Except for the clothing and the ages, these women were identical to two of the girls in the first daguerreotype Mrs. Ransom had shown me from the Pinchard archives: it had to be Rabbit and Leena, who had supposedly died in the fire in 1859, according to Samuel Pinchard’s journal. Yet here they were in another daguerreotype. I knew from my college’s history that this image was dated around 1866. Rabbit and Leena must have somehow survived the Wood Place fire, made it to freedom in Boston, and changed their names to Judith and Adeline Hutchinson. We’d been taught in college that Judith had passed away early, but Adeline had gone south after the war and founded a school to educate Negro girls. I was sitting in the very library that she had built.
But the third girl, the girl with keloids on her cheeks who’d been in the Wood Place daguerreotype, wasn’t in this picture I was holding. For some reason, that girl had been left down south: Eliza Two, my direct ancestor. I wanted to be grateful that she’d remained behind. If she hadn’t stayed in Chicasetta—if she’d had no descendants—I wouldn’t even be alive. But this meant Eliza Two had endured six more years in slavery, until it was abolished, and all the other crimes against southern Black folks that would come afterward. How much more had Eliza Two suffered on that plantation, after she’d already lost a father and a sister?
I covered my face and began to cry.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but the librarian must have taken me up on my offer and called my former professor. Before I heard the other chair scraping the floor, I smelled the incense. Dr. Oludara didn’t even ask me what I’d found. She only touched my shoulder, telling me, it was all right. It was okay. Sometimes it hit her like that, too, thinking about our people and those sad days. She patted my shoulder as I sobbed.
Witness My Hand
[From the Routledge Family Papers, Freedom Library, Property of Routledge College, Matthew Thatcher, Box 1, Single Folder]
December 25, 1859
Boston Mass
Dear Matt,
Happy Christmas! Our sisters in Christ are learning their ABC! I am trying to teach Adeline to keep house but I am of the mind she never will cook or be a seamstress. I can rejoice that she is clean as Judith’s side of their room is cluttered. But O the lightness of your Judy’s biscuits! Surely the Lord provides, as Luke counsels, “Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and he will give you everything you need.” We take daily walks for their constitution. Adeline is hail but your Judy needs fattening and coughs at times. She eats too little. （Do not worry! I am taking great care of her!） Yet how blessed I am in these girls when I despaired of never having children! Like Sarah I have my Isaac and another in my heart. Surely God is merciful and great!
Your loving sister,
Deborah
[Undated journal entry by Judith Hutchinson （？）]
dis evenin debrah brung the ink an papar she say my salvasun lay in the pin she say o judi it is yor duti to yor bredrin to rit it doun cant yu see she say my swet judi doan call me miss call me debrah an yor mat wud wont you to rit it down he love you so veri much shorly you no that an I drop my hed she swet an so kin i no i can rit now an i can so an cook but leena addie be cleenin an debrah say wat on cant do the udder can an god provid i is wel prase jesus but i com down wit the crup an scar me orful i thank on how i wont be seein my matt no more an i love him so much but then i thank on jeesus he be up there waitin an leena addie put her hans on mi hart aftur dockar say no she ant gitin up an leena addie pray an the lord heel me an i fil so bless January 1, 1866
My Dearest Matthew
I hope this letter reaches you! We have despaired of the mail during the War and now I wish to hear from you every single moment of every hour! Today Addie and I walked having been given an errand to visit some folks and deliver good tidings of the New Year. I baked cakes for two of the elders. I do not tell Deborah that one of our charges is the grandmother of a very-very handsome Negro gentleman of the last name Routledge. The old woman has no teeth and no taste for sweets. Addie brought Mr. Routledge my cakes and told him that she baked them tho you know she cannot even scald milk! As we walked I felt the Spirit come strongly upon me lifting me up—if I did not know myself to be one of God’s lowly servants I would have thought my feet would take me straight to Heaven. I had to cease walking and clutch my basket so happy was I of that memory. I wanted to sanctify His name and began to weep and laid my head on Addie’s shoulder. It was she who’d heard the cry first on the day of Mr. Lincoln’s tidings. The gladness in the notes—the sweetness—caught me that day and then I knew. When I came to the main fare the folks were thick outside. Some were shouting with joy others weeping—it was Freedom! It was Jubilee! That night I could not sleep and when I lay my body down ingratitude visited me that I could not share this preponderance of God’s mercy with the folks back home. It has been so long! How I miss them! I miss the trees! I miss the brightness when I had a small creature’s name! I look for Father every day and ask at the Meeting House but none have seen him. I wish I could write him and tell him the news you wrote us about Granny and Mother passing to Heaven. I keep a stout face to Addie and Deborah for if I begin to weep I shall not stop. I miss them all but more than anyone I miss my sister. There is never joy in a circle only half. I am cut from my sister and it is a terrible feeling. It is near daybreak and I have labors in too few hours.