by Lynn Austin
No one had ever told Anna that she had to obey white people, but she knew. The girl was loud and bossy like the white overseer, and the look in her eyes was as sharp as knives.
“They’ll scratch you,” Anna warned. “Kittens have claws and they scratch.” She held out her bare arms to show the claw-stripes, hoping the girl would change her mind. Anna didn’t want to share her kittens.
The girl stuck out her chin. “They won’t scratch me.”
Her words made Anna curious. She wanted to see how this homely, white-skinned girl could tame those prickly kitten claws. Anna got down on all fours and crawled over to the boxwood where they had disappeared, meowing like a cat, trying to coax one of them out. The girl turned and skipped off shouting, “Mother! Mother come here. That little darkie has kittens and I want one.”
Anna peered out from the bushes and saw a large white woman strolling across the lawn followed by Bertha, the Big House mammy. Bertha pushed a strange wicker chair with wheels and an umbrella on top, and riding inside was a fat little white girl with a round pink face.
“Don’t shout, Claire,” the large woman said. “Young ladies don’t shout.”
“That darkie has kittens,” Claire said. “I saw a gray one and a striped one. I told the darkie I wanted one, but they ran under the bushes.”
“It’s just as well. They’re wild animals, Claire. They probably carry all sorts of vermin and diseases. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“But I want one! I want to take one up to my room to keep!”
“Absolutely not. I won’t have wild cats running around inside our house. They’ll destroy the furniture and all the carpets.”
All of a sudden it was as if an invisible animal had leaped on top of that girl and was tearing her limb from limb. She threw herself on the ground, kicking and wailing and making a terrible racket. “I want one! I want a kitten! I hate sleeping all alone in my room!” she wailed.
Anna had never seen such a fearsome sight, nor could she imagine what was wrong with the girl. But her mother didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “You know Mammy Bertha needs to sleep in baby Katie’s room,” she soothed.
“I hate Katie! I want Mammy with me, and if I can’t have Mammy, then I want a kitten!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question. They’re nothing but mangy old barn cats. But if you stop fussing, maybe your father will buy a little dog for you the next time he goes to Charleston.”
“No, now! I want a kitty now! Make that darkie catch one for me!”
The girl’s angry red face was so terrifying that Anna got down on all fours again and began meowing and acting like a cat, trying to coax one of the kittens from its hiding place. Quick as can be, Claire’s tears turned to giggles. Anna couldn’t imagine how she could do that—switching from one to the other just as fast as you could blink.
“She’s funny, Mama.” Claire said. “She makes me laugh. I want the darkie to be my kitty.”
“Oh, good heavens, Claire. She’s just as filthy as those cats are. We can’t have such a creature in our house.”
The terrible wailing started up all over again, and Anna wanted to stay hidden in the bushes with the cats. Claire’s mother must have known that the only way to stop the racket was to let her have her own way because that’s what she finally did. And if Claire was going to make her mother choose between bringing a kitten into the house or bringing a darkie, Anna turned out to be the preferred choice.
“All right, Claire. All right. Stop fussing. Mammy can fix a blanket for the darkie on your bedroom floor. But first we’ll have to find her kin. We can’t have her crying for her mother in the middle of the night and waking everybody up.” She bent down to speak to Anna, wrinkling her nose as if she’d smelled something sour. “You, there … come on out of the bushes and tell us your name.”
“She’s Kitty,” Claire said before Anna could reply. “I’m going to call her Kitty because that’s what she is—my very own kitty.”
Anna crawled out from beneath the bush and saw that the angry red color was slowly fading from Missy Claire’s face. Her mother turned to the nursemaid.
“Bertha, do you know who this darkie belongs to?”
“That one? She don’t belong to nobody, Missus Goodman. Child’s mama has been gone a long while back.”
“All right then, come along,” Missus Goodman said, but she didn’t sound very happy about it. “We’ll start by getting her cleaned up. She certainly can’t come into the house all filthy. I won’t have her bringing in fleas.”
Anna scrambled to her feet, but Claire pushed her back down. “Not on two legs. Kitties don’t walk on two legs. And meow for me again.”
She did what she was told, following Claire on her hands and knees, all the way across the grass to the yard outside the kitchen where the house slaves lived. Daisy and two other slaves had set up the laundry tubs and were busy washing clothes. Missus Goodman ordered them to scrub Anna, too. “I don’t want her bringing fleas and lice into my house,” she said. “And find her something decent to wear.”
Anna had never had a bath in her life, as far as she could remember, and she didn’t like it one bit—especially when they dumped water over her head to wash her hair. The harsh soap stung her eyes, and Daisy scrubbed her skin until Anna thought for sure all the color would come off. She really started to panic when she saw how black the water had turned. But when Daisy finally decided she was clean and hauled her out of the tub, Anna was glad to see that her skin was still as brown as it had always been. It felt good to be clean. For the first time in her life she didn’t feel all itchy. Daisy dried her off.
“Here, put these on,” she said. “We found you an old pair of Missy Claire’s bloomers and a muslin shift she’s outgrown.”
“Come on, Kitty. Follow me,” Missy Claire said in a sweet, singsong voice. Anna crouched down on all fours and followed her through the back door and into the Big House, meowing every few steps. Missy Claire led the way up a tall staircase, and Anna had never seen so many steps before, much less climbed them on hands and knees. When she reached the top she thought for sure she’d climbed up to heaven as Missy led her into the most beautiful room Anna had ever seen, filled with sunlight and color. It was bigger than any of the cagins on Slave Row, and Missy had it all to herself! Missy slept in a high, curtained bed that was as soft as a bale of cotton.
The floors were made of wood, not dirt, and were covered with brightly colored rugs. Anna gazed around in wonder and saw a small horse made out of wood that had rockers on the bottom like Old Nellie’s rocking chair. Beside it was a little house, made to look like Massa’s Big House, with tiny furniture inside the rooms. In the center of Missy’s bedroom was a little table and four chairs that were just Anna’s size, with beautiful, child-sized dishes at each place. Missy’s dolls perched on two of the chairs, but they weren’t at all like the cornshuck dolls Anna had played with on Slave Row. These dolls looked almost real with their beautifully curled hair and delicately painted faces and tiny hands. For a moment Anna forgot to meow as she tried to take it all in.
“Jump up on my bed,” Missy ordered. She slept in a high, curtained bed that felt as soft as a bale of cotton. Missy climbed up beside Anna and began petting her head. At first Anna flinched because she wasn’t used to being touched, but she quickly discovered how good it felt.
“Ooh, your hair feels funny, like a sheep,” Missy said. “Now make that purring noise kitties make.”
Anna was so happy she barely needed to be told. She curled up on that beautiful feather bed and purred like a contented kitten all on her own.
A week later, Missy Claire still wasn’t bored with the game. Neither was Anna. She was quite content to pretend she was a cat and had even learned to answer to her new name, Kitty. Bertha put a blanket on the bedroom floor where Anna was supposed to sleep at night but after she and Missy were alone, Missy would sometimes let her jump up on the bed and sleep near her feet. Anna’s knees we
re getting bruised from crawling all around on them, but she didn’t care as long as Missy fed her and petted her. She would be a cat for the rest of her life and forget she’d ever been a little girl named Anna, if it meant living in the Big House from now on.
Every morning Mammy Bertha brought Missy Claire’s breakfast up to her room on a tray, and Anna was allowed to eat the scraps when Claire was finished. Anna ate her evening meal outside in the kitchen with the other house slaves, and at first they weren’t too friendly toward her. Cook made her feel about as welcome as a stray dog.
“Well, well! You sure moved up in the world, didn’t you, now?” Cook said when Anna had been eating there about a week. From the way Cook stood with her head cocked to one side, Anna knew she wasn’t too happy about it.
“Leave her alone,” Mammy Bertha said softly. “She’s just a 41 child.”
“Don’t you be getting used to this,” Cook warned. “That Missy Claire’s a spoilt one. You’ll be heading back down to them cabins just as soon as she gets tired of you.”
“Leave her alone. She’s Lucindy’s girl, you know.”
“You gonna be a kitten the rest of your life so you can stay?” Old Henry asked with a grin.
“That’s my new name,” Anna said. “I’m called Kitty now.”
Henry laughed out loud. But later on, after dinner, Bertha took Anna aside. “They’s right, you know. Better be making yourself useful if you don’t want to be sent back down where you come from. Mind you, I could use some help with them two girls. And Missus Goodman’s gonna have another baby, couple months from now. You keep Missy Claire and Missy Kate laughing at your antics, and maybe they let you stay. Otherwise, you be going back down to Slave Row.”
“I don’t want to work in the rice fields,” Anna said.
“All right, then. Pay attention and work hard. That’s the best way to make sure you’re staying here. If Missy Claire takes a liking to you, maybe you can learn to be her chambermaid someday.”
Anna paid attention to everything Mammy Bertha said and helped her every way she could. She emptied Missy Claire’s chamber pot in the morning, fanned her when the afternoons grew hot, and swished away the flies while she ate her evening meal. If Missy got tired of her, Anna would go play with Missy Kate, turning somersaults, playing peek-a-boo, and doing anything else she could think of to keep the younger girl happy.
Meanwhile, Anna was starting to lose some of her scrawniness after eating in the kitchen every night. And the other house slaves were getting used to having her around, even Cook. There were a dozen or so house slaves and all their different shades of black skin fascinated Anna. She still thought white people’s skin was sickly-looking, like the faded grass and pale worms you find when you move a stone. Old Henry’s skin was the darkest of all, so black it almost looked blue—like the sky on a moonless night. Anna must have stared at him a little too long one day because he suddenly asked, “What you looking at me for?”
“B-because,” Anna stammered, “I never seen anybody so dark. It’s the most beautiful color ever. How’d you get skin like that?”
“Born with it, same as you.”
“But it’s not the same as me. It’s not the same as anybody’s. Daisy’s skin is coppery brown, just like that kettle over there. And Cook’s is like a plowed field. Mammy Bertha’s is just the same color as ashes, and Mary’s skin looks like molasses.”
There were ripples of laughter all around the table, but Anna didn’t know what had caused them. “How about your own skin, then?” Daisy asked, pointing to Anna. “What color are you?”
“Me? I’m like the crust on a fresh loaf of brown bread.” The others laughed again. Anna still didn’t know why. “We’re all different colors, ain’t we? Just like trees. Sometimes their bark is dark brown, sometimes lighter—just like our skin.”
“You’re wrong!” Cook said, frowning. She was the only one who hadn’t laughed. “There’s only two colors of skin—white and black. All the in-between ones is still black. And as far as the world’s concerned, the only good color skin to have is white.”
That was the first time Anna had heard anyone say it outright, but when she thought about it later, she knew Cook was right. People with white skin never did any work. They slept in soft beds and ate the very best food and had scores of black people to wait on them. Missus Goodman seemed terrified that Missy’s milkwhite skin would get dark, so she was always reminding her to use a parasol or wear a hat whenever she went outside. Anna couldn’t understand why. Dark skin was much, much better—even if it did mean she had to work hard and sleep on the floor.
She was learning to do all kinds of things in the Big House—helping Missy get dressed and undressed, filling and emptying her washbasin, running and fetching things for her or for Mammy Bertha. Anna had no time to play with her kittens anymore. And by the time they’d grown into cats, she had quite forgotten that her name had ever been Anna.
Chapter Four
Richmond, Virginia 1853
A week after Grady had been sold at the auction, his new master, Edward Coop, came for him and all the other slaves he had purchased. Coop’s manservant, William, carefully inspected the slaves’ shackles to make sure they were secure before the guards unlocked the door. William was a stocky, fierce-looking Negro who showed no sympathy at all for his fellow slaves as he poked and prodded them into a column, walking two-abreast. He ignored one of the men who complained that his leg irons were too tight and were rubbing his skin raw, and it seemed to Grady that William sided with their white master more than with his fellow slaves, in spite of his inky skin.
William chained all of the slaves together except Grady and herded everyone out of the slave pen for the last time. Grady had gone all week without washing, and he felt grimy with sweat and filth. Mama had always kept him clean, making him wash his face and hands and scrub behind his ears every night before he went to bed. Once a week she would make him take a bath in the kitchen in the big tin tub. But even more than he hated the dirt, Grady hated that he reeked of fear.
He tried to look around as William and Massa Coop marched the slaves through the streets, hoping to see his mama or Eli coming to rescue him. But Coop forced them to shuffle along at such 44 a brisk pace that Grady needed to watch his footing on the lumpy cobblestone streets just to keep up with everyone. His new master had purchased about fifty slaves, most of them men between the ages of twenty and forty. Grady was the only child. The women were all young and pretty, some still in their teens. They looked as terrified as Grady was.
He stuck close to Big Amos, who had also been bought by Massa Coop. But Amos’ steps slowed when he saw that they were headed down to the docks at Rockett’s Wharf. “This ain’t good,” he mumbled. “This ain’t good at all.”
Grady’s stomach clenched in fear. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s gonna put us on a ship. That means we going a long ways away, not some plantation close by. If we was being sold around here, they’d make us walk.”
The slave who was chained to Amos gave a tug to make him keep up. “I heard the guards talking yesterday,” he said. “Massa Coop ain’t buying us for hisself. He’s a slave trader. Gonna sell us off in every port along the way, all down the coast, far as Florida and maybe New Orleans.”
Amos swore. “Farther south we’re sold, the harder it’s gonna be to escape. Gotta go through too many slave states to get north again.”
Grady didn’t care about escaping to freedom, only about going home. But the farther they sailed from Richmond, the smaller the likelihood that he would ever see his home or his family again.
They turned a corner and Grady smelled the raw, fishy odor of the river. Sunlight reflected off the water, making him squint in the sudden brightness. Dozens of ships crowded the piers at Rockett’s Wharf: steamboats with tall, black smokestacks, sailing vessels with masts and rigging, barges and keelboats and paddleboats. Well-dressed passengers ambled around the docks, preparing to board, saying good-bye to the
ir loved ones: men in dark suits and hats, children dancing with excitement, women in brightlycolored dresses, their stiff skirts flaring like bells. Families stood near their carriages and drays, waiting as house slaves shouldered trunks and carried satchels onboard. As Massa Coop herded Grady and the other slaves past, chains jangling and scraping, the white passengers took no more notice of them than they did of the sacks of grain and other cargo being loaded into the hold.
Panic swelled inside Grady at the thought of sailing far from home. He turned to look back at the city of Richmond, searching for St. John’s steeple on Church Hill near his house, desperate for one last glimpse of the only home he’d ever known. But William gripped his arm and turned him around, marching him up the gangway onto the steamship. Grady tried to look over his shoulder, but before he could spot the familiar landmark nestled among the trees, he tripped over a coil of rope and fell facedown on the deck. William grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him upright again, shoving him toward an open hatch with a steep set of stairs leading down into the bowels of the ship. Grady peered into the dark hole and felt as though they were shoving him into his grave.
Suddenly, the urge to fight back, to save himself, welled up inside him, out of control. “No!” he screamed. “No, help me! Somebody help me!” He ran to the ship’s railing and clung to it, fighting with all his strength to keep from being sent below with the others. “Help me, Massa Jesus! Please help me!”
“Stop it, you little fool!” William hissed as he pried Grady’s hands loose. “Don’t make no trouble for me—or for yourself.” He clamped his hand over Grady’s mouth and carried him back to the hatch and down the stairs. Grady kicked and struggled all the way as William dragged him into a room in the hold with all the other slaves, men and women alike. He heard the door being bolted shut from the outside.
“Shut up!” William said as he dropped Grady to the floor.
He could feel the ship rocking gently. The room was dark and stuffy, the stench and despair even worse than it had been in the slave pen. Grady and the others were no longer human beings but trade goods being shipped to market like the bales of cotton, barrels of salted fish, and sacks of grain that had been loaded into the hold with them. His stomach ached with the injustice of it. Rage at his helplessness burned inside him until he thought it would consume him. When he looked around he saw the same anger mirrored on every man’s face and heard the anguish he felt in the women’s quiet, mournful weeping. Unable to stop himself, Grady closed his eyes and clenched his fists and roared with despair.