“It must be settled before winter,” Rosetta said, and his sons agreed.
“Pipes will freeze up unless someone is in the house.”
So they packed the furniture—the piano—his books. It was a twelve-room house. They looked at each other in dismay. What were his plans? What to put in all those rooms?
“Buy what is needed.” His voice was tired. He went into his room, closing the door softly behind him.
Meanwhile, Robert Ingersoll had moved to Washington. In spite of the many demands of his meteoric career he sought out Douglass, invited him to his home, sent him books.
“She was so happy, Douglass.” Ingersoll laid his hand on the older man’s arm. “Think of that. I wish—” He stopped and for a moment a shadow crossed his face. He was thinking of his brother. Then he said softly, “Blessed is the man who knows that through his own living he has brought some happiness into life.”
Gradually Douglass’ work reclaimed him. Nothing had been neglected at the office. Helen Pitts was now a Senior Clerk there. Everyone had cooperated in seeing that the work went on. His unfailing courtesy had endeared him to the whole staff.
He stopped in several times during winter for tea with Miss Amelia. The little old lady, grown very frail, kept a special biscuit “put by” for him. Jack Haley came in once and joined them. He kept Douglass talking quite late, for even after all these years Jack recalled the first long nights of his own loneliness.
Then the Supreme Court declared the Civil Rights Act of 1875 unconstitutional, and Frederick Douglass leaped into the fray.
He called a protest mass meeting at Lincoln Hall.