A New Beginning: My Journey with Addy

I’m not in my room anymore. I’m standing outside on a wooden pier, and an enormous ship looms next to me. My pajamas are gone. Somehow I’m dressed in a faded gown, black lace-up boots, wool stockings, and a scratchy shawl tied under my chin. A gust of wind sweeps past, and I shiver. Whatever I’m wearing isn’t warm enough for this cold.

Wherever I am, boats and people crowd the waterfront in every direction. The ships look old-fashioned, built entirely of wood, with huge sails overhead. Workers scurry beneath swinging crates as they unload cargo from the ships. A steady stream of passengers starts down one gangplank. Most of the women wear full skirts and fancy bonnets, and the men wear long coats and tall black hats. But some of the passengers are wearing clothes as worn as mine. They’re all the African American passengers. Some of them are elderly, and some are just children. They look around aimlessly, not quite sure what’s going on.

A horse-drawn wagon stops at the end of the pier. An older man in a suit climbs down from the front of the wagon. A group of people hop off the back of the open bed after him. The first man waves toward the ship, and then at me, but I’m not ready to talk to anyone yet, so I duck behind some crates.

Peeking around the crates, I notice a girl about my age standing near the wagon. She wears a blue dress, worn boots, and a faded shawl like mine, but her smile is warm and easy. The group from the ship starts moving toward the wagon, and the people from the wagon rush to meet them. They shake hands and hug each other like long-lost friends.

I’m so confused. Where am I? What’s going on? The only thing that feels familiar is the coin, still clutched in my hand. I remember rubbing my thumb across the raised date, and everything after that turns dizzy. I rub the coin again, and then feel a similar cold breeze.

I blink, and I’m back in my bedroom, still wearing my polka-dot pajamas and holding the two-cent piece. Grandpa’s coin box sits on my desk exactly where I left it. Water runs in the bathroom, and Gran asks Grandpa if he wants a cup of coffee. Everything is the same as the moment I left, as though no time passed here at home at all.

I almost shout out loud before I catch myself. I stare at the coin in my palm. Whatever just happened to me is real, and this coin caused it somehow. I sink onto my bed, puzzled but amazed, and wonder if I can travel back again. I have no idea where I went. Finding out feels more important than any grounding I might get for failing that test. I decide I can always come home whenever I want, so there’s no real risk in trying.

I squeeze the coin tightly, and then when nothing happens, remember that I need to rub the coin. I do so, and then my fingers start to tingle in that same strange way. I’m not scared this time. I’m excited.

In an instant I’m back on the pier, crouched behind the crates, dressed in the same gown and shawl as before. Before anything else, I check that the coin is still with me, since it’s my only way home. I tear a strip of fabric from the edge of my shawl and wrap the coin inside it, knotting the cloth tight. Then I tuck the little bundle into my dress pocket.

I peek around the crates again, and the girl with the warm smile is still there by the wagon. Good. I step out and start weaving through the crowd toward her. I’m almost there when I bump into a man in one of those tall black hats. He rounds on me like I’ve insulted him and snaps that Colored folks like me should remember our place. His voice is sharp enough that I jump back. It was only an accident, and I don’t understand his fury. I don’t know why he calls me “Colored” either. That’s a not-so-nice word for Black people.

No one around us seems to notice what just happened. I touch the coin through my pocket and remind myself I can leave anytime I want. That steadies me enough to keep walking.

Through the crowd I spot the girl again. She’s wrapping a blanket around the shoulders of a thin woman sitting in the back of the wagon. When she turns and catches my eye, she calls out a cheerful greeting and welcomes me to Philadelphia.

Philadelphia. So that’s where I am. I walk closer to the wagon, and the girl tells me her name is Addy Walker. She tells me I’m welcome to freedom, and I repeat the word back, confused. Addy takes both my hands and tells me I’m not enslaved anymore.

But I was never enslaved, I think to myself. Then I remember Grandpa’s coins and his stories about the Civil War. Slavery ended when the war did, though plenty of people escaped before that. Did Charley’s coin send me back to Philadelphia during the war itself?

Addy tells me I’m safe now. She and the others are from the Freedom Society at her church, Trinity A.M.E. They come to the pier to meet people who are newly free and help them settle into the city. I thank her, still a little lost. She asks who I’m with, glancing around for whoever might be watching over me. Another gust of wind hits us, and my teeth chatter before I manage an answer. I tell her, honestly, that no one is with me. I’m alone.

Addy’s eyes widen at that. Her own family is separated too, but at least she made it here with her momma. She still misses her poppa, her brother, Sam, and her baby sister, Esther, every single day. She says that kind of missing never really goes away.

Hearing that Addy is missing people too catches me off guard. None of my friends back home understand missing someone that way. But something in her voice tells me she really does. I want to know everything about her, and about her family. But before I can ask, Addy points toward the man in the suit. She tells me that’s Reverend Drake. He helps a few of the older travelers into the back of the wagon, then climbs up front and takes the reins. They’re heading back to the church now, and Addy tells me to come along.

The two of us follow the wagon on foot, sticking close together on a sidewalk crowded with people. Philadelphia feels enormous compared to my hometown, and I feel small next to it. Every woman we pass wears a huge, swishy skirt. The sidewalk is barely wide enough for two of them to pass, let alone anyone trying to get around them. I find myself wondering how anyone manages to sit down in a dress like that. Part of me wants to try one on just to see.

At the corner we stop at the edge of a busy street clogged with horses pulling wagons and carts. There’s no way to cross until the traffic clears, so I look at the shops lining the block instead. One sells baskets and brooms. Another looks like a fish market. There’s a gun repair shop and a butcher beside it too. Farther down sits what might be a women’s clothing store, with gloves and shawls in the window and strange bell-shaped wire cages hanging above the door. I have no idea what those cages are for. I want a closer look, but the shop sits only halfway down the block.

Addy is already pointing the other way, where a crowd is gathering on the next street over. She tells me it’s soldiers marching off to war, and asks if I want to go watch. She says we could still catch up to Reverend Drake and the wagon in just a minute.

I glance between the soldiers and the shop with its curious little cages, not sure which I want to see more.