Douglass’ Women Read Free Page B

But the drops of whiteness didn’t matter. He still a slave. My life was surely better than his. Not handsome, I knew I’d struggle to make a man love me. Pa said my darkness didn’t matter but the world taught me it did. Even colored children called me “Afric.”
    But a handsome man—mixed black and white—might dream a better life. Might wish for genteel society. A high-yellow wife. Must be hard to have Master be your father. Hard to see white brothers and sisters enjoy privileges not yours.
    William catcall, “Better leave that slave alone. Ain’t got the sense of a dog.”
    “Hush,” I answered back. “Your sense got cut off with your baby finger.”
    “That’s a fact,” said Peter, the nail man.
    The colored men laughed and I smiled.
    “It’s true.” This man’s eyes were lit fierce. “I don’t have a dog’s sense.” Then, his voice fell to a whisper. “A dog will stay where it’s put. Or if it won’t, a chain will hold him. I’m a man. I won’t be held. Chained or unchained.”
    I kept real still. I knew he was staring at me. Expecting some response. Maryland was a slave state. Words could get me whipped. But here was this man asking more of me. Asking me to agree that holding a man a slave was wrong. I inhaled, murmured low, “That’s proper. Nobody has the right to hold a man.”
    He smiled sweetly at me.
    “Or woman.”
    He tilted his head back and laughed. Then, he held out his hand. “Frederick Bailey.”
    I forgot I was wearing my good dress and wiped my hand on my skirt. “Anna Murray.”
    “Anna,” he say. My name sounded like a jewel. He clasped my palm good and solid and made me feel like I’d made a friend. Not just a good-time friend but a forever friend.
    And just as quickly, the word “dangerous” flashed through my mind. “A dangerous friend.” Don’t know where those words came from. They just sprung up. As soon as they did, someone struck a bell and this heavyset-looking man come between us.
    “Boy. Hear that bell? Work needs doing. Go on. Get.”
    “He needs his dinner.”
    “Don’t tell me what he needs,” the man turned angrily, causing me to back step and as I did, Mister Bailey movedforward. I held up my hand, not wanting to cause him trouble.
    “No, sir,” I said. “I understand. I just brung chicken. My Christian deed. It’s still warm. You’re welcome to some. I be trying to get my spirit right. Do a little something for my fellow man. But, next time, I’ll come earlier, so I won’t interfere with work. Would that be all right? I can bring you chicken, too. My mistake this time.”
    This foreman looked at me. His eyes squinting as if figuring if I meant what I said. He had a bushful of hair on his head and face. He smiled crookedly, spoke tickled yet mean:
    “You sweet on him? Won’t amount to much. Him a slave and all.”
    “I know,” I said as Mister Bailey said, “We’re acquaintances.”
    I felt anger flood me at high tide. But all mixed up ’cause I wasn’t sure I was upset at just the foreman. “Acquaintances” sounded cold. Yet that was us. Barely met. Barely knowing each other.
    “I’m simply doing my Christian duty. Seem like his Master would want him fed.” I knew I was pushing too far.
    “I’m his Master as long as he’s working for carpenters, learning how to build ships. Go on, now. Get.”
    “Good-bye, Mister Bailey,” I said bowing neatly. Just like at a dance. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed.
    “Good-bye, Miss Murray.” He looked at me quizzing, like he don’t understand me at all. Then, he bowed at the waist like he had all the time in the world.
    “Boy. Come here, boy,” somebody was already calling. Then there was another cry from the opposite direction. “Boy. Over here. Brace this beam.” The foreman was shovingMister Bailey along. I walked from the place real slow. I still held my baskets. One filled with old clothes. One filled with my best cooking.
    I knew I’d return next Thursday. The sky was