Grady remembered William telling him the same thing about Massa Coop. He had learned differently.
Then Jesse snuffed out the lantern, plunging Grady into darkness. He had no choice but to lay down in the hay and try to sleep. He wished he could pray, wished he still believed in Eli’s Jesus and the promise of help. He closed his eyes, exhausted. The familiar smells and soft snorts of the animals made him dream of Eli, dreaming that he was home in Richmond again. But fear of what would happen tomorrow made for a restless night.
Grady awoke to bright sunshine and the oppressive heat and humidity of a July morning in South Carolina. Jesse was hard at work in the stable below him, getting the carriage and horses ready to go. He let Grady down from the loft and offered him some breakfast, but Grady was too frightened to eat. Every time he heard horses and carriage wheels outside on the busy street he held his breath, waiting to see if they stopped, waiting for Massa Coop to appear and reclaim him.
Just when Grady thought he might be sick from the anxiety, one of the house slaves came outside to announce that Massa Fuller was ready to leave. Jesse pulled the carriage up to the door, and Grady helped load Massa’s baggage onboard, silently begging everyone to hurry. He spent another two hours sweating in terror as Jesse drove Massa Fuller all around Beaufort on errands, with Grady seated high on the driver’s seat where Coop couldn’t fail to see him. Grady wondered if Fuller was going to deliver him to Coop’s hotel or perhaps to the docks. But at last Jesse steered the carriage away from the bay and out of the city. The farther they traveled from town, the freer Grady felt from Coop. Maybe he really was safe! He stared at the passing countryside without seeing it, his vision blurred by tears of relief.
After a while they reached the Coosaw River, and Jesse told him they would have to wait for the Beaufort ferry to take them across to the mainland. Once they were on the other side, Grady finally began to gaze around at the scenery. He’d lived in the city of Richmond until Coop had bought him, and the only sights he’d seen since then were slave pens, hotel rooms, city docks, and ships’ holds. Now that he was out in the countryside for the first time in his life, he couldn’t get enough of it.
The road, paved with crushed oyster shells, crackled beneath their wagon wheels and sometimes ran parallel to a set of railroad tracks, visible through the trees. It meandered through forests of tall pine trees, moss-draped oaks, and dense underbrush. Then the scenery changed, the forest giving way to a maze of marshy creeks, swamps, and inlets. Grady gazed up at the blue sky and feathery clouds and felt as free as the birds circling overhead. The air smelled of pine and salt marsh.
As the miles lengthened, they passed more and more stately plantation homes with acres of cultivated rice and cotton fields. Grady saw hundreds of slaves laboring beneath the blazing sun, their backs bent, and wondered if he would soon be joining them.
The old driver had barely spoken a word to Grady, but he seemed kind enough. The gentle way he handled Massa Fuller’s horses reminded Grady of his friend Eli, back home in Richmond, only Jesse looked much older than Eli. Grady thought of all the gray heads that he’d been forced to disguise with boot blacking, and he wondered what had become of all those poor old souls.
Later that afternoon they reached the Fuller Plantation. Flower gardens and moss-draped oak trees surrounded the imposing brick house, making Grady’s new home seem immeasurably peaceful and serene after his years of hectic city life. He couldn’t believe that slaving on a plantation would be any worse than slaving for Massa Coop.
“Get Massa’s bags,” Jesse said as the carriage pulled to a halt in the yard. Grady scrambled to do what he was told, jumping down the moment the wheels stopped rolling. Several servants hurried out of the house to greet Massa Fuller, led by a short, muscular Negro who was obviously in charge of all the others. Fuller climbed from the carriage looking hot and tired and rumpled.
“Welcome home, Massa Fuller,” the head slave said, smiling broadly.
“Thank you, Martin. It’s good to be home. How are things?”
“They fine, sir. Everything’s running smoothly while you gone.”
“Very good.”
Grady studied the house servants’ faces as they hurried to help with the luggage. Having experienced terror every day when he belonged to Coop, Grady could easily spot fear in other slaves. But while Fuller’s slaves seemed eager to please him, and wary of the butler, Martin, no one cowered in dread the way Grady had been forced to do.
The front door opened again and two white teenagers ran outside, followed by a tiny, wrinkled slave in a calico dress. Grady guessed that she was their mammy. Gray curls poked from beneath the kerchief on her head as she chased after them, scolding them.
“John! Ellis! You come back here! Don’t you be pestering your daddy, now. He had a long, hot trip.”
They ignored her, running to Massa Fuller and shouting, “Father! You’re finally home! We’ve been waiting all day.”
He patted their shoulders and grinned. The younger boy was about Grady’s age, the other a year or two older. Grady watched the reunion from a distance, then quickly looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact when Fuller’s younger son suddenly turned to stare at him.
“Who’s that boy, Father?”
“That’s a new slave I acquired in town.”
“He’s a
slave
?”
“Yes, of course he is.”
“But he doesn’t look very black.”
“Look at his hair,” the older boy said. “Can’t you see he’s got kinky Negro hair?”
Grady felt them studying him for a moment longer, then the younger boy asked, “Did you bring us anything, Father?”
Fuller laughed. “Yes, of course—in that bag. Fetch it here.” They forgot all about Grady as Massa Fuller opened the satchel and pulled out sweets and books and a new set of dominoes. The affection between father and sons seemed genuine as the three of them walked toward the house together.
“What are you wanting us to do with the new boy, Massa Fuller?” the head servant asked.
Fuller glanced back at Grady as he climbed the front steps. “Find out what he can do and put him to work.” He disappeared into the Big House with his sons.
Martin strode over to Grady with a slight swagger in his step. Grady quickly took his measure and felt an instant dislike for the Negro butler. Their master had entrusted him with a great deal of power, and he looked as though he enjoyed flaunting it, feeling superior. He would likely take sides with the white folks rather than with his fellow slaves, just as William had done.
“You do anything useful, boy?” Martin asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well?” he said impatiently. “Speak up! What kind of work did you do for your last massa?”
For a moment Grady could only recall his fear. “I … um … I shined his boots and waited on him when he’s eating, poured his drinks—I done whatever he ask.” The butler looked unimpressed, as if waiting to hear more. “And I was helping take care of his other slaves, cleaning up and stuff,” Grady added.
“That all?”
“I-I play the fiddle… .”
Martin gave a short, derisive laugh. “That’s what I thought—you’re useless. Massa Fuller ain’t needing another boot boy or manservant. Guess it’s gonna be the cotton fields for you. You’re sturdy enough. Wait here and someone will take you down to find the overseer.” He turned to go.
Grady felt desperate. He didn’t think he would survive the hard, hot work in the cotton fields with the lash falling across his back all day. “Wait!” he shouted. “Back h—” He stopped himself from saying “home” just in time. “Back when I was living with my first massa, I was helping take care of his horses, feeding them and rubbing them down and everything. I know how to grease a carriage wheel and oil the harnesses, too.”
Jesse still hadn’t driven the carriage away so Grady reached out to stroke the big gelding’s flank. The horse’s back stood taller than Grady’s head.
“You ain’t afraid of horses?” Jesse asked, looking down at him from the high seat.
“No, sir. Eli taught me how to talk to them to make them calm and all. They do anything I tell them. Ain’t none of them ever kicking me, neither.” He stepped up to the horse’s head and rubbed his neck to make friends.
Jesse turned in the driver’s seat to face Martin. “I could use some more help,” he said. “Them other two stable boys you give me is useless.”
Martin crossed his arms, confronting Grady. “Tell me something, boy. Why’d that first massa get rid of you if you was so good with horses?”
After four years with Coop, Grady knew what the best answer to that question always was. “Massa’s needing the money,” he said. “Had to sell a whole bunch of us.”
Martin took his time answering. “All right, Jesse. Take him, then,” he finally said. “But don’t you be thinking about running off, boy. The swamps around here are chock full of ’gators and snakes. They’ll be eating you in one bite.” He strode up the front steps and into the house.
Grady knew he had just been granted an enormous favor. He looked up at Jesse, wondering why, not daring to ask. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
“Yeah, well, I’m expecting you to help me, you know,” Jesse said gruffly. He twitched the reins and the carriage started forward. Grady jogged alongside as Jesse drove slowly down the long drive to the stable, mindful of raising too much dust.
“I will help you! I’m telling the truth about them horses,” Grady said. “You’ll see. I been mucking straw out of slave pens for a long time, and I can shovel out a stable, too.”
He offered Jesse a hand as the old man climbed down from the driver’s seat, and the two of them set to work. Grady felt very much at home among the familiar sounds and smells of the carriage house. They rubbed the horses down, fed and watered them, then cleaned the mud and dust off the carriage. It seemed to Grady that a hundred years had passed since last night’s poker game—with a hundred years’ worth of worry and anxiety to go along with it. He only hoped that this wasn’t a dream.
When they finished, Jesse sank onto a wooden chair near the stable door. “Come here, boy,” he said, motioning to him. Grady set aside the rag he was using to polish the brass carriage fixtures and obeyed. Jesse studied him for a long moment. “Your old massa come to see Massa Fuller this morning,” he said quietly. “He try to buy you back.”
Grady stared. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. For some reason, his heart began pounding so hard it was as if he faced Massa Coop, not Jesse.
“The man offer Massa Fuller a lot of money,” Jesse continued. “Said he’d trade you for any other slave if Massa want—even a pretty slave gal. Got all heated up when Massa Fuller refuse to sell you.” He nodded, as if to emphasize the truth of his words, then added, “Just thought you’d be wanting to know.”
Grady sank down on a bale of hay, weak-kneed. He felt breathless and queasy, as if he’d been pulled out of deep water and narrowly escaped drowning. Why had Massa Fuller done it? If he didn’t need another slave, why hadn’t he sold him back to Coop? As hard as Grady tried, he couldn’t think of a sensible reason. He understood injustice and cruelty, but not undeserved kindness.
Before Grady’s strength had a chance to return, the stable door opened and the little gray-haired mammy appeared in the doorway. She stood for a moment, watching them.
“What you needing, Delia?” Jesse asked when he saw her.
“Where’d this new boy come from?” she asked.
“Massa Fuller say he won him in a poker game.”
“Who from?”
“Nobody round here. Fella was a slave trader, passing through on business, I guess.”
“Is that so?” she asked Grady.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My name’s Delia,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Grady.” It felt good to say his real name.
“You been slaving for a ‘soul trader’ all your life?” she asked as she took a few steps toward him.
Something in her voice and in her eyes made it hard for Grady to answer, hard to hold back his tears. She was looking at him with an expression of pity and understanding—and he was still overwhelmed by the unexplained mercy his new master had shown.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and waited until he was sure he could speak in a steady voice.
“No, ma’am. I belong to Massa Fletcher back in Richmond, Virginia, first of all. He sell me to Massa Coop about four years ago. I been traveling all over with him ever since, while he’s buying and selling slaves.”
He glanced up and saw compassion in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He quickly looked away. No one had shown any concern for him at all in a long, long time.
“You got room for him to sleep in here with you, Jesse?” she asked.
“I dunno. Why?”
“Because I was thinking he could stay with me if you don’t have a place. I can send him back to help you in the daytime.”
“Take him, Delia. I don’t care none.”
Grady wondered what she wanted him for, and he realized that he was afraid to trust anyone. Massa Coop had made him come to his room every night and wait on him for every little thing, until Grady was so tired he wanted to drop. Coop had scrutinized his every move, too, waiting for him to make the smallest mistake so he’d have an excuse to beat him.
“Go on, take him,” Jesse said again. “We all done working for 117 now.”
Delia motioned for Grady to follow her. She was a small woman, her head barely reaching his chin, but she looked strong and sturdily built. She walked so briskly he had to hurry to keep up as she led him out of the stable and across the yard to a tiny cabin that looked as though it might have been a shed at one time. It was neat and clean inside, but very hot, even with the windows open. The two rooms were simply furnished with a brick fireplace, shelves of dishes and crocks, and a table with two chairs in one room, a rope bed with a cornshuck mattress in the other. Delia left him standing in the middle of the first room while she bustled around, closing the door, drawing shut the scraps of muslin that served as curtains, talking all the while.
“I been working here on the Fuller place all my life,” she said, “and I seen a lot of slaves coming and going, bought and sold. But I never did see one taken from his home as young as you. Did you have to leave your mama?”