Great Oak Plantation, South
Carolina
June 1865
The war was over. Delia was free. She had watched her fellow slaves walk away from Slave Row with their belongings bundled inside their tattered quilts—and nobody stopped them. Some of the slaves lugged the plantation’s dugout canoes to the river and paddled off downstream. Others followed the long, sweeping driveway past the Big House and disappeared down the road. Delia wondered what they would do with their freedom. They’d been so overjoyed when they’d heard the news, dancing and celebrating for an entire day and night. But how would they live tomorrow and the next day?
Delia had watched them pack up and say good-bye, and she’d felt a mixture of sorrow and joy. “You’re welcome to come along with us,” several people had offered. “You know we’ll be taking good care of you.” But Delia was much too worn out to go anywhere. She spent the rest of that spring in the same shabby cabin where she’d lived for the past year and a half, scratching around for food in the meager gardens that the other slaves had left behind.
She knew that the war was really over when Massa Fuller arrived at Great Oak Plantation one warm June afternoon. Delia watched him trudge up the driveway, slump-shouldered and weary, the uniform he’d worn at his wedding five years ago a tattered pile of rags. She beamed with happiness when she saw him, this white man she had suckled along with her own daughter and reared into manhood. Massa Roger was safe.
“Thank you, Lord,” she murmured. “Thank you for watching over him.”
Yes, the war was over and Delia was tired—bone-weary tired. Life here in South Carolina had been very hard this past year, the white folks suffering just as much as the colored folks. There hadn’t been much food for any of them to eat, with the soldiers from both sides taking all of their chickens and pigs, and plucking the crops right out of the garden as fast as they could grow them. She’d heard stories about all the plantations that had burned, and she thanked the Good Lord that Great Oak didn’t lie in the Yankees’ path. She wondered how her home—Massa Roger’s place—had fared. Whenever she thought of “home,” Delia always pictured the Fuller Plantation.
That evening, Delia walked up to the Big House and asked to speak with Massa Roger. He came to the door in his shirtsleeves, his face gaunt and sallow, his injured arm shriveled and crippledlooking. But he smiled with surprise and pleasure when he saw her.
“Delia—you’re still here? You’re free now, you know. You don’t have to stay around here any more.”
“I know. But I want to ask you something, Massa Roger. I want to know if you’ll take me back home to your plantation, when you go. It’s where I was born and raised, and I been living there most of my life.”
“Is your family still there?”
Delia shook her head. “I don’t have no family, Massa Roger. They all dead and gone. But I’d sure like to live out my days there, if that’s okay with you. I’m willing to work for my keep.”
“Of course.” He smiled sadly and Delia wondered if the sorrow he felt was for her or for himself—or for both of them. He had once loved her freely and unashamedly as a child. She remembered the warmth of his little arms around her neck as he’d hugged her and called her Mammy Delia.
“I’m taking Claire and Richard back home at the end of the week,” he told her. “You may certainly come with us.”
By the time Delia reached home at last, the suffering and senseless destruction she’d witnessed along the way had left her deeply depressed. All those plantation houses—beautiful, graceful homes—burned to the ground. All those ruined fields and barns. Such a waste. Every tired breath she’d drawn had reeked of smoke. But what brought her the most sorrow were the people—not only the hundreds of slaves wandering hungry and homeless, but the white refugees, as well. Women and children like Missy Claire and little Richard. Confederate soldiers like Massa Roger, making their weary way back to homes that no longer existed. So much sorrow. So much hatred in this world.
But Delia thanked the Good Lord when she saw that the little cabin she’d shared with Grady and Anna was still standing. Tears filled her eyes as she walked through the empty rooms, wondering how Grady and Anna were, and what had become of them now that the war was over. She longed to see her Grady again, but she doubted that she ever would. The same was true of her daughter up north. Delia often wondered if she even remembered her real mother anymore, or if she lived such a happy life of freedom that her five years of slavery had been long forgotten.
Delia tidied up and made her bed and swept away some of the dust. Then she sat outside on the doorstep, so tuckered out that she felt winded. A verse of scripture that Shep had once taught her floated through her mind: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Yes, Delia was ready for a good, long rest.
She stared down the deserted road, remembering a time when she had been young and pretty and full of strength, a time when the road brought a steady stream of visitors to the Fuller Plantation. But whenever she’d heard the merry jingle of carriage bells, her heart had leaped and danced. It meant that Shep was here! Delia smiled, remembering how his owner, Miss Carrie, had demanded bells on her carriage so that everyone would know when she arrived from Savannah. Those bells had made such a happy, joyful sound. Delia would race to the window whenever she heard them—and there Shep would be, sitting tall and proud on the driver’s seat, his face stretched wide in a handsome grin.
Shep would have to finish all his work before he could see Delia, wiping the dust off the carriage and greasing the wheels, feeding and tending the horses. And she would have to finish her work in the Big House, as well, polishing the furniture and serving the meals. But when evening fell, Delia’s husband would come to her in their tiny cabin, and he would hold her in his arms and kiss away her tears. And all the long months that they had spent apart would seem like a fading dream.
“How long can you stay?” Delia would always ask.
Shep would smile his wide, loose grin and say, “I can stay until the Good Lord needs me someplace else.”
Now, as Delia sat on the weathered step, she realized that Shep was the real reason she had returned home to this cabin. Not only was it filled with warm memories of him and the love they’d shared, but it was also the only place in the whole world where Shep knew where to find her. If he was still alive after all these years and the upheaval of war, if he could somehow find a way to return to her, then this is where he would come.
The summer night was sultry, the midges annoying. Delia had eaten very little all day, but she was too tired to get up and fix dinner. She sat on the steps and watched the fireflies winking in the bushes, the stars pricking through the covering of night, one by one. She felt an ache in her shoulder, a weight on her chest and knew that grief and longing and sadness had caused them. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.
Then Delia heard them—the jingling carriage bells—faintly at first, then growing louder, clearer.
She opened her eyes and it was morning. She was surprised at how light it was. Sunshine filled the yard, and she wondered how she could have slept on the cabin doorstep all night. The sound of jingling bells grew closer, a happy sound that lifted Delia’s heart to the skies. The approaching carriage rolled down the long driveway and drew to a halt.
Shep stepped down.
But for once he didn’t take care of Miss Carrie’s horses first. Instead, he hurried toward Delia’s cabin, smiling broadly. Delia thought it must be the tears that blurred her vision, but he didn’t look a day older to her than when he’d driven away so many years ago. She slowly rose to her feet, afraid to wipe her eyes, afraid to blink for fear he would disappear.
“Shep!” she whispered. “Oh, Shep!”
He stretched out his strong hand to her and she felt the calluses on his palm from holding the reins.
“Delia, honey, we’re free,” he said. “I’ve come to take you home.”
Beaufort, South Carolina
September 1865
“Kitty!”
Anna dropped the book she was reading and looked up. Missy Claire glared at her from the drawing room doorway, holding her son, Richard, by the hand. “What are you doing in my house?” Missy demanded.
Anna’s heart leaped to her throat. She had heard the back door open and close, heard footsteps approaching down the hall, but she had assumed it was Grady. Her first instinct was to scramble to her feet and apologize to Missy for sitting on her sofa, for reading her book, for living in her house. But George was asleep with his head on her lap. Besides, Anna was a free woman now. She remained seated, calmly stroking George’s wooly hair, fighting the impulse to stand.
“We been living here for a while now, Missy Claire. And we’ve been taking real good care of your house for you.”
“You have some nerve,” she said, “sitting there as if you owned the place. And that’s my dress you’re wearing!”
“Yes, ma’am. I made it over to fit me, seeing as my dress was all worn out.”
“Get out!” she yelled, pointing toward the back door.
Anna had long been afraid that this day would come. Ever since the war had ended last April, she’d wondered how much longer she and George would be allowed to live here. Grady had only returned home from the war two days ago. They’d been so overjoyed just to be together again, and so in love with each other, that they hadn’t had time to talk about what they would do next or where they would live if Massa Fuller wanted his house back.
Anna set the book on the table beside her and slowly rose to her feet. George felt heavy and warm and cuddly as she lifted him in her arms. The surprise and panic she felt had passed, and Anna faced her mistress with her chin held high. “I think you’ll see how nice Minnie and Jim and me have been keeping your house for you, Missy Claire. There ain’t nothing ruined or missing either, except some food that was in the pantry … and this dress.”
“Get out this minute!” Missy said, stepping into the room. Anna looked down at three-and-a-half year-old Richard. She had cared for him like her own child, walking the floor with him, bathing him, loving him. But he glared up at her with the same resentful stare that his mother wore. Anna rubbed George’s sweaty back, promising herself that she would never teach him to hate.
“I learned how to read and write,” Anna said without knowing why. “I’m a teacher myself, now.”
Missy gave a short, humorless laugh. “The blind leading the blind. No doubt you’re teaching people who are just as stupid and ignorant as you are.”
Anna smiled sadly. “I don’t know why you hate me, Missy Claire, but I don’t hate you. I’m not your slave anymore, but if you need any help getting settled, I’ll do what I can for you.”
“Are you going to get out of my house, Kitty, or should I call my husband and have him throw you out?”
“It’s gonna take me a few minutes to gather all our things together, but I’ll go. And my name ain’t Kitty, ma’am. It’s Anna.”
When Grady returned from his errand downtown, there was a wagon parked near the carriage house. He hurried up the driveway, wondering who it could be, and found himself face to face with Roger Fuller. His old massa gave a start of surprise, but the worried look quickly left Massa’s face.
“Oh, Grady! It’s you. I saw the uniform, and for a moment I … What are you doing here?”
Grady suddenly felt like the trespasser that he was. “My wife has been staying here with Minnie and Jim,” he said slowly, “taking care of the place for you. I was mustered out of the army last week. I just got here myself a few days ago.”
“I see.”
Grady could tell that Fuller was just as uncomfortable as he was. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. He gave his former master a quick appraisal and saw how much the war had aged him. His skin looked brittle and yellowed, like the old receipts Anna had used to draw her portraits. Fuller’s arm, which had been severely wounded the last time Grady had seen him, hung from his shoulder, gaunt and awkward, as if it hadn’t healed properly.
“Yes, my arm is still a bit troublesome,” Fuller said, following Grady’s gaze. “I have difficulty holding on to things with this hand. Makes it hard to drive a team of horses.”
“I see you got yourself some new ones,” Grady said. He walked over to survey the team, running his hand along the first one’s flank.
“Nothing like the horses I used to have, are they?” Fuller said a little sadly.
“You ever get them back again?” Grady asked, remembering Blaze.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Grady tried to act casual, but his unease was slowly turning into panic. Massa Roger had returned home to Beaufort, and now Grady would have to find someplace else for his family to live. He had no idea where that might be.
“You planning on living here in Beaufort for a while?” he asked.
Fuller sighed. “The government claims that I owe four years’ worth of taxes on this house. Since I can’t pay them, the place will have to be sold at auction.”
“But you’re a rich man, Massa Fuller.”
“Not anymore. I invested everything in Confederate bonds to support the war effort. They’re worthless now, of course. Claire and I came to pack up some of my family’s things, then we’re moving back to the plantation. If I sell some of my land and a few other valuables, I should be able to keep the plantation in the family for my sons.”
Grady had no idea why Fuller was confiding in him, but he found himself pitying his master. Grady had never had anything, and so he had nothing to lose. How much worse it would be to have had everything in the world—and to have lost it.
“If you need help loading your wagon, I can help you,” Grady said. The look Fuller gave him was so stripped of pride, so naked and vulnerable, that Grady was immediately sorry he had made the offer.
“Thank you, Grady. But I can’t pay you.”
Grady swallowed his own pride in return. “I have no place to live, Massa Fuller. If you let me and my family stay in the room above your stable, we’ll call it even.”
Fuller nodded, staring at the ground. Then Grady remembered Delia, and his pulse raced. “Massa Fuller? Do you know where I can find Delia? Last time I saw her she was at Great Oak with Missus Fuller. She’s always been like a mother to me, and I’d like to find her and take care of her if I can.”
“She was at Great Oak,” Fuller said, “but she asked to come home with me to live on my plantation again. She said she wanted to live out her days here.”
Joy and relief flooded through Grady. “I’ll be glad to drive your wagon for you when you’re ready to go back. Anna and I want Delia to live with us.”
Fuller looked away, staring into the distance. “Grady, I’m sorry. Delia passed away.”
Grady closed his eyes. He didn’t care if Fuller or anyone else saw the tears that rolled slowly down his cheeks.
Grady sat on the lumpy bed with his face in his hands, the cornstalks crunching beneath his weight. “Anna, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to ever have to live like this—”
“It ain’t your fault,” she said. “Every slave in South Carolina’s in the same mess we’re in. At least we have each other. Some folks probably never will find their husbands and wives and children.”
He lifted his head to look at her. She was so beautiful that he forgot to breathe sometimes when he gazed at her. And so strong. She’d become a strong, courageous woman while he’d been gone. He took her hands in his and pulled her down on the bed beside him. “I love you,” he said.
“I know. And it ain’t the end of the world if we have to live above the stable for a while.”
He felt the seed of panic begin to grow and send out shoots again. “We might only be able to stay here for a night or two. Massa Fuller has to sell the house. I been hoping we’d have more time to figure out what we’re gonna do, but—” “You’ve only been home two days,” she said, caressing his face. “And we’ve both been wanting to spend every minute in each other’s arms.”
Grady leaned forward to kiss her, but she shook her head, smiling playfully. “First we’re gonna make some plans. If you could have any job in the whole world, Grady, what would you like to do?”
“I been thinking about that, all the while I been away at war,” he said, “but I don’t know how I can ever make it happen: I’d like to have my own stable and some horses. I’d like to start a livery business.”
“Then let’s do it, Grady. We might have to work for other people at first, but if we save all our money, then maybe we’ll be able to buy that stable, someday.”
He looked into her dark eyes and believed that anything was possible. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stopped him again.
“Not yet,” she said, smiling. “I been thinking, too, and remembering how much you were always wanting to go back home to Richmond.”
“Anna, I don’t have any money for that.”
“I know. But I do. I been saving this for a surprise.” She stood and rummaged through the little bundle of possessions that she’d carried over from Massa’s town house. “Hold out your hands,” she ordered.
Grady’s jaw dropped when she poured a small pile of silver dollars into his cupped hands. “What… ? Where did you get this?”
“Miss Ada at the mission helped me sell some drawings to a newspaper up north. I been saving this money for your boat fare. It probably ain’t enough for all of us, but I want you to go, Grady.”
“I can’t be taking your money. We’ll need this to live on.”
“It’s our money. We’re husband and wife. You been telling me to think like a free woman, and you been saying that free women get paid for the work they do—well, that’s my pay. And a free wife can help her husband go to Richmond, if she wants to.”
“But what will you do while I’m gone?”
“I been thinking about that while I been packing. Miss Ada and Miss Helen already offered me a place to stay at the mission. They want me to keep on teaching. We’ll be okay, Grady. Honest we will.”
He stood and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, unwilling to let her go. It would be hard to be apart again, but they’d weathered much longer separations before. “I know,” he said. “From now on we’ll all be okay.”
She pulled him down on the bed again and said, “Now, I want you to tell me about all the people you’ll see up in Richmond, starting with your mama. I’m gonna draw pictures of George for all of them, so they’ll know what he looks like.”
“Let’s see, there’s Mama … and Eli … and Esther …” he said, kissing her between each name. “And I have some unfinished business with Massa Fletcher.”
“What?” she said, pushing him away. “What kind of business?”
He hesitated, afraid to tell her. Her look of surprise changed to one of understanding—then horror.
“Oh, Grady, no. I thought you were all done with hating people. I thought you were wanting to see your mother and Eli—”
“I am. But I have to see Massa Fletcher, too. I been waiting all these years to face him.”
“But why? What difference will it make after all this time?” When he didn’t reply she began to cry. “You’re still wanting revenge, aren’t you? You’re gonna kill him! Don’t try and deny it, Grady. I can see all the hatred that’s still in your heart for that man, and it scares me. Please don’t do it, Grady. Please, just forget about him.”
“He deserves to die!” Grady heard the deadly chill in his own voice.
“And what about us?” she asked, swiping at her tears. “When they arrest you and hang you for murdering him, what’s gonna happen to George and me?”
“I didn’t get caught when I killed Coop.”
She closed her eyes. “Please don’t do it, Grady.”
“Do you want your money back?” he asked, holding it out to her. “Are you changing your mind about giving it to me?”
“No. I want you back—the free Grady who isn’t storing up a big load of bitterness in his heart anymore.”
Grady understood why she was upset, but he was no less determined. “I have to see him, Anna. I don’t think I’ll ever be right with myself until I do.”
She gazed at him for a long moment, love and sorrow shining in her dark eyes. She turned away from him again. “Then go,” she said softly.
“I’ll come back to you, Anna. I promise.”
Richmond, Virginia
Anxiety gripped Grady as he stood in the bow of the ship and gazed at the charred wreckage of Richmond. He barely recognized the city that had once been his home. All that remained of the bridges that had once spanned the James River were stone pilings. Block after block of buildings in Richmond’s downtown area had all been destroyed, reduced to skeletons of toppling bricks with vacant, empty window frames. Piles of rubble lay everywhere, from the river’s edge to the hill where the soot-covered capitol building still stood. And everywhere that Grady looked, he saw white women clothed in black and the now-familiar sight of ragged, homeless slaves. As they sifted through the debris, they wore the haunted, frightened expressions of castaways adrift on a rudderless ship.
Clearly, Richmond’s inhabitants had suffered greatly. The scars that the burned and broken city bore were proof enough. Grady could only imagine what his mother and other loved ones must have suffered. The thought filled him with dread.
He began the long, circuitous walk through the rubbleclogged streets with deep foreboding, the stench of burning still thick in the air, even after all these months. But his panic began to ease as he turned onto Broad Street and hurried up the hill. The area of Richmond where he had once lived looked unkempt but relatively undamaged. He passed St. John’s church and turned down the familiar street where Eli had always turned. Massa Fletcher’s house still stood on the corner at the end of the block.
Grady paused and drew a deep breath when he saw it. Then he quickened his pace, jogging around to the rear where his family lived. The wrought-iron gate stood open, and he hurried through it and into the stable.
And there was Eli.
Grady’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of him. Eli didn’t hear him or see him, and Grady stood watching for a long moment as Eli adjusted the bridle on one of the horses. His every gesture was so familiar, so beloved, that it seemed as though Grady had left only yesterday. But Eli’s movements were slower and stiffer now, and his hair and beard pure white. He had once seemed so tall and powerful, but now Grady was taller than Eli was.
When he could speak, Grady called out his name. “Eli …”
He turned, and recognition lit Eli’s eyes the moment he saw him. “Praise God,” he murmured as he walked toward him. “Praise Massa Jesus; He brought our Grady home.”
They hugged each other fiercely, clinging to one another for a long, long time. At last, Eli pulled back to face him. “You still hiding God’s Word in your heart?” he asked.
Grady remembered Joe’s warning not to let the devil tell him that he wasn’t forgiven. He smiled and tapped his chest. “It’s in there, Eli. God’s Word is still hiding in there, just like you taught me.”
“Praise God … thank you, Massa Jesus,” Eli said as he embraced him again.
Grady drew a deep breath, afraid to hope. “Is my mama here? Is she okay?”
“Tessie’s doing just fine,” Eli said with a broad grin. “She’s married to my son, Josiah, now, and they’re living in a little house of their own not too far from here. I’ll take you there. But we better go see Esther first, or she’ll have my hide for sure.”
Eli led the way down the path from the stable to the kitchen. The yard where Grady used to play with Caroline looked different, the boxwood hedges and flower gardens plowed up and replaced by a vegetable patch. The magnolia tree in the rear of the yard was still there, but it seemed not to have grown in the twelve years Grady had been gone—or was it because he had grown taller himself?
“Esther, look who’s here!” Eli called, pushing open the kitchen door. “Grady’s home!”
“Grady? Our Grady?” she cried. “Oh, bless the Good Lord in heaven!” Esther flew at him, hugging him so tightly that Grady thought his spine would snap. It felt wonderful. “Look at you!” she murmured. “All growed up into a man. A fine, handsome man, too!”
“Don’t break all his bones, Esther,” Eli warned. “Tessie’s gonna want a piece of him, too. I’m gonna take him right on over there to see her as soon as you’re letting go of him.”
Grady longed to see his mother, but he needed to go to the Big House first. As he steeled himself to confront Massa Fletcher, Grady felt every muscle and nerve ending grow tense and alert, the way he used to feel as he’d marched toward an enemy encampment, his rifle loaded and ready.
“Before we go, Eli … is … um … is Massa Fletcher around?”
Eli studied him for a long moment, as if trying to read his thoughts. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, he’s here. Been gone to the islands for a couple of months, but he’s back home now.”
“I need to see him.” Grady turned and walked quickly toward the house before he could lose his nerve or change his mind. He’d never been inside the Big House before, but he walked through the back door without knocking, as if he belonged there. He peered into several small, deserted rooms off the rear hallway, then followed the aroma of cigar smoke to the front foyer and to an office near the door.
George Fletcher sat behind his desk, reading a newspaper. He looked thinner and older, more gray-haired than Grady remembered. When Fletcher looked up and saw Grady in the doorway, he dropped the paper and rose to his feet.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” His voice was stern, commanding, but Grady didn’t flinch. He had learned how to look a man in the eye—even a white man.
“I’m Tessie’s boy, Grady… . Your son.”
Fletcher slowly sank down in his chair as if the strength had drained out of him. Grady continued to stare defiantly, face to face, refusing to lower his eyes. The embers of twelve years of simmering anger and hatred stirred to a roaring blaze at the sight of the man who had caused him so much suffering. He waited for Fletcher to speak first.
“So. You’ve come back.”
Grady nodded. “I’ve been in the Union Army for the past three years, the Thirty-third United States Colored Troops. They promoted me to sergeant.” He walked into the room and stood in front of his father. He was just a man, a defeated man, in spite of his attempts to act stern. “I helped kill Rebels like you and bring an end to your precious Confederacy,” Grady said. “And I helped Abraham Lincoln set all your slaves free.”
Fletcher’s hand trembled as he laid his cigar in the ashtray. “What do you want?”
“Justice,” Grady said quietly. “And I want to know why you sold your own son to a slave trader.”
Fletcher looked away for the first time. Grady was surprised to see his jaw tremble with emotion. “I didn’t want to do it,” Fletcher said hoarsely. “My wife—Caroline’s mother—was very ill. She knew that you were … She knew who you were, and it upset her to see you every day. She wasn’t able to give me a son. I thought it might help her get well if I …” His voice trailed away. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”
Fletcher spoke the words so softly that Grady wasn’t really sure he’d heard them. He stared in disbelief. Fletcher finally met his gaze again and repeated it. “I’m sorry for selling you.”
Now it was Grady who had to look away. He had expected anger, resentment, even contempt, but not regret.
“Well, it’s too late for apologies,” Grady said, exhaling. “I been dreaming of this day, planning for it all these years. First I want to hear you beg for your life the same way my mama and I begged you the day you sold me. I want to make you suffer just a little of what I been suffering all this time—the beatings, the whippings, the weeks spent in filthy slave cells without a soul who cared if I lived or died. And after you beg and plead and feel some of the fear I been feeling day after day for all these years … then I plan to blow your brains out. Right here in your big fancy house. The house I was never good enough to step inside, even though half of the blood in my veins is the same as yours—white man’s blood.”
Fletcher closed his eyes. Grady expected to see fear in them when he opened them again, but instead he saw resignation. His father looked old and tired, the fight all gone out of him. “I know some of what you suffered,” Fletcher said quietly. “I spent time in a Union prison camp. But I won’t beg for my life.”
“You deserve to die!”
Fletcher shrugged. “We all do.”
Grady thought of Edward Coop’s lifeless body—of the guilt that had haunted him after he’d murdered Coop. Grady knew that he deserved to die for killing him. But Jesus had taken the death penalty for him so that he could live.
For some reason, as Grady gazed at his father, he saw his own son. And he realized that if Fletcher hadn’t sold him all those years ago, he never would have met Anna, never would have had a son.
“I’ve dreamed of killing you,” Grady repeated. “But I’m not going to. I have a son of my own, now. I want to live as a free man, not hang for giving you what you deserve. I want to be a father to him. I want to show him what a real father is like.”
Fletcher’s jaw trembled with emotion. “What’s his name?”
“It’s … it’s George. But—” Grady started to tell him that it was just a coincidence, that his son wasn’t named after him, but Fletcher gripped the arms of his chair and suddenly pulled himself to his feet. Grady was stunned to see tears in his eyes. His father walked over to a bookshelf, pulled down a volume, and opened it. It was hollow inside and hid a drawstring bag. He tossed the bag to Grady. He felt the jangling weight of coins.
“What’s this?” Grady asked.
“Open it.”
Grady loosened the strings enough to see dozens of large, gold coins inside. He glared at his father. “Why are you giving me this? Are you trying to soothe your guilty conscience by buying me off?”
“I know you won’t believe me … but I loved your mother. Tessie was—” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’m giving it to you because you’re a Fletcher.”
“I don’t want your money,” he said, holding out the bag. “I ain’t gonna help ease your guilt.”
Fletcher shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then give the money to your son. He’s a Fletcher, too.”
Grady studied his father for a long moment, surprised to find that he felt only pity, not hatred. George Fletcher would have to give an accounting to God for what he had done—and hadn’t done. The way Edward Coop had. The way Grady himself would, someday.
Grady knew there had been a time in his life when he would have thrown the money in Fletcher’s face, too bitter to take anything from a white man. There had been a time when he would have taken the gold and demanded even more in payment for a lifetime of slavery. But he didn’t do either of those things. His father was asking for forgiveness in the only way he knew how—and if Grady wanted God’s forgiveness, then he had to forgive his father, as well.
Grady put the bag of coins in his pocket and slowly turned away—a free man at last.