AlsobySueMonkKiddNOVELS

TheMermaidChairTheSecretLifeofBees

NONFICTION

TravelingwithPomegranates(withAnnKiddTaylor)

TheDanceoftheDissidentDaughterFirstlight

WhentheHeartWaits

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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.

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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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