exciting."
He granted.
"And besides, you have a pistol."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw it"
He reached out his hand and brushed my cheek. "You'll fare well," he said. "You don't miss much and you're not afraid."
I flushed under the praise.
He put an arm around my shoulder and drew me toward him. I smelled the tobacco and strong-scented soap he used. I leaned next to him, happy, watching the crowd go by chanting, stomping, orderly, yet fair to bursting.
"Take notice of them, Phillis," he said. "These are the common folk, the tradesmen, the town artisans, cord wainers, carpenters, farmers, shopkeepers, printers. These are the people who helped make me a merchant. Never underestimate their power."
"Women, too," I said, looking up at him.
He smiled down at me. "Yes, women, too."
"Where do they go?" I asked.
"Likely to Oliver's office. Even to his residence."
"For what purpose?"
"To do mischief. To smash windows. Tear his garden. Drink his wine. Scatter his papers."
I felt a thrill of joy. I felt the cadence of their words pounding in with the blood in my veins.
Liberty! Property! No stamps!
And we will never be slaves,
I thought.
We will never be slaves.
The next morning Prince was back, bringing wood in for Aunt Cumsee, waiting on the table. No one called him to account. But I heard Nathaniel chide him quietly as Prince fetched Nathaniel's hat.
"I hope you know what you're getting involved in, Prince. Most of our miseries we bring on ourselves. And they're the sum of our own stupidity."
"I know," Prince said. "I know."
Chapter Seventeen
SUMMER 1766
A year later I wrote my first poem.
I was twelve years old and of a sudden I hated the way I looked. I was skinny as a beanpole. My skin was as black as if I'd been rubbed with fireplace ashes, and I was starting to know that no matter what I did, no matter how smart or amiable I managed to be, I was still not white folk. And I never would be, either.
I hated my hair, which would lend itself to no brush but stuck out every which way on my wretched head.
I would watch Mary brushing her long silken hair at night and hate the sight of it. And her.
Mary was not pretty, but she had two commodities I lacked. She
acted
pretty. And she had a bosom. Generally those two virtues were of great account in Boston in 1766.
Oh, I could recite from Shakespeare and Alexander Pope. I read Plato and Homer. I read the
Iliad
and the
Odyssey.
Nathaniel drilled these things in my head.
Mary did not even know what they were. "Would you like to come to a musical with me and Thankful Hubbard this evening?" she asked one day as I stood watching Sulie doing up her hair.
"No thank you. I've got the
Iliad
" I said. I meant that I had to study the
Iliad,
for Nathaniel would be asking me about it that night.
"Oh?" Mary frowned. "Well, in that case you'd best lie down and take a powder. You know how Mama frets about sickness."
I just stared at her as I left the room. Was she that much of a noodlehead? Or was she just not paying mind to me?
She was a noodlehead, I decided. And yet she was the petted only daughter in the family. Nathaniel abided her, teased her, but when all was said and done, took her interest to heart. Her parents provided her with every frippery and forbearance.
Mary's afternoons were filled with teas, jaunts with friends, rides in the countryside, and bookshoppe lectures.
One afternoon when she had just left for such a lecture, I looked up from my newest sampler at my mistress. "Why do I have to sit here doing stitches? Why can't I go to a bookshoppe lecture like Mary?"
"Mary is courting, dear. This is her time to do frivolous things. Soon enough, she'll marry and be burdened with responsibilities."
"Will I marry?"
"Mayhap, yes, someday. But you are different, Phillis. Surely you know that."
"Because I'm a Negro?"
"No, dear, no. There are Negroes aplenty in Boston. Because you have a good turn of mind and we have educated you. So you must prepare yourself, school
He granted.
"And besides, you have a pistol."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw it"
He reached out his hand and brushed my cheek. "You'll fare well," he said. "You don't miss much and you're not afraid."
I flushed under the praise.
He put an arm around my shoulder and drew me toward him. I smelled the tobacco and strong-scented soap he used. I leaned next to him, happy, watching the crowd go by chanting, stomping, orderly, yet fair to bursting.
"Take notice of them, Phillis," he said. "These are the common folk, the tradesmen, the town artisans, cord wainers, carpenters, farmers, shopkeepers, printers. These are the people who helped make me a merchant. Never underestimate their power."
"Women, too," I said, looking up at him.
He smiled down at me. "Yes, women, too."
"Where do they go?" I asked.
"Likely to Oliver's office. Even to his residence."
"For what purpose?"
"To do mischief. To smash windows. Tear his garden. Drink his wine. Scatter his papers."
I felt a thrill of joy. I felt the cadence of their words pounding in with the blood in my veins.
Liberty! Property! No stamps!
And we will never be slaves,
I thought.
We will never be slaves.
The next morning Prince was back, bringing wood in for Aunt Cumsee, waiting on the table. No one called him to account. But I heard Nathaniel chide him quietly as Prince fetched Nathaniel's hat.
"I hope you know what you're getting involved in, Prince. Most of our miseries we bring on ourselves. And they're the sum of our own stupidity."
"I know," Prince said. "I know."
Chapter Seventeen
SUMMER 1766
A year later I wrote my first poem.
I was twelve years old and of a sudden I hated the way I looked. I was skinny as a beanpole. My skin was as black as if I'd been rubbed with fireplace ashes, and I was starting to know that no matter what I did, no matter how smart or amiable I managed to be, I was still not white folk. And I never would be, either.
I hated my hair, which would lend itself to no brush but stuck out every which way on my wretched head.
I would watch Mary brushing her long silken hair at night and hate the sight of it. And her.
Mary was not pretty, but she had two commodities I lacked. She
acted
pretty. And she had a bosom. Generally those two virtues were of great account in Boston in 1766.
Oh, I could recite from Shakespeare and Alexander Pope. I read Plato and Homer. I read the
Iliad
and the
Odyssey.
Nathaniel drilled these things in my head.
Mary did not even know what they were. "Would you like to come to a musical with me and Thankful Hubbard this evening?" she asked one day as I stood watching Sulie doing up her hair.
"No thank you. I've got the
Iliad
" I said. I meant that I had to study the
Iliad,
for Nathaniel would be asking me about it that night.
"Oh?" Mary frowned. "Well, in that case you'd best lie down and take a powder. You know how Mama frets about sickness."
I just stared at her as I left the room. Was she that much of a noodlehead? Or was she just not paying mind to me?
She was a noodlehead, I decided. And yet she was the petted only daughter in the family. Nathaniel abided her, teased her, but when all was said and done, took her interest to heart. Her parents provided her with every frippery and forbearance.
Mary's afternoons were filled with teas, jaunts with friends, rides in the countryside, and bookshoppe lectures.
One afternoon when she had just left for such a lecture, I looked up from my newest sampler at my mistress. "Why do I have to sit here doing stitches? Why can't I go to a bookshoppe lecture like Mary?"
"Mary is courting, dear. This is her time to do frivolous things. Soon enough, she'll marry and be burdened with responsibilities."
"Will I marry?"
"Mayhap, yes, someday. But you are different, Phillis. Surely you know that."
"Because I'm a Negro?"
"No, dear, no. There are Negroes aplenty in Boston. Because you have a good turn of mind and we have educated you. So you must prepare yourself, school
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