“We’re grateful to you,” Anna said softly. “To all of you Yankees for coming down here and fighting for us—you helped set my baby and me free. I would gladly pay you back, if I knew how.”
His friendly smile returned. “I can think of a way. It would really cheer up all the men if a lovely lady such as yourself were to pay them a visit while they’re in the hospital. They’d enjoy seeing your baby, too. You would help them remember what their sacrifices were for.”
“Me?” she asked. He nodded. “Okay. I-I’d be happy to do that.”
The soldier offered Anna his arm, the way white gentlemen always offered their arms to the ladies they escorted. It took her a moment to respond to his surprising gesture, then she graciously accepted, allowing him to lead her across the street and through the graveyard into the church.
Anna’s first reaction to the hospital was one of horror. She had seen casualties onboard the ship with Grady, but there were so many, many more here—men with gruesome wounds and without arms or legs. Her new friend seemed to understand her shock, and he introduced his fellow soldiers to her one at a time, slowly easing her into the converted sanctuary. Instead of seeing mangled bodies, Anna saw lonely, wounded men, far from their wives and families. She could offer them a drink of water, help them eat a few bites of food, let them stroke George’s plump cheek as they talked about their own children. By the time Anna said good-bye, she already knew that she would come back tomorrow and the next day, helping in any way that she could.
It was only after she returned home that afternoon, that her towering fear began to build. Any one of those suffering men could be Grady. His regiment might be ordered to attack a Rebel fortress just like Fort Wagner. Grady could easily be wounded—or killed. She lay alone in bed that night, his place empty beside her, and she saw his face on every wounded body she’d seen today. The baby seemed to sense her distress, and he fussed and cried nearly all night long. As Anna walked the floor with him in the dark, wishing Delia were there to console her, she slowly realized what Delia would tell her if she were there: “Pray, honey. Ask Jesus to help you.”
Anna had no idea how long a war like this one might last, how long Grady would be in such terrible danger. It seemed to her that the fighting had already been going on forever. But she knew that twice before Jesus had answered her prayers—and she needed to keep on praying until the war ended and Grady was safe.
“Do you know which church Delia used to go to here in Beaufort?” she asked Minnie the next morning.
Minnie pursed her lips in thought. “Don’t know the name of it, but it wasn’t the same one Massa belonged to. Delia’s church was a couple blocks north of here, I think—on Charles Street.”
Anna found it a few days later, after her daily visit to the hospital. She asked the old man who was sweeping the church steps what time they held Sunday services. She made up her mind to go there.
The following Sunday, when she and George crowded into the sanctuary with hundreds of other people, she was surprised to discover that it wasn’t at all like Missy’s church. This service seemed more like a celebration than a somber ceremony, with so much shouting and clapping and singing it was a wonder that George remained asleep through it all. And all the people sat mixed together, no matter what color skin they had.
But the most surprising moment came when the Mueller sisters, white missionaries from a church up north, stood up and sang a duet. Anna listened in amazement, slowly realizing why the beautiful tune brought tears to her eyes. It was the song that her papa used to sing to her. After all these years, she still recognized it. One of the verses spoke about a path through fiery trials, and she remembered how Papa had hummed the melody to calm her fears as he’d carried her in his arms through the swamp.
When the service ended, a knot of people gathered to talk with the two sisters. Anna waited to one side, determined to speak to them, as well. Finally, the older woman noticed Anna and separated herself from the group.
“Did you want to speak with one of us, dear?” she asked. “My name is Ada Mueller.” Anna’s heart raced in fear. What had ever possessed her to come forward to see a white woman? She was about to apologize for interrupting her, to turn and run from the building, when the woman rested her hand on Anna’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid,” she said.
Anna glanced up. Ada’s eyes were gray, like her dress, and very gentle. Anna quickly looked away again. “I’m sorry for bothering you, ma’am,” she murmured. “I was just wondering if you could tell me the words to that song you sang—the ones about the path.”
“Of course. The words are beautiful, aren’t they? The hymn is called ‘How Firm a Foundation.’ I’ll be glad to write them down for you, if you’d like.”
Anna quickly shook her head. “That won’t help, ma’am. I can’t read.”
“Would you like to learn how? My sister and I hold classes here every evening.”
Anna was afraid to believe it. Slaves were forbidden to read or write. But free people could learn. “What about my baby? I-I can’t leave George—” “You don’t have to leave him. You’re very welcome to bring him with you. Several of the other women bring their children, too.”
Miss Mueller reached out her hand and gently lifted Anna’s chin until she was forced to face her. “Look at me, dear,” she said softly. “We’re all brothers and sisters in Christ in this place. And there isn’t any hatred or discrimination when He’s our Lord and Master. In His kingdom, we all have the same color skin.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Beaufort, South Carolina
June 1864
“Catch him, Grady! Don’t let him crawl away.”
Grady swiveled around and reached for his son, grabbing George before he crawled off the edge of the blanket and into the dirt. “Hey, come back here!” he said, laughing. George giggled as Grady lifted him high in the air, then set him on the blanket again. The three of them sat together in front of Grady’s tent on this warm spring day. Grady had been watching his wife, not their son, unable to take his eyes off her as she sewed the new corporal’s insignia onto his uniform.
This would be the last time Grady saw her for a while. Tomorrow morning his regiment was leaving for Folly Island and the start of a new campaign to conquer Charleston and the remaining Rebel forts that guarded the city. He knew that the fight he was about to face would be fierce and dangerous. He hadn’t told Anna just how dangerous.
“I’m sure gonna hate it when you’re gone,” Anna sighed. “It’s been so nice having you close by all this time and being able to come and visit you.”
“I know,” Grady said. “Let’s hope the war ends soon, so I can come home for good.”
They had been able to see each other quite frequently over the winter months, especially after Grady’s regiment had moved to a new winter camp further north on Port Royal Island, closer to Beaufort. The men had named it Camp Shaw, in honor of the white colonel who had died along with so many of his Negro troops at Fort Wagner. In late December Grady’s regiment had been assigned to share provost duty in Beaufort with a white regiment. Anna had strolled over from the town house whenever he was on duty and watched him and his fellow soldiers as they proudly policed the streets and kept the peace.
The new camp was built on a rise overlooking the river. Grady and his family had often sat together during his free time, inhaling the scent of pine from the trees that fringed the camp and watching ships glide past on the silvery river. On Sundays, Anna sometimes came to the new “praise house” the men had built for school and prayer meetings, made of poles and brush and the delicate gray moss that hung from all the live-oak trees. The regiment had held regular inspection and drills in camp that winter, and little George loved to come and watch with Anna, reveling in the excitement of rolling drums and shouted commands. Grady would glimpse him on the sidelines, holding Anna’s hands as he stood on his wobbly legs, his dark eyes dancing with delight. Grady swallowed, realizing just how
much he would miss both of them.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “if you’re wanting news about us, we’re not called the First South Carolina Volunteers anymore. They changed it to the Thirty-third U.S. Colored Troops—even though we really were the first colored troops.”
“The thirty-third,” she repeated.
“Right. And our commander is Lieutenant Colonel Trowbridge from now on.”
She stopped sewing. “How is Colonel Higginson? I thought he was only going to be on sick leave for a month?”
“He was. But now Captain Metcalf tells me that the colonel is still too weak to come back.” Grady felt a new wave of sorrow for the white man who had been injured on their mission up the Edisto River—the mission that had saved Anna’s life. But as dangerous as that expedition had been, Grady knew that the campaign he would begin tomorrow would be real warfare, with thousands of troops engaging in battle and bloody assaults against heavily fortified batteries and fortresses. He hoped that Anna would never learn the truth of what his regiment was about to face.
“I’ll keep on praying for Colonel Higginson,” Anna promised.
“Good. I heard that they’re naming one of the slave settlements near here Higginsonville, in his honor,” Grady said. “A lot of people are owing their freedom to him.”
He reached to grab his son a second time, prying a rock from his chubby fingers moments before he would have thrust it into his mouth. The boy howled.
“You almost done with that sewing?” Grady asked above the noise. “I have something for you, but I don’t dare let go of this rascal.”
“Yes. I’m done.” She bit off the thread and held up the uniform jacket for him to see. “I’m so proud of you, Grady. A corporal!”
“I hope to be making sergeant before I’m through,” he said. “Here, let’s trade.” He took the jacket from her and tipped George into her arms. She was so much better at controlling their squirming son than he was. He shoved his arms into the coat sleeves as he ducked inside the tent to retrieve her present. “Close your eyes,” he called before emerging again. He peered out to see if she had obeyed him, then laid the package of drawing paper he’d bought for her on the blanket, out of the baby’s reach.
“Oh, Grady!” she breathed when she opened her eyes. “Where did you get this? How… ?”
“I had to send away for it, since none of the stores in Beaufort had any. And here’s a gum eraser and some new drawing pencils, too.” He had used the money he’d earned playing fiddle for the officers, but it was worth every penny to see Anna’s surprise and delight. “I’m expecting to see lots of pictures when I come back,” he added.
She let go of George for a moment and wrapped her arms around Grady’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you!” she said. “I wish I’d had this paper a week ago. I have a present for you, too, but it would of been nicer on this paper.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out an old book. Carefully tucked inside was her present to him—a drawing of George. Anna had captured perfectly the sweet curve of his plump mouth, his dimpled cheek. Grady felt a shiver of awe at his wife’s talent. But what on earth had she drawn it on? He turned it over to look at the back and saw an old receipt for a sack of horse feed.
“Hey! You ain’t supposed to be looking at the back,” she said, gently slapping his hand.
“What is this?” He smiled, amused by her resourcefulness.
“I found an old pile of papers in Massa’s desk for things he was buying long before the war started. I picked two or three that I didn’t think he’d be needing anymore.”
Anna could read nearly as well as Grady could now, and he was proud of her. Then he realized what she’d said and grinned wider. “There’s more than one?”
“Yes. This is your other present.” She pulled another receipt from the book and Grady saw her neat, careful printing on the other side instead of a drawing. “Those are the words to my papa’s song,” she told him. “I copied them from Miss Helen’s hymnbook. I want you to keep them and read them while you’re away.”
Grady felt his throat constrict as he silently read the words:
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
He couldn’t speak. He pulled Joe’s well-worn Bible out of his pocket and carefully tucked her two gifts inside it.
“I’ll be praying for you every day,” she told him, biting her lip. She was trying to be brave, but he knew that she was thinking about all the wounded men she’d helped at the hospital. He knew how afraid she was for him.
“They’re wonderful presents, Anna,” he said when he could speak. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift … unless it was a picture of you.”
She smiled shyly. “I thought you might say that.” She pulled out a third yellowing receipt. “This one’s for a bolt of cloth for Missy’s dress,” she said. “Turn it over.”
She had drawn a sketch of herself on the other side. “I had to go in Missy’s room and use the mirror on her dresser in order to draw it.” When he remained silent, she asked, “Is it okay?”
“You’re so beautiful, Anna,” he murmured, looking at her, not the portrait.
She reached to embrace him again. “Come back to us, Grady,” she whispered. “George needs his daddy and I … well, I wouldn’t want to keep on living without you.”
Beaufort, South Carolina
February 1865
Anna closed the newspaper. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t learned to read when the words described such terrible suffering. This news was old—the newspapers she was using to practice her skills were always months old by the time the Mueller sisters got them from their church up north. The horrible events the papers described were already over and done with, but they were no less shocking.
The Union general William T. Sherman had marched through the state of Georgia with some sixty thousand men—a number too big for Anna to comprehend. They had pillaged the land like a plague of locusts, from Atlanta all the way to Savannah, Georgia, devouring every scrap of food and leaving a trail of destruction some sixty miles wide in their wake. General Sherman’s goal had been to make life so difficult for Georgia’s women and children and old people that the Rebels would have to surrender. Thousands of white families were now homeless and starving. The tens of thousands of slaves who had trailed behind the army were free—but they had no place to live and nothing to eat, either. Not a scrap of food remained in the devastated countryside.
General Sherman had reached Savannah by Christmas, a few months ago. Now he and his men had invaded South Carolina, hell-bent on vengeance in the state that had given birth to the rebellion. Anna shuddered at their ruthlessness. On their way to burn the capitol of Columbia, Sherman’s soldiers had destroyed every one of South Carolina’s farms and plantations that lay in their path, slaughtering more farm animals than they could possibly eat, simply to keep the citizens from using them. How would all those starving women and children live?
Anna glanced down at George playing beside her on the schoolroom floor, and she whispered a prayer for little Richard Fuller. That poor baby. The war he was suffering through wasn’t his fault. He had done nothing to deserve going hungry or being homeless. She wondered about Delia, as well. There never had been food to spare down on Slave Row, but with Sherman’s army plundering the land, Delia would starve for certain. Anna said a prayer for her, then another one for Massa Fuller. He’d lost his oldest son and had been badly wounded himself. She wondered if he would survive this war—and if he would have a home to return to, if he did.
Finally, after much wrestling, Anna was able to say a prayer for Missy Claire. The Mueller sisters had taught her that if she wanted the Lord to hear her prayers for Grady, she had to forgive other people the way Jesus had forgiven her. And Anna was desperate for the Lord to spare
Grady, terrified that he would be killed. She dreaded the day that she would look down at one of the stretchers at the army hospital and see him. She had watched so many soldiers die already.
“Lord, please be with Missy Claire today,” she prayed. “She always needed a lot of help, and … well … I know you can give her what she’s needing most.”
Anna looked up when she finished her prayer and saw that Ada Mueller had finished talking to the two women who had just joined her class. Anna had been waiting to give her present to the two sisters until all of the other students had gone.
“Miss Ada?” she said. “I have something for you. I drew a picture to say thank you for all that you and Miss Helen have been teaching me.” She carefully removed the drawing from the large book that she carried it in to protect it, and handed it to Miss Ada. The sketch showed the classroom where the sisters taught every evening, and two freed slaves in homespun with kerchiefs on their heads, watching Miss Helen expectantly. Miss Ada was bending over a little Negro girl, helping her learn to write.
Miss Ada’s face went very still. She didn’t seem able to speak. She looked as though she might cry, and Anna wondered what she had done wrong.
“This is magnificent,” Ada finally said. “You—you drew this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My goodness,” she breathed. “My goodness! Have you drawn many more pictures like this one?”
“Well, yes. My husband bought me some paper last spring, and I been drawing just about everything I see ever since. I have some more of the school, and all the ladies and children in your class, if you’re wanting to trade that picture for a different one.”
“Oh no, dear. No, I wouldn’t trade this for a million dollars. It’s so … so poignant, so moving… .” She gazed from the picture to Anna and back again. “My brother publishes a newspaper in Philadelphia. Would you ever consider selling some of these to him, to print in his paper?”