The Triumph of Grace (24 page)

Grace straightened her dress and fluffed out her skirt. She ran her hands through her hair. She took a deep breath as she waited, rubbing her hands together nervously.

Then Caleb stepped out.

Grace couldn't move. Tears blinded her.

Without a word, Caleb walked over to her and took her in his arms.

John Hull turned away. He spent several minutes inspecting the freshly swept dirt in the courtyard before he sauntered back to Grace and Caleb and drew two documents from his coat pocket.

"Your papers of freedom," he said. "To Grace Hull and to Cabeto Hull. My final gift to you is the bequest of my name.Wear it well."

Grace reached out and laid her hand on her former master's arm.

"You answered my prayers," she said.

"No," John responded. "God did. He just used me to do it.Like he used you to answer my prayers."

"Thank you," Grace said. "Thank you for everything."

"For my whole life, de white man be my enemy," said Caleb."How can it be dat my great enemy now be my great friend?"

"Not just a friend," John Hull said. "You are my dear brother."

S
amuel Shaw raised a glass to Macon Waymon."Congratulations, my good man!" he proclaimed with a con- fident cheer.

But Macon was not yet ready to celebrate.

"Might just as well let the two of them have some time before I send the colored girl away," Macon said. "Her master, too, of course."

"Do not concern yourself about the colored girl," Samuel assured him. "She will forget soon enough. Negroes always do. They don't have feelings for each other the same as white folks do."

"I have to feel a bit sorry for that poor old farmer, though," said Macon. "Where do you suppose he got the money to pay for Caleb?"

"If he can be tricked so easily, he should not be a slave owner," said Samuel Shaw. "He should not be a landowner, either."

Caleb bid a fond farewell to the old women who worked in the quarters and cared for the littlest children. They were the only slaves around. All the others were at work in the fields.

"I does hate to see you go," Prudie said. "Still more lines of sorrow plowed on dis poor old face of mine."

John Hull couldn't say when he first began to feel that something wasn't right. It might have been the matter of the receipt of sale—he should have gotten that as soon as he laid out his money. Or maybe it was that judge, Samuel Shaw, who pulled Macon away for counsel and never let him out of his sight. Certainly it was before the long and fruitless wait at the slave quarters.

Something most definitely was wrong. A great dread welled up in John. Somehow Macon Waymon must have tricked him.

"Go!" John said to Grace and Caleb. "Keep your papers safe lest someone should try to take them from you."

"Go where?" Grace asked. "Back across the river? Back to your house?"

"No, no!" said John. "Go north. Far north, where slaves are free—Pennsylvania or Ohio or Massachusetts. You must use your wits and take great care. My prayers will follow you."

"Sir—" Grace said.

But John cut her short. "Go! Now! Make all haste to get as far as you can before Mister Waymon gives chase."

"Caleb is gone?" Macon Waymon exclaimed. "Whatever do you mean! How can my slave be gone?"

"
My
slave, sir," John Hull corrected. "Except that Caleb is no longer a slave at all. I gave him his papers of freedom."

"What? You cannot do that!" Macon fumed.

"Oh, but I already did," said John. "At this very moment, he is on a wagon bound for Mexico."
Forgive me, Almighty God, for telling such a lie. Please accept it as a deed of justice and mercy, offered in all humility to thee, my God.
"And, sir," John added. "You did promise to provide me with a receipt of sale for the four hundred fifty dollars I paid you for Caleb. I am certain you wish to retain your reputation as a man of honor, faithful to your word."

Macon tried to speak, but his anger bubbled over into incomprehensible babble.

John said, "Surely you do not intend to break your word, sir. If you do so, I shall not hesitate to take this matter to the authorities."

"You do that and I shall be forced to inform them that you are nothing but a fool and a troublemaker!" fumed Macon."Those slaves will be found, and when they are, I will petition to have my slave—Caleb—returned to me!"

"They are not slaves. They are free," John said. "They have their papers to prove it."

"Forged papers, is what they have!" Macon roared. "I will testify that you knowingly bought a slave who could read, and therefore could undoubtedly write. I submit that it was she who forged those papers. A perfect example of why Negroes should not be trained in such skills, by the way. As you can see, sir, this entire situation is of your making."

Macon glared from John Hull to the gathering of slaves who had begun to come in from the fields. It was impossible to read their blank faces. Fury seethed inside Macon. He owned those slaves! Their lives lay in his hands. But would a single one of them reach out to catch Caleb for him? No! He was certain not one of them would do that.

Because Macon Waymon owned so many slaves, and because runaways were a never-ending problem, at the first of every year he paid two poor white men thirty-five dollars each to stay ready to chase after runaways from his plantation.Each of those men had two dogs—vicious, tenacious hounds, trained to track and attack.

"Juba!" Macon ordered. "Run and fetch my slave chasers.Now!"

"Yes, Massa!" Juba said, and he set off running. But as soon as he was out of Massa Macon's sight, Juba eased back to a slow walk. The more of a lead he could give Grace and Caleb, the better.

All Caleb knew of the outside world was the distance he had walked from Macon Waymon's rice farm to his cotton plantation. "Go north," John Hull had told him. So Caleb looked at the sinking sun and figured from that which direction was north. No road lay that direction, which was all the better. But no woods lay there, either. Only a great field that stretched out as far as Caleb could see.

"Run!" Grace said. "I can keep up with you!"

But she could not. First she slowed, then she stumbled.When she fell, Caleb pulled her up and they did their best to keep running, but she fell again, and again.

"De corn be high enough to hide us," Caleb said.

Before they could make it to the cornfield, though, two slaves stepped out in front of them. For a moment all four stared at each other.

"You best get you'sefs to de river before dem dogs come sniffin' for you," one of the slaves said.

"Which way?" Caleb asked.

"Just de other side of dem trees."

Grace and Caleb spent the rest of their first day of freedom dripping wet. They jumped into the river and hid among the reeds, careful to hold their feedom papers out of the water.When they could no longer abide the cold, they climbed back out and onto the bank. Hunkered down low, they ran close enough to the water to dash in and out.

"We can't let dem dogs get our scent," Caleb warned.

With the darkness, Grace and Caleb left the river and headed north. All night long they kept moving.

The first shafts of light dawned on nothing but still more flat farmland. Not the least protection was in sight. In desperation, Caleb clawed out a depression in the middle of a hay field. They both squeezed into it and Caleb did his best to pull clods of earth and growing hay back over them. Exhausted, they fell into a sound sleep.

"Dost thou run away?"

Caleb jumped up, sending dirt clods flying.

"I heard the dog howl this morning."

A white man stood before him, a hoe in his hand.

"They do not be far away," the man said.

Caleb's eyes darted from the man to Grace, who was still on the ground, and out to the expanse of field.

"Thou canst not outrun them," the man said. "Not out here. Thou hast no place to hide thyself. Come, I shalt hitch up the wagon and I shalt take thee away."

"No!" Caleb said.

Caleb pulled Grace to her feet.

"Come," the man urged. "In the least, I canst give thee a chance."

In the distance, a dog howled.

"They come closer," the man said. "We must make haste or it will be too late."

"We have no choice, Caleb," Grace pleaded. "We must trust him."

Amos Bligh already had his wagon loaded for a trip to town. Grace and Caleb dug out a space for themselves at the bottom of a pile of sacks while Amos hitched up the horse.As he turned onto the road, Amos saw two men on horseback mounting an incline far behind him. He urged the horse to a gallop.

For two hours Grace and Caleb bounced along in the back of the wagon, practically suffocated by the heavy sacks.Suddenly, the wagon stopped. Grace hardly dared to breathe.But no one came to the back, and soon they started to move again.

When the wagon finally stopped again, Grace heard voices.She heard another sound, too. It was sacks being pulled off the wagon. Grace squeezed her eyes shut and pleaded,
Please, God! Please, please, please, please . . . !

"Come on out," Amos Bligh called. "Thou shalt find safety here, for a short while, at least."

They were at a small farmhouse, set far off the road in what looked to be the middle of a field.

"Thou shalt find rest and food here," Amos said. "On the morrow we will pray thee on thy way."

After a wash and a welcome sleep on one of the many mats spread across the floor in a large back room, Grace straightened herself up as best she could. It was pleasant to sit and watch Cabeto as he slept beside her.

He was not the slave Caleb any longer. He was Cabeto again. He was her Cabeto.

"Come, please, and sit at table with us," Amos called after Cabeto awoke.

Grace and Cabeto stared uncertainly at Amos. Sit at table with white folks? He led them to the kitchen, where a large table was spread with pottery plates and mugs and iron spoons.

"Our working guests are cleaning themselves up," said the other man, whom Amos called Jed. "As soon as they join with us, we shall sit together and break bread with them."

To the surprise of Grace and Cabeto, the working guests were all colored. But what truly shocked them was the tall man near the back of the group. The one with the lame arm.

"Sunba?" Cabeto breathed. "Sunba!"