A Light to My Path (37 page)

“What’re your plans now that you’re free?” Jim asked.

“I ain’t really made any, yet,” Grady said with a sigh. “I been planning how to escape for so long that I ain’t thought about what comes afterwards.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here with us,” Minnie said, “even though we ain’t got a lot. We been eating from Massa’s cupboards, but the food won’t be lasting forever.”

“It’s different being free,” Jim added. “Ain’t no massa giving us things no more. Folks like us gonna have to make a living now, if we want to eat.”

“How you been doing that?” Grady asked.

“Well, Minnie’s washing clothes for the white soldiers, and I been earning money at the docks, unloading freight. We was amongst the lucky ones who got jobs right away because we was living here when the Yankees first come. But it’s getting harder and harder to find work these days. I hear that more than ten thousand slaves was set free—just on the Sea Island plantations alone. Yes, sir, there’s plenty more folks looking for work than there’s work to do.”

“You could try one of the plantations,” Minnie said. “I hear the army’s letting slaves take over their masters’ cotton crops and promising to pay them wages when it’s sold.”

“I ain’t picking cotton,” Grady said, “and I ain’t working for 277 white men no more.”

“It’s gonna be awful hard to make a living, then,” Jim said gravely. “If I was as young as you, I’d join the army. They got Negro soldiers now.”

“Yeah, I know. Some of them was the ones that found me.” They ate in silence for a while before Grady asked, “How’d you end up back in Beaufort? Last I heard you and Martin had escaped after heading out to the fort with Massa Fuller.”

Jim lifted his bowl to slurp the last of his stew, then handed it to Minnie for a refill. “There was too many Yankees for Massa and the others to fight off. We helped ferry them all out of there when they had to give up the fort—and I saw a lot of dead and wounded men that day, I can tell you. But as soon as I got the chance, me and a few others just took off and hid in the woods during all the ruckus. The town was deserted by the time I come back here for Minnie. Yankees moved in a few days later.”

“What happened to Martin?”

“I don’t know,” Jim said with a shrug. “Last I saw him, he was helping Massa and the others at the fort. Ain’t seen him or Massa since.”

“You look all tuckered out, Grady,” Minnie said when the meal was finished. “You should have yourself a good night’s sleep before you go deciding anything. Why don’t you let Jim show you upstairs where we been sleeping?”

It took Grady a moment to realize that she was inviting him to sleep upstairs in the town house, not up above the stable where he used to sleep. He didn’t move, unable to picture himself doing it. Sitting inside the house at Massa’s dinner table had been a huge step for him; sleeping in Massa’s bedrooms would be even bigger. “I think I’m tired enough to sleep just about anywhere,” he finally said. “Even standing up.”

They talked a little while longer before Jim finally convinced Grady to follow him upstairs. He led him to an enormous room with a four-poster bed draped with curtains. The mattress, which was made of feathers and piled high with pillows and blankets, looked so soft and deep that Grady wondered if he’d sink down and suffocate in all that luxury. He suddenly thought of Anna, remembering their only night together and the way she had felt in his arms. How wonderful it would be to sleep beside his wife in this big, soft bed. He longed to see her wearing Missus Fuller’s fancy clothes, like Minnie did, and living here in the town house.

“Ain’t that bed something?” Jim asked, interrupting his thoughts. “White folks have it pretty good, don’t they?”

“Yeah. They sure do.” Grady was so angry he couldn’t think of anything else to say. While he’d been sleeping on cornshucks all these years, in smelly stables and drafty cabins, the white folks had slept in rooms like this one. He’d never been inside Massa Coop’s house in New Orleans or Massa Fletcher’s house in Richmond, but they probably looked much the same as this.

“Build yourself a little fire in the fireplace, if you want,” Jim said. “There’s plenty of wood. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Grady stood for a long moment, surveying his new room. If only Anna had come with him. They could sleep here together tonight—in freedom. But she had chosen to go with Missy Claire instead of him. It angered him to realize that she hadn’t been torn away from him against her will, the way all the other people in his life had been. The choice had been hers to make. Grady made up his mind in that moment to forget her. She wasn’t his wife, Anna, anymore. She was Kitty—a white woman’s slave.

As he finally undressed for the night, Grady suddenly knew what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom. He would make his way back home to Richmond. He could do that now, couldn’t he? As a free man, dressed in white men’s clothes, he could board a passenger ship and sail up the coast, just like Massa Coop used to do. Once he reached Richmond, Grady would help his mama and the others escape.

But first he would need to earn boat fare. Grady had no idea how much it would cost or how he would earn it. The only money he’d ever held in his hands was the loose change Massa had given him to buy drawing paper for Anna. Those coins had seemed like a lot of money as they’d jangled heavily in Grady’s pocket. He’d been very surprised when the store clerk made him hand them all over just to buy a pile of paper.

Grady climbed into the feather bed, too tired to make any more plans. For the first time in his life, softness and warmth enveloped him as he drifted off to sleep. But anger battled his exhaustion throughout the long, restless night.

“Do you know where that regiment of slave soldiers might be camping out?” Grady asked Jim the next day at breakfast.

“I hear they’re a little ways outside Beaufort, on the grounds of Old Fort Plantation. Know where that is?”

“Yeah, I drove Massa Fuller there a couple times.”

“You planning on joining up?” Minnie asked as she handed Grady a plate of biscuits.

“No. Just going to see an old friend.”

The warm sun shone brightly as he set off to find Amos. Why couldn’t the weather have been this fine on the day Grady and the others had escaped? Seemed like God was always on the white men’s side.

It took Grady an hour to walk the three miles to Old Fort Plantation, perched on a small spit of land along the Beaufort River. The Big House stood at the end of a long, tree-shaded avenue, looking tattered and war-torn since the last time he’d visited with Massa Fuller. Off in the woods, the neat encampment of white canvas tents appeared deserted, but Grady quickly spotted the men marching up and down an empty field in neat columns and rows. With their crisp, orderly movements, the Negroes looked just as fine as Massa Fuller’s white soldiers had looked when they’d drilled on the Green out at the Point last year.

Grady sat down to watch them, still amazed to see slaves in uniforms, carrying guns. The field slaves he’d worked with on the plantation used to shuffle to work on slow, dragging feet, their shoulders slumped, their spirits beaten down. He’d never seen Negroes like these men—their chins raised in pride, their shoulders squared, their feet lifted high as they marched in step with shouldered rifles. But the man shouting all the orders was a white man, and that spoiled everything for Grady.

The soldiers finally paused for a break around noon, and he found Amos. He was the biggest man in the troop and easy to spot. Grady accompanied him to the mess tent and waited beside him while Amos stood in line with the other soldiers. An atmosphere of contentment seemed to fill the camp, and the men laughed and joked with each other as they lined up for their food.

“Seems like you have it pretty good around here,” Grady said.

“Yeah, most of us was field slaves before. We’re getting plenty of food now, and warm blankets and clothes, too.” He gestured to his new uniform.

“I need to ask you something,” Grady said. “You’re from Richmond, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, I was born there,” Amos replied. “Left my wife and five kids behind when I was sold.”

“I want to go back and find my own family,” Grady told him, “but I ain’t sure how to do it. You know how much it costs for a ticket on a boat? Or how to get a job on one that’s heading there?”

Amos gave him an odd look. “I guess you ain’t following the news. There’s a war going on right now.”

Grady gestured impatiently. “I know that.”

“Well, passenger ships can’t be sailing into Confederate ports any time they feel like it. They can only go to cities like Beaufort that the Yankees already took. Them Rebels have forts and armed batteries guarding all their rivers and ports. And Union warships are patrolling up and down the coast, stopping ships.”

Amos reached the head of the line and paused to fill his tin mess plate, then he led Grady to a makeshift bench outside his tent. “Want some food?” he asked.

Grady shook his head. “How can I get to Richmond, Amos?”

“You can’t, boy. The Rebels made Richmond their capitol, like Washington City. The Yankees been trying all last spring and summer to get in there. Didn’t you hear about that?”

“I thought the white folks was making it all up, about keeping the Yankees out. It was hard to find out exactly what’s been going on in the war, since they had me working as a field hand.”

Amos grunted in sympathy. “Yeah, well, them Rebels have Richmond all closed up behind earthworks and such. Even General McClellan and thousands of Yankee soldiers weren’t able to get in there last summer. Word is that a new general is gonna try again soon, and that they’re marching down that way right now. But if you’re thinking of going after your family, it ain’t gonna work. They’s still slaves. If you go anywhere near Richmond, them white folks gonna catch you and make you their slave again, too.”

Grady stood and paced a few steps, his fists clenched in frustration. “How can I help my family get free, Amos?”

He chewed his food, thinking. “Only way I know is to march into Richmond with the Yankees. That’s why I put on this uniform. When we finish drilling and learning how to fight, I’m hoping to get up there myself and save my own family. And you can bet I’ll be killing every last Rebel I find along the way.”

This discouraging news wasn’t what Grady had wanted to hear. “Thanks anyway,” he mumbled. He said good-bye to Amos and set off across the camp toward the road, hoping that another plan would come to mind on the long walk back to town. He was crossing the parade grounds when one of the white officers intercepted him.

“Hello there,” the man said with a friendly smile. “Are you interested in joining the First South Carolina Volunteers?” It astounded Grady to be addressed as an equal by a white man—even more so when Grady recognized him as the officer who had shouted all the orders to Amos and the others as they’d drilled. Grady hesitated for a long moment, his lifetime habits of submission and fear still deeply ingrained. Then he summoned the courage to answer as a free man—an equal.

“No, thanks. I ain’t taking no more orders from any white men.”

The soldier looked surprised but not angry. “You misunderstand. The men don’t obey us because we’re white but because we’re officers. We have black officers, too.”

“You mean Negroes like me giving the orders?”

“That’s right. Colonel Higginson is in charge of this regiment and he’s white, but he’s been fighting all his life for equality and freedom for the slaves. He even went out to Kansas during the troubles a few years back and fought like a wildcat to keep it from becoming a slave state. He gave money to support John Brown and the slave rebellion at Harper’s Ferry, too.”

Grady nodded as if he understood, but he had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Colonel Higginson agreed to lead this regiment as a kind of experiment,” the white man continued. “If we can succeed—and we’re certain that we can—we’ll show the nation that there’s no difference at all between our two races. We believe that you Negroes will fight just as good or even better than whites do because you’re fighting for your freedom. Everyone up north is watching, you know. This is your chance to prove that your race is just as good as ours. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you’ll get paid every month and get plenty to eat. And Colonel Higginson plans to start school lessons in the evenings to teach everyone how to read and write. Think about it.”

It sounded much too good to be true to Grady. He wondered if it was a trick to get all the Negroes to enlist so that the whites could enslave them again. “No thanks,” he mumbled and began the long walk back to Beaufort.

Later, as he passed the harbor where Jim worked, Grady saw his fellow Negroes laboring with their backs bent, their faces downcast—still wearing rags and working for meager pay. Watching them, it seemed to Grady that freedom had never come. He couldn’t help comparing them with the Negro soldiers he’d seen that morning, carrying themselves and their weapons with pride.

Back at Massa’s town house, smoke curled from the chimney of the washhouse. Grady peeked inside to see Minnie scrubbing the white men’s laundry, and it made him angry. He didn’t want to labor on one of the plantations or do menial work like Jim and Minnie. Grady wanted to walk into Richmond as a free Negro. He wanted Massa Fletcher to meet the son he’d sold—a free man now, carrying a gun. It was what the white folks had long feared—Negroes with guns, coming back to get even, searching for the justice they’d long been denied. Grady wanted to aim a gun at Massa Fletcher’s head and make him cry and beg the way Grady and his mama had begged on that last day. After he’d seen his white father’s fear and listened to his pleas for mercy, Grady would pull the trigger and blow his brains out.

But in the meantime, how would he get there?

Three days later Grady had made up his mind. He walked back to the army camp and found the white officer he’d spoken to.

“I’ve decided to join your Negro regiment,” he said.

“That’s great. I’m Captain Metcalf. What’s your name?”

Grady didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly who he was. “My name’s Grady,” he said. “Grady Fletcher.”