We were quiet for a while. Jeremiah and Fanny fell asleep against Lynne.
“How you come to talk like that?” she asked.
“I was raised in a white family.”
“They didn’t keep you?”
“No. They didn’t keep me.” I smiled. That was a nice way to put it. “But I’m glad I’m here with you and your boy and your girl.”
That was the truth.
Mr. Dillingham had given me the written directions for the house that would be our destination in Philadelphia. I called out to Jean which way to go, and after a while he let out a loud whoop.
“We here!” he cried out. “We here!”
Lynne and I didn’t wait for anyone to open our door. We jumped out and pulled the children after us, and we all embraced and just jumped up and down and laughed.
Laughed.
I looked at the children—it was the first time in two years I’d felt anything like joy.
A negro man—in a suit!—opened the door of the town house and extended his arms. I detected a smile under his thick black mustache.
“Welcome, my friends,” he said.
He shook Jean’s and Cal’s hands.
“I’m Fenn, Fenn Mosher,” he said. He rubbed Jeremiah’s head. “Come in, come in. You must be tired.”
“Naw, sir,” Cal said. “Right about now, I feel like flying!”
Mr. Mosher turned to me. “You are the group’s fearless leader.”
“Don’t think I’m a leader or fearless, but I was happy to help.”
Inside we were joined by the home’s owners, a Quaker couple whose name was Phillips, Robert and Deborah. Mr. Mosher, as it turned out, was a free man who also lived in Philadelphia and helped the newly freed get established. They had laid out for us what amounted to a holiday feast—roasted turkey and potatoes and yams and corn bread. I gave the children the cakes for dessert, but we had pie on the table too.
We told Mr. Mosher and the Phillipses what had happened in Havre de Grace. They all knew Tolins.
“He needs to work on being more discreet.” Mr. Phillips laughed. He had a gentle voice and quiet blue eyes. I liked him very much. “Don’t worry. We’ll let him know you’re with us and all right.”
We had a good laugh over the Southern shop owner and his unintended aid. But I was thinking about how I had initially read the situation so poorly from the start. Tolins would never have thought he could speak to Jean if I had stayed in the carriage. It made me think to be, in the future, more watchful and cautious of any change in a situation.
It turned out Mr. Phillips was a photographer. He took portraits of the slaves who came through this way to celebrate their freedom. He said he would take these portraits before we moved on and would give us our own copies. I’d never had my portrait taken before and looked forward to doing so.
That evening I was in the parlor, and Missus Phillips sat next to me. She put her hand on mine in my lap and said that I was a brave and intelligent girl.
“You want to go to school; did I understand that correctly? Missus Burke has written to me.”
I nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am. I haven’t had any proper learning since I was about twelve.”
“How old are you now?”
“Sixteen.”
“Well, you’re too old of a girl to be in a school with young ones. But what if I could get you a place in an institution where you would learn from a private tutor, a kind of governess, and live with other girls like yourself?”
“That sounds fine. Is it here in Philadelphia?”
“No, it’s in New York City. The teacher is Miss Temple, and the school is called the Barbary Institution. Mr. Phillips and I are going to New York in a day or two and can take you there.”
“Ma’am, I’ll go whenever you are ready.”
“You should rest first, Jeannette. You’ve been traveling a long time. I’m going to guess that you are more tired than you realize. Once the stress of the situation has lessened, you’ll see.”
She was right. I slept deeply and for a long time that night. I dreamed I was on a hill with sweeping views of a beautiful green valley with a wide curving river cutting through the land. I didn’t know where it was. It didn’t look like Catalpa Valley. But I felt fresh and alive standing on that hill. Maybe it was a place I was going. I felt good about it.
The next morning, we received a message that Silas and Mr. Dillingham had been obliged to delay their travel by a day.
“It’s all right,” I told Missus Phillips. “We can leave for New York when you want.”
“Mr. Phillips will take your portraits today and we can go tomorrow, but are you sure, dear? You don’t want to wait for your friend?”
“I said goodbye before. We always thought we might have to go our separate ways once we got this far. I’ll leave a message for him with Mr. Mosher.”
And this was true. But the message I left for him would have to be spoken because Silas couldn’t read. I asked Mr. Mosher to tell Silas I had said “Thank you.”
Chapter 6
The Barbary Institution was located in a brownstone building on Fifth Avenue near Twenty-Third Street near the St. Germain Hotel. Missus Phillips brought me there in December of 1855, when the small trees along the sidewalks were bare and the sky looked stark and white against the hard structure lines of the buildings that made up New York City. I couldn’t imagine anything more different from Catalpa Valley, and yet this place would be my home. The parlor rooms downstairs had shelves of books covering the walls and two to three medium-size desks. Two girls who looked to be about my age, one white and one colored, sat together studying. Missus Phillips introduced me to Reverend Bell, the superintendent of the facility, and Miss Temple, who would be my teacher. The students—six, including me—lived in rooms upstairs, as did Miss Temple, who looked to be about twenty-five, and a Missus Fletcher, whom I met later. She was a widow who acted as a house matron and teaching assistant to Miss Temple.
My room was a garret-like space on the third floor that looked out on the small courtyard in the back. I was to share it with another girl who had been there for a year. Miss Temple sat with me while I removed my coat and bonnet and began to unpack my few belongings.
“We’re going to do quite a bit of reading,” she said. “And we’ll see how much you know by way of math. But most importantly, Jeannette, I’m going to teach you how to teach. That way you’ll have a vocation when we’re done. You’ll be able to make a living.”
“Oh yes,” I replied. She had spoken what I most wanted to hear—that it was possible for me to be independent and look after myself in the world.
Miss Temple checked the silver watch she wore as a brooch with a small chain. Her dress was simple but well made from a navy wool with a black trim around the bottom of her skirt. She had a pale, thin face and soft brown eyes. I looked forward to getting to know more of her.
“You rest now and get yourself settled. We can begin your lessons tomorrow.”
She was true to her word. I was under the tutelage of Miss Temple for a little more than three years. She became my friend and close companion—a mother, teacher, and guide all at once. The Barbary Institution, I learned, was funded by a group of wealthy, liberal-minded individuals who kept the building in good repair and made sure that its students were clothed and fed properly. There was another girl like me who had been a slave but could read and write. The others were white and orphans sent to the school and supported by benefactors. The donors and benefactors paid a salary to Miss Temple and Missus Fletcher. Reverend Bell, who served on the board of trustees along with the donors, was the administrator. I’ll be forever grateful for the life and learning I had there.