Charleston, South Carolina July 1860
Grady sat on the carriage seat, gazing at the enormous crowd that filled the city plaza and the side streets all around it. Red, white, and blue bunting draped a raised platform where a brass band played and a group of white men gave speeches. They were going to elect another president of the United States in the fall, and Massa Fuller was so worried about it that he’d made Grady drive him all the way to Charleston so he could hear all these speeches and meet with other worried plantation owners. Grady had overheard Massa talking about “that slave lover, Abraham Lincoln,” and how they had to stop him from becoming president.
“We must fight to keep our way of life,” one of today’s speakers had shouted from the platform, “our right to live as we please.” Grady knew what he really meant: the right to keep slaves.
The July day felt as hot as a blacksmith’s forge, the humid air suffocating. The side street where Grady had parked the carriage offered little shade. He climbed down from the driver’s seat and fastened the reins to the hitching rail, then glanced around for a shadier place to stand. A small group of slaves had gathered beneath a tree, nearby, laughing and visiting with each other while they waited for their masters, but Grady didn’t feel like joining them. He wanted to get as far away from the music as he possibly could, away from the bitter memories it evoked. But he didn’t dare stray too far from his horses.
He stepped behind the carriage and stretched his arms, gently easing the soreness from his neck and shoulders. His back was still stiff and barely healed from the whipping, the new skin tight and tender to the touch, especially where his shirt rubbed against it. The lash wounds had festered in spite of Delia’s best efforts, and Grady had been feverish for several days before his back finally began to heal. Only in the last week or so had he been strong enough to drive again.
A sudden movement caught his eye. Grady saw a slender young slave woman climb down from her carriage and cross the street behind him, heading toward the sparse shelter of a gardenia bush. He watched her, admiring the sway of her hips, the tilt of her head, the way her shapely body moved when she walked. Even dressed in worn homespun, she walked as gracefully as the fancy white ladies did in their silk gowns and jewels. Something about her seemed familiar to Grady, although he was sure he’d never seen her before. He watched her and slowly realized what it was. His mother had moved that way, like water flowing between rocks or branches swaying in the breeze.
The woman sat down on a low stone wall with her back to Grady and reached into her apron pocket to pull out something. He couldn’t see what it was. He moved closer and discovered that she was unfolding a piece of paper. She spread it out on her lap and began to write on it with a stubby pencil. The sight of a slave with paper and pencil was so unusual that he edged closer until he was practically peering over her shoulder. To his surprise, she wasn’t writing words at all, she was drawing a picture.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
The woman jumped and her pencil fell to the ground. She clutched her chest as if to keep her heart from escaping.
“Sorry,” Grady said. He quickly stooped to retrieve the pencil. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s okay.” She smiled uncertainly as he handed it back to her. She was very pretty, with wide, dark eyes and a slender, ovalshaped face. He found himself at a loss for words.
“My massa’s over at the rally, listening to the speeches,” he finally said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “There ain’t much to do except stand around and wait, is there?”
“I know. My missy ain’t needing me, either, so I thought I’d try and draw that church over there. It’s real pretty, ain’t it?”
Grady shrugged. “I guess so. Mind if I watch you?”
“I don’t care.” Her voice was as soft as cotton.
He sat down on the wall beside her, careful to leave a space between them so he wouldn’t frighten her again. He was curious about the paper and pencil—white folks were usually too suspicious of literate slaves to allow them to have such things. He was about to ask her where she got them and if her mistress knew about them, but he decided it was none of his business. He watched in fascination as the church took shape on the page, the pillars and windows and towering steeple as perfectly proportioned as the real one in front of him.
“My name’s Grady. What’s yours?” he asked.
She took a long moment to answer, totally absorbed in adding the tree that shaded the front of the church. “Kitty,” she replied absently.
He made a face in disgust. She was much too pretty to have such a stupid name, an animal’s name. She should be called something lovely and graceful. His mother’s name was Tessie, and it seemed to fit the elegant way she tossed her head with laughter or swished her skirts when she walked. Grady was a little awed by this woman, who not only reminded him of his mother, but who could bring a tree to life on paper before his eyes. She was no ordinary slave.
“You making that picture for a reason?” he asked.
“Nope, just for me. I like to draw. I wish I had some paint, though. See the way the sun’s shining on them stones? Makes them look like they’re made of gold, don’t you think?”
Grady hadn’t noticed the color, before, but she was right, the glow of golden sunlight on the beige stones was very beautiful. “Yeah, I guess it does,” he said. He wondered if she noticed colors and itched to paint things the same way he used to hear a new melody and itch to play it on his fiddle. He gazed into the distance 139 and felt a sudden surge of anger at white men for destroying his enjoyment of music.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why’d your face turn mad all of a sudden?”
She had stopped drawing to study him. “Nothing,” he said.
“Just thinking about something else. Where’d you learn to draw?”
“Nowhere. My missy used to take painting lessons but she hated them. She was always letting me paint the pictures for her, and everybody’s thinking they were hers.” Kitty laughed as if the deception was very funny. It made Grady mad.
“That’s typical. Slaves do all the work and the white folks take all the credit.”
“Oh, it don’t matter,” she said with a wave of her hand. The gesture was so lovely that he wished she would do it again. “I like fixing Missy’s paintings. She give me all her leftover paper, too.”
Grady wondered what was wrong with him. By now he’d usually be sweet-talking a woman this pretty, trying to make her fall in love with him so he could steal a few kisses. Was it the memory of Delia’s words and the fear of God’s punishment that stopped him? Or was he still just too angry after what had happened to him to be able to smile and flirt and sweet-talk the way he used to?
“There. What do you think?” she asked, holding up the picture.
“It’s really good. If you had white skin you could be a famous artist.” She didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring intently at his face, studying him.
“What? Why’re you staring at me like that?” he asked.
“Can I draw you?” she asked with a shy smile.
“Why?”
“I like the lines of your face. You have such a proud jaw.” She traced his chin with her finger. It was a tender gesture but not at all flirtatious. “And your eyes—they’re like lumps of charcoal with the fire deep inside them.”
“Go ahead, I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. She unnerved him, but he determined not to show it. He’d never posed for a picture before and didn’t know quite how to do it. He folded his arms stiffly across his chest, waiting while she turned the paper over to the blank side. She studied him again for a long moment, then began to sketch. It made him uneasy the way she kept looking up at him, looking down, looking up again, the pencil scratching across the page. She had delicate hands, the bones as fragile as a bird’s.
A long time seemed to pass. Neither of them spoke. Grady heard music in the distance again, drums pounding and the blare of a brass band as they played another song. He recognized the tune—“Dixie’s Land.” He’d played it on the fiddle before. He wished he could run from the music, and from the image it brought to mind of his fellow slaves being forced to dance as he fiddled.
“There. Want to see?” Kitty asked with a tentative smile. She didn’t seem to know how pretty she really was. All of the goodlooking girls that Grady knew weren’t afraid to flaunt their beauty and take advantage of it, flirting with every boy in sight. But Kitty had an innocence that was as unusual as she was.
“Here.” She turned the picture around and handed it to him.
Grady drew a harsh breath. He recognized the likeness immediately—the stern, unsmiling features, the haughty, squared jaw. But it wasn’t his own face that he saw on the stark, white paper—it was Massa Fletcher’s. The face he hated. Kitty had drawn Grady with his arms folded, a frown on his face—the same pose, the same expression Massa Fletcher had worn on the day he’d sold Grady. For a long moment, he couldn’t seem to breathe.
Delia had tried to tell him that his father was a white man, but Grady had refused to accept the truth, refused to acknowledge the resemblance he saw in the mirror every day. But as he stared at the portrait Kitty had drawn, he could no longer deny the bitter truth. His father was Massa Fletcher. His father had sold him—his own son—to a slave trader.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it? Please don’t be mad. I-I’m sorry.” She pulled it out of his hand and hid it against her bosom. “I’ll tear it up.”
“No, don’t. It ain’t your fault.” He hadn’t meant to upset her. He reached to stop her from destroying the portrait and saw that his hand was shaking. “The picture is very good … but …”
“What? Tell me.”
“It reminds me of … of my father.”
“Would you like to keep it?” She held out the drawing again, uncertainly. “I wish I could remember what my daddy looked like.”
“No!” he shouted. “I don’t want to remember him! I hate him!”
His voice made her jump. She drew back. Grady glanced around and saw other people turning to stare at him. He scrambled to his feet. He wanted to run, but no matter how far he went, he would never escape the truth.
“Look, Kitty. I’m sorry. I—” He couldn’t finish. Grady strode toward his carriage without looking back.
“Ouch! Stop brushing so hard!” Missy Claire said.
“Sorry, Missy. But I’m afraid if I don’t pull your hair tight, it’ll all be falling down again.” Missy’s thin hair was difficult to fix, and Kitty knew she was running out of time. She’d already heard a carriage pull to a stop out front and voices in the foyer as Missy’s gentleman caller came to the door. Missus Goodman would be rushing into the bedroom any minute, hollering for Kitty to hurry up.
She slid the last hair comb into place and gave Missy the hand mirror so she could see the back. “No, I don’t want to wear those ivory hair combs,” Claire said. “They don’t match my reticule. Take them out.”
“But if I take them out, Missy Claire, your hair’s gonna all fall down for sure. You don’t want that, do you? Then I’ll have to start all over again, and it sounds like your gentleman friend’s already here.”
Claire reached up and yanked out the combs. “Don’t argue with me. Do it again.”
“Yes, Missy.”
Kitty wasn’t surprised when Missy’s mama hurried into the room a few minutes later. And she knew before Missus Goodman said a single word that she was going to get the blame for making Missy late.
“Kitty! What on earth is taking you so long? Quit dawdling and finish Claire’s hair. Roger Fuller is here, and we mustn’t keep him waiting.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m hurrying, ma’am.” Kitty swallowed her frustration and drew the brush through Claire’s hair.
“Ouch! Not so hard!” Missy complained.
“I need to have a word with you alone, Claire.” Missus Goodman sat down in the slipper chair, her expression serious. Kitty continued her task, knowing that she really didn’t need to leave the room, in spite of Missus Goodman’s words. White people talked in front of their slaves all the time as if they were blind or deaf or weren’t even there.
“Everyone knows that Roger Fuller is looking for a wife,” Missy’s mother began. “There has been a wild scramble among the eligible ladies to catch his eye these past few months. Your father and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that you should be his next wife.”
“Isn’t he a little old for me, Mother? His son Ellis is eighteen, the same age as I am.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’ve been told by a very knowledgeable source that Roger is quite interested in you. In fact, you’re one of the reasons he’s been hanging around Charleston this summer instead of returning to Beaufort. He thinks you’re beautiful.”
Claire smiled at her own reflection in the mirror. “Really? He said that?”
“Yes, dear, he did. Now, your father and I agree that you would do well to marry a man who is already so well established in life. Younger men can be careless with their money, gambling it away or chasing loose women. They can be stingy, too. Roger Fuller may be a little older than you are, but he’s settled and secure. He runs his business interests very wisely and is highly respected all across South Carolina. I know that he was quite generous to his first wife. She was always dressed in the latest fashions and had the best of everything money could buy. You’ll be set for life, Claire.”
Missy Claire gazed into the distance, smiling faintly, as if already picturing herself in rubies and silks. Kitty knew how hard Missy had been chasing for a wealthy husband these past three years. Kitty had seen a lot of suitors come and go, but this was the first time she’d ever heard Missy’s parents say that they’d made up their minds.
“In that case, I’ll be so charming he’ll want to marry me before Christmas,” Claire said with a smile.
“Good girl.” Missus Goodman patted Missy’s shoulder and rose to her feet. “Hurry down now, dear. You don’t want to keep Roger waiting.”
Kitty quickly finished Missy’s hair, then followed her downstairs to the drawing room. She watched Missy from a discreet distance, curious to see this man she had suddenly decided to marry. Mr. Fuller was elegantly dressed but not especially handsome—his skin and hair, like Missy’s, were much too pale. His face looked very kind, though. Kitty had seen him here before; he had visited the Goodman home on several occasions.
When she was certain that Claire no longer needed her, Kitty crept through the servants’ door and hurried outside to the kitchen for her own dinner. She was crossing the yard when she happened to notice Mr. Fuller’s carriage and team of horses parked nearby. Tending them was a young slave dressed in livery, a man she was certain she had seen before, too. She paused to watch him and realized that he was the young man whose portrait she had drawn on the day of the political rally.
His skin was the lightest shade of brown Kitty had ever seen on a slave, like a buttermilk hotcake that was baked just right. Up close, his eyes had been as dark and rich as blackstrap molasses. No, darker—like charcoal. She recalled the fire blazing in them, like hot embers. She’d hung the picture she had drawn of him on the wall beside her bed, although she didn’t know why. And now, here he was.
He looked up and saw her, too. “Hey, you’re Kitty—the girl who draws pictures—aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied, surprised that he’d remembered. “I know you told me your name the last time, but I forgot it. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s Grady.” He was very handsome, and as strong and solid as the horses he drove. Just watching him saunter across the yard toward her made Kitty’s knees feel like bacon melting and curling in a frying pan.
“I ran off kind of sudden the last time,” he said. “Want to try again?”
“T-try what?”
“Talking. You know, getting acquainted with each other.”
“Sure. Okay.” Why was her heart beating so strangely? Maybe it was because nobody had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her, like she was a fancy cake and he was licking his chops, ready to dig in. Kitty didn’t get to meet many male slaves her own age. White folk usually chose older men for their house servants, sending the younger, stronger slaves like Grady out to work in the fields all day.
“You work here?” Grady asked, gesturing to the town house.
“I’m Missy Claire’s chambermaid,” she replied, proud of her position as a house servant. “You must’ve come here with Mr. Fuller, the man who’s courting my missy.”
“I’m his coachman.”
Kitty was impressed. Coachman was an important position. “You look awful young for a driver.”
“I’m good at what I do.” He studied her for a long moment and his smile broadened. “You know what? I been driving Massa Fuller all over the place, from Beaufort to Charleston and back again, but you’re the prettiest chambermaid I ever did see.”
Kitty had no idea what to say. The melting sensation that had started with her knees seemed to be spreading all through her. As much as she enjoyed these exciting new feelings, they were much too sudden and overwhelming. She needed to break the hold this stranger had over her.
“Y-you want to come in the kitchen and get a bite to eat with me?” she asked, trying to regain her balance. She barely recognized her own voice.
“No. I’d rather sit out here and look at you.” Grady smiled, as if he knew exactly how handsome he was. His self-confidence unnerved her.
“Well, I need to eat a quick bite,” she said. “Then I have to go back inside in case Missy needs me.”
He looked disappointed. “Will I see you later?”
Kitty didn’t know how to answer. Yes sounded like a promise and no like she was mad at him or something. “I-I don’t know… .” She gave him a weak smile and fled into the kitchen.
Before long, Massa Fuller and Missy Claire were courting all the time, and Kitty bumped into Grady nearly every day. It seemed like everywhere she and Missy Claire went, Grady and Massa Fuller were there, too. While their owners attended political rallies, receptions, dinner parties, and the theater, Kitty and Grady spent a lot of time waiting. And it seemed like every chance that he got, Grady would try to sit close to her and look into her eyes and say sweet things to her. As much as Kitty enjoyed the attention, it still made her uneasy. She wasn’t sure how to react, so she carried her paper and pencil everywhere, quickly sketching something before he could distract her with his sweet talk. He liked to watch her draw. And he also liked to fuss over his horses—brushing them, rubbing them down, making sure their harnesses weren’t rubbing or their legs getting sore. One Sunday morning, while Kitty and Grady waited outside the white folks’ church, she decided to sketch one of Grady’s horses.
“Hey, that’s Blaze,” he said, peering over her shoulder. “You drew that patch of white on his forehead perfectly.”
“You like them horses a lot, don’t you? And they like you, too.
I can tell.”
Grady reached up to rub Blaze’s neck, then patted his shoulder affectionately. “They’re my babies … ain’t you?”
“Must be nice driving all around, seeing new things. Missy and me travel from the plantation to Charleston and back, twice a year, but I ain’t seeing much else.”
“I saw all of the world that I ever want to see before Massa Fuller bought me.” Grady’s smile vanished and his face went rigid. He was suddenly angry, his mood changing as swiftly as it had on the first day she’d met him. Kitty was never sure what would spark his anger, why some topics would touch off a fire inside him like a match to straw. Rage would shudder through him until he looked as though he might burst into flames.
“Your massa gonna marry Missy Claire?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“He ain’t telling me his plans. Why?”
“Missy’s wanting to marry him real bad. She and her mama say he has a lot of money and a nice big house.”
“Maybe I should warn Massa that she’s chasing after his money.”
“Please don’t do that! You’ll get me in trouble and—” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “I was joking, Kitty.”
“I really didn’t mean to make Missy sound so greedy. I been with her since we was little girls, and she’s really very nice. Sometimes she gives me things when she’s done with them, and—”
“Don’t defend her. And you shouldn’t have to be content with her leftovers. You ought to be the lady of the house, with servants waiting on you. You’re the prettiest girl in South Carolina.” Grady smiled. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Lots of gals in this city, but … umm um … you’re the prettiest one.”
Kitty shivered at his touch. Nobody in the whole world had ever told her she was pretty. Then the sound of the church organ drifted through the open windows, breaking the spell. The service was nearly over. Kitty stood, putting her sketch away, and backed out of Grady’s reach. As she waited for her mistress to emerge from the church, Kitty wasn’t sure which frightened her more: Grady’s unpredictable anger or his attempts to get close to her.
She saw him again a few days later, when he and Mr. Fuller came to Missy Claire’s house for dinner. The party lasted until late at night, and though part of Kitty longed to go outside and talk to Grady, part of her was grateful when Missy Claire insisted that she stay near the dining room. After dinner, the men retired to Massa Goodman’s study for drinks and the ladies went outside to the piazza for air. Missy signaled to Kitty.
“Go down to the kitchen and fetch me a cup of mint tea. My stomach is all aflutter tonight.”
“Yes, Missy.” Kitty had noticed the way Mr. Fuller hovered close to Missy, gazing into her eyes and whispering things to her. If Missy felt the same way Kitty did when Grady stood real close and whispered things, it was no wonder she needed tea for her stomach.
Outside, the backyard was so bright that Kitty could see her faint shadow. A full moon shone overhead, luminous and golden, lighting up the feathery clouds that surrounded it. She wandered toward the side yard so she could see it better through the trees. A moment later, Grady appeared by her side.
“I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” he whispered. “Where’ve you been all day?”
“Look at that!” she said, pointing to the sky. “Did you ever see such a beautiful moon? It looks like it’s made of gold, and the clouds are all made of silver. I love this time of night, don’t you? When the sky is deep, deep blue—almost purple?”
He laughed. “You’re always showing me colors and things I never would of noticed otherwise.”
“That’s because you’re always looking down, Grady. You’re gonna miss a lot of pretty things that way.”
“Kitty?”
She turned to face him. He rested his hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer. Grady’s hands were large and strong and warm. They felt good caressing her. She loved the way he smelled, like leather and horses and soap. She looked up into his eyes—darker than the sky—and saw the moon reflected in them. He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his body, but for once she didn’t want to back away. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to.
“Kitty!” Missy Claire shouted.
Kitty stepped out of Grady’s arms and whirled around. Missy stood on the porch above her, leaning over the railing.
“What are you doing out there, you stupid girl? I told you to hurry back!”
“I’m really sorry, Missy. I was just getting the tea, like you said, when I saw the moon and—”
“You weren’t supposed to stop and gaze at the moon! Can’t you do even the simplest thing right?”
“I’m sorry, Missy. I guess I didn’t think—”
“You never think! I swear there isn’t a brain in your head. Now, fetch my tea and get back in here!”
“Yes, Missy Claire. I’m fetching it.”
Grady followed her as she hurried across the yard to the kitchen. “I hate white people,” he murmured.
“Don’t say that. Missy sounds mad but she don’t mean it. She needs me.”
“That’s because she’d be helpless without you. You do all her dirty work.”
Kitty glanced at him, and the rage she saw in his eyes frightened her. For the first time she realized that the common thread to all of his angry outbursts was his hatred of white people.
“You needing something?” Cook asked as they entered the kitchen. She sat at the table with Bessie and Albert.
“Don’t get up,” Kitty said. “I can fetch it.” She quickly found a tray, a cup and saucer, and the teapot. Her fingers trembled as she crumbled mint leaves into the pot. She had to hurry. Grady watched her from the doorway, his arms folded. “Besides,” Kitty told him. “Missy’s right. It was stupid of me to forget what I come out for.”
“You’re not stupid, Kitty. Just because the white folks can force us to do what they say, it don’t mean they can force us to believe all their lies. You’re just as good as any white woman. She’s wrong to be talking to you that way all the time.”
Kitty paused to look up at him. “Why are you so angry?”
“I had a massa just like her, once. Treated me like I was an animal.”
“That don’t mean you have to hate all white people.”
“If you’d traveled with that slave trader and seen what I’ve seen, you’d hate them all, too. They rip our families apart and beat us to death, and they don’t even care!”
Kitty thought of her parents as she poured boiling water from the kettle. For a brief moment, she understood Grady’s rage. Then she pushed her anger and grief aside, determined to never think of that tragedy again. Sorrow would only make her life with Missy Claire much worse.
“Mr. Fuller don’t treat you bad, does he?” she asked Grady.
“No. But he thinks of me as his property, not a human being.”
“We are their property, Grady.”
He stalked out of the kitchen, banging the door behind him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Cook asked.
“I don’t know.” Kitty didn’t understand Grady at all. Why couldn’t he accept things the way they were instead of getting so angry? It didn’t change anything to get mad. She glanced around the yard on her way back to the house, but she didn’t see Grady. Then she hurried inside as quickly as she could without spilling the tea.
Every time Grady made up his mind to forget about Kitty he would run into her again, and his resolve would drain away like water into sand. The way she accepted her white missy’s abuse made him so angry he wanted to walk away and never look back. But then he would recall the night he’d almost kissed Kitty beneath the full moon, and he could hardly wait to see her again.
Kitty was different from all the other girls he’d been with—prettier, certainly—but something more. She was smart and alive and always seeing color and beauty in a world that Grady only saw as gray. She had a childlike quality, an innocence that touched his heart. Yet the way she defended her missy made him furious. He wanted to shake her, convince her to hold up her head in pride and stop making excuses for her. Why didn’t Kitty hate Missy’s guts the way he hated Coop and Fletcher and Fuller? Grady would help her see the truth. He would teach her to have pride in herself, to know she was just as good as any white woman. Slaves might have to play dumb in front of white people and act subservient, but inside, they were free to store up all the hatred they wanted to, just like Amos had taught him.
Grady saw Kitty often over the next few weeks, and they spent a lot of time talking as they waited for their masters. Grady was used to winning a woman’s affections very quickly and had never had trouble persuading a gal to sneak off behind the bushes with him. But Kitty was as skittish as a newborn colt. He’d been forced to pursue her more slowly than he’d ever pursued a woman before—and there had been no more opportunities for romance, like on the night of the full moon. Then, as the weeks passed and his master continued to court Kitty’s mistress, Grady realized that something else had been missing lately.
“How come I never see you drawing no more?” he asked as they sat side by side on the Goodmans’ back steps.
Kitty smiled her shy, embarrassed smile. “I finally ran out of paper. I made it last as long as I could. My pictures kept getting smaller and smaller,” she said with a little laugh, gesturing to show how tiny her pictures had become. “But I just can’t squeeze any more of them onto the pages. There ain’t even a tiny little corner left.”
“Does your missy know you’re all out of paper? Would she buy you some more?”
“Oh, she ain’t drawing pictures now that she’s chasing a husband. Only reason she give me paper the last time was because she’s throwing it out. I found it in the trash.”
“Ask her for some more, Kitty.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.” He saw fear in the slump of her shoulders and downcast eyes. It made him furious. He wanted to yell at her, but he held his tongue, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He would only scare her away.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna be drawing no more pictures,” he finally said, “do you think I could have one to keep? One you don’t want no more?”
“Why?”
“I never did see a slave who could draw like you do. Please? Just one?”
She seemed confused by the request, then her eyes suddenly brightened. “I know which one I can give you,” she said, leaping to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!” Grady hurried toward the slaves’ quarters behind her. “I’ll come with you. I’d like to see your room. I bet you got pictures hanging all over your walls, don’t you?” He rested his hand on the small of her back and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I don’t have nothing on my walls. I share the room with three other girls. You’d better stay here.”
He waited at the foot of the stairs, angry that Kitty always shied away from him. There were plenty of other girls he could be chasing here in Charleston. Why was he wasting his time with her?
When she came back with the picture, he remembered why.
Kitty was unlike any girl he’d ever met. She’d brought him the drawing of his favorite horse, Blaze.
“Here. Now I better go and see if Missy needs me,” she said. “Good night, Grady.”
When he parked the carriage in front of Massa’s hotel later that night, Grady pulled the drawing out of his pocket. “Can I show you something, Massa Fuller?” he asked as he opened the door for him. He handed Fuller the picture Kitty had drawn.
“This looks like my horse. This is Blaze. Where did you get this?”
“Missy Goodman’s chambermaid drew it. She likes to draw but she’s all out of paper. I was wondering if there’s some extra work I could be doing to make a little money on the side… . I’d like to buy her some more paper.”
Fuller smiled knowingly. “Are you sweet on her, Grady?”
“You know me, Massa. I got a gal on every plantation. But look how good that is. Shame she can’t be drawing any more, ain’t it?”
“Does Claire know her girl can do this?” he asked, handing back the drawing. “Why doesn’t she ask Claire?”
“Kitty’s a real shy gal, Massa. Afraid of her own shadow. Missy gave her this paper and a pencil, but Kitty would never dare ask for more. She won’t ask for nothing for herself.” Even as he explained the reason, it made Grady mad. He was asking his master for a favor. Begging him. Kitty had no backbone at all.
Fuller stared into the distance for a long moment, as if in thought. “I believe there’s a stationer’s shop down the block from Institute Hall,” he finally said. “After you drive me there for my meeting tomorrow, why don’t you buy your girlfriend some paper.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change, spilling it into Grady’s hand. Grady had never held money in his life. He had no idea how much he’d been given or how much paper it would buy.
“Thanks, Massa Fuller. Can I do something to repay you?”
Fuller grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t mind if word of this little favor got back to Miss Goodman. I’m very interested in impressing her, you know.”
“I’ll be sure and tell her chambermaid, Massa Fuller. I’ll tell her it come from you. Thanks, Massa Fuller.”
“Good luck with your own romance.”
Grady couldn’t wait to give Kitty the paper. Several days passed before he saw her again, and then it was at a fancy party at some white man’s house. Grady and Massa Fuller got there first; the Goodman family arrived later in their own carriage with Albert driving. Kitty had to follow her missy inside, but Grady managed to whisper to her on the steps, “Come back outside when you can. I have something for you.”
He had to stand around forever, waiting for her. Then, late in the evening she finally slipped outside for a moment. Kitty stared in disbelief when he handed her the sheaf of paper. “For … me? All of this?”
“Yeah. So you can draw some more pictures.”
She hugged the paper to her bosom and wept.
“Hey … Hey, don’t cry. You’ll get the paper all wrinkly.” Grady held her gently in his arms, unsure how she would react to his touch. She accepted his comfort for a long moment before pulling away, staring from Grady to the paper and back again as if afraid to believe him, afraid the treasure might disappear.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I showed Massa Fuller that picture you drew of his horse and he let me buy it for you.”
“Thank you, Grady! Thank you! Nobody ever did such a nice thing for me before.” She went into his arms willingly, hugging him tightly. Grady had hugged dozens of women before, but never one as fragile and vulnerable as Kitty. He was almost afraid to hug her too hard in return. But he hadn’t held a girl since his disastrous date with Rosie, the night he’d been whipped, and Kitty felt good in his arms, warm and soft in all the right places. Much too soon, she pulled away again.
“I’m gonna draw my first picture right now.”
She sat down on the carriage step beneath a street lamp and carefully tore one of the pages into four pieces, conserving it.
Grady watched. She was drawing a face, a woman’s face, and it soon became clear that it was a picture of Missy Claire.
“Why’re you drawing her?” he asked, frowning.
“You’ll see.”
That’s all she would say. When she finished, they stood side by side in the shadow of Grady’s carriage and waited for the dinner party to end. Kitty seemed so happy she nearly glowed. “Thank you, Grady. You made me so happy tonight.”
“I can see that.” He took her face in his hands. She had amazing eyes, the same color as chestnuts. He noticed colors in things now. Kitty had taught him that. He bent his head toward hers and kissed her. She responded so shyly and hesitantly, at first, that Grady soon realized she’d never been kissed before. He slowed down, enjoying her delight as she relaxed in his arms and returned his kisses.
Much too soon, the dinner party ended. The front door opened, and Massa Fuller emerged from the house with Missy Claire on his arm. The Goodmans were right behind them. Grady ran around to open the carriage door for Massa Fuller, while the Goodmans’ driver climbed down to help his owners. But before Massa Fuller had a chance to climb inside, Kitty hurried over to him.
“Thank you for buying me the paper,” she said. “I made this for you.” She gave him the drawing of Claire.
Grady was furious. Why was she thanking an ignorant white man who didn’t even care two cents about her? Buying the paper had been Grady’s idea. He was the one who had to lower himself to ask for the money. Kitty was always doing that, always bowing down and kissing the white folks’ feet. It made him sick.
“What is that?” Claire asked, leaning out of her carriage window. “What did she give you, Roger?”
Fuller held the picture out to her. “It’s a drawing of you, Claire. Look, it’s an excellent likeness.”
Missy Claire waved it away. “Yes, her little sketches always were amusing. Good night, Roger.”
Massa Fuller climbed into his own carriage. He was still staring at the picture in amazement as Grady closed the door. Grady was so angry he had to resist the urge to flog the horses into a wild gallop all the way down Meeting Street to the hotel.
Kitty sat on the driver’s seat beside Albert, hugging her new sheaf of paper. She had never felt happier in her life, not only because she had drawing paper again, but also because Grady had kissed her. She had never been kissed before, never even been held by a man, and she was sorry that the night had ended so soon. His kisses stirred up feelings inside her that she’d never felt before, and she wished she could have kissed him all night.
“You been hanging around with Massa Fuller’s coachman an awful lot,” Albert said as if reading her thoughts. He gave her a long, hard look before turning his attention back to the road. “I seen him kissing you,” he added.
Kitty’s face felt very warm. “Please don’t tell Missy Claire,” she whispered.
“You better watch yourself with him, girl. What’s his name?”
“Grady Fuller.”
“I been asking around about him. Some of them others say he has a girlfriend on every plantation from Beaufort to Charleston. His massa’s been courting all the white ladies, trying to find his self a wife, and meanwhile, that boy’s been loving up all their young slave gals. I hear he’s promising to marry at least a dozen gals by now. He promising you?”
“No …” But her face felt as if she was sitting in front of a blazing fireplace.
“Massa Fuller’s a gentleman. He won’t make no promises till he makes up his mind. But that young rascal boy of his is just taking advantage of silly young gals like you. He’s cocky as a rooster, and he’s collecting a whole yard full of hens. Mind he don’t play you for a fool.”
Was that why Grady had given her the paper? So that she’d fall into his arms? She remembered how willingly she’d kissed him—in fact her mouth was still tender from the crush of his lips and the stubble on his chin. She was glad Albert couldn’t see her flushed face in the dark.
“Thanks for telling me,” she mumbled.
“Yeah … well, watch you don’t get your heart broke,” he said.
The next time she ran into Grady, Kitty wasn’t so quick to fall into his arms or follow him into the shadows. He finally grew impatient with her for fending off his advances. “What’s wrong with you tonight, girl? Why’re you giving me the cold shoulder?”
“I’m very happy you gave me the paper, Grady. I’m real thankful for it… .”
“But … what? What’s the matter?”
She stared at the ground, embarrassed. “I hear I ain’t the only gal who’s been falling for your sugar.”
He lifted her chin so she had to face him. “How do I know who you’re seeing when I ain’t here?” he asked.
“Nobody—I ain’t seeing nobody.” Kitty wanted to stay angry and pull away, but he had a hold over her that she didn’t understand.
He tilted his head to one side and grinned. “You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe that the most beautiful gal in South Carolina ain’t got a dozen boyfriends? Uh uh. I ain’t believing that for one minute.”
“It’s true. You’re the only one, Grady. But from what I hear, there’s a whole hen house full of girls clucking around your feet.”
“Who’s feeding you all them stories?” The sudden rage in his eyes sent a chill of fear down her spine. Something inside Grady was like a wild animal, untamed and barely under his control. At times Kitty longed to soothe away the loss and the pain that she saw in his dark eyes. But then the anger would flare, as it did now, and she knew that she needed to run before she got hurt.
“Is it true?” she managed to say. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you ain’t sweet-talking a dozen other girls?”
“What’s so great about being the only one?” he asked, hiding his fury behind a smile. “It don’t matter to me if I’m the only man in your life.”
“Then all those things you said about me being the prettiest gal in the state—they was all lies?”
His smug grin faltered. “They weren’t lies. You are the prettiest one,” he said, and for just a moment, it was as if a mask had come off. The cocky, self-assured man melted away and she saw the real Grady, underneath. He was telling the truth.
Kitty didn’t know what to make of that. She had no experience with men, no knowledge on which to base her decisions, only Albert’s warning to be careful—and a deep, inner fear of being hurt. Her parents had fallen in love and it had led to sorrow.
“I have to go,” she said. “Missy might need me.”Walking away from him took more effort than Kitty would have ever guessed, starved as she was for love and affection. But Albert said Grady was playing her for a fool, and she didn’t want any part of that.
Grady watched her go, flatly refusing to run after her and beg. From now on he would stay far away from her. Let her sit by herself and sketch, if that’s what she wanted. What did he care? But he had told himself the same thing countless times before, and each time he’d been drawn back to her like a horse galloping the last mile home.
He cared about what Kitty thought of him. She hadn’t been just like all the others to him, another gal to win, another heart to conquer. She was different. It bothered him that she drew back in fear every time he allowed his anger to leak out. And it seemed like every time he was with her, something always made him angry—ever since the first day they’d met and she’d drawn his picture. He knew that he kept scaring her away, and he hated to see himself in her reaction, to glimpse himself the way she saw him—angry, bitter, filled with hatred.
Something was going on in his heart that Grady didn’t understand at all, something he didn’t want to happen. Maybe he was afraid to get close, just like Delia said—but that was a good thing. He certainly wasn’t going to limit himself to only one girl for the rest of his life. The only reason he’d pursued Kitty as long as he had was because Massa Fuller hadn’t been covering as much territory as he used to cover. This was the longest either of them had ever courted one woman. Well, maybe Massa Fuller was ready to limit himself, but Grady sure wasn’t, even if Kitty was the prettiest gal around. He was glad that she had walked away before she touched something deep inside him.
So why did Grady feel such a loss at the thought of never seeing her again? Why did it hurt so much to watch her walk away? Was it just his pride, his desire to win Kitty’s heart as he’d won all the others? To make matters worse, he kept running into Kitty all the time. He wished Massa Fuller would go back to the plantation or to Beaufort and stay away from Charleston for good. Grady decided to ask him about it when they reached their hotel that night.
“We going back home to Beaufort soon, Massa?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, we’re leaving next week.”
Grady sighed. Good. He wouldn’t have to see Kitty anymore. He could forget all about her, and once she was out of sight, any feelings he had toward her would quickly fade.
“But we’ll be returning right after the election,” Massa Fuller added.
“Returning to Charleston? When’s that election, Massa?”
“In November.” Fuller smiled slightly. “I’ve asked Claire Goodman to be my wife. We’re getting married this Christmas.”
The announcement upset Grady, but he didn’t know why. “That’s wonderful, Massa Fuller,” he said with a phony grin. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Grady watched Massa Fuller disappear into the Charleston Hotel, then drove the carriage around the block to the livery stable for the night. Did a chambermaid move to a new plantation with her mistress when she got married? He hoped not. He hoped so.
Grady wanted to punch somebody.