Beaufort, South Carolina
June 1864
“Catch him, Grady! Don’t let him crawl away.”
Grady swiveled around and reached for his son, grabbing George before he crawled off the edge of the blanket and into the dirt. “Hey, come back here!” he said, laughing. George giggled as Grady lifted him high in the air, then set him on the blanket again. The three of them sat together in front of Grady’s tent on this warm spring day. Grady had been watching his wife, not their son, unable to take his eyes off her as she sewed the new corporal’s insignia onto his uniform.
This would be the last time Grady saw her for a while. Tomorrow morning his regiment was leaving for Folly Island and the start of a new campaign to conquer Charleston and the remaining Rebel forts that guarded the city. He knew that the fight he was about to face would be fierce and dangerous. He hadn’t told Anna just how dangerous.
“I’m sure gonna hate it when you’re gone,” Anna sighed. “It’s been so nice having you close by all this time and being able to come and visit you.”
“I know,” Grady said. “Let’s hope the war ends soon, so I can come home for good.”
They had been able to see each other quite frequently over the winter months, especially after Grady’s regiment had moved to a new winter camp further north on Port Royal Island, closer to Beaufort. The men had named it Camp Shaw, in honor of the white colonel who had died along with so many of his Negro troops at Fort Wagner. In late December Grady’s regiment had been assigned to share provost duty in Beaufort with a white regiment. Anna had strolled over from the town house whenever he was on duty and watched him and his fellow soldiers as they proudly policed the streets and kept the peace.
The new camp was built on a rise overlooking the river. Grady and his family had often sat together during his free time, inhaling the scent of pine from the trees that fringed the camp and watching ships glide past on the silvery river. On Sundays, Anna sometimes came to the new “praise house” the men had built for school and prayer meetings, made of poles and brush and the delicate gray moss that hung from all the live-oak trees. The regiment had held regular inspection and drills in camp that winter, and little George loved to come and watch with Anna, reveling in the excitement of rolling drums and shouted commands. Grady would glimpse him on the sidelines, holding Anna’s hands as he stood on his wobbly legs, his dark eyes dancing with delight. Grady swallowed, realizing just how much he would miss both of them.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “if you’re wanting news about us, we’re not called the First South Carolina Volunteers anymore. They changed it to the Thirty-third U.S. Colored Troops—even though we really were the first colored troops.”
“The thirty-third,” she repeated.
“Right. And our commander is Lieutenant Colonel Trowbridge from now on.”
She stopped sewing. “How is Colonel Higginson? I thought he was only going to be on sick leave for a month?”
“He was. But now Captain Metcalf tells me that the colonel is still too weak to come back.” Grady felt a new wave of sorrow for the white man who had been injured on their mission up the Edisto River—the mission that had saved Anna’s life. But as dangerous as that expedition had been, Grady knew that the campaign he would begin tomorrow would be real warfare, with thousands of troops engaging in battle and bloody assaults against heavily fortified batteries and fortresses. He hoped that Anna would never learn the truth of what his regiment was about to face.
“I’ll keep on praying for Colonel Higginson,” Anna promised.
“Good. I heard that they’re naming one of the slave settlements near here Higginsonville, in his honor,” Grady said. “A lot of people are owing their freedom to him.”
He reached to grab his son a second time, prying a rock from his chubby fingers moments before he would have thrust it into his mouth. The boy howled.
“You almost done with that sewing?” Grady asked above the noise. “I have something for you, but I don’t dare let go of this rascal.”
“Yes. I’m done.” She bit off the thread and held up the uniform jacket for him to see. “I’m so proud of you, Grady. A corporal!”
“I hope to be making sergeant before I’m through,” he said. “Here, let’s trade.” He took the jacket from her and tipped George into her arms. She was so much better at controlling their squirming son than he was. He shoved his arms into the coat sleeves as he ducked inside the tent to retrieve her present. “Close your eyes,” he called before emerging again. He peered out to see if she had obeyed him, then laid the package of drawing paper he’d bought for her on the blanket, out of the baby’s reach.
“Oh, Grady!” she breathed when she opened her eyes. “Where did you get this? How… ?”
“I had to send away for it, since none of the stores in Beaufort had any. And here’s a gum eraser and some new drawing pencils, too.” He had used the money he’d earned playing fiddle for the officers, but it was worth every penny to see Anna’s surprise and delight. “I’m expecting to see lots of pictures when I come back,” he added.
She let go of George for a moment and wrapped her arms around Grady’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you!” she said. “I wish I’d had this paper a week ago. I have a present for you, too, but it would of been nicer on this paper.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out an old book. Carefully tucked inside was her present to him—a drawing of George. Anna had captured perfectly the sweet curve of his plump mouth, his dimpled cheek. Grady felt a shiver of awe at his wife’s talent. But what on earth had she drawn it on? He turned it over to look at the back and saw an old receipt for a sack of horse feed.
“Hey! You ain’t supposed to be looking at the back,” she said, gently slapping his hand.
“What is this?” He smiled, amused by her resourcefulness.
“I found an old pile of papers in Massa’s desk for things he was buying long before the war started. I picked two or three that I didn’t think he’d be needing anymore.”
Anna could read nearly as well as Grady could now, and he was proud of her. Then he realized what she’d said and grinned wider. “There’s more than one?”
“Yes. This is your other present.” She pulled another receipt from the book and Grady saw her neat, careful printing on the other side instead of a drawing. “Those are the words to my papa’s song,” she told him. “I copied them from Miss Helen’s hymnbook. I want you to keep them and read them while you’re away.”
Grady felt his throat constrict as he silently read the words:
When through
fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
He couldn’t speak. He pulled Joe’s well-worn Bible out of his pocket and carefully tucked her two gifts inside it.
“I’ll be praying for you every day,” she told him, biting her lip. She was trying to be brave, but he knew that she was thinking about all the wounded men she’d helped at the hospital. He knew how afraid she was for him.
“They’re wonderful presents, Anna,” he said when he could speak. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift … unless it was a picture of you.”
She smiled shyly. “I thought you might say that.” She pulled out a third yellowing receipt. “This one’s for a bolt of cloth for Missy’s dress,” she said. “Turn it over.”
She had drawn a sketch of herself on the other side. “I had to go in Missy’s room and use the mirror on her dresser in order to draw it.” When he remained silent, she asked, “Is it okay?”
“You’re so beautiful, Anna,” he murmured, looking at her, not the portrait.
She reached to embrace him again. “Come back to us, Grady,” she whispered. “George needs his daddy and I … well, I wouldn’t want to keep on living without you.”
Beaufort, South Carolina
February 1865
Anna closed the newspaper. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t learned to read when the words described such terrible suffering. This news was old—the newspapers she was using to practice her skills were always months old by the time the Mueller sisters got them from their church up north. The horrible events the papers described were already over and done with, but they were no less shocking.
The Union general William T. Sherman had marched through the state of Georgia with some sixty thousand men—a number too big for Anna to comprehend. They had pillaged the land like a plague of locusts, from Atlanta all the way to Savannah, Georgia, devouring every scrap of food and leaving a trail of destruction some sixty miles wide in their wake. General Sherman’s goal had been to make life so difficult for Georgia’s women and children and old people that the Rebels would have to surrender. Thousands of white families were now homeless and starving. The tens of thousands of slaves who had trailed behind the army were free—but they had no place to live and nothing to eat, either. Not a scrap of food remained in the devastated countryside.
General Sherman had reached Savannah by Christmas, a few months ago. Now he and his men had invaded South Carolina, hell-bent on vengeance in the state that had given birth to the rebellion. Anna shuddered at their ruthlessness. On their way to burn the capitol of Columbia, Sherman’s soldiers had destroyed every one of South Carolina’s farms and plantations that lay in their path, slaughtering more farm animals than they could possibly eat, simply to keep the citizens from using them. How would all those starving women and children live?
Anna glanced down at George playing beside her on the schoolroom floor, and she whispered a prayer for little Richard Fuller. That poor baby. The war he was suffering through wasn’t his fault. He had done nothing to deserve going hungry or being homeless. She wondered about Delia, as well. There never had been food to spare down on Slave Row, but with Sherman’s army plundering the land, Delia would starve for certain. Anna said a prayer for her, then another one for Massa Fuller. He’d lost his oldest son and had been badly wounded himself. She wondered if he would survive this war—and if he would have a home to return to, if he did.
Finally, after much wrestling, Anna was able to say a prayer for Missy Claire. The Mueller sisters had taught her that if she wanted the Lord to hear her prayers for Grady, she had to forgive other people the way Jesus had forgiven her. And Anna was desperate for the Lord to spare Grady, terrified that he would be killed. She dreaded the day that she would look down at one of the stretchers at the army hospital and see him. She had watched so many soldiers die already.
“Lord, please be with Missy Claire today,” she prayed. “She always needed a lot of help, and … well … I know you can give her what she’s needing most.”
Anna looked up when she finished her prayer and saw that Ada Mueller had finished talking to the two women who had just joined her class. Anna had been waiting to give her present to the two sisters until all of the other students had gone.
“Miss Ada?” she said. “I have something for you. I drew a picture to say thank you for all that you and Miss Helen have been teaching me.” She carefully removed the drawing from the large book that she carried it in to protect it, and handed it to Miss Ada. The sketch showed the classroom where the sisters taught every evening, and two freed slaves in homespun with kerchiefs on their heads, watching Miss Helen expectantly. Miss Ada was bending over a little Negro girl, helping her learn to write.
Miss Ada’s face went very still. She didn’t seem able to speak. She looked as though she might cry, and Anna wondered what she had done wrong.
“This is magnificent,” Ada finally said. “You—you drew this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My goodness,” she breathed. “My goodness! Have you drawn many more pictures like this one?”
“Well, yes. My husband bought me some paper last spring, and I been drawing just about everything I see ever since. I have some more of the school, and all the ladies and children in your class, if you’re wanting to trade that picture for a different one.”
“Oh no, dear. No, I wouldn’t trade this for a million dollars. It’s so … so poignant, so moving… .” She gazed from the picture to Anna and back again. “My brother publishes a newspaper in Philadelphia. Would you ever consider selling some of these to him, to print in his paper?”
Now it was Anna’s turn to be speechless. She couldn’t possibly believe what Miss Ada was saying—someone would pay money for her pictures? And print them in a newspaper? But she also knew that Miss Ada would never tell a lie.
“W-why would he pay me to draw?” Anna asked shaking her head.
“If your other work is anything like this, you’ve offered a truer picture of what life is like down here for a freed slave than any photograph ever could. You’ve shown their poverty, the difficulties they face as they struggle for an education. Yet you’ve captured hope in these people’s faces—and beauty and joy. Anna, dear, this is a work of art.”
Anna wasn’t sure what that meant, but tears filled her eyes at the thought of earning money, of being able to help Grady and George get along. For the first time since Grady had snatched her out of the slave jail at Great Oak, Anna felt truly free. People who were free received payment for the work they did.
“Yes, Miss Ada,” she said. “I’ll be happy to sell your brother all the pictures he wants.”
Charleston, South
Carolina
February 1865
“The rumors are true,” Captain Metcalf told Grady and the others. “The Confederates have abandoned Fort Sumter. The mayor of Charleston has surrendered the city.” The cheers that followed his announcement were so deafening that Grady was certain they could be heard all the way across the harbor in the city that they’d besieged all these months.
A few hours later, boats arrived to ferry the regiment ashore. Grady saw smoke billowing into the sky from fires set by the Rebels as they’d hurried north to engage Sherman’s army. It seemed unbelievable to Grady to be setting foot in Charleston after occupying the sandy, coastal islands across the harbor since last June. He had taken part in the Battle of Honey Hill and in the capture of Fort Gregg. Wounded men from his regiment had been sent back to the hospitals in Beaufort, and Grady had worried that Anna would see them, would recognize that they were his comrades, and would be overwhelmed with fear for him. He’d had a few close calls from enemy artillery shells, but thankfully, he’d remained safe.
Now Grady just wanted it all to end. He was tired of seeking revenge, tired of fighting. He wanted the war to be over so he could live out his life with Anna.
It was an odd feeling to walk the once-familiar streets of Charleston as a victor, to see white people scurry into their homes in fear and draw their curtains closed as he marched past. The last time he’d walked through Charleston, he’d been another man’s property, fit only to drive a carriage. Now he wielded the power of a conqueror over these people. But somehow the victory felt hollow as he viewed the ravaged city.
Hundreds of buildings had been destroyed, some by fire, others by Union artillery shells. Still others crumbled dangerously, about to topple. Nothing remained of the church where Massa Fuller had been married except a burned husk. Starving people—black and white—begged for food. But it was the sight of so many homeless, drifting slaves that moved Grady the most—sheep without a shepherd.
His first task was to help fight the fires that had raged for a day and a half. The blistering heat and choking smoke made that battle nearly as dangerous as warfare. When the inferno was finally under control, Grady’s regiment was assigned to picket duty around the city’s undamaged buildings to halt the looting. It seemed ironic to him that he and other former slaves now worked to save the property of a people who hated them. And his Negro troops were clearly hated. They faced jeers and brickbats and spitting wherever they went. Snipers took potshots at them from among the ruins. Grady confided his resentment and simmering hatred to Captain Metcalf one evening.
“It’s only a few misguided individuals,” the captain assured him. “Remember, Grady, not every person in Charleston hates Negroes. Don’t let the actions of a few speak for all Charlestonians.”
Grady recalled Colonel Higginson’s warning that the end of the war might not bring an end to the battles that Negroes would face. “But how do I fight those few?” he asked. “How can I be helping my people get the respect we deserve as human beings?”
Metcalf sighed. “It’s not up to you to fight every battle for your people. You weren’t at Gettysburg or FortWagner, were you? You didn’t fight at Petersburg or Shiloh—only where you were sent. Your war will be won over time, Grady, by every soldier doing his part, right where he is. We can only do what we’re asked to do today.”
The following morning thousands of Charleston’s slaves poured into the streets as Grady’s regiment marched past. Throngs of ragged, cheering children skipped alongside them. Women lifted small babies, like George, high in the air so they could see their deliverers. Grown men stretched out their hands to them, wanting to touch them, thank them. Grady saw tears on every face, arms raised to heaven in praise, and it was hard for him and the other soldiers not to be overwhelmed with emotion, hard to keep marching.
Then someone in Grady’s regiment began to sing. Grady recognized the song from his years as a slave. It was one that he and the others had sung as they’d trudged to work in the fields every day:
My army cross
over; O, Pharaoh’s army drowned!
My army cross over, we cross the river Jordan …
Grady immediately joined in, and soon everyone was singing—men and women, soldiers and slaves, their voices raised in a joyful song of victory for all that they had won, for how far they had finally come:
We’ll cross the
danger water, my army cross over
We’ll cross the mighty river; O, Pharaoh’s army drowned!
Beaufort, South Carolina
April 1865
It seemed to Anna that she had waited breathlessly, for days, for the latest news. First Richmond had fallen to the Yankees. Then General Grant had Lee and his men on the run outside of Petersburg. Rumors said that the Confederates were badly outnumbered, weary, starving. Thousands of Lee’s men had already deserted. At Anna’s school, at the hospital, on the town’s street corners, everyone waited for the good news of a final surrender.
And then one sunny spring morning, the church bells in Beaufort began to ring. Shouts of joy filled the streets. Jim rushed into the warming kitchen to tell Anna and Minnie that General Lee had truly surrendered. The war was over. Soon they would all live in peace. Anna hugged her two friends and wept for joy.
“Mama?” little George whimpered. He was watching her, clinging fearfully to her skirts as if unable to understand her tears or the noisy celebration in Beaufort’s streets. She lifted him into her arms and kissed him.
“It’s okay, honey. Mama’s happy, not sad. Pretty soon your daddy’s coming home.”
For Anna, her own long, dark night was finally over. Grady had survived the war. Her little family was free. A dreadful thought had long resided in the back of her mind, that if the South somehow won, or if the North grew tired of all the fighting and bloodshed and called a truce, that she and Grady and George would be returned to slavery again. But the Union was clearly victorious. No one could ever take away her freedom.
“Let’s go celebrate with Miss Ada and Miss Helen,” she told her son. The sisters had taught her that free people—even white people—served the Lord Jesus as their Massa. Anna knew that the little church would soon be ringing with songs of praise for Jesus, their true Deliverer. And she wanted to join them.