsomewaysthe
childremindedmeofmyself.Shehadbrowsandlashessolighttheywerebarelyvisible,givingherthesamewhitewashedlookIwore.Morethanthat,shechewedandmumbledherwords,forwhichhersiblingsteasedherunmercifully.OverhearingoneofherbrotherscallherMealyMouth,I’dgivenhimatalking-to.Heavoidedmenowadays,butBeckyhad
followedmeabouteversincelikeabearcub.
Sherushedatmenow,throwingherselfintomyarms.
“...Mygoodness,what’sallthis?”
“IdreamedaboutMaMa.Shewasinaboxintheground.”
“...Oh,SweetOne,no.YourmotheriswithGodandhisangels.”
“ButIsawherinthebox.Isawher.”Hercrieslandedinwetburstsagainstmygown.
Icuppedthebackofherhead,andwhenhertearsstopped,Isaid,“Comeon...I’lltakeyoubacktoyourroom.”
Pullingaway,shedartedpastmetomybedandpulledthecomfortertoherchin.“Iwanttosleepwithyou.”
Iclimbedinbesideher,anunaccountablesolacewashingovermeassheedgedclose,nuzzlingmyshoulder.HerheadsmelledlikethesweetmarjoramleavesCatherinesewedintotheirpillows.Asherhandfellacrossmychest,Inoticedachaindanglingfromherclampedfist.
“...What’sthisinyourhand?”
“Isleepwithit,”shesaid.“ButwhenIdo,Idreamofher.”
Sheunfurledherfingerstorevealaround,gold-platedlocket.Thefrontwasengravedwithasprayofflowers,daffodilstiedwithabow,andbelowthem,aname.Rebecca.
“That’smyname,”shesaid.
“...Andthelocket,isit
yours,too?”“Yes.”Herfingerscurled
backoverit.I’dneverseenatraceof
jewelryonCatherineoronBecky’soldersister,butinCharlestonlocketswereascommononlittlegirlsashairbarrettes.
“Idon’twantitanymore,”shesaid.“Iwantyoutowearit.”
“...Me?Oh,Becky,I
couldn’twearyourlocket.”“Why?”Sheraisedup,
hereyescloudingoveragain.“Because...it’syours.It
hasyournameonit,notmine.”
“Butyoucanwearitfornow.Justfornow.”
Shegavemealookofsuchpleading,Itookitfromher.“...I’llkeepitforyou.”
“You’llwearit?”“...I’llwearitonce,ifit
makesyouhappy.Butonlyonce.”
Graduallyherbreathgrewelongatedandwhispery,thesoundofribbonsfluttering,andIheardhermutter,“MaMa.”
Allweek,Beckygreetedmewithasearchinglookatthecollarofmydress.I’dhopedshewouldforgettheepisode
withthelocket,butmywearingitseemedtohavebuilttoanimplausibleheightinhermind.SeeingIwaswithoutit,shewouldslumpindisappointment.
Wasitsillyofmetofeelwary?Woundinsidethelocketwasatendrilofhair,Becky’s,Isupposed,butthevaporouscolorofitmust’veconjuredmemoriesofhermother.Ifseeingthenecklace
onmebroughthersomefleetingconsolation,surelyitharmednothing.
Iworethelockettothegirls’tutoringsessiononThursday.Theboysmetintheclassroomeachmorningwithamaletutorwhocamefromthecity,whileIinstructedthetwogirlsthereintheafternoons.Israelhadbuiltasinglestripofdesktopsandattachedittothewall,as
wellasalongbench.He’dinstalledaslateboard,shelvesforbooks,andateacher’stablethatsmelledofcedar.ThatmorningIworemyemeralddress,whichhadseenpreciouslittlewearconsideringhowliketheducks’feathersitwas.Thenecklinecontouredtomycollarbones,wherethegoldlocketnestledinthegullybetweenthem.
WhenBeckyspiedit,sheroseonhertoes,herbodyswelledwithdelight,thetinyfeaturesonherfacelevitatingforamoment.Forthenexthour,sherewardedmebyraisingherhandwheneverIaskedaquestion,whethersheknewtheanswerornot.
Ihadfreereinovertheircurriculum,andIwasdeterminedmyoldadversary,MadameRuffin,andher
“educationforthegentlefemalemind”wouldgetnowherenearit.Imeanttoteachthegirlsgeography,worldhistory,philosophy,andmath.Theywouldreadthehumanities,andwhenIwasdone,knowLatinbetterthantheirbrothers.
Iwasn’tagainstthemlearningnaturalhistory,however,andafteraparticularlygruelinglesson
onlongitudesandlatitudes,IopenedJohnJamesAudubon’sBirdsofAmerica,amassivebrownleatherfolio,weighingatleastasmuchasBecky.Turningtotheruffedgrouse,whichwascommoninthewoodsnearby,Isaid,“Whocanmimicitscall?”
Therewewere,aflockofruffedgrousesattheopenwindow,trillingandwhistling,whenCatherine
enteredtheclassroomanddemandedtoknowwhatsortoflessonIwasconducting.She’dheardourchirpingasshegatheredthelastcucumbersinthegarden.“Thatwasquiteabitofdisturbance,”shesaid,thevegetablebasketswingingonherarm,siftingcrumbsofsoilontoherash-coloreddress.Becky,everalerttoheraunt’sannoyance,spoke
beforeIcouldpushoutmywords.“Wewerecallingtheruffedgrouse.”
“Wereyou?Isee.”Shelookedatme.“Itseemedundulyloud.Perhapsmorequietlynexttime.”
Ismiledatherandshecockedherheadandsteppedcloser,socloseherdresshembrushedmine.Hereyesmagnifiedbehindthethicksetlensofherglassesasshe
concentratedonthelocketatmythroat.
“Whatisthemeaningofthis?”shesaid.
“...Themeaningofwhat?”
“Takeitoff!”Beckywedgedherself
betweenus.“Auntie.Auntie.”Catherineignoredher.
“Yourintentionshavebeenmorethancleartome,Sarah,butIhadnotthoughtyou
wouldbesoboldastowearRebecca’slocket!”
“...Rebecca?...Youmean,itbelongedto...”Myvoicedesertedme,mywordsadheringlikebarnaclesatthebackofmythroat.
“Israel’swife,”shesaid,finishingmysentence.
“Auntie?”Becky’supturnedface,drowninginthewavesofourgray-greenskirts,madeherlooklikea
castaway.“Igaveittoher.”“Youdidwhat?Well,I
don’tcarewhogaveittoher,sheshouldn’thavetakenit.”Shethrustoutherpalm,shovingitinchesfrommychin.Icouldhearairraspinginandoutofhernostrils.
“......ButIdidn’t...know.”
“Givemethelocket,please.”
“No,”Beckycried,
sinkingontotherug.Isteppedback,
unclaspingthenecklace,andplaceditinCatherine’shand.AsIbenttoscoopBeckyfromthefloor,herauntpulledthechildgentlybyherarmandmaneuveredbothgirlsfromtheroom.
Iwalkedcalmly,slowlyoutthedooranddownthe
escarpmenttowardthepond.Beforesteppingintothethicketoftrees,Ilookedbackatthehouse.Thelightwasstillcitrusandbright,butIsraelwouldbehomesoon,andCatherinewouldbewaitingforhimwiththelocket.
Cloakedinthecedars,Ipressedonehandtomystomachandonetomymouthandstoodthereseveral
seconds,asifsqueezingmyselftogether.ThenIstraightenedandfollowedthepathtothewater.
IheardthepondbeforeIsawit—thefrogsdeepintheirhum,theviolinwhirofinsects.Onimpulse,IwalkedalongtheedgeuntilIreachedtherowboat.Sunkinthemud,ittookallmystrengthtoflipitover.Iliftedouttheoarandinspectedthebottomfor
holesandrottedwood.Seeingnone,Igatheredupmyskirt,climbedin,andpaddledtothemiddleofthepond,anuntouchableplace,farfromeverything.ItriedtothinkwhatIwouldsaytohim,worriedmyvoicewouldslinkoffagainandleaveme.
Iremainedtherealongwhile,lappingonthesurface.Vaporcurledonthewater,dragonfliesprickedtheair,
andIthoughtitallbeautiful.IhopedIsraelwouldn’tsendmeaway.IhopedtheInnerVoicewouldnotshowupnow,saying,Gosouth.
“Sarah!”Ijerked,causingtheboat
totilt,andreachedforthesidestosteadyit.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Israelcalled.Hestoodonthebankinhiskneebritcheswiththeglintingbuckles,hatless.
Heshadedhiseyesandmotionedmeinwithhishand.
Ipulledthepaddlethroughthewater,bangingthewoodagainstthehullandmadeaninept,zigzagpathtoshore.
WesatonthebenchwhileIdidmybesttoexplainthatI’dthoughtthelocketbelongedtohisdaughterRebecca,nothiswife
Rebecca.ItoldhimabouttheeveningBeckybroughtittome,andwhilemyvoiceclenchedandspluttered,itdidn’tfailmealtogether.
“...Iwouldnevertrytotakeyourwife’splace.”
“No,”hesaid.“Noonecould.”
“...IdoubtCatherinewouldbelieveme,though...She’sveryangry.”
“She’sprotective,that’s
all.OurmotherdiedyoungandCatherinetookcareofme.Shenevermarried,andRebecca,thechildren,andIwereheronlyfamily.Yourpresence,I’mafraid,hasflusteredher.Idon’tthinkshereallyunderstandswhyIaskedyouhere.”
“...Idon’tthinkIunderstanditeither,Israel...WhyamIhere?”
“Youtoldmeyourself—
Godtoldyoutoleaveandcomenorth.”
“...Buthedidn’tsay,‘GotoPhiladelphia,gotoIsrael’shouse.’”
Heplacedhishandonmyarm,squeezingalittle.“DoyourememberthelastwordsmyRebeccasaidtoyouontheship?Shesaid,‘Ifyoucomenorthagain,youmuststaywithus.’Ithinkshebroughtyouhere.Forme,for
thechildren.IthinkGodbroughtyouhere.”
Ilookedawayfromhimtowardthepondblotchedwithpollenandsilt,thewaterbronzingintheshrinkinglight.WhenIlookedback,hepulledmetohimandheldmeagainsthischest,andIfeltitwasmeheheld,nothisRebecca.
HandfulIsmelledthecornfrittershalfablockfromDenmarkVesey’shouse,thefry-oilintheair,thesweetcornfusscomingdownthestreet.Fortwoyears,I’dbeensneakingoffto20BulleverytimeIfoundaholeintheweektosqueezethrough.Sabewasa
shiftlesslackeyofabutleranddidn’twatchusthewayTomfryhad—wecouldthankmissusforthatmuch.
I’dtellSabewewereoutofthread,beeswax,buttons,orratdroppings,andhe’dsendmewilly-nillytothemarket.Therestofthetimehedidn’tcarewhereIwas.TheonlythoughtinhisheadwasforslurpingdownmasterGrimké’sbrandiesand
whiskeysinthecellarandmessingroundwithMinta.Theywerealwaysintheemptyroomoverthecarriagehousedoingjustwhatyouthinkthey’redoing.Me,Aunt-Sister,Phoebe,andGoodiswouldhearthemallthewayfromthekitchenhouseporchandGoodiswouldcockhiseyebrowatme.Everybodyknewhe’dbeensweetonmesincethe
dayhegothere.He’dmadetherabbitcanespecialforme,andhewouldgivemethelastyamoffhisplate.OncewhenSabeyelledatmeforgoingmissing,GoodisstuckafistinhisfaceandSabebackedrightdown.Ineverhadamantouchme,neverhadwantedone,butsometimeswhenIwaslisteningtoSabeandMintaupinthecarriagehouse,Goodisdidn’tseemso
bad.WithSarahgone,the
wholeplacehadgonetohell’sdredges.Withthelastoftheboysincollege,therewasn’tanybodyleftinthehousebutmissusandNinaandussixslavestokeepitgoing.Missusstewedallthetimeaboutmoney.ShehadthelumpsummasterGrimkéleft,butshesaiditwasatrifleofwhatsheneeded.Paintwas
fleckingoffthehouseandshe’dsoldtheextrahorse.Shedidn’teatbirdnestpuddinganymore,andintheslavediningroom,welivedonriceandmorerice.
ThedayIsmelledthefritters,itwastwodaysbeforeChristmas—Iremembertherewasacoldpinchintheairandpalmwreathstackedonthedoorsofthepiazzas,wovenfancy
likehairbraids.ThistimeSabehadsentmetocarryanotefrommissustothesolicitor’soffice.Don’tthinkIdidn’treaditbeforeIhandeditover.
DearMr.Huger,Ifindthatmy
allowanceisinadequatetomeetthedemandsoflivingwell.Irequestthatyoualert
mysonsastomyneeds.Asyouknow,theyareinpossessionofpropertiesthatcouldbesoldinordertoaugmentmycare.Suchaproposalwouldsuitbettercomingfromamanofyourinfluence,whowasaloyalfriendtotheirfather.
YoursTruly,
MaryGrimké
IhadajarofsorghuminmypocketthatI’dswipedfromthelarder.IlikedtobringDenmarkalittlesomething,andthiswouldhitthespotwiththefritters.HehadahabitoftellingwhoeverwashangingroundhisplacethatIwashisdaughter.Hedidn’tsayIwaslikea
daughter,butclaimedoutandoutIwashis.Susangrumbledaboutit,butshewasgoodtome,too.
Ifoundherinherkitchenhouse,shovelingthecorncakesfromtheskillettotheplate.Shesaid,“Whereyoubeen?Wehaven’tseenyouinoveraweek.”
“Youcan’tdowithmeandyoucan’tdowithoutme.”
Shelaughed.“Icandowithyouallright.TheoneIcan’tdowithanddowithoutisinhisworkshop.”
“Denmark?What’shedonenow?”
Shesnorted.“Youmeanbesidekeepwomenalloverthecity?”
Itstruckmebesttosidestepthissincemaumahadbeenoneofthem.“Yeah,besidethat.”
Asmiledippedcrossherlips.Shehandedmetheplate.“Here,takethistohim.He’sinamood,isall.It’saboutthatMondayGell.HelostsomethingthatsetDenmarkoff.Somesortoflist.IthoughtDenmarkwasgonnakilltheman.”
IheadedbacktowardtheworkshopknowingMondayhadlosttherollofdrafteeshe’dbeencollectingfor
DenmarkoutontheBulkleyfarm.
Foralongtimenow,Denmarkandhislieutenantshadbeenrecruitingslaves,writingdowntheirnamesinwhathecalledtheBook.LastIheard,thereweremorethantwothousandpledgedtotakeuparmswhenthetimecame.Denmarkhadletmesitthereandlistenwhilehetalkedaboutraisinganarmyand
gettingusfree,andthemengotusedtomebeinginthere.TheyknewI’dkeepitquiet.
Denmarkdidn’tlikethewindtoblowunlesshetolditwhichwaytogo.He’dcomeupwiththeexactwordshewantedGullahJackandthemtosaywhentheywooedtherecruits.Oneday,hehadmepretendlikeIwastheslavehewascourting.
“Haveyouheardthe
news?”hesaidtome.“Whatnews?”I
answered.Likehetoldmetosay.
“We’regonnabefree.”“Free?Whosays?”“Comewithme,andI’ll
showyou.”Thatwasthewayhe
wanteditsaid.Then,ifaslaveinthecitywascuriousenough,thelieutenantwassupposedtobringhimto20
BulltomeetDenmark.Iftheslaveswereontheplantations,Denmarkwouldgotothemandholdasecretmeeting.
I’dbeenatthehousewhenoneofthosecuriousslaveshadshowedup,anditwassomethingI’dtaketomygrave.DenmarkhadsailedupfromhischairlikeElijahinhischariot.“TheLordhasspokentome,”hecriedout.
“Hesaid,setmypeoplefree.WhenyournameiswrittenintheBook,you’reoneofusandyou’reoneofGod’s,andwe’lltakeourfreedomwhenGodsays.Letnotyourheartbetroubled.Neitherletitbeafraid.YoubelieveinGod,believealsoinme.”
Whenhespokethosewords,ajolttraveledthroughme,thesameoneIusedtogetinthealcovewhenIwas
littleandthoughtaboutthewatertakingmesomewhere,orinchurchwhenwesangabouttheJerichowallscrumblingandthedrumsticksinmylegsbeatthefloor.Mynamewasn’tintheBook,justthemen’s,butIwould’veputitinthereifIcould.Iwould’vewrittenitinblood.
Today,DenmarkwaspeggingthelegsonaScotpinetable.WhenIstepped
intotheroomwiththefritters,hesetdowntheclawhammerandgrinned,andwhenIpulledoutthesorghumtoboot,hesaid,“Ifyouaren’tCharlotteallover.”
Leaningontheworktabletotaketheheftoffmyleg,Iwatchedhimeatforawhile,thenIsaid,“SusansaidMondaylosthislist.”
Thedoortothebackalleywasopentoletthesawdust
floatoutandhewentover,peeredbothways,andclosedit.“Mondayisadamnfoolidiot.HekepthislistinsideanemptyfeedbarrelintheharnessshoponBulkleyfarm,andyesterdaythebarrelwasgoneandnobodyknowswhere.”
“Whatwouldhappenifsomebodyfindsit?”
Hesatbackonthestoolandpickedupthefork.“It
depends.IfthelistrousessuspicionandgetsturnedovertotheGuard,they’dgothroughthenameswithawhiptilltheyfoundoutwhatitwasabout.”
Thatraisedgoosefleshonmyarms.Isaid,“Wheredoyoukeepyournames?”
Hestoppedchewing.“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”
Iwastreadingonthethinsideofhistemper,butI
didn’tcare.“Well,aretheyhiddengoodornot?”
Hiseyesstrayedtotheleathersatchelontheworktable.
“They’reinthesatchel?”Isaid.“Rightthereforthetaking?”
Isaiditlikehewasadamnfoolidiot,too,butinsteadoflashingout,helaughed.“Thatsatcheldoesn’tleavemysight.”
“ButiftheGuardgetsholdofMonday’snamesandcomeslookingforyou,they’llfindyourlisteasyenough.”
Hegotquietandbrushedthesugardustoffhismouth.HeknewIwasright,butdidn’twanttosay.
Thesunwassteppingthroughthewindow,layingdownfourbrightquiltsquaresonthefloor.Istared
atthemwhilethesilencehung,thinkinghowhe’dsaidIwasCharlotteallover,anditpoppedinmymindthewayshe’dputpiecesofourhairandlittlecharmsdowninsideherquilts,andthenIrememberedthetimeshegotcaughtred-handedwithmissus’greensilk.She’dtoldmethen,“Ishould’vesewedthatsilkinsideaquiltandsheneverwould’vefoundit.”
“Iknowwhatyouneedtodowiththelist,”Isaid.
“Youdo,doyou?”“Youneedtohideit
insideaquilt.Icansewasecretpocketinsidetoholdit.Thenyoujustlaythequiltonthebedinplainsightandnobodyknowsthedifference.”
Hepacedcrosstheworkshopthree,fourtimes.Finally,hesaid,“WhatifI
needtogettothelist?”“That’seasy,I’llleavean
openingintheseambigenoughforyourhandtoslipinandout.”
Henodded.“SeeifSusanhasaquiltsomewhere.Getbusy.”
Whenthenewyearcame,NinascroungedupfivegirlsandstartedtheFemalePrayer
Society.TheymetinthedrawingroomWednesdaymornings.Iservedtheteaandbiscuits,tendedthefire,andwatchedthedoor,andfromwhatIcouldtell,thelastthinggoingonwaspraying.Ninawasintheredoingherbesttointroducethemtotheevilsofslavery.
Thatgirl.ShewaslikeSarah.Hadthesamenotions,thesamecravingtobeuseful,
butthetwoofthemweredifferent,too.Seventeennow,Ninaturnedeveryheadthatlookedherwayandshecouldtalkthesaltfromthesea.Herbeauxdidn’tlastlong,though.Missussaidshechasedthemoffwithheropinionating.
Idon’tknowwhyshedidn’tchasethegirlsoffeither.
Duringthemeetings,she
madehot-bloodedspeechesthatwentontilloneofthegirlslostthepointofitandturnedthetalktosomethingelse—whodancedwithwhoorwhoworewhatatthelastsocial.Ninawouldgiveupthen,butsheseemedgladtospeakhermind,andmissuswashappy,too,thinkingNinahadfinallyfoundsomereligion.
Itwasduringameetingin
MarchthattheSmithgirltookumbrage.Ninawastakingspecialcaretoletherknowhowbadherneighborhoodwas.
“Wouldyoucomeoverhere,Handful?”Ninacalled.Sheturnedtothegirls.“Seeherleg?Seehowshedragsitbehindher?That’sfromthetreadmillattheWorkHouse.It’sanabomination,andit’srightunderyournose,
Henrietta!”TheSmithgirlbristled.
“Well,whatwasshedoingattheWorkHouseinthefirstplace?Theremustbesomediscipline,mustn’tthere?Whatdidshedo?”
“Whatdidshedo?Haven’tyouheardanythingI’vebeensaying?Godhelpus,howcanyoubesoblind?IfyouwanttoknowhowHandfulcametobeatthe
WorkHouse,she’sstandingrighthere.She’saperson,askher.”
“I’drathernot,”thegirlsaidandtuckedherskirtsinroundherlegs.
Ninarosefromherchairandcametostandbesideme.“Whydon’tyoutakeyourshoeoffandshowherthekindofbrutalitythattakesplaceonthesamestreetwhereshelives?”
Ishould’vemindeddoingit,butIalwaysrememberedthatdayTomfrycaughtmeinfrontofthehousesneakingofftoDenmark’s,howNinacametomyrescue.She’dneveraskedwhereI’dgone,andthefactwas,IwantedthegirlstoseewhattheWorkHousehaddonetome.Ituggedoffmyshoeandbaredthemisshapedboneandthepinky-fleshscarswriggling
crossmyskinlikeearthworms.Thegirlspressedtheirfingersundertheirnosesandblanchedwhiteasflour,butHenriettaSmithdidonebetter.Shefaintedsidewaysinherchair.
Igotthesmellingsaltsandbroughtherround,butnotbeforemissusheardtheuproar.
Lateronthatnightinmycellarroom,Iheardatapand
openedthedoortofindNinawithhereyespuffedout.
“DidMotherpunishyou?”sheasked.“Ihavetoknow.”
SincemasterGrimkédied,missushitMintawiththegold-tipcanesomuchyouneversawherwithoutblackbruisesonherbrownarms.ItwasnowondershewenttothecarriagehousewithSabetogetsalved.Shestruckme
andPhoebewiththecane,too,andhadeventakentoswipingAunt-Sister,whichIneverthoughtI’dlivetosee.Aunt-Sisterdidn’ttakeitlayingdown.Iheardhertellmissus,“Binahandtheonesyousold,theytheluckyones.”
Ninawassaying,“ItriedtotellherthatIaskedyoutotakeoffyourshoe,thatyoudidn’tjustvolunteer—”
Istuckoutmyarmandshowedherthewelt.
“Thecane?”Ninaasked.“Onestrike,butagood
one.What’dshedotoyou?”“Mostly,alotofscolding.
Thegirlswon’tbecomingbackforanymoremeetings.”
“No,Ididn’tthinkso,”Isaid.ShelookedsodismalIadded,“Well,youtried.”
HereyeswateredupandIhandedhermycleanhead
scarf.Takingit,shesankdownintherockerandburiedherfaceinit.Ididn’tknowhowmuchmorehereyescouldtake,whethershewascryingoverherfailurewiththeFemalePrayerSociety,orSarahleaving,ortheshortfallsofpeople.
Whenshewasallcriedout,shewentbacktoherroom,andIlitacandleandsatinthewavylight,
picturingthequiltonDenmark’sbed,andinsideit,thehiddenpocket,andinsidethat,thescrollofpaperwithallthenames.Peoplereadytolaytheirlivesdowntogetfree.ThedayIcameupwiththeschemeofhidingthelist,Susandidn’thaveasinglequiltinthehouse—sheusedplainwoolblankets.Imadeanewquiltfromscratch—redsquaresandblacktriangles,
meandmauma’sfavorite,theblackbirdsflyingaway.
Denmarkbelievednothingwouldchangewithoutbloodspilled.Ploppedintherockernow,IthoughtaboutNina,herlecturingtofivespoiltwhitegirls,andSarahbeingsoupsetwiththewayherworldwas,shehadtoleaveit,andwhileIfeltthegoodnessinwhattheydid,itseemedtheir
lecturingandleavingdidn’tcometomuchwhenyouhadthismuchcrueltytoovercome.
Theretributionwascomingandwe’dbringitourselves.Bloodwastheway.Itwastheonlyway,wasn’tit?IwasgladnowSarahwasfarawayfromdanger,andIwouldhavetokeepNinasafe.Isaidtomyself,Letnotyourheartbe
troubled.Neitherletitbeafraid.
SarahIsnappedopenthecrispwhitetablecloth,unfurlingitupward,watchingitturnintoasmallovoidcloudbeforeitsankontothepineneedles.
“Thisisn’ttheclothweuseforpicnics,”Catherinesaid,crossingherarmsoverherchest.
Hercriticismsofmeweresimilartoherprayers—sacred,daily,andunsmiling.Iwascarefulnow.Itaughtthechildren,butItriednottoappearmothering.IdeferredtoCatherineinallhouseholdmatters—ifsheputsaltinthecake,sheputsaltinthecake.AndIsrael—Ididn’tsomuchaslookathimwhenshewasintheroom.
“...I’msorry,”Itoldher.
“...Ithoughtyousaidtogetthewhitecloth.”
“Itwillhavetobebleachedandclearstarched.Let’spraythere’snopinesapontheground.”
God,nopinesap.Please.Itwasthefirstdayof
April,whichalsohappenedtobeBecky’sseventhbirthdayandthefirstdayallyearonecouldactuallycallwarm.Aftermyfirstwinterinthe
North,Ihadanentirelynewappreciationforheat.I’dneverseensnowbeforearrivinghere,andwhenit’dcome,thePennsylvaniaskysplitopenlikeavastgoosedowncomforterandtheentireworldturnedtofeathers.Thefirsttimeithappened,Islippedoutsideandwanderedaboutcatchingflakesinmyhandsandonmytongue,lettingthemsettle
intomyhair,whichI’dleftlongandflowingdownmyback.Returningtothehouse,IspottedIsraelandseveralofthechildrenwatchingmefromthewindow,lookingquiteastonished.Myenchantmentturnedtoslushaboutthesametimethesnowdid.Weseemedstuckinaperpetualtwilight.Colorbledfromtheworld,recastingthelandscapeintogradationsof
blackandwhite,andnomatterhowruthlesslythefireplacesroared,coldformedonmyCharlestonboneslikehoarfrost.
Thepicnichadbeenmyidea.Quakersdidn’tcelebrateholidays—alldaysweretreatedequally,meanttobelivedwiththesamesimplicity—butIsraelwasknowntohedgeabitonthechildren’sbirthdays.Hewashome
workingthatday,shutinhisstudywithinvoicesandledgersandbillsofexchange.HavingenoughsensenottogotoCatherinewithmywhim,I’dinterruptedhimmid-morning.
“...Springhascome,”I’dsaid.“Let’snotsquanderit...Apicnicwilldousallgood,andyoushouldseeBecky,she’ssoexcitedtobeseven...Alittlecelebration
wouldn’thurt,wouldit?”Hesetdowntheaccount
bookinhishandandgazedatmewithaslow,defenselesssmile.It’dbeenmonthssincehe’dtouchedme.Backinthefallhe’doftenheldmyhandorslidhisarmaboutmywaistaswewalkedbackupthehillfromthepond,butthenwintercame,andthewalksceasedasheretreated,goingoffinsidehimself
somewheretohibernate.Ididn’tknowwhathadhappeneduntilonemorninginJanuarywhenCatherineannounceditwasthesecondanniversaryofRebecca’sdeath.Sheseemedtotakemorosejoyinexplaininghowdeeplyherbrotherwasmourning,evenmoresothiswinterthantheonebefore.
“Allright,havethepicnic,butnobirthdaycake,”
Israelsaid.“...Iwouldn’tdreamof
anythingsodecadentascake,”Ireplied,beaming,mockinghimalittle,andhelaughedoutright.
“Youshouldcome,too,”Iadded.
Hiseyesveeredtothelocket,lyingonhisdesk,theonewiththedaffodilsandhiswife’snameengravedonit.
“Perhaps,”hesaid.“I
haveagreatdealofworktodohere.”
“...Well,tryandjoinus.Thechildrenwouldlikethat.”Ileft,wishingIweren’tsodismayedbyhimattimes,athowmercurialhecouldbe,embracingoneday,stand-offishthenext.
Now,asIgazeddownatthewhiteclothspreadonthelawn,itwasn’tevendisappointmentIfelt,itwas
anger.Hehadn’tcome.CatherineandIlaidout
thecontentsofthebasket,adozenboiledeggs,carrots,twoloavesofbread,applebutter,andakindofsoftcheeseCatherinehadmadebyboilingcreamanddryingitinacloth.Thechildrenhadfoundathatchofmintatthewoods’edgeandwerecrushingtheleavesbetweentheirfingers.Theairpulsed
withthesmellofit.“Oh,”IheardCatherine
say.Shewasgazingtowardthehouse,atIsraelstridingtowardusthroughthebrowngrass.
Weatesittingonthegroundwithourfacesturnedtothebrightcraterofsky.Whenwefinished,Catherinepulledgingerbreadfromthebasketandstackedtheslicesinapyramid.“Thetopsliceis
foryou,Becky,”shesaid.Itwasevidenthowmuch
Catherinelovedthechildandalltherestofthem,andIfeltasuddenremorseforallmyillthoughtsofher.Thechildrengrabbedthegingerbreadandscattered,theboystowardthetreesandthetwogirlsofftopluckthewildflowersbeginningtopokethroughthesod,anditwasatthismoment,asCatherine
busiedherselfclearingthingsaway,thatImadeaterriblemistake.
Ilanguished,leaningbackonmyelbowswithinanarm’slengthofIsrael,feelingthathe’dreturnedfromhislonghibernationandwantingtobaskinthethoughtofit.Catherine’sbackwastous,andwhenIlookedatIsrael,hehadthatyearningexpressionagain,thesad,
burningsmile,andhedaredtoslidehislittlefingeracrosstheclothandhookitaboutmine.Itwasasmallthing,ourfingerswrappedlikevines,buttheintimacyofitfloodedme,andIcaughtmybreath.
ThesoundmadeCatherineturnherheadandpeeratusoverhershoulder.Israelsnatchedhisfingerfrommine.OrdidIsnatch
minefromhis?Sheleveledhereyeson
him.“So,itisasIsuspected.”“Thisisnotyour
business,”hetoldher.Gettingtohisfeet,hesmiledregretfullyatmeandwalkedbackupthehill.
Shedidn’tspeakimmediately,butwhenItriedtoassistherinpackingthebasket,shesaid,“Youmustmoveoutandfindlodging
elsewhere.It’sunseemlyforyoutobehere.IwillspeaktoIsraelaboutyourleaving,butitwouldbebetterifyouleftonyourownwithouthimhavingtointervene.”
“...Hewouldn’taskmetoleave!”
“Wemustdowhatproprietycallsfor,”shesaid,andthensurprisedmebyplacingherhandonmine.“I’msorry,butit’sbestthis
way.”
TheelevenofussatonasinglepewintheArchStreetMeetinghouse—theeightMorrischildrenbookendedbyIsraelononesideandbyCatherineandmeontheother.Ithoughtitunnecessarythatweshouldallbehereforwhatwascalled“ameetingforworship
withaconcernforbusiness.”Itwasabusinessmeeting,forheaven’ssake,plainandsimple.Theyoccurredmonthly,butItypicallyremainedathomewiththechildren,whileIsraelandCatherineattended.Thistime,she’dinsistedweallattend.
CatherinehadwastedlittletimeinapproachingIsraelafterthepicnic,andhe’dstoodhisground—I
wouldstayatGreenHill.IfthelocketincidenthadcooledtheairbetweenCatherineandme,myrefusaltoleaveandIsrael’srefusaltobackherhadturneditbitter.Ionlyhopedintimeshewouldcomearound.
Insidethemeetingroom,awomanstoodtoconvenethemeetingbyreadingaversefromtheBible.Shewastheonlyfemaleminister
amongus.Shelookednomorethanmyownageoftwenty-nine,youngforsuchanachievement.ThefirsttimeI’dheardherspeakinMeeting,ithadbeenwithakindofawe.Ithoughtofitnowwithapangofjealousy.I’dmadetheessenceoftheQuakerfaithmyown,butsofarI’drefrainedfrommakingasingleutteranceinMeeting.
Asbusinessbegan,the
membersbroughtforthaseriesofmind-dullingmatters.TwoofIsrael’ssonswerequietlyshovingatoneanother,andtheyoungesthadfallenasleep.HowsenselessofCatherinetodragushere,Ithought.
Sherose,arranginghershawlabouthersmall,brittleshoulders.“I’mcompelledbytheSpirittobringforthamatterofconcern.”
Ijerkedmyheadupward,gazingatthesetedgeofherchin,andthenatIsraelontheoppositeendoftherow,whoappearedassurprisedasIwas.
“Iaskthatwecometounityonthenecessityoffindinganewhomeforourbelovedprobationer,SarahGrimké,”Catherinesaid.“MissGrimkéisanoutstandingteachertoIsrael’s
childrenandahelptomewithhouselyduties,andsheis,ofcourse,aChristianofthehighestorder,andit’simportantthatnooneinsideoroutsideofourcommunitybeabletoquestionthedecorumofanunmarriedwomanlivinginthehomeofawidower.ItpainsusatGreenHilltoseeherleave,butit’sasacrificewe’rewillingtomakeforthe
greatergood.Weaskthatyouassistusinherrelocation.”
Istaredattheunvarnishedwoodfloorandthehemofherdress,unablealmosttodrawabreath.
Irecallonlyaportionofwhatthememberssaidintheaftermathofherinsidiousspeech.Irememberbeinghailedformyscruplesandmysacrifice.Irememberwordslikehonorable,
selfless,praiseworthy,imperative.
Whenthewhirofvoicesfinallyfaded,anelderlymansaid,“Areweinunityonthematter?Ifyoustandinopposition,pleaseacknowledgeyourself.”
Istandinopposition.I,SarahGrimké.Thewordsstrainedagainstmyribsandbecamelost.IwantedtorefutewhatCatherinehad
said,butIdidn’tknowwheretobegin.She’dingeniouslytransformedmeintoanexemplarofgoodnessandself-denial.AnyrebuttalImadewouldseemtocontradictthatandperhapsendmychancesofbeingacceptedintotheQuakerfold.Thethoughtofthatpainedme.Despitetheirausterity,theirhairsplitting,they’dputforththefirstanti-slavery
documentinhistory.They’dshowedmeaGodofloveandlightandafaithcenteredonindividualconscience.Ididn’twanttolosethem,nordidIwanttoloseIsrael,whichIwouldsurelydo,ifmyprobationfailed.
Icouldn’tmove,notthetiniestmuscleinmytongue.
Israelsliduponthepewasifhemightstandandspeakonmybehalf,buthelingered
there,ballinghisfistandpressingitintothepalmofhishand.Catherinehadputhiminthesameuntenablepositionasme—hewantedtogivenooneareasontoquestionwhatwentoninhishouse,especiallythegoodpeopleofArchStreetwhowereatthecenterofhislife,who’dknownandcherishedRebecca.Icouldunderstandthis.Yetwatchinghim
hesitatenowontheedgeofhisseat,Ihadthefeelinghisreluctancetospeakoutpubliclyformestemmedfromsomethingevendeeper,fromsomesubmerged,almostsovereignneedtoprotecthisloveforhiswife.Iknewsuddenlyitwasthesamereasonhehadn’tdeclaredhisfeelingsformeprivately.Hecastatortuouslookatmeandeasedbackon
thebench.Atthefrontoftheroom,
thefemaleministersatonthe“Facingbench”alongwiththeotherministers,scrutinizingme,noticingtheglimmersofdistressIcouldn’thide.Gazingbackather,Iimaginedshesawdowntothethingsinmyheart,thingsIwasjustcomingtoknowmyself.Hemightneverclaimme.
Shenoddedatmesuddenlyandstood.“I’minopposition.IseenoreasonforMissGrimkétomoveout.Itwouldbeagreatdisruptionforherandahardshipforallinvolved.Herconductisnotinquestion.Weshouldnotbesoconcernedwithoutwardappearances.”
Takingherseat,shesmiledatme,andIthoughtImightcryatthesightofit.
ShewastheonlyonetoofferadissenttoCatherine.TheQuakersdecidedIwoulddepartGreenHillwithinthemonthanddulyrecordeditintheMinuteBook.
Afterthemeeting,Israelleftquicklytobringthecarriagearound,butIwentonsittingonthepew,tryingtogathermyself.Icouldn’tthinkwhereIwouldgo.WouldIstillteachthe
children?AsCatherinesteeredthemtowardthedoor,Beckylookedbackatme,twistingagainstCatherine’shands,whichwerefastenedlikeaharnessonhersmallback.
“Sarah?MayIcallyouSarah?”Itwasmydefender.
Inodded.“...Thankyouforspeakingasyoudid...I’mgrateful.”
Shethrustafoldedpiece
ofpaperatme.“Here’smyaddress.Youarewelcometostaywithmeandmyhusband.”Shestartedtogo,thenturnedback.“I’msorry,Ididn’tintroducemyself,didI?MynameisLucretiaMott.”
HandfulIntheworkshopatDenmark’shouse,thelieutenantswerestandingroundtheworktable.TheywerealwaysbyDenmark’sside.Hetoldthemhe’dsetthedate,twomonthsfromnow,saidthereweresixthousandnamesintheBook.
Iwasbackinthecorner,listening,crouchedonafootstool,myusualspot.Nobodymuchnoticedmethereunlesstheyneededsomethingtodrink.Handful,bringthehoochwater,Handful,bringthegingerbeer.
ItwasAprilandhalftheheatfromhellhadalreadyshowedupinCharleston.Themenweredrippingwithit.
“Theselastweeks,youneedtoplaythepartofthegoodslavebetterthanever,”Denmarksaid.“Telleverybodytogrittheirteethandobeytheirowners.Ifsomebodywastotellthewhitefolksaslaverevoltiscoming,weneedthemtolaughandsay,‘Notourslaves,they’relikefamily.They’rethehappiestpeopleonearth.’”
Whiletheytalked,maumacametomymind,andthepictureIhadofherwaswashed-outliketheredonaquiltafterit’sboiledtoomanytimes.It’dgotsometimeswhereIcouldn’trememberhowherfacelooked,wheretheridgeshadbeenonherfingersfromworkingtheneedle,orwhatshesmelledlikeattheendoftheday.Wheneverthis
happened,I’dgoouttothespirittree.That’swhereIfeltmaumathesharpest,intheleavesandbarkanddroppingacorns.
Sittingthere,Ishutmyeyesandtriedtogetherback,worriedshewasleavingmeforgood.Aunt-Sisterwould’vesaid,“Lethergo,it’spastthetime,”butIwantedthepainofmauma’sfaceandhandsmorethanthe
peaceofbeingwithoutthem.IthoughtforaminuteI’d
slipoutandgobacktothespirittree—takemychancegoingoverthegatebeforedark,butMissushadcaughtmeslippingoveritlastmonthandputagashonmyheadthatwasjustscabbingover.She’dtoldSabe,“IfHandfulgetsoutagainwithoutpermission,I’llhaveyouwhippedalongwithher.”
Nowhehadbugeyesinthebackofhishead.
Itriedtosetmymindonwhatthemenweresaying.
“Whatweneedisabulletmold,”Denmarksaid.“Wegotmuskets,butwedon’thavemusketballs.”
Theywentdownthelistofweapons.I’dknownthere’dbeblood,butIdidn’tknowit’drundownthestreets.Theyhadclubs,axes,
andknives.Theyhadstolenswords.Theyhadkegsofgunpowderandslowfuseshidunderthedockstheymeanttosetoffroundthecityandburnittotheground.
TheysaidablacksmithslavenamedTomwasmakingfivehundredpikes.IfiguredhehadtobethesameTomtheBlacksmithwhomademauma’sfakeslavebadgebackwhenshe’d
startedhiringherselfout.Irememberedthedayshe’dshowedittome.Thatsmallcoppersquarewithapinholeatthetop,saidDomesticServant,Number133,Year1805.Icouldseeallthat,butIcouldn’tgetmauma’sfacetocomeclear.
IhadatinyjayfeatherdowninmypocketI’dpickeduponthewayoverhere,andIpulleditoutandtwirledit
betweenmyfingers,justsomethingtodo,andnextthingIwasthinkingaboutwasthetimemaumasawabirdfuneral.Whenshewasagirl,sheandmygranny-maumacameonadeadcrowlyingundertheirspirittree.Theywenttogetascooptoburyit,andwhentheycameback,sevencrowswereonthegroundcirclingroundthedeadbird,carryingon,not
cawcaw,butzeepzeep,ahigh-pitchcrylikeamourningchant.Mygranny-maumatoldher,“See,that’swhatbirdsdo,theystopflyingandhuntingfoodandswoopdowntotendtheirdead.Theymarchrounditandcry.Theydothissoeverythingknow:oncethisbirdlivedandnowit’sgone.”
Thatstorybroughtthebrightredofmaumabackto
me.Herpicturecameperfectinmymind.Isawtheyellow-parchofherskin,thecallusesonherknuckles,thegold-liteyes,andthegapinherteeth,theexactwidenessofit.
“There’sabulletmoldattheCityArsenalonMeetingStreet,”GullahJacksaid.“Butgettinginthere—well,Idon’tknow.”
“Howmanyguardstheygot?”Rollaasked.
GullahJackrubbedhiswhiskers.“Two,sometimesthree.TheplacehasthewholestockpileofweaponsfortheGuard,butthey’renotlettingoneofusstrollinthere.”
“Gettinginwouldmeanafight,”Denmarksaid,“andthat’sonethingwecan’tafford.LikeIsaid,themainthingnowisnottorousesuspicion.”
“Whataboutme?”Isaid.Theyturnedandlookedat
melikethey’dforgottenIwasintheroom.
“Whataboutyou?”saidDenmark.
“Icouldgetinthere.Nobodylookstwiceataslavewomanwho’slameinoneleg.”
SarahAsduskhovered,IsatatthedeskinmyroomandslitopenaletterfromNina.I’dbeenatGreenHillalmostayear,andI’dwrittenhereverymonthwithoutfail,smalldispatchesaboutmylifeandinquiriesabouthers,butshe’dneverrepliedtoany
ofthem,notone,andnowherewasanenvelopewithherlargecalligraphyandIcouldonlyimaginetheworst.
14March1822DearSister,I’vebeenapoor
correspondentandapoorersister.Ididn’tagreewithyourdecisiontogonorth,andIhaven’tchanged
mymindaboutit,butIhavebehavedbadly,andIhopeyouwillforgiveme.I’matmywit’send
aboutourmother.Shegrowsmoredifficultandviolenteachday.Sherantsthatwe’vebeenleftwithoutsufficientmeanstoliveandsheblamesThomas,John,and
Frederickforfailingtotakecareofher.Needlesstosay,theycomeinfrequently,andMarynevercomes,onlyEliza.Sinceyourdeparture,Motherspendsmostofherdayshutinherroom,andwhensheemerges,it’sonlytorageagainsttheslaves.Sheswingshercaneatthemoverthe
leastthing.SherecentlyhitAunt-Sisterfornothingmorethanburnedloavesofbread.Lastevening,shestruckHandfulwhenshespottedherclimbingoverthebackgate.IshouldaddthatHandfulwasclimbingintotheworkyard,notoutofit,andwhenMotheraskedforan
explanation,Handfulsaidshe’dseenawoundedpupinthealleyandgoneoverthegatetohelpthecreature.Sheinsistedshewasreturningfromthatmomentarymissionofmercy,butIdon’tthinkMotherbelievedher.Icertainlydidn’t.MotherbroketheskinoverHandful’sbrow,
whichIbandagedthebestIcould.I’malarmedat
Mother’sescalatingtemper,butIalsofearHandfulisengagedinsomethingdangerousthatinvolvesfrequenttripsoverthegate.Isawherslipawayfromthehousemyselfonanotheroccasion.Sherefusestospeaktome
aboutit.IdoubtIcanshieldherifshe’scaughtagain.Ifeelaloneand
helplesshere.Pleasecometomyaid.Ibegyou,comehome.
Yoursinneedandwithsisterlylove,Nina
Ilaiddowntheletter.Pushingbackthechair,Iwenttothedormerwindowandstaredatthedarkeninggroveofcedars.Alittleswarmoffireflieswasrisingupfromitlikeembers.Ifeelaloneandhelplesshere—Nina’swords,butIfeltthemlikemyown.
Earlier,Catherinehadsentmytrunkupfromthecellar,andIbusiedmyself
nowpullingbelongingsfromthewardrobeandthedesk,strewingthemacrossthebedandontothebraidedrug—bonnets,shawls,dresses,sleepinggowns,gloves,journals,letters,thelittlebiographyofJoanofArcI’dstolenfromFather’sstudy,asinglestrandofpearls,ivorybrushes,bottlesofFrenchglassfilledwithlotionsandpowders,anddearestofall,
mylavaboxwiththesilverbutton.
“Youdidn’tcomedownforsupper.”Israelstoodinthedoorway,peeringinside,afraid,itseemed,tocrossintomysmall,messysanctum.
MypossessionswerepunybyGrimkéstandards,butIwasneverthelessembarrassedbytheexcess,andinparticularbythewoolenunderwearIwas
holding.Hefixedhiseyesontheopentrunk,thenswunghisgazetotheeavesasifthesightofmypackingstunghim.
“...Ihadnoappetite,”Isaid.
Hestepped,finally,intothedisarray.“Icametosay,I’msorry.Ishould’vespokeninthemeeting.Iwaswrongnotto.WhatCatherinedidwasunpardonable—I’vetold
herasmuch.I’llgobeforetheeldersthisweekandmakeitclearIdon’twishyoutoleave.”HiseyesgleamedwithwhatItooktobeanguish.
“...It’stoolate,Israel.”“Butitisn’t.Icanmake
themunderstand—”“No!”Itcameoutmore
forcefullythanIintended.Hesankontotheendof
mynarrowbedandplowed
hishandthroughhisrampantblackhair.Itfilledmewithasharp,almostexquisitepaintoseehimonthebed,thereamongmygownsandpearlsandlavabox.IthoughthowmuchIwouldmisshim.
Hestoodandtookmyhand.“You’llstillcomeandteachthegirls,won’tyou?Anumberofpeoplehaveofferedtoboardyou.”
Ipulledmyhandaway.
“...I’mgoinghome.”Hiseyesdartedagainto
thetrunk,andIwatchedhisshoulderscurveforward,hisribsdroppingoneontotheother.“Isitbecauseofme?”
Ipaused,notknowinghowtoanswer.Nina’sletterhadcomejustwhenthebottomhadfallenfromthings,anditwastrue,Iwelcomedtheexcusetoleave.WasIrunningaway
fromhim?“...No,”Itoldhim.IwassureIwould’veleftregardless,whydissectthereason?
WhenIrecountedthecontentsoftheletter,hesaid,“It’sterribleaboutyourmother,buttheremustbeothersiblingswhocantendtothesituation.”
“...Ninaneedsme.Notsomeoneelse.”
“Butit’sverysudden.
Youshouldthinkaboutit.Prayaboutit.Godbroughtyouhere,youcan’tdenythat.”
Icouldn’tdenyit.Somethinggoodandrighthadbroughtmenorth,andeventothisveryplace—toGreenHillandIsraelandthechildren.ThemandatetoleaveCharlestonwasstillasradiantasthedayI’dfirstfeltit,buttherewasNina’sletter
lyingonthedesk.Andthentherewastheothermatter,thematterofRebecca.
“Sarah,weneedyouhere.You’vebecomeindispensableto—toallofus.”
“...It’sdecided,Israel.I’msorry.I’mgoinghometoCharleston.”
Hesighed.“Atleasttellmeyou’llcomebacktousafterthingsaresettledthere.”
Thewindowwassheened
withtheglareoftheroom,butIsteppedclosetoitandbentmyheadtothepane.Icouldseethebrighthelixoffirefliesstilloutthere.“...Idon’tknow.Idon’tknowanymore.”
HandfulThenightbeforeIwenttotheCityArsenaltostealabulletmold,meandGoodiscreptuptotheemptyroomoverthecarriagehouse—thesameonewheremeandmaumausedtosleep—andIlethimdowhathe’dbeenwantingtodowithmeforyears,andI
guesswhatI’dbeenwantingtodowithhim.Iwastwenty-nineyearsoldnow,andItoldmyself,ifIgetcaughttomorrow,theGuardwillkillme,andiftheydon’t,theWorkHousewill,sobeforeIleavetheearth,Imightaswellknowwhatthefussisabout.
TheroomwasemptyexceptforastrawmattressSabehadlaidonthefloorfor
Mintaandhim,buttheplacestillhadthesameoldfragranceofhorseshit.Ilookeddownatthegrungymattress,whileGoodisspreadacleanblanketcrossit,smoothingouteverylittlewrinklejust-so,andseeingthecarehetookwithit,Ifelttendernesstohimpourthroughme.Hewasn’told,butmostofhishairwasgone.Thelidoverhiswandering
eyedrooped,whiletheotherlidstayedup,sohealwayslookedlikehewashalfasleep,buthehadabig,easysmileandhekeptitonwhilehehelpedmeoutfrommydress.
WhenIwasstretchedoutontheblanket,hegazedatthepouchroundmyneck,stuffedfatwithscrapsofthespirittree.
“Idon’ttakethatoff,”I
said.Hegaveitapinch,feeling
thehardlumpsofbarkandacorns.“Theseyourjewels?”
“Yeah.Thosearemygemstones.”
Pushingthepouchtotheside,heheldmybreastsinhishandsandsaid,“Theseain’tbigastwohazelnuts,butthat’showIlike’em,smallandbrownlikethis.”Hekissedmymouthand
shouldersandrubbedhisfaceagainstthehazelnuts.Thenhekissedmybadfoot,hislipfollowingthesnarledpathofscars.Iwasn’tonetocry,buttearsleakedfromthesidesofmyeyesandranbehindmyears.
Ineverspokeawordthewholetime,evenwhenhepushedinsideme.Ifeltlikeamortaratfirstandhewasthepestle.Itwaslikepounding
rice,butgentleandkind,breakingopenthetoughhulls.Oncehelaughed,saying,“Thiswhatyouthoughtit’dbe?”andIcouldn’tanswer.Ismiledwiththetearsseepingout.
Thenextmorning,Iwassorefromloving.Atbreakfast,Goodissaid,“It’safineday.Whatyouthink,Handful?”
“Yeah,it’sfine.”
“Tomorrowgonbefine,too.”
“Mightbe,”Isaid.Afterthemeal,Ifound
NinaandaskedhercouldIhaveapassforthemarket—Sabewasn’tinagrantingmood.Itoldher,“Aunt-Sistersaysmolasseswithalittlewhiskeywoulddoyourmaumaaworldofgood,mightcalmherdown,butwedon’thaveany.”
Shewrotethepassandwhenshehandedittome,shesaid,“Anytimeyouneed...molassesoranythinglikethat,youcometome.Allright?”
That’showIknewwehadanunderstanding.Course,ifsheknewwhatIwasabouttodo,sheneverwould’vesignedhernameonthatpaper.
IwalkedtotheArsenalwithmyrabbitcane,carryingabasketofrags,cleaningspirits,afeatherduster,andalongbroomovermyshoulder.GullahJackhadbeenwatchingtheplaceforagoodwhilenow.HesaidonthefirstMondayofthemonth,theyopeneditupforinspectionandmaintenance,countingweapons,cleaningmuskets,andwhat-not.Afree
blackgirlnamedHildecamethosedaystosweepitout,dust,oilthegunracks,andcleantheprivyoutback.GullahJackhadgivenheracoinnottoshowuptoday.
Denmarkhaddrawnmeapictureofabulletmold.Itlookedlikeapairofnosepliers,exceptthenosecametogethertoformatinybowlontheendwhereyoupouredtheleadtomakethemusket
ball.Hesaidabulletmoldwasn’tmuchbiggerthanhishand,sogettwoifIcould.Themainthing,hesaid,wasdon’tgetcaught.
Thatwasmymainthing,too.
TheArsenalwasaroundbuildingmadeoutoftabbywithwallstwofootthick.Ithadthreeskinnywindowshighupwithironbars.Today,theshutterswere
thrownbacktoletthelightin.TheguardbythedoorwantedtoknowwhoIwasandwherewasHilde.Iwoundthroughthestoryabouthergettingsickandsendingmeforthestand-in.Hesaid,“Youdon’tlooklikeyoucouldliftabroom.”
Well,howyouthinkthisbroomgotonmyshoulder?Allbyitself?That’swhatIwantedtosay,butIlookedat
theground.“Yessir,butI’mahardworker,you’llsee.”
Heunlockedtheboltonthedoor.“They’recleaningmusketstoday.Stayoutoftheirway.Whenyou’redone,taponthedoorandI’llletyouout.”
Isteppedinside.Thedoorslammed.Theboltclicked.
Standingthere,tryingtogetmybearingsthroughthegloom,Isniffedmoldand
linseedoilandtherancidsmellofcooped-upair.Twoguardswereonthefarsidewiththeirbackstome,takingamusketapartunderoneofthewindows—allthepiecesspreadoutonatable.Oneofthemturnedandsaid,“It’sHilde.”
Ididn’tclearupthemistake.Istartedsweeping.
TheArsenalwasasingleroomfilledwithweapons.
Myeyesrovedovereverything.Kegsofgunpowderwerestackedinthemiddlehalfwaytotheceiling.Arrangedneatalongthewallswerewoodenracksfilledwithmusketsandpistols,heapsofcannonballs,andintheback,dozensofwoodenchests.
Ikeptthebroomgoing,workingmywayroundthewholefloor,hopingthe
swish-swishcoveredtheloud,raggedwaymybreathwascoming.Theguards’voicescameandwentinechoes.
Thisonecouldfireonthehalf-cock.Seethemainspringonthehammer?It’sgonebad.
Makesuretheramrodheadistightandthere’snorustonit.
WhenIwasblockedfromtheirviewbehindthepowder
kegs,mybreatheasedup.Igotoutthefeatherduster.Onebyone,Ibrushedthetopsofthewoodenchests,pausingeachtimetolookovermyshoulderbeforeliftingthelidtopeekinside.Ifoundcowhornswithleatherstraps.Atangleofironhandcuffs.Barsoflead.PiecesofthinropeIguessedtobefuses.Butnobulletmolds.
ThenInoticedanold
snaredrumproppedupagainstthewall,andbehinditwasanotherchest.Pickingmywayovertoit,mylamefootupsetthedrum,andwhamblam,ithitthefloor.
Herecamethebootsstomping.Igrabbedthedusterandthefeatherstwitchedandshookinmyhandlikethey’dcomealive.
Theguardyelledatme.“Whatwasthatracket?”
“Thisdrumrightherefellover.”
Henarrowedhiseyes.“You’renotHilde.”
“No,sheturnedsick.I’mfillingin.”
Hehadalongpieceofmetalinhishandfromthemusket.Hepointeditatthedrum.“Wedon’tneedthatsortofcarelessnessinhere!”
“Yessir,I’lltakecare.”Hewentbacktowork,
butmyhearthadbeenbeattobutter.
Iopenedthechestwherethedrumhadleanedandtheremust’vebeentenbulletmoldsinside.Ipulledouttwo,slowsotheywouldn’tclink,andstucktheminmybasketundertherags.
ThenIswepttheaircleanofcobwebsandwipeddownthegunrackswithoil.WhenIhadtheplacegoodasHilde
would’vedoneit,Igatheredmystuffandtappedonthedoor.
“Don’tforgetthelatrine,”theguardatthedoorsaid,thumbingtowardtherearoftheArsenal.
Iheadedbackthere,butIwalkedrightpastitandkeptgoing.
Thatnightinmyroom,I
foundalittlepieceofcobwebinmyhair.Itookatowelandrubbedmyselfclean,thenlaydownontopofthestoryquilt,rememberingthesmileonDenmark’sfacewhenI’dshowedupandpulledabulletmoldfrommybasket.WhenIdrewoutthesecondone,he’dslappedhislegandsaid,“YoumightbethebestlieutenantIgot.”
Iwaitedforsleep,butit
didn’tcome.Afterawhile,Iwentandsatonthebackporchsteps.Theyardwasquiet.IeyedtheroomoverthecarriagehouseandwonderedifGoodishadlookedformeaftersupper.Hewouldbeasleepnow.Denmark,too.Iwastheonlyoneup,worryingaboutthebowlontheendofthebulletmold,theplacetheypourthelead.Howmanypeople
wouldthosemusketballskill?Imight’vepassedoneofthemonthestreettoday.Imightpassonetomorrow.Imightpassahundredpeoplewhowoulddiecauseofme.
Themoonwasroundandwhite,sittingsmallatthetopofthesky.Itseemedtherightsizetositinthebowlonthebulletmold.ThatwaswhatIwished.Iwishedforthemooninsteadoflead.
SarahIarrivedinCharlestonwearingmybestQuakerfrock,aplaingraydresswithaflatwhitecollarandmatchingbonnet,thepictureofhumility.BeforeleavingPhiladelphia,I’dbeenofficiallyacceptedintotheQuakerfold.Myprobation
hadended.Iwasoneofthem.Uponseeingmeforthe
firsttimeinoverayear,Motherreceivedmykissonhercheekandsaid,“Iseeyou’vereturnedasaQuaker.Really,Sarah,howcanyoushowyourfaceinCharlestondressedlikethat?”
Ididn’tlikethegarbeither,butitwasatleastmadefromwool,freeofslavelabor.WeQuakersboycotted
Southerncotton.WeQuakers—howstrangethatsoundedtome.
ItriedtosmileandmakelightofMother’scomment,notyetgraspingthefullreasonforit.“...Isthatmywelcomehome,then?Surelyyou’vemissedme.”
ShewassittinginthesamespotwhereI’dlastseenher,inthefadinggoldbrocadewingchairbythe
window,andwearingthesameblackdress,holdingherinfernalgold-tipcaneacrossherlap.Itwasasifshe’dbeensittingtheresinceIleft.Everythingaboutherseemedunchanged,exceptsheappearedmoredilapidatedaroundtheedges.Theskinofherneckfoldedturtle-likeontohercollarandthehairatherforeheadwasfrayinglikeanedgeofcloth.
“I’vemissedyou,dear,ofcourse.Theentirehouseholdsufferedbecauseofyourdesertion,butyoucan’tgoaboutdressedlikethat—youwouldbetakenatonceforaQuaker,andtheiranti-slaveryviewsarewellknownhere.”
Ihadn’tthoughtofthis.Iranmypalmsdownthesidesofmyskirt,feelingsuddenlyfondofmydraboutfit.
Avoicecamefromthe
doorway.“Ifthat’swhatthishideousdressofyoursmeans,I’llhavetogetonemyself.”
Nina.Shelookedlikeawholenewcreature.Shewastaller,standinginchesabovemewithhersablehairsweptback,hercheekshigher,herbrowsthickandhereyesblack.Mysisterhadbecomeadarklybeautifulwoman.
Shethrewherarmsaroundme.“Youareneverto
leaveagain.”Asweclungtoeach
other,Mothermuttered,asiftoherself,“Foronce,thechildandIagreeonsomething.”
NinaandIlaughed,andthenastonishingly,Motherlaughed,andthesoundthethreeofusmadetogetherintheroomcreatedasillyjoyinsideofme.
“...Lookatyou,”Isaid,
cuppingNina’sfaceinmyhands.
Mother’seyesflittedfrommycollartomyhemandback.“I’mquiteseriousaboutthedress,Sarah.OneoftheQuakerfamiliesherehadtheirhomepeltedwitheggs.ItwasreportedyesterdayintheMercury.Tellher,Nina.ExplaintoyoursisterthatCharlestoniansareinnomoodtoseeherparading
aroundlikethis.”Ninasighed.“Thereare
rumorsinthecityofaslaverevolt.”
“...Arevolt?”“It’snothingbut
twaddle,”Mothersaid,“butpeopleareoverwroughtaboutit.”
“Ifyoubelievethestories,”Ninasaid,“theslavesaregoingtoconvergeonthestreets,killtheentire
whitepopulation,andburnthecity.”
Theskinonmyarmsprickled.
“Afterthekillingandburning,supposedlytheywillplunderthestatebankandthenraidthehorsesinthecitystableorelseboardshipsintheharborandsailofftoHaiti.”
AsmallscoffescapedMother’sthroat.“Canyou
imaginethemdevisingsuchanelaborateplan?”
Ifeltasortofplummetinginmychest.Icould,infact,imagineit.Notthepartabouttheslaughter—that,mymindcouldn’tfathom.ButthereweremoreslaveslivinginCharlestonthanwhites,whyshouldn’ttheyconceiveaplottofreethemselves?Itwouldhavetobeelaborateandboldinordertosucceed.Andit
couldn’thelpbutbeviolent.Reflexively,Ipressedmy
palmstogetherbeneathmychin,asifpraying.“...DearGod.”
“Butyoucan’ttakeitseriously,”Ninasaid.“TherewasasimilarsituationinEdgefield,remember?Thewhitefamilieswerecertaintheywouldbemurderedintheirbeds.Itwassimplehysteria.”
“...What’sbehindit?Howdidtherumorstart?”
“ItstartedwithColonelJohnPrioleau’shouseslave.Apparently,heheardnewsofarevoltatthewharvesandreportedittothecolonel,whowenttotheauthorities.TheGuardtrackeddownthesource—aslavenamedWilliamPaul,who’swellknown,apparently,forbeingabraggart.Thepoormanwas
arrestedandisbeingheldattheWorkHouse.”Ninapaused,shuddering.“Ican’tbeartothinkwhatthey’vedonetohim.”
Motherrappedthefloorwithhercane.“Themayor-intendenthasdismissedthematter.GovernorBennetthasdismissedthematter.Iwantnofurthertalkofit.Justtakeheed,Sarah,theclimateisatinderbox.”
Ilongedtodismissthepossibilityofarevolt,too,butIfeltitinsideofmenowlikeatidalpull.
SeekingoutHandfulthenextmorning,IfoundhersittingonthekitchenhousestepsbesideGoodiswithaneedleinherhandandabrassthimbleonherpushingfinger,hemmingwhatlooked
likeanapron.ThetwoofthemweresnickeringasIapproached,givingeachotheraffectionatelittlejabs.Seeingme,theyceased.
Goodisleapttohisfeetandthetopofhiscoverallsfloppeddownononeside.SeizedbyasuddenrippleofnervesoverhowHandfulwouldrespondtome,Ipointedtowherehisbuttonwasmissing.“...You’ll
havetogetHandfultorepairthatforyou,”Isaid,andregretteditinstantly.Itsoundedbossyandcondescending.ItwasnothowI’dwantedtoreunitewithher.
“Yessum,”hesaid,andwithaglanceatHandful,leftus.
Ibentoverandembracedher,loopingmyarmsabouthershoulders.Aftera
moment,sheraisedherarmsandpattedmeonthesidesofmyribs.
“Ninasaidyouwerecomingback.Youstayingputnow?”
“...Imight.”Itookaseatbesideher.“...We’llsee.”
“Well,ifIwasyou,I’dgetbackontheboat.”
Ismiledather.Astripofdarkblueshadedrapedover
usfromtheeave,darkeningaswefellsilent.Ifoundmyselfstaringatthedistortedwayherfoothookedinward,atthesoughingrhythmofherhands,atherbackcurvedoverherwork,andIfelttheoldguilt.
Ipliedherwithquestions:howshe’dfaredsinceIleft,howMotherhadtreatedher,howtheotherslaveshadheldup.Iaskedifperhapsshehad
aspecialfriendshipwithGoodis.Sheshowedmethescaronherforehead,callingitMother’shandiwork.ShesaidAunt-Sister’seyesightwasfailingandPhoebedidmostofthecooking,thatSabecouldn’tholdacandletoTomfry,andMintawasagoodsoulwhotookthebruntof“missus’nastiness.”AtthesubjectofGoodis,shemerelygrinned,whichgaveher
away.“...Whatdoyouknow
aboutrumorsofaslaverevolt?”Ifinallyasked.
Herhandgrewstillforamoment.“Whydon’tyoutellmewhatyouknowaboutit?”
IrepeatedwhatNinahadsaidabouttheslave,WilliamPaul,andhisclaimsofanuprising.“...Theofficialsaretellingthepublicthey’reuntrue,”Iadded.
Shelaidtheaprondown.“Theyare?Theydon’tbelieveit’strue?”HerfacewasfloodedwithsuchreliefIgotthefeelingtherevoltwasnotonlyreal,butthatsheknewagreatdealaboutit.
“...Eveniftheybelievesuchaplanexists,theywoulddenyit,”Itoldher,wantinghertounderstandthedanger.“Idoubtthey’dacknowledgeitpublicly.Theywouldn’t
wanttocauseapanic.Ortiptheirhand.Ifthey’vefoundtheslightestevidenceofaplot,believeme,they’llrespond.”
Shepickeduptheneedleandthreadandthehushfellagain,heavierthistime.Iwatchedherhandmoveupanddown,makingpeaksandvalleys,thentheflashofherthimble,andIrememberedus—littlegirlsontheroof,her
tellingmeaboutthetruebrassthimble.Thissameone,Iimagined.Icouldseeherlyingagainsttherooftiles,squintingattheblurofskyandclouds,theteacupbalancedonhertummy,herdresspocketstuffedwithfeathers,theirruffledendspokingout.We’dspilledallofoursecretstooneanotherthere.Itwastheclosestthingtoparitythetwoofushad
everfound.Itriedtoholdthepictureinmymind,tobreatheitbacktolife,butitdissolved.
Ididn’texpecthertoconfideinmeanymore.Shewouldkeephersecretsnow.
NinaandIsetoutbyfootforthetinyQuakermeetinghouseonSunday,anexceptionallylongwalkthattookustothe
othersideofthecity.Westrolledarminarmasshetoldmeaboutthelettersthathadarrivedatthehouseforweeksaftermydeparture,inquiringaboutmyhealth.I’dforgottenabouttheconsumptionstoryMotherhadconcoctedtoexplainmyabsence,andNinaandIlaughedaboutitallthewaydownSocietyStreet.
Afiercesummerrainhad
sweptthroughovernightandtheairwascoolandfresh,floodedwiththescentofteaolive.Pinkbougainvilleapetalsfloatedontherainpuddles,andseeingthem,havingNinabesidemelikethisonsuchagloriousday,IfeltImightre-findmysenseofbelonging.
Thepasttendayshadpassedinrelativequiet.I’dspentthetimetryingtoput
thehouseholdbackinorderandhavinglongtalkswithNina,whoaskedendlessquestionsabouttheNorth,abouttheQuakers,aboutIsrael.I’dhopedtoavoidallmentionofhim,butheslippedthroughthetinyfracturesanyway.Handfulhadavoidedme.Gratefully,nothingoutoftheordinaryhadtranspiredinthecityandreportsoftheslave
insurrectionhaddwindledasfolksreturnedtothebusinessathand.I’dbeguntothinkI’doverreactedaboutit.
OnthismorningIwaswearingmy“abolitionclothes,”asMotherinsistedoncallingthem.AsaQuaker,thatwasallIwaspermittedtowear,andheavenknows,Iwasnothingifnotearnest.Earlieratbreakfast,uponlearningofmyintentionto
attendtheQuakerMeetingandtakeNinawithme,Motherhaddisplayedafitoftempersopredictablewe’dpracticallyyawnedthroughit.Itwasjustaswellshedidn’tknowwe’ddecidedtowalk.
Nearingthemarket,webegantohearthesteadyclompofthunderinthedistance,thenshouting.Asweturnedthecorner,twoslavewomenbrokepastus,
holdinguptheirskirtsandsprinting.MarchingtowarduswereatleastahundredSouthCarolinamilitiawiththeirsabersandpistolsdrawn.TheywereflankedbytheCityGuard,whocarriedmusketsinsteadoftheirtypicaltruncheons.
ItwasMarketSunday,adaywhentheslaveswereheavilycongregatedonthestreets.Standingfrozen,Nina
andIwatchedthemfleeinpanicashussarsonhorsebackrushedatthem,shoutingatthemtodisperse.
“What’shappening?”Ninasaid.
Igazedatthepandemonium,oddlystunned.We’dcometoastandstillbeforetheCarolinaCoffeeHouse,andIthoughtatfirstwewouldduckinside,butitwaslocked.“Weshould
goback,”Itoldher.Asweturnedtoleave,
however,astreetvendor,aslavegirlnomorethantwelve,boltedtowardus,andinherfrightandpanic,shestumbled,spillingherbasketofvegetablesacrossourpath.Instinctively,NinaandIbenttohelpherretrievetheradishesandcabbagesandrollingpotatoes.
“Stepaway!”aman
yelled.“You!”Liftingmyforehead,I
glimpsedanofficertrottingtowardusonhishorse.HewasspeakingtomeandNina.Westraightened,whilethegirlwentoncrawlingaboutinthedirtafterherbruisedwares.
“...We’redoingnoharmbyassistingher,”Isaidashereinedtoastop.Hisattention,though,wasnotontheturnip
inmyhand,butonmydress.“AreyouQuaker?”Hehadalarge,bonyface
withslightlybulgingeyesthatmadehimlookmoreterrorizingperhapsthanhetrulywas,butsuchlogicwaslosttomethen.Fearanddreadrushedupfrommythroat,andmytongue,feeblecreature,layinmymouthlikeasluginitscleft.
“Didyouhearme?”he
saidcalmly.“Iaskedifyou’reoneofthosereligiouspariahswhoagitateagainstslavery.”
Imovedmylips,yetnothingcame,onlythisterrible,silentmouthing.Ninasteppedcloseandinterlockedherfingersinmine.Iknewshewantedtospeakforme,butsherefrained,waiting.Closingmyeyes,Iheardthegullsfromtheharborcalling
toeachother.Ipicturedthemglidingoncurrentsofairandrestingonswellsofwater.
“IamaQuaker,”Isaid,thewordsarrivingwithoutthejerkofhesitationthatprecededmostofmysentences.IheardNinareleaseherbreath.
Sensinganaltercation,twowhitemenstoppedtostare.Behindthem,Isawtheslavegirldashingawaywith
herbasket.“What’syourname?”the
officerasked.“I’mSarahGrimké.Who,
sir,areyou?”Hedidn’tbotherto
answer.“Youaren’tJudgeGrimké’sdaughter—surely.”
“Hewasmyfather,yes.Hehasbeendeadalmostthreeyears.”
“Well,it’sagoodthinghedidn’tlivetoseeyoulike
this.”“...Ibegyourpardon?I
don’tseethatmybeliefsareanyofyourconcern.”Ihadthefeelingoffloatingfreefrommymoorings.WhatcametomewasthememoryofbeingadriftintheseathatdayatLongBranchwhileFatherlayill.Floatingfarfromtherope.
Thecolumnsofmilitiahadfinallyreachedusand
werepassingbehindtheofficerinawaveofnoiseandswagger.Hishorsebegantobobitsheadnervouslyasheraisedhisvoiceoverthedin.“Outofrespectforthejudge,Iwon’tdetainyou.”
Ninabrokein.“Whatrightdoyouhave—”
Iinterrupted,wantingtokeepherfromwadingintowatersthatwerebecomingincreasinglytreacherous.
Strangely,Ifeltnosuchcompunctionformyself.“...Detainme?”Isaid.“Onwhatgrounds?”
Bynow,ahordeofpeoplehadjoinedthetwoleeringmen.AmanwearingaSundaymorningcoatspitinmydirection.Nina’shandtightenedonmine.
“Yourbeliefs,evenyourappearance,underminetheorderI’mtryingtokeep
here,”theofficersaid.“Theydisturbthepeaceofgoodcitizensandgiveunwantednotionstotheslaves.You’refeedingtheverykindofinsurgencythat’sgoingonrightnowinourcity.”
“...Whatinsurgency?”“Areyougoingtopretend
youhaven’theardtherumors?Therewasaplotamongtheslavestomassacretheirownersandescape.That
would,Ibelieve,includeyouandyoursisterhere.Itwastotakeplacethisnight,butIassureyouithasbeenthoroughlyoutwitted.”
Liftingthereinsfromthehornofhissaddle,heglancedatthepassingmilitia,thenturnedbacktome.“Gohome,MissGrimké.Yourpresenceonthestreetisunwantedandinflammatory.”
“Gohome!”someonein
thecrowdshouted,andthentheyalltookitup.
Idrewmyselfup,glaringattheirangryfaces.“...Whatwouldyouhavetheslavesdo?”Icried.“...Ifwedon’tfreethem,theywillfreethemselvesbywhatevermeans.”
“Sarah!”Ninacriedinsurprise.
Asthecrowdbegantohurlviciousepithetsatme,I
tookherbythearmandwehurriedbackthewaywe’dcome,walkingquickly.“Don’tlookback,”Itoldher.
“Sarah,”shesaid,breathless,hervoiceoverflowingwithawe.“You’vebecomeapublicmutineer.”
Theslaverevoltdidn’tcomethatnight,oranynight.The
cityfathershadindeedferretedouttheplotthroughthecruelpersuasionsoftheWorkHouse.Duringthedaysthatfollowed,newsoftheintendedrevoltravagedCharlestonlikeanepidemic,leavingitdazedandpetrified.Arrestsweremade,anditwassaidtherewouldbeagreatmanymore.Iknewitwasthebeginningofwhatwouldbecomeamonstrous
backlash.Residentswerealreadyfortifyingtheirfencetopswithbrokenbottlesuntilpermanentironspikescouldbeinstalled.Thechevaux-de-frisewouldsoonencirclethemosteleganthomeslikeornamentalarmor.
Inthemonthsahead,aharshneworderwouldbeestablished.Ordinanceswouldbeenactedtocontrolandrestrictslavesfurther,and
severerpunishmentswouldensue.ACitadelwouldbebuilttoprotectthewhitepopulace.Butthatfirstweek,wewereallstillgrippedwithshock.
Mydefianceonthestreetbecamecommonknowledge.Mothercouldbarelylookatmewithoutblanching,andevenThomasshoweduptowarnmethatthepatronageofhisfirmwouldbeharmedifI
persistedinthatkindoffolly.OnlyNinastoodbyme.
AndHandful.Shewascleaningthe
mahoganystaircaselateoneafternoonintheaftermathoftheeventwhenarockflewthroughthefrontwindowofthedrawingroom,shatteringthepane.Hearingtheexplosionofglassallthewayonthesecondfloor,IhurrieddowntofindHandfulwith
herbackpressedagainstthewallbesidethebrokenwindow,tryingtopeeroutwithoutbeingseen.Shewavedmeback.“Watchout,theycouldtossanotherone.”
Astonethesizeofahen’segglayontheruginanestofshards.Shoutsdriftedfromthestreet.Slavelover.Niggerlover.Abolitionist.Northernwhore.
Westaredateachotheras
thesoundsmeltedaway.Theroomturnedquiet,serene.Lightwaspouringin,hittingthescatteredglass,turningitintopiecesoffireonthecrimsonrug.Thesightbereavedme.NotbecauseIwasdespised,butbecauseofhowpowerlessIfelt,becauseitseemedIcoulddonothing.Iwassoontobethirty,andI’ddonenothing.
Theysayinextreme
momentstimewillslow,returningtoitsunmovingcore,andstandingthere,itseemedasifeverythingstopped.Withinthestillness,Ifelttheold,irrepressibleachetoknowwhatmypointintheworldmightbe.IfeltthelongingmoresolemnlythananythingI’deverfelt,evenmorethanmyoldinnateloneliness.Whatcametomewasthefleurdelisbuttonin
theboxandthelostgirlwho’dputitthere,howI’dtwicecarrieditfromCharlestontoPhiladelphiaandback,carrieditlikeasad,decayinghope.
Acrosstheroom,Handfulstrodeintotheglowingdebrisontherug,bentandpickedupthestone.Iwatchedassheturneditoverinherhands,knowingIwouldleavethisplaceyetagain.Iwould
returnnorthtomakewhatlifeIcould.
HandfulThedayofretributionpassedwithoutamusketballgettingfired,withoutafusebeinglit,withoutanyofusgettingfree,butnotonewhitepersonwouldlookatuseveragainandthinkwewereharmless.
Ididn’tknowwhowasarrestedandwhowasn’t.I
didn’tknowifDenmarkwassafeorsorry,orboth.Sarahsaiditwasbesttostayoffthestreets,butbyWednesday,Icouldn’twaitanymore.IfoundNinaandtoldherIneededapasstogetsomemolasses.Shewroteitoutandsaid,“Becareful.”
Denmarkwasinthebedroomofhishouse,stuffingclothesandmoneyinaknapsack.Susanledme
backthere,hereyesbloodshotwithcrying.Istoodinthedoorwayandbreathedtheheavyair,andthought,Itallcametonothing,buthe’sstillhere.
TherewasanironbedagainstthewallcoveredwiththequiltI’dmadetohidethelistofnames.Theblacktriangleswerelaidoutperfectontheredsquares,buttheylookedsadtomenow.Likea
birdfuneral.Isaidtohim,“So,
where’reyougoing?”Susanstartedtocry,and
hesaid,“Woman,ifyou’regoingtomakeallthatnoise,doitsomewhereelse.”
Shepushedpastmethroughthedoor,sniffling,saying,“Goontoyourotherwifethen.”
Isaid,“Youleavingforanotherwife?”
Thecurtainhadbeenyankedclosedonthewindow,leavingacrackonthesidewhereapieceofbrightnesscamein.Itpointedathimlikeasundial.“It’samatteroftimebeforetheycomelookingformehere,”hesaid.“YesterdaytheypickedupNed,Rolla,andPeter.ThethreeofthemareintheWorkHouse,andIdon’tdoubttheirfortitude,
butthey’llbetorturedtilltheynamenames.Ifourplanslivetoseeanotherday,Ihavetogo.”
Dreadsliddownmyback.Isaid,“Whataboutmyname?Willtheysaymynameforstealingthebulletmold?”
Hesatdownonthebed,ontopofthedeadblackbirdwings,withhisarmsdanglingbyhisknees.Whenthe
recruitsusedtocometothehouse,he’dshout,TheLordhasspokentome,andhe’dlooksternandmightyastheLordhimself,butnowhejustlookedcastdown.“Don’tworry,”hesaid,“they’reaftertheleader—that’sme.Nobodywillsayyourname.”
Ihatedtoaskhimthequestion,butIneededtoknow.“Whathappenedtotheplans?”
Heshookhishead.“ThethingIworriedaboutwasthehouseslaveswhocan’ttellwheretheyendandtheirownersbegin.Wegotbetrayed,that’swhathappened.Oneofthembetrayedus,andtheGuardputspiesoutthere.”
Hisjawtightened,andhepushedoffthebed.“Thedayweweresettostrike,thetroopswerebuiltupsoheavy
ourcourierscouldn’tgetoutofthecitytospreadthecall.Wecouldn’tlightthefusesorretrievetheweapons.”Hepickedupatinplatewithacandlestucktoitandhurleditatthewall.“Goddamnthem.Goddamnthemtohell.God—”Hisfacetwisted.
Ididn’tmovetillhisshouldersdroppedandIfeltthetormentleavehim.Isaid,“Youdidwhatyoucould.
Nobodywillforgetthat.”“Yeah,theywill.They’ll
forget.”Hepeeledthequiltoffthebedanddrapeditinmyarms.“Here,youtakethiswithyouandburnthelist.Burnitstraightaway.Idon’thavetime.”
“Wherewillyoube?”“I’mafreeblackman.I’ll
bewhereI’llbe,”hesaid,beingcarefulincaseRollaandthemsaidmynameafter
all,andthewhitemencametotortureme.
Hepickeduptheknapsackandheadedforthedoor.Itwasn’tthelasttimeI’dseehim.Butthosewords,I’llbewhereI’llbe,werethelastwordsheeverspoketome.
Iburnedthelistofnamesinthestovefireinthekitchen
house.ThenIwaitedforwhatwouldbe.
Denmarkwascaughtfourdayslaterinthehouseofafreemulattowoman.Hehadatrialwithsevenjudges,andbeforeitwasoveranddone,everypersoninthecity,whiteandblack,knewhisname.Thehearsayfromthetrialfloodedthestreetsandalleysandfilledupthedrawingroomsandthework
yards.TheslavessaidDenmarkVeseywastheblackJesusandeveniftheykilledhim,hewouldriseonthethirdday.ThewhitefolkssaidhewastheFrozenSerpentthatstruckthebosomthatshelteredhim.Theysaidhewasageneralwhomisledhisownarmy,thatheneverhadasmanyweaponsastheslavesthoughthedid.TheGuardfoundafewpikesand
pistolsandtwobulletmolds,butthatwasall.MaybeGullahJack,whomanagedtostayfreetillAugust,madetherestofthearmsdisappear,butIwonderedifDenmarkhadpulledthetruthliketaffythewaytheysaid.WhenIopenedthequiltsoIcouldburnthelist,Icountedtwohundredeighty-threenamesonit,notsixthousandlikehe’dsaid.Nowadays,I
believehejustwantedtostrikeaflame,thinkingifhedidthat,everyable-bodywouldjointhefight.
Onthedaytheverdictcame,Sabehadmeonmyhandsandkneesrollingupcarpetsandscrubbingfloorsinthemainpassageway.TheheatwassobadIcould’vewashedthesoapoffthefloorwiththesweatpouringdownmyface.ItoldSabefloor-
scrubbingwaswinterworkandhesaid,wellgood,youcandoitnextwinter,too.Iswear,Ididn’tknowwhatMintasawinhim.
I’djustslippedouttothepiazzatocatchabreezewhenSarahsteppedoutthereandsaid,“...Ithoughtyouwouldwanttoknow,DenmarkVesey’strialisover.”
Course,therewasn’ta
wayintheworldthemanwasgettingfree,butstill,Ireachedbackforthebannister,weakwithhope.Shecameclosetomeandlaidherhandonmysoaked-throughdress.“...Theyfoundhimguilty.”
“Whathappenstohimnow?”
“...He’llbeputtodeath.I’msorry.”
Ididn’tletonanything
insideme,thewaysorrowwasalreadysingingagaininthehollowofmybones.
Itdidn’tcrossmymindyettowonderwhySarahsoughtmeoutwiththenews.SheandNinabothknewIleftthepremisessometimesforreasonsofmyown,buttheydidn’tknowIwenttohishouse.Theydidn’tknowhecalledmedaughter.Theydidn’tknowhewasanything
specialtome.“...Whentheygavethe
verdict,theyalsoissuedanedict,”shesaid.“...Akindoforderfromthejudges.”
Istudiedherface,herredfrecklesburningbrightinthesunandworrygatheredtightinhereyes,andIknewwhyshewasouthereonthepiazzawithme—itwasaboutthisedict.
“...Anyblackperson,
manorwoman,whomournsDenmarkVeseyinpublicwillbearrestedandwhipped.”
IlookedawayfromherintotheornamentgardenwhereGoodishadlefttherakeandhoeandthewateringpot.Everygreenthingwasboweddownthirsty.Everythingwithering.
“...Handful,please,listentomenow,accordingtotheorder,youcannotwear
blackonthestreets,orcry,orsayhisname,ordoanythingtomarkhim.Doyouunderstand?”
“No,Idon’tunderstand.Iwon’tneverunderstand,”Isaid,andwentonbackinsidetothescrubbrush.
OnJuly2beforethesunrose,Iwriggledthroughthewindowinmyroom,braced
mybackagainstthehouseandmygoodlegagainstthewall,andshimmiedupandoverthefencethewayIusedtodo.Tohellwithbeggingforapass.WhitepeoplesigningtheirnamessoIcouldwalkdownthestreet.Hellwithit.
IhurriedthroughthecitywhileIstillhadthedarknessforcover.WhenIgottoMagazineStreet,thelight
brokewideopen.SpyingtheWorkHouse,Istoppeddeadinmytracks,andforaminutemybodyfeltlikeitwasbackinsidethere.Icouldhearthetreadmillgroaning,couldsmellthefear.Inmyhead,Isawthecowhideslapthebabyonitsmauma’sback,andIfeltmyselffalling.TheonlywayIkeptfromturningbackwasthinkingaboutDenmark,howanyminute
they’dbringhimandhislieutenantsoutthroughtheWorkHousegate.
ThejudgeshadpickedJuly2fortheexecutionday,asecreteverybodyintheworldknew.TheysaidDenmarkandfiveotherswouldbeputtodeathearlyinthemorningatBlake’sLands,amarshyplacewithastandofoakswheretheyhungpiratesandcriminals.Everyslavewho
couldfigureawaytogettherewouldshowup,andwhitepeople,too,Ireckoned,butsomethingtoldmetocometotheWorkHousefirstandfollowDenmarktoBlake’sLands.Maybehe’dcatchsightofmeandknowhedidn’ttravelthelastmileofhislifealone.
Icrouchedbytheanimalshedsnearthegate,andsoonenoughfourhorse-drawn
wagonscamerollingoutwiththedoomedmenshackledinback,sittingontopoftheirownburialboxes.Theywereaswollen,beat-uplot—RollaandNedinthefirstwagon,Peterinthesecond,andtwomenIneverhadseeninthethird.ThelastoneheldDenmark.Hesattallwithhisfacegrim.Hedidn’tseemegettomyfeetandlimpalongbehindthemonthesideof
theroad.TheGuardwasheavyinthewagons,soIhadtostaywellback.
Thehorsesploddedalongslow.Itrailedthemagoodwayswithmyfootachinginsidemyshoe,workinghardtokeepup,wishinghe’dlookatme,andthenastrangethinghappened.ThefirstthreewagonsturneddowntheroadtowardBlake’sLands,butthefourthonewith
Denmarkturnedintheoppositedirection.Denmarklookedconfusedandtriedtostand,butaguardpushedhimdown.
Hewatchedhislieutenantsrumbleaway.Heyelled,“Dielikemen!”Hekeptonyellingitwhilethedistancegrewbetweenthemandthedustfromthewheelschurned,andRollaandPetershouteditback.Dielikemen.
Dielikemen.Ididn’tknowwhere
Denmark’swagonwasheaded,butIhurriedbehinditwiththeircriesintheair.Thenhiseyesfellonme,andheturnedquiet.Therestoftheway,hewatchedmecomealongbehind,laggingwayback.
TheyhunghimfromanoaktreeonanemptystretchalongAshleyRoad.Nobody
wastherebutthefourguards,thehorse,andme.AllIcoulddowassquatfaroffinthepalmettoscrubandwatch.Denmarksteppedquietontothehighbenchanddidn’tmovewhentheytuggedthenooseoverhishead.Hewentlikeheshoutedtotheothers,likeaman.Uptilltheykickedthebenchoutfromunderhislegs,hestaredatthepalmleaveswhereIhid.
Ilookedawaywhenhedropped.Ikeptmyeyesontheground,listeningtothegaspsthatdriftedfromthetree.Allround,thehermitcrabsskittered,lookingatmewiththeirtinystupideyes,slidinginandoutofholesintheblackdirt.
WhenIlookedagain,Denmarkwasswayingonthelimbwiththehangingmoss.
Theytookhimdown,put
himinthewoodcoffin,andnailedthelid.Afterthewagondisappeareddowntheroad,Ieasedoutfrommyhidingplaceandwalkedtothetree.Itwasalmostpeacefulunderthereintheshade.Likenothinghadhappened.Justthescuffmarksinthedustwherethebenchhadfallenover.
Therewasapotter’sfieldnearby.Iknewthey’dbury
himthereandnobodywouldknowwherehewaslaid.Theedictfromthejudgessaidwecouldn’tcry,orsayhisname,ordoanythingtomarkhim,butItookalittlepieceofredthreadfrommyneckpouchandtieditroundoneofthetwigsonalow,dippingbranchtomarkthespot.ThenIcriedmytearsandsaidhisname.
PARTFIVENovember1826–November1829
HandfulItwaslongaboutNovemberwhenGoodiscaughtachestcoughandIheadedtothestablewithsomehorehoundandbrownsugarforhisthroat,thinkingit’sanotherdull-lusterdayintheworld.Onemorestitchinthecloth.
Upinthehousemissus
andNinawerebickering.Oneminuteit’sthewaymissustreatsusslaves,nextit’sNinarefusingtogobacktosociety.WithoutSarahheretoseparatethem,theykeptafightgoingallday.Phoebewasinthekitchenhousecookingastewmeat,gettingmoresuggestionsfromAunt-Sisterthansheneeded.Mintawashidingoutsomeplace,probablythelaundryhouse,
andSabe,ifIhadtoguess,wasinthecellar,smokingmasterGrimké’spipe.Nowthattheliquorwasgone,Ismelledpipesmokeallthetime.
IsloweddownbythevegetablegardentoseeifGoodisplanteditforthewinter.Itwasnothingbutdirtclods.Theornamentgardenwasinashamble,too—therosevineschokingthe
oleanderandthemyrtlespurtingintwentywrongdirections.MissussaidGoodisgaveshiftlessabadname,butthemanwasn’tlazy,hewassicktothebackteethofforcinghimselftocareabouthersquashesandflowers.
WhileIwasstudyingthedirtandworryingabouthim,Igotthefeelingsomebodywaswatchingme.Ilooked
firstatmissus’window,butitwasempty.Thestabledoorwasopen,butGoodishadhisbacktome,rubbingdownthehorse.Then,fromtheedgeofmyeye,Isawtwofiguresatthebackgate.Theydidn’tmovewhenIlookedtheirway,juststoodthereinthesharplight—anoldslavewomanandaslavegirl.What’dtheywant?Therewasalwaysaslavereadytosell
yousomething,butI’dneverseenonecomepeddlingtothebackgate.Ihatedtoshoothemoff.Theoldwomanwasbentandfrail-looking.Thegirlwasholdingherbythearm.
Iwalkedbackthere,steppingwithmycane,myfingersroundtherabbithead,feelinghowitwassmoothedtothegrainfromalltheyearsofholding.Thewomanand
thegirldidn’ttaketheireyesoffme.Comingcloser,Inoticedtheirheadscarveswerethesamewashed-outred.Thewomanhadyellow-brownskin.Allofasudden,hereyesflaredwideandherchinstartedtoshake.Shesaid,“Handful.”
Icametoastop,lettingthesoundflutterthroughtheairandsettleoverme.ThenIdroppedthecaneandbroke
intoarun,theclosestIcouldgettoone.Seeingmecome,theoldwomansanktotheground.Ididn’thaveakeyforthegate,justflewoverit,likecrossingthesky.Kneelingdown,Iscoopedherinmyarms.
Imust’vebeenshoutingcauseGoodiscamerunning,thenMinta,Phoebe,Aunt-Sister,andSabe.Irememberthempeeringoverthegateat
us.Irememberthestrangegirlsaying,“IsyouHandful?”Andmeontheground,rockingthewomanlikeanewborn.
“SweetLordJesus,”Aunt-Sistersaid.“It’sCharlotte.”
Goodiscarriedmaumatothecellarroomandlaidheronthebed.Everybodycrowded
inandstaredatherlikeshewasaspecter.Weweredeerinthewoods,frozetostillness,afraidtomove.Ifelthot,thebreathgonefromme.Mauma’slidsrolledbackandIsawthewhiteskinsofhereyeshadstartedtoyellowliketherestofher.Shelookedthinasthread.Herfacehadturnedtowrinklesandherhairhadgonesalt-white.She’ddisappeared
fourteenyearsago,butshe’dagedthirty.
Thegirlhunkerednexttoheronthebedwithhereyesdartingfacetoface,herskindarkaschar.Shewasbig-boned,big-handed,big-footedwithaforeheadlikethefullmoon.Shelookedjustlikeherdaddy.Denmark’sgirl.
ItoldMinta,getawetrag.WhileIrubbedmauma’s
face,shestartedtogroanandtwistherneck.SabehauledoffrunningtofetchmissusandNina,andbythetimetheyshowedup,mauma’seyeswerestartingtoopentotherightplace.
Thesmellofunwashedbodieshungroundthebed,makingmissusdrawbackandcoverhernose.“Charlotte,”shesaid,standingbackaways.“Isthatyou?Inever
thoughtwewouldseeyouagain.Whereonearthhaveyoubeen?”
Maumaopenedhermouth,tryingtospeak,butherwordsscratchedintheairwithoutmuchsense.
“We’regladyou’reback,Charlotte,”Ninasaid.Maumablinkedatherlikeshedidn’thavethefirstinklingwhowassayingit.Ninamust’vebeensixorsevenwhenmauma
disappeared.“Issheinherright
mind?”missusasked.Aunt-Sistersetherhands
onherhips.“She’swore-out.Whatsheneedisfoodandagoodlongrest.”ThenshesentPhoebeforthestewbroth.
Missusstudiedthegirl.“Who’sthis?”
Course,that’swhateverybodywantedtoknow.
Thegirldrewupstraightandgavemissusalookthatcouldcutpaper.
“She’smysister,”Isaid.Theroomwentsilent.“Yoursister?”said
missus.“AsIliveandbreathe.WhatamIsupposedtodowithher?Icanbarelykeeptherestofyoufed.”
Ninatuggedhermothertowardthedoor.“Charlotteneedsrest.Letthemseeto
her.”Whenthedoorclosed
behindthem,maumalookedupatmewithheroldsmile.Shehadabiguglyholewherehertwofrontteethusedtobe.Shesaid,“Handful,lookatyou.Justlookatyou.Mygirl,allgrown.”
“I’mthirty-threenow,mauma.”
“Allthattime—”Her
eyeswateredup,thefirsttearsI’deverseenhershedinmylife.Ieaseddownonthebedbesideherandputmyfacetohers.
Shesaidlowagainstmyear,“Whathappentoyourleg?”
“Itookabadfall,”Iwhispered.
SabesenteverybodytotheirchoreswhileIfedmaumaspoonfulsofbroth
andthegirlgulpedhersstraightfromthebowl.Theysleptsidebysidethroughtheafternoon.Timetotime,Aunt-Sisterstuckherheadinthedoorandsaid,“Yawlallright?”Shebroughtshortbread,castoroilboiledinmilk,andblanketsforafloorpalletthatIreckonedwouldbemybedforthenight.Shehelpedmeeaseofftheirshoeswithoutwakingthem,and
whenshesawtheirfeetfesteredoverwithsores,sheleftsoapandabucketofwaterbythedoor.
Thegirlrousedonceandaskedforthechamberpot.Iledherouttotheprivyandwaited,watchingtheleavesontheoaktreedrop,thesoftwaytheyfloateddown.Mauma’shere.Thewonderofithadn’tbrokenthroughtomeyet,theneedtogodown
onmyknees.Icouldn’tstopfeelingtheshockofwhatshelookedlike,andIwasworriedwhatmissusmightdo.She’dlookedatthemliketwobloodsuckersshewantedtothumpoffherskin.
Whenthegirlcameoutoftheprivybarefoot,Isaid,“Weneedtowashyourfeet.”
Shelookeddownatthemwithhermouthpartedandthepinktipofhertonguepoking
out.Shecouldn’tbebutthirteen.Mysister.
Isatherdownonthethree-leggedstoolintheyardinthelastwarmspotfromthesun.Ibroughtthebucketandsoapoutsideandstuckherfeetinthewatertosoak.Isaid,“Howmanydaysdidyouandmaumawalktogethere?”
Shehadbarelyspokensincethismorningatthegate,
andnowthebackwashofwordsrushedfromherlipsandwouldn’tstop.“Iain’tsure.Threeweeks.Couldbemore.WecomeallthewayfromBeaufort.MassaWilcoxplace.Wetravelbynight.Usethefootpathsthetraderstakeandstaytothecreeks.Inthedaytime,wehideinthefieldsandditches.Thisthefifthtimewerun,sowelearnwhich-a-waytogo.Mauma,
sherubpepperandonionpeelonourshoesandlegstomuddlethedogs.Shesaythistimeweain’tgoingback,wegondietrying.”
“Waitnow.Youandmaumaranofffourtimesbeforethisandgotcaughteverytime?”
Shenoddedandlookedoffattheclouds.Shesaid,“OnetimewegettotheCombaheeRiver.Another
timetotheEdisto.”Iliftedherfeetfromthe
bucketoneatatimeandrubbedthemwithsoapwhileshetalked,andthatwassomethingshelikedtodo—talk.
“Wecarryparchedcornanddriedyamswithus.Butthatrunout,soweeatpokeleavesandberries.Whateverwefind.Whenmauma’dgetwhereshecan’tgonomore,
I’dputheronmybackandcarryher.I’dgoaways,thenrestandcarryhersomemore.Shesay,ifsomethinghappentome,keepontillyoufindHandful.”
Thethingsshetoldme.Howtheydrankfrompuddlesandlickeddropsoffsassafrasleaves,howtheyclimbedtreesintheswampandtiedthemselvestothelimbsandslept,howtheywanderedlost
underthemoonandstars.Shesaidonetimeabuckruhcamebyinawagonanddidn’tseethemlayingrightbesidehiminaditch.Cametofindout,shespokeGullah,thelanguagetheslavesusedontheislands.She’dpickeditupnaturalfromtheplantationwomen.Ifshesawabird,she’dsay,there’sabidi.Aturtlewasacooter.Awhiteman,abuckruh.
Idriedherfeetgoodinmylap.“Youdidn’ttellmeyourname.”
“ThemanwhoworkusinthericefieldcallmeJenny.Maumasaythatain’tnoname.Shesayourpeopleusetoflylikeblackbirds.ThedayIwasborn,shelookattheskyandthat’swhatshecallme.Sky.”
Thegirldidn’tlooklikehername.Shewaslikethe
trunkofatree,likearockinafieldyouplowround,butIwasgladmaumahadgivenittoher.IheardGoodiscoughinginthestableandthehorsewhinny.WhenIstood,shepeeredupatmeandsaid,“Whenwewaslost,shetellmethestory’bouttheblackbirds,Idon’tknowhowmanytimes.”
Ismiledather.“Sheusedtotellmethatstory,too.”
Mysisterwasn’tmuchtolookat,andtohearhertalk,you’dthinkshewastoosimpletolearn,butIfeltthetoughnessofmaumainsideherfromthestart.
Icameawakethatnightonthefloorpalletandmaumawasstandinginthemiddleoftheroomwithherbacktome,notmoving,gazingatthe
high-upwindow.Thedarknesswastuckedroundher,butherkerchiefhadslippedoffandherhairwasshininglikefreshpolishsilver.Overonthemattress,Skywassnoringloudandpeaceful.Hearingmestir,maumaturnedroundandspreadopenherarmstome.Withoutmakingasound,Igotupandwenttoher.Iwalkedrightintoherarms.
That’swhenshecamehometome.
ThenexttimeIwoke,earlylighthadsettledandmaumawassittingupinbed,lookingatherstoryquilt.She’dbeensleepingunderitallnightanddidn’tknowit.
Iwentoverandpattedherarm.“Iseweditalltogether.”
Thelasttimeshe’dseen
thequilt,itwasajumble-pileofsquares.Someofthecolorhaddiedoutfromthem,butherstorywasallthere,puttogetherinonepiece.
“Yougoteverysquareintherightplace,”shesaid.“Idon’tknowhowyoudidthat.”
“Iwentbytheorderofwhathappenedtoyouisall.”
WhenPhoebeandAunt-Sisterbroughtbreakfast,
maumawasstillhunchedoverthequilt,studyingeverystitch.Shetouchedthefigureonthelastsquare,theoneIknewtobeDenmark.ItpainedmetothinkImighthavetotellherwhathappenedtohim.
Theairintheroomhadturnedfrigidduringthenight,soIgotbathwaterfromthelaundryhousewherePhoebekeptitgoodandscalding.
Skywentoverinthecornerandwashedherthickbody,whileIundidmauma’sdressbuttons.“Wegonnaburnthisdress,”Isaid,andmaumalaughedthebestsound.
ThepouchI’dmadeforherhungshriveledfromherneckwithanewstrapcutfromapieceofhide.Shepulleditoverherheadandhandedittome.“Ain’tmuchleftinitnow.”
WhenIopenedit,amolderingsmelldriftedout.Diggingmyfingerinside,Ifeltoldleavesgroundtopowder.
MaumasatlowonthestoolwhileIpulledherarmsoutofthedresssleevesandletthetopdroptoherwaist,showingthegroovesbetweenherribsandherbreastsshrunkliketheneckpouch.Idippedtheraginthebasin,
andwhenIsteppedroundtowashherback,shestiffedup.Shehadwhipscarsgnarledliketreerootsfromthetopofherbackdowntoherwaist.Onherrightshoulder,she’dbeenbrandedwiththeletterW.IttookmeaminutebeforeIcouldtouchallthatachingsadness.
WhenIfinallysetherfeetinthebasin,Iasked,“Whathappenedtoyourteeth?”
“Theyfelloutoneday,”shesaid.
Skymadeasoundlikehmmmf.Shesaid,“Moreliketheygotknockedout.”
“Youdon’tneedtobetalking,youtelltoomanytales,”maumatoldher.
ThetruthwasSkywouldtellmoretalesthanmaumaeverknew.Beforetheweekwasout,she’dtellmehowmaumasetloosemischiefon
theplantationeverychanceshegot.Themoretheywhippedmauma,themoreholesshe’dcutinthericesacks.Shebrokethings,stolethings,hidthings.Buriedthethreshingsicklesinthewoods,choppeddownfences,onetimesetfiretotheoverseer’sprivyhouse.
Overinthecorner,Skywouldn’tletgoofthestoryaboutmauma’steeth.“It
happenthesecondtimewerun.Theoverseersay,ifshedoitagain,shebeeasytospotwithherteethgone.Hetookahammer—”
“Hushup!”maumacried.Isquatteddownand
staredherintheeyes.“Don’tyouspareme.I’veseenmyshare.Iknowwhattheworldis.”
SarahIsraelcametocallonmewearingashort,freshlygrownQuakerbeard.WewereseatedsidebysideonthedivanintheMotts’parlor,andhestrokedthewhiskersconstantlyashetalkedaboutthecostofwholesalewoolandthemarvelsofthe
weather.Thebeardwasthickasvelvetbrush-fringeandpepperedwithgray.Helookedhandsomer,sager,likeanewincarnationofhimself.
WhenI’dreturnedtoPhiladelphiaaftermydisastrousattempttoresumelifeinCharleston,I’drentedaroominthehomeofLucretiaMott,determinedtomakesomekindoflifeformyself,andIsupposeI’ddonethat.
Twiceweekly,ItraveledtoGreenHilltotutorBecky,thoughmyoldfoe,Catherine,hadrecentlyinformedmethatmylittleprotégéewouldbegoingawaytoschoolnextyearandmytutoringwouldendatthefirstofthesummer.IfIwastostayuseful,IwouldhavetoseekoutanotherQuakerfamilyinneedofateacher,butasyet,Ihadn’tmadetheeffort.
Catherinewaskindertomenow,thoughshestilldrewherselfuptightasabudwhenshesawIsraelsmileatmeatMeeting,somethingheneverfailedtodo.Nordidhefailinhisvisitstome,comingtwiceeachmonthtocallonmeintheMotts’parlor.
Ilookedathimnowandwonderedhowwe’dgottenourselvesstrandedonthisendlessplateauoffriendship.
Oneheardallsortsofrumorsaboutit.ThatIsrael’stwoeldestsonsopposedhisremarriage,notongeneralprinciple,mindyou,butspecificallytome.Thathe’dpromisedRebeccaonherdeathbedhewouldlovenoonebuther.Thatsomeoftheeldershadcounseledhimagainsttakingawifeforreasonsthatrangedfromhisunreadinesstomy
unprovenness.Iwasnot,afterall,abirthrightQuaker.InCharleston,itwasbeingbornintotheplanterclassthatmattered,hereitwastheQuakers.Somethingswerethesameeverywhere.“You’rethemostpatientofwomen,”Israelhadtoldmeonce.Itdidn’tstrikemeasmuchofavirtue.
Today,exceptforthenewnessofhisbeard,Israel’s
visitgraduallybegantoseemlikealltherest.Itwiddledwithmynapkinashetalkedaboutmerinosheepfarmsandwooldyes.Therewastheclinkofteacupswhenthesilencecame,children’svoicesoverheadmingledwithracingfootstepsoncreakingfloors,andthen,abruptly,withoutpreface,heannounced,“MysonIsraelisgettingmarried.”
Thewayhesaidit,quietandapologetic,embarrassedme.
“...Israel?...LittleIsrael?”
“He’snotsolittlenow.He’stwenty-two.”Hesighed,asifsomethinghadpassedhimby,andIwonderedabsurdlyiftherewasaQuakerlawforbiddingfatherstomarryaftertheirsons.Iwonderedifthebeardwasnot
somuchanewincarnationasaconcession.
Whenitwastimetosaygoodbye,hetookmyhandandpresseditagainstthedarkwhorlsofhaironhischeek.Heclosedhiseyes,andwhenheopenedthem,Ifelthewasabouttosaysomething.Iliftedmybrows.Butthen,releasingmyhand,herosefromthedivanandwhatevererrantthoughthadwriggled
fromhisheartreturnedtoit,repentantandundeclared.
Hewalkeduncertainlytothedoorandlethimselfout,whileIremainedseated,seeingthingswithterribleclarity:thepassivity,thehesitationaboutthefuture.NotIsrael’s—mine.
AsLucretiaandIsatinthetinyroomshecalledastudio,
winterrainprickedthewindowpane,turningtoice.We’dpulledourchairsclosetothehearthwherethefirewassnappingandpopping,zinginglikeharpstrings.Lucretiawasopeningasmallpacketofmailthathadarrivedintheafternoon.IwasreadingaSirWalterScottnovelbannedbytheQuakers,whichsomehowmadeitallthemoreenjoyable,butnow,
drowsywithheat,Iloweredthebookandstaredintotheflames.
Itwasmyfavoritepartoftheday—afterthechildrenwereputtobedandLucretia’shusband,James,hadretiredtohisstudy,anditwasjustthetwoofusgatheredhereinheroddlittlenookofaroom.Astudio.Itwascomprisedofnothingmorethantwostuffedchairs,
alargeleafedtable,afireplace,wallshelves,andawidewindowthatlookedoutoveracopseofredmulberriesandblackoaksbehindthehouse.Theroomwasnotforcookingorsewingorchildcareorentertaining.Scatteredwithpapersandpamphlets,booksandcorrespondence,artpalettesandsquaresofvelvetclothonwhichshepinnedthe
brightlunamothsshefoundlifelessinthegarden,thisroomwasjustforher.
Idon’tknowhowmanyeveningswe’dspentinheretalking,orliketonight,sittingquietlyliketwosolitudes.LucretiaandIhadformedabondthatwentbeyondfriends.AndyetIfeltthedifferencebetweenus.InoticeditatMeetingswhenIsawherontheFacingbench,
theonlyfemaleministeramongallthosemen,thewaysheroseandspokewithsuchfearlessbeauty,andeverymorningwhenIwentdownstairsandtherewereherchildrenstickywithoatgruel.Iwouldgetafaintlyvacuousfeelinginthepitofmystomach,notfromenvythatshehadaprofession,ortheselittleones,orevenJames,whowasnotlikeothermen,
butofsomeunknownspecies,ahusbandwhobeamedoverherprofessionandmadetheoatgruelhimself.No,itwasn’tthat.ItwasthebelongingIenvied.She’dfoundherbelonging.
“Why,thisletterisforyou,”Lucretiasaid,thrustingittowardme.ItwasNina’sstationery,butnotNina’sscript.Thehandwritingonthefrontwaschildlikeandcrude.
MissSarahGrimké.
DearSarahMauma’sback.Nina
saidIcouldwriteyoumyselfwiththenews.Sheranawayfromtheplantationwhereshe’dbeenkeptallthistime.Youshouldseeher.ShehasscarsandafullheadofwhitehairandlooksoldasMethusal,
butshe’sthesameinside.Inurseherdayandnight.ShebroughtmysisterwithhernamedSky.Iknowthat’ssomename.Itcomesfrommaumaandherlongings.Shealwayssaidonedaywe’dflylikeblackbirds.Missusstaysmadat
Ninamostallthetime.Ninastartedsome
troublesatthepresbyterrychurchwhereshegoes.Somemancamelastweektopunishheronsomethingshesaid.MaumaandSkyaretheonebrighthope.Ithastakentoolong
towritethis.Forgivemymistakes.Idon’tgettoreadanymoreandworkonmywords.One
dayIwill.Handful
“Ihopeitisn’tbadnews,”Lucretiasaid,studyingmyface,whichmust’vebeenaconfusionofelationandheart-wrench.
Ireadtheletteraloudtoher.Ihadn’tspokenmuchabouttheslavesmyfamilyheld,butIhadtoldheraboutHandful.Shereachedover
andpattedmyhand.Wefellquietastheice
turnedbacktorain,cominginadark,drowningwashonthewindow.IclosedmyeyesandtriedtoimaginethereunionbetweenHandfulandhermother.ThesisternamedSky.Charlotte’sscarsandwhitehair.
“...WhywouldGodplantsuchdeepyearningsinus...iftheyonlycometo
nothing?”Itwasmoreofasighthanaquestion.IwasthinkingofCharlotteandherlongingtobefree,butasthewordsleftmymouth,IknewIwasthinkingofmyself,too.
Ihadn’treallyexpectedLucretiatorespond,butafteramoment,shespoke.“Godfillsuswithallsortsofyearningsthatgoagainstthegrainoftheworld—butthefactthoseyearningsoften
cometonothing,well,Idoubtthat’sGod’sdoing.”Shecuthereyesatmeandsmiled.“Ithinkweknowthat’smen’sdoing.”
Sheleanedtowardme.“Lifeisarrangedagainstus,Sarah.Andit’sbrutallyworseforHandfulandhermotherandsister.We’reallyearningforawedgeofsky,aren’twe?IsuspectGodplantstheseyearningsinussowe’ll
atleasttryandchangethecourseofthings.Wemusttry,that’sall.”
IfeltherwordstearaholeinthelifeI’dmade.Anirreparablehole.
IstartedtotellherthatasachildI’dyearnedfortheentirefirmament.Foraprofessioncompletelyuntriedamongwomen.Ididn’twanthertothinkI’dalwaysbeencontenttobeatutorwhenI
hadlittlepassionforit,butIpushedtheconfessionaside.EvenNinadidn’tknowaboutmyaspirationtobealawyer,howit’dendedinhumiliation.
“...Butyoudidmorethantrytobecomeaminister...Youaccomplishedit...I’veoftenwonderedwhetheronemustfeelaspecialcallfromGodtoundertakethat.”
QuakerministerswerenothingliketheAnglicanorPresbyterianclergyIwasusedto.Theydidn’tstandbehindapulpitandpreachsermons:theyspokeduringtheSilenceasinspiredbyGod.Anyonecouldspeak,ofcourse,buttheministerswerethemostverbal,theoneswhoofferedmessagesforworship,theoneswhosevoicesseemedsetapart.
Shepushedatthemessybuncoiledatherneck.“Ican’tsaythecallIfeltwasspecial.Iwantedtohaveasayinthings,that’swhatitcamedownto.Iwantedtospeakmyconscienceandtohaveitmatter.Surely,Godcallsusalltothat.”
“...Doyouthink...IcouldbecomeaQuakerminister?”Thewordshadbeentuckedinsideofmefor
alongtime,perhapssincethemomentontheshipwhenIfirstmetIsraelandhetoldmefemaleministersactuallyexisted.
“SarahGrimké,you’rethemostintelligentpersonIknow.Ofcourseyoucould.”
Proppedinbed,wearingmywarmestwoolengown,myhairloosed,Ibentoverthe
bed-deskandpewterinkstandI’drecentlyindulgedinbuyingandtriedtoanswerHandful’sletter.
19January1827DearHandful,Whatjoyousnews!
Charlotteisback!Youhaveasister!
Iloweredthepenandstaredattheprocessionof
exclamations.Isoundedlikeachirpingbird.Itwasmyfifthattemptatabeginning.
Strewnaboutmeonthebedwerecrumpledballsofpaper.Howhappyyoumustbenow,I’dwrittenfirst,thenworriedshemightthinkIwasimplyingallhermiserieswereovernow.Next:Iwaseuphorictoreceiveyournews,butwhatifshedidn’tknowthewordeuphoric?I
couldn’twriteasinglelinewithoutfearofseeminginsensitiveorcondescending,tooremovedortoofamiliar.Irememberedus,asIalwaysdid,ontheroofdrinkingtea,butthatwasgoneanditwasallballed-uppapernow.
Ipickedupthesheetofstationerywiththeglibexclamationsandcrusheditinmyhands.Asmearofinklickedacrossmypalm.
HoldingmyhandaloftfromLucretia’swhiteeiderdown,Iliftedthebed-deskfromacrossmylegsandwenttothebasin.Whensoapfailedtoremovethestain,Irummagedinthedresserdrawerforthecreamoftartar,andthere,lyingbesidethebottle,wastheblacklavaboxcontainingmysilverfleurdelisbutton.Iopeneditandgazeddownatthebutton.It
wasdarklysilvered,likesomethingpearlingupfrombeneaththewater.
Thebuttonhadbeenthemostconstantobjectinmylife.I’dthrownitawaythatonce,butit’dcomebacktome.IcouldthankHandfulforthat.
Ireturnedtothewarmthofthebedandplacedthebuttononthebed-desk,watchingthelamplightspill
overit.Ilaybackonthepillow,rememberingmyeleventhbirthdaypartyatwhichHandfulhadbeenpresentedtome,howI’dwokenthenextdaywiththeoverpoweringsenseIwasmeanttodosomethingintheworld,somethinglarge,largerthanmyself.Ibrushedmyfingeracrossthebutton.Ithadalwaysheldthisknowingforme.
Intheroom,everythingmagnified:cindersdroppingonthehearth,atinyscratchingatthebaseboard,thesmellofink,theetchofthefleurdelisonthebutton.
Itookacleansheetofstationery.
19January1827DearHandful,Myheartisfull.Itry
toimagineyouwith
Charlotteandanewsister,andIcan’tdreamwhatyoumustfeel.I’mhappyforyou.Atthesametime,I’msadtoknowofthescarsyourmotherbears,allthehorrorsshemusthavelivedthrough.ButIwon’tfocusonthatnow,onlyonyourtogetherness.Didyouknowonce,
whenweweregirls,CharlottemademevowthatonedayIwoulddowhateverIcouldtohelpyougetfree?Wewereoutbythewoodpilewherethelittleorphanedbarnowllived.Irememberitlikeyesterday.Iconfessnow,that’swhyItaughtyoutoread.Itoldmyselfreadingwas
akindoffreedom,theonlyoneIcouldgive.I’msorry,Handful.I’msorryIcouldn’tkeepthevowanybetter.Istillhavethesilver
buttonyourescuedafterItosseditout.AsIwriteyounow,itsitsbesidetheinkwell,remindingmeofthedestinyIalwaysbelievedwasinsideof
me,waiting.HowcanIexplainsuchathing?IsimplyknowitthewayIknowthere’sanoaktreeinsideanacorn.I’vebeenfilledwithahungertogrowthisseedmywholelife.IusedtothinkIwassupposedtobecomealawyer,perhapsbecausethat’swhatFatherandThomasdid,
butitwasneverthat.Thesedays,IfeelinspiredtobecomeaQuakerminister.DoingsowillatleastprovidemeawaytodowhatItriedtodoonmyeleventhbirthday,thatdayyouwerecruellygiventometoown.ItwillallowmetotellwhoevermightlistenthatIcan’tacceptthis,
thatwecan’tacceptslavery,itmustend.That’swhatIwasbornfor—nottheministry,notthelaw,butabolition.I’vecometoknowitonlythisnight,butithasalwaysbeenthetreeintheacorn.TellyourmotherI’m
gladshehasfoundyouagain.Greetyoursisterforme.I’vefailedin
manythings,eveninmyloveforyou,butIthinkofyouasmyfriend.
Sarah
HandfulThatwintermaumasatidlebythefireinthekitchenhouse.Shegotalittleweightbackonher,butsometimesshehadspellswhenshecouldn’tkeepdownherfoodandwe’dbebackwherewestarted.Maumasaideverytimeshesawme,Iwas
comingatherwithapieceofbiscuit.
Wehadplentyofvacantslavequarters,butthethreeofusstayedontogetherinthecellarroom.Goodisbroughtinalittlebedfromthenursery,andwewedgeditbesidethebigbedandsleptthreepeasinapodunderneaththequiltframe.Skyaskedonetimewhatwasallthatwoodnailedonthe
ceiling,andIsaid,“Youneversawaquiltframe?”andmaumasaid,“Well,youain’tneverseenaricefield,soyawleven.”
Maumastillwouldn’ttalkaboutwhat’dhappenedtoher.She’dsay,“What’sdone’sdone.”Mostnights,though,she’dwakeupandpacetheroom,anditdidn’tseemdoneatall.Irealizedthebestcuringthingforher
wasaneedle,athread,andapieceofcloth.Oneday,ItoldherIneededsomehelpandhandedherthemendingbasket.WhenIcameback,theneedlewasahummingbirdinherfingers.
ThehardestpartwasfindingworkforSky.Shecouldn’tdothelaundrytosaveherlife.IgotSabetotryherinthehousecleaningandservingteawithmeand
Minta,butmissussaidshedidn’tlookthepart,andputofftheguests.Afterthat,shewenttoworkinthekitchenhouse,butshedroveAunt-Sistercrazywithherchatter,storiesaboutrabbitsout-trickingfoxesandbears.Sheusuallyendedupontheporch,singinginGullah.Efoonaentknowehoonadagwuine,oonashouldknowehoonadumfrom.Thatsame
song,overandover.Ifyoudon’tknowwhereyou’regoing,youshouldknowwhereyoucamefrom.
Onemorningonthetailendofwinter,theknockerclackedonthefrontdoorandincameMr.Huger,thesolicitor,stompingthecoldoffhisfeet.HehandedmehishatwhileSabewenttoget
missus.IfoundNinainherroom,
readyingfortheclassshetaughtatchurch.Isaid,“Quick,youneedtocomeseewhatyourmauma’supto.Mr.Huger’sdownthere—”
SheflewfromtheroombeforeIcouldfinishoffthesentence.
Idawdledoutsidethecloseddrawingroomdoors,butIcouldn’tmakeoutmuch
theyweresaying—justpassingwords.Pension...Bank...Cottoncrash...Sacrifice.Theclockbongedtentimes.Thesoundfilledthehouse,turningitheavy,andwhenitstopped,Iheardmissussaythewordsky.MaybeshewastalkingabouttheblueroofthathungovertheworldbutIknewitwasmysister.
Iflattenedmyeartothe
door.LetSabefindmeandchasemeoff,Icouldn’tcare.
“She’sthirteenyearsold,withoutanyperceivabledomesticskills,butshe’sstrong.”Thatwasmissustalking.
Mr.Hugermumbledaboutgoingrates,sellinginthespringwhentheplantingstartedontheplantations.
“Youcan’tseparateSkyfromhermother,”Ninacried.
“It’sinhuman!”“Idon’tcareforiteither,”
missussaid.“Butwemustfacereality.”
Mybreathclutchedatmyribslikegrabbinghands.Iclosedmyeyes,tiredofthesorryworld.
WhenIfoundmaumainthekitchenhouse,shewasalonewiththemendingbasket.Isankbesideher.“MissusplanstosellSkyin
thespring.Wegottofindawayforhertoearnherkeep.”
“Sell?”Shelookedatmewithstun,thenpinchedhereyes.“Weain’tcomethisfarsoshecansellmygirl.That’sfordamnsure.”
“TheremustbesomethingintheworldSky’sgoodatdoing.”ThewayIsaidit,likemysisterwasslowinthehead,causedmaumatoflareatme.
“Don’tyoutalklikethat!YoursisterhasthesmartofDenmarkinher.”Sheshookherhead.“He’sherdaddy,butIguessyoufigurethat.”
“Yeah,Ifigured.”Itseemedlikethetimetofinallytellher.“Denmark,he—”
“Thereain’taslavelivingwhodon’tknowwhathappentohim.WehearditallthewaytoBeaufort.”
Ididn’ttellherI’dwatchedhimdangleonthetree,butItoldhereverythingelse.Istartedwiththechurchwherewe’dsungJericho.ItoldherabouttheWorkHouse,fallingoffthetreadmillandcripplingmyfoot.ItoldherthewayDenmarktookmeinandcalledmedaughter.“Istoleabulletmoldforthatman,”Isaid.
Shepushedherfingershardagainsthereyelids,tryingtokeepthemfromspillingover.Whensheopenedthem,therewasamapinhereyesofbrokenredlines.
“Skyaskmeonetimewhoherdaddyis,”shesaid.“ItoldherhewasafreeblackinCharleston,buthe’sdead.That’sallsheknow.”
“Howcomeyoudon’ttell
her?”“Sky’sgotachild’sway
oftalkingoutofturn.Theminuteyoutellher’boutDenmark,she’lltellhalftheworld.Thatain’tgonhelpher.”
“Sheneedstoknowabouthim.”
“Whatsheneedistokeepfromgettingsold.Thethingsheknowbestisthericefields.Puthertoworkinthe
yard.”
Skytooktheornamentgardenandbroughtitbacktoitsglory.Itcamenaturaltoher—howdeeptoburythejonquilbulbs,whentocutbacktheroses,howtotrimthehedgestomatchthedrawingsinabookNinashowedher.WhenSkyplantedthevegetables,she
shoveledhorseshitfromthestableandmixeditinthedirt.Shedugstraightfurrowsfortheseedsandcoveredthemwithherbarefootlikeshe’ddonewiththerice.ShesangGullahsongstotheplantswhenshehoed.Whenthebeetlescame,shepickedthemoffwithherfingers.
Wouldn’tyouknow,thecrooknecksquashcameupthesizeofdrinkinggourds.
Theheadsonthepeonieswerebigpinksoupbowls.Evenmissuscameoutspecialtoseethem.Assoonasthejonquilscameupandturnedtheairchokingsweet,shethrewagardenteaforherfriendsthatleftthemsufferingwithenvy.
Summercame,andSkywasstillwithus.
“Whereyoukeepthescrapcloth?”maumasaid.Shewasrummagingthroughthelacquersewingtableinthecornerofthecellarroom.Therewasabasketonthefloorbesideherfeetheapedwithspindlesofthread,needlebags,pins,shears,andameasuretape.
“Scrapcloth?Thesameplaceitalwayswas.Inthepatchbag.”
Shereachedforit.“Yougotsomeredandbrowncottoninhere?”
“Alwaysgotredandbrowncotton.”
Ifollowedhertothespirittree,wherethecrowshidupinthebranches.ShesatonAunt-Sister’soldfish-scalingstoolwithherbackagainstthetrunkandwenttowork.Shecutaredsquare,thentooktheshearstothebrown
clothandclippedtheshapeofawagon.
Isaid,“IsthatthewagontheGuardhauledyouoffinthedayyoudisappeared?”
Shesmiled.Shewaspickingupwith
therestofherstory.Shewouldn’tsaywhathappenedtoherwithwords.Shewouldtellitinthecloth.
SarahWhenautumncame,LucretiaandIattendedthewomen’smeetingatArchStreetwherewefoundourselvesstandinginacrowdedvestibulebesideJaneBettleman,whoglaredpointedlyatthefleurdelisbuttonI’dsewedatthethroatofmygraydress.Granted,
thebuttonwasornateandexpensive,anditwaslarge,thesizeofabrooch.I’dfreshlypolishedthesilver,sothereinthebright-litatrium,itwasshininglikeasmallsun.
Reachingup,Itouchedtheengravedlily,thenturnedtoLucretiaandwhispered,“MybuttonhasoffendedMrs.Bettleman.”
Shewhisperedback,
“SinceyoukeepMr.Bettlemanupsetagreatamountofthetime,itseemsonlyfairyoushoulddothesameforhiswife.”
Isuppressedasmile.Arguablythemost
powerfulfigureatArchStreet,SamuelBettlemancriticizedLucretiaandmeonaweeklybasis.Duringthepastfewmonths,thetwoofushadspokenoutfrequently
inMeetingsontheanti-slaverycause,andafterwardhewoulddescendonus,callingourmessagesdivisive.Noneofourmembersfavoredslavery,ofcourse,butmanywerealooftothecause,andtheydiffered,too,onhowquicklyemancipationshouldbeaccomplished.EvenIsraelwasagradualist,believingslaveryshouldbedismantledslowlyovertime.Butwhat
mostrankledMr.Bettlemanandothersinthemeetingwasthatwomenspokeaboutit.“Aslongaswetalkaboutbeinggoodhelpmatestoourhusbands,it’swellandgood,”Lucretiahadtoldmeonce,“butthemomentweveerintosocialmatters,orGodforbid,politics,theywanttosilenceuslikechildren!”
Shegavemecourage,
Lucretiadid.“MissGrimké,Mrs.Mott,
howarethee?”avoicesaid.Mrs.Bettlemanwasatmyelbow,hereyesflickeringovermyextravagantbutton.
Beforewecouldreturnthegreeting,shesaid,“That’sanunusuallydecorativeitematyourcollar.”
“...Itrustyoulikeit?”Ithinksheexpectedmeto
beapologetic.Sherolledup
herpalewhitelips,bringingtomindtheflutededgesofacallalily.“Well,itcertainlymatchesthisnewpersonalityofyours.You’vebeenveryoutspokeninMeetingslately.”
“...IonlytrytospeakasGodwouldpromptme,”Isaid,whichwasfarmorepiousthantrue.
“Itiscurious,though,thatGodpromptsyoutospeak
againstslaverysomuchofthetime.Ihopeyou’llreceivewhatI’mabouttosayforyourownedification,buttomanyofusitappearsyou’vebecomeoverlyabsorbedbythecause.”
UndauntedevenbyLucretia,whotookastepclosertomyside,Mrs.Bettlemancontinued.“Therearethoseofuswhobelievethetimeforactionhasnotyet
come.”Angersearedthroughme.
“...You,whoknownothingofslavery...nothingatall,youpresumetosaythetimehasnotcome?”
Myvoicesailedacrossthevestibule,causingthewomentoceasetheirconversationsandturninourdirection.Mrs.Bettlemancaughtherbreath—butIwasn’tfinished.“Ifyouwere
aslavetoilinginthefieldsinCarolina...Isuspectyouwouldthinkthetimehadfullycome.”
Sheturnedonherheelandstrodeaway,leavingLucretiaandmetheobjectofshocked,silentstares.
“Ineedtofindsomeair,”Isaidcalmly,andwewalkedfromthemeetinghouseontothestreet.Wekeptwalkingpastthesimplebrickhouses
andcharcoalvendorsandfruitpeddlers,allthewaytoCamdenFerrySlip.Westrolledpasttheferryhouseontothequay,whichbrimmedwithpassengersarrivingfromNewJersey.Atthefarendofthedock,aflockofwhitegullsstoodontheweatheredplanks,facingthewind.WestoppedshortofthemandstaredattheDelawareRiver,holdingon
toourbonnets.Lookingdown,Isawthat
myhandswereshaking.Lucretiasawit,too.Shesaid,“Youwon’tlookoveryourshoulder,willyou?”Shewasreferringtothealtercation,totheterribleinclinationwewomensometimeshadtoscurrybacktosafety.
“No,”Itoldher.“Iwon’tlookback.”
16February1828DearBelovedSister,Youarethefirstand
onlytoknow:I’velostmyhearttoReverendWilliamMcDowellofThirdPresbyterianChurch.He’sreferredtoinCharlestonasthe“young,handsome,ministerfromNewJersey.”He’sbarelypastthirty,andhisface
islikethatofApollointhelittlepaintingthatusedtohanginyourroom.HecameherefromMorristownwhenhishealthforcedhimtoseekamilderclimate.Oh,Sister,hehasthestrongestreservationsaboutslavery!Lastsummer,he
enlistedmetoteachthechildreninSabbath
School,ajobIhappilydoeachweek.IonceremarkedontheevilofslaveryduringclassandreceivedacautionaryvisitfromDr.McIntire,theSuperintendent,andyoushould’veseenthewayWilliamcametomydefense.Afterward,headvisedmethatwhenitcomesto
slavery,wemustprayandwait.I’mnogoodateither.Hecallsonme
weekly,duringwhichwehavediscussionsabouttheologyandchurchandthestateoftheworld.Heneverdepartswithouttakingmyhandandpraying.Iopenmyeyesandwatchashecreaseshis
browandmakeshiseloquentpleas.IfGodhastheslightestnotionofhowitfeelstobeenamored,he’llforgiveme.Idon’tyetknow
William’sintentionstowardme,butIbelievehereciprocatesmyown.Behappyforme.
Yours,
Nina
WhenNina’sletterarrived,IcarriedittothebenchbeneatharedelmintheMotts’tinybackyard.ItwasawarmdayforMarch.Thecrocuseswerebreakingthroughthewintercrustandthegrasshoppersandbirdswereoutmakingarapturouscommotion.
Aftertuckingasmallquilt
overmyknees,Iarrangedmynewspectaclesontotheendofmynose.Lately,wordshadbeguntotransformthemselvesintoblurredsquiggles.IthoughtI’druinedmyeyesfromexcessivereading—I’dbeenunrelentinginmystudiesfortheministryoverthepastyear—butthephysicianI’dconsultedascribedtheproblemtomiddleage.Islit
theletter,thinking,Nina,ifyoucouldseemenowwithmyold-ladylapthrowandmyspectacles,youwouldthinkmeseventyinsteadofhalfthat.
IreadaboutherReverendMcDowellwithwhatIimaginedtobeamother’ssatisfactionandworries.Iwonderedifhewasworthyofher.IwonderedwhatMotherthoughtofhim,andifIwould
returntoCharlestonforthewedding.IwonderedwhatkindofclergywifeNinawouldmakeandiftheReverendhadanyideawhatsortofPandora’sboxhewasabouttoopen.
ItwillalwaysbeaquirkoffatethatIsraelarrivedatthisparticularmoment.IwasfoldingtheletterintomypocketwhenIlookedupandsawhimcomingtowardme
withouthiscoatorhat.Itwasthemiddleoftheafternoon.
He’dnevermentionedtheepisodewithJaneBettleman.Heundoubtedlyknewofit.EveryoneatArchStreetknewofit.IthaddividedthemembersintothosewhothoughtIwashaughtyandbrazenandthosewhothoughtImerelyimpassionedandprecipitate.Iassumedhewasamongthelatter.
Ashetookaseatbesideme,hiskneepressedagainstmylegandatinyheatmovedacrossmychest.Hestillhadhisbeard.Itwaswell-clipped,butlongerwithmoresilver.Ihadn’tseenhiminweeksexceptatMeeting.There’dbeennoexplanationforhisabsence.I’dtoldmyselfitwastheinevitablewayofthings.
Iremovedmyglasses.
“...Israel...thisisunexpected.”
Therewasanexigencyabouthim.Ifeltitlikeadisturbanceintheair.
“I’vewantedtospeaktoyouforsometime,butI’veresisted.IworriedhowyoumightreceivewhatIhavetosay.”
Surelythiswasn’taboutthehubbubwithMrs.Bettleman.Thathadbeen
monthsago.“...Istheresome
difficultnews?”Iasked.“Iimaginethiswillseem
abrupt,Sarah,butI’vecomedeterminedtospeakandletthingsfallorstandastheywill.Forfiveyearsnow,I’vestruggledwithmyfeelingsconcerningyou.”
Ifeltmybreathsuddenlyleaveme.Helookedofftowardthebare-bonetreesat
theperimeteroftheyard.“I’vegrievedRebecca,perhapstoolong.Itbecameahabit,grievingher.I’vebeenenthralledtohermemorytotheexclusionoftoomanythings.”
Hebowedhishead.Iwantedtoreassurehimitwasallright,butithadneverbeenallright,andIremainedquiet.
“I’vecometosayI’m
sorry,”hesaid.“ItseemedunfairtoaskyoutobemywifewhenIfeltsotiedtoher.”
Itwasanapologythen,notaproposal.“...Youdon’tneedtoapologize.”
HewentonasifI’dsaidnothing.“Someweeksago,Idreamedofher.Shecametome,holdingthelocket,theoneBeckyinsistedyouwearthattime.Sheplaceditinmy
hand.WhenIwoke,itfeltasifshe’dreleasedme.”
I’dbeenstaringmiserablyatmyhands,butIgazedupathim,awareofhowpalpablethewordreleasedhadbeeninhisvoice,howthemomentwasrearrangingitself.
“YoumustknowIcaredeeplyforyou,”hesaid.“Amanisnotmeanttobealone.Thechildrenaregrowing,buttheyoungeronesstillneeda
mother,andGreenHillisinneedofamistress.Catherinehasexpressedawishtomovebacktoherhouseintown.I’msayingitpoorly.I’masking—I’mhopingyou’llbemywife.”
I’dimaginedthismoment:Iwouldfeelanoutpouringofjoy.Iwouldclosemyeyesandknowthatmylifehadtrulybegun.Iwouldsay,DearestIsrael,
yes.Everythingintheworldwouldbeyes.
Itwasnotlikethat.WhatIfeltwasquietandstrange.Itwashappinessdefiledbyfear.ForanimperishableminuteIcouldn’tspeak.
Mysilencedistressedhim.“Sarah?”hesaid.
“...Iwanttosayyes...andyet,asyouknow,I’vesetmycourseforavocation.Theministry...WhatImeanto
sayis...couldIbeyourwifeandaminister?”
Hiseyeswidened.“Ihadn’timaginedyouwouldwanttocontinuewithyourambitionafterwemarried.Wouldyoureallywantthat?”
“Iwould.Withallmyheart.”
Hisfacefurrowed.“Forgiveme,Ionlythoughtyouchoseitbecauseyou’dgivenuponme.”
Hethoughtmyambitionwasaconsolation?Reflexively,Istoodandtookafewsteps.
IthoughtoftheknowingthathadcometomeaboutmymissiononthenightIwrotetoHandful.Itwaspureasthevoicethathadbroughtmenorth.WhenI’dsewedthebuttononmydress,Iknewitcouldn’tbeundone.
Iturnedbacktohimand
sawhewasonhisfeet,waiting.“Ican’tbeRebecca,Israel.Herwholelifewasforyouandthechildren,andIwouldloveyounolessthanshedid,butI’mnotlikeher.TherearethingsImustdo.Please,Israel,don’tmakemechoose.”
Hetookmyhandsandkissedthem,firstone,thentheother,anditcametomethatI’dspokenoflove,buthe
hadnot.He’dspokenofcaring,ofneed—his,thechildren’s,GreenHill’s.
“Wouldn’tI,wouldn’twebeenoughforyou?”hesaid.“Youwouldbeawonderfulwifeandthebestofmothers.Wewouldseetoitthatyounevermissedyourambition.”
Itwashiswayoftellingme.Icouldnothavehimandmyselfboth.
HandfulIspreadapalletunderthetreeandsetmysewingbasketonit.Missushaddecidedsheneedednewcurtainsandcoversforthedrawingroom,whichwasthelastthingsheneeded,butitgavemeareasontocomeouthereandsewwithmauma.
Shesatunderthetreeeveryday,workingherstoryontothequilt.Evenifitdrizzled,Icouldn’tbudgeher—shewaslikeGodmendingtheworld.Whenshecametobedatnight,shebroughtthetreewithher.Thesmellofbarkandwhitemushrooms.Crumbsfromtheearthalloverthemattress.
Winterhadpackedandgone.Theleaveshad
wriggledoutonthetreebranchesandthegoldtasselswerefallingfromthelimbslikesheddingfur.Settlingonthepalletnexttomauma,IwonderedaboutSarahupnorth,ifherpalefaceeversawthesun.She’dwrittenmeawhileback,firstletterIevergot.Icarrieditinmypocketmostofthetime.
Thomas’wifehadgivenmissusabrassbirdthat
fastenedclothinitsbeak,whattheycalledasewbird.IstuckoneendofthecurtainpanelinitsmouthwhileImeasuredandcut.Maumawascuttingouttheappliquéofamanholdingabrandingironinthefire.
“Who’stheman?”Isaid.“That’smassaWilcox,”
shesaid.“Hebrandmethefirsttimewerunoff.Skywas’boutseventhen—Ihadto
waitonhertogetoldenoughtotravel.”
“Skysaidyawlranfourtimes.”
“Werunthenextyearwhenshe’seight,andthenwhenshe’snine,andthattimetheywhipher,too,soIstoptrying.”
“Howcomeyoutriedthislasttimethen?”
“WhenIfirstgetthere,beforeSkywasborn,massa
Wilcoxcomedowntoseeme.Everybodyknowwhathewant,too.Whenheputhishandonme,Itakeascoopofredcoalsoffthefireandtoss’em.Burntheman’sarmcleanthroughhisshirt.Igotmyfirstwhipping,butit’sthelasttimehetrythatwithme.WhenSkyturnthirteenlastyear,herehecomeback,sniffingroundher.Itellher,weleaving,andthistimewe
gondietrying.”Icouldn’tmeasurewords
againstanyofthat.Isaid,“Well,youmadeit.You’reherenow.”
Ourneedlesstartedback.Overinthegarden,Skywassinging.Efoonaentknowehoonadagwuine,oonashouldknowehoonadumfrom.
Skyhadneversetfootpast
theGrimkéwallssinceshegothere.Missusdidn’thaveownerpapersonherandNinasaiditwasdangerousbusinessoutthere.SinceDenmark,thecodeshadgotstricterandthebuckrahshadgotmeaner,butthenextmarketday,ItoldNina,“WriteSkyapass,justdoitforme.I’llwatchafterher.”
ItiedafreshscarfonSky’sheadandwrappeda
pressedapronroundherwaist.Isaid,“Now,don’tbetalkingtoomuchoutthere,allright?”
Onthestreet,Ishowedherthealleystoduckin.Ipointedouttheguards,howtowalkpastandlowerhereyes,howtostepasideforthewhites,howtosurviveinCharleston.
Themarketwasbusy—themencarryingwoodslats
piledwithfishandthewomenwalkingroundwithvegetablebasketsontheirheadsthesizeoflaundrytubs.Thelittleslavegirlswereout,too,sellingpeanutpattiesfromtheirstrawhats.Bythetimewepassedbythebutchertableswiththebloodycalfheadslinedup,Sky’seyeswerebigashorsehooves.“Whereallthisstuffcomefrom?”shesaid.
“You’reinthecitynow,”Itoldher.
IshowedherhowtopickandchoosewhatAunt-Sisterneeded—coffee,tea,flour,cornmeal,beefrump,lard.Itaughtherhowtohaggle,howtodothemoneychange.Thegirlcoulddonumbersinherheadquickerthanme.
Whentheshoppingwasdone,Isaid,“Nowwegoingsomewhere,andIdon’twant
youtellingmauma,orGoodis,oranybodyaboutit.”
WhenwecametoDenmark’shouse,westoodonthestreetandlookedatthebatteredwhitewash.I’dcomebyhereafewmonthsaftertheylynchedDenmark,andafreeblackwomanI’dneverseenansweredthedoor.Shesaidherhusbandhadboughtthehousefromthecity,saidshedidn’tknowwhatcameof
SusanVesey.IsaidtoSky,“You’re
alwayssinginghowweshouldknowwherewecomefrom.”Ipointedtothehouse.“That’swhereyourdaddylived.HisnamewasDenmarkVesey.”
ShekepthereyesontheporchwhileItoldherabouthim.Isaidhewasacarpenter,abig,brave-heartedmanwhohadwits
sharperthananywhiteman.IsaidtheslavepeopleinCharlestoncalledhimMosesandhe’dlivedforgettingusfree.Itoldheraboutthebloodhe’dmeanttospill.BloodI’dlongsincemadepeacewith.
Shesaid,“Iknow’bouthim.Theyhunghim.”
Isaid,“Hewould’vecalledyoudaughterifhe’dhadthechance.”
Wehadn’tblownoutthecandlefiveminuteswhenmauma’svoicewhisperedcrossthebed.“Whathappentothemoney?”
Myeyespoppedopen.“What?”
“ThemoneyIsavedtobuyourfreedom.Whathappentoit?”
Skywasalreadysleepingdeepwithawheezeinher
breath.Sherolledoveratourvoices,mumblingnonsense.Iraisedonmyelbowandlookedatmaumalayinginthemiddlebetweenus.“Ithoughtyoutookitwithyou.”
“Iwasdeliveringbonnetsthatday.WhatwouldIbecarryingallthatmoneyinmypocketfor?”
“Idon’tknow,”Iwhispered.“Butitain’there.
Ilookedhighandlowforit.”“Well,it’srightunder
yournosethewholetime—ifitwasasnake,it’dbiteyou.Where’sthatfirstquiltyoumade—hasredsquaresandblacktriangles?”
Ishould’veknown.“Ikeepitonthequilt
framewiththeotherquilts.Isthatwhereyouputit?”
Shewhippedbackthecoverandclimbedfrombed,
mefumblingbehindher,lightingacandle.Skysatupinthehot,sputteringdark.
“Comeon,getup,”maumatoldher.“Wefixingtorollthequiltframedownoverthebed.”
Skylumberedovertous,lookingconfused,whileIgrabbedtheropeandbroughtitdown,thepulleywheelsbeggingforoil.
Maumadugthroughthe
pileontheframeandfoundthequiltnearthebottom.Whensheshookitout,theoldquiltsmellfilledtheroom.Sheslitthebackingandsentherhandrootinginside.Grinning,shepulledoutathinbundle,thenfivemore,allwrappedinmuslinandtiedwithstringsorotteditcameapartinherhands.“Well,lookhere,”shesaid.
“Whatyoufind?”Sky
asked.Afterwe’dtoldherabout
thehiring-outmaumausedtodo,andwe’ddancedroundandporedovertheriches,welaidthemoneyontheframe,andIwincheditbacktotheceiling.
Skywentonbacktosleep,butmeandmaumalaywide-eyed.
Shesaid,“Tomorrow,firstthing,youtiethemoney
upfreshandsewitbackinsidethequilt.”
“It’snotenoughtobuyallthreeofus.”
“Iknowthat,wejustgonholdontoitfornow.”
Thenightdrewon,andIstartedtodrift,floatingtotheedge.JustbeforeIwentover,Iheardmaumasay,“Idon’tspectogetfree.TheonlywayI’mgettingfreeisforyoutogetfree.”
Sarah
13April1828DearestNina,Lastmonth,Israel
proposedmarriage,declaringhimselfatlonglast.You’llbesurprisedtolearnIturnedhimdown.Hedidn’twantmetogoon
withmyplansfortheministry,atleastnotashiswife.HowcouldIchoosesomeonewhowouldforcemetogiveupmyownsmallreachformeaning?Ichosemyself,andwithoutconsolation.Youshouldhave
seenhim.Hecouldn’tacceptthatafaded-lookingwomanin
middleagewouldchoosealonenessoverhim.Respectable,handsomeIsrael.WhenIdeliveredmyanswer,heaskedifIfeltill,ifIwasmyself.Heexplainedthegravityofmymistake.HesaidIshouldreconsider.HeinsistedIspeakwiththeelders.Asifthosemencouldeverknowmy
heart.PeopleatArch
Streetcan’tconceiveofmyrefusalanymorethanIsrael.TheythinkI’mselfishandmisguided.AmI,Nina?AmIafool?Astheweekspasswithouthisvisits,andIfeelinconsolable,IfearI’vemadetheworstmistakeofmylife.
IwanttotellyouI’mstrongandresolute,butintruth,Ifeelafraidandaloneanduncertain.Ifeelasifhehasdied,andIsupposeinsomewayit’strue.I’mleftwithnothingbutthisstrangebeatinginmyheartthattellsmeI’mmeanttodosomethinginthisworld.Icannotapologizefor
it,orforlovingthissmallbeatingasmuchashim.Ithinkofyouand
yourReverendMcDowellwithhopeandblessings.
Prayforyourlovingsister,Sarah
Ilaiddownthepenand
sealedtheletter.Itwaslate,theMotthouseasleep,thecandleanub,thenightimperviousonthewindow.Forweeks,I’dresistedwritingtoNina,butnowitwasdone,anditseemedaturningpoint,anabdicationofwhatI’dalwaysbeentoher:mother,rescuer,exemplar.Ididn’twanttobethosethingsanymore.IwantedtobewhatIwas,her
falliblesister.
WhenLucretiahandedmeNina’sletter,IwasinthekitchenmakingbiscuitsthewayAunt-Sistermadethem,withwheatflour,butter,coldwater,andaspoonfulofsugar.Iwasn’tinclinedtowardbaking,butIdidtrytobeofhelpnowandthen.Iopenedtheletter,standing
overthebowlofflour.
1June1828DearestSister,TakeHeart.
Marriageisovervalued.Myownnews,
thoughnotasdireasyours,issimilar.Someweeksago,Iwentbeforeameetingatchurchandrequested
theeldersgiveuptheirslavesandpubliclydenounceslavery.Itwasnotwell-received.Everyone,includingMother,ourbrotherThomas,andevenReverendMcDowell,behavedasifI’dcommittedacrime.Iaskedthemtogiveupasin,notChristandtheBible!
ReverendMcDowellagreeswithmeinspirit,butwhenIpressedhimtopreachpubliclywhathesaystomeinprivate,herefused.“Prayandwait,”hetoldme.“Prayandact,”Isnapped.“Prayandspeak!”HowcouldImarry
someonewhodisplays
suchcowardice?Ihavenochoice
nowbuttoleavehischurch.I’vedecidedtofollowinyourstepsandbecomeaQuaker.Ishuddertothinkofthegruesomedressesandthebarrenmeetinghouse,butmycourseisset.Fineriddanceto
Israel!Beconsoledin
knowingtheworlddependsuponthesmallbeatinginyourheart.
Yours,Nina
WhenIfinishedreading,Ipulledachairfromthepinetableandsat.Motesofflour-dustweredriftingintheair.ItseemedanoddconvergencethatNinaandIwouldbothtastethispainonlyweeks
apart.FineriddancetoIsrael,she’dwritten,butitwasn’tfine.IfearedIwouldlovehimtherestofmylife,thatIwouldalwayswonderwhatitwould’vebeenliketospendmylifewithhimatGreenHill.Ilongedforitinthatexcruciatingwayonehasofromanticizingthelifeshedidn’tchoose.Butsittingherenow,IknewifI’dacceptedIsrael’sproposal,Iwould’ve
regrettedthat,too.I’dchosentheregretIcouldlivewithbest,that’sall.I’dchosenthelifeIbelongedto.
I’dstruggledfornearlytwoyearstobeacknowledgedasaminister,withoutsuccess,andIboredownnowonmyefforts,performingcharitableworkatthechildren’sasyluminordertowinoverthe
QuakerwomenandspendingsomanyeveningsreadingtextsonQuakerthoughtandworshipIsmelledperpetuallyofparaffin.Thecrucialfactor,though,wasmyutterancesinMeeting,whichwerecompletelydismal.Mynervousnessaboutspeakingalwaysmademystammerworse,andMr.Bettlemancomplainedloudlyaboutmy“incoherentmumblings.”It
wassaidthatrhetoricalpolishwasn’trequiredfortheministry,butthefactwasalltheministersontheFacingbenchwereappallinglyeloquent.
Isoughtoutthedoctorwho’dprovidedmyspectacles,inhope,finally,ofacure,butheterrifiedmewithtalkofoperationsinwhichtherootofone’stonguewasslicedandthe
excesstissueremoved.Ileft,vowingIwouldneverreturn.Thatnight,unabletosleep,Isatinthekitchenwithwarmmilkandnutmeg,repeatingWickedWillyWiggleoverandover,thelittletongueexerciseNinahadonceinsistedIdowhenshewasachild.
8October1828
MyDearSarah,Iamtobepublicly
expelledfromThirdPresbyterianChurch.ItseemstheydonottakewelltomyattendingQuakermeetingsthesepastfewmonths.Motherisappalled.SheinsistsmydownfallbeganwhenIrefusedconfirmationintoSt.Philip’s.Accordingto
her,Iwasatwelve-year-oldmarionettewhosestringsyoupulled,andnowI’magrownmarionetteoftwenty-fourwhosestringsyou’remanipulatingallthewayfromPhiladelphia.Howskilledyouare!MotheralsofeltcompelledtoaddthatI’manunmarried
marionette,thankstomyprideandmyopinionatedtongue.Yesterday,Reverend
McDowellvisited,informingmeImustreturnto“thefoldofGod’select”orbesummonedbeforethechurchsessiontostandtrialforbrokenvowsandneglectofworship.Haveyouever?Ispoke
ascalmlyasIcould:“Deliveryourdocumentcitingmetoappearinyourcourt,andI’llcomeanddefendmyself.”ThenIofferedhimtea.AsMothersays,I’mproud,proudevenofmypride.Butwhenhedeparted,Ifledtomyroomandgavewaytotears.Iamontrial!
MothersaysImustgiveupmyQuakerfoolishnessandreturntothePresbyteriansorbringpublicscandalupontheGrimkés.Well,we’veenduredthembefore,haven’twe?Father’simpeachment,thatdespicableBurkeWilliams,andyouraweing“desertion”to
theNorth.It’smyturnnow.
Iremainfirm.YourSister,Nina
Overthenextyear,myletterstoNinawerethenearestthingtoadiaryI’dwrittensinceFather’sdeath.ItoldherhowIpracticedsayingWicked
WillyWiggle,ofthefearmyvoicewouldkeepmefromrealizingmylargesthopes.IwroteoftheanguishofseeingIsraeleachweekatMeetings,thewayheavoidedmewhilehissister,Catherine,warmedtomeconsiderably,avolte-faceIcouldn’thaveimaginedwhenIfirstreturnedhere.
IsentNinasketchesIdrewofthestudioandrecountedthetalksLucretia
andIhadthere.IkeptherabreastofthelivelierpetitionsthatcirculatedinPhiladelphia:tokeepfreeblacksfrombeingturnedoutofwhiteneighborhoods,tobanthe“coloredbench”inmeetinghouses.
“Ithascomeasagreatrevelationtome,”Iwroteher,“thatabolitionisdifferentfromthedesireforracialequality.Colorprejudiceisat
thebottomofeverything.Ifit’snotfixed,theplightoftheNegrowillcontinuelongafterabolition.”
Inresponse,Ninawrote,“IwishImightnailyourletterontoapublicpostonMeetingStreet!”
Thethoughtofthatwasnotatallunpleasanttome.
ShewroteofherbattleswithMother,thedrynessofsittingintheQuaker
meetinghouse,andtherampantostracismshefacedinCharlestonfordoingso.“HowlongmustIremaininthislandofslavery?”shewrote.
Then,onalanguidsummerday,Lucretiaplacedaletterinmyhands.
12August1829DearSarah,Severaldaysago,in
routetovisitoneofthesickinourMeeting,IwasstandingonthecornerofMagazineandArchdalewhenIencounteredtwoboys—theyweremereboys!—escortingaterrifiedslavetotheWorkHouse.Shewaspleadingwiththemtochangetheirminds,andseeingme,shebegged
moretearfully,“Pleasemissus,helpme.”Icoulddonothing.IseenowthatIcan
donothinghere.I’mcomingtoyou,Sister.IwillquitCharlestonandsailtoPhiladelphiainlateOctoberafterthestorms.Weshallbetogether,andtogethernothingshalldeterus.
With
AbidingLove,Nina
I’dbeenexpectingNinaforoveraweek,keepingvigilatthewindowofmynewroominCatherine’shouse.TheNovemberweatherhadbeenspiteful,delayinghership,butyesterdaythecloudshadbroken.
Today.Surely,today.Onmylapwasaslender
compendiumonQuakerworship,butIcouldn’tconcentrate.Closingit,Ipacedbackandforthinthenarrowroom,anunadornedlittlecellsimilartotheonethatawaitedNinaacrossthehall.Iwonderedwhatshe’dthinkofit.
IthadbeenhardtoleaveLucretia’s,buttherewasno
guestroomthereforNina.Israel’sdaughter-in-lawhadtakenoverGreenHill,allowingCatherinetomovebacktohersmallhouseinthecity,andwhenshe’dofferedtoboardthebothofus,I’dacceptedwithrelief.
Iwentagaintothewindowandpeeredattheoutcroppingsofblueoverheadandthenattheriverofelmleavesinthestreet,
brimmingyellow,andIfeltsurprisedsuddenlyatmylife.Howoddithadturnedout,howdifferentthanI’dimagined.ThedaughterofJudgeJohnGrimké—aSouthernpatriot,aslaveholder,anaristocrat—livinginthisausterehouseintheNorth,unmarried,aQuaker,anabolitionist.
Acoachturnedattheendofthestreet.Ifrozefora
moment,arrestedbytheclompclompofthechestnuthorses,thewaytheirhighstridemadeeddiesintheleaves,andthenIbrokeintoarun.
WhenNinaopenedthedoorofthecoachandsawmerushingtowardherwithoutashawl,myhairfallinginredskeinsfromitspins,shebegantolaugh.Sheworeablack,full-lengthcloakwitha
hood,andtossingitback,shelookeddarkandradiant.
“Sister!”shecriedandsteppedoffthecarriagerungintomyarms.
PARTSIXJuly1835–June1838
HandfulIstoodbythebedthatmorning,lookingdownonmaumastillsleeping,thewayshehadherhandsballedunderherchinlikeachild.Ihatedtowakeher,butIpattedherfoot,andhereyesrolledopen.Isaid,“Youfeellikegettingup?Littlemissus
sentmeoutheretogetyou.”Littlemissuswaswhatwe
calledMary,theoldestGrimkédaughter.She’dturnedawidowthefirstofthesummer,andbeforetheygotherhusbandinthegroundgood,she’dhandedofftheteaplantationtoherboys,saidtheplacehadkepthercutofffromtheworldtoolong.Nextweknow,sheshowedupherewithnine
slavesandmoreclothesandfurniturethanwecouldfitinthehouse.Iheardmissustellher,“Youdidn’tneedtobringtheentireplantationwithyou.”AndMarysaid,“WouldyoupreferI’dleftmymoneybehind,too?”
Justwhenmissushadgotwhereshecouldn’tswingthegold-tipcanewiththestrengthofathree-year-old,herecamelittlemissus,ready
topickuptheslack.Shehadlinesroundhereyeslikedartseamsandsilverthreadinherhair,butshewasthesame.WhatwerememberedmostfromwhenMarywasagirlwasthebadwayshetreatedherwaitingmaid,Lucy—Binah’sothergirl.OnthedayMarygotherewithherprocession,Phoebeboltedfromthekitchenhouse,shouting,“Lucy.Lucy?”
Whennobodyanswered,sherusheduptolittlemissusandsaid,“YoubringmysisterLucywithyou?”
Littlemissuslookedstumped,thenshesaid,“Oh,her.Shediedalongtimeago.”Shedidn’tseePhoebe’sbrokenface,justherkitchenapron.“Idon’tknowwhattimeyouservethemiddaymeal,”shesaid,“butfromnowonitwillbeattwo.”
Theslavequarterswerebustingseams.Everyroomtaken,somesleepingonthefloor.Aunt-SisterandPhoebeyowledaboutthemouthstofeed,andlittlemissushadmeandmaumasewingnewliverycoatsandhousedressesforeverybody.WelcometotheGrimkés’.Shehadn’tbroughtaseamstresswithher,butshe’dbroughteverybodyelseandtheir
secondcousin.Wehadanewbutler,alaundress,littlemissus’personalchambermaid,acoachman,afootman,agroomsman,newhelpforthekitchen,thehouse,andtheyard.SabegotdemotedbacktothegardenswithSky,andGoodis,poorGoodis,hesatinthestableallday,whittlingsticks.Meandhimevenlostthelittleroomwherewestillwent
sometimestoloveeachother.Now,hereinthecellar
room,maumadidn’traiseherheadoffthepillow.Shedidn’thaveauseforlittlemissus.Shesaid,“Whatshewantwithme?”
“Wegotthatbigteatoputontodayandshewantstheribbonssewedonthenapkins.Sheactslikeyou’retheonlyonecandoit.She’sgotmefixingthetables.”
“Where’sSky?”“Sky’swashingthefront
steps.”Maumalookedsotired.I
knewthepainsinherstomachhadgotworsecauseshe’dpickedatherfoodallweek.Shepushedherselfupslow,sothinherbodylookedlikeastemgrowingupfromthemattress.
“Mauma,youlayonbackdown.I’llgetthoseribbons
done.”“Youagoodgirl,
Handful,youalwayswas.”Thestoryquiltwasfolded
onthefootofthebedwhereshelikedtokeepitclose.Shespreaditopencrossherlegs.ItwasJuly,ahot,stickyday,andforonetickoftheclock,Iwonderedifshewasfeelingthatcoldyougettowardtheend.Butthensheturnedthequilttillshefoundthefirst
square.“Thisismygranny-maumawhenthestarsfallandshegetssoldaway.”
Isatdownnexttoher.Shewasn’tcold,shejustwantedtotellthestoryonthequiltagain.Shelovedtotellthestory.
She’dforgotabouttheribbons,andtherecouldbetroubleformelingering,butthiswasmauma,andthiswasthestory.Shewentthrough
thewholequilt,everysquare,takinghertimeontheonesshe’dsewedsinceshewasback.HerbeingtakenawayinthewagonbytheGuard.Workingthericefieldswithababyonherback.Amanbrandinghershoulderwiththelefthandandhammeringoutherteethwiththeright.Runningawayunderthemoon.Finally,shecametothelastsquare,thefifteenth
one—itwasme,mauma,andSkywithourarmswoventogetherlikealoopstitch.
Igottomyfeet.“Gobacktosleepnow.”
“No,I’mcoming.Ibeonupthereinawhile.”
Hereyesglowedlikethepaperlanternsweusedtosetoutforthegardenparties.
Istoodinthediningroom,
facingthewindow,stuffingbigcrystalhornswithfruit,everythinginthelarderthatwasn’trotten,whenIspottedmaumashufflingtowardthespirittreeatthebackoftheyard.Shehadthestoryquiltclutchedroundhershoulders.
Myhandscamestill—thewaysheslidonefoot,rested,thenslidtheotherone.Whenshereachedthetree,shesteadiedherhandonthetrunk
andloweredherselftotheground.Myheartstartedtobeatstrange.
Ididn’tlooktoseeiflittlemissuswasnear,Ihurriedoutthebackdoor.FastasIcould,fastastheearthwouldpassbeneathme.
“Mauma?”Sheliftedherface.The
lighthadgonefromhereyes.Therewasonlytheblackwicknow.
Ieaseddownbesideher.“Mauma?”
“It’sallright.Icometogetmyspirittotakewithme.”Hervoicesoundedfaroffinsideher.“I’mtired,Handful.”
Itriednottobescared.“I’lltakecareofyou.Don’tworry,we’llgetyousomerest.”
Shesmiledthesaddestsmile,lettingmeknowshe’d
getherrest,butnotthekindIhoped.Itookholdofherhands.Theywereicecold.Littlebirdbones.
Shesaiditagain.“I’mtired.”
Shewantedmetotellheritwasallright,togetherspiritandgoon,butIcouldn’tsayit.Itoldher,“Course,you’retired.Youworkedhardyourwholelife.That’sallyoudidwaswork.”
“Don’tyouremembermeforthat.Don’tyourememberI’maslaveandworkhard.Whenyouthinkofme,yousay,sheneverdidbelongtothosepeople.Sheneverbelongtonobodybutherself.”O
Sheclosedhereyes.“Yourememberthat.”
“Iwill,mauma.”Ipulledthequiltround
hershoulders.Highinthe
limbs,thecrowscawed.Thedovesmoaned.Thewindbentdowntolifthertothesky.O
SarahWearrivedatthemeetinghouseintheswelterofanAugustmorningwitheveryintentionofgoinginsideandsittingontheNegropew.
“...Arewecertainwewanttodothis?”IaskedNina.
Shehaltedonthebrownedgrass,aharshamberlightfallingoutofthecloudlessskyontoherface.“ButyousaidtheNegropewwasabarrierthatmustbebroken!”
Ihadsaidthat,justlastnight.Ithadseemedlikeastirringideathen,butnow,intheglareofday,itseemedlesslikebreakingabarrierandmorelikeaperilouslark.
Sofar,theArchStreetmembershadputupwithmyanti-slaverystatementsthewayyouabideswarminginsectsintheoutdoors—youswatandignorethemthebestyoucan—butthiswasaltogetherdifferent.Thiswasanactofrebellionanditprobablywouldn’thelpmylongstruggletobecomeaQuakerminister.TheideatositontheNegropewhad
comeafterreadingTheLiberator,ananti-slaverypaperNinaandIhadbeensmugglinghomeinourparcelsand,once,foldedinsideNina’sbonnet.ItwaspublishedbyMr.WilliamLloydGarrison,possiblythemostradicalabolitionistinthecountry.IwassureifCatherinefoundasinglecopyinourrooms,shewouldpromptlyevictus.Wekept
themhiddenbeneathourmattresses,andIwonderednowifweshouldgohomeandburnthem.
Thetruthwasnoneofthiswassafe.Pro-slaverymobshadbeenonareignofterrorallsummer,andnotintheSouth,buthereintheNorth.They’dbeentossingabolitionistprintingpressesintotheriversandburningdownfreeblackand
abolitionisthomes,nearlyfiftyoftheminPhiladelphiaalone.TheviolencehadbeenashocktomeandNina—itseemedgeographywasnosafeguardatall.Beinganabolitionistcouldgetyouattackedrightonthestreets—heckled,flogged,stoned,killed.Someabolitionistshadbountiesontheirheads,andmosteveryonehadgoneintohiding.
Standingthere,seeingthedisappointmentonNina’sface,IwishedforLucretia.Iwishedshewouldappearnexttomeinherwhiteorgandybonnetwithherfearlesseyes,butsheandJameshadmovedtoanotherMeeting,findingArchStreettooconservative.I’dthoughttofollowheruntilCatherinemadeitclearNinaandIwouldhavetoseekotherlodging,andtherewere
few,ifany,suitableplacestwospinstersisterscouldboardtogether.SometimesIthoughtbacktothatdaybytheDelawarewhenI’dtoldLucretiaIwouldn’tlookback,andIhadcarriedonthebestIcould,buttherewerealwayscompromisestobemade,somanylittleconcessions.
“Youdon’thavecoldfeet,doyou?”Ninawas
saying.“Tellmeyoudon’t.”IheardIsrael’svoicecut
throughthecrowd,callingforBecky,andglancingup,Icaughtsightofhisbackdisappearingintothemeetinghouse.Istoodamomentsmellingtheheatonthehorsesaddles,thestinkofurineonthecobblestone.
“...Ialwayshavecoldfeet...butcomeon,theywon’tstopme.”
Sheslidherarmthroughmine,andIcouldbarelykeepupwithherasshetowedmetothedoor,herchinraisedinthatdefiantwayshe’dhadsincechildhood,andforasecond,Isawheratfourteen,sittingontheyellowsetteebeforeReverendGadsdenwithherchinyankedupjustlikethis,refusingtobeconfirmedintoSt.Philip’s.
SoonafterNinahad
arrivedinPhiladelphia,theQuakershadmadeherateacherintheInfantSchool,ajobshedespised.Ourrequestsforanotherassignmenthadbeenignored—Ibelievetheythoughttherewassomepridetobeknockedoutofherbydiaperingbabies.Theeligiblemen,includingJaneBettleman’sson,Edward,trampledoveroneanothertoassistherfrom
thecarriage,thenloiteredclosebyincaseshedroppedsomethingtheymightretrieve,butshefoundthemalltedious.Whensheturnedthirtylastwinter,Ibegantoquietlyworry,notthatshewasbecominganotherAuntAmeliaJanelikeme—indeedItoldherifshegotMrs.Bettlemanforamother-in-lawwewouldbothhavetodrownourselvesintheriver.
No,myworrywasthatshewouldfindherselfforty-threelikeme,andstillburpingQuakerbabies.
TheNegropewwasinthelow-slungspotbeneaththestairsthatledtothebalcony.Asusual,itwasguardedbyoneofthementoensurenowhitepersonsatonitbyaccidentandnocoloredpersonpassedbeyondit.NoticingEdwardBettleman
wastheguardtoday,Isighed.Weweredoomed,itseemed,tomakefreshenemiesofhisfamilyoverandover.
SarahMappsDouglassandhermother,Grace,satonthebenchintheirQuakerdressesandbonnets.TypicallytheonlyNegroesamongus,SarahMapps,closeinagetoNina,wasateacherintheschoolforblackchildrenshe’dfounded,and
hermotherwasamilliner.Theywerebothknownfortheirabolitionistleanings,butaswesteppedtowardthem,IwonderedforthefirsttimeiftheywouldmindwhatNinaandIwereabouttodo,ifitwouldimplicatetheminanyway.
Asthethoughtcrossedmymind,Ihesitated,andseeingmepause,nodoubtworryingagainaboutthe
temperatureofmyfeet,Ninastrodequicklytothebenchandploppeddownbesidetheolderwoman.
Irememberablurofthingshappeningatonce—theexhaleofsurprisethatleftMrs.Douglass’lips,SarahMappsturningtolookatme,comprehending,EdwardBettlemanlungingtowardNina,sayingtooloudly,“Nothere,youcan’tsithere.”
Ignoringhim,Ninastaredbravelyahead,whileIslippedbesideSarahMapps.Edwardturnedtome.“MissGrimké,thisistheNegropew,you’llhavetomove.”
“...We’recomfortablehere,”Isaid,noticingthatentirerowsofpeoplenearbyweretwistingabouttoseethetrouble.
Edwarddeparted,andinthequietthatfollowed,I
heardthewomentakeuptheirfansandthemencleartheirthroats,andIhopedthedisturbancewoulddiedownnow,butacrosstheroomontheElders’bench,therewasaspateofwhispering,andthenIsawEdwardreturningwithhisfather.
Thefourofusinstinctivelyslidtogetheronthebench.
“Iaskyoutorespectthe
sanctityandtraditionofthemeetingandremoveyourselvesfromthepew,”Mr.Bettlemansaid.
Mrs.Douglassbegantobreathefast,andIwasstabbedwithfearthatwe’dputtheminjeopardy.Belatedly,Irecalledafreeblackwomanwho’dsatonawhitepewataweddingandhadbeenforcedtosweepthecitystreets.Igesturedtoward
thetwowomen.“...They’renotpartof—”I’dalmostsaid,partofourdissidence,butstoppedmyself.“...They’renotpartofthis.”
“That’snotso,”SarahMappssaid,glancingathermother,thenupatMr.Bettleman.“Wearefullypartofit.Wesitheretogether,dowenot?”
Sheslippedherhandsintothefoldsofherskirttohide
thewaytheytrembled,andIwasfilledwithloveandgriefatthesight.
Hewaited,andwedidn’tmove.“I’llaskonefinaltime,”hesaid.Helookedincredulous,incensed,certainofhisrighteousness,buthecouldhardlyremoveusforcibly.Couldhe?
Ninadrewherselfup,eyesblazing.“Weshallnotbemoved,sir!”
Hisfacereddened.Turningtome,hespokeinatightlycoiledwhisper.“Heedme,MissGrimké.Reininyoursister,andyourselfaswell.”
Asheleft,IpeeredatSarahMappsandhermother,thewaytheygrabbedhandsandsqueezedinrelief,andthenatNina,atthesmallexultationonherface.ShewasbraverthanI,shealways
hadbeen.Icaredtoomuchfortheopinionofothers,shecarednotawhit.Iwascautious,shewasbrash.Iwasathinker,shewasadoer.Ikindledfires,shespreadthem.Andrightthenandeverafter,IsawhowcunningtheFateshadbeen.Ninawasonewing,Iwastheother.O
NinaandIweresummoned
fromourroomsbyCatherineringingtheteabellonwhatwethoughtwasarestfulSeptemberafternoon.Sheoftenrangthebellwhenaletterarrivedforoneofus,amealwasserved,orsheneededhelpwithsomehouseholdtask.Weploddeddownstairswithoutatraceofwariness,andtheretheywere,theelderssittingramrodstraightinthechairs
inCatherine’sparlor,afewlefttostandalongthewall,Israelamongthem.Catherine,theonlywoman,wasgrandlyinstalledonthefrumpyvelvetwingchair.WehadstumbledintotheInquisition.
Neitherofushadbotheredtotuckupourhair.Minehunginlimpredtasselstomywaist,whileNina’sfloatedabouthershoulders,allcurlsandcorkscrews.It
wasimproperformixedcompany,butCatherinedidn’tsendusback.Shepursedherlipsintosomethingsourthatpassedforasmileandgesturedusintotheroom.
Threeweekshadpassedsincewe’dfirstsatontheNegrobenchandrefusedtogetup,andexceptforMr.Bettleman,noonehadsaidanadmonishingwordtous.
We’dreturnedtositwithSarahMappsandGracethefollowingweekandthenthenext,andnoefforthadbeenmadetostopus.I’dbeenlulledintothinkingtheeldershadacquiescedtowhatwe’ddone.Apparently,I’dbeenwrong.
Westoodsidebysidewaitingforsomeonetospeak.Thewindowpanesburnedwithsunlight,bakingthe
roomtoakiln,andIfeltastreakofcoldsweatdartbetweenmybreasts.ItriedtomeetIsrael’sgaze,butheleanedbackintotheshadowfromthecornice.TurningthentoCatherine,Isawthenewspaperlyingonherlap.TheLiberator.
Mystomachcaught.Holdingonecorner
betweenherthumbandforefinger,sheliftedthe
paperasifitwereadeadmouseshe’dfoundinatrapandheldbythetipofitstail.“Aletteronthefrontpageofthemostnotoriousanti-slaverypaperinthecountryhascometoourattention.”Sheadjustedherglasses—thelenseswerethickasthebottomofabottle.“Allowmetoreadaloud.30August,1835,RespectedFriend—”
Ninagasped.“OhSarah,I
didn’tknowitwouldbepublished.”
Isquintedatherfranticeyes,tryingtocomprehendwhatshewassaying.Asitdawnedonme,Itriedtospeak,yetnothingcamebutaspewofair.Ihadtostripthewordslikewallpaper.“......You...wroteto...Mr.Garrison?”
Achairscrapedonthefloor,andIsawMr.
Bettlemanstridetowardus.“Youwantustobelievethatyou,thedaughterofaslaveholdingfamily,pennedalettertoanagitatorlikeWilliamLloydGarrison,thinkinghewouldn’tpublishit?It’sexactlythesortofinflammatorymaterialhespreads.”
Shewasnotremorseful,shewasdefiant.“Yes,perhapsIdidthinkhewould
publishit!”shesaid.Thentome,“Peopleareriskingtheirlivesforthecauseoftheslave,andwedonothingbutsitontheNegropew!IdidwhatIhadtodo.”
Itdidfeel,allofasudden,thatwhatshe’ddonewasinevitable.Ourliveswouldnevergobacktothewaythey’dbeen,she’dseentoit,andIbothwantedtopullherintomyarmsandthankher,
andtoshakeher.Theirfaceswereallthe
same,grimandaccusing,frowningthroughtheglazeoflight,allbutIsrael’s.Hestaredatthefloorasifhewishedtobeanywherebuthere.
AsCatherineresumedreading,Ninafixedhereyesonthefarwall,onsomehigh,removedplaceabovetheirheads.Theletterwaslong
andeloquent,andyes,highlyflammable.
“Ifpersecutionisthemeansbywhichwewillaccomplishemancipation,thenIsay,letitcome,foritismydeep,solemn,deliberateconvictionthatthisisacauseworthdyingfor.AngelinaGrimké.”Catherinefoldedthepaperandlaiditonthefloor.
Newsofherletterwould
reachCharleston,ofcourse.Mother,Thomas,theentirefamilywouldreaditwithoutrageanddisgrace.Shewouldnevergohomeagain—Iwonderedifshe’dthoughtofthat,howthosewordsslammedshutwhateverdoorwasleftthere.
JustthenIsraelspokefromthebackoftheroom,andIclosedmyeyesatthegentlenessinhisvoice,the
suddenkindness.“Youarebothoursisters.WeloveyouasChristlovesyou.We’vecomehereonlytobringyoubackintogoodstandingwithyourQuakerbrethren.Youmaystillreturntousinfullrepentance,astheprodigalsonreturnedtohisfather—”
“Youmustrecanttheletterorbeexpelled,”Mr.Bettlemansaid,terseandplain.
Expelled.Thewordhunglikeasmallblade,almostvisibleinthebrightness.Thiscouldnothappen.I’dspentthirteenyearswiththeQuakers,sixpursuingtheministry,theonlyprofessionlefttome.I’dgivenupeverythingforit,marriage,Israel,children.
IhastenedtospeakbeforeNina.Iknewwhatshewouldsayandthenthebladewould
fall.“...Please,Iknowyou’reamercifulpeople.”
“Tryandunderstand,Sarah,welookedtheotherwaywhileyousatontheNegropew,”Catherinesaid.“Butit’sgonetoofarnow.”Shelacedherfingersbeneathherchinandherknucklesshonewhite.“Andyouhavetoconsider,too,whereyou’llgoifyoudon’trecant.Icareforyouboth,butnaturally
youcouldn’tstayhere.”Panicarchedintomy
throat.“...Isitsowrongtowritealetter?...Isitsowrongtoputfeettoourprayers?”
“Matterslikethis—theyaren’ttheworkofawoman’slife,”Israelsaid,steppingfromtheshadowedplacealongthewall.“Surelyyou’renotblindtothat.”Hisvoicewasmiredinhurtand
frustration,thesametonehe’dhadwhenIturneddownhisproposal,andIknewhewasspeakingaboutmorethantheletter.“Wehavenochoice.Whatyou’vedonebydeclaringyourselfinthismannerisoutsidetheboundsofQuakerism.”
IreachedforNina’shand.Itfeltclammyandhot.IlookedatIsrael,onlyIsrael.“...Wecannotrecantthe
letter.IonlywishI’dsignedit,too.”
Nina’shandtightenedonmine,squeezingtothepointofpain.
Handful
4AugustDearSarahMaumapassedon
lastmonth.Shefellintoasleepundertheoaktreeandneverroused.Shestayedasleepsixdaysbeforeshediedinherbed,mebesideher
andSkytoo.Yourmaumapaidforhertohaveapinebox.Theyputherinthe
slaveburialgroundonPittStreet.MissusletGoodiscarrymeandSkyoverthereinthecarriagetoseeherrestingplaceandsaygoodbye.Skyhasturned22nowandstandstallasaman.
Whenwestoodbythegrave,Ididn’tcomeuptohershoulder.Shesangthesongthewomenontheplantationsingwhentheypoundricetoleaveonthegraves.ShesaidtheyputricetheretohelpthedeadfindtheirwaybacktoAfrica.Skyhadapocketfulfromthekitchenhouseand
shespreaditovermaumawhileshesang.Whatcametome
wastheoldsongImadeupwhenIwasagirl.Crossthewater,crossthesea,letthemfishescarryme,carrymehome.Isangthat,thenItookthebrassthimble,theoneIlovedfromthetimeIwaslittle,andIleftitontop
ofhergravesoshe’dhavethatpartofme.Well,Iwantedyou
toknow.Iguessshe’satpeacenow.Ihopethisletter
makesittoyou.Ifyouwriteme,takecarecauseyoursisterMarywatcheseverything.TheblackdriverfromherplantationnamedHectoristhebutler
nowandhedoesherspying.
YourfriendHandful
IwroteSarah’snameandaddressonthefrontbythelightofthecandle,copyingmissus’handwritingascloseasIcouldmanage.Missus’penshiphadfallenoffsobadIcould’vesetdownanykindofletteringandpasseditoff
forhers.Iclosedtheletterwithadropofwaxandpresseditwithmissus’seal-stamp.I’dstolethestampfromherroom—let’ssay,borrowedit.Iplannedtotakeitbackbeforeitwasmissed.Thestationery,though,wasjustplainstolen.
Crosstheroom,Skywassleeping,thrashingintheheat.Iwatchedherarmssearchthespotonthe
mattresswheremaumausedtolay,thenIblewouttheflameandwatchedthesmoketailawayinthedark.TomorrowI’dsliptheletterinthebatchgoingtothepostandhopenobodytookahardlook.
Skysangoutinhersleep,soundedlikeGullah,andIthoughtofthericeshe’dsprinkledonmauma’sgrave,tryingtosendherspiritto
Africa.Africa.Wherevermeand
Skywere,that’stheonlyplacemaumawouldbe.
SarahIwokeeachdaytoasick,emptyfeeling.CatherinehadgivenusuntilthefirstdayofOctobertopackourthingsandleave,butwecouldfindnoonewho’dtakeintwosistersexpelledbytheQuakers,andLucretia’shousewaspackedwith
childrennow.Thestreetshadbeenfloodedwithhandfliers—theyweretackedonlightpostsandbuildingsandstrewnontheground—theheadlinescreamingoutinthesalaciouswaythesestreetragsdid:OUTRAGE:AnAbolitionistoftheMostRevoltingCharacterisAmongYou.Belowthat,Nina’slettertoTheLiberatorwasprintedinfull.Eventhe
lowliestboardinghouseswouldn’topentheirdoorstous.
I’dreachedthebordersofdespairwhenalettercamewithnoreturnnameoraddressontheenvelope.
29September1835DearMissesGrimké,Ifyouarebold
enoughtositwithusontheNegropew,perhaps
youwillfinditinyourselftoshareourhomeuntilyoufindmoresuitablelodging.MymotherandIhavenothingtoofferbutapartiallyfurnishedattic,butithasawindowandthechimneyrunsthroughthemiddleofitandkeepsitwarm.Itisyours,ifyouwould
haveit.Weaskthatyounotspeakofthearrangementtoanyone,includingyourpresentlandlordCatherineMorris.Weawaityouat5LancasterRow.
YoursinFellowship,SarahMappsDouglass
Wedepartedouroldlifethenextday,leavingnoforwardingaddressandnogoodbye,arrivingbycoachatatinybrickhouseinapoor,mostlywhiteneighborhood.Therewasacrookedwoodenfencearoundthefrontwithachainonthegate,whichnecessitatedusdraggingourtrunkstothebackdoor.
Theatticwaspoorlylitandgauzywithcobwebs,and
whenafireblazedbelow,theroomfilledwithstultifyingheatandsmelledbitterwithwoodsmoke,butwedidn’tcomplain.Wehadaroof.Wehadeachother.WehadfriendsinSarahMappsandGrace.
SarahMappswaswelleducated,perhapsmorethanI,havingattendedthebestQuakeracademyforfreeblacksinthecity.Shewould
tellmethatevenasachildshe’dknownheronlymissioninlifewastofoundaschoolforblackchildren.“Fewunderstandthatkindofemphaticknowing,”shesaid.“Mostpeople,includingmymother,feelI’vesacrificedtoomuchbynotmarryingandhavingchildren,butthepupils,theyaremychildren.”Iunderstoodfarbetterthansherealized.Likeme,she
lovedbooks,keepingherpreciousvolumesinsideachestintheirsmallfrontsittingroom.Eacheveningshereadtohermotherinherlovelysingsongvoice—Milton,Byron,Austen—continuinglongafterGracehadfallenasleepinherchair.
Therewerehatseverywhereinvariousstagesofconstruction,hangingontreeracksthroughoutthe
house,andifnotactualhats,thensketchesofhatsscatteredontablesandwedgedintotheframeofthemirrorbythedoor.Gracemadebig,wild-featheredcreationswhichshesoldtotheshops,creationsthat,asaQuaker,shenevercould’vewornherself.Ninasaidshewaslivingvicariously,butIthinkshesimplypossessedtheurgingsofanartist.
Ourfirstweekintheattic,wecleaned.Wesweptoutthedustandspidersandshinedthewindowglass.Wepolishedthetwonarrowbedframes,thetableandchair,andthecreakyrocker.SarahMappsbroughtupahand-braidedrug,brightquilts,anextratable,alantern,andasmallbookshelfwherewesetourbooksandjournals.Wetuckedevergreenboughs
undertheeavestoscenttheairandhungourclothesonwallhooks.Iplacedmypewterinkstandontheextratable.
Bythesecondweekwewerebored.SarahMappshadsaidweshouldbecarefultoconcealourcomingsandgoings,thattheneighborswouldnottolerateracialmixing,butslippingoutoneday,wewerespottedbya
groupofruffianboys,whopelteduswithpebblesandslurs.Amalgamators.Amalgamators.Thenextdaythefrontofthehousewasegged.
Thethirdweekwebecamehermits.
WhenNovemberarrived,IbegantopacetheovalrugasIrereadbooksandoldletters,
holdingthemasIwalked,tryingnottodisappearintothemelancholicplaceI’dvisitedsincechildhood.IfeltasifIwasfightingtoholdmyground,thatifIsteppedofftherug,Iwouldfallintomyoldabyss.
Beforewe’dleftCatherine’s,aletterhadarrivedfromHandfultellingusofCharlotte’sdeath.EverytimeIreadit—somanytimes
Ninahadthreatenedtohideitfromme—IthoughtofthepromiseI’dmadetohelpHandfulgetfree.Ithadplaguedmemywholelife,andnowthatCharlottewasgone,insteadofreleasingme,herdeathhadsomehowmadetheobligationmorebinding.ItoldmyselfI’dtried—Ihadtried.HowmanytimeshadIwrittenMotherbeggingtopurchaseHandfulinorderto
freeher?She’dnotevenacknowledgedmyrequests.
ThenonemorningwhilemysisterusedthelastofourpaintstocapturethebarewillowoutsidethewindowandIwalkedmytrenchantpathontherug,Isuddenlystoppedandgazedatthepewterinkstand.Istaredatitforwholeminutes.Everythingwasinshambles,andtherewastheinkstand.
“...Nina!DoyourememberhowMotherwouldmakeussitforhoursandwriteapologies?Well,I’mgoingtowriteone...atrueapologyfortheanti-slaverycause.Youcouldwrite,too...Webothcould.”
Shestaredatme,whileeverythingIfeltandknewoffereditselfupatonce.“...It’stheSouththatmustbereached,”Isaid.“...We’re
Southerners...weknowtheslaveholders,youandI...Wecanspeaktothem...notlecturethem,butappealtothem.”
Turningtowardthewindow,sheseemedtostudythewillow,andwhenshelookedback,Isawtheglintinhereyes.“Wecouldwriteapamphlet!”
Sherose,steppingintothequadrangleoflightthatlayon
thefloorfromthewindow.“Mr.Garrisonprintedmyletter,perhapshewouldprintourpamphlet,too,andsendittoallthecitiesintheSouth.Butlet’snotaddressittotheslaveholders.They’llneverlistentous.”
“...Whothen?”“We’llwritetothe
Southernclergyandtothewomen.We’llsetthepreachersuponthem,and
theirwivesandmothersanddaughters!”
Iwroteinbedonmylapdesk,wrappedinawoolenshawl,whileNinabentoverthesmalltableinherold,fur-linedbonnet.Theentireatticachedwithcoldandthescratch-scratchofourpensandthewhippoorwillsalreadycallingtoeachother
inthegatheringdark.Allwinterthechimney
hadsteepedtheatticwithheatandNinawouldthrowopenthewindowtoletintheicyair.Wewroteswelteringorwewroteshivering,butrarelyinbetween.Ourpamphletswerenearlyfinished—mine,AnEpistletotheClergyoftheSouthernStates,andNina’s,AnAppealtotheChristianWomenofthe
South.She’dtakenthewomen,andItheclergy,whichIfoundironicconsideringI’ddonesopoorlywithmenandshesowell.Sheinsisteditwould’vebeenmoreironictheotherwayaround—herwritingaboutGodwhenshe’ddonesopoorlywithhim.
We’dsetdowneveryargumenttheSouthmadeforslaveryandrefutedthemall.I
didn’tstutteronthepage.Itwasanecstasytowritewithouthesitation,towriteeverythinghiddeninsideofme,towritewiththesortofaudacityIwouldn’thavefoundinperson.OIsometimesthoughtofFatherasIwroteandthebrutalconfessionhe’dmadeattheend.DoyouthinkIdon’tabhorslavery?DoyouthinkIdon’tknowitwasgreedthat
keptmefromfollowingmyconscience?ButitwasmostlyCharlottewhohauntedmypages.
Belowusinthekitchen,IheardSarahMappsandGracefeedingwoodintothestove,anorneryoldRumfordthatcoughedupcloudsofsmut.Soonwesmelledvegetablesboiling—onions,parsnips,beettops—andwegatheredourday’sworkand
descendedtheladder.SarahMappsturnedfrom
thestoveasweentered,sheavesofsmokefloatingaboutherhead.“Doyouhavenewpagesforus?”sheasked,andhermother,whowaspoundingdough,stoppedtohearouranswer.
“Sarahhasbroughtdownthelastofhers,”Ninasaid.“Shewrotethefinalsentencetoday,andIexpectto
completeminetomorrow!”SarahMappsclappedher
handsthewayshemight’vedoneforthechildreninherclass.Ourhabitwastogatherinthesittingroomafterthemeal,whereNinaandIreadourlatestpassagesaloudtothem.Gracesometimesgrewsodistressedatoureyewitnessaccountsofslaveryshewouldinterruptuswithallsortsofoutbursts—
Suchanabomination!Can’ttheyseewearepersons?TherebutforthegraceofGod.Finally,SarahMappswouldfetchthemillinerybasketsohermothercoulddistractherselfbyjabbinganeedleintooneofthehatsshewasmaking.
“Alettercameforyoutoday,Nina,”Gracesaid,wipingdoughfromherhandsanddiggingitfromherapron.
Fewpeopleknewofourwhereabouts:MotherandThomasinCharleston,andI’dsenttheaddresstoHandfulaswell,thoughI’dnotheardbackfromher.AmongtheQuakers,we’dinformednoonebutLucretia,afraidthatSarahMappsandGracewouldsufferforconsortingwithus.Thehandwritingontheletter,however,belongedtononeof
them.IgazedoverNina’s
shoulderasshetoreopenthepaper.
“It’sfromMr.Garrison!”Ninacried.I’dforgotten—Ninahadwrittenhimsomeweeksago,describingourliteraryundertaking,andhe’drespondedwithenthusiasm,askingustosubmitourworkwhenitwasfinished.Icouldn’timaginewhathe
mightwant.
21March1836DearMissGrimké,Ihaveencloseda
lettertoyoufromElizurWrightinNewYork.Notknowinghowtoreachyou,heentrustedthelettertometoforward.Ithinkyouwillfinditofutmostimportance.
Ipraythemonographsyouandyoursisterarewritingwillreachmesoonandthatyouwillbothrisetothemomentthatisnowuponyou.
GodGrantYouCourage,WilliamLloydGarrison
Ninalookedup,hereyessearchingmine,andtheywerefilledwithakindofwonder.Withadeepbreath,shereadtheaccompanyingletteraloud.
2March1836DearMissGrimké,Iwriteonbehalfof
theAmericanAnti-SlaverySociety,whichissoontocommission
andsendforthfortyabolitionagentstospeakatgatheringsacrossthefreestates,winningconvertstoourcauseandrousingsupport.AfterreadingyoureloquentlettertoTheLiberatorandobservingtheoutcryandaweithaselicited,theExecutiveCommitteeis
unanimousinitsbeliefthatyourinsightintotheevilsofslaveryintheSouthandyourimpassionedvoicewillbeaninvaluableasset.Weinviteyoutojoin
usinthisgreatmoralendeavor,andyoursister,Sarah,aswell,aswehavelearnedofhersacrificeandstaunchabolitionist
views.Webelieveyoumaybemoreamenabletothemissionifsheaccompaniesyou.Ifthetwoofyouwouldconsenttobeouronlyfemaleagents,wewouldhaveyouspeaktowomeninprivateparlorsinNewYork.Wewouldexpect
youthesixteenthofnextSeptemberfortwo
monthsofrigorousagenttrainingunderthedirectionofTheodoreWeld,thegreatabolitionistorator.YourcircuitoflectureswillcommenceinDecember.Weaskforyour
prayerfuldeliberationandyourreply.
YoursMostSincerely,
ElizurWrightSecretary,AASS
Thefourofusstaredatoneanotherforamomentwithblank,astonishedexpressions,andthenNinathrewherarmsaroundme.“Sarah,it’sallwecould’vehopedandmore.”
Icouldonlystandthere
immobilewhilesheclaspedme.SarahMappsscoopedahandfulofflourfromthebowlandtosseditoveruslikepetalsatawedding,andtheirlaughterroseintothesteamyair.
“Thinkofit,we’retobetrainedbyTheodoreWeld,”Ninasaid.Hewasthemanwho’d“abolitionized”Ohio.Hewassaidtobedemanding,fiercelyprincipled,and
uncompromising.Imuddledthroughthe
mealandthereading,andwhenweslippedintobed,Iwasgladforthedark.IlaystillandhopedNinawouldthinkmeasleep,buthervoicecamefromherbed,twoarm-lengthsaway.“Iwon’tgotoNewYorkwithoutyou.”
“...I-Ididn’tsayIwouldn’tgo.Ofcourse,I’llgo.”
“You’vebeensoquiet,Idon’tknowwhattothink.”
“...I’moverjoyed.Iam,Nina...It’sjust...I’llhavetospeak.Tospeakinthemostpublicway...amongstrangers...I’llhavetousethevoiceinmythroat,nottheoneonthepage.”
Allevening,I’dpicturedhowitwouldbe,themomentwhenthewordsclottedonmytongueandthewomenin
NewYorkshiftedintheirchairsandstaredattheirlaps.
“YoustoodinMeetingsandspoke,”Ninasaid.“Youdidn’tletyourstutterstopyoufromtryingtobecomeaminister.”
Istaredattheblackplankofrafterovermyheadandfeltthetruthandlogicofthat,anditcametomethatwhatIfearedmostwasnotspeaking.Thatfearwasoldandtired.
WhatIfearedwastheimmensityofitall—afemaleabolitionagenttravelingthecountrywithanationalmandate.Iwantedtosay,WhoamItodothis,awoman?Butthatvoicewasnotmine.ItwasFather’svoice.ItwasThomas’.ItbelongedtoIsrael,toCatherine,andtoMother.ItbelongedtothechurchinCharlestonandtheQuakers
inPhiladelphia.Itwouldnot,ifIcouldhelpit,belongtome.
HandfulIwasdownnearAdgersWharfonanerrandwhenthesteamboatlefttheharboranditwassomethinginthisworld,thepaddlethundering,thesmokestackblowing,andpeoplelineduponthetopdeckwavinghandkerchiefs.Iwatchedittillthespume
settledonthewaterandtheboatdroppedoverthelastblueedge.
Littlemissushadsentmetogettwobottlesofimportscotch,andIhurriednownottobelate.Iwastheonewhodidmostofherbiddingthesedays.Whenshesentherplantationslavestofetchsomething,they’dcomebackwiththebasketemptyorstillholdingthenotetheywere
supposedtodeliver.Theydidn’tknowtheBatteryfromWraggSquare,andshe’dmakethemgowithoutsupperiftheywerelucky,andiftheyweren’t,itwasfivelashesfromHector.
LastweekSkymadeuparhymeandsangitinthegarden.LittlemissusMary,meanasasnake.LittlemissusMary,hitherwiththerake.Itoldher,don’tsing
thatcauseHectorhasearstohear,butSkycouldn’tgetthesongoffhertongue.She’dendedupwiththeironmuzzlelatchedonhermouth.Itwasusedforwhenaslavestolefood,butitworkedjustasgoodforaslavemouthingoff.IttookfourmentoholdSkydown,worktheprongsinsidehermouth,andclampthecontraptionatthebackofherhead.Shescreamedso
loudIbitthesideofmycheektillbloodseepedandthecoppertastefilledmymouth.Skycouldn’teatortalkfortwodays.Shesleptsittingupsotheironwouldn’tcutherface,andwhenshewokegroaning,Iworkedawetragundertheedgeofthegagsoshecouldsuckthewater.
Comingoutfromthescotchstore,Iwasthinking
aboutthetornplacesonthesidesofhermouth,howshehadn’tsungatunesinceallthathappened.ThenIheardshoutsandsmelledthesmoke.
AblackbillowwasrisingovertheOldExchange.ThefirstthingthatspranginmyheadwasDenmark,howthecitywasfinallyonfirelikehewanted.Ihitchedupmyskirtandjabbedtherabbitcane
intothecobblestone,tryingtomakemyleggofaster.Thescotchbottlesclankedinthebasket.Painjarredtomyhip.
AtthecornerofBroadStreet,Istoppedinmytracks.WhatIthoughtwasthecityburningwasabonfireinfrontoftheExchange.Amobcircledrounditandthemanfromthepostofficewasuponthestepsthrowingbundlesofpaperontheflames.Every
timeapacketlanded,thecindersflewandthecrowdroared.
Ididn’tknowwhattheyweresostirredupabout,andthelastthingyouwantistowadeoutinthemiddleofsomebodyelse’strouble,butIknewlittlemissusdoledoutwhippingsforbeinglatethesameasshedidforgettinglost.
Iwasweavingmyway,
keepingmyheaddown,whenIsawoneofthepaperstheyweretryingtoburnlayingonthestreettrampledunderfoot,andIwentoverandpickeditup.
Itwassingedalongthebottom.AnEpistletotheClergyoftheSouthernStatesbySarahM.Grimké.
Istoodstock-still.Sarah.SarahM.Grimké.
“Givethattome,nigger!”
amansaid.Hewasoldandbaldandsmelledsourinthesummerheat.“Handitover!”
Ilookedathisred,wateringeyesandpokedthebookletinsidemypocket.ThiswasSarah’snameandthesewereherwordsinside.Theycouldburntherestofthepapers,buttheyweren’tburningthisone.
Comelaterthisnight,SkyandGoodiswouldcometo
mybedandsay,Handful,whatwasyouthinking?Youshould’vegivethattohim,butIdidwhatIdid.
Ididn’tpayanyheedtowhathesaid.Iturnedmybackandstartedwalkingoff,gettingawayfromhisstinkandhisgrabbinghand.
Hecaughtholdofthehandleonmybasketandgaveitajerk.Iyankedback,andheheldon,swayingonhis
feet,saying,“Whatyouthink?I’mgonnaletyouwalkoffwiththat?”Thenhelookeddown,thathalf-drunkfool,andsawthebottlesofscotchinthebasket,thebestscotchinCharleston,andhisgraytonguecameoutandwipedhislips.
Isaid,“Here,youtaketheliquorandI’lltakethebooklet,”andIslidthebasketoffmyarmandlefthim
holdingit.Ilimpedoff,meandthatslyrabbitonthecane,disappearinginthecrowd.
IkeptgoingpastMarketStreet.Thesunwasdrippingorangeontheharbor,thegreenshadowsfallingoffthegardenwalls.Upanddownthestreet,thehorseswerehightailinghome.
Ididn’thurry.Iknewwhatwaswaitingonme.
NeartheGrimkéhouse,Isawthesteamboatlandingandthewhitewashbuildingwithasignoverthedoor,CharlestonSteamshipCompany.Amanholdingapocketwatchwaslockingthefrontdoor.Whenheleft,Iwandereddowntothelandingandsathiddenbehindthewoodcrates,watchingthepelicansdivestraightasblades.WhenItookthe
bookletfrommypocket,littlecharredflakescameoffinmyhand.Ihadtoworkhardatsomeofthewords.Ifonetrippedmeup,Istaredattheletters,waitingforthemeaningtoshowitself,anditwouldcome,too,likepicturestakingshapeintheclouds.
RespectedFriends,Iaddressyouasa
repentantslaveholderoftheSouth,onesecureintheknowledgethattheNegroisnotchatteltobeowned,butapersonunderGod...
Littlemissushadmewhippedbythelightofthemoon.
WhenIshoweduplateatthegatewithoutherimportscotchorthemoneyshegave
metobuyit,shetoldHectortotakecareofme.Itwasdarkout,theblackskyfullofsharp-edge,tin-cutstarsandthemoonsofullHector’sshadowlayperfectontheground.Hehadthebullwhipwoundup,hangingoffhisbelt.
I’dalwaystakenmyhopefrommaumaandshewasgone.
Helashedmyhandstoa
postonthekitchenhouse.ThelasttimeIwaswhippedwasforlearningtoread—onelash,atasteofsugar,theysaid—andTomfryhadtiedmetothissamepost.
Thistime,tenlashes.ThepricetoreadSarah’swords.
IwaitedwithmybacktoHector.IcouldseeGoodiscrouchedintheshadowsbytheherbgardenandSkyhiddenupnexttothe
warmingkitchen,theflashofhereyeslikeasmallnightanimal.
Iletmyeyelidsfallshutontheworld.Whatwasitforanyway?Whatwasanyofthisfor?
Thefirststrikecamestraightfromthefire,aburningpokerundermyskin.Iheardthecottononmydressripandfelttheskinsplit.Itknockedthelegsfrom
me.IcriedoutcauseI
couldn’thelpit,causemybodywassmallwithoutpadding.IcriedouttowakeGodfromhisslumber.
ThewordsinSarah’sbookcamefreshtome.ApersonunderGod.
Inmyhead,Isawthesteamboat.Isawthepaddleturning.
Nextday,Iwasmeasuringlittlemissusforadress,awalkingcostumemadeofsilktaffeta,justwhateverybodyneeds,andherpretendingnothinghappened.Beingobliging.Handful,whatdoyouthinkaboutthisgoldcolor,isittoopale?...Nobodysewslikeyoudo,Handful.
WhenIstretchedthemeasuretapefromherwaist
toherankle,thetore-upskinonmybackpinchedandpulledandatrickleranbetweenmyshoulders.PhoebeandSkyhadlaidbrownpapersoakedinmolassesonmybacktokeeptherawplacesclean,butitdidn’tturnthepainsweet.EverystepItookhurt.Islidmyfeetonthefloorwithoutpickingthemup.
Littlemissusstoodonthe
fittingboxandturnedacircle.ItmademethinkoftheoldglobeinmasterGrimké’sstudy,thewayitturned.
TheclapperwentoffonthefrontdoorandweheardHector’sshoesslapdownthehallwaytothedrawingroomwheremissuswastakingtea.Hecalledout,“Missus,themayor’shere.Hesayforyoutocometothedoor.”
Marysteppedoffthe
fittingboxandstuckherheadouttoseewhatshecouldsee.Missuswasoldnow,herhairpaper-white,butshegotround.Iheardhercanefast-tappingandthenhertoadyvoicedriftedintotheroom.“Mr.Hayne!Thisisanhonor.Please,come,joinmefortea.”Likeshe’dcaughtthebigfly.
Littlemissusstartedscramblingtogethershoes
on.Sheandmissuswerealwaysbraggingonthemayor.Mr.RobertHaynewalkedonCharlestonwater.Hewaswhattheycalledanullifier.
“I’mafraidthisisn’tasocialcall,Mrs.Grimké.I’mhereonofficialbusinessregardingyourdaughters,SarahandAngelina.”
Littlemissuswentstill.Sheedgedbacktothe
doorway,oneshoeon,oneshoeoff,andIeasedoverthere,too.
“IregrettoinformyouthatSarahandAngelinaarenolongerwelcomeinthecity.Youshouldinformthemiftheyreturnforavisit,they’llbearrestedandimprisoneduntilanothersteamercanreturnthemtotheNorth.It’sfortheirownwelfareasmuchasthecity’s
—Charlestonissoenragedagainstthemnowtheywouldundoubtedlymeetwithviolenceiftheyshowedtheirfaces.”
Itfellsilent.Theoldbonesofthehousecreakedroundus.
“Doyouunderstand,madame?”themayorsaid.
“Iunderstandperfectly,nowyoushouldunderstandme.Mydaughtersmayhold
unholyopinions,buttheywillnotbetreatedwiththissortofinsultandindignity.”
Thefrontdoorbanged,thecanetapped,thenmissuswasstandinginthedoorwaywithherliptrembling.
Themeasuretapeslippedfrommyfingers.Itcurledonthefloorbymyfoot.Iwasn’tlikelytoseeSaraheveragain.
SarahSeatedontheplatform,IwatchedthefacesintheaudiencegrowmoreraptasNinaspoke,theaircracklingabouttheirheadsasifsomethingwaseffervescinginit.Itwasourinaugurallecture,andweweren’ttuckedawayinaparlor
somewherebeforetwentyladieswithembroideryhoopsontheirlapsliketheAnti-SlaverySocietyhadfirstenvisioned.WewerehereinamajestichallinNewYorkwithcarvedbalconiesandredvelvetchairsfilledtooverflowing.
Allweekthenewspapershadrailedagainsttheunwholesomenoveltyoftwosistersholdingforthlike
FannyWrights.Thestreetshadbeenpaperedwithhandbillsadmonishingwomentostayhome,andeventheAnti-SlaverySocietyhadgrownnervousaboutmovingthelecturetoapublichall.They’dcomeclosetocancelingthewholethingandsendingusbacktotheparlor.
ItwasTheodoreWeldwho’dstoodandcastigatedtheSocietyfortheir
cowardice.TheycalledhimtheLionoftheTribeofAbolition,andforgoodreason—hecouldbequiteforcefulwhenheneededto.“Idefendtheseladies’righttospeakagainstslaveryanywhereandeverywhere.It’ssupremelyridiculousforyoutobullythemfromthisgreatmoment!”
Hehadsavedus.Ninasweptbackandforth
acrossthestage,liftingherhandsandsendinghervoicesoaringintothebalconies.“WestandbeforeyouasSouthernwomen,heretospeaktheterribletruthaboutslavery...”She’dsplurgedonastylish,deepbluedressthatsetoffherhair,andIcouldn’thelpwonderingwhatMr.Weldwouldthinkifhecouldseeher.
Eventhoughhe’dledthe
trainingsessionsforNinaandmeandthethirty-eightotheragents,schoolingusintheskillsoforation,he’dneverseemedsurehowtoadvisethetwoofus.Shouldwestandmotionlessandspeaksoftlyaspeopleexpectedofawomanorgestureandprojectlikeaman?“Ileaveittoyou,”he’dtoldus.
He’dtakenwhathecalledabrotherlyinterestinus,
visitingusoftenatourlodgings.ItwasreallyNinahe’dtakenaninterestin,ofcourse,andIdoubteditwasbrotherly.Shewouldn’tadmitit,butshewasdrawntohim,too.BeforearrivinginNewYork,I’dpicturedMr.Weldasasternoldman,butasitturnedout,hewasayoungman,andaskindlyashewasstern.Thirty-threeandunmarried,hewasstrikingly
handsome,withthickbrowncurlinghairandbitingblueeyes,andhewascolor-blindtothepointheworeallsortsoffunny,mismatchedshades.Wethoughtitendearing.Iwasfairlysure,however,itwasn’tanyofthesequalitiesthatattractedNina.Isuspecteditwasthatsavingspeechofhis.Itwasthosefivewords,Ileaveittoyou.
“Thefemaleslavesare
oursisters,”Ninaexclaimedandstretchedherarmsfromhersidesasifwewereencompassedbyagreathostofthem.“Wemustnotabandonthem.”Itwasthefinallineofherspeech,anditwasfollowedbyathunderclapinthehall,thewomencomingtotheirfeet.
Asthehandclappingwenton,heatwashedupthesidesofmyneck.Nowitwasmy
turn.Havinglistenedtomepracticemyspeech,theSocietymenhaddecidedNinawouldgofirstandIwouldfollow,fearingiftheorderwasreversed,fewwouldperseverethroughmytalktohearher.Gettingtomyfeet,IwonderedifthewordsIplannedtosaywerealreadyretreating
WhenIsteppedtothelectern,mylegsfeltsquishy
asasponge.Foramoment,Iheldontothesidesofthepodium,overwhelmedbytherealizationthatI,ofallpeople,wasstandinghere.Iwasgazingataseaofwaitingfaces,anditoccurredtomethataftermytall,dazzlingsister,Imust’vebeenasight.PerhapsIwasevenashock.Iwasshort,middle-aged,andplain,withatinypairofspectaclesontheendofmy
nose,andIstillworemyoldQuakerclothes.Iwascomfortableinthemnow.I’mwhoIam.Thethoughtmademesmile,andeverywhereIlooked,thewomensmiledback,andIimaginedtheyunderstoodwhatIwasthinking.
Iopenedmymouthandthewordsfellout.IspokeforseveralminutesbeforeIlookedatNinaasiftosay,
I’mnotstammering!Shenodded,hereyeswideandbrimming.
Asachild,mystutterhadcomeandgonemysteriouslyjustlikethis,butithadbeenwithmeforsolongnowI’dthoughtitpermanent.Italkedonandon.IspokequietlyabouttheevilsofslaverythatI’dseenwithmyowneyes.ItoldthemaboutHandfulandhermotherandhersister.I
sparedthemnothing.Finally,Ipeeredovermy
glassesandtooktheminforamoment.“Wewon’tbesilentanymore.Wewomenwilldeclareourselvesfortheslave,andwewon’tbesilentuntilthey’refree.”
Iturnedthenandwalkedbacktomychairwhilethewomenroseandfilledthehallwiththeirapplause.
WespokebeforelargegatheringsinNewYorkCityforweeksbeforeholdingacampaigninNewJersey,andthentravelingontotownsalongtheHudson.Thewomencameinthrongs,proliferatingliketheloavesandfishesintheBible.InachurchinPoughkeepsie,thecrowdwassogreatthebalconycrackedandthechurchhadtobeevacuated,
forcingustodeliverourspeechesoutsideinthefrostandgloomofFebruary,andnotonewomanleft.Ineverytownwevisited,weencouragedthewomentoformtheirownanti-slaverysocieties,andwesetthemcollectingsignaturesonpetitions.Mystuttercameandwent,thoughitkindlystayedawayformostofmyspeeches.
Webecamemodestlyfamousandextravagantlyinfamous.Throughoutthatwinterandspring,newsofourexploitswascarriedbypracticallyeverynewspaperinthecountry.Theanti-slaverypaperspublishedourspeeches,andtensofthousandsofourpamphletswereinprint.Evenourformerpresident,JohnQuincyAdams,agreedto
meetwithus,promisinghewoulddeliverthepetitionsthewomenwerecollectingtoCongress.InafewcitiesintheSouth,wewerehungineffigyrightalongwithMr.Garrison,andourmotherhadsentwordwecouldnolongersetfootinCharlestonwithoutfearofimprisonment.
Mr.Weldwasourlifeline.Hewroteusjointletters,praisingourefforts.
Hecalledusbraveandstalwartanddogged.Nowandthen,headdedapostscriptforNinaalone.Angelina,it’swidelysaidyoukeepyouraudiencesinthrall.Asdirectorofyourtraining,IwishIcouldtakecredit,butit’sallyou.
OnabalmyafternooninApril,heappearedwithoutpriornoticeatGerritSmith’scountryhouseinPeterboro,
NewYork,whereNinaandIwerespendingseveraldaysduringourlatestroundoflectures.He’dcome,hesaid,todiscussSocietyfinanceswithMr.Smith,theorganization’slargestbenefactor,butonecouldhardlymissthecoincidence.Eachmorning,heandNinatookawalkalongthelanethatledthroughtheorchards.He’dinvitedmeaswell,but
I’dtakenonelookatNina’sfaceanddeclined.Heaccompaniedustoourafternoonlectures,waitingoutsidethehalls,andintheevenings,thethreeofussatwithMr.andMrs.Smithintheparlor,aswedebatedstrategiesforourcauseandrecountedouradventures.WhenMrs.Smithsuggesteditwastimeforthewomentosaygoodnight,Theodoreand
Ninawouldglanceatoneanotherreluctanttopart,andhewouldsay,“Wellthen.Youmustgetyourrest,”andNinawouldleavetheroomwithpainfulslowness.
Thedayhedeparted,Iwatchedfromthewindowasthetwoofthemreturnedfromtheirwalk.Ithadstartedtorainwhiletheywereout,oneofthosesuddendownburstsduringwhichthesungoes
rightonshining,andhewasholdinghiscoatovertheirheads,makingalittletentforthem.Theywalkedwithouttheleastbitofhurry.Icouldseetheywerelaughing.
Astheycameontotheporch,shakingoffthewetness,hebentandkissedmysister’scheek.
InJunewearrivedin
Amesbury,Massachusetts,foratwo-weekrespiteattheclapboardcottageofaMrs.Whittier.WeweresoontobeginacrusadeoflecturesinNewEnglandthatwouldlastthroughthefall,butwewereraggedwithfatigue,inneedoffresh,moreseasonalclothes,andIhadanairylittlecoughIcouldn’tgetridof.Mrs.Whittierwascherry-cheekedandplump,andfed
usrichsoups,doseduswithcodliveroil,refusedallvisitors,andforcedustobedbeforethemoonappeared.
ItwasseveraldaysbeforewediscoveredshewasthemotherofJohnGreenleafWhittier,Theodore’sclosefriend.Weweresittingintheparlor,havingtea,whenshebegantospeakofhersonandhislongfriendshipwithTheodore,andweunderstood
nowwhyshe’dtakenusin.“Youmustknow
Theodorewellthen,”Ninasaid.
“Teddy?Oh,he’slikeasontome,andabrothertoJohn.”Sheshookherhead.“Isupposeyou’veheardofthatawfulpledgetheymade.”
“Pledge?”saidNina.“Why,no,we’veheardnothingofit.”
“Well,Idon’tapprove.I
thinkittooextreme.Awomanmyagewouldlikegrandchildren,afterall.Butthey’remenofprinciple,thosetwo,there’snoreasoningwiththem.”
Ninasatupontheedgeofherchair,andIcouldseethebrightnessleaveher.“Whatdidtheypledge?”
“Theyvowedneitherofthemwouldmarryuntilslaverywasabolished.
Honestly,itwillhardlybeintheirlifetimes!”
ThatnightIwasawakenedbyaknockonmydoorlongafterthemoonset.Ninastoodtherewithherfacelikeaseawall,grimandbraced.“Ican’tbearit,”shesaidandfellagainstmyshoulder.
Thatsummerof1837,New
Englanderscamebythethousandstohearusspeak,andforthefirsttimemenbegantoappearintheaudiences.Atfirstahandful,thenfifty,thenhundreds.Thatwespokepubliclytowomenwasbadenough—thatwespokepubliclytomenturnedthePuritanworldonitshead.
“They’llbelightingthepyres,”IsaidtoNinawhen
themenfirstshowed,tryingtosloughitoff.Welaughed,butitbecamenotfunnyatall.
Isuffernotawomantoteach,nortousurpauthorityovertheman,buttobeinsilence.WasthereeveramoregallingverseintheBible?ItwaspreachedthatsummerfromeverypulpitinNewEnglandwiththeGrimkésistersinmind.TheCongregationalchurches
passedaresolutionofcensureagainstus,urgingaboycottofourlectures,andinitswake,anumberofchurchesandpublichallswereclosedtous.InPepperellwewereforcedtodeliverourmessageinabarnwiththehorsesandcows.“Asyousee,there’snoroomattheinn,”Ninatoldthem.“But,still,thewisemenhavecome.”
Wetriedtobebraveand
stalwartanddogged,asTheodorehaddescribedusinhisletter,andwebeganusingportionsofourlecturestodefendourrighttospeak.“Whatweclaimforourselvesweclaimforeverywoman!”ThatwasourrallycryinLowellandWorcesterandDuxbury,indeedeverywherewewent.Youshouldhaveseenthewomen,howtheyflockedtoourside,andsome,
likethebraveladiesofAndover,wrotepubliclettersinourdefense.MyoldfriendLucretiagotamessagetousallthewayfromPhiladelphia.Itcontainedfourwords:Presson,mysisters.
Withoutintendingto,wesetthecountryinanuproar.Thematterofwomenhavingcertainrightswasnewandstrangeandpilloried,butitwassuddenlydebatedallthe
waytoOhio.TheyrenamedmysisterDevilina.Theychristenedus“femaleincendiaries.”Somehowwe’dlitthefuse.
ThelastweekofAugustwereturnedtoMrs.Whittier’scottageasiffrombattle.Ifelttiredandbeleaguered,uncertainifIcouldcontinuewiththefalllectures.Thelastteaspoonoffighthadbeenscrapedoutof
me.Ourfinalmeetingofthesummerhadendedwithdozensofangeredmenstandingonwagonsoutsidethehall,shouting“Devilina!”andhurlingrocksasweleft.Onehadhitmymouth,transformingmylowerlipintoafat,redsausage.Ilookedasight.Iwasn’tsurewhatMrs.Whittierwouldsaytoallthis,ifshewouldevengiveusshelter—wewere
pariahsnow—butwhenwearrived,shepulledusintoherarmsandkissedourforeheads.
Onthethirddayofrefuge,IreturnedfromastrollalongthebanksoftheMerrimacktofindNinacantingsharplyagainstthewindowasifshe’dfallenasleep,herheadpressedtotheglass,hereyesclosed,herarmsdroppedbyhersides.
Shelookedlikeaspinningtopthathadcometorest.
Hearingmyfootsteps,sheturnedandpointedtotheteatablewheretheBostonMorningPostlayopen.Mrs.Whittiertookcaretohidetheeditorials,butNinahadfoundthepaperinthebreadbox.
August25TheMissesGrimkéhavemadespeeches,writtenpamphlets,andexhibitedthemselvesin
publicinunwomanlywaysforawhilenow,buttheyhavenotfoundhusbands.Whyarealltheoldhensabolitionists?Becausenotbeingabletoobtainhusbands,theythinktheymaystandsomechanceforaNegro,iftheycanonlymakeamalgamationfashionable...
Icouldn’tfinishit.“Ifthat’snotenough,
TheodorewillbearrivingthisafternoonalongwithElizurWrightandMrs.Whittier’s
son,John.Theirlettercamewhileyouwereout.Mrs.Whittierisintheremakingmincepies.”
Shehadn’tspokenofTheodoreallsummer,butshewassickwithlongingforhim,itwasplainonherface.
Themenarrivedatthreeo’clock.Mylipwasalmostbacktoitsnormalsize,andI
couldspeaknowwithoutsoundingasifmymouthwasstuffedwithfood,butitwasstillsoreandIremainedquiet,waitingforthemtocometotheirpurpose,rememberingthewayTheodoredefendedusbefore—Itissupremelyridiculoustheyshouldbebulliedfromthisgreatmoment.
Todayhewaswearingtwoshadesofgreenthat
madeonewince.Hewalkedtothemantelandpickedupapieceofscrimshawandinspectedit.HiseyeswenttoNina.Hesaid,“Therehasnotbeenacontributiontotheanti-slaverymovementmoreimpressiveortirelessthanthatoftheGrimkésisters.”
“Hear,hear,”saiddearMrs.Whittier,butIsawhersonlowerhiseyes,andIknewthenwhytheyhad
come.“Wecommendyoufor
it,”Theodorewenton.“Andyetbyencouragingmentojoinyouraudiences,you’vemiredusinacontroversythathastakentheattentionawayfromabolition.We’vecome,hopingtoconvinceyou—”
Ninainterruptedhim.“Hopingtoconvinceustobehavelikegoodlapdogsandwaitcontentbeneaththetable
forwhatevercrumbsyoutosstous?Isthatwhatyouhope?”HerrebukewassoswiftandscathingIwonderedifitwasinreactiontohismarriagepledgeasmuchasanything.
“Angelina,please,justhearusout,”hesaid.“We’reonyourside,atheartweare.Iofallpeoplesupportyourrighttospeak.It’sdownrightsenselesstokeepmenaway
fromyourmeetings.”“...Thenwhydoyou
quibble?”Iasked.“Becausewesentyouout
thereonbehalfofabolition,notwomen.”
HeglancedatJohn,whoseheavybrowsandleanfacemademefeelthetwocould’vebeenactualbrothers,notjustfigurativeones.
“Heonlymeanstosaytheslaveisofgreaterurgency,”
Johnadded.“Isupportthecauseofwomen,too,butsurelyyoucan’tlosesightoftheslavebecauseofaselfishcrusadeagainstsomepaltrygrievanceofyourown?”
“Paltry?”Ninacried.“Isourrighttospeakpaltry?”
“Incomparisontothecauseofabolition?Yes,Isayitis.”
Mrs.Whittierdrewupinherchair.“Really,John!Asa
woman,Ididn’tthinkIhadagrievanceuntilyoubeganspeaking!”
“Whymustitbeoneortheother?”Ninaasked.“SarahandIhaven’tceasedtoworkforabolition.We’respeakingforslavesandwomenboth.Don’tyousee,wecoulddoahundredtimesmorefortheslave,ifweweren’tsofettered?”SheturnedtoTheodore,casting
onhimthemostbeautiful,imploringlook.“Can’tyoustandsidebysidewithme?Withus?”
Hedrewalongbreathandhisfacegavehimaway—itwastwistedwithloveanddistress—buthe’dcomeonamission,andasMrs.Whittierhadsaid,hewasamanofprinciple,rightorwrong.“Angelina,Ithinkofyouasmyfriend,thedearestof
friends,andittorturesmetogoagainstyou,butnowisthetimetostandwiththeslave.Thetimewillcomeforustotakeupthewomanquestion,butnotyet.”
“Thetimetoassertone’srightiswhenit’sdenied!”
“I’msorry,”hetoldher.Outside,thewindswirled
up,churningtheleavesinthebirch.Thesoundandsmellofitloomedthroughtheopen
window,andIhadasuddenfleetingmemoryofplayingbeneaththeoakintheworkyardbackhome,formingwordswithmybrother’smarbles,SarahGo,andthentheslavewomanisdraggedfromthecowhouseandwhipped.Idon’tscreamormakeasound.Isaynothingatall.
TheolderMr.Wrighthadbegunhispiece,comingto
thecruxofit.“Itsaddensme,butyouragitationforwomenharmsourcause.Itthreatenstosplittheabolitionmovementintwo.Ican’tbelieveyouwantthat.We’reonlyaskingyoutoconfineyouraudiencestowomenandrefrainfromfurthertalkaboutwomen’sreform.”
HushinguptheGrimkésisters—woulditneverstop?IlookedatMr.Wright,sitting
thererubbinghisarthriticfingers,andthenatJohnandTheodore—thesegoodmenwhowishedtoquashus,gently,ofcourse,benignly,forthegoodofabolition,forourowngood,fortheirgood,forthegreatergood.Itwasallsofamiliar.Theirswasonlyadifferentkindofmuzzle.
I’dspokenbutoncesincethey’dgottenhere,anditseemedtomenowI’dspent
myentirelifetryingtocoaxbackthevoicethatleftmethatlong-agodayunderthetree.Nina,clearlyfurious,hadstoppedarguing.Shelookedatme,beseechingmetosaysomething.Iliftedmyfingerstomymouthandtouchedthelastbitofswollennessonmylip,feelingtheuprushofindignationthathadsustainedmethroughthesummer,and,
Isuppose,mywholelife,butthistime,itformedintohardroundwords.“Howcanyouaskustogobacktoourparlors?”Isaid,risingtomyfeet.“Toturnourbacksonourselvesandonourownsex?Wedon’twishthemovementtosplit,ofcoursewedon’t—itsaddensmetothinkofit—butwecandolittlefortheslaveaslongaswe’reunderthefeetofmen.
Dowhatyouhavetodo,censureus,withdrawyoursupport,we’llpressonanyway.Now,sirs,kindlytakeyourfeetoffournecks.”
ThatnightIbeganwritingmysecondpamphlet,LettersontheEqualityoftheSexes,workingintothehoursbeforedawn.Thefirstlinehadarrangeditselfinmyhead
whileI’dsatlisteningtothementryanddissuadeus:Whatsoeveritismorallyrightforamantodo,itismorallyrightforawomantodo.SheisclothedbyherMakerwiththesamerights,thesameduties.
HandfulItwasspringtimewhenalltheheavycleaningandairing-outwasgoingoninthehouseandeverynightmeandSkywouldcomebacktothecellarroomafterbeingwiththebristle-brushallday,andfallonthebed,andthefirstthingI’dseewasthequiltframe,
theonetrueroofovermyhead.I’dthinkabouteverythinghiddenupthere—mauma’sstoryquilt,themoney,Sarah’sbooklet,herlettertellingmeaboutthepromiseshe’dmadetogetmefree—andI’dfallasleepgladtheyweresafeovermyhead.
ThenoneSundaymorning,Irolledtheframedown.SkywatchedmewithoutawordwhileIran
myhandovertheredquiltwiththeblacktriangles,feelingthemoneysewedinside.IpeeledthemuslinclothfromroundSarah’sbookletandgazedonit,thenwrappeditback.Next,Ispreadthestoryquiltcrosstheframeandwestoodthere,lookingdownatthehistoryofmauma.Ilaidmypalmonthesecondsquare—thewomaninthefieldandtheslavesflying
intheairoverherhead.Allthathopeinthewind.
Wedidn’thearlittlemissusoutsidethedoor.Thelockmaumausedtohaveonthedoorwaslonggone,andlittlemissus,shedidn’tknock.Sheflouncedonin.“I’mgoingtoSt.Philip’s,andIneedmyclaretcape.Youweresupposedtomenditforme.”Hereyeswanderedpastmetothequiltframe.
“What’sallthis?”Isteppedtoblockher
view.“That’sright,Iforgotaboutyourcape.”Iwastryingtofanthemothfromtheflame,butshebrushedpastmetoseethepinks,reds,oranges,purples,andblacksonthequilt.Maumaandhercolors.
“I’llbestraightovertomendthecape,”Isaidandtooktheropeoffthehookto
hiketheframeupbeforeshefiguredoutwhatshewaslookingat.
Sheputupherhand.“Holdon.You’reinanawfulbighurrytohidethisfromme.”
Ifastenedtheropeback,thehigh-fluttercominginmychest.Skystartedhummingathinnervoustune.Istartedtoputmyfingertomylip,buteversinceshehadthat
muzzleinhermouth,Icouldn’tbeartohushher.Welookedbackandforthtoeachotherwhilelittlemissussquintedfromonesquaretothenextlikeshewasreadingabook.Everythingdonetomauma—thereitwas.Theone-leggedpunishment,thewhippings,thebranding,thehammering.Mauma’sbodylaidonthequiltframeinpieces.
ThemuslinclothwithSarah’sbookletinsidewasinplainsight,andbesideit,thequiltwiththemoneyinside.Youcouldseetheshapeofthebundleslayinginthebatting.Iwantedtotuckeverythingfromview,butIdidn’tmove.
Whensheturnedtome,themorningglarefelloverherfaceandtheblackinhereyespulledintoknots.She
said,“Whomadethis?”“Maumadid.Charlotte.”“Well,it’sgruesome!”Ineverhadwantedto
screamasbadasIdidrightthen.Isaid,“Thosegruesomethingshappenedtoher.”
Adarkpinkcolorpouredintohercheeks.“Forheaven’ssakesthen,youwouldthinkherwholelifewasnothingbutviolenceandcruelty.Imean,itdoesn’t
showwhatshedidtowarrantherpunishments.”
Shelookedatthequiltagain,hereyesdartingovertheappliqués.“Wetreatedherwellhere,noonecandisputethat.Ican’tspeakforwhathappenedtoherwhensheranaway,shewasoutofourcarethen.”Littlemissuswasrubbingherhandsnowlikeshewascleaningthematthewashbowl.
Thequilthadshamedher.Shewalkedtothedoorandtookonelookbackatit,andIknewshe’dneverletitstayintheworld.She’dsendHectortogetittheminutewewereoutoftheroom.He’dburnmauma’sstorytoash.
Standingthere,waitingforlittlemissus’stepstofade,Ilookeddownatthequilt,attheslavesflyinginthesky,andIhatedbeingaslave
worsethanbeingdead.ThehateIfeltforitglitteredsofullofbeautyIsankdownonthefloorbeforeit.
Sky’shairwasabushelbasketwithoutherscarfandwhenshebentovertoseeaboutme,theendsofitpokedmyfaceandsmelledlikethebristle-brush.Shesaid,“Youallright?”
Ilookedupather.“We’releavinghere.”
Sheheardme,butshecouldn’tbesure.Shesaid,“Whatyousay?”
“Wegonnaleavehereordietrying.”
Skypulledmetomyfeetlikepluckingaflower,andIsawDenmark’sfacesettleintohers,thatdayherodetohisdeathsittingonacoffin.I’dalwayswantedfreedom,butthereneverhadbeenaplacetogoandnowaytoget
there.Thatdidn’tmatteranymore.Iwantedfreedommorethanthenextbreath.We’dleave,ridingonourcoffinsifwehadto.Thatwasthewaymaumahadlivedherwholelife.Sheusedtosay,yougottofigureoutwhichendoftheneedleyou’regonbe,theonethat’sfastenedtothethreadortheendthatpiercesthecloth.
Iliftedthequiltfromthe
frameandfoldeditup,thinkingofthefeathersinsideit,andinsidethefeathers,thememoryofthesky.
“Here,”Isaid,layingthequiltinSky’sarms.“Igottogomendthatwoman’scape.PutthequiltinthegunnysackandtakeittoGoodisandtellhimtohideitwiththehorseblanketsanddon’tletanybodynearit.”
MendinghercapewasnotallIdid.Itooklittlemissus’seal-stamprightoffherdeskwhileshewasstandingintheroomandIdroppeditinmypocket.
Iwaitedtilldarktowritemyletter.
23April1838DearSarahIhopethismakesit
toyou.MeandSkywill
beleavinghereordietrying.That’showweputit.Idon’tknowhowwe’redoingit,butwe’vegotmauma’smoney.Allweneedisaplacetocometo.Ihavetheaddressonthisletter.IhopeIseeyouagainoneday.
YourfriendHandful
SarahTheweddingtookplaceinahouseonSpruceStreetinPhiladelphiaonMay14attwoo’clockintheafternoon—adayfullofglintingsunlightandpaleblueclouds.Itwasthesortofdaythatseemedsharplyrealandnotrealatall.Iremember
standinginthediningroomwatchingitunfoldasiffromadistance,asifIwasclimbingupfromthebottomofsleep,comingupfromthecoolsheetstoanewday,onelifeendingandanotherbeginning.
Motherhadsentanoteofcongratulation,whichwehadn’texpected,beggingustosendaletterdescribingtheweddingindetail.Whatwill
Ninawear?she’dasked.Oh,thatIcouldseeher!Naturally,she’dconveyedhowrelievedshewasthatNinahadahusbandnowandshehopedwewouldbothretirefromtheunnaturallifewe’dbeenliving,butdespitethat,herletterwasplaintivewiththeloveofanagingmother.Shecalledusherdeardaughtersandlamentedthedistancebetweenus.Will
Iseeyouagain?shewrote.Thequestionhauntedmefordays.
IgazedatNinaandTheodorestandingnowbeforethewindowabouttosaytheirvows,orasNinahadphrasedit,whateverwordstheirheartsgavethematthemoment,andIthoughtitjustaswellMotherwasnothere.Shewould’veexpectedNinatobeinivorylace,perhaps
bluelinen,carryingrosesorlilies,butNinahaddismissedallofthatasunoriginalandembarkedonaweddingdesignedtoshockthemasses.
Shewaswearingabrowndressmadefromfree-laborcottonwithabroadwhitesashandwhitegloves,andshe’dmatchedupTheodoreinabrowncoat,awhitevest,andbeigepantaloons.Sheclutchedahandfulofwhite
rhododendronscutfreshfromthebackyard,andInoticedshe’dtuckedaspriginthebuttonholeofTheodore’scoat.Motherwouldn’thavemadeitpastthebrowndress,muchlesstheopeningprayer,whichhadbeendeliveredbyaNegrominister.
WhenthePhiladelphianewspaperannouncedthewedding,alludingtothemixed-raceguestsexpectedto
attend,we’dworriedtheremightbedemonstrators—slursandshoutsandrockswhizzingby—butmercifully,noonehadshowedupbutthoseinvited.SarahMappsandGracewerehere,alongwithseveralfreedslaveswithwhomwewereacquainted,andwe’dtimedtheweddingtocoincidewiththeAnti-SlaveryConventioninthecitysothatsomeofthemost
prominentabolitionistsinthecountrywereintheroom:Mr.Garrison,Mr.andMrs.GerritSmith,HenryStanton,theMotts,theTappans,theWestons,theChapmans.
Itwouldbecomeknownastheabolitionwedding.
Ninawasspeakingnow,herfaceturneduptoTheodore’s,andIthoughtsuddenly,involuntarilyofIsraelandatinygriefcame
overme.Everytimeithappened,itwaslikecominguponanemptyroomIdidn’tknowwasthere,andsteppingin,Iwouldbepiercedbyit,bytheghostoftheonewho’doncefilleditup.Ididn’tstumbleintothisplacemuchanymore,butwhenIdid,ithollowedoutlittlepiecesofmychest.
GazingatNina,radiantNina,Ipicturedmyselfinher
place,Israelbesideme,thetwoofussayingvows,andtheideaofsuchathingcuredme.ItwasthetruthIalwayscamebackto,thatIdidn’twantIsraelanymore,Ididn’twanttobemarriednow,andyetthephantomofwhatmight’vebeen,theterribleallureofitcouldstillsnatchme.
Closingmyeyes,Igavemyheadashaketoclearthe
remnantsoflongingaway,andwhenIlookedbackatthebrideandgroom,thereweredragonfliesdartingbeyondthewindow,agreentempest,andthenitwasgone.
Ninapromisedaloudtoloveandhonorhim,carefullyomittingthewordobey,andTheodorelaunchedintoanawkwardmonologue,deploringthelawsthatgavecontrolofawife’spropertyto
thehusbandandrenouncingallclaimtoNina’s,andthenhecoughedself-consciously,asifcatchinghimself,andprofessedhislove.
We’dputtheconfrontationinMrs.Whittier’scottagebehindus,notthatTheodoreeverfullyconcededhisposition,buthe’dsoftenedhisrhetoricafterthatday,asanymaninlovewould.Theabolition
movementhadsplitintotwocampsjustasthemenpredicted,andNinaandIbecameevenworsepariahs,butithadsetthecauseofwomeninmotion.
I’dbeenpresentwhenNinaopenedthelettercontainingTheodore’sproposal.IthadcomelatelastwinterduringalongreprieveinPhiladelphiawithSarahMappsandGrace,aswe’d
preparedforaseriesoflecturesattheBostonOdeon.Readingit,she’ddroppedthepagesontoherlapandbrokenintotears.Whenshereadittome,Icriedtoo,butmytearswereamixofjoyandwretchednessandfear.Iwantedthismarriageforher,Iwantedherhappinessasmuchasmyown,butwherewouldIgo?FordaysIcouldn’tconcentrateonthe
lectureIwastryingtowriteorhidethebereftfeelingIcarriedinside.Icouldn’tbeartothinkoflifewithouther,lifealone,butneitherdidIwanttobetheburdensomerelativelivinginthebackroom,gettingintheway,andIcouldn’timagineTheodorewouldwantmethere.
ThenonedayNinacametome,ploppingonthefootstoolbesidemychairin
SarahMapps’frontroom.WithoutawordsheopenedherBibleandreadaloudthepassageinwhichRuthspeakstoNaomi:
Entreatmenottoleavethee,ortoreturnfromfollowingafterthee:forwhitherthougoest,Iwillgo;andwherethoulodgest,Iwilllodge;thypeoplewillbemypeople,andthyGodmyGod.Wherethoudiest,willIdie,
andtherewillIbeburied.TheLorddosotome,andmorealso,ifoughtbutdeathparttheeandme.
ClosingtheBible,shesaid,“Wecan’tbeseparated,itisn’tpossible.YoumustcomeandlivewithmeafterI’mmarried.Theodoreaskedmetotellyouthatmywishisalsohiswish.”
TheodorehadboughtasmallfarminFortLee,New
Jersey.Wewouldmakeanoddtrinitythere,thethreeofus,butIwouldstillhaveNina.Wecouldgoonwritingandworkingforabolitionandforwomen,andIwouldhelpwiththehouse,andwhentherewerechildren,Iwouldbeauntie.Onelifeending,anotherbeginning.
Inthediningroom,theministerwasofferingaprayer,andforsomereasonI
didn’tclosemyeyesasIalwaysdid,butwatchedNinareachforTheodore’shand.We’dmadeaplanthatIwouldgivethemarriedpairtwoweeksofprivacyandthenjointheminFortLee,butIthoughtnowofMotherandthequestioninherletter,WillIseeyouagain?Itseemedmorethantheelegiacponderinginanoldwoman’sheart,andIwonderedifI
shouldn’tseizethebreakinourworkandgotoher.
“Whatdoyouknow,wearehusbandandwife,”Ninasaidwhentheprayerended,pronouncingitherself.
Thediningtablesatoutinthegardenlaidwithawhitelinenclothstrewnwithplattersofsweetsandfresh-pickedflowers—foxglove,pink
azalea,andfeatheryfleabanepetals.TheconfectionerhadicedtheweddingcakewithfrothedeggwhitesanddarkenedthelayerswithmolassesinkeepingwithNina’sbrownandwhitetheme,andtherewasalargebowlofsugaredraspberry-currantjuicewherealloftheteetotalerabolitionistswerelinedup,pretendingithadn’tfermented.I’dconsumeda
sloshingcupofittooquicklyandmyheadwasfloatingabout.
Iwalkedamongtheguests,somefortyorfiftyofthem,searchingforLucretia,forSarahMappsandGrace,thinking,alittletipsily,Hereareourfriends,ourpeople,andthankGodnooneisspeakingtodayaboutthecrueltiesintheworld.IcameuponMrs.Whittier’sson
John,whomI’dnotseensinceourhead-to-headlastAugust.Hewasamusingeveryonewithapoemhe’dwrittenthatskeweredTheodoreforbreakinghisvownottomarry.HecomparedhimtothelikesofBenedictArnold.Whenhesawme,hegreetedmelikeasister.
LucretiafoundmebeforeIcouldfindher.Ithadbeen
years.Beaming,shepulledmetotheedgeofthegardenbesidethebloomingrhododendronwherewecouldbealone.“MydearSarah,Icanscarcelybelievewhatyou’vemanagedtoaccomplish!”
Ablushcrepttomyface.“It’strue,”shesaid.“You
andAngelinaarethemostfamouswomeninAmerica.”
“...Themostnotorious,
youmean.”Shesmiled.“That,too.”IpicturedLucretiaand
meinherlittlestudio,talkingandtalkingallthoseevenings.ThatfretfulyoungwomanI’dbeen,sostalled,soworriedshewouldneverfindherpurpose.IwishedIcouldgobackandtellheritwouldturnoutallright.
Glancingup,IcaughtsightofSarahMappsand
Graceacrossthegarden,stridingtowardus.NinaandIhadtraveledalmostconstantlyforthepastyearandahalf,andexceptforourvisitlastwinter,we’dseenlittleofthem.Iwrappedmyarmsaroundthem,alongwithLucretia,who’dknownthembackatArchStreet.
WhenSarahMappspulledaletterfromherpurseandhandedittome,I
recognizedHandful’swritingimmediately,thoughitboremysisterMary’sseal.Unabletowait,IrippeditopenandreadHandful’sbriefmessagewithasinkingfeeling.TherewerereportsofrunawaysbeginningtofindtheirwayacrosstheOhioRiverfromKentucky,ortoPhiladelphiaandNewYorkfromMaryland,butrarelyfromthatfarsouth.We’releaving
hereordietrying.“What’sthematter?”
Lucretiasaid.“Youlookshaken.”
Ireadthemtheletter,thenfoldeditback,myhandstremblingvisibly.“...They’llbecaught.Orkilled,”Isaid.
SarahMappsfrowned.“Theymustknowwhatthey’reattempting.They’renotchildren.”
She’dneverbeentoCharleston.Shehadnoideaofthelawsandedictsthatcontrolledeverymomentofaslave’slife,oftheCityGuard,thecurfew,thepasses,thesearches,thenightwatch,thevigilantecommittees,theslavecatchers,theWorkHouse,theimpossibility,thesheerbrutality.
“They’recomingtous,”Gracesaid,asifithadjust
sunkin.“Andwe’llwelcome
them,”SarahMappsadded.“Theycanliveinyouroldroomintheattic.Theycanhelpoutattheschool.”
“They’llnevermakeitthisfar,”Isaid.
ItoccurredtomethatHandfulandSkymightalreadyhaveleft,andIopeneduptheletteragaintolookatthedate:23April.
“Itwaswrittenonlythreeweeksago,”Isaidmoretomyselfthantothem.“...Idoubtthey’veleftbynow.Theremaystillbetimeformetodosomething.”
“Butwhatcouldyoupossiblydo?”Lucretiaasked.
“Idon’tknowifIcandoanything,butIcan’tsithereonmyhands...I’mgoingbacktoCharleston.Icanatleasttryandconvincemy
mothertosellthemtomesoIcansetthemfree.”
I’daskedbefore,butthistimeIwouldbegherinperson.
Shehadcalledmeherdeardaughter.
HandfulUpstairsinthealcove,Ipeeredoutthewindowattheharbor,rememberingwhenIwastenyearsoldseeingthewaterforthefirsttime,howtirelessandfarittraveled,makingupthatlittlesong,prancinground,andnowIwascomingonforty-fiveand
myfeetdidn’tdanceanymore.Theyjustwantedtobegonefromhere.Littlemissushadn’tletmeoutsincethewhipping,buteveryfreechanceIslippeduphere.Sometimesliketoday,Ibroughtmyhandsewingandspentthemorningonthewindowseatwiththeneedle.Littlemissusdidn’tcareaslongasIdidmywork,keptmytongue,bobbedmyhead,
saidyessum,yessum,yessum.Today,itwashot,thesun
eyeingstraightin.Iopenedthewindowandthewindblewstiff,dredgingupthesmellofmudflats.Frommyperch,IcouldseethesteamboatlandingdownonEastBay.I’dlearnedplentywatchingtheworldcomeandgofromthatdock.Asteamercamemosteveryweekday.I’dwatchthesnagboatply
aheadofit,clearingtheway,thenI’dhearthepaddleonthesteamerroarandthetugboatshuffandthedockslaveshollerbackandforth,makinghastetograbtheropesandputdowntheplank.
Whenitwastimeforittoleaveagain,I’dwatchthecarriagespullupatthewhitewashbuildingwiththeSteamshipCompanysign,andpeoplewouldgoinside
andwaitforaspell.Downonthelanding,theslaveswouldunloadtrunksandgoodsandbagsofmailontotheship.Whenteno’clockcame,thepassengerscrossedthestreetandtheslaveshelpedtheladiesoverthegangplank.TheboatneverlefttilltheGuardshowedup.Alwaystwoofthem,sometimesthree,theypassedthroughtheship—firstdeck,seconddeck,
pilothouse,bottomtotop.Onetimetheyopenedeveryhumpbacktrunkbeforeitwentonboard.That’swhenIknewtheyweresearchingforstowaways,forslaves.
TheThursdayboatwentallthewaytoNewYork,andthenyougotonanotheronegoingtoPhiladelphia—I’dlearnedthatfromreadingtheCharlestonPostandCourier,whichI’dswipedfromthe
drawingroom.Itprintedalltheschedules,saidtheticketscostfifty-fivedollars.
Today,thesteamboatlandingwasempty,butIwasn’tuphereinthealcovetowatchtheboat,Iwasupheretofigureawaytogetonit.AlltheseweeksI’dbeenpatient.Careful.Yessum,yessum.NowIsatherewiththepalmettosclackinginthewindandthoughtofthegirl
whobathedinacoppertub.Ithoughtofthewomanwhostoleabulletmold.Ilovedthatgirl,thatwoman.
IwentovereverythingI’dseenoutthereontheharbor,everythingIknew.Isatwithmyhandsstill,myeyesclosed,mymindflyingwiththegulls,theworldtiltinglikeabirdwing.
WhenIstoodup,everyoneofmylimbswasshaking.
ThenextweekwhenHectorwashandingoutdutiesfortheday,hetoldMinta,gostripthebeddinginthehouseandtakeitouttothelaundryhouse.Ithoughtquickandsaid,“Oh,I’lldothat,poorMinta’sbackishurtingher.”Shelookedatmecurious,butdidn’targue.Youtakearestwhateverwayyoucangetit.
Inthealcovethatday,a
picturehadsprunginmyhead—dresses.Isawtheblackdressesthemissuseshadworntomourntheirhusbands.Isawtheirspoonbonnetswiththethickblackveilsandtheirblackgloves.Thesethingscametomeclearasthebrightofday.
WhenIgottomissus’room,Ituggedoffthebedlinens,listeningforfootstepsonthestairs,foracane
pokingitsway,thenIopenedthelastdrawerofherlinenpress.I’dfoldedawaymissus’mourningdress,herbonnetandglovesmyownselfallthoseyearsback.I’dpackedtheminlinenwithcamphorgumtokeepoutthemotheggsandlaidtheminthebottomdrawer.Reachingbackthere,Iworriedtheywerelonggone,thatwhatwardedoffthemothshad
drawntherats,butthenmyfingersbrushedagainstthelinen.
Ipeekedinsidetheparcel.ItwasstillthegrandestdressI’devermade—blackvelvetstitchedwithhundredsofblackglassbeads.Someofthemhadcomelooseandwerescatter-rollinginthelinenfolds.Theveilonthebonnethadtwospidertearsthatwouldhavetobefixed,
plusI’dforgotthegloveswerefingerlessmitts.I’dhavetosewfingersonthem.Iwhiskedeverythingintothebedsheets,bundleditup,andtiedatopknot.Leavingitoutsidethedoor,Ihurriedintolittlemissus’room.
Herfuneraloutfitwasstorednearlythesamewayinherbureaubutwithcedarchipsinsteadofcamphor.Ididn’tknowhowwe’dairout
alltheserowdysmells.WhenIgotherdress,hat,andglovesrolledtightinthesheets,Ithrewbothofthebedbundlesovermybackandwentdownthestairswithmycane,straighttothecellarroom.
ThatnightaftermeandSkyhaddraggedthebedovertoblockthedoor,shetriedonmissus’blackvelvetdressandstoodtherewiththe
buttonsundone.Thick-waistasmissuswas,I’dstillhavetoletthebodiceoutforSky,addsixinchestothelengthandtwotothesleeves.Shewasherdaddy’sgirl,allright.
Littlemissuswasnormalsize,buttherewasenoughroominsideherdressfortwoofme.
Theonlythingwedidn’thavewasshoes,propershoes.Whatwehadwasslaveshoes
andthatwouldhavetodo.Istartedtoworkthat
night.Skyfetchedthreadsandshearsformeandwatchedeverystitch.ShesangtheGullahsongshelikedbest,Ifyoudon’tknowwhereyou’regoing,youshouldknowwhereyoucomefrom.
Itoldher,“Weknowwherewe’regoingnow.”
“Yeah,”shesaid.
“We’llbereadywhenthesteamerleavesThursdayeightdaysfromnow.”
Shepickedupheraprondrapedontherockerandduginthepocket,pullingouttwolittlebottleslikethekindAunt-Sisterusedfortinctures.“Iboiledussomewhiteoleandertea.”
Aquiverranfrommynecktomyfingers.Whiteoleanderwasthemostdeadly
plantintheworld.AbushhadcaughtfireonHasellStreetandamandroppeddeadjustbreathingthesmoke.ThebrownliquidinSky’sbottlewouldcurlusonthefloorretchingtillthelastbreath,butitwouldn’ttakelong.
“Weleavingordietrying,”Skysaid.
SarahIarrivedinCharlestonduringathunderstorm.Asthesteamergroanedintotheharbor,lightningtoreriftsintheskyandrainpeltedsideways,andstill,IsteppedoutbeneaththeroofoftheupperdecksoIcouldwatchthecitycomeintoview.I
hadn’tseenitinsixteenyears.
WechurnedpastFortSumterattheharbor’smouth,whichdidn’tlookmuchfurtheralonginitsconstructionthanwhenI’dsailedaway.Thepeninsulaloomeduplikeanoldmiragerisingfromthewater,thewhitehousesontheBatteryblurredinthegrayrain.ForamomentIfeltthequiet
hungeringthingthatcomesinsidewhenyoureturntotheplaceofyourorigins,andthentheacheofmis-belonging.Itwasbeautiful,thisplace,anditwassavage.Itswallowedyouandmadeyouapartofitself,orifyouprovedtooinassimilable,itspityououtlikethepitofaplum.
I’dlefthereofmyownwill,andyetitseemedthe
cityhadbanishedmeinmuchthesamewayI’dbanishedit.Seeingitnowaftersolong,seeingthemarshgrasspitchingwildlyaroundtheedgesofthecity,therooftopshunkeredtogetherwiththeirshipwatchesandwidowwalks,andbehindthem,thesteeplesofSt.Philip’sandSt.Michael’sliftedlikedarkfingers,IwasnotsorryforlovingCharlestonorfor
leavingit.GeographyhadmademewhoIwas.
Windsweptmybonnetoffthebackofmyhead,thesashcatchingatmyneck,andturningtograbit,Isawthemenacingcouplethroughthewindowofthesalon.TravelinghomeaftersocializinginNewport,they’drecognizedmeshortlyafterwe’dleftNewYork.I’dtriedtokeepalooffrom
everyone,butthewomanhadstaredatmewithunrelentingcuriosity.“You’retheGrimkédaughter,aren’tyou?”shesaid.“Theonewho—”Herhusbandtookherarmandsteeredherawaybeforeshecouldfinish.She’dmeanttosaytheonewhobetrayedus.
Theyglaredatmenow,atmywetskirtandflutteringbonnet,andIfeltcertainthemanwouldreportmyarrival
totheauthoritiesassoonaswelanded.Perhapsreturninghadbeenaterriblemistakeafterall.Imovedawayfromthemtothebowoftheboatasacrackofthunderbrokeoverhead,becominglostinthenoiseoftheengine.Charlestonwouldforgiveitsownmanythings,butnotbetrayal.
IfoundHandfulwithinanhourofmyarrival.Shewassewingintheupstairsalcove,ofallplaces.Whenshesawmestandingthere,sheleaptup,stumblingalittlewithherinfirmleg,droppingtheslaveshirtontheflooralongwiththeneedleandthread.Ireachedtocatchherassherightedherselfandfoundmyselfembracingher,feelingherembracemeback.
“Igotyourletter,”Itoldher,softly,incasetherewerelisteningearssomewhere.
Sheshookherhead.“Butyoudidn’tcomebackcauseofthat,causeofme.”
“OfcourseIdid,”Isaid.Ipickeduptheshirtandwesatdownonthecushionedwindowseat.
Shewaswearinghercustomaryredscarfandseemedbarelychanged.Her
eyeswerestilllargeasbowls,thegoldencolordarkenedsomewhat,andshewastinyasever.Notfrailorinsubstantial,butdistilled,concentrated.
Therewasacaneproppedbetweenuswithafancifulcarvingofarabbitonthehandle.Movingittotheside,shesaid,“Youdidn’tcometotryandstopus,didyou?”
“It’sdangerous,
Handful...I’mafraidforyou.”
“Well,thatmaybe,butI’mmorescaredofbowingandscrapingtoyourmaumaandyoursistertherestofmydays.”
Speakingbarelyaboveawhisper,ItoldheraboutmyplantotryandconvinceMothertosellthetwoofthemtome.
Shelaughedabitter
sound.“Uhhuh.”Ihadn’texpectedthat.I
lookedpasther,scanningtheharbor,noticingthesteamerinthedistancerinsedcleanbytherain.
SheshiftedherselfonthecushionandIheardthebreathleaveher.“Ijustdon’tseemissusdoingonethingfavorableforme,that’sall.Buthereyouare,allthisway—nobodyelsewould’vedone
thatforme—soit’sworthatry,andifshe’swillingtosellus,I’llpayyoubackeverythingIgot,fourhundreddollars.”
“Therewouldbenoneed—”
“Well,Iain’tdoingitanyotherway.”
WestoppedtalkingasHector,thebutlerMaryhadinstalled,cameupthestairswithmytrunk,hisgaze
lingeringlongerthanwascomfortable.Istood.“Ishouldgetsettled.”
“Yougoonandtalktoherthen,”Handfulwhispered.“Butdon’tbewaitingtoolong.”
Iwaitedfourdays.Itseemedimprudenttomaketherequestbeforethat—IwantedMothertobelieveI’d
returnedsolelytoseeher.Ibroachedthematteron
Tuesdayafternoonwhilewesatinthedrawingroom,Mother,Mary,andI,swishingourfansatthevaporousheat.Alanguidsilencehadfallenthatnoneofusseemedwillingtobreak.We’dexhaustedalltheharmlesssubjects:therainyweather,thespectacularwonderoftherailroadthat
ranfromCharlestontoSavannah,anexpurgatedversionofNina’swedding,newsofmysiblings,theniecesandnephewsI’dnevermet.IfIhadanychanceatsecuringfreedomforHandfulandSky,wecouldn’tspeakofmyscandalousadventures,whichhadbeeninallthepapers.Norofabolition,slavery,theNorth,theSouth,religion,politics,orthefact
I’dbeenoutlawedinthecitytheprevioussummer.
“Peoplearetalking,Sarah,”Marysaid,breakingthelull.SheexchangedalookwithMother,andIglimpsedhowinsteptheywerewithoneanother,howalike.Anechooflonelinessreverberatedfrommygirlhood,andIfeltagainliketheodd-child-out.Evennow.IheardBinah’svoice
somewhereinmymemory,PoorMissSarah.Theseirrationalchildishfeelings,wherehadtheycomefromsuddenly?
“Rumorsarerunningrampantthatyou’vereturned,”Marywassaying.“It’sonlyamatteroftimebeforethesheriffarrivestoinquireaboutit,andifyou’rehere,I’mnotsurewhatyouexpectustosay.Wecan
hardlyhideyoulikeafugitive.”
IturnedtoMother,watchinghereyesveerawaytowardthepiazza.Thewindowswereopenandthechocolatysmelloftheoleanderstreamedin,sickeninglythick.
“Youwishmetoleave?”“It’snotamatterofwhat
wewish,”Mothersaid.“Iftheauthoritiescome,I
wouldn’tgiveyouovertothem,ofcoursenot.You’remydaughter.You’restillaGrimké.Weonlysuggestitwouldbeeasierallaroundifyoucutyourvisitshort.”
Tomysurprise,hereyesfilled.Shewasplumpnowwiththinnedwhitehairandoneofthoseancientfacesthat’sdeeplycobblestoned.Shepeeredatmeasthetearsstartedtospill,andIleftmy
chairandwenttoher.Bendingdownawkwardly,Iputmyarmsabouther.
Sheclungtomeaninstant,thenstraightened.Insteadofreturningtomyseat,Ipacedtowardthewindowandback,gatheringmybravery.
“Iwon’tputyouatrisk,I’llleaveonthenextsteamer,butbeforeIgo,Ihavearequest.Iwouldliketo
purchaseHettyandhersister,Sky.”
“Purchasethem?”Marysaid.“Butwhy?Youhardlybarterinslaves.”
“Mary,forheaven’ssake,shemeanstofreethem,”Mothersaid.
“I’llofferyouanyamount.”IwalkedtoMother’sside.“Please.Iwouldconsideritagreatkindnesstome.”
MaryroseandcametotheothersideofMother’schair.“Wecan’tpossiblydowithoutHetty,”shesaid.“TherearefewseamstressesinCharlestontomatchher.She’sirreplaceable.Theotheroneisexpendable,butnotHetty.”
Motherstaredatherhands.Hershouldersmovedupanddownwithherbreath,andIbegantofeelaprickof
hope.“Therearelawsthatmake
itdifficult,”shesaid.“Emancipatingthemwouldrequireaspecialactofthelegislature.”
“Difficult,butitcouldbedone,”Iresponded.
Somethinginsideofherseemedtobend,toarchtowardme.Marysensedit,too.Sheplacedherhandonourmother’s,linkingthetwo
ofthem.Shesaid,“Wecan’tdowithoutHetty.Andwemustthinkofher,aswell.Wherewillshego?Whowilltakecareofher?Shehasahomehere.”
“Thisisnotherhome,it’sherprison,”Isaid.
Marystiffened.“Wedon’tneedyoutocomehereandlectureusaboutslavery.Iwon’tstandhereanddefendittoyou.It’sourwayoflife.”
Herwordsinfuriatedme.IwonderedforamomentifholdingmytonguewouldhelpmycausewithMother.Wasiteverrighttosacrificeone’struthforexpedience?Motherwoulddowhatshewoulddo,wouldn’tshe?IwonderedhowitwaspossibleI’dfoundmywordsoutthereintheworld,butcouldlosetheminthehousewhereIwasborn.
Itgavewayinsideofme—yearsofbeinghere,co-existingwiththeuntenable.“Yourwayoflife!Whatdoesthatjustify?Slaveryisahell-concoctedsystem,itcannotbedefended!”
SmallredwaferssplotchedalongMary’sneck.“Godhasordainedthatwetakecareofthem,”shesaid,flusterednow,spluttering.
Itookasteptowardher,
myoutragebreakingopen.“YouspeakasifGodwaswhiteandSouthern!Asifwesomehowownedhisimage.Youspeaklikeafool.TheNegroisnotsomeotherkindofcreaturethanweare.Whitenessisnotsacred,Mary!Itcan’tgoondefiningeverything.”
Idoubtanyonehadeverspokentoherinsuchamanner,andsheturnedaway
fromme,takenaback.Icouldn’texplainthat
risingup,thiscomingfullytomyself,theaudacityandauthoritymylifehadfound.Ittookmeaback,aswell,andIclosedmyeyes,andIblessedit.ItwaslikearrivingfinallyintheplaceI’dleft,andIfeltthenIwouldneverbeanexileagain.
Motherliftedherhand.“Thishastiredme,”shesaid
andstruggledtoherfeetwithheroldgold-tipcane.Shewalkedtothedoor,thenturnedback,levelinghereyesonmine.“Iwon’tsellHettyorSkytoyou,Sarah.I’msorrytodisappointyou,butIwillcompromise.”
Inthedarknessofthecellar,thesoundofmyknockingseemedlostandswallowed
up.Itwaspastmidnight.I’dwaiteduntilnowtofindHandful,slippingdownherewhenthehousewasasleep,stillwearingmysleepingclothes.Thelanternswayedinmyhand,swivelingtheshadows,asIrappedagainonHandful’sdoor.Comeon,Handful,wakeup.
“Who’soutthere?”Hervoicesoundedalarmedandmuffledbehindthedoor.
“It’sallright.It’sme,it’sSarah.”
Shemadeaslitinthedoor,thenletmeinside.Sheheldacandlethatflickeredbeneathherchin.Hereyesappearedalmostluminous.
“I’msorrytowakeyou,butwemusttalk.”
Acrosstheroom,Skywassittingupinherbed,herhairsplayedoutlikeagreatdarkfan.Isatthelanterndown
andnoddedather.Soonaftermyarrival,I’dseenherintheornamentalgarden,downonherknees,diggingwithatrowel.Thegardenhadbeenturnedintoakindofwonderland,acloisterofcolorfulblooms,groomedshrubberies,andwindingpaths,andI’dgoneoutthereasiftotakeastroll.Skyhadn’twaitedformetoapproachher,butpushedto
herfeetandstrodeovertome,smellingoffreshdirtandgreenplants.Shedidn’tlooklikeHandful,orCharlotteeitherforthatmatter.Shewasstrapping.Shelookedferalandcunningtome.Shesaid,“YouSarah?”WhenIsaidIwas,shegrinned.“HandfulsaidyouthebestoftheGrimkés.”
“I’mnotsurethat’ssayingagreatdeal,”I
answered,smilingather.“Maybenot,”shesaid,
andIlikedherinstantly.Iglancedaboutthecellar
room,alittlemorecrowdednowwithtwobeds.They’dshovedthemtogethersidebysidebeneaththewindow.
“Whatisit?”Handfulsaid,butbeforeIcouldspeak,Isawitdawnonher.“Yourmaumawon’tsellus,willshe?”
“No,I’msorry.Sherefused.But—”
“Butwhat?”“Shedidagreetofree
bothofyouuponherdeath.Shesaidshewouldhavethepaperdrawnupandaddedtoherwill.”
Handfulstoodwiththelightpuddlingaroundherandstaredatme.Itwasnotwhatanyofuswanted,butitwassomething.
“She’sseventy-four,”Isaid.
“She’lloutlivethelastcockroach,”Handfulsaid.ShelookedatSky.“We’llbeleavingheredayaftertomorrow.”
Iwasrelievedandterrifiedinthesamemoment.Istudiedthecompactdefiancethatmadeupsomuchofwhoshewas.Isaid,“TellmehowIcanhelp.”
HandfulThenightbeforeweweretotakeourleave,meandSkyscurriedinthedark,collectingeverythingtogether.Westoleouttothestabletogetmauma’squiltfromthehorseblankets,trekkingcrosstheworkyardwiththestarspouringdown.
WeclimbeduptoSarah’sroomfromthecellartothesecondfloor,threetrips,carryingquilts,blackdresses,hats,veils,gloves,andhankies.Upanddown,meandmylamefoot,passingrightbymissus’andlittlemissus’doors.Wewentinstockingfeet,takingsoftstepslikethefloormightsink.
Onthelasttrip,Sarah
lockedthedoorbehindus,andIhadatarnishmemoryofherscreeningthekeyholewhileshetaughtmetoread,howwewhisperedbythelamplightlikeweweredoingnow.Ihungourdressesinherwardrobe.Theyfitustailor-made.Theveilswerepressedperfect,andI’dsprinkledthevelvetandcrepewithmissus’lavenderwatersotheyhadawhiteladyscent.I’dsewed
pocketsontheinsideofthedressestoholdourmoney,alongwithSarah’sbooklet,mauma’sredscarf,andtheaddressinPhiladelphiawherewehopedtoendup.
Skysaidtherabbitwasoutfoxingthefox.
SarahopenedhersteamertrunkandIrestedmauma’sstoryquiltonthesatinliningatthebottom.I’dbroughtthequiltwithredsquaresand
blacktriangles,hopingtopackit,too—thefirstblackbirdwingsIeversewed—butnowthatIsawhowlittlethetrunkwas,Ifeltbadfortakingupthepreciousspace.Isaid,“Icanleavethisbehind.”
Sarahtookitfrommeandlaiditinthetrunk.“Iwouldratherleavemydresses—they’renotworthmuch.”
Iknewtheperilsofwhat
shewasdoingsameasshedid.Ireadthepapers.Twentyyearsinprisonforcirculatingpublicationsofaseditiousnature.Twentyyearsforassistingaslavetoescape.
Iwatchedherfoldherfewbelongingsontopofthequiltsandthought,Thisain’tthesameSarahwholefthere.Shehadafirmlookinhereyeandhervoicedidn’tditherandhesitatelikeitusedto.
She’dbeenboileddowntoagood,strongbroth.
Herhairwasloose,danglingalongthesidesofhernecklikesilkvines,liketheredthreadsIusedtotieroundthespirittree,andIsawitthen,thestrangethingbetweenus.Notlove,isit?Whatisit?Itwasalwaysthere,aroundnessinmychest,apincushion.Itprickedandfastened.Those
girlsontheroofwiththeteagonecoldinthecup.
Shebroughttheliddownonthetrunk.
ItoldSky,goondowntothecellarandrestandI’llbethereinawhile—Ihadonetasklefttodobymyself.ThenIeaseddownthestairs,outthebackdoor,andlopedoffwithmycanetothespirittree.
Underthebranches,the
moonlightsplattedonmefromtheleaves.Ifelttheowlsblinkandthewinddrawabreath.WhenIlookedbackatthehouse,therewasmaumaintheupstairswindowlookingdown,waitingtothrowmeataffy.Shewasstandingoutintherutsofthecarriagewaywithherleghitchedupbehindherandthestraproundherneck.Shesatquietagainstthetree
trunkwithsewinginherlap.Ibentdownandgathered
upahandfulofclippingsfromthetree—acorns,twigs,atired,dog-earedleaf—andstuffedtheminsidemyneckpouch.ThenItookmyspirit.
Nextmorning,weactedsameasalways.Skywenttothevegetablegardenwiththepickingbasketandplucked
theripetomatoesandlettucetops.Missushadmerubbingherivoryfanswithsandpapertoscrubofftheyellowtint.Iworkedinthealcovewiththescrapeofthepaper,eyeingthesteamship.Thewaterontheharborwasrufflinglikedressflounces.
Sarahwasdownthehallwayinthewithdrawingroomwithmissushavingherlastgoodbye.Shewouldn’t
seehermaumaagain.Sheknewthat,andmissusknewthat.Theairinthehousesoundedlikealongnoteontheharpsichord.Downstairs,Sarah’strunkwaslockedandreadybythefrontdoor,everythinginside—mauma’sstory,theflockofblackbirds.
Thechimingclocksangout,andIcountedthenotes,nineofthem,andSarahcameoutofthewithdrawingroom
withhereyesstingingbright.Isetdowntheivoryfansandfollowedhertoherroom,leavingtherabbitcanebehind,leaningagainstthewindow.
Sarahwaswearingapalegraydresswithabigsilverbuttonatthecollar,thatsamebuttonfromwhenshewasagirl,pinningallherhopesonit.Steppingoutthroughthejibdoortothepiazza,she
peeredovertherailatSkyintheornamentgardenandgaveherawave.Thatmeant,Leaveyourplantsandflowersandcomeinside.Passbythehouseslaves.Iflittlemissusstopsyou,say,Sarahsummonedme.
WhenSkytappedonthedoor,Iwasalreadyinmydress,myfacepattedwithwhiteflourgum.Shesmiled.Shesaid,“Youlooklikea
haint.”“Wasanyoneabout?”
Sarahasked.“NobodybutHector.He
saytotellyouGoodisgonbringthecarriagenow.”
IdidupthebackofSky’sdressandhelpedherpaintherface,andnobodyspokeaword.Sarah’sbrowwasfurrowedtight.Shewalkedtoandfrocrosstheroom,adrawstringpurseswingingon
herarm.Wetuggedonourgloves.
Wefixedonourhats.Wedrewtheveilsdowntoourwaists.Thetinybottlesofoleanderjuice,wetuckedinsideoursleeves—Sarahdidn’tneedtoknowaboutthat.
Frombehindtheveil,theroomlookedfaintlikethehazebeforedaybreak.
Iheardthehorseclop
alongthesideofthehouse,comingfromtheworkyard,andmystomachtipped.I’dtriednottosetmyhearttoohigh,triednottothinkaboutthefreeblackwomenupnorthwantingtotakeusin,theatticintheirhousewiththechimneyrunningthroughit,butIcouldn’tholdbackanymore.Wecouldhelpthemwiththeirschoolandwithmakingtheirhats.Icouldsew
quiltstosell.Skycouldmakeagarden.
Sarahhandedmehermauma’sgold-tipcane.Thenshelookedusoverandsaid,“Iwouldn’tknowyouonthestreet.”
Wewentswiftdownthestaircase.Iflittlemissushappenedby,thenshehappenedby.Keepgoingwasall.Don’tstopfornobody.Reachingthebottomrung,I
sawtheemptyplacewherethesteamertrunksatearlier,andthenHectorbythedoor,boringtwoholesinuswithhiseyes.
Sarahspoketohim.“Motheraskedmetoprovidehervisitorswitharidetotheirhome.Youmaygo.Goodiswillassistusfromhere.”
Hectoreasedoffdownthepassageway.Thatwayhe
lookedatus—didheknow?Littlemissuswasnowheretobeseen.
Westeppedthroughthefrontdoorandtheworldrushedup.IlookedbackatSkyandsawatraceofwhitenessfloatbehindherveil.
WhenGoodisdrewthecarriageuptotheSteamboat
Companysign,theheathadgatheredthickunderourveils.Sweatrivereddownournecks.Skyliftedthegulliesofherskirtforsomeairandthesmelloflavenderandbodystenchdriftedout.
Helpingmefromthecarriage,Goodiswhispered,“Lord,Handful,whatyoudoing?”
Wehadn’tfooledhim,andforwhatIknew,Hector
might’vefigureditout,too.IpeeredbacktoseeifhewaschargingdownEastBayintheSulkywithlittlemissus.
Isaid,“Goodis,I’msorry,butwe’releaving.Don’tgiveusaway.”
HepressedhislipstogetherandIfelttheplacesonmethey’dtouched.HewasthebestmanIknew.Withoutmeaningforit,myhearthadgottangledwith
his.Hesqueezedmyhand,his
facedimthroughthedarkcurtain.Hesaid,“Youtakecareyourself,girl.”
Wewaitedforthetickets,waitedtoboardtheship,waitedforsomebodytosay,Who’reyou?
Whenwewalkedcrossthegangplank,thebreezeliftedandtheboatrocked.Ithoughtaboutmissusandher
devotions.We’dbeenthroughtheBibleandbackwiththatwoman.NowwewereJesuswalkingonwater.
Weclimbedpastthetrunks,barrels,bales,andcrates,pasttheboilertotheseconddeck,andsatdownonabenchinthesalontowaitfortheGuardtopassthrough.Theroomwaspaintedwhitewithtablesalongsidethewindows,allofthemnailed
tothefloor.Peoplestoodintwosandthrees,intheirbestclothes,incloudsofpipesmoke,andnowandthentheyglancedourway,curiousabouttheblackgriefwewore.Sarahsatashortspaceapartfromusandkeptherheadtuckedlowinsideherbonnet.
Whenthetwoguardslumberedin,IheardSky’sbreathpickup.Oneguard
patrolledtheleftside,onetheright.Theynoddedatfolks,makingtalkhereandthere.Lookingdown,IsawthetoesofSky’sslaveshoesstickingoutfromunderherfinedress.Thescrabblebrownshoes,thescraped-upsadnessofthem.
Hestoppedbeforeus.Hesaid,“Where’reyoutravelingto?”Talkingtome.
Myslavetonguewould
belikethetipofSky’sshoes,givingusaway.Iliftedmyheadandlookedathim.Hisguardcapwascockedsidewaysonhishead.Hehadnewblondwhiskersandgreeneyes.Behindhim,throughthesmudgedwindow,Isawthewatershimmer.
“Mam?”hesaid.Sarahshiftedonthe
bench.Iworriedshewas
windinguptosaysomething,thatSkywouldstarthummingnow,thatthefrightspring-coiledinsidemewouldbreakloose.ThenIrememberedthewidowdressIwaswearing.ImadeasoundwithmylipslikeIwastryingtogivehimananswer,butchokingonthewords,seizedbymygrief,andIdidn’thavetopretendthatmuch.Ifeltsorrowformy
life,forwhatI’dlivedandseenandknown,forwhatwaslosttome,andtheweepingturnedreal.
Asoftwailcamefrominsidemeandhetookastepback.Hesaid,“I’msorryforyourloss,mam.”
Ashemovedon,awhitedropfellfrommychin,flourploppingonmyskirt.
Theenginecaughtandashudderranthroughthe
bench.Thencamethesmellofoilandspewingsmoke.Thepassengersleftthesalonforthedecktowavetheirhankiesfarewell,andwewent,too,outwherethewharfslavesweretossingtheheavyropes.Faroff,thechurchbellsrangonSt.Michael’s.
Westoodatthebow,thethreeofus,holdingtherailtight,waiting.Thegulls
wheeledby,andthesteamerlurched,pitchingforward.Whenthepaddlesstartedtoroll,Sarahputherhandonmyarmandleftittherewhilethecityheavedaway.Itwasthelastsquareonthequilt.
Ithoughtofmaumathen,howherboneswouldalwaysbehere.Peoplesaydon’tlookback,thepastispast,butIwouldalwayslookback.
IwatchedCharlestonfall
awayinthemorninglight.Whenweleftthemouth
oftheharbor,thewindswelledandtheveilsroundusflapped,andIheardtheblackbirdwings.Werodeontotheshiningwater,ontothefardistance.
AUTHOR’SNOTE
In2007,ItraveledtoNewYorktoseeJudyChicago’sTheDinnerPartyattheBrooklynMuseum.Atthetime,Iwasinthemidstofwritingamemoir,TravelingwithPomegranates,withmydaughter,AnnKiddTaylor,andIwasn’tthinkingaboutmynextnovel.Ihadnoidea
whatitmightbeabout,onlyavaguenotionthatIwantedtowriteabouttwosisters.Whothosesisterswere,whenandwheretheylived,andwhattheirstorymightbehadnotyetoccurredtome.
TheDinnerPartyisamonumentalpieceofart,celebratingwomen’sachievementsinWesterncivilization.Chicago’sbanquettablewithits
succulentplacesettingshonoring39femaleguestsofhonorrestsuponaporcelaintiledfloorinscribedwiththenamesof999otherwomenwhohavemadeimportantcontributionstohistory.Itwaswhilereadingthose999namesontheHeritagePanelsintheBiographicGallerythatIstumbleduponthoseofSarahandAngelinaGrimké,sistersfromCharleston,
SouthCarolina,thesamecityinwhichIthenlived.HowcouldIhavenotheardofthem?
Leavingthemuseumthatday,IwonderedifI’ddiscoveredthesistersIwantedtowriteabout.BackhomeinCharleston,asIbegantoexploretheirlives,Ibecamepassionatelycertain.
Asitturnedout,I’dbeendrivingbytheGrimkésisters’
unmarkedhouseforoveradecade,unawarethesetwowomenwerethefirstfemaleabolitionagentsandamongtheearliestmajorAmericanfeministthinkers.SarahwasthefirstwomanintheUnitedStatestowriteacomprehensivefeministmanifesto,andAngelinawasthefirstwomantospeakbeforealegislativebody.Inthelate1830s,theywere
arguablythemostfamous,aswellasthemostinfamous,womeninAmerica,yettheyseemedonlymarginallyknown,eveninthecityoftheirorigins.MyignoranceofthemfeltlikebothapersonalfailingandaconfirmationofChicago’sviewthatwomen’sachievementshadbeenrepeatedlyerasedthroughhistory.
SarahandAngelinawere
bornintothepowerandwealthofCharleston’saristocracy,asocialclassthatderivedfromEnglishconceptsoflandedgentry.Theywereladiesofpietyandgentility,whomovedintheelitecirclesofsociety,andyetfewnineteenth-centurywomenever“misbehaved”sothoroughly.Theyunderwentalong,painfulmetamorphosis,breaking
fromtheirfamily,theirreligion,theirhomeland,andtheirtraditions,becomingexilesandeventuallypariahsinCharleston.FifteenyearsbeforeHarrietBeecherStowewroteUncleTom’sCabin,whichwaswhollyinfluencedbyAmericanSlaveryAsItIs,apamphletwrittenbySarah,Angelina,andAngelina’shusband,TheodoreWeld,andpublishedin1839,the
Grimkésisterswereoutcrusadingnotonlyfortheimmediateemancipationofslaves,butforracialequality,anideathatwasradicalevenamongabolitionists.AndtenyearsbeforetheSenecaFallsConvention,initiatedbyLucretiaMottandElizabethCadyStanton,theGrimkéswerefightingabruisingbattleforwomen’srights,takingthefirstblowsofbacklash.
AsIreadaboutthesisters,IwasdrawnmoreandmoretoSarahandwhatshe’dovercome.Beforesteppingontothepublicstage,sheexperiencedintenselongingsforavocation,crushedhopes,betrayal,unrequitedlove,loneliness,self-doubt,ostracism,andsuffocatingsilence.Itseemedtomeshehadinventedherwingsnotsomuchinspiteofthesethings,
butbecauseofthem.Whatcompelledmeasmuchasherlifeasareformerwasherlifeasawoman.Howdidshebecomewhoshewas?
MyaimwasnottowriteathinlyfictionalizedaccountofSarahGrimké’shistory,butathicklyimaginedstoryinspiredbyherlife.Duringmyresearch,delvingintodiaries,letters,speeches,newspaperaccounts,and
Sarah’sownwriting,aswellasahugeamountofbiographicalmaterial,Iformedmyownunderstandingofherdesires,struggles,andmotivations.ThevoiceandinnerlifeI’vegivenSaraharemyowninterpretation.
I’veattemptedtoremaintruetothebroadhistoricalcontoursofSarah’slife.I’veincludedinthesepagesmost
ofhersignificanteventsandformativeexperiences,alongwithanenormousamountoffactualdetail.OccasionallyI’veusedSarah’sownwordsfromherwritings.Herlettersinthenovel,however,aremyowninvention.
ThemostexpansiveandnotablewaythatI’vedivergedfromSarah’srecordisthroughherimaginaryrelationshipwiththefictional
characterofHettyHandful.FromthemomentIdecidedtowriteaboutSarahGrimké,Ifeltcompelledtoalsocreatethestoryofanenslavedcharacter,givingheralifeandavoicethatcouldbeentwinedwithSarah’s.IfeltIcouldn’twritethenovelotherwise,thatbothoftheirworldswouldhavetoberepresentedhere.ThenIcameuponatantalizingdetail.Asa
girl,SarahwasgivenayoungslavenamedHettytobeherwaitingmaid.AccordingtoSarah,theybecameclose.DefyingthelawsofSouthCarolinaandherownjuristfatherwhohadhelpedtowritethoselaws,SarahtaughtHettytoread,forwhichtheywerebothseverelypunished.There,however,endstheshortnarrativeofHetty.Nothingfurtherisknownof
herexceptthatshediedofanunspecifieddiseaseashortwhilelater.Iknewrightawaythatherswastheotherhalfofthestory.IwouldtrytobringHettytolifeagain.Iwouldimaginewhatmighthavebeen.
Inaddition,I’vecreatedandextrapolatednumerousothereventsinSarah’slife,graftingfictionontotruthinordertoservethestory.It’s
well-recorded,forexample,thatSarahwasapoorpublicspeakerandstruggledtoexpressherselfverbally,butthere’snoindicationsheeverhadaspeechimpediment,asI’veportrayed.SarahdidreturntoCharlestoninthemonthsbeforetheDenmarkVeseyplot,asI’vewritten,mostlikelytryingtoescapeherfeelingsforIsraelMorris,andwhilethere,shemadeher
anti-slaveryviewspublic,incitingconfrontations,buthervolatileencounteronthestreetwithanofficeroftheSouthCarolinamilitiaisallmydoing.AndwhileSarahknewLucretiaMott,attendingthesameArchStreetMeetinghouseandfindinginspirationinMott’slifeasaQuakerminister,sheneverboardedinMott’shouse.Thesameistrueof
SarahMappsDouglass,whoalsoattendedArchStreetMeetinghouse.ThetwoSarahsbecamelastingfriends,butSarahandAngelinadidnottakerefugeinSarahMapps’atticafterAngelina’sincendiaryletterwaspublishedinTheLiberator.NolongercomfortableorwelcomeinthehomeofCatherineMorris,theyfoundaplace
withfriendsinRhodeIslandandelsewhere.IfabricatedtheatticprimarilytocreateafuturesanctumforHandfulandSky.ThesearejustafewofthewaysI’veblendedfactandfiction.
Hereandthere,I’vetakensmalllibertieswithtime.ThetreadmillinsidetheWorkHouseuponwhichIimaginedHandfulbecomingcrippledwasalltooreal,butI’ve
predatedthetreadmill’sinstallationtherebysevenyears.TheraidontheAfricanchurchinCharlestonthatradicalizedDenmarkVeseytookplaceinJune1818,ayearearlierthanI’vedepictedit.Ialsopredatedthealphabetsong,whichIdescribedSarahsingingtothechildreninColoredSundaySchool,whereshedidinfactteach.AndwhileAngelina’sletter
totheabolitionistnewspaperwasindeedthefulcrumthatpropelledthesistersintothepublicarena,Sarahdidnotcometotermswithhersister’spublicdeclarationrightaway,asI’vesuggested.Sarahwasoftenslowerwithherturningpointsthananovelistwouldwish.Ittookherafullyearbeforefinallylettinggoandthrowingherselfintotherevolutionary
workthatwouldbecomehergreatflourishing.IalsofeelcompelledtomentionthatSarahandAngelinawerenotimmediatelyexpelledfromtheirconservativebranchoftheQuakers,butAngelina’sletterdidcreatecondemnation,reprimands,andthreatsofdisownmentbythecommitteeofOverseers.Thesisterswereactuallyexpelledsomethreeyears
later—Angelinaformarryinganon-QuakerandSarahforattendingthewedding.
ThestrangeandmovingsymbiosisthatbeganwhenSarahbecamehersister’sgodmotherattheageoftwelvemakesmethinktheywouldn’tmindtoomuchthatoccasionallyI’veborrowedsomethingAngelinasaidordidandgivenittoSarah.Oneofthemoreglaringexamples
ofthishastodowiththeanti-slaverypamphletstheywroteappealingtothewomenandclergyoftheSouth.Angelinacameupwiththeideafirst,notSarah,andshewroteherpamphletayearaheadofSarah.Nevertheless,onceSarahdivedintocomposingherownessays,shebecamethemoreaccomplishedtheoreticianandwriter,whileAngelinawentontobecome
oneofthemostluminousandpersuasiveoratorsofherday.Sarah’sdaringfeministargumentsinLettersontheEqualityoftheSexes,publishedin1837,wouldinspireandimpactwomensuchasLucyStone,AbbyKelley,ElizabethCadyStanton,andLucretiaMott.Further,itwasAngelina’spamphletsthatwerepubliclyburnedbytheCharleston
postmaster,promptingawarningtoMrs.GrimkéthatherdaughtershouldnotreturntoCharlestonunderthreatofarrest.Letitbesaid,though,Sarahhadnowelcomeinthecityeither.
I’veabridgedandconsolidatedeventsinthesisters’publiccrusadethattookplacefromDecember1836toMay1838,offeringonlyatelescopedlookatthe
attacks,censure,hostility,andviolencetheyencounteredforspeakingoutastheydid.Theyshook,bent,andfinallybrokethegenderbarrierthatdeniedAmericanwomenavoiceandaplatforminthepoliticalandsocialspheres.Duringthefuror,Angelinaquipped,“Weabolitionwomenareturningtheworldupsidedown.”Sarah’sjibe,whichIincludedinthenovel,
wasmorepointed:“AllIaskofourbrethrenisthattheywilltaketheirfeetfromoffournecks.”
Asforwhatbecameofthesistersafterthenarrativeinthenovelends,theyretiredfromtherigorsofpubliclifefollowingAngelina’swedding,inpartduetoAngelina’sfragilehealth.Together,theyraisedAngelinaandTheodore’s
threechildrenandremainedactiveinanti-slaveryandsuffrageorganizations,tirelesslycollectingpetitions,andgivingaidtoanumberofGrimkéfamilyslaves,whomtheyhelpedtosetfree.Theirpowerfuldocument,AmericanSlaveryAsItIs,soldmorecopiesthananyanti-slaverypamphleteverwrittenupuntilUncleTom’sCabin.Sarahcontinuedto
writethroughouttherestofherlife,andIfounditmovingthatsheeventuallypublishedhertranslationofLamartine’sbiographyofJoanofArc,thefemalefigureofcouragewhomshesogreatlyadmired.Thesistersstartedmorethanoneboardingschoolandtaughtthechildrenofmanyleadingabolitionists.WhileteachingintheschoolofRaritanBayUnion,a
cooperative,utopiancommunityinNewJersey,theycameincontactwithreformersandintellectualssuchasRalphWaldoEmerson,BronsonAlcott,andHenryDavidThoreau.IwasamusedtoreadthatThoreaufoundgray-hairedSarahtobeastrangesightgoingaboutinafeministbloomercostume.
Myfavoriteeventin
Sarah’slaterhistoryoccurredin1870,afewyearsbeforeshediedinHydePark,Massachusetts,whensheandAngelinaledaprocessionofforty-twowomentothepollsamidatownelection.Theymarchedthroughadrivingsnowstorm,wheretheydroppedtheirillegalballotsintoasymbolicvotingbox.Itwasthesisters’lastactofpublicdefiance.Sarahlived
tobeeighty-one.Angelina,seventy-four.Despitesisterlyconflictsfromtimetotime,theunusualbondthattetheredthemwasneverbroken,norweretheyeverseparated.
BesidesSarahandAngelina,I’veincludedotherhistoricalfiguresinthebook,renderingthemthroughmyownelucidationsoftheirhistory:TheodoreWeld,thefamousabolitionist,whom
Angelinamarried;LucretiaMott,anotherfamousabolitionistandwomen’srightspioneer;SarahMappsDouglass,afreeblackabolitionistandeducator;IsraelMorris,awealthyQuakerbusinessmanandwidowerwhoproposedmarriagetoSarah,twice.(Herdiarysuggestsshelovedhimquitedeeply,despiteturninghimdown.Shemaintained
thatshewasboundtohervocationtobecomeaQuakerminister,perhapsbelievingshecouldnothavemarriageandindependenceboth.)ThereisalsoCatherineMorris,Israel’ssisterandaconservativeQuakerelder,withwhomSarahandAngelinaboarded;WilliamLloydGarrison,editoroftheradicalabolitionistnewspaperTheLiberator;ElizurWright,
secretaryoftheAmericanAnti-SlaverySociety;andthepoetJohnGreenleafWhittier,TheodoreWeld’sfriend,whoalongwithTheodoremadeavownottomarryuntilslaverywasended,avowTheodorebroke.Imightaddthatbothmenweresupportersofwomen’srights,andyetinletterstoSarahandAngelina,theystronglypressuredthesisterstodesist
fromthecauseofwomenforfearitwouldsplittheabolitionistmovement.SomeofthemoresalientwordsthatAngelinawrotebacktoTheodoreareincludedintheimaginedsceneinwhichthemenarriveatMrs.Whittier’scottageandorderthesisterstostoptheirfightforwomen.SarahandAngelinadefiedthemen,andindeedashistorianGerdaLerner
pointedout,theyweretheoneswhoattachedthecauseofwomen’srightstothecauseofabolition,creatingwhatsomesawasadangeroussplitandothersasabrilliantalliance.Eitherway,theirrefusaltodesistplayedavibrantpartinpropellingthecauseofwomenintoAmericanlife.
I’vetriedtorepresentthemembersoftheGrimké
familywithafairamountofaccuracy.Sarah’smother,MaryGrimké,wasbyallaccountsaproudanddifficultwoman.AccordingtoCatherineBirney,Sarah’searliestbiographer,Mrs.Grimkéwasdevout,narrow,undemonstrativeinheraffectionstoherchildren,andoftencrueltoherslaves,visitingonthemsevereandcommonpunishments.She
didnot,asfarasIknow,inflicttheone-leggedpunishmentonherslaves,butitwasanactualpunishment,onethatSarahherselfdescribedindetailasbeingusedby“oneofthefirstfamiliesinCharleston.”MyrepresentationofSarah’sfather,JudgeJohnGrimké,andoftheeventsinhislife,arereasonablyclosetotherecord,asistheaccountof
Sarah’sfavoritebrother,Thomas.IhavenodoubtthatIdeviatedwithSarah’soldersisterMary(“littlemissus”),whosehistoryismostlyunknown.ThoughIfoundonesourcethatreferredtoherasunmarriedandothersthatlistedherspouseasunknown,Imarriedhertoaplantationownerandlaterhadherreturnhomeasawidow.Shedid,however,remaincommitted
tothecauseofslaveryandunapologeticaboutituntilherdeathin1865,adetailIbuiltupon.
ItwasathrillformetovisittheGrimkés’houseonEastBayStreet.Thoughthehousecanbedatedonlytocirca1789,itmayhavecomeintoJohnGrimké’spossessionatthetimeofhismarriagein1784.ItremainedinthefamilyuntilMrs.
Grimkédiedin1839.Today,it’swellpreservedandoccupiedbyalawfirm.Itislikelythatsomeofthehouse’soriginallayoutandinteriorsremainthesame,includingthefireplaces,cypresspanels,Delfttiles,pinefloors,andmoldings.Wanderingthroughthehouse,IcouldpictureHandfulinanalcoveonthesecondfloor,gazingoutat
theharbor,andSarahslippingdownthestaircasetoherfather’slibraryastheslaveslayasleepontheflooroutsidethebedroomdoors.Iwasevenpermittedintotheattic,whereInoticedaladderleadingtoahatchintheroof.Ican’tsaywhetherthehatchwasalwaysthere,butIcouldenvisionSarahandHandfulclimbingthroughitasgirls,anideathatwouldpromptthe
sceneoftheirhavingteaontheroofandtellingoneanothertheirsecrets.
TheHistoricCharlestonFoundationwasofgreathelptomeandprovidedmewithadocumentthatcontainedaninventoryandappraisementofall“thegoodsandchattels”inJohnGrimké’sCharlestonhousesoonafterhisdeathin1819.Whileporingoverthislongandmeticulouslist,I
wasstunnedtocomeuponthenames,ages,roles,andappraisedvaluesofseventeenslaves.TheywererecordedbetweentheBrusselscarpetandelevenyardsofcottonandflax.Thediscoveryhauntedme,andeventuallyitfounditswayintothestorywithHandfulunearthingtheinventoryinthelibraryandfindinghersandCharlotte’snamesinscribedonitalong
withtheirsupposedworth.Alloftheenslaved
charactersinthenovelareconjuredfrommyimagination,withtheexceptionofDenmarkVesey’slieutenants,whowereactualfigures:GullahJack,MondayGell,PeterPoyas,andRollaandNedBennett.AllbutGellwerehangedfortheirrolesintheplottedrevolt.Veseyhimself
wasafreeblackcarpenter,whoselife,plot,arrest,trial,andexecutionI’vetriedtorepresentrelativelyclosetohistoricalaccounts.Ididn’tconcoctthatodddetailaboutVeseywinningthelotterywithticketnumber1884,thenusingthepayofftobuybothhisfreedomandahouseonBullStreet.Frankly,IwonderifIwould’vehadthecouragetomakesuchathingup.In
publicreports,VeseywassaidtohavebeenhangedatBlake’sLandsalongwithfiveofhisconspirators,butIchosetoportrayanoraltraditionthathaspersistedamongsomeblackcitizensofCharlestonsincethe1820s,whichstatesthatVeseywashangedalonefromanoaktreeinordertokeephisexecutionshroudedinanonymity.Veseywassaidto
havekeptanumberof“wives”aroundthecityandtohavefatheredanumberofchildrenwiththem,soItookthelibertyofmakingHandful’smotheroneofthese“wives”andSkyhisdaughter.
SomehistorianshavedoubtsaboutwhetherVesey’splannedslaveinsurrectiontrulyexistedortowhatextent,butIhavefollowed
theopinionthatnotonlywasVeseymorethancapableofcreatingsuchaplot,heattemptedit.IwantedthisworktoacknowledgethemanyenslavedandfreeblackAmericanswhofought,plotted,resisted,anddiedforthesakeoffreedom.Readingabouttheprotestandescapesofvariousactualfemaleslaveshelpedmetoshapethecharactersandstoriesof
CharlotteandHandful.Thestoryquiltinthe
novelwasinspiredbythemagnificentquiltsofHarrietPowers,anenslavedwomanfromGeorgiawhousedAfricanappliquétechniquetotellstoriesaboutbiblicaleventsandhistoricallegends.HertwosurvivingquiltsarearchivedattheNationalMuseumofAmericanHistoryinWashington,D.C.,andthe
MuseumofFineArts,Boston.ImadeapilgrimagetoWashingtontoseePowers’quilt,andafterviewingit,itseemedplausiblethatenslavedwomen,forbiddentoreadandwrite,couldhavedevisedsubversivewaystovoicethemselves,tokeeptheirmemoriesalive,andtopreservetheheritageoftheirAfricantraditions.IenvisionedCharlotteusing
clothandneedleasothersusepaperandpen,creatingavisualmemoir,attemptingtosetdowntheeventsofherlifeinasinglequilt.OneofthemostfascinatingpartsofmyresearchhadtobethehoursIspentreadingaboutslavequiltsandthesymbolsandimageryinAfricantextiles,whichintroducedmetothenotionofblacktrianglesrepresentingblackbirdwings.
Ifyou’reinclinedtoreadfurtheraboutthehistoricalcontentinthenoveloraboutHarrietPowers’quilts,youmightwanttoexplorethissamplingofveryreadablebooks:TheGrimkéSistersfromSouthCarolina:PioneersforWomen’sRightsandAbolition,byGerdaLerner.
TheFeministThoughtofSarahGrimké,byGerdaLerner.
LiftUpThyVoice:TheGrimkéFamily’sJourneyfromSlaveholderstoCivilRightsLeaders,byMarkPerry.
ThePoliticsofTasteinAntebellumCharleston,byMaurieD.McInnis.
DenmarkVesey:TheBuriedStoryofAmerica’s
LargestSlaveRebellionandtheManWhoLedIt,byDavidRobertson.
AfricansinAmerica:America’sJourneyThroughSlavery,byCharlesJohnson,PatriciaSmith,andtheWGBHSeriesResearchTeam.
ToBeaSlave,byJuliusLester,withillustrationsbyTomFeelings(NewberryHonorbook).
StitchingStars:TheStoryQuiltsofHarrietPowers,byMaryLyons(ALANotableBookforChildren).
Signs&Symbols:AfricanImagesinAfricanAmericanQuilts,byMaudeSouthwellWahlman.
InwritingTheInventionofWings,Iwasinspiredbythe
wordsofProfessorJuliusLester,whichIkeptproppedonmydesk:“Historyisnotjustfactsandevents.Historyisalsoapainintheheartandwerepeathistoryuntilweareabletomakeanother’spainintheheartourown.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Mydeepestthanksto...AnnKiddTaylor,an
exceptionallygiftedwriterandauthor,whoreadandrereadthismanuscriptinprogress,offeringmeinvaluablecommentsandendlessbelieving.
JenniferRudolphWalsh,myamazingagentanddear
friend.Myterrificeditor,Paul
Slovak,andClareFerraro,andtheextraordinaryteamatVikingfortheirboundlesssupport.
ValeriePerry,Aiken-RhettHousemuseummanageratHistoricCharlestonFoundation,whogavesogenerouslyofhertimeandeffortsandofferedtremendoushelpwithmy
research.CarterHudgens,director
ofpreservationandeducationatDraytonHallinCharleston,forhistimeandinsightsintothelifeandhistoryofenslavedpeople.
Thefollowinginstitutions,which,alongwithHistoricCharlestonFoundationandDraytonHall,servedasresources:theCharlestonMuseum,the
CharlestonLibrarySociety,theCollegeofCharleston’sAddlestoneLibraryandtheAveryResearchCenter,theCharlestonCountyPublicLibrary,theSouthCarolinianaLibrary,theAiken-RhettHouseMuseum,theNathanielRussellHouseMuseum,theCharlesPinckneyHouse,theOldSlaveMart,MagnoliaPlantationandGardens,
LowcountryAfricana,MiddletonPlace,andBooneHallPlantation.
Pierce,Herns,Sloan&Wilson,LLCofCharleston,whichallowedmetoexploretomyheart’scontentthehistorichousethatoncebelongedtotheGrimkéfamily(namedtheBlakeHouseforitsoriginalowner).
JacquelineColeburn,rarebookcatalogerattheLibrary
ofCongressinWashington,D.C.,forherenormousassistanceinprovidingmewithatreasuretroveofletters,newspapers,Anti-SlaveryConventionproceedings,andotherdocumentsrelatedtoSarahandAngelinaGrimkéandearly-nineteenth-centuryhistory.
DorisBowman,associatecuratorandspecialist,Textile
CollectionattheNationalMuseumofAmericanHistoryinWashington,D.C.,forwelcomingmeintotheSmithsonianarchivestoviewHarrietPowers’BibleQuiltandforsupplyingmewithawealthofinformationaboutit.
TheNew-YorkHistoricalSocietyformakingavailabledocumentsrelatedtotheGrimkésistersandDenmark
Vesey,includingofficialreportsofVesey’sinsurrectionandtrial.
TheNationalUndergroundRailroadFreedomCenterinCincinnati,whichawedandeducatedmewithitsexhibitsandinteractiveexperiencesonslaveryandabolition.
MarileeBirchfield,librarianattheUniversityofSouthCarolina,foraidwith
researchquestions.RobertKiddandKellie
BayuzickKiddforbeingwillingandableresearchassistants.
ScottTaylorforprovidingpatientandexperttechnicalhelp,especiallytheweekmycomputercrashed.
Thereweremanyprimarysources,books,essays,andarticlesabouttheGrimkés,DenmarkVesey,slavery,
abolition,quiltsandAfricantextiles,andearly-nineteenth-centuryhistorythatbecamethebedrockofmyresearch,butIwouldliketoespeciallymentionmyindebtednesstoDr.GerdaLerner,whosescholarshipandwritingsabouttheGrimkésistersgreatlyinfluencedme,particularlyherbiographyTheGrimkéSistersfromSouthCarolina:Pioneersfor
Women’sRightsandAbolition.I’malsoindebtedtotheresearchandwritingofMarkPerryinhisbookLiftUpThyVoice:TheGrimkéFamily’sJourneyfromSlaveholderstoCivilRightsLeaders;H.CatherineBirneyinTheGrimkéSisters;DavidRobertsoninDenmarkVesey:TheBuriedStoryofAmerica’sLargestSlaveRebellionandtheManWho
LedIt;andMaurieD.McInnisinThePoliticsofTasteinAntebellumCharleston.IwanttoacknowledgeanAmericanblackfolktale,fromwhichIdrewinspiration,aboutpeopleinAfricabeingabletoflyandthenlosingtheirwingswhencapturedintoslavery.ThestoryisbeautifullytoldbyVirginiaHamiltonandmagnificently
illustratedbyLeoandDianeDillonintheALANotableChildren’sBookThePeopleCouldFly:AmericanBlackFolktales.
I’mimmenselygratefultothewonderfulgroupoffriendswholistenedtomerecountthepull,challenges,andjoysofwritingthisnovel,andwhoneverceasedtoencourageme:TerryHelwig,TrishaSinnott,CurlyClark,
CarolynRivers,SusanHullWalker,andMollyLehman.I’mgrateful,too,forJimandMandyHelwig,whoalongwithTerryhavelongbeenpartofmyextendedfamily.
Iwassustainedeverysingledaybytheloveandsupportoffamily:myparentsLeahandRidleyMonk;mysonBobKiddandhiswife,Kellie;mydaughterAnnKiddTaylorandherhusband,
Scott;mygrandchildrenRoxie,Ben,andMax;andmyhusband,Sandy,whohasjourneyedwithmesincecollegeandwhosebraveryduringthepastyearbothinspiredanddeepenedme.Nowordscaneverexpressmygratitudeforeachofthem.
VIKINGREADERSGUIDE
TheInventionofWings
AnIntroductiontoTheInvention
ofWingsTheInventionofWings,apowerfulandsweepinghistoricalnovelbySueMonkKidd,begins,fittingly,withanimageofflight:Hetty“Handful,”whohasgrownup
asaslaveinearly-nineteenth-centuryCharleston,recallsthenighthermothertoldherthatherancestorsinAfricacouldflyovertreesandclouds.Thatday,Handful’smother,Charlotte,gaveherdaughterthegiftofhope—thepossibilitythatsomedayshemightregainherwingsandflytofreedom.ThroughoutKidd’sexquisitelywrittenstory,
Handfulstruggles,sometimeswithquietdissidence,sometimeswithopenrebellion,tocultivateabeliefintheinvincibilityofherspiritandinthesacredtruththatonedoesnotneedactualwingsinordertorise.
Barelyastone’sthrowfromtheslavequarterswhereHandfulandhermothersharearoombehindthegrandGrimkéhouse,anotheryoung
womanfightsadifferentbattlewiththeconstraintsofhersociety.SarahGrimkéisthemiddledaughterofawealthyandprominentfamilyatthepinnacleofCharleston’ssocialhierarchy—thedaughterhermothercallsdifficultandherfathercallsremarkable.Fromthetimeofherfirstviolentchildhoodconfrontationwithslavery,Sarahisunableto
abidetheoppressionandbrutalityoftheslavesystemthatsurroundsher.Ambitiousandkeenlyintelligent,sheharborsanintenselongingtohaveavoiceintheworldandtofollowherfather’sandbrothers’footstepstoaprofessioninthelaw.Crushedbythestricturesthatherfamilyandsocietyimposeonwomen,Sarahforgesatortuousyetbravepath
towardabolitionandwomen’srights—acrusadeinwhichshewillbejoinedbyherfierysisterAngelina.
ThestorybeginsonSarah’seleventhbirthday,whenten-year-oldHandfulisabruptlypulledfromtheGrimkés’workyard,adornedinlavenderribbons,andpresentedtoSarahasagift.Sarahtriesinvaintodecline,butovertime,thetwocreate
abondthatwillultimatelyanddramaticallyshapetheirdestinies.
Astheirintertwinedstoriesunfoldintheirownvoices,Sarahwilleventuallybreakfromtheonlylifesheknowsandgonorthtobecomeanexile,encounteringloveandheartbreak,repressionandrenaissanceasshesearchesforhervoiceandherplaceof
belonging.Backhome,Handfulwillexperiencehermother’smysteriousdisappearance,findingstrengthandanswersinthestoryquiltsheleavesbehind.WhenDenmarkVesey,afreeblackmanwithmessianiccharisma,plotsadangerousslaveinsurrectionintheheartofCharleston,Handfulbecomesembroiledinaconspiracythatthreatensto
shakethecitytoitsfoundations.
InspiredbyactualhistoricalfigureslikeSarahandAngelinaGrimkéandDenmarkVeseyandenlivenedbyoriginalcreationslikeCharlotteandHandful,TheInventionofWingsistheextraordinarystoryoftwostrugglesforfreedom:thebattleofHandfultofindthewingsher
motherpromisedandtheequallyintensequestofSarahtoliberatehermindandspirit.Thistriumphantnovelalsospeakswithwisdomaboutthenatureofevilandinjustice,thecouragetodarewhatseemsunattainable,andthehopeinsideofusthattheworstdarknesscan’textinguish.
AboutSueMonkKidd
SueMonkKidd’sfirstnovel,TheSecretLifeofBees(2002),becameagenuineliteraryphenomenon,sellingmorethansixmillioncopiesintheUnitedStatesandremainingonTheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistformore
thantwoyears.NamedBookSenseBookoftheYearin2004,itwasadaptedintoanaward-winningmovie.Kidd’ssecondnovel,TheMermaidChair(2005),soldmorethanamillioncopiesandgarneredtheQuillAwardforGeneralFiction.Shehascowrittenabestsellingmemoirwithherdaughter,AnnKiddTaylor,TravelingwithPomegranates:AMother-
DaughterStory(2009),aswellasauthoringseveralacclaimedmemoirs,includingTheDanceoftheDissidentDaughter(1996).KiddlivesinsouthwestFloridawithherhusband,Sandy,andtheirblackLabradorretriever.
AConversationwithSueMonk
Kidd
1.YouhadneverheardoftheGrimkésistersbeforeyoureceivedtheinspirationforTheInventionofWings.Howdidyoufirsthearaboutthem,andwhatwasit
abouttheirstorythatcaptivatedyou?
IfirstcameupontheGrimkésistersin2007whilevisitingJudyChicago’sDinnerPartyexhibitattheBrooklynMuseuminNewYork.TheirnameswerelistedontheHeritagePanels,whichhonor999womenwho’vemadeimportantcontributionstowestern
history.Later,IwasastonishedtodiscovertheywerefromCharleston,SouthCarolina,thesamecityinwhichIwasthenliving.SomehowI’dneverheardofthesetwoamazingwomen,butIimmediatelydovein,learningeverythingIcould,andthemoreIlearned,themore
excitedIbecame.IdiscoveredthatSarahandAngelinawerefromawealthyslave-holdingfamily,atthetopoftheplanterclass,movingintheelitecirclesofsociety,andyettheybrokewitheverything—theirfamily,religion,homeland,andtraditions—andbecamethefirstfemaleabolitionagents
inAmericaandamongtheearliestfeministthinkers.Theywere,arguably,themostradicalfemalestoevercomeoutoftheantebellumSouth.Ifellinlovewiththeirstory.IwasespeciallydrawntoSarah.Iwasmovedbyhowthoroughlylifewasarrangedagainstherandwhatsheovercame,by
howdeeplysheyearnedtohaveavoiceintheworld,byhowutterlyhumanshewas,andhowdeterminedlysheinventedherwings.
IcameofageinprefeministAmerica.In1963,thesameyearBettyFriedanpublishedTheFeminineMystiqueandreignitedthewomen’srevolution,I
satinahomeeconomicsclassinhighschool,hemmingskirtsandlearninghowtomakeahomeintoaman’scastle.IstillrecallthelistofoccupationsforwomenIcopiedofftheblackboard:teacher,nurse,secretary,salesclerk,homemaker...AsIrecall,therewerefewerthantwentyofthem.I
rememberthismomentquitewellbecauseIharboredadeepandformidabledesiretobeawriter,anditwasnowhereontheroster.WhenIheadedtocollege,Istudiednursing,anobleprofession,butitwasn’tmyplaceofbelonging.Ihadn’tyetfiguredouthowtothinkandact
outsidetheconfinesoftheworldthatshapedme.Ittookeightyearsaftergraduatingfromcollegeformetobreakoutandpursuewriting.Today,thatremindsmealittleofSarah,whoalsohadfailuresofcourageandwhowassometimesslowtotakeherleap.Oddlyenough,itwasn’tFriedan’sbook
thatshookme.ItwasKateChopin’snovelTheAwakening.EdnaPontellier’sagonizingstruggleagainstthelimitshercultureplacedonwomennearlyleveledme.ThelivesofSarahandAngelinaGrimkéaffectedmeinasimilarway.Iknowtheworldisradicallydifferentnow,butI’mabelieverthat
girlsandwomen,andallofusreally,needallthestoriesofcourageanddaringwecanget.
2.TheInventionofWingsisvoicedbytwoverballypowerfulnarrators:SarahGrimké,whoisinspiredbythereal-lifeabolitionistandfeministofthesamename,andHettyHandful,whoisthechildofyour
imagination.Howdoescreatingacharacterfromthegroundupdifferfromadaptingarealpersonintoafictionalpersona,andwhichdoyoufindmorechallenging?
OneofthemoreunexpectedthingsIexperiencedinwritingthenovelwasthatHandful’scharacterandvoicecametomewith
moreeasethanSarah’s.Handfulwouldtalk,talk,talk.OftenIcouldn’tkeepupwithher.WhenIfirstbeganwritinginhervoice,theonlyparametersIgavemyselfwerethatIdidn’twanthervoicetobeweigheddownwithdialectanditmusthavetracesofhumor.I’dreadagreatmanyfirst-personslave
narrativesfromthenineteenthcentury,aswellastheFederalWriters’Projectofthe1930s,andIhadthevoicesofAfricanAmericanwomenfrommyownchildhoodstillresonatinginme,alongwiththoseofthequiltingwomenofGee’sBend,butIthinkwhatmadeHandfulsoaccessibleto
mewasherfree,unrestrictedreigninmyimagination.Shedidnotcomewiththefettersofaprevioushistory.Shecouldspeakanddoasshewished.
Sarah,ontheotherhand,camewithalargehistoricalscript,andthatturnedouttobeoneofmybiggestchallenges.IreveredSarah’shistory
tothepointthatIinitiallybecameboxedinbyit.Inthebeginning,Ihadahardtimelettingherventureoutsidefactualborders.Thelongershewascoopedupbythefacts,thequietershegot.I’dreadtheGrimkésisters’diariesandessays,andwhiletheygavemeanextraordinaryglimpse
intotheirlives,theirwritingwasrenderedinnineteenth-centurylanguage,wrappedinrhetoric,piety,andstiltedphrases.IwantedSarah’svoiceinmynoveltofeelauthenticandcarrysomeofthevernacularofthetime,butIknewIhadtobringsomemodernsensibilitytoit.Irewroteherfirst
chaptersoverandoverbeforeIfeltlikeI’dfoundhervoice.Findingitwasallaboutlooseningit.IrealizedIhadtotapintoSarah’sinnerlifeandsetherfreetospeakfromthattimelesslaceaswellasfromthetimeinwhichshelived.Ineededtoletherveeroffscript.IhadtofindSarahinmy
imaginationandinhistory.Doingsobroughtheraliveforme.
3.Whatwastheprocessofwritingthenovellikeforyou?Howdidyougoaboutyourresearch?You’vecommentedthatyouwentfurtheroutonthewritinglimbwiththisnovelthanyou’vebeenbefore.Whatdidyoumean?
IttookfouryearstowriteTheInventionofWings—threeandahalfyearsofwriting,followingsixmonthsofresearch.I’mnotthefastestwriterontheblock.Ispentalotofprotractedtimesittingatthecomputerscreenjustcontemplatingthestory,lettingmyimaginationbrowse,tryingto
connectlittledots,allowingideasandrevelationstocometome.Plus,Iwasconstantlystoppingtolookupsomethinginabook—whatsortofmourningdressdidwomenwearin1819?Whatbooktitleswouldbeonalibraryshelfin1804?Whatweretheemancipationlawsin
SouthCarolina?WhenIwasn’truminatingorscouringbooks,Iwaswriting,andthenrewritingasIwent,rarelymovingtothenextchapteruntilIfeltI’drenderedthelastoneascloseaspossibletothefinaldraft.Iwouldeasilyspendanentiredaytinkeringwiththeproseonasinglepage.
Thewayintotheearlynineteenthcentury,ofcourse,isthroughanawfullotofresearch.MyhusbandjokedIspentmoretimeinthenineteenthcenturythanIdidinthetwenty-first.Myaimwastocreateaworldforthereadertoenter,oneasrichlytextured,tangible,andauthenticasIcould
makeit.Ireadandread,fillingupfivebignotebookswithdetailsandideas.IdrewmapsoftheinterioroftheGrimkéhouseandtheworkyardandetchedalooseoutlineofthethirty-five-yearspanofthestoryonlargesheetsofpaper,oneforeachofthebook’ssixparts.Ihungtheminmystudy,
usingthemtomaptheflowofevents.Ialsomadelotsoffieldtrips,visitinglibraries,museums,historicalsocieties,andhistorichouses,allofwhichImighthaveenjoyedalittletoomuchbecauseIfinallyhadtomakemyselfstopreading,mapping,andtraipsingaboutandstartwriting.
It’shardtoarticulatewhyitseemedthisbooktookmefurtheroutonalimb.Maybebecausethestoryhadtoaccommodatesuchasweepingamountoftime.Maybebecauseithadtwodifferentnarratorswhosestoriesneededtobeamatchforoneanother,whosevoiceshadtobedistinct,
andwhosejourneyshadtobesynchronized.Iwaschallenged,asI’vealreadymentioned,bywritingfromthecomplicatedintersectionofimaginationandhistory,andquitehonestly,itwasunnervingtotakeonsomethingasbigasslavery.Mostdaunting,though,wasthenotion
ofwritingfromthemind,heart,andpersonaofanenslavedperson.IwantedtocreateHandfulinawaythatwasconvincingandrespectful.Itmighthavebeensafertowritehercharacterfromathird-personperspective,andIdidactuallystartoffthatway,butIhadn’twrittentwopagesbeforeher
first-personvoicebrokein,andthatwasthat.I’mforeverplasteringquotesandevocationsaboutmystudy.OnethatIkeptonmydeskasIwrotethisnovelsimplysaid:Befearlessonthepage.Ioftenpausedtoreadit.Itcausedmetoatleasttry.
4.Forus,oneofthepivotalmomentsinthestorycomes
whenHandfulreadstheledgeronwhichsheandhermotherarelistedandappraisedaspartoftheGrimkéfamily’sproperty.Whatdoesthatmomentinthenovelmeantoyou?
Duringmyresearch,IcameuponathesisabouttheGrimkés’Charlestonhousethatincludedatranscriptofalegallyexecutedinventoryand
appraisalofallthegoodsandchattelsinthehouseatthetimeofSarah’sfather’sdeathin1819.AsIreadthroughthislonganddetailedlist,Iwasshockedtocomeuponthenamesofseventeenslaves.TheywereinsertedbetweenaBrusselsstaircasecarpetandelevenyardsofcottonandflax.Iread
theirnames,theirages,therolestheyperformed—coachman,cook,waitingmaid,washer,houseservant,seamstress,etc.—andIreadwhattheyweresupposedlyworth.Oneslave,Diana,thirty-six,waslistedas“useless”andvaluedat$1.Therewerefourchildrenincluded,ageseight,six,
four,andthreemonths.Theeight-year-oldwasnamedBen,thesameasmygrandson.TheirmotherwasBess,agethirty.Togetherthefiveofthemhadbeenvaluedat$1,500.
Themomenthitmeclosetothebone,inpartbecauseofhowrealandclosethesehumanbeingssuddenlyseemed,
butalsobecauseofthesheerbanalityandacceptabilityoflistingthemaspossessionsamongthecarpetsandcloth.Herewasnotjustourhumancapacityforcruelty,butalsoourabilitytorenderitinvisible.Howdosuchthingshappen?Howdowegrowcomfortablewiththeparticularsof
evil?Howareweabletonormalizeit?Howdoesevilgatherwhennooneislooking?DiscoveringtheseventeennamesontheledgerwaswhenIunderstoodhowdangerousitistoseparateourselvesfromourhistory,evenwhenit’sunspeakablypainful.
Ofcourse,theinventoryfounditsway
intothenovelwithHandfulunearthingitinthelibraryandfindingherandhermother’snamesandappraisedvalues.Isuppose,forme,thescenerepresentstheinevitableconfrontationwiththetraumaofslavery,onethat’sallthemorenecessarybecausewehave246yearsof
slaveryembeddedinourhistory,andwecanstillhardlybeartolookatit.
5.TheInventionofWingsisaboutseveralsimultaneousstrugglesforfreedom.HowdidyoudevelopthemovementstowardfreedominHandful’sandSarah’scharacters?
HandfulandSaraharebothimprisonedintheir
ownparticularway.AsawhitewomaninSouthCarolinaintheearly1800s,evenaprivilegedone,Sarahhadalifethatwasvastlylimited.Womenhadfewrights,nottopropertyoreventotheirownchildren.Essentially,theywerethepropertyoftheirhusbands,andtheirpurposeinlifewasto
marry,havechildren,andlivetheirliveswithinthedomesticsphere.Andyettheirlackoffreedomcouldnotcomparetothehorrificsubjugationofenslavedwomenwhoseentirelivesweredeterminedbytheirownersandwhosesufferingwasinfinitelyworse.Ifeltlikethe
primarythingIhadtodowasneverlosesightofthat.
AsforhowIdevelopedHandful’sandSarah’sindividualquestsforfreedom,I’mremindedofacertainloomingmomentinthestorywhenHandfulsaystoSarah,“Mybodymightbeaslave,butnotmymind.Foryou,it’s
theotherwayround.”Handfulisconveyingatruthsheknowsonlytoowellherself,thatone’smindcanbecomeacage,too.Findingtheirfreedomhadtodowithliberatingthemselvesinternally,discoveringasenseofself,andtheboldnesstoexpressthatself.There’sasceneinwhichHandfulwillfully
takesabathintheGrimkés’majesticcopperbathtub.Ican’ttellyouhowmuchpleasureIderivedfromwritingthisscene.Handful’sbathistingedwithdefiance,butitbecomesabaptismintoherownworth.Observingherintheaftermathofit,Sarahsays,“Shehadthelook
ofsomeonewho’ddeclaredherself.”Handfulhasbeguntounderstandthateventhoughherbodyistrappedinslavery,hermindisherown.Thequestionthenbecamehowtoemancipateherselfphysically.Whatneededtotranspireinsideofhertobringhertothecrucialmomentof
riskingeverything?Ifeltthatthemomentoccursneartheendofthestory,whenlittlemissusdisparagesthestoryportrayedinCharlotte’squiltandHandfulfearsshemayburnit.IsawthismomentasakindofwatershedinwhichalltheaccumulatedsorrowsanddeprivationsofHandful’slife,andeven
ofhermother’slife,cometogether,causinghertowantfreedommorethanthenextbreath.“Toleaveordietrying.”
Sarahwassteepedinfamilyandculturalexpectationsforwomen,whichcrashedoverandoveragainstherravenousintellectandhungerforaneducation,
herpassionforavocation,herindomitablemoralcompass,andhercourage—qualitiesthatcametobereflectedinhersilverfleur-de-isbutton,anobjectshewouldloseandrefind,figuratively,manytimes.ThedevelopmentofSarah’sfreedomnecessitatedawhole
seriesof“coppertubmoments,”eachonebringingheralittleclosertobreakingfullyfree.Myfavoritesuchmomentmaybewhenshe’scaringforherdyingfatherattheJerseyshore,andshewadesintotheocean.Turninglooseofthesearope,towhichallthewomengrasp,shestridesoffon
herownintothewaves.Floatingaloneinthewater,farfromthetether,becameherownbaptismintoherapartnessandindependence.Itwasasmallbeginning.Later,shewouldhaveanothermomentwhentheinnervoiceshowedup,tellinghertogonorth.Theygoonandon,butthefinal
pieceofherliberationdoesn’tcome,perhaps,untiltheend,whenshe’sabletospeakhermindinthehousewhereshewasborn.
6.SarahsharedaclosefriendshipwithLucretiaMott.Whatmotivatedyoutoincludethisrelationshipinthestory?
Itwasasurpriseforme
whenLucretiaMottturnedupasacharacter.IknewfrommyresearchthatMott,afamousabolitionistandwomen’srightspioneerherself,hadattendedthesamemeetinghouseinPhiladelphiaasSarah,atleastforatime,butIdidn’tknowshewouldstepintothepagesofmystoryuntilthevery
momentshedidso.Itwasarelieftomewhensheturnedup.Atthisjuncture,SarahisaloneintheNorth,andtheonlyfemalepresenceinherlifeisIsrael’ssister,whoishardlyafriendtoher.Inevitably,acommunityofwomenwillshowupinmyfiction,evenifit’sacommunityoftwo.
Manyyearsago,whenIreadVirginiaWoolf’sARoomofOne’sOwn,Iwascaptivatedbytheideaofawomanhavinganindependentspacethatbelongstoher,that’sdevotedtohercreativelifeandherintellectualandspiritualliberation.Iratherlovedcreatingsucharoomin
Lucretia’shouse,aplacewheresheandSarahcouldspendtimetogether.Itiscozy,fullofbooks,journals,artpalettes,andvelvetsquarespinnedwithlunamoths,whichLucretiafindslifelessinthegarden,anditlooksoutoveracopseoftrees.Sarahcallsitastudio,butit’sinspiredby
Woolf’sroomofone’sown.SomuchofSarah’slifeisaboutexileandseekingherplaceofbelongingintheworld,anditseemedthatthestudiowouldofferheratasteofwhatbelongingtoone’sselfcouldbelike.Thestudiowasn’tonthepagesofthenovelforverylong,butthetimethetwowomen
spenttherewasdistilledandtransformingforSarah.
ItwasinthestudiothatSarahpouredoutherstorytoLucretiaandhadittrulyreceived.Atonepoint,SarahasksLucretia,“DoyouthinkIcouldbecomeaQuakerminister?”andLucretiaresponds,“SarahGrimké,you’rethemost
intelligentpersonIknow.Ofcourseyoucould.”Sarahhadneverreallyknownthiskindoflistening,validation,andencouragement.ThescenebroughttomymindtheologianNelleMorton’swords,thatwomen“hearoneanotherintospeech,”andIthought,too,ofthetheologianMaryDaly,
whosaid,“Onlywomenhearingeachothercancreateacounterworldtotheprevailingreality.”
There’salineinthenovelthatItrulylovedwriting,whichactuallythrilledmetowrite—itwasfourwordsthatIhadLucretiasendinalettertoSarahandAngelinaduringtheirpubliccrusadeand
whicharrivedattheheightofbacklashagainstthem.Itsaid,simply:Presson,mysisters.Honestly,IthinkitwasIwhowantedtosaythosewordstoSarahandAngelinaeverybitasmuchasLucretiadid.
7.Howdidyougoaboutwritingthecomplicatedrelationshipbetween
HandfulandSarah?It’shardtocomeupwitharelationshipbetweencharactersmorechallengingtowriteaboutthanthatofanownerandaslave.Eveniftheownerisanunwillingone,evenifshehasanabolitionist’sheartbeatinginherchest,asSarahdoes,it’sstillaproblematic
situation.Itwasthethingthatkeptmeupatnights—HandfulandSarah’sfraughtconnectionandwhetherIwasgettingitright.Inthenovel,theirrelationshipspansthreeandahalfdecades,muchofwhichtheyspendasconstantcompanions.Toalargeextent,theymoldoneanother’slivesand
shapeeachother’sdestinies.There’sanundeniablecaringbetweenthem,butalsothebuilt-ingulfofslavery.Handfultriestocaptureitwhenshesays,“Peoplesaylovegetsfouledbyadifferencebigasours.Ididn’tknowforsurewhetherMissSarah’sfeelingscamefromloveorguilt.
Ididn’tknowwhetherminecamefromloveoraneedtobesafe.Shelovedmeandpitiedme.AndIlovedherandusedher.Itneverwasasimplething.”
Theirrelationshipisdisfiguredbysomanythings:guilt,shame,pity,resentment,defiance,estrangement.Itriedtocreatea
relationshipbetweenthemthatallowsforallofthatyetalsohasroomforsurprise,redemption,andevenlove.Someonewhoreadanearlycopyofthenovelcommentedthatthetwowomencreateasisterhoodagainstallodds.Ithinktheydo—anuneasy,butsavingsisterhood.
8.OneofthemoreuniqueandstrikingaspectsofthenovelisCharlotte’sstoryquilt.Whatdrewyoutoincludeitinthestory?Whatmeaningdidyouwantittocarry?
IwasinspiredbythequiltsofHarrietPowers,whowasbornintoslaveryin1837inGeorgia.SheusedWestAfricanappliqué
techniqueanddesignstotellstories,mostlyaboutbiblicalevents,legends,andastronomicaloccurrences.Eachofthesquaresonhertwosurvivingquiltsisamasterpieceofartandnarration.AfterviewingherquiltinthearchivesoftheNationalMuseumofAmericanHistoryinWashington,D.C.,it
seemedmorethanplausibletomethatmanyenslavedwomen,whowereforbiddentoreadandwrite,wouldhavedevisedsubversivewaystovoicethemselves,tokeeptheirmemoriesalive,andtopreservetheirAfricanheritage.Inthenovel,CharlotteistheGrimkés’rebelliousand
accomplishedseamstress,andIenvisionedherusingneedleandcloththewayothersusepaperandpen,attemptingtosetdowntheeventsofherlifeinasinglequilt.Sheappliquésitwithstrange,beautifulimages—slavesflyingthroughtheair,spirittreeswiththeirtrunkswrappedinred
thread—butshealsosewsviolentandpainfulimagesofherpunishmentsandloss.Thequiltinthenovelismeanttobemorethanawarmblanketoranicepieceofhandiwork.ItisCharlotte’sstory.AsHandfulsays,“Maumahadsewedwhereshecamefrom,whoshewas,whatsheloved,the
thingsshe’dsuffered,andthethingsshehoped.She’dfoundawaytotellit.”
Aboveall,IwantedCharlotte’sstoryquilttospeakaboutthedeepneedwehavetomakemeaningoutofwhatbefallsus.Iwantedittosuggesthowimportantitistotakethebroken,painful,anddiscarded
fragmentsofourlivesandpiecethemintosomethingwhole.Therecanbehealing,andpower,too,ingivingexpressiontowhat’sinsideofus,inhavingourvoicesheardandourpainwitnessed.AswriterIsakDinesenputit,“Allsorrowscanbeborneifweputtheminastoryortellastoryabout
them.”
9.SarahGrimkéwasbothattractedtoandrepelledbyorganizedreligion.WhatroledoesitplayinSarah’slife?How,ifatall,doesreligioninfluenceHandful?HowwouldyoudescribeHandful’sspirituality?
Thereal-lifeSarahGrimkéwasmorepiousthanmyversionofherin
thenovel.DuringherPresbyterianandQuakeryears,herdevoutnessseemed,attimes,toborderonasceticism.There’sspeculationamongherbiographersthatherself-denialmighthaveinfluencedherrefusaltomarryasmuchasherdesireforindependence.BothSarahs,though,theone
inhistoryandtheoneinmystory,carryonanintricaterelationshipwithchurchandfaiththatwasasconflictedasitwascompatible.Inthenovel,itbeginsastwelve-year-oldSarahsitsinchurchlisteningtotheministerdefendslavery.Ifeltitwasimportanttoacknowledgethat
slaverywassupportednotjustbythegovernment,butlargelybythechurch.ThesceneinSt.Philip’sprecipitatesSarah’sfirstcrisisoffaith.DidImakeupmyGod,sheasks,ordidthereverendmakeuphis?Later,inthewakeofherheartbreakfromherfirstlove,BurkeWilliams,
sheleavestheAnglicansforthePresbyterians.ShewasgenuinelyinpursuitofGod,butImuddiedthewaterabit,suggestingshewasalsoinpursuitofawayoutofthemiseriessheexperiencedinCharlestonsociety.
FromthetimeSarahisfourandwitnessesaslavewhipping—the
“unspeakable”thingthatmuteshervoice—shemovesbetweenvoiceandvoicelessness,herwordsoftenstuckinherthroat.ItstruckmeasfascinatingandmorethancoincidentalthatshegivesherselftotheQuakers,areligioncenteredontheinnervoice.AsaQuaker,she’scompelledtolisten
foravoiceinside,atrueone,andfindawaytoarticulateitonhertongue.This,ofcourse,isthelargeandongoingstruggleofherownlife.HeraudaciousmovetotheQuakersgaveherawayoutoftheSouth,justasthePresbyterianshadgivenherawayoutofsociety,andtheirdoctrinessupportedand
emboldenedherantislaverybeliefsandopenedupthepossibilityofavocationasaminister.Shewouldpinallherhopesonthelatter.Shelands,however,inabranchofQuakerismthattakesahighlyconservativeapproach,andsheoftenfindsherselfatoddswithit.Herconflictwith
organizedreligionisnowheremorepronouncedthaninthescriptureverse:“Isuffernotawomantoteach,nottousurpauthorityovertheman,buttobeinsilence,”aversethatwashauledoutandusedagainstherbyNewEnglandministersduringherpubliccrusade.Afterher
expulsionfromtheQuakers,organizedreligionheldlessswayoverher,andshecametorelymoreonherownspiritualcore.
Asachild,HandfulcomparedGodtomasterGrimkéandwonderediftherewasablackGod,too.LikemanyslavesinCharleston,sheparticipatedinhouse
devotions,whichhelpedtoChristianizetheslaves,butitwasalsoameansofcontrollingthem.AccentuatingBibleversesonobedience,submission,andsufferingwascommon.Onthisscore,though,Handfullearnedhowtogivealmostasgoodasshegot.Sheadoptedthe“Jesus-act”
fromhermother,whichsheusedtoheradvantage.ItgotherpermissiontoattendtheAfricanchurch,whereshehopedtoobtaininformationabouthermother,butsurprisinglyenoughtoher,shefoundherselfdrawnintothechurch’smessageofhopeanddeliverance.Shefoundstrengthinthe
solidarityofthecongregation.ButIthink,atheart,Handfulwasananimist,findingherconnectionwiththedivinethroughnaturalobjectslikethewatershewatchedwithsuchdevotionfromthealcove,makingupsongstoit.HerbeliefthatGodanimatednatureseemspresent,too,inher
devotiontothespirittree.Insomeways,thetree,whichshetendedwithredthreadandworepiecesofaboutherneck,washerreal“church.”Itwasasortofsanctuary,aplaceofritual,aplacethatheldherspirit,herpain,andherhope.Thewaterandthetree,andperhapseventhebirdsinthebranches,seemedto
mediateGodtoher.TheybecameHandful’sprimaryscripture.
10.Yourwritingtendstodomoreforyourreadersthansimplyentertainthem.Readingoneofyournovelscanbeakindoftransformation.HowdoyouhopethatTheInventionofWingsmightaffectsomeonewhoreadsit?
Itwouldcertainlypleasemeifreadersfinishedthenovelhavinglearnedsomethingnewaboutslavery,aboutthehistoryoftheearlynineteenthcenturyandtheinnovationsofthoughtthathelpedtocreatetheabolitionandwomen’srightsmovements.Iwoulddefinitelybehappyifit
helpedreadersdiscoverorrediscoverSarahandAngelinaGrimkéandtherolestheyplayed.Ithinkeverynovelistwantsherbooktoenlightenthemindinsomewayandbeacarrierofideas.Mygreatesthope,however,isforreaderstotakeawayafeltexperienceofthestory,ofwhat
slaverymighthavebeenlikeforsomeoneorwhatitwaslikebackthenforawomanwithoutrights.Iwantthereadertofeelasifheorshehasparticipatedintheinteriorlivesofthecharactersandfeltsomethingoftheiryearnings,sufferings,joys,andbraveries.Empathy—taking
another’sexperienceandmakingitone’sown—isoneofthemostmysteriousandnobletransactionsahumancanhave.It’stherealpoweroffiction.Whileincollege,IstudiedRalphWaldoEmerson’sconceptof“thecommonheart,”aplaceinsideofuswhereweshareanintrinsicunitywithall
humanity.Theideahasremainedwithmealltheseyears.Asawriter,Ibelieveinit.ThehopethatthisstorywouldhelpusfindaportalintothatplaceisthemostIcouldhope.
DiscussionQuestions
ThetitleTheInventionofWingswasoneofthefirstinspirationsthatcametoSueMonkKiddasshebeganthenovel.WhyisthetitleanaptoneforKidd’snovel?Whataresomeof
thewaysthattheauthorusestheimageryandsymbolismofbirds,wings,andflight?
WhatwerethequalitiesinHandfulthatyoumostadmired?Asyoureadthenovel,couldyouimagineyourselfinhersituation?HowdidHandfulcontinueherrelentlesspursuitofselfandfreedominthefaceof
suchabrutalsystem?
Afterlayingasideheraspirationstobecomealawyer,SarahremarksthattheGraveyardofFailedHopesis“anall-femaleestablishment.”Whatmakeshersayso?WhatwasyourexperienceofreadingKidd’sportrayalofwomen’slivesinthenineteenthcentury?
InwhatwaysdoesSarahstruggleagainstthedictatesofherfamily,society,andreligion?Canyourelatetoherneedtobreakawayfromthelifeshehadinordertocreateanewandunknownlife?Whatsortofriskandcouragedoesthiscallfor?
ThestoryofTheInventionofWingsincludesanumber
ofphysicalobjectsthathaveaspecialsignificanceforthecharacters:Sarah’sfleur-de-lisbutton,Charlotte’sstoryquilt,therabbit-headcanethatHandfulreceivesfromGoodis,andthespirittree.Chooseoneormoreoftheseobjectsanddiscusstheirsignificanceinthenovel.
Wereyouawareoftherole
thatSarahandAngelinaGrimképlayedinabolitionandwomen’srights?Havewomen’sachievementsinhistorybeenlostoroverlooked?Whatdoyouthinkittakestobeareformertoday?
HowwouldyoudescribeSarahandAngelina’sunusualbond?Doyouthinkeitheroneofthem
couldhaveaccomplishedwhattheydidontheirown?Haveyouknownwomenwhoexperiencedthissortofrelationshipassisters?
Someofthestaunchestenemiesofslaverybelievedthetimehadnotyetcomeforwomen’srightsandpressuredSarahandAngelinatodesistfromthecause,fearingitwouldsplit
thecauseofabolition.Howdoyouthinkthesistersshouldhaverespondedtotheirdemand?Attheendofthenovel,Sarahasks,“Wasiteverrighttosacrificeone’struthforexpedience?”
WhataresomeoftheexamplesofHandful’switandsenseofirony,andhowdotheyhelphercopewith
theburdensofslavery?
ContrastHandful’srelationshipwithhermotherwiththerelationshipbetweenSarahandtheelderMaryGrimké.Howarethetwoyoungerwomenformed—andmalformed—bytheirmothers?
Kiddportraysanarrayofmalecharactersinthenovel:Sarah’sfather;Sarah’sbrother,Thomas;TheodoreWeld;DenmarkVesey;GoodisGrimké,IsraelMorris,BurkeWilliams.Someofthemaremenoftheirtime,someareaheadoftheirtime.Whichofthesemalecharactersdidyoufindmostcompelling?Whatpositiveandnegative
rolesdidtheyplayinSarahandHandful’sevolvement?
HowhasyourunderstandingofslaverybeenchangedbyreadingTheInventionofWings?Whatdidyoulearnaboutitthatyoudidn’tknowbefore?
Sarahbelievedshecould
nothaveavocationandmarriage,both.DoyouthinkshemadetherightdecisioninturningdownIsrael’sproposal?HowdoeshersituationcomparewithAngelina’smarriagetoTheodore?Inwhatwaysarewomentodaystillaskingthequestionofwhethertheycanhaveitall?
HowdoesthespirittreefunctioninHandful’slife?Whatdoyouthinkoftheritualsandmeaningssurroundingit?
HadyouheardoftheDenmarkVeseyslaveplotbeforereadingthisnovel?Wereyouawareoftheextentthatslavesresisted?Whydoyouthinkthemythofthehappy,compliant
slaveendured?WhatweresomeofthemoreinventiveorcunningwaysthatCharlotte,Handful,andothercharactersrebelledandsubvertedthesystem?
TheInventionofWingstakesthereaderbacktotherootsofracisminAmerica.HowhasslaveryleftitsmarkonAmericanlife?Towhatextenthasthewound
beenhealed?DoyouthinkslaveryhasbeenatabootopicinAmericanlife?
AretherewaysinwhichKidd’snovelcanhelpusseeourownlivesdifferently?Howisthisstoryrelevantforustoday?
Ms.Winfrey’sHighlightedPassages
andNotesfor
TheInventionofWings
TherewasatimeinAfricathepeoplecouldfly.MaumatoldmethisonenightwhenIwastenyearsold.Shesaid,“Handful,yourgranny-maumasawitforherself.Shesaytheyflewovertreesandclouds.Shesaytheyflewlikeblackbirds.Whenwecamehere,we
leftthatmagicbehind.”
Oprah’snote:
Ijustloveanopeningsentencethatgrabsyourattention.Thisonedid.“Thepeoplecouldfly.”
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Iwasshrewdlikemauma.EvenattenIknewthisstoryaboutpeopleflyingwaspuremalarkey.Weweren’tsomespecialpeoplewholostourmagic.Wewereslavepeople,andweweren’tgoinganywhere.ItwaslaterIsawwhatshemeant.Wecouldflyallright,
butitwasn’tanymagictoit.
Oprah’snote:
ThatpassagegavemeanimmediatesenseofHetty’slikability.EventhoughIdidn’tyetknowanythingabouther,Iwasalreadyintrigued,drawnin.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Thedaylifeturnedintonothingthisworldcouldfix,Iwasintheworkyardboilingslavebedding,stokingfireunderthewashpot,myeyesburningfromspecksoflyesoapcatchingonthewind.Themorningwasacoldone—thesunlookedlikealittlewhitebutton
stitchedtighttothesky.Forsummersweworehomespuncottondressesoverourdrawers,butwhentheCharlestonwintershoweduplikesomelazygirlinNovemberorJanuary,wegotintooursacks—thesethicksetcoatsmadeofheavyyarns.Justanoldsackwithsleeves.
Minewasacast-offandtrailedtomyankles.Icouldn’tsayhowmanyunwashedbodieshadwornitbeforeme,buttheyhadallkindlylefttheirscentsonit.
Oprah’snote:
Iknowthismakesmeappear
ancient,butthisparagraphremindsmeofmyearlylifewithmygrandmother.Watchingherboilclothesinabigironpot,makinglyesoap,feelingthestingofitburningmyowneyescatchingonthewind.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Wehadawoodenpatchboxforkeepingourscraps,apouchforourneedlesandthreads,andatruebrassthimble.Maumasaidthethimblewouldbemineoneday.Whenshewasn’tusingit,Iworeitonmyfingertiplikeajewel.Wefilledourquiltsupwithraw
cottonandwoolthrums.Thebestfillingwasfeathers,stillis,andmaumaandIneverpassedoneonthegroundwithoutpickingitup.Somedays,maumawouldcomeinwithapocketfulofgoosefeathersshe’dpluckedfrommattressholesinthehouse.Whenwegotdesperate
tofillaquilt,we’dstripthelongmossfromtheoakintheworkyardandsewitbetweentheliningandthequilttop,chiggersandall.
Oprah’snote:
Ilovetheideaofathimblebeingatreasure,andhowthe
authorpairedthimblewiththeword‘jewel’—thatstruckme,asdidthesenseofprideayoungslavegirltookinhermother’swork.Youhadtousewhatyouhadtomakeyourselffeelspecial.Ilovethatentireparagraph!
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Noisewasonherlistofslavesins,whichweknewbyheart.Numberone:stealing.Numbertwo:disobedience.Numberthree:laziness.Numberfour:noise.AslavewassupposedtobeliketheHolyGhost—don’tseeit,don’thearit,butit’salwayshoveringroundon
ready.
Oprah’snote:
ThisremindedmeofalineinthemovieTheButler:“Theroomshouldfeelemptywhenyou’reinit,”andofhowdevaluingitistobeaskedtodisappear.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
HernamewasMary,andthereendsanyresemblancetothemotherofourLord.ShewasdescendedfromthefirstfamiliesofCharleston,thatlittlecompanyofLordsthatKingCharleshadsentovertoestablishthecity.Sheworkedthisintoconversationsso
tirelesslywenolongermadethetimeorefforttorolloureyes.Besidesgoverningthehouse,ahostofchildren,andfourteenslaves,shekeptuparoundofsocialandreligiousdutiesthatwould’vewornoutthequeensandsaintsofEurope.WhenIwasbeingforgiving,Isaidthatmy
motherwassimplyexhausted.Isuspected,though,shewassimplymean.
Oprah’snote:
Thisperfectlysetsthetoneforwhatliesahead:ameanandprivilegedsouthernbellerunningahouseofslaves.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Everyeyefixedonme.Missussaid,“ThisisourlittleHetty.Sarah,dear,sheisyourpresent,yourveryownwaitingmaid.”
Oprah’snote:
Ireadthatandthinkofmy
10-year-oldselfandwhatitwouldfeelliketobesomeone’spresent.Thishelpsmeimaginethat,andremindsmethatIwasbornattherighttime.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Attheageofeleven,IownedaslaveIcouldn’tfree.
Oprah’snote:
Boththepowerandthepowerlessnessofthisstruckme.Toknowatageeleventhatslaveryiswrong,andyet
beabletodonothingaboutit.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Whatcamenextwasafast,bitterwind.
Monday,afterwegotdonewithdevotions,Aunt-Sistertookmaumaaside.Shesaidmissushadafriendwhodidn’tlikefloggingsandhadcomeupwiththeone-leggedpunishment.Aunt-Sisterwenttoalotoftrouble
todrawusapictureofit.Shesaidtheywindaleathertieroundtheslave’sankle,thenpullthatfootupbehindhimandhitchthetieroundhisneck.Ifheletshisankledrop,thetiechokeshisthroat.
Weknewwhatshewastellingus.Maumasatdownonthekitchenhousestepsandlaid
herheadflatagainstherknees.
Oprah’snote:
AsastudentofAfrican-Americanhistory,it’salwaysbeenstunningtomethatotherwiseseeminglycivilizedpeoplecouldconcoctsuchpunishmentsforotherhuman
beings,forpeoplethey‘owned.’
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Iclosedmyeyesthen,butwhatIsawinthedarkwasworseastherealthing.Icrackedmyeyesandwatchedhertryingtokeepherlegfromdroppingdownandcuttingoffherair,fightingtostayupright.Shesethereyesontopoftheoaktree.Herstandinglegquivered.
Bloodfromherhead-cutrandownhercheek.Itclungtoherjawlikerainontheroofeave.
Oprah’snote:
I’mthinkingofhowachildmusthaveseenthis,howtheimagemusthaveembeddeditselfinherspiritandcolored
everythingfromthenon—influencedherentirefuture.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Mauma’slegswouldwalkagainsameasever,butsheneverwasthesameinside.Afterthatday,itseemedpartofherwasalwaysbacktherewaitingforthestraptobeloosed.Itseemedlikethat’swhenshestartedlayinghercoldfireofhate.
Oprah’snote:
Thereitis.“Thecoldfireofhate.”Suchavividforetellingofthefuture.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Turning,Iwatchedhercarrythelanterntomydressingtable,lightswillingaboutherfeet.Whenshesetitdown,Isaid,“Hetty,shallIteachyoutoread?”
Oprah’snote:
Knowingtheriskforbothofthem—foraslavetolearntoreadwasagainstthelaw—Ithoughtthiswasanincrediblypowerfulstatement.ForSarah,itwasaboutdoingwhatshecould.Ifshecouldn’tfreeHettyphysically,shecouldatleastempowerhermind.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Thatsummer,Iturnedelevenyears,andmaumasaidthepalletIsleptonupstairswasn’tfitforadog.Weweresupposedtobeworkingonthenextrationofslaveclothes.Everyyearthemengottwobrownshirtsandtwowhite,twopants,twovests.Womengotthree
dresses,fouraprons,andaheadscarf.Maumasaidallthatcouldwait.Sheshowedmehowtocutblacktriangleseachonebigastheendofmythumb,thenweappliquédtwohundredormoreonredsquares,acolormaumacalledoxblood.Wesewedontinycirclesofyellowforsunsplatter,
thencrankeddownthequiltframeandpiecedeverythingtogether.Ihemmedonthehomespunbackingmyself,andwefilledtheinsidewithallthebattingandfeatherswehad.Icutaplugofmyhairandplugofmauma’sandputtheminsideforcharms.Ittooksixafternoons.
Oprah’snote:
Dowhatyoucan—asmallwayofhonoringandstandingupforyourself.
ThispassagealsoremindsmethatIusedtogotomygrandmother’shouseandsleeponapallet.They’relikelittleblanketslaidonthefloor.Littlestuffedpiecesof
blanket.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Unabletoanswer,Ienteredmyroomandclosedthedoor.Isatonthedresserstool.Ifeltstrangeandhollow,unabletocry,unabletofeelanythingbutanempty,extinguishedplaceinthepitofmystomach.
Theknockatmydoormomentslaterwas
light,andthinkingitwasHandful,Igatheredthelastcrumbsofmyenergyandcalledout,“...Ihavenoneedofyou.”
Motherentered,swayingwithherweight.“Itooknojoyinseeingyourhopesquashed,”shesaid.“Yourfatherandbrotherswerecruel,but
Ibelievetheirmockerywasinequalportiontotheirastonishment.Alawyer,Sarah?TheideaissooutlandishIfeelIhavefailedyoubitterly.”
Sheplacedherpalmonthesideofherbellyandclosedhereyesasifwardingoffthethrustofanelboworfoot.Thegentleness
inhervoice,herverypresenceinmyroomrevealedhowdistressedshewasforme,andyetsheseemedtosuggesttheirunkindnesswasjustified.
“Yourfatherbelievesyouareananomalousgirlwithyourcravingforbooksandyouraspirations,buthe’swrong.”
Ilookedatherwithsurprise.Thehauteurhadlefther.TherewasalamentinherI’dneverseenbefore.“Everygirlcomesintotheworldwithvaryingdegreesofambition,”shesaid,“evenifit’sonlythehopeofnotbelongingbodyandsoultoherhusband.Iwasagirlonce,believe
itornot.”Sheseemeda
stranger,awomanwithoutallthewoundsandarmaturetheyearsbring,butthenshewenton,anditwasMotheragain.“Thetruth,”shesaid,“isthateverygirlmusthaveambitionknockedoutofherforherowngood.Youareunusualonlyinyour
determinationtofightwhatisinevitable.Youresistedandsoitcametothis,tobeingbrokenlikeahorse.”
Shebentandputherarmsaroundme.“Sarahdarling,you’vefoughtharderthanIimagined,butyoumustgiveyourselfovertoyourdutyandyourfateandmakewhatever
happinessyoucan.”
Oprah’snote:
ThispassagewhereSarahrealizesshe’snevergoingtobepermittedtobecomealawyerwasstrikingonmanylevels.Hermotherdeliversharshwordsgently.Itwasstrikingtomehowquickly
we’veforgottenhowfarwe’vecomeaswomen.Evenwhitewomenwereslaves,theyjustdidn’tknowit.Womenhadnorights.Youcouldn’townproperty.Youweredependentonyourfatheroronyourhusbandforeverything.Thereweresomanythingsyoucouldn’tbe—inessence,youwereaslave.Aslavetosociety.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Sincethatdayayearpast,I’dgotmyselfafriendinMissSarahandfoundhowtoreadandwrite,butit’dbeenaheartlessroadlikemaumasaid,andIdidn’tknowwhatwouldcomeofus.Wemightstayheretherestofourliveswiththeskyslammedshut,but
maumahadfoundthepartofherselfthatrefusedtobowandscrape,andonceyoufindthat,yougottroublebreathingonyourneck.
Oprah’snote:
Ilovethis—weasreadersget
towitnesstheseedsofrebelliongrowinginsideHetty.ThispassageremindedmeofVictorFrankel’sAMan’sSearchForMeaning—itmeansyourlifehasmeaning.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
I’denteredsocietytwoyearsago,atsixteen,thrustintothelavishroundofballs,teas,musicalsalons,horseraces,andpicnics,which,accordingtoMother,meantthedazzlingdoorsofCharlestonhadflungopenandfemalelifecouldbegin
inearnest.Inotherwords,Icouldtakeupthebusinessofprocuringahusband.Howhighbornandmoneyedthishusbandturnedouttobewoulddependentirelyontheallureofmyface,thedelicacyofmyphysique,theskillofmyseamstress,andthecharismaofmytête-à-
tête.Notwithstandingmyseamstress,Iarrivedattheglitteryentrancelikealambtoslaughter.
Oprah’snote:
Ilovetheparallelnarrativebeingbuilthere,ofslavelifeversussouthernbellesociety.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
MyaspirationtobecomeajuristhadbeenlaidtorestintheGraveyardofFailedHopes,anall-femaleestablishment.
Oprah’snote:
Thatisperfectlyput.Again,
thisisareminderthatnotthatlongago,womencouldn’taspiretomostofthethingstheydotoday.Theywereslavestotheirfamily’sexpectations,tosociety’srules.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Thedaymaumastartedsewingherstoryquilt,weweresittingoutbythespirittreedoinghandwork.Wealwaysdidthetrouble-freeworkthere—hems,buttons,andtrimmings,orthetinystitchesthatstrainedyoureyesinapoor-litroom.Theminutetheweather
turnedfair,we’dspreadaquiltonthegroundandgototownwithourneedles.
Oprah’snote:
Iwasstruckherebytheimageryoffindinghappinesswhereandwhenyoucan,andherpassionforquilting—
findingjoyinit.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Lateintheafternoon,aftertheGrimkéshadgoneofftotheirplantationandthefewslavesleftonthepremisewereintheirquarters,maumasentmeintomasterGrimké’slibrarytofindoutwhatmeandherwouldsellfor.
Oprah’snote:
IpersonallykeepslavedocumentslistingthevalueofslavesframedonmywallinCalifornia,andinmyofficeinChicago.ButuntilIreadthis,I’dneverthoughtofslavesknowingtheirown‘value’andhowthatwouldaffectthem,howitmight
havemadethemfeel.Goosebumps.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Goodsandchattel.Thewordsfromtheleatherbookcameintomyhead.Wewerelikethegoldleafmirrorandthehorsesaddle.Notfull-fledgepeople.Ididn’tbelievethis,neverhadbelieveditadayofmylife,butifyoulistentowhitefolkslongenough,somesad,
beat-downpartofyoustartstowonder.
Oprah’snote:
Ifoundthatpassagestunninginitseffect—justasit’sstunningtoactuallysee“thatleatherbook.”IrememberthefirsttimeIlookedatslavedocumentsandsawthe
namesofrealpeople,citedasproperty,listedrightnexttothehorsecarriage,numberofgoatsandsheep,andshoesthatpeopleowned.Asafreewoman,Icouldn’timaginewhatbeingequatedwithshoesorgoatsmighthavedonetothespiritofaslavegirl.That’swhythatsentenceissoamazing.“Goodsandchattel.”Becausewhatyouthinkwhenyoufirstseeitis
‘OhmyGod,you’relistedwiththehorseandbuggy,withtheox,withsheep—withhowmanydishesthereare.’Howdoyoulivewiththatknowledge?
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
HeassumedI’doutgrownmyrebellionsandbecomeliketherestofthem—aguardianofslavery.Icouldn’tfaulthimforit.Whenwasthelasttimeanyofthemhadheardmespeakoutagainstthepeculiarinstitution?I’dbeenwanderingaboutinthe
enchantmentsofromance,afflictedwiththeworstfemalecurseonearth,theneedtomoldmyselftoexpectations.
Oprah’snote:
Tomethatsentencerepresentswhatitmeanttobe
awomaninthenineteenthcenturyandlater—untilwegottherighttovote.“I’dbeenwanderingaboutintheenchantmentofromance,afflictedwiththeworstfemalecurseonearth,theneedtomoldmyselftoexpectations.”That’spowerful.Howfewwomenofthateraactuallygotthat?That’swhat’sexcitesmeaboutit.Whentheentire
worldismoldingitselftoexpectations,whichisitsownformofslavery,whendoyoufinallyfigureoutthisisridiculous—whendoyourealize‘Ishouldbeabletolivemyownlife’?
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Bylaw,aslavewasthree-fifthsofaperson.ItcametomethatwhatI’djustsuggestedwouldseemparamounttoproclaimingvegetablesequaltoanimals,animalsequaltohumans,womenequaltomen,menequaltoangels.Iwasupendingtheorderof
creation.Strangestofall,itwasthefirsttimethoughtsofequalityhadenteredmyhead,andIcouldonlyattributeittoGod,withwhomI’dlatelytakenupandwhowasprovingtobemoreinsurrectionarythanlaw-abiding.
Oprah’snote:
Ilovethebrewinginsurrectionhere.It’sgreat.Suchapowerfulpassage.
ThethingIloveaboutabooklikethisis,youknow,it’sjustlikeTheButler.Peoplegotothatmovieandthey’relike,‘OhmyGod,it’ssoamazing,thishappenedin
ourcountry.’Uhhhyea,justdid.30yearsago.Youcanhearaboutthehistoryofslaveryoverandover,butwhenyoureadaboutitinthecontextofastorylikethis,itallowsyoutofeelitdifferently.That’swhatgoodfictionwilldoforyou.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Thenhereadsomethingthatmadethehairsonmyarmsraise.“SheshallreceiveanysixofmyNegroeswhomsheshallchoose,andtherestshewillsellordisperseamongmychildren,asshedetermines.”
Binahwasstandingnexttome.Iheardher
whisper,“Lord,no.”Ilookeddownthe
rowofslaves.Therewasjustelevenofusnow—Rosettahadpassedoninhersleeptheyearbefore.
Sheshallreceiveanysix...therestshewillsellordisperse.Fiveofuswereleaving.
Oprah’snote:
Iimaginethiswaseveryslave’sgreatestfear.Asbadastheknownis,theunknownisworse.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
“Whenyouthinkofme,yousay,sheneverdidbelongtothosepeople.Sheneverbelongtonobodybutherself.”
Oprah’snote:
Thissentencecommunicateswhattrueempowerment
means.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Ipulledthequiltroundhershoulders.Highinthelimbs,thecrowscawed.Thedovesmoaned.Thewindbentdowntolifthertothesky.
Oprah’snote:
Thatremindsmeofthefirstlineofthebook,that“peoplecouldfly.”Hettygottoseehermamatakeflight.“Ipulledthequiltaroundhershoulders,highinthelimbs,thecrowscawed.Thedovesmoaned.Thewindbentdowntolifthertothesky.”Shegottoseehermamatakeflight.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
Asheleft,IpeeredatSarahMappsandhermother,thewaytheygrabbedhandsandsqueezedinrelief,andthenatNina,atthesmallexultationonherface.ShewasbraverthanI,shealwayshadbeen.Icaredtoomuchfortheopinionofothers,shecarednota
whit.Iwascautious,shewasbrash.Iwasathinker,shewasadoer.Ikindledfires,shespreadthem.Andrightthenandeverafter,IsawhowcunningtheFateshadbeen.Ninawasonewing,Iwastheother.
Oprah’snote:
Thisiswhat’smeantbythetitle,TheInventionofWings.Theinventionofwingsoccursinallsizes,canmanifestitselfdifferentlyindifferentpeople—it’sallaboutfreedom,abouttakingflight.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
We’dsetdowneveryargumenttheSouthmadeforslaveryandrefutedthemall.Ididn’tstutteronthepage.Itwasanecstasytowritewithouthesitation,towriteeverythinghiddeninsideofme,towritewiththesortofaudacityIwouldn’t
havefoundinperson.
Oprah’snote:
Thisisaboutfindingavoice,abouttruecourage.Thatiswhatthisbookisabout.Forme,itisthestoryofcomingintoyourown.Aboutreachingwithinyourself,nomatteryourcircumstances,
andfindingyourpower.That’sprofound.
Clickheretoreturntothetext.
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