Douglass’ Women (30 page)

Rosetta, with her father’s charm and bright mind—how could I not rescue her? Be the mother I suspected Douglass wanted me to be.

The summer before school began, I researched the academies. No institution preparing ladies for marriage was good enough. I wanted a curriculum with substance. As rich an approach to learning as my mother gave me. Miss Seward’s Academy in Albany seemed appropriate (though I did have my doubts about the schoolmistress even then),
but Miss Seward’s was the best school to fit Douglass’ admonition that Rosetta be no more than three days’ drive from Rochester. I suspected Anna put him up to this! No fine institution in a New York City school or Quaker school in Philadelphia. Upstate New York had its limitations.

“Call me Miss A.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. Each afternoon, I want you to meet me in the garden. We’ll do lessons. Fun things to prepare you for Miss Seward’s. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes.”

I kissed her cheek. Sweet child. “We will begin now.”

“I’ve got to ask Mam.”

“Your father has given his approval.”

She dug her toe at the dirt, twisting her torso back and forth. I patted the stack of books beside me. “All right. Go ask your mother.”

She ran, fleet like a deer, her dark pigtails flapping at the back of her knees. I heard the kitchen screen door slam. Then, silence.

I imagined Anna in her kitchen, her arms dusted white with flour, listening to a breathless Rosetta. Knowing Anna, she’d keep kneading her dough. Then, when Rosetta fell silent, she’d wipe her hands, look at her child, then cross to the window as though she could see me behind the hedges. Her eyes would cloud like they were seeing beyond to something else. She’d say “Yes.”

I’d seen Anna reach decisions about her children before. She never failed to do what’s best. I give her that.
Even when Freddy Junior had fallen and Douglass thought it wasteful to send for a doctor, she did. Douglass hadn’t ridden more than an hour before his son spiked a terrible fever. Anna would say “yes” to Rosetta. Even though it cost her her own pride. She’d say “yes.”

How many other mistresses taught their lover’s daughter? Taught her in her mother’s garden? Taught her in daylight, midafternoon, while loving her father by moonlight, the night before?

“Miss A. Miss A.” Rosetta was tugging my arm. “Mam says you can teach me.”

“You mean your mother said, ‘yes.’”

Rosetta nodded. “Long as I finish my chores.”

“Good. Let us review the ABC’s. Numbers. How well do you add? Subtract? Do you know your geography? Where’s England? Germany?”

Rosetta knew most things and what she didn’t know she learned quickly.

So, all summer, we spent pleasant afternoons in the garden. In the evenings, I told Douglass of her progress and I knew he was pleased.

I bought Rosetta several dresses. Poplin. Checkered cottons. A yellow muslin. Even a night rail with a lace cap.

I invited Rosetta to take tea with me and Douglass in his office. Anna had filled the teapot, jam pot, and baked delicious pastries. Rosetta was so delighted! Her first grown-up tea. When she’d prettily eaten a slice of lemon cake, I set a box beside her. She looked to her father.

“Open it,” he encouraged.

Rosetta squealed with delight. She lifted the dresses as though they were precious gold. “My first store-bought clothes. Store-bought dresses.”

She held a dress in front of her and curtsied.

“You look good enough to eat,” said Douglass. He winked at me. I felt joyous, basking in his approval.

Anna came to clear the tea. I saw her dismay before she veiled her expression.

I should’ve known Anna would make Rosetta’s new gowns. Wasn’t she always cutting patterns, sewing as June gave way to July, then August? Some nights, she practically hurried dinner so she could put out her basket, thread a needle and stitch. How thoughtless I’d been.

Rosetta was bubbling with laughter. “Aren’t they pretty?” Anna hugged her. “Yes, they pretty,” she said, then looked at me.

I stood, nearly upsetting the tea cart. “I’m sorry, Anna.”

“For what?” asked Douglass. “Your gifts are lovely and generous.”

Anna and I looked at each other. My gaze fell first.

Anna didn’t travel to Miss Seward’s Academy for Ladies in Albany. She said she was too sick: “The new baby, almost due.”

Rosetta said, “Have a sister. I’ll watch over her at Christmas.”

Anna did look ill. I’d never seen her so sad. Not even when Douglass first left for England. Face puffy, I suspected she’d spent the entire night crying. Rosetta, with all the goodness of a child, understood her mother’s grief. She held her tightly, kissed her sweetly good-bye. Douglass tipped his hat. Then gathered each of his children into his arms and kissed them soundly.

I waved from the carriage. Blew kisses at the boys, now crying, hanging on to their mother’s skirt. Douglass and Rosetta climbed into the carriage. Anna just watched, stone-faced.

I shouted as the carriage jolted forward: “Safe passage with the baby.” The horses clip-clopped onward.

Anna didn’t blink. Rosetta waved and waved until there was nothing left to see but a road of dust. She threw herself against my bosom and cried.

Douglass opened a book, Hawthorne’s
Scarlet Letter
. I much preferred Washington Irving’s tales and sketches.

I’d begged Douglass for time together. Away from Anna’s house. He’d agreed to travel onward to New York. I was thrilled. He’d have a chance to talk with new investors for his paper. Money always flowed in fits and starts. And once Rosetta was safely stowed, I’d imagined the two of us on holiday. Yet, holding the weeping child, I felt hesitant to give her up.

Rosetta wasn’t a strong traveler. The swaying motion upset her stomach. We stopped by the side of the road more than twice. I pressed compresses to her head. Pleaded with Douglass for an early evening. “What does it matter to arrive a day late?”

When Rosetta vomited again, spoiling the carriage, he ordered the driver to find the first inn.

Two rooms, Douglass thought more than enough. A bed for him; Rosetta, on a cot. A bed for me across the hall.

I didn’t expect Douglass to come to me. But he did.

“You should go. It isn’t proper with Rosetta here.” But Douglass insisted it was all right; and, God forgive me, I let myself be convinced.

Maybe it was my fear of discovery or the long years we’d known each other, but I felt less than satisfied. Romance wasn’t triggered deep inside me. I kissed without passion. Stroked out of duty rather than desire. Douglass seemed satiated as usual.

He lay, eyes closed, legs spread-eagled atop me. He’d said nothing. Went about his business. Inhaling, exhaling. Pushing, pulling. In and out.

Moon waning, there was a soft tap at the door and Rosetta, wiping away sleep, shuffled in, calling, “Miss A. Where’s Father? I’m scared.”

Her eyes widened; lashes fluttered, then blinked once. Like one of those new daguerreotypes, she’d taken a memory picture.

“Leave, Rosetta. I’ll be there shortly.” Douglass sat, his chest exposed. “Go, Rosetta.”

She turned, closed the door softly.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Douglass would hear none of it. He dressed, went back to his room. Did he tuck Rosetta in? Speak to her? Or did he merely say “good night” before crawling into his bed?

“Mam say, ‘Don’t get lost in the wilderness. Don’t get lost. Don’t get lost in the wilderness.’” She was staring up at her new school.

“Rosetta, stop that at once. You’re to make a good impression.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rosetta quieted but I noticed her lips still moved. “Don’t get lost. Don’t get lost.”

I bent before her. “Miss Seward’s Academy isn’t a wilderness.”

“Mam says anyplace can be a wilderness.”

“Nonsense,” said Douglass.

“What does your mother say you should do? To keep from getting lost?”

“Remember I’m loved.”

“That’s good advice. Your mother is a wise woman. Remember you’re loved.”

Rosetta flung herself into my arms. I hugged her and we followed, hands clasped, behind Douglass.

The new school was impressive—a towering brown-stone with lace curtains. Douglass hurried up the steps; Rosetta held back. I tugged her along. The sky was missing the sun; the air felt too thick to breathe. Perhaps I should’ve insisted Rosetta be schooled in New York City. I could’ve kept an eye on her through the long winter. But Anna wouldn’t have approved. A thin maid with red marks on her face opened the door.

The hallway was marble with a huge chandelier. How rich, I thought. To think such luxury existed inside a school! But while it was lovely, it felt cold. Harsh. Rosetta pinched my hand. I felt anxious. Girls, with wide, mocking eyes, peeked down at me through the wooden banisters. An old woman with a white lace cap shooed them away.

We were escorted into the parlor. The headmistress was in black bombazine, looking withered, I thought. Like one of the stepmothers in a Grimm’s fairy tale. But I calmed
myself. This was a good American school. Not a German forest. Not a land of make-believe.

Sitting in the headmistress’ parlor, I felt unbearably old. Rosetta was a good girl. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t break the teacup though her knees shook so. I offered her another cake.

Douglass was busy, telling the headmistress about his escape from slavery, his travels in Europe, his newspaper. The headmistress said she was “sincerely delighted” to have such a famous abolitionist in her room. She was “delighted,” too, by me. “A continental woman of such intelligence and learning.”

But I didn’t think she was delighted by Rosetta. She spoke not a word to her. In between smiles toward me and Douglass, she looked blankly at the girl. The dullness of her stare unnerved me. I wanted to grab Rosetta, run from the room.

“She’s to be treated as all the others,” said Douglass. “Color-blind. I want her education to be color-blind.”

Miss Seward smiled thinly. “She’s not as fair as you.”

Douglass simply tilted his head. “She favors her mother.”

Rosetta’s shoulders slumped. I wanted to hold her. Instead, I said, “Douglass, I wish to speak with you.”

And he misinterpreted me—purposefully, I don’t know. But he rose, saying, “Yes, it’s time for us to go. Time for Rosetta to become familiar with her new school.”

“Douglass, we should talk—”

He bent before Rosetta. Kissed her cheek, murmured softly. I was close enough to hear. “Don’t embarrass me,” he said. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Rosetta squared her small shoulders. I wrapped her in my arms. Trying to convey my deep affection, trying to undo my growing alarm that Miss Seward’s Academy was the wrong place for her. I whispered, “Don’t get lost in the wilderness.”

Her lips puckered. I kissed her tiny rosebud mouth. As gently, fervently, as I imagined Anna would.

Douglass was shaking the headmistress’ hand.

“Remember your Mam loves you.” I gave her my handkerchief to dry the tears brimming in her eyes. “Write to me. Be strong.”

“Don’t embarrass Father.”

“No,” I lifted her chin. “Don’t embarrass Rosetta.” One last fierce hug. “Who loves you?”