Fuller Plantation, South Carolina February 1862
On a cold, foggy winter morning, a small company of Confederate soldiers marched up the road to Massa Fuller’s door. “Oh, God,” Missy breathed when she saw them. “Not Roger … please …”
Kitty helped her mistress from her chair by the morning room fireplace, then ran to fetch a shawl for each of them. The new butler, Lewis, hurried to answer the door, but Kitty knew that Missy would want to go outside and talk to the soldiers herself. Her baby was due to be born any day, and she was so ungainly that she had to lean on Kitty’s arm wherever she went. She was also so irritable and short-tempered that Kitty sometimes wondered if chopping cotton down on Slave Row would be an easier job than working for Missy Claire.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fuller,” one of the soldiers said, sweeping off his hat, “I’m Captain Randolph. Sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but we’ve come for your horses.”
“My horses?”
“Yes, I’m afraid that the army needs them. I have a letter here from your husband, Colonel Fuller, authorizing us to requisition them.”
“You must be mistaken. My husband is a captain, not a colonel.”
“He received a field promotion, ma’am.” He removed a folded paper from his jacket as he spoke and handed it to Missy Claire. “You’ll be allowed to keep your farm mules for now,” the captain continued as Missy looked over the letter. “Your crops are very important to our cause, of course.”
Missy refolded the letter when she finished reading it. “Go fetch your husband,” she told Kitty.
“Yes, ma’am.” Kitty dreaded telling Grady. She knew how much he loved those horses. Now that he wasn’t driving Massa Fuller everywhere, he spent most of his time down in the stables taking care of them.
The fog seemed to muffle all the usual barnyard sounds and blur the outlines of the buildings as Kitty hurried down to the carriage house. The familiar landscape appeared alien and strange, like a scene drawn with a worn pencil, then smudged.
The brick stables and adjoining carriage house were neat and clean inside, pungent with the aroma of horses. The first time Grady had brought her here, Kitty had been surprised to see how beautiful both buildings were. The fancy woodwork that decorated the stalls was nearly as elegant as the woodwork up in the Big House. Grady said that before the war Massa Fuller liked to bring all of his gentlemen friends and visitors down here and show off his fine horses and carriages.
She found Grady leading Blaze from his stall to the corral behind the stable. “Missy wants to see you right away,” she said breathlessly.
“She needing a carriage?” he asked as he turned the horse loose.
Kitty shook her head, unwilling to say more. But as soon as Grady walked through the stable door and saw the soldiers in front of the Big House, he slowed his steps.
“What’s going on, Anna?”
She hated being the one to tell him. But maybe it would be better if he heard it from her instead of Missy Claire. He didn’t dare show any emotion in front of Missy. “The soldiers are needing more horses,” she said. “Massa Fuller say to take his.”
Grady halted, his expression a mixture of shock and pain. “How many? Which ones?”
“I don’t know. They gave Missy a letter from Massa Fuller, but I don’t know what it said.”
He started walking again, but his feet seemed to drag as he approached the waiting soldiers.
“Captain Randolph is requisitioning our horses for the Confederate cause,” Missy told him when he reached the house. “You will escort his men down to the stables and help them with whatever they need.”
Grady didn’t move. He stood with his head lowered, powerless. Kitty could only imagine the emotions he must be feeling as he faced this terrible loss. “Which horses, ma’am?” he asked.
“All of them.”
Grady closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, they smoldered with anger. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in a tight voice, “but how you gonna send to town for a doctor when your time comes if you ain’t got any horses?”
Missy drew a harsh breath. “How dare you!” she cried.
It would have been inappropriate for a white person to mention her condition in front of strangers, but for a mere slave to do so was scandalous. Kitty knew that the only reason Grady had spoken was because he loved his horses. He was desperate to save even one of them, if he could—most likely Blaze. But he had stirred up Missy’s temper in the process, and Kitty cringed, waiting for the explosion that was sure to follow.
“There are no longer any doctors in town,” the captain said quickly. “The Confederacy needed them, too.”
“Show these men to the stable,” Missy said coldly.
Kitty stayed with her mistress, aware of the tension and anger building inside Missy like a brewing storm. But Missy remained sweetly polite to Captain Randolph, who had stayed behind to chat with her while the rest of the men accompanied Grady.
“Any news of the war, Captain?” she asked. “I’m afraid I’m rather isolated out here. It’s nearly impossible to hear the latest news.”
Kitty listened intently, waiting for his reply. She and her fellow slaves knew even less about the war than Missy did. At least Missy saw an occasional newspaper and received letters from Massa Fuller and from her family in Charleston. But Missy never said a word to anyone about what they contained.
“Well, ma’am, I’m sorry to say that Nashville, Tennessee, just fell into enemy hands a few days ago. That’s the first Confederate state capitol we’ve lost. But we’re confident that we can win it back come springtime.”
It seemed to take a long time, but the soldiers finally emerged from the stable, leading all twelve of Massa’s magnificent horses by their bridles. Kitty recognized Grady’s favorite horse, Blaze, but there was no sign of Grady. He had stayed in the carriage house so he wouldn’t have to watch them go.
“Thank you, ma’am. Much obliged,” Captain Randolph said as he and his men took their leave.
Kitty shivered in the cool winter air. She wore only a thin shawl and was eager to return to her seat by the fireplace. Missy must be feeling the chill, too. But even after the men marched away, Missy didn’t move from the steps. “Go fetch your husband again,” she said. The angry way she spat out the word husband made Kitty afraid.
She couldn’t find him, at first. She wandered through the stable, calling his name until he finally emerged through the door to the corral, his face grief-stricken. “Missy’s asking for you again,” Kitty said. “Better come right away.”
Neither of them spoke as they walked back to where Missy stood on the front steps with Lewis beside her. Anger radiated from Grady like a bonfire. He halted in front of Missy with his head lowered, not uttering a word, not daring to look at her. But Kitty stole a glance at her mistress, and her heart began to race when she saw the suppressed rage on Missy’s face, too.
“Your boldness in mentioning my condition will be punished with forty lashes,” Missy said.
“No!” Kitty cried. She swayed as her legs went weak with horror. She tried to drop to her knees to beg Missy not to whip Grady but he gripped her arm and held her up.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“This morning’s incident also reminded me that you have failed to do the work that was required of you,” Missy continued. “Your wife was supposed to have a baby. Now it’s too late. Not only have you failed to produce a child, but it also seems that I no longer have need of a coachman. Since your work up here is finished, Lewis will take you down to Mr. Browning, the overseer. After you’ve been punished with forty lashes, Mr. Browning will make certain that you carry your weight as a field slave.”
Missy started to go inside, then turned back. “Oh, and from now on you will live on Slave Row, not with Kitty.”
Grady turned and strode away without waiting for Lewis.
Kitty was so stunned she couldn’t speak. She’d long been afraid that she would be punished for not having a baby, but she never dreamed Missy would punish Grady or send him away. During these past four months, he and Delia and Kitty had become a family in the little cabin they shared. Now Missy was ripping that family apart, just like Massa Goodman had torn her first family apart.
Kitty followed Missy inside, numbed with grief and shocked by Missy’s cruelty. She had done some mean things over the years, but this time Missy’s actions were indefensible. Kitty imagined the lash tearing across Grady’s scarred back, and for the first time, she understood his bottomless anger. He had married Kitty in order to rescue her, and now he was going to suffer for his kindness. Kitty fell to her knees in front of her mistress, clinging to her skirts.
“Please don’t whip Grady! Please, Missy Claire! It ain’t his fault that—”
“Be quiet!” Missy said, smacking Kitty on the side of her head. “If you say one more word, I’ll put the lash to both of you. Now get up!”
Kitty struggled to her feet, weeping uncontrollably. “Whip me, then. Not Grady!”
“I said stop that! Do you want me to tell Mr. Browning to give your husband ten extra lashes?”
Kitty forced herself to be quiet for Grady’s sake. But tears blurred her vision as she helped Missy to the morning room where they’d been sitting. Missy was about to sit down in her chair when she suddenly sucked in her breath. Her face wore a startled look.
“Go get Delia,” she said.
Kitty stared in amazement as a puddle of water slowly spread in a circle around Missy’s feet.
Grady felt as though he’d swallowed a stone as he faced Walter Browning. He knew very little about the overseer except that he was the son of the man who had raped Delia, years ago, and fathered her child. This Browning was middle-aged with thinning black hair, but he was as strongly built as his slave laborers. Grady doubted that he could beat him in a fight, even though Browning was at least twenty years older. Besides, the overseer carried a pistol strapped to his belt, and was rumored to be lightning quick with it. Grady saw no way to avoid a second scourging with the lash.
“Missus Fuller wants Grady whipped,” Lewis told Browning. Grady heard the sorrow in the butler’s voice. “Forty lashes. She says he’s supposed to work in the fields from now on.”
“Did he steal something?”
“No, not that I know of, sir.”
“Okay. There are some slave shackles hanging up in that second shed over there,” Browning told Lewis. “Go get a pair for me.” He studied Grady while they waited. “What did you do?” he finally asked.
Grady was much too angry to explain to this white man that he’d refused to father a child for Missus Fuller’s convenience. His rage was certain to boil over, making his punishment even worse. “You better ask her,” he mumbled.
“You can bet I’ll do just that,” Browning said. “But right now I’m asking you.”
“I … um … I ain’t exactly sure, sir.” If he knew nothing else, Grady knew it was always better to play dumb than to lose his temper or show disrespect for white people.
Lewis returned with the chains, and Browning led Grady to an iron hitching post used to tether animals. Grady had fastened countless pairs of manacles to other slaves’ wrists and ankles when he’d worked for Coop, but he’d been too small to wear them himself when he’d been taken from his family in Richmond. The heavy irons fit him now. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to have the cold metal clamped tightly around his own wrists, securing him to the post. Browning left him standing alone in the icy mist while he walked up to the Big House to talk with Missus Fuller.
Waiting, knowing the pain that was to come, added to Grady’s torture. In a few minutes he was going to be whipped. Again. For no reason. Grady wanted to roar in outrage, but no one in heaven or on earth would even hear or care.
He was more certain than ever that there was no God. Or if there was, that He had no love or mercy to spare on him. In less than one hour, Grady had lost his job, his horses, and his home with Delia and Kitty. Being born a slave was certainly a curse, but at least his favored position as a driver and his home with the two women had made his life tolerable for the past few years. Now, at the whim of a white woman, he not only faced a brutal punishment but was also being reduced to an animal—a beast of burden, laboring from dawn to dusk. He sank to the ground, leaned his head against the iron hitching post and waited as despair overwhelmed him.
It seemed like a very long time passed before Browning returned. When he did, he was carrying a whip coiled in a tight circle. He stood staring down at Grady for a long time, as if deciding how to begin.
Grady rose to his feet. “Just get it over with,” he said. He gripped the rail with both hands, bracing himself.
Browning didn’t move. “I’ve never given a slave forty lashes in my life,” he said quietly.
Grady said nothing. He wouldn’t beg. The foggy morning was damp and cold, but he felt a bead of sweat run down his back as he waited, his muscles tensed. His mouth felt as dry as cotton. He wondered if he dared ask for a drink of water.
“You’ve been Mr. Fuller’s coachman since Old Jesse died, haven’t you?” Browning asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Shame about them taking all of Mr. Fuller’s horses away,” Browning said. “Missus Fuller told me all about it.” He paced in place.
Grady wondered what Browning was waiting for. Was someone else coming to do the dirty work? Was he going to make all the other slaves gather around to watch? As much as Grady dreaded the pain, he longed to get the ordeal over with.
“You know, if Mr. Fuller were here he would never allow this,” Browning said as he unwound the long whip. “Slaves are valuable property, and he doesn’t like his property damaged. There have been a few times when a slave stole from him. And a slave tried to run off, once. But even then, Mr. Fuller took them to the auction block. He never had any of them whipped.”
Grady closed his eyes, not daring to hope that he’d be spared.
“Mr. Fuller liked the way you kept his stables. Said you were a hard worker, that you knew a lot about horses …” He took a step back. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think he’d like me doing this. Especially for no reason that I can see.”
Grady was certain that his heart would beat right out of his chest as he waited. Browning paced in circles for another long, agonizing minute, then reached into his pocket.
“I can’t do this,” he said, pulling out a key. He unfastened one of Grady’s hands and slid the chain free from around the post. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell Mrs. Fuller that I disobeyed her, will you?”
Grady exhaled. “No, sir.”
“A lash or two out in the field is one thing … but I never did give out forty. Mr. Fuller won’t allow it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grady was so weak with relief that he could barely walk. Browning led him into a storage shed, then refastened his shackles, anchoring him to a metal ring in the floor. He locked a second pair around Grady’s ankles.
“I’m going to leave you in here for a few days until everybody cools off—and to make sure you don’t get it in your mind to run away. After that, there’s plenty of work around here for you to do. You’ll put in a full day like all my other field hands, come springtime.”
Browning went out, the door creaking shut behind him. Grady heard the bolt slide closed on the outside. The shed was dark and damp and cold. It smelled of moldy wood and tobacco. But by some miracle, he’d just been spared forty lashes. Tears came to his eyes, and he wondered if Delia had been praying.
Kitty couldn’t stop worrying about Grady as she sat with Missy Claire through her long, hard hours of labor. Delia had sent for the slave midwife who delivered all the slaves’ babies, and together they helped Missy through her ordeal. The older women made Kitty leave the room during the final two hours, but she heard Missy’s screams, nonetheless. Kitty didn’t feel one bit sorry for her. Nor did she care if Missy lived or died. At times, Kitty couldn’t hold back her tears as she recalled the ugly welts on Grady’s back from being whipped the first time and as she imagined him suffering that agony and humiliation a second time.
Kitty managed to whisper the story to Delia in one of their free moments, and the little woman nearly collapsed to the floor before Kitty steered her to a chair. “O Lord,” she moaned. “O Lord, not my Grady. Not again.” She’d been tearful ever since, as if the news had broken Delia’s heart.
Nearly twenty-four hours after her water broke, Missy Claire had a baby boy. She named him Richard. The midwife brought a young Negro woman named Patsy up to the Big House from Slave Row to be his wet nurse.
Kitty dreaded returning to the little cabin now that Grady was gone, but in the end she didn’t have to. Missy was afraid to stay in the Big House with a strange field slave, and she made Kitty and Delia both sleep in the house with her and the baby.
On the night after the baby was born, Kitty awakened to see Delia tiptoeing from the room. “Where you going?” she whispered.
When Delia turned around, Kitty saw her tear-swollen eyes and knew the answer even before she spoke. “If you’re going down to see Grady, I want to come, too,” Kitty said. She threw her blanket aside and started to rise, but Delia hurried over to her, whispering so they wouldn’t awaken Patsy.
“No, I think you better stay here, honey. If Missy calls for one of us and we ain’t here, there’ll be even more trouble. Besides, Grady may not want you to see him all tore up.”
Kitty lay down again, but she didn’t go back to sleep.
The sound of the shed door creaking open awakened Grady. He sat up, his heart hammering, but he was unable to see anything in the darkness.
“Grady? You in here?”
He sagged with relief at the sound of Delia’s familiar voice. “Yeah, over here.”
He saw her tiny form outlined in the open doorway before she pushed the door closed again. He longed to stand up and sweep her into his arms but his chains were too short to allow him to stand. Delia bent over him and kissed his forehead, gently holding his face in her hands. “You okay, honey?” she asked, her voice choked with tears.
“Browning didn’t whip me, Delia. He said Massa Fuller would never allow it, so he didn’t do it. I’m okay.”
“Thank the Good Lord,” Delia breathed. She dropped to her knees beside Grady and hugged him tightly. Grady felt such a rush of renewed gratitude and wonder at being spared that he nearly whispered “Amen.”
“I brought you a few things,” Delia said when she could speak. “Praise God you won’t be needing any doctoring, but I wrapped up some of your clothes and things in this bundle. Thought you might need your blanket, too.”
“Thanks, Delia.”
“You’re shivering, honey. Want me to put it around your shoulders?”
“Yeah.” He’d been afraid that he would take sick if he had to sleep on the dirt floor one more night in the bone-chilling February cold.
“I brought you some food and water, too, but you best eat it all now so Walt Browning don’t find out about it.”
Grady had to bend his head nearly to the floor in order to feed himself, the short chains hindering his movements. He hated for Delia to see him this way, but the food was welcome, just the same. He hadn’t eaten in nearly two days.
“Kitty tells me you’re gonna have to live down on Slave Row from now on,” Delia said.
“Looks that way,” he said, swallowing a chunk of corn bread. “Massa don’t need a driver if he ain’t got any horses.”
“Well, I put a couple of Kitty’s pictures in with your things. I know how much you like them. Thought maybe you could hang them up in your new place. Be a little like home, anyway.”
“Is Anna okay?” he asked quietly. “Missus Fuller didn’t punish her, too, did she?”
“No, she’s fine—worried sick about you. She wanted to come with me, but I told her she better not be giving Missus Fuller any more reasons to be mad.”
“I hate that woman.” Grady felt a shiver travel through him that had nothing to do with the cold.
“If it makes you feel any better, Kitty ain’t making excuses for her this time.”
“Good.” He felt Delia’s eyes studying him in the darkness.
“Grady, honey, please don’t waste your life hating people. You’re the one who’s gonna suffer for it, not them. Don’t you know you’re poisoning yourself?”
He didn’t answer. He had finished eating, and he didn’t think he could bear to hear one of Delia’s sermons about Jesus when he was chained to the floor like an animal. Grady had nothing more to say. He gulped down all of the water, then leaned over as far as he could and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming, Delia. And thanks for the food and things. You better head back now, before you get into trouble.”
She slowly rose to her feet, then caressed his hair for a moment. “I’ll be praying for you, honey,” she said.
He smiled at her in the darkness. “Yeah. I know you will.”
Fuller Plantation
April 1862
On a warm day in springtime, Kitty looked out one of the front windows and saw Massa Fuller walking up the long driveway to the Big House. She thought she must be dreaming.
“Missy Claire!” she called. “Missy Claire, come quick! Massa’s home!” Kitty didn’t wait for the butler but ran out into the foyer and opened the door wide for him.
“Welcome home, Massa Fuller! I know Missy’s sure gonna be pleased to see you. And wait till you see your beautiful new baby boy.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” He smiled wearily as he leaned his rifle against the hall table. He slid a canvas pack from his shoulders, and Kitty could tell by the way that it thumped to the floor that it was very heavy. Massa Fuller looked exhausted. His boots were falling apart, and the handsome uniform that he’d worn at his wedding was muddy and ragged.
“Kindly fetch your mistress,” he said. But Missy Claire was already hurrying into the hallway from the morning room. She flew into his arms.
Kitty looked away as they embraced, remembering how wonderful it felt to be held in Grady’s arms that way. She hadn’t seen him since he’d been sent down, two months ago, and she missed him.
“Kitty, run upstairs and fetch the baby,” Missy said. “And be careful with him. We’ll be in the morning room.”
Baby Richard was asleep in his cradle, his hands curled into tiny fists. He had no hair and his skin was as pale as Missy’s was, but Kitty had grown to love him as she’d helped take care of him these past two months. Sometimes she would close her eyes as she cuddled him in her arms and imagine that he had beautiful coffeebrown skin and wooly black hair—and that he belonged to her and Grady. She lifted Richard from his cradle, careful not to wake him, and carried him downstairs to meet his papa.
Massa Fuller rose from the sofa as Kitty carried Richard into the room, but he didn’t ask to hold him. Instead, he stood gazing down at his new son for a long moment, and the lines of fatigue that were etched in his face grew soft.
“I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see new life again, after so much—” His voice faltered slightly, then faded into silence.
“He looks like you, Roger,” Missy Claire said. She remained seated on the sofa. Massa Fuller touched his sleeping son’s hand, then sank down beside his wife again.
“You think so?” he asked.
“Of course. He’s been surrounded by so many Fullers,” she said, gesturing to the portraits on the walls, “what other choice did he have?” They laughed together, and Kitty felt another stab of loneliness. Maybe if she talked to Massa Fuller alone and begged him to let Grady come home—maybe he would allow it. Massa Fuller had always been good to Grady.
The baby stirred in her arms and yawned. “Shall I take him back upstairs now, Missy Claire?” she asked. She knew better than to offer him to Missy to hold. She seldom wanted to.
“Not yet,” she replied. “He seems content for now.”
Kitty remained standing, rocking the sleeping baby in her arms. She was a little surprised that Missy and her husband didn’t want their privacy after being apart from each other for so long. She decided to daydream about Grady as she waited, but when she realized that Massa was talking about the war, she suddenly became alert. This was the first real news she or any of her fellow house slaves had heard in months.
“Mother sent me a Charleston newspaper,” Missy said, “and I read about the naval battles last month. I was so proud that our little Confederate navy was victorious.”
“Yes, the battle of the ironclads must have been a sight. We’ve enjoyed several land victories as well, I’m happy to say. But it always comes down to numbers. I heard about a battle up in Shiloh, Tennessee, earlier this month, where we had the Yanks all but licked until they sent for reinforcements. Our men always fight better than theirs do, but there are always more of them than there are of us.”
“Have you heard from Ellis?” Missy asked.
“I recently received letters from both my sons. Ellis is in Yorktown, Virginia, bracing for a huge assault that may be coming soon. The Union commander is expected to launch an attack against the Peninsula this spring with the goal of taking Richmond. Rumors are that he has amassed an enormous arsenal and a hundred thousand men. But Ellis says they’re dug in behind earthworks and they’re ready for him. The news from John,” Massa said with a sigh, “was worrisome, I’m afraid. He left the Citadel and enlisted in a new South Carolina regiment as soon as he became of age. He isn’t sure where he’ll be sent yet.”
“What about you, Roger? Will you be sent up to Virginia, too?”
“No, too much is happening down here at the moment. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Fort Pulaski fell into Union hands.
It guarded the harbor of Savannah.”
“No, I hadn’t heard. Thank God Charleston is well protected.”
“Yes, the Yanks will have a tougher time there. But what’s worrisome about the fall of Fort Pulaski is that more and more slaves are escaping to Union-held territory, and the Yankees are refusing to return them.”
“I thought the Fugitive Slave Law said that they had to return them.”
“It does. But Major General Hunter isn’t honoring it. He’s calling the fugitives ‘contrabands of war,’ like any other property that’s been confiscated during wartime. Of course, word of this has spread to the slaves somehow, and more and more of them are trying to escape to Union-held territory—all along the coastal area between Charleston and Savannah.”
Kitty didn’t realized how tense she had become as she’d listened to this news until she felt the baby squirm in her arms. She looked down and saw that his eyes were open. If he began to cry she would have to take him upstairs—and then she would miss the rest of the conversation. She shifted Richard to her shoulder and rubbed his back, humming softly to soothe him.
“For now, I’m stationed close by,” she heard Massa Fuller say, “but our lines shift constantly to protect the railroad. We’re more like bush-fighters than regular combatants. Our lookouts watch all of the Union’s movements along the coast, and we’re able to move quickly if an attack on the railroad seems imminent. We know all the inlets and rivers and waterways in this area much better than the Yanks do. So if we spot Union vessels heading up one of them, we know where they’ll end up and we can be ready for them. We’ve placed mines and other obstructions in the main waterways, and we have batteries placed in all the strategic places. So far, we’ve been able to keep the enemy confined to the Sea Islands and off the mainland.”
Later that evening, Kitty walked down to Slave Row for the first time, looking for Grady. She was afraid that he would hear the rumors about slaves not being returned to their owners, and he would try to run away. She needed to warn him that the Confederates had lookouts everywhere and were guarding all the waterways. It would be nearly impossible for him to get off the mainland to safety.
The stench of Slave Row, the atmosphere of squalor and hopelessness, nearly made Kitty turn back. But Grady suddenly stepped out of one of the huts, spotting her before she had a chance to change her mind.
“Anna? What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.
Kitty wondered if she would have recognized him if he hadn’t spoken first. He looked older and rougher, his wooly hair longer and poorly trimmed. His body was leaner yet more muscular, if that was possible. But the biggest shock was seeing him dressed in rags when he’d always worn his coachman’s livery with such pride.
“Is there someplace we can talk?” she asked. “I can’t be gone from the house too long.” He led her inside the hut he’d just come out of, and she had to battle not to show her shock at how he was forced to live. The room had a fireplace but little else—most of the space on the dirt floor was taken up with rough, narrow wooden beds with cornshuck mattresses. Three other men Grady’s age lay on three of the beds, but Kitty knew which bed was Grady’s even before he gestured to it and invited her to sit. He had decorated the walls above it with her drawings.
Kitty sat down and quickly told him what she had heard that morning. The other three slaves also listened intently. As Kitty expected, Grady reacted to the news with anger. “I ain’t giving up! There has to be a way to get free from here!” he said in a low, harsh voice.
“Grady, listen, I’m going to talk to Massa Fuller about you. Just as soon as I can get him alone, I’ll ask him if you can come home and—”
“No, don’t do that,” he said quickly. “It’ll only make trouble for me. And maybe for you, too. Supposing Missus Fuller finds out I wasn’t whipped?”
Kitty’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss you,” she said softly.
He reached out to stroke her cheek. His hand was rough and callused, his forearm scarred with insect bites. “You drawing any new pictures since I been away?” he asked.
Kitty hesitated. “I can’t … I ran out of paper again.”
“And you won’t ask your missy for more.” He made it a statement, not a question.
“Missy don’t have any paper, either,” she said, shaking her head. “She can hardly get enough to write letters on now that there’s a blockade.”
The anger faded from his eyes. Sorrow took its place. “You better be going,” he said. Kitty knew he was right. If it was painful for her to see him again, how much harder must it be for him to see her, and to be reminded of all that he’d lost? She stood. Grady rose from where he’d been sitting on the bed across from her. Kitty leaned toward him and held him in her arms for a long moment, just to remember what it felt like.
He hugged her in return, but nothing was the way it had been. His embrace was brief and passionless, his homespun shirt rough beneath her cheek. He no longer smelled of soap and leather and horses the way she remembered. She stepped away again.
“Bye,” she whispered.
“Good-bye, Anna.”