A Light to My Path

  “Now, you know that can’t be true,” Delia said. “The only baby born on this earth without a flesh-and-bone daddy was the Lord Jesus—and you sure ain’t Him.”

  Grady stiffened at the name. Eli had told him that Jesus had God for His daddy instead of having a daddy here on earth. But Grady didn’t want to think about Massa Jesus anymore.

  “What color skin did your mama have?” Delia asked. “Dark as mine or light as yours?”

  “Like yours.” He remembered now. Mama’s skin was a rich, warm brown, as dark and smooth as the molasses cookies Esther used to bake.

  He was struggling to bring his mother’s face into focus when Delia said, “Your daddy’s a white man.”

  The words stunned Grady like a slap in the face. He twisted out of her arms shouting, “That’s a lie!”

  He hated white men—all of them. They had carried him away and locked him in a filthy cell and made him stand on the auction block without his clothes. Massa Coop was a white man, and he had beaten Grady unmercifully. White men bought and sold Negroes, stealing them from their homes and their families without an ounce of compassion for them. The only white man he’d known back home in Richmond was Massa Fletcher, and Grady hated him most of all. He was not his father!

  “Maybe Gilbert’s my daddy or … or somebody else,” he said with cold fury, “but he sure ain’t no white man!”

  “It happens all the time,” Delia said matter-of-factly. “Truth is, most black gals are a whole lot prettier than white women. Massa sees a beautiful Negro gal and he can’t resist. He don’t have to. She’s his slave, so he can do whatever he wants.”

  Grady knew that his mama was beautiful, more beautiful than the slave women Coop used to sell to the brothels in New Orleans. Grady had learned what brothels were. He knew very well what Delia was saying. He felt heat rush to his face, but he was too angry, too outraged to speak.

  “I may not look it now,” Delia continued, “but I used to be pretty, long time ago. Plantation had a white overseer and he decide he can use me that way anytime he wants. I had me a little girl baby from that white man. She’s as light-skinned as you are, honey. Could pass for white if you didn’t hear her calling me Mama. Massa Fuller was just a baby himself, back then, so they brought me up to the Big House and I nursed him alongside my own baby. The two of them just as white as each other. Couldn’t tell no difference.”

  Grady didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to think about this. He glanced around the tiny cabin but saw only one bed. “Your daughter living here with you?” he asked.

  “No, she’s gone now,” Delia said sadly. “Her grave is up in the cemetery with all the other slaves who’ve gone to be with Jesus. My little girl only five years old when she left me. I see you climbing down from that carriage today, and you’re reminding me of her. Her skin’s just as light as yours.”

  “That don’t mean I had a white daddy,” he said angrily.

  “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “But it ain’t true!” Only one white man lived in that house in Richmond. Mama had cried and pleaded with him as they’d dragged Grady away, and he hadn’t even cared.

  Delia tried to pull Grady into her arms again, but he twisted away. He stood, fists clenched, his body rigid with hatred. She touched his arm. “Listen, Grady—”

  “I ain’t got nothing to do with no white man!” he yelled. “Don’t you ever say that to me again!”

  Chapter Nine

  Fuller Plantation, South Carolina 1860

  Delia stood in the tiny cabin behind Grady, watching him preen in front of the mirror. “You the vainest man I ever did meet,” she told him. “Handsomest one, too. But I suppose you already know that.”

  He grinned at her in the mirror as their eyes met, but she didn’t distract him from his primping for very long. He took his time washing, shaving, brushing his neatly trimmed hair. During the three years Delia had known him, Grady had grown into a tall, well-built young man, muscular and solid from his hard work in the stables with Jesse. Dressed in livery and sitting high atop the driver’s seat of Massa’s carriage, Grady was a sight to behold. That was his job now—coachman for Massa Fuller.

  Delia still felt a stab of grief when she recalled the morning Grady had come running up to the Big House to fetch her, his face pale with shock. “Better come quick, Delia. Jesse fell down, and I can’t get him on his feet.”

  She and the butler, Martin, had both hurried down to the stable where they found the old coachman lying in an awkward heap.

  Massa Fuller had sent for a doctor, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Jesse had broken his hip, and his old bones were just too brittle to mend properly. Grady had grown very close to Jesse in the years they had worked together, and he took the news harder than any of them did.

  “They can’t just let him lay here and die, like he’s worn out and useless!” Grady had shouted. “He’s a human being!”

  Delia had tried to soothe him. “Honey, there ain’t nothing the doctor can do.”

  “There has to be!”

  “Jesse’s going home to be with the Lord. Can’t you see he ain’t afraid?”

  “Lot of good believing in the Lord ever done him,” Grady said as he stomped out of the carriage house.

  Delia had let him go. Grady never would listen to a single word about God. She’d tried and tried for the last three years, talking to him at night in the cabin they shared, inviting him to the slaves’ worship services—but he refused to listen. She knew from what he’d told her about his family in Richmond that he’d been raised to know the Lord. But everything that had happened to him in the years since had turned him bitter. As soon as Delia mentioned God, Grady would light out of there like the paddyrollers were after him.

  He had helped Delia take care of Jesse as tenderly as a son with his father, but the poor old soul never did recover. Two days before Jesse died, Massa Fuller came out to the carriage house to ask him which of the stable hands should replace him as coachman.

  Grady had spoken up before Jesse had a chance to reply.

  “I can do it, Massa Fuller. Tell him, Jesse. Tell him I can handle them horses and drive his coach better than anybody.”

  Jesse nodded. “He’s young but he knows how to handle a team of horses. And he works harder than all them other stable hands put together, even if he is the youngest.”

  “He knows how to act around white folk, too,” Delia added. Grady had a lot of natural dignity and poise for one so young. Besides, he was nice-looking and very light-skinned—qualities that the white folk wanted in slaves who were seen in public. Massa Fuller had made Grady his coachman.

  They’d buried Jesse in the slave cemetery, right beside Delia’s daughter’s grave. Grady’s grief was so great that he barely spoke a word for days. Delia had tried to console him with the promise of heaven, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it. Now, in the months since Jesse’s funeral, Grady had worked hard and had quickly earned Massa Fuller’s trust as his driver.

  “Where you off to tonight?” Delia asked as Grady put away his shaving things. “I didn’t think Massa Fuller was going anywhere tonight.”

  “He ain’t. But he give me the night off. I’m going over to the Emerson place to see a gal I know over there.”

  Delia’s smile faded. She shook her head. “I’m starting to hear stories about you, through the grapevine. I ain’t liking what I hear.”

  “What’d you hear?”

  “That while Massa Fuller’s been looking for a wife, you been playing around with all the slave gals everywhere you’re driving him.”

  She hated to scold, but Delia worried about him. He was running from the Lord, no doubt about it, and heading down the wrong path. Hard things happened when you tried to run from God. She had loved Grady since the first day he’d arrived—a gift from the Lord, she knew. God had taken one child from her, and now He’d given her another one. She prayed for Grady every morning and every night—and in between times, too, when
he needed it. Now she was very worried about him.

  “I hear that while Massa Fuller’s courting some lady inside the Big House,” she continued, “you’re taking your time, rubbing down his horses out in the stable yard where everyone can watch you. Pretty soon all the kitchen gals and parlormaids start finding excuses to sashay out and see if you want a drink of water or maybe a bite of corn bread. You lean against the hitching post and smile as you dish out your sweet talk, and the gals soak it up like rain on dry ground. Folks say that when you come driving up, it’s like setting a dish of honey out on the table and waiting for the flies to come buzzing.”

  Grady tried to suppress a grin but couldn’t. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “I hear you got a gal on every plantation, and half a dozen

  more in Beaufort that’s all in love with you. Problem is, they’re all thinking you’re in love with them.”

  “That ain’t my fault,” he said with a shrug. “I ain’t making any promises.”

  “You’re taking advantage of them, honey, and that’s wrong. The Bible says—”

  “Hold it.” Grady held up both hands to silence her. “None of your God-talk, Delia. You know how I feel about that.”

  But Delia knew that Grady’s soul was at stake. She stood in the doorway, blocking the only way out of the cabin. “I know you don’t want to hear it, honey, but tonight I’m gonna tell you anyway. A man ain’t supposed to be with a gal that way unless they’s married. If you ain’t, then all your fooling around is a sin in the Lord’s eyes.”

  Grady’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “What good’s it gonna do me to fall in love and get married, huh? My life ain’t my own, you know that. Ain’t no way I can ever choose a wife and be with her for the rest of my life. This here’s a white man’s world, and slaves don’t get to choose. My life belongs to Massa Fuller.”

  “You’re wrong. Your life belongs to God. He’s the One you’d better be obeying.”

  “God never did me any favors, so why should I obey Him? No, sir! I’m gonna make the most of this sorry life, and if I can scrape up a little loving on Massa’s travels, then I’ll do it. Never know what tomorrow’s gonna bring. Gals don’t have to say yes to me. I ain’t forcing no one to give me hugs and kisses.”

  “You gonna marry this girl you’re seeing tonight?”

  Grady made a face, as if she’d asked a ridiculous question.

  “Then what you’re planning on doing with her is wrong.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t care, Delia.”

  “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid to be getting close to anyone. Afraid if you love people, they’ll be ripped away from you again.”

  “I got good reason to be afraid—they might be! First my family, now Jesse … You know they never would of let Jesse die if he’d been a white man.”

  “Don’t matter if our skin is white or black—our day to die is in the Lord’s hands. And white or black, we’re always taking a risk when we love people. There’s always a chance of losing them. But you can’t go through life without love, Grady. Life just ain’t worth living without love.”

  He held up his hands in partial surrender. “Look, I’m just having a little fun. That’s all.”

  Delia could see that he was holding back his temper, reluctant to argue with her. She didn’t want to argue, either, but she loved Grady too much to keep quiet.

  “Fun? You think that’s all it is—just fun? Then you’re no better than an animal. That’s what white folks are thinking about us anyway, ain’t it? That we got no more feelings or morals than animals do? Go on! You go right on out there, now, and prove them right.” She stood aside, pointing to the door.

  He looked chastened, but not repentant. “Don’t nag me, Delia. I got me a night off, the only time that belongs to me and not to Massa. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me what to do with it.” He squeezed past her and through the door.

  “God’s gonna punish you for making slave babies all over the county,” she yelled after him. “Don’t you care that you’re condemning your children to be slaves?”

  Grady halted, glancing all around as if worried that someone might have overheard her shouts. He turned to her, anger flushing his face. “I ain’t condemning them to slavery,” he said in a harsh voice, “the white folks are. And as far as God is concerned, He’s a white man’s God. I ain’t got nothing to do with Him.”

  Delia grabbed his sleeve to stop him from striding away. “What happens when a slave runs off?” she asked. “Don’t his master do everything in his power to find him and bring him back? You belong to God, Grady.”

  “No I don’t! I already told you—”

  “Don’t try and tell me otherwise,” she interrupted, “because I know you do. Your mama and all them other good folks taught you all about Him, didn’t they? And God’s gonna chase you down and hound your steps until He gets you back. Not because you’re His slave, but because you’re His son. God will get you—”

  “He already has! He sold me to a slave trader for no reason. I didn’t do anything to deserve that. Now leave me alone!” He pried her fingers off and left.

  Delia let him go. But as she watched him stride down the road, her heart ached for him. “I know he’s running from you, Lord,” she murmured. “But please bring him back soon… .”

  Grady’s anger propelled him down the road at a brisk pace. He was fond of Delia, but tonight she’d gone too far. She wasn’t his boss. She had no right to try and tell him what to do. Sometimes she reminded him of Eli with all her Jesus talk, and Grady didn’t want to be reminded.

  The Emerson plantation was about four miles away. It would take him more than an hour to walk there, even at the rate he was moving. The moonless night was as dark as his mood. Grady hoped that his temper would cool down by the time he arrived, but Delia’s words were still racing around in his mind like riled hornets as he turned down the path to Slave Row and walked toward the girl’s cabin. She stood on the steps, waiting for him, leaning seductively against the doorframe. To make matters worse, he’d forgotten her name.

  “Hey, Grady. I thought you’d never get here. What took you so long?”

  “Don’t matter. I’m here now, sugar.”

  He slipped his arms around her and began kissing her neck. What was her name? She didn’t seem to notice his lapse as she responded eagerly to his kisses.

  “Let’s go inside,” she whispered a few minutes later.

  Grady followed her into the darkened cabin, determined to forget his argument with Delia and allow more pleasant sensations to carry him away. But the accusation that he was condemning his children to be slaves still haunted him. If this girl ever did get pregnant, Grady’s child would belong to Mr. Emerson. Grady was helping white men like Emerson and Fletcher and Coop enslave his race.

  He stopped kissing her. His arms fell to his sides.

  “What’s wrong, Grady?”

  “Listen … um …” He fumbled for her name. “I ain’t feeling so good. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. Can we … um … finish this later?”

  “I guess so.” Even in the darkness he saw her confusion and disappointment. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Maybe some air will help.” He hurried from the cabin and slumped down on the step outside. She followed him, sitting down beside him, leaning against him. She was a pretty girl, and it shamed Grady to realize that not only didn’t he know her name, he didn’t know anything about her. The only feelings he had for her were physical. He silently cursed Delia for telling him he was no better than an animal.

  “You walked such a long way to get here,” she said softly. “Be a real shame if you can’t enjoy the evening.”

  But Grady knew that he wouldn’t enjoy it. Delia had ruined it for him. He didn’t know what to do. There seemed to be a lot of activity on the Row tonight, knots of young people talking and flirting with each other, mothers chasing their little ones off to bed, older m
en chewing tobacco and swapping stories. Folks were glancing his way, seeing the girl twined all around him the way she was, and it embarrassed him. But he didn’t want to hide inside the cabin with her, either.

  “Maybe I better go on home,” he mumbled.

  “Aw, come on, Grady. I went through a lot of trouble to get all my work done—and to make sure we’d have this cabin all to ourselves tonight.”

  “I know. I’m sorry—” Her name still eluded him. He pried her arms from around his shoulders and moved away from her.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you love me no more?” she asked.

  Grady sighed. He couldn’t force himself to lie. “You know we can’t get married or anything. We belong to two different masters.

  Don’t you think we better be calling this whole thing off before it’s too late?”

  “What?” she shouted. “Too late? We—”

  “Shh … listen,” he said as her shouts drew stares. “You’d be happier if you fell for someone around here, on your own plantation. Don’t you think?”

  She planted her hands on his chest, shoving him backward as 128 she began to shout. “You no-good two-timer! You found someone else didn’t you? They warned me about you—sweet-talking all the girls to get your own way. You never cared about me at all, did you?”

  Grady saw people peering out of their cabins, staring at him. “Is everything all right, Rosie?” a man across the row asked. Rosie stood, hands on her hips.

  “Yeah, it will be just fine when he’s gone. Get out of here, Grady! Go on back to whatever hole you crawled out of!”

  He took his time walking home, unwilling to let Delia know she’d ruined his night off. He stopped to sit on a fallen log beside the road for a long time, gazing up at the stars that were barely visible through the leaves, listening to the quiet murmurs of the night forest. Then he moved on. He was half a mile from home, still thinking about Rosie, thinking he’d been a fool to throw away a night of fun, when he heard dogs barking. Grady froze, listening. No one around here owned dogs. His heart began to race at the sounds of horse hooves, baying bloodhounds, muted laughter. They were coming toward him.