Good Fortune (9781416998631) (30 page)

As I listened to Florence talk about the people and experiences of the neighborhood, I observed my surroundings. A few homes had small gardens with flowers and vegetables, and some even had trees. Everyone lived relatively close to one another. As we walked farther on, I noticed the roads becoming denser with people bustling around. Wagons rode rapidly past us.

“This is the business part of town. Ms. Tina over there.” Florence gestured to a woman selling goods. “She invented something to make people's teeth whiter. Usually she sells door to door, but today she must be doing good business out here on the street.”

When we were passing Susie's Stitching Shop, I glanced around me. My nose detected the scent of fried fish. The smell made my stomach grumble. Sure enough, we came upon a dark-skinned man with a thick and curly moustache and beard who stood over pans in which pieces of fish sizzled in grease.

“Come an' get yo' fish,” he called. I smiled distantly at the man. His demeanor reminded me of John. My mind broke away from Florence's chatter as the image of John walking by my side with his hip bumping up against my own held my attention hostage. I felt unburdened as I saw him point this way and that, the light in his eyes reminding me that we were in freedom. I allowed myself to hear his voice,
and as I did so, the commotion all around me ceased to be.

Look, Sarah! We done found a black community existin' all on its own. How 'bout that?

But then the magic broke. I loosened my gaze from the fish seller's and quickened my pace, feeling a warm sensation in my cheeks from slight embarrassment. I needed to shake my mind free of those thoughts, so I decided to ask Florence what had been swimming around in my mind since I awoke that morning.

“Where's the school up here?” I anticipated her leading me toward my dream. Instead, wrinkles creased her forehead.

“School? What you mean by that? Blacks don't have a school. They say we don't need it.” I felt dizzy, like the wagon wheels spinning by.

“So, don't no one here learn their numbers an' letters?” I asked, left wondering how I would continue learning what I had taught myself on the plantation. It had never been in question: I had expected to reach freedom and continue learning. Now that hope was crushed.

“Seem to me white folks up in town just don't like to see no black folks learning. Folks here in Hadson would be crazy if they even got close to that school. That's just how it goes up here.” I listened with anger and a growing feeling of uneasiness in my belly.

“You mean, I come all the way to freedom an' there ain't no school?” Disappointment washed over me.

“You had a school where you come from?” I shook my head, turning from her. She didn't understand.

“Well, I'm sorry, Anna, that it ain't perfectly how you like it here in Hadson, but there just ain't many places for us that's exactly how we like them to be.”

“I know. I just really wanna learn,” I said with a sigh. How free could freedom really be without that opportunity?

“Well, in all truth, Anna, I always believe that if there's something you want that bad, there's always some way to get it. Don't be so down! It ain't that bad here.” Her sincerity warmed my heart a bit.

“Where you from, anyway?” she questioned.

“I'm from Tenn—” I began, but stopped short.

Where am I supposed to be from?

“Kentucky.” I let the word tumble out of my mouth as I made a vow to stay aware of what I was saying. I prayed Daniel was doing the same.

“You sure about that?” she joked, laughing. “Where your folks at, if you don't mind me asking.”

“I lost most of 'em,” I said, hoping to change the subject.

“Lost? You mean, they passed away or something?”

“No, no, they was sold.”

“Sold! So you was a slave,” she said matter-of-factly. I nodded.

“An' you was freed?”

Not really wanting to lie to Florence, I simply nodded again.
Maybe someday I'll tell her the truth.

“I mean, you just don't see many slaves living here,” she said. I stole a glance at her face to see if she had guessed the truth that easily. It didn't seem so.

“I ain't no slave,” I said with a frown, cringing at the title I had run from.

“No, I didn't mean that. 'Course you're not. It's just, most runaway slaves and freed blacks from the south run to Philadelphia, or they travel all the way up to Canada 'cause they think it's safer. I reckon it is. A while back, I saw a slave that ran up here taken all the way back down south. I also heard of another man, one who had never been a slave in his life, taken down south too.”

Florence's words set a deep, unsettling feeling under my skin. Even though I had known danger could be so close, even though Mr. McCarthy had spoken to us about this, I still suddenly felt afraid.

Florence must've noticed my tension for she questioned, “Anna? Anna, don't worry. Ain't nothing gonna happen to you. You freed anyway!”

I dismissed her words, letting the worry sink deeper.

“Anna, I'm serious,” she said, tapping my shoulder with her long fingers. “I won't let it, that's a promise.” I relaxed a bit, acknowledging her smile. The two of us would be good friends.

CHAPTER
 
30 

D
ANIEL AND
I
HAD BEEN LIVING HERE FOR A LITTLE OVER TWO
and a half months, and we were falling quite well into our new lives—new homes, new ideas, new goals.

I continued my work at Mama Bessie's house, taking care of the children, doing laundry, and cleaning. That was the trade between us: Mama Bessie offered us a home, and I helped out. Daniel lived half an hour from Mama Bessie's but would make it his purpose to come see me at least twice a day. Daniel had a temporary job fixing items for neighbors around town. Most days, he would get up early in the morning and walk down to Dayton to find another, steadier job, after having little luck in finding one in Hadson. Eventually, with the small amount of money he raised, he was able to borrow the materials he needed to build himself a wagon and rent two horses for travel. I prayed daily that Daniel would find that job soon, one that was close by and that paid good money. It worried me to see him gone all day, returning at dusk, just to go help out in some field. For now, that was his job, but it was what he called “slave work,” and he told me he didn't come all the way to freedom to go back to a field.

“This ain't no heaven fo' blacks,” he would constantly tell me, and it seemed he was right. Every once in a while, we'd receive news about trouble in the city—trouble between some free blacks and the whites who lived close by. The only way for blacks to avoid this trouble was to stay out of the way. In my prayers, I asked God to keep my brother out of that kind of mess.

What I wanted in this free land was rather different from what Daniel wanted. I wanted to learn. The desire started as a subtle feeling that would hit me while I did chores in the house, reminding me of my days back on the plantation with the children. While I did chores around the house, I took to praying for the opportunity to go to school. But the community had no black school, and I had no idea how to go about satisfying my growing desire. I continued to practice on my own, however. When Daniel stole time in the evenings to sit and talk with me, and Florence if she chose to be there, I'd practice reading the newspaper and writing, using whatever tools I could find. Every time Daniel rode to Dayton in his wagon, I gave him special requests.

“Would you keep an eye out fo' any paper and ink that don't cost too much, and actual books in the city? Get a newspaper, too, so I can find out how many schools there are round here. And find out what the white schools are like, and look for any black schools close by. And …” My questions about the city's opportunities were endless. So one day, Daniel decided to avoid all the questions and, with Mama Bessie's consent, took me with him.

We rode all day long as he showed me the church and the stores of the city. Then, as we rounded one of the corners, I spotted it, a lone white building that immediately caught my eye.

It was the school.

How I knew this, I did not know, but I knew. My skin tingled with excitement as I stared, dreaming of all the possibilities that lay behind the walls. I started to hop out of the wagon to dart across the field, but Daniel grabbed my arm, holding me back.

“Anna, you gotta be careful round here. You cain't jus' go round everywhere you please. That ain't our property.”

“But it's a school, Sebastian. It's school property,” I said, aching to get a glimpse of what a real education looked like up north.

Daniel crossed his arms and frowned at me, saying, “Don't matta what kinda property you wanna call it, it still means blacks ain't allowed.” As we drove away, I tried to see into the large windows that lined the walls of the one-room schoolhouse. I spied narrow tables and long benches. As the building disappeared behind us, I felt a deep longing. I wanted that education. It was unfair for me not to receive the chance these white children did.

We spent the rest of the day looking for jobs for my brother. Daniel would walk up to a door with a sign that stated Work Needed and get turned down at each place. At one stop, a short man with grayish hair came to the door.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Yo' sign say Artisans Needed,” Daniel responded.

“Who is it?” A female voice rang out from within the house. The man leaned back and addressed his wife.

“Some black kid think there's work fo' him here.” The woman behind him giggled. I watched Daniel's hand, held behind his back, form a fist.

“Better tell him how it is out here, Freddie.” She laughed again as the man looked back towards Daniel.

“Does that sign say Niggers Wanted?” The fist clenched tighter.

“Didn't see that, sah.”

“Then why's you here?” With that, the door slammed—just another one of the many Daniel encountered that day. It was all enough to drive me mad. He didn't even receive respect as a second thought. I admired him for keeping hold of his temper and for his determination. From what I had heard and what I had seen, aggression from a black person was not taken lightly here, in any situation. The law was not on our side.

This
was
no heaven for black folks. I had to keep reminding myself this, especially as my prospects for learning began to dim. Reading signposts and copying newspapers was one thing; true education was entirely another. Perhaps that dream was meant to die. Maybe it was far too unrealistic.

As the months stretched onward, the freedom and all its dimensions came into plain focus. There was work on
weekdays, church on Sundays, and young folk gatherings on occasion. I busied myself with what I could to escape my restlessness in not fulfilling my passions, and my discouragement. I found myself wondering why the bells of my freedom were not ringing very loudly, and soon came to the conclusion that I was missing out on the thing I longed for the most: my education.