22

The winter of 1778 was the coldest I had ever known. Ice formed on everything. On trees it glistened and sparkled red, blue, and green lights that were almost blinding. The ground froze hard and the rutted roads were sharp enough to cut the feet. It was in the midst of this cold spell that we received another letter from Josiah. The writing was difficult to read, as if it had been painfully written:

Bett, my dear:

I hope when you get this letter things will be much better for me. We have joined the main troops under General Washington in Valley Forge. We are in dire straits for food and clothing. I made the mistake to take off my shoes to try to dry my feet and someone stole them. I stripped my blanket to wrap my feet, but they are now frozen, turning black. Without my blanket, I am never warm. We get no supplies and many men are naked, many covered with vermin and riddled with diseases. People who see us call us the ragged, lousy, naked regiment. And our French allies make jokes at the expense of our nudity. More than three thousand of us are unfit for duty. We are fighting still, even though many are dying for lack of medicine and care. Worst of all, we are not paid. I hope you were able to get our share there. Whatever money you get, I beg you to use it for yours and Ayisha’s freedom. Say to Ayisha that my love for her and my determination for her freedom keep me going.

I worry about her and Aissa. But not about you. I feel you are capable of taking care of things. Needless to say I love you and long for the day when we will be together again. Pray for peace and for us who feel as though we are the forgotten wretched.

Much love.

Josiah

That letter pushed us into silence. I could not say what I was feeling for fear of breaking into sobs. I had a strong sense that we would never see Josiah again. I knew that Bett felt the same. She held her child more closely than ever, as if feeling her loss. It wasn’t long before what we secretly dreaded fell upon us.

One Sunday we were walking back from my sister’s place early in the evening. Feathery clouds were pink from the glow of the setting sun. We were quiet as we came to the edge of the master’s land. Mary was waiting for us. She was always serious, but today there was a sadness in her face. “Bett, Father would like to see all of you in his office right away,” she said.

Was he angry? I wondered. What had we done to displease him? I wanted to ask Mary, but I didn’t want her to know the guilt that always arose in me whenever the master summoned, even though I had done nothing wrong.

When we arrived at the house, the master and mistress were in the waiting room. They rose immediately and asked us to come with them up the stairs. Suddenly I knew something was terribly wrong. My heart pounded in my stomach, making me weak. The master took a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Bett. “Bett, uh … it’s Josiah.… Word has come. He is dead.” He did not look at my sister.

Little Bett let out a cry that pierced the heart more than the ear. One cry, then silence. I felt faint, but held on for my sister, who I could see was crumbling inside. The mistress kept her head lowered and I sensed a feeling of sympathy from her that I had never felt before.

The paper he gave my sister listed Josiah’s name, circled, as one from the areas of Sheffield and Stockbridge who had been listed as dead. That was all.

All night Bett and I cried, but after that sharp initial outcry, Little Bett remained stony silent. Bett wailed, sorely grieved that her husband, like our father and mother, had died among strangers and was buried in a strange land. But even worse, Josiah had not been among his people to prepare his body and help make that journey to the proper place. Oh, how I longed to go and search for his body and bring it here, where he had known some happiness in spite of all the pain and suffering that was the routine of our lives. Like my freedom—it wasn’t to be.

It seemed the war would never end, and that the visitors would never stop coming. With John still away, the mistress was in no mood for parties and entertainment. However, she and the girls did join women in the town to make the shot pouches, fold garments, roll bandages, and pack water bottles. The master was away often, and the slaves and other workers kept the place going.

There was much excitement when the master was at home. Bett was busy going back and forth upstairs seeing to it that the men who were working on the Massachusetts constitution were served rum, tea, and wine. The meetings were long, with much talk. Sometimes we heard them in the kitchen.

“What is all the fuss?” Sarah asked when Bett came for more rum, which was popular since tea was still scarce.

“They are arguing over a list of rights and freedoms they think are good for the people of this state—what they call a ‘bill of rights.’ They say the first constitution for Massachusetts was defeated by the voters because it didn’t have that bill. And some of them up there want a bill of rights, but they want more to make sure that property owners will not lose any power to those without property.”

How my sister could be interested in all of that was a mystery to me. All I wanted to know was whether the war was over and who had won. Even though Josiah had given his life for the Colonials, and even though Governor Gage had not signed that bill, I was still torn between the British and the Colonials. It didn’t matter to me who won; all I wanted was the end of slavery. But Bett felt there was something in the constitution for people who had little and for slaves who had nothing. She was definitely on the side of the Colonials.

“I hear a lot about it, but they don’t tell us much. There is little in the few newspapers,” Sarah said.

“The bill of rights states that all men are born equally free, that each man has certain rights, and that all are bound to obey only those laws to which they have given their consent.”

“Why’re you so excited? You’re not a man. They’re not talking about us, Bett,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean just men, it means people, men and women,” Bett replied.

“Most of the men upstairs will say that, but they are not about to make it a part of their lives. They are the rulers and they will never give up their property. Of course the poor can be equal when fighting in the army,” Sarah said. She spoke as if she knew them well.

“They’re asking up there if the poor can do anything but fight in the army,” Bett said. “Can they make decisions about property when they have none? Their answer is no. It’s only them, the educated and property owners, who have the wisdom,” Bett said.

“They’re the same people in the courts who would not give us our freedom, so how will it be different this time?” I asked.

“This time it’s not left up to the court and the king. The people will vote and every free man twenty-one years old and older will be voting on that constitution. They have to talk about it in every town. That’s why they are so busy upstairs. They want to have their way in the town meetings and get all they can for themselves. But we’ll see how the people vote.”

“Why do they have to go through all that for just some bill of rights?” Sarah asked.

“There are lots of other things that are important to them: What church will be the main one, who will pay taxes, things like that.”

“Won’t matter. The poor will be poor, and we’ll still be slaves.” I was not that interested.

“Lizzie, you have no faith. I have to believe that if it is said, it can be done. If all of us are created equal, then we all have the same rights to life. I have to believe that. Otherwise I couldn’t go on living, knowing that Josiah died for nothing.” She went hurriedly upstairs. She must not keep them waiting.

That night she came home very excited. “That lawyer, Tapping Reeve, was there, and when he was leaving he said to me that he was sorry that I had lost my husband in the war.

“I was so surprised, I hardly spoke above a whisper when I thanked him. But I calmed myself and asked if he knew whether I could get Josiah’s pay or a wife’s stipend.

“He seemed surprised that I had not been given anything. He said he would look into it for me and see what he could get. You see, I have faith that there are good people everywhere, you just have to know how to be open to receive that goodness.”

“He hasn’t done anything for you yet.”

“He promised. For me, that is enough to hold on to my faith.”

The meetings upstairs went on. Tapping Reeve kept his promise and Bett received the twenty pounds offered to families in the state of Massachusetts and forty shillings from the Continental Army, two months of Josiah’s pay. She was so happy, and wasted no time before going to the master to ask to purchase Little Bett. He laughed. Did she not know how little money that was? Twenty pounds would not purchase any slave. He could raise five times that much for a healthy slave child. His answer was a firm no.

Finally after many town meetings, in 1780, the Massachusetts Constitution was finished and voted for. Bett told me that anybody voting for state officials had to own twice as much property as they had had to own before the constitution was written; and that to vote they had to pay something called a poll tax, which could be raised at any time.

I said to her, “But you said the people would decide that, not the court. How could the people vote to double the amount needed to vote? And why would they want to pay to vote? Did they really vote for that?”

“Yes, and two-thirds had to agree to all of it.” My sister refused to be upset. “They got the bill of rights.”

“They deserved something.” My tone did not tell her, in the least, the way I felt, and we closed that conversation without her reminding me of my impatience and lack of faith.

On November 25, one month before our days off at Christmas, a terrible thing happened. We were finishing up in the orchards and with other odds and ends when I heard an argument between Zach and the master. Suddenly the master took his rifle from his saddle and handed it to his white foreman. While the foreman held the gun, the master beat Zach in the face and across the head, and when Zach fell, he kicked him. We watched. I felt frightened and helplessly angry.

Then the master called the constable, who took Zach away and put him in prison. We didn’t know what to do or where to go to see him. So each night we added Zach to our prayers along with all the others we knew wearing the yoke.