Douglass’ Women by Jewell Parker Rhodes Read Free Book Online Page A

North, quicker than any bird.
    We never made that memory.
    Walking home, Freddy got colder. Sullen. Spoke nary a word. And I got colder, too, feeling my job was to give and give. Love was a hard toll. I wanted a breath of kindness from him, a sweet word to soothe my worry.
    “I can be hanged,” I murmured, turning over the uniform, eighty dollars—the rest of my life’s savings, the ship’s ticket. “I can be hanged.”
    He said nothing. Just took everything. Then, kissed me like a father kisses his child and patted my back.
    Sweat shone on his skin. He be a giant. Hands locked tight, eyes half-closed, there was a strength and power in him, waiting for release. He was already on his way. Journeying on. He’d already left me.
    “Hold me,” I begged. He did and I heard his heart drum. But his desire had fled.
    “I’ll send for you.”
    “Stay safe,” I whispered when I wanted to shout,
“Don’t leave me.”
    “I’ll send for you.” He left and I didn’t, couldn’t move. I heard his boots crossing the kitchen, the screen door opening then clicking shut, heard his footfalls on the steps, then silence as I imagined him walking, then running, speeding swiftly across the yard. A dog howled. I wanted to howl. Howl ’til my heart broke, howl my longing so that no matter how far Freddy went, he could hear me.
    But because he was escaping, I kept my mouth shut. Swallowed my pain. I’d cast my lot with Frederick Bailey.
    “I’ll send for you.”
Deep inside me, I felt, “Liar, liar.”
    Lena rubbed against my leg, wanting to be fed. I stooped and buried my face against her fur. “Do you think he loves me, Lena? Will he keep his word?”
    Lena’s tail flicked; she purred. Her yellow eyes blinked.
    “You know, don’t you, cat?”
    I fell upon the pillow, stuffing my hands into my mouth to quiet my scream. Lena sauntered out the room like she didn’t need me, either.
    I cried, thinking this loneliness was worse than hanging.
    When the stars grew light and the sun started peeking over the horizon, I imagined Freddy already far away, already on the ship north. And I cursed, ’cause at the prayer meeting, Preacher could’ve married us. I didn’t think of it.
    Freddy didn’t either.

 
    The Penny-letter-man came to call. He had a message from Mam, from over a month ago. Penny-man say, “Can only travel so fast. Got more customers than you.”
    “Just say what Mam had to say,” I said nervous. Mam never wasted a penny unless it was bad news. Somebody hurt. Sick.
    “No sense to pay a penny to Penny-man to speak my love,” Mam always say. “Penny-man shouldn’t have to tell what you already know.”
    But two months ago, I’d asked Mam a question. I tried not to be embarrassed telling my words to Penny-man. I would’ve kicked him if he’d laughed. Would’ve cursed him every Sunday. I’d asked: “How do you know when a man love you?”
    I wasn’t sure if Mam would spend a penny to answer or not. She might think me silly or, worse, a fool. Ain’t a woman supposed to know? But, unlike Pa, I suspected Freddy might never say the words. And if he didn’t say them, how would I know?
    Penny-man spit, then climbed down from his perch. He patted his horse. He say, “You sure you don’t need some soap?” He lifted the flap on his wagon. “I’ve got good tallow, too. Kerosene.”
    Penny-man lean and ugly. His face burnt red, he stankof scum and whiskey. He made money carrying messages but colored folks usually had to buy something before he’d give them their folks’ words.
    “Soap, Penny-man. A bar of soap. Nothing more.”
    Penny-man chuckled. “Cleanliness, godliness.”
    “You done gone to the Devil then,” I said, giving him a penny. “Well.”
    He look at me. Toothy-grin. “Little things.”
    “What?”
    “Little things.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Just saying the words I’m paid.”
    “There must be something more, Penny-man. Mam must’ve said something more.”
    “No more.”
    I