The Triumph of Grace (21 page)

I
'm glad I let you live, boy!" Macon Waymon laughed as he watched Caleb turn the crank on the reengineered cotton gin."I do admit there was a time when I wondered what you were really worth to me. But look at you now. Just look at you!"

"Yes, Massa," Caleb said. Muscles bulged on his powerful arms as he reached for another basket of raw cotton.

"Just look at you!" Macon said again. "Got to get old Silas Leland over here to see what he lost when he sold you to me.Well, keep that gin going, boy. You are a right fine slave. That you are—a right fine slave!"

The expression on Caleb's face stayed flat. His eyes never wavered from his work.

"A right fine slave, is it den?" a woman who toted the basket of cotton asked with a laugh. "Dem be mighty pretty words for a massa to give a slave. What you doing for him to earn his praises?"

"Turning de wheel on his gin," Caleb said. "Just turning his wheel so dat he keeps on makin' money."

One slave after another after another came in bearing a load of cotton. "Get in line," Caleb said to each one.

Caleb kept on turning the crank on the cotton gin until the slave Zekiel finally came to take his place.

"Woo . . . wee," Zeke whistled. "I'll be turnin' dat crank all de long night."

"You can have it," Caleb said. "My arm is close to broke off."

Caleb walked across the bare yard and headed down toward the slave quarters. Suddenly he did a quick spin around, looking up and down and on all sides. When he saw no one, he gave a fat hen in front of him a sound kick. It tumbled to the edge of the yard, then flopped over on its side and lay still.With one fluid motion, Caleb swooped up the hen and tucked it under his shirt.

"Fresh chicken for supper tonight!" Caleb announced as he strolled into the slave quarters.

"Where you get a chicken from?" Prudie asked him.

"Massa gave it to me," Caleb said with a grin.

"Thank you, kind Massa!" Prudie laughed. She took the chicken and hugged it to her.

"Massa say it be time we have us some decent food," said Caleb.

Prudie laughed again, harder this time.

"He say after all de hard work we do down here, he owes us slaves a proper supper," said Caleb.

Now Prudie was laughing so hard she could barely stand up.

"Dat Massa, he a good man!" she laughed.

"Oh, he be dat!" said Caleb. "I'm right glad we let him live.Yes'm! He be a fine white man!"

"Word is, someone stole a big fat hen right from under Massa's nose," Juba said to Caleb.

"Dat so?" Caleb asked.

"Dat's so," said Juba. "And on de very same night dat de slave quarters be simmerin' with chicken stew, too. Now ain't dat a interestin' happenstance?"

"It do seem to be," said Caleb.

"When you going back to work on de gin?" Juba asked.

"Zekiel's finishin' his turn at de crank," Caleb said. "Next be Amos, den Henry, den me again. But I be back up to de gin before dat because I's de one dat has to oversee all de workin's."

"Watch out dat no chickens get in de way of dose big feet of yours," Juba said.

Caleb nodded and asked, "Dat other fat hen . . . Do you reckon I needs worry about dat?"

"No," said Juba. "No, you do not. Just see dat it don't happen too many times."

"Certainly not," Caleb said with a smirk. "I be a right fine slave."

"Listen to me, Caleb," said Juba. "You be a right
valuable
slave is what. Shore, you be worth a lot because of de work you do for Massa. But you even more valuable if'n he puts you up for sale. You know how much white men is willing to pay for a slave dat can make a cotton engine de way you can?"

Caleb shrugged.

"Well, I be tellin' you dis, boy. Don't make no trouble for youself or Massa might take it into his mind to sell you off to de highest bid."

"What do I care?" Caleb said. "When de right day comes along, I'm goin' to run from here, anyway."

"You be a fool!" Juba said. "Massa treats you good. He wants you to live. He wants you with him. Dat de most a slave can ever hope for."

Caleb spat on the ground. "No, it is not," he said. "It's not de most I can hope for. I can hope to walk free."

"Watch de way you talk," Juba said. "Dat talk going to get you whupped."

"What about you, Juba?" Caleb challenged. "You think you're different from me? You think Massa cares about your woman and your children? Dey can't even live in your cabin with you! You think he won't sell dem away from you if it suits him? You know he will!"

"Hush!" Juba hissed. "Don't you be a fool!"

"Once in my life I fought for freedom," Caleb said. "I did it den and I can do it again. What I got to lose?"

"Maybe somethin'," said Juba.

"Yeah? What?" asked Caleb. "My job turnin' de crank on de gin? You can have dat!"

"Somethin' else," Juba said. "One night before de weather turned warm, I helped a runnin' slave get away from de slave catchers. He asked me, did I know a slave name of Caleb."

"Who was he?" Caleb asked.

"Didn't give me his name," Juba said. "But he looked an awful lot like you."

Caleb stared at Juba.

"Had a lame arm, he did."

Caleb caught his breath.

"He said the slave Caleb be his brother."

"Sunba!" Caleb breathed. "Sunba is alive!"

G
race lifted the pot of hot water off the edge of the fireplace and toted it over to the table. As soon as she dipped the first bowl in, she cried out, "Ow!" The water was too hot. Even so, Grace went ahead and quickly scrubbed the bowl clean. She plunged the second bowl in without waiting for the water to cool. Grace was eager to finish the housework and get outside in the warm spring air. How different it was from the damp, suffocating smoke of London!

After she wiped her hands dry on her skirt, Grace grabbed up a small sack of dried corn and ran out to the dirt courtyard.

"Click, click, click," Grace called as she tossed out handfuls of corn.

Mother hens, followed by little yellow fluffs of baby chicks, ran over to scratch at the corn kernels in the dirt. John Hull didn't want Grace to give the chickens too much corn, but Grace couldn't resist. They enjoyed it so much!

In addition to the garden, Grace had offered to take over responsibility for the two goats as well as for the chickens.

"You don't have to do all of that," John said as he approached her in the yard.

"I want to," said Grace. "I want to feel the warmth on my face again. I want to breathe in the sunshine."

Indeed, it did please John to see Grace take such pride in the animals and the garden. She caressed the ripening tomatoes with tenderness, and was so eager for the peas and beans that she picked them before they even had a chance to fill out their pods. The pungent onions she cut early, too, and hung them in the corners of the kitchen ceiling.

As the days lengthened, John Hull cut his work hours shorter. He wanted his supper ready as soon as he was in the house and cleaned up. While Grace finished in the kitchen, he opened the Bible and reread the last chapters they had read together.

"I do enjoy the words of the prophets," John said to Grace."Did I tell you that at one time I wanted to be a preacher?"

"No," Grace said. "Why did you change your mind?"

"It was just the impossible dream of a young boy," John said. "I must say, though, that the idea did please my father.He was not himself a landowner, just an itinerant farmer who worked other men's fields. Still, he was so eager to see his son grow up to be a man who spoke God's message that he did without many things in order to save his pay. It was he who gave me this Bible."

Together, John and Grace read Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel.They read Daniel, too, about how a young man of royal birth was taken away as a captive into a hostile land, and of the horrors he experienced there. They read how he ignored the Babylonian king's orders to pray only to him, and he kept right on praying to the God of Israel three times every day.

Then the king commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into the den of lions. Now the king spake and said unto Daniel, Thy God whom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee. And a stone was brought, and laid upon the mouth of the den; and the king sealed it with his own signet . . .

"That king! He liked Daniel. And he could have helped him if he really wanted to," Grace insisted.

"It may seem so," John said slowly. "But many times, people cannot accomplish things as easily as would seem possible to those who stand and watch."

Then the king arose very early in the morning, and went in haste unto the den of lions . . . the king spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions? Then said Daniel unto the king . . . My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me.

"God does answer prayer," John said. "I know that to be true. Ever since my father gave me the gift of this Bible, I have prayed that I would one day learn to read it. God sent you to me as an answer to my prayers."

Grace lifted her eyes to John Hull. She looked hard at her master. At the man who owned her.

"I have prayed, too," she said. "I've prayed and prayed and prayed, but the dead are still dead. The slaves are still slaves."

"Yes," John said. "I see."

They read about Hosea, and his unfaithful wife. Of Joel and Amos, of the horror and the promise. They read Obadiah and Jonah. And they read Micah—the very words that had so touched Grace when she read Captain Ross's Bible.

Wherewith shall I come before the LORD, and bow myself before the high God? shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves of a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of
rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

John stopped reading, and for several minutes he pondered in silence. "That, right there, is my question," he said. "What can a simple man like me ever do to satisfy the Holy, Almighty God?"

"What could God want from a slave like me?" Grace whispered.

John read the next verse—the one Grace had thrown back at Lord Reginald.

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

Chase Ambrose drove his wagon up the rutted road to John Hull's house, his wife Lily anchoring herself on the seat beside him. Even as John hurried over to welcome his neighbors, he shot a warning glance to Grace. She hurried inside the house.Quickly she grabbed up the leather-bound Bible they had left open on the table, put the red ribbon marker in place, and replaced the Bible in the top drawer of the wooden chest.

How careless to leave it out! John had stressed again and again how important it was to keep the reading lessons their secret.

"For your sake and mine," he said. "Besides, it is no one else's business."

Lily Ambrose brought two of her old dresses into the house for Grace. But it was John she gave them to. "I thought it would be good if your slave could have a change of clothes," she said to John. "It would help keep her clean, you know."

"Thank you kindly," John said.

Grace couldn't help but look at Lily Ambrose's full middle and her round, well-padded sides.

"And I brought this for her, too," Lily added. She handed John a large sack. "It's a sleeping mat for her. Your slave can stuff it full with corn husks. It will make for better sleep than a hard floor, I should say. In the daytime she can push it into the corner and out of your way."

"I do thank you," said John. "And so does Grace."

After he bid the Ambroses good-bye, John went out to the back of the house. When he came back, he carried a small chest.

"For you," he said as he handed it to Grace. "Now that you have belongings, you will need a place to keep them."

"The New Testament of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ," John read. He looked over at Grace and smiled triumphantly." 'The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham begat Isaac; and Isaac begat Jacob; and Jacob begat Judas and his brethren; and Judas begat Ph . . . Phar—' "

John sighed loudly. "I could read this much more easily if people didn't have such terrible names in those days!"

Grace laughed. "You mustn't worry about the names, sir," she said. "Say them any way you want. Who will know?"

Saying the names any way he wanted, John read through Matthew, all the way into chapter eighteen. There he read: " 'If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?' "

Tears suddenly sprang to Grace's eyes. She tried to stop them, but they spilled over and dripped down her cheeks.

"Grace," John said. "Whatever is the matter?"

Grace shook her head and wiped at her teary face.

"Is it this story, Grace? Is it the Good Shepherd?"

But Grace steadfastly refused to speak about it. When she finally managed to choke back her tears, John continued to read.

When they finished reading through the four Gospels—all the stories of Jesus—Grace asked, "Was Jesus a colored man?"

"No!" John exclaimed. "He most certainly was not! What a thing to say, Grace. Of course Jesus was white."

"Was he an Englishman?" Grace asked.

"Well, no," John said. "He was born in the Arab lands, I do believe."

"And men in the Arab lands, they are white?" Grace persisted.

"Actually, I suppose they are more of a brown shade," John said.

"A brown shade like me?" Grace asked.

John shut the Bible with a thud. "Why do you persist in asking me such ridiculous questions, Grace?" he said. "You are a slave. Please remember that."

Grace had long since given up trying to trace Cabeto's face in her mind. It was too painful to remember. Too hopeless, now that she was an ox wagon ride of ten days away from the plantation that might have been somewhere in the vicinity of the place where he might possibly have been held as a slave. It wasn't that she no longer yearned to see him, to run her hand along his strong arm, to feel his touch on her face. Oh, how she yearned for that. It was just that Cabeto was too long ago and too far away to be truly real to her anymore. Like Mama Muco . . . and Kwate . . . and everyone and everything else firm and solid in her life.

Grace was just a slave. She must remember that.