A New Beginning: My Journey with Addy

I realize that after our experience with the slave catcher and the woman in the hat, avoiding another crowd sounds smart. I suggest we skip the puppet show this time and go see Sarah instead. Addy looks relieved.

Addy leads me down a narrow passage into an alley darker and smellier than the one behind her own building. We step around piles of trash, and I hold my nose as we pass the privy. Clotheslines stretch overhead, with dozens of shirts and skirts hanging. I can barely see Sarah through the dark shadows. She’s pulling clothes down from one of the clotheslines, too high for Sarah to reach without a struggle.

As we pick our way through a cold puddle, a little water soaks through a hole in my boot and I yelp. Sarah’s voice calls out of the dim light, edged with fear, asking who’s coming.

Addy calls back that it’s just her, and Sarah sounds relieved once she spots us. The front of her coat is soaked through, and her hands look red and chapped from the wet wash.

We were hoping Sarah would already be done for the day, but she still has more ironing ahead, and more wash waiting after that. She won’t make it to school tomorrow. Addy asks, wistfully, if she’s sure, and Sarah only nods. Addy offers to bring the lessons by after school instead. We say our goodbyes, and Sarah turns back to the laundry line as we head out of the alley.

I ask Addy about Sarah’s job as we go. It’s a hard one, Addy tells me. Sarah’s family boils the wash in big cauldrons, awful hot work, especially in the summer, and in winter the same water turns her hands to ice. I think of our washing machine at home and can’t imagine boiling laundry by hand.

Addy says sadly that Sarah might not stay in school too much longer. I can’t believe it. Addy explains that in freedom, everything costs money, and sometimes everybody in a family has to work just to get by. I don’t always love studying myself, but I’ve never once had to choose between school and helping my family survive.

She admits, more quietly, that she’s thought about it too. Wait. Is Addy thinking about dropping out of school herself?

I tell her she loves school, and I mean it. Miss Dunn even thinks Addy could be a teacher one day. Addy admits she doesn’t want to leave, but she’s been turning the idea over anyway. If she worked full-time, she could bring in more delivery tips and maybe pick up a second job. They could finally afford the lamp Momma has been wanting, and then Momma could take on more sewing at night.

I point out that the lamp is supposed to help her with her own homework. Addy only sighs and says maybe it would be better to work now and go back to school later. I decide right then that I cannot let this happen, even though I have no idea yet how to talk her out of it. Addy asks me not to say anything to Momma, since she doesn’t want to upset her before she’s figured out what to do. Then don’t do this, I think, following Addy past Mrs. Ford’s dark dress shop and up the garret steps.

The garret feels warm after the chill of the alley, the stove lit and a candle flickering on the table. Addy and I peel off our hats and shawls, and that’s when we both notice there are three chairs set out instead of two. Addy asks her momma where the other chair came from. Mrs. Walker explains that Mrs. Ford let her carry one up from the shop since we have company tonight, and she tells us to sit and rest a minute after our errands.

Addy launches right into the afternoon, describing the biggest kitchen either of us has ever seen and all the fine, tall houses on our delivery route, so different from the nearly empty room where we’re all sitting now. Mrs. Walker listens closely, asking questions and exclaiming over every detail as she starts supper. I don’t say very much myself, content just to listen to Addy and her momma talk back and forth. It reminds me of home, before Mom went back to school and Dad got his new job. I’d help Dad cook and tell them about my day, and we’d trade stories over dinner. I really miss that.

But wait. Aren’t Gran and Grandpa the ones cooking and listening now? My family has changed, but the love underneath it hasn’t. Mom and Dad still listen, whether it’s over a phone call or after Mom gets home from class. I finally understand that the only person who wasn’t letting the change be fun… was me.

Mrs. Walker asks if we’d wash up and help her make the biscuits. I tell her that my mom makes special biscuits at Thanksgiving. Mrs. Walker nods and smiles, and tells me that in her family, they give thanks every day. I know that once I’m back home, I will from now on too.