“I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” he whispered. “Where’ve you been all day?”
“Look at that!” she said, pointing to the sky. “Did you ever see such a beautiful moon? It looks like it’s made of gold, and the clouds are all made of silver. I love this time of night, don’t you? When the sky is deep, deep blue—almost purple?”
He laughed. “You’re always showing me colors and things I never would of noticed otherwise.”
“That’s because you’re always looking down, Grady. You’re gonna miss a lot of pretty things that way.”
“Kitty?”
She turned to face him. He rested his hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer. Grady’s hands were large and strong and warm. They felt good caressing her. She loved the way he smelled, like leather and horses and soap. She looked up into his eyes—darker than the sky—and saw the moon reflected in them. He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his body, but for once she didn’t want to back away. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to.
“Kitty!” Missy Claire shouted.
Kitty stepped out of Grady’s arms and whirled around. Missy stood on the porch above her, leaning over the railing.
“What are you doing out there, you stupid girl? I told you to hurry back!”
“I’m really sorry, Missy. I was just getting the tea, like you said, when I saw the moon and—”
“You weren’t supposed to stop and gaze at the moon! Can’t you do even the simplest thing right?”
“I’m sorry, Missy. I guess I didn’t think—”
“You never think! I swear there isn’t a brain in your head. Now, fetch my tea and get back in here!”
“Yes, Missy Claire. I’m fetching it.”
Grady followed her as she hurried across the yard to the kitchen. “I hate white people,” he murmured.
“Don’t say that. Missy sounds mad but she don’t mean it. She needs me.”
“That’s because she’d be helpless without you. You do all her dirty work.”
Kitty glanced at him, and the rage she saw in his eyes frightened her. For the first time she realized that the common thread to all of his angry outbursts was his hatred of white people.
“You needing something?” Cook asked as they entered the kitchen. She sat at the table with Bessie and Albert.
“Don’t get up,” Kitty said. “I can fetch it.” She quickly found a tray, a cup and saucer, and the teapot. Her fingers trembled as she crumbled mint leaves into the pot. She had to hurry. Grady watched her from the doorway, his arms folded. “Besides,” Kitty told him. “Missy’s right. It was stupid of me to forget what I come out for.”
“You’re not stupid, Kitty. Just because the white folks can force us to do what they say, it don’t mean they can force us to believe all their lies. You’re just as good as any white woman. She’s wrong to be talking to you that way all the time.”
Kitty paused to look up at him. “Why are you so angry?”
“I had a massa just like her, once. Treated me like I was an animal.”
“That don’t mean you have to hate all white people.”
“If you’d traveled with that slave trader and seen what I’ve seen, you’d hate them all, too. They rip our families apart and beat us to death, and they don’t even care!”
Kitty thought of her parents as she poured boiling water from the kettle. For a brief moment, she understood Grady’s rage. Then she pushed her anger and grief aside, determined to never think of that tragedy again. Sorrow would only make her life with Missy Claire much worse.
“Mr. Fuller don’t treat you bad, does he?” she asked Grady.
“No. But he thinks of me as his property, not a human being.”
“We are their property, Grady.”
He stalked out of the kitchen, banging the door behind him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Cook asked.
“I don’t know.” Kitty didn’t understand Grady at all. Why couldn’t he accept things the way they were instead of getting so angry? It didn’t change anything to get mad. She glanced around the yard on her way back to the house, but she didn’t see Grady. Then she hurried inside as quickly as she could without spilling the tea.
* * *
Every time Grady made up his mind to forget about Kitty he would run into her again, and his resolve would drain away like water into sand. The way she accepted her white missy’s abuse made him so angry he wanted to walk away and never look back. But then he would recall the night he’d almost kissed Kitty beneath the full moon, and he could hardly wait to see her again.
Kitty was different from all the other girls he’d been with—prettier, certainly—but something more. She was smart and alive and always seeing color and beauty in a world that Grady only saw as gray. She had a childlike quality, an innocence that touched his heart. Yet the way she defended her missy made him furious. He wanted to shake her, convince her to hold up her head in pride and stop making excuses for her. Why didn’t Kitty hate Missy’s guts the way he hated Coop and Fletcher and Fuller? Grady would help her see the truth. He would teach her to have pride in herself, to know she was just as good as any white woman. Slaves might have to play dumb in front of white people and act subservient, but inside, they were free to store up all the hatred they wanted to, just like Amos had taught him.
Grady saw Kitty often over the next few weeks, and they spent a lot of time talking as they waited for their masters. Grady was used to winning a woman’s affections very quickly and had never had trouble persuading a gal to sneak off behind the bushes with him. But Kitty was as skittish as a newborn colt. He’d been forced to pursue her more slowly than he’d ever pursued a woman before—and there had been no more opportunities for romance, like on the night of the full moon. Then, as the weeks passed and his master continued to court Kitty’s mistress, Grady realized that something else had been missing lately.
“How come I never see you drawing no more?” he asked as they sat side by side on the Goodmans’ back steps.
Kitty smiled her shy, embarrassed smile. “I finally ran out of paper. I made it last as long as I could. My pictures kept getting smaller and smaller,” she said with a little laugh, gesturing to show how tiny her pictures had become. “But I just can’t squeeze any more of them onto the pages. There ain’t even a tiny little corner left.”
“Does your missy know you’re all out of paper? Would she buy you some more?”
“Oh, she ain’t drawing pictures now that she’s chasing a husband. Only reason she give me paper the last time was because she’s throwing it out. I found it in the trash.”
“Ask her for some more, Kitty.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.” He saw fear in the slump of her shoulders and downcast eyes. It made him furious. He wanted to yell at her, but he held his tongue, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He would only scare her away.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna be drawing no more pictures,” he finally said, “do you think I could have one to keep? One you don’t want no more?”
“Why?”
“I never did see a slave who could draw like you do. Please? Just one?”
She seemed confused by the request, then her eyes suddenly brightened. “I know which one I can give you,” she said, leaping to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!” Grady hurried toward the slaves’ quarters behind her. “I’ll come with you. I’d like to see your room. I bet you got pictures hanging all over your walls, don’t you?” He rested his hand on the small of her back and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I don’t have nothing on my walls. I share the room with three other girls. You’d better stay here.”
He waited at the foot of the stairs, angry that Kitty always shied away from him. There were plenty of other girls he could be chasing here in Charleston. Why was he wasting his time with her?
When she came back with the picture, he remembered why.
Kitty was unlike any gir
l he’d ever met. She’d brought him the drawing of his favorite horse, Blaze.
“Here. Now I better go and see if Missy needs me,” she said. “Good night, Grady.”
When he parked the carriage in front of Massa’s hotel later that night, Grady pulled the drawing out of his pocket. “Can I show you something, Massa Fuller?” he asked as he opened the door for him. He handed Fuller the picture Kitty had drawn.
“This looks like my horse. This is Blaze. Where did you get this?”
“Missy Goodman’s chambermaid drew it. She likes to draw but she’s all out of paper. I was wondering if there’s some extra work I could be doing to make a little money on the side… . I’d like to buy her some more paper.”
Fuller smiled knowingly. “Are you sweet on her, Grady?”
“You know me, Massa. I got a gal on every plantation. But look how good that is. Shame she can’t be drawing any more, ain’t it?”
“Does Claire know her girl can do this?” he asked, handing back the drawing. “Why doesn’t she ask Claire?”
“Kitty’s a real shy gal, Massa. Afraid of her own shadow. Missy gave her this paper and a pencil, but Kitty would never dare ask for more. She won’t ask for nothing for herself.” Even as he explained the reason, it made Grady mad. He was asking his master for a favor. Begging him. Kitty had no backbone at all.
Fuller stared into the distance for a long moment, as if in thought. “I believe there’s a stationer’s shop down the block from Institute Hall,” he finally said. “After you drive me there for my meeting tomorrow, why don’t you buy your girlfriend some paper.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change, spilling it into Grady’s hand. Grady had never held money in his life. He had no idea how much he’d been given or how much paper it would buy.
“Thanks, Massa Fuller. Can I do something to repay you?”
Fuller grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t mind if word of this little favor got back to Miss Goodman. I’m very interested in impressing her, you know.”
“I’ll be sure and tell her chambermaid, Massa Fuller. I’ll tell her it come from you. Thanks, Massa Fuller.”
“Good luck with your own romance.”
Grady couldn’t wait to give Kitty the paper. Several days passed before he saw her again, and then it was at a fancy party at some white man’s house. Grady and Massa Fuller got there first; the Goodman family arrived later in their own carriage with Albert driving. Kitty had to follow her missy inside, but Grady managed to whisper to her on the steps, “Come back outside when you can. I have something for you.”
He had to stand around forever, waiting for her. Then, late in the evening she finally slipped outside for a moment. Kitty stared in disbelief when he handed her the sheaf of paper. “For … me? All of this?”
“Yeah. So you can draw some more pictures.”
She hugged the paper to her bosom and wept.
“Hey … Hey, don’t cry. You’ll get the paper all wrinkly.” Grady held her gently in his arms, unsure how she would react to his touch. She accepted his comfort for a long moment before pulling away, staring from Grady to the paper and back again as if afraid to believe him, afraid the treasure might disappear.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I showed Massa Fuller that picture you drew of his horse and he let me buy it for you.”
“Thank you, Grady! Thank you! Nobody ever did such a nice thing for me before.” She went into his arms willingly, hugging him tightly. Grady had hugged dozens of women before, but never one as fragile and vulnerable as Kitty. He was almost afraid to hug her too hard in return. But he hadn’t held a girl since his disastrous date with Rosie, the night he’d been whipped, and Kitty felt good in his arms, warm and soft in all the right places. Much too soon, she pulled away again.
“I’m gonna draw my first picture right now.”
She sat down on the carriage step beneath a street lamp and carefully tore one of the pages into four pieces, conserving it.
Grady watched. She was drawing a face, a woman’s face, and it soon became clear that it was a picture of Missy Claire.
“Why’re you drawing her?” he asked, frowning.
“You’ll see.”
That’s all she would say. When she finished, they stood side by side in the shadow of Grady’s carriage and waited for the dinner party to end. Kitty seemed so happy she nearly glowed. “Thank you, Grady. You made me so happy tonight.”
“I can see that.” He took her face in his hands. She had amazing eyes, the same color as chestnuts. He noticed colors in things now. Kitty had taught him that. He bent his head toward hers and kissed her. She responded so shyly and hesitantly, at first, that Grady soon realized she’d never been kissed before. He slowed down, enjoying her delight as she relaxed in his arms and returned his kisses.
Much too soon, the dinner party ended. The front door opened, and Massa Fuller emerged from the house with Missy Claire on his arm. The Goodmans were right behind them. Grady ran around to open the carriage door for Massa Fuller, while the Goodmans’ driver climbed down to help his owners. But before Massa Fuller had a chance to climb inside, Kitty hurried over to him.
“Thank you for buying me the paper,” she said. “I made this for you.” She gave him the drawing of Claire.
Grady was furious. Why was she thanking an ignorant white man who didn’t even care two cents about her? Buying the paper had been Grady’s idea. He was the one who had to lower himself to ask for the money. Kitty was always doing that, always bowing down and kissing the white folks’ feet. It made him sick.
“What is that?” Claire asked, leaning out of her carriage window. “What did she give you, Roger?”
Fuller held the picture out to her. “It’s a drawing of you, Claire. Look, it’s an excellent likeness.”
Missy Claire waved it away. “Yes, her little sketches always were amusing. Good night, Roger.”
Massa Fuller climbed into his own carriage. He was still staring at the picture in amazement as Grady closed the door. Grady was so angry he had to resist the urge to flog the horses into a wild gallop all the way down Meeting Street to the hotel.
Kitty sat on the driver’s seat beside Albert, hugging her new sheaf of paper. She had never felt happier in her life, not only because she had drawing paper again, but also because Grady had kissed her. She had never been kissed before, never even been held by a man, and she was sorry that the night had ended so soon. His kisses stirred up feelings inside her that she’d never felt before, and she wished she could have kissed him all night.
“You been hanging around with Massa Fuller’s coachman an awful lot,” Albert said as if reading her thoughts. He gave her a long, hard look before turning his attention back to the road. “I seen him kissing you,” he added.
Kitty’s face felt very warm. “Please don’t tell Missy Claire,” she whispered.
“You better watch yourself with him, girl. What’s his name?”
“Grady Fuller.”
“I been asking around about him. Some of them others say he has a girlfriend on every plantation from Beaufort to Charleston. His massa’s been courting all the white ladies, trying to find his self a wife, and meanwhile, that boy’s been loving up all their young slave gals. I hear he’s promising to marry at least a dozen gals by now. He promising you?”
“No …” But her face felt as if she was sitting in front of a blazing fireplace.
“Massa Fuller’s a gentleman. He won’t make no promises till he makes up his mind. But that young rascal boy of his is just taking advantage of silly young gals like you. He’s cocky as a rooster, and he’s collecting a whole yard full of hens. Mind he don’t play you for a fool.”
Was that why Grady had given her the paper? So that she’d fall into his arms? She remembered how willingly she’d kissed him—in fact her mouth was still tender from the crush of his lips and the stubble on his chin. She was glad Albert couldn’t see her flushed face in the dark.
“T
hanks for telling me,” she mumbled.
“Yeah … well, watch you don’t get your heart broke,” he said.
The next time she ran into Grady, Kitty wasn’t so quick to fall into his arms or follow him into the shadows. He finally grew impatient with her for fending off his advances. “What’s wrong with you tonight, girl? Why’re you giving me the cold shoulder?”
“I’m very happy you gave me the paper, Grady. I’m real thankful for it… .”
“But … what? What’s the matter?”
She stared at the ground, embarrassed. “I hear I ain’t the only gal who’s been falling for your sugar.”
He lifted her chin so she had to face him. “How do I know who you’re seeing when I ain’t here?” he asked.
“Nobody—I ain’t seeing nobody.” Kitty wanted to stay angry and pull away, but he had a hold over her that she didn’t understand.
He tilted his head to one side and grinned. “You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe that the most beautiful gal in South Carolina ain’t got a dozen boyfriends? Uh uh. I ain’t believing that for one minute.”
“It’s true. You’re the only one, Grady. But from what I hear, there’s a whole hen house full of girls clucking around your feet.”
“Who’s feeding you all them stories?” The sudden rage in his eyes sent a chill of fear down her spine. Something inside Grady was like a wild animal, untamed and barely under his control. At times Kitty longed to soothe away the loss and the pain that she saw in his dark eyes. But then the anger would flare, as it did now, and she knew that she needed to run before she got hurt.
“Is it true?” she managed to say. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you ain’t sweet-talking a dozen other girls?”
“What’s so great about being the only one?” he asked, hiding his fury behind a smile. “It don’t matter to me if I’m the only man in your life.”
“Then all those things you said about me being the prettiest gal in the state—they was all lies?”