Send a comment to the author Providence wasn't a bad place. It was colorful, and in more than one way. Against the background of finely-dressed beggars and raw lumber and fish, green palm trees sprouted up along the streets. The sunsets here were vividly red, tinting everything with the color of life. Parrots would shriek overhead as they flicked from tree to tree, creating rainbow flashes as they passed; I was never certain whether they were pets of sailors who frequented the streets and waters, or simply wild beasts come to town to feast on the bounty humans brought. I didn't really care. Parrots are pretty, but they make messes and bite fingers. I preferred the little yellow canaries and the jewel-like hummingbirds that hovered around the honeysuckle and red trumpet flowers in the back garden. And it was even better now that James was avoiding me. After I put him in his place, he started to stay away from home every evening, coming in quite late, his late nights gradually moving into early mornings. Sometimes he smelled of another woman or alcohol as he lurched across the floor, and on rare occasions when he tried to kiss me when he stank, I easily fought him off, and he went to sleep quickly muttering and cursing. It wasn't sport to him once he knew he could not master me. Aside from the few times I approached him, we had no relations as man and wife. After only a couple of months, I ceased even this, for I grew tired of him cringing away. I can't say I was happy about it. I had grown used to carnal pleasures, and being deprived made me grumpy. But I preferred this to the alternative of submitting to him in his way. I needed no companion otherwise. Pierre was a safe and amiable friend. He put me to work after a while, giving me a few pennies for stitching ribbons onto his infernal hats -- not my favorite job, but not slopping hogs either. We sat on his front porch almost every day it wasn't stormy, chatting and stitching, to watch the unique world of Providence go by, to feel the mist and humidity rise up with the daily afternoon showers, to watch the magical sunsets down by the bay. It was a lively world. Pierre taught me to distinguish pirates from ordinary seamen, to tell the heathen and exotic Chinee from the mysterious natives from New Spain. These Indians were slaved to the Spanish dons who came by, haughty and silent. Sometimes Frenchmen would swish past as well, their gaudy clothing and red-heeled shoes no more nor less vibrant than the cloud of perfume and spice that inevitably followed in their wake. Better, I thought, than the smell of rotting fish that surrounded some of the Englishmen, or of the tannery that sat exiled beyond the city limits. One of these Frenchmen was Pierre's lover. When Gaston was in town, Pierre would close his shop, dropping the heavy top shutter over the windows and locking the doors. That was when I started to wander the streets. I did not mind Pierre's inclinations, but I did mind the noise. Our neighborhood, beyond the millinery, was quiet. Across the way, Rachel the sea captain's wife nursed her infant. Pierre had whispered to me one day that the captain had been away for over two years, and no one expected that he'd return. In fact, it would be a blessing if he did not, for the baby was not a year old yet. But a woman had to eat, and she had been left without any means of support, poor thing. Next door to her was the town's only doctor, a man with one leg and a crutch and a mustache like a caterpillar. He was always kind enough to me, but I did not like the way he gazed at me, hungrily like a wolf, and I shied away from him. But I did not shy away from the establishment on the corner. It was one of the dozen taverns in town, the Pretender's Head, with a fine painting of the Bonnie Prince on it. This one I liked. Seamen who came here had names like Rabbie and Conn and Sean, and they were big-boned and loud. They reminded me of my father when they spoke. I did not expect to miss Da when I left, but I did. And I still do. I spent hours thinking on him, silently. How he taught me with patience and care how to stay on my horse. How he wept when my dog Jewel was killed in a hunt. The gruff and embarrassed way he took me shopping for underthings when I started to become a woman, after Mama was dead. He had been both father and mother to me, and I missed him dreadfully. But I could not give up the freedom I had found, this surprise gift where I thought none would be found. Though I could scarcely put food on the table, though I was married to a no-good man just as Da said, though I lived in two tiny rooms with no servants, I could not but be grateful for my life. For the first time in my life I was free. I was not mistress, nor daughter, and only barely wife. I had no responsibility to our slaves, nor did I need to maintain a grand manor. I was never still, I was never bored, I was never paraded before suitors. Though my life was not easy, it was different, adventurous, and I loved it. |
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