A Light to My Path

by Lynn Austin

  “Be quiet!” Missy said, smacking Kitty on the side of her head. “If you say one more word, I’ll put the lash to both of you. Now get up!”

  Kitty struggled to her feet, weeping uncontrollably. “Whip me, then. Not Grady!”

  “I said stop that! Do you want me to tell Mr. Browning to give your husband ten extra lashes?”

  Kitty forced herself to be quiet for Grady’s sake. But tears blurred her vision as she helped Missy to the morning room where they’d been sitting. Missy was about to sit down in her chair when she suddenly sucked in her breath. Her face wore a startled look.

  “Go get Delia,” she said.

  Kitty stared in amazement as a puddle of water slowly spread in a circle around Missy’s feet.

  * * *

  Grady felt as though he’d swallowed a stone as he faced Walter Browning. He knew very little about the overseer except that he was the son of the man who had raped Delia, years ago, and fathered her child. This Browning was middle-aged with thinning black hair, but he was as strongly built as his slave laborers. Grady doubted that he could beat him in a fight, even though Browning was at least twenty years older. Besides, the overseer carried a pistol strapped to his belt, and was rumored to be lightning quick with it. Grady saw no way to avoid a second scourging with the lash.

  “Missus Fuller wants Grady whipped,” Lewis told Browning. Grady heard the sorrow in the butler’s voice. “Forty lashes. She says he’s supposed to work in the fields from now on.”

  “Did he steal something?”

  “No, not that I know of, sir.”

  “Okay. There are some slave shackles hanging up in that second shed over there,” Browning told Lewis. “Go get a pair for me.” He studied Grady while they waited. “What did you do?” he finally asked.

  Grady was much too angry to explain to this white man that he’d refused to father a child for Missus Fuller’s convenience. His rage was certain to boil over, making his punishment even worse. “You better ask her,” he mumbled.

  “You can bet I’ll do just that,” Browning said. “But right now I’m asking you.”

  “I … um … I ain’t exactly sure, sir.” If he knew nothing else, Grady knew it was always better to play dumb than to lose his temper or show disrespect for white people.

  Lewis returned with the chains, and Browning led Grady to an iron hitching post used to tether animals. Grady had fastened countless pairs of manacles to other slaves’ wrists and ankles when he’d worked for Coop, but he’d been too small to wear them himself when he’d been taken from his family in Richmond. The heavy irons fit him now. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to have the cold metal clamped tightly around his own wrists, securing him to the post. Browning left him standing alone in the icy mist while he walked up to the Big House to talk with Missus Fuller.

  Waiting, knowing the pain that was to come, added to Grady’s torture. In a few minutes he was going to be whipped. Again. For no reason. Grady wanted to roar in outrage, but no one in heaven or on earth would even hear or care.

  He was more certain than ever that there was no God. Or if there was, that He had no love or mercy to spare on him. In less than one hour, Grady had lost his job, his horses, and his home with Delia and Kitty. Being born a slave was certainly a curse, but at least his favored position as a driver and his home with the two women had made his life tolerable for the past few years. Now, at the whim of a white woman, he not only faced a brutal punishment but was also being reduced to an animal—a beast of burden, laboring from dawn to dusk. He sank to the ground, leaned his head against the iron hitching post and waited as despair overwhelmed him.

  It seemed like a very long time passed before Browning returned. When he did, he was carrying a whip coiled in a tight circle. He stood staring down at Grady for a long time, as if deciding how to begin.

  Grady rose to his feet. “Just get it over with,” he said. He gripped the rail with both hands, bracing himself.

  Browning didn’t move. “I’ve never given a slave forty lashes in my life,” he said quietly.

  Grady said nothing. He wouldn’t beg. The foggy morning was damp and cold, but he felt a bead of sweat run down his back as he waited, his muscles tensed. His mouth felt as dry as cotton. He wondered if he dared ask for a drink of water.

  “You’ve been Mr. Fuller’s coachman since Old Jesse died, haven’t you?” Browning asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shame about them taking all of Mr. Fuller’s horses away,” Browning said. “Missus Fuller told me all about it.” He paced in place.

  Grady wondered what Browning was waiting for. Was someone else coming to do the dirty work? Was he going to make all the other slaves gather around to watch? As much as Grady dreaded the pain, he longed to get the ordeal over with.

  “You know, if Mr. Fuller were here he would never allow this,” Browning said as he unwound the long whip. “Slaves are valuable property, and he doesn’t like his property damaged. There have been a few times when a slave stole from him. And a slave tried to run off, once. But even then, Mr. Fuller took them to the auction block. He never had any of them whipped.”

  Grady closed his eyes, not daring to hope that he’d be spared.

  “Mr. Fuller liked the way you kept his stables. Said you were a hard worker, that you knew a lot about horses …” He took a step back. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think he’d like me doing this. Especially for no reason that I can see.”

  Grady was certain that his heart would beat right out of his chest as he waited. Browning paced in circles for another long, agonizing minute, then reached into his pocket.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, pulling out a key. He unfastened one of Grady’s hands and slid the chain free from around the post. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell Mrs. Fuller that I disobeyed her, will you?”

  Grady exhaled. “No, sir.”

  “A lash or two out in the field is one thing … but I never did give out forty. Mr. Fuller won’t allow it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Grady was so weak with relief that he could barely walk. Browning led him into a storage shed, then refastened his shackles, anchoring him to a metal ring in the floor. He locked a second pair around Grady’s ankles.

  “I’m going to leave you in here for a few days until everybody cools off—and to make sure you don’t get it in your mind to run away. After that, there’s plenty of work around here for you to do. You’ll put in a full day like all my other field hands, come springtime.”

  Browning went out, the door creaking shut behind him. Grady heard the bolt slide closed on the outside. The shed was dark and damp and cold. It smelled of moldy wood and tobacco. But by some miracle, he’d just been spared forty lashes. Tears came to his eyes, and he wondered if Delia had been praying.

  * * *

  Kitty couldn’t stop worrying about Grady as she sat with Missy Claire through her long, hard hours of labor. Delia had sent for the slave midwife who delivered all the slaves’ babies, and together they helped Missy through her ordeal. The older women made Kitty leave the room during the final two hours, but she heard Missy’s screams, nonetheless. Kitty didn’t feel one bit sorry for her. Nor did she care if Missy lived or died. At times, Kitty couldn’t hold back her tears as she recalled the ugly welts on Grady’s back from being whipped the first time and as she imagined him suffering that agony and humiliation a second time.

  Kitty managed to whisper the story to Delia in one of their free moments, and the little woman nearly collapsed to the floor before Kitty steered her to a chair. “O Lord,” she moaned. “O Lord, not my Grady. Not again.” She’d been tearful ever since, as if the news had broken Delia’s heart.

  Nearly twenty-four hours after her water broke, Missy Claire had a baby boy. She named him Richard. The midwife brought a young Negro woman named Patsy up to the Big House from Slave Row to be his wet nurse.

  Kitty dreaded returning to the little cabin now that Grady was gone, but in the end she d
idn’t have to. Missy was afraid to stay in the Big House with a strange field slave, and she made Kitty and Delia both sleep in the house with her and the baby.

  On the night after the baby was born, Kitty awakened to see Delia tiptoeing from the room. “Where you going?” she whispered.

  When Delia turned around, Kitty saw her tear-swollen eyes and knew the answer even before she spoke. “If you’re going down to see Grady, I want to come, too,” Kitty said. She threw her blanket aside and started to rise, but Delia hurried over to her, whispering so they wouldn’t awaken Patsy.

  “No, I think you better stay here, honey. If Missy calls for one of us and we ain’t here, there’ll be even more trouble. Besides, Grady may not want you to see him all tore up.”

  Kitty lay down again, but she didn’t go back to sleep.

  * * *

  The sound of the shed door creaking open awakened Grady. He sat up, his heart hammering, but he was unable to see anything in the darkness.

  “Grady? You in here?”

  He sagged with relief at the sound of Delia’s familiar voice. “Yeah, over here.”

  He saw her tiny form outlined in the open doorway before she pushed the door closed again. He longed to stand up and sweep her into his arms but his chains were too short to allow him to stand. Delia bent over him and kissed his forehead, gently holding his face in her hands. “You okay, honey?” she asked, her voice choked with tears.

  “Browning didn’t whip me, Delia. He said Massa Fuller would never allow it, so he didn’t do it. I’m okay.”

  “Thank the Good Lord,” Delia breathed. She dropped to her knees beside Grady and hugged him tightly. Grady felt such a rush of renewed gratitude and wonder at being spared that he nearly whispered “Amen.”

  “I brought you a few things,” Delia said when she could speak. “Praise God you won’t be needing any doctoring, but I wrapped up some of your clothes and things in this bundle. Thought you might need your blanket, too.”

  “Thanks, Delia.”

  “You’re shivering, honey. Want me to put it around your shoulders?”

  “Yeah.” He’d been afraid that he would take sick if he had to sleep on the dirt floor one more night in the bone-chilling February cold.

  “I brought you some food and water, too, but you best eat it all now so Walt Browning don’t find out about it.”

  Grady had to bend his head nearly to the floor in order to feed himself, the short chains hindering his movements. He hated for Delia to see him this way, but the food was welcome, just the same. He hadn’t eaten in nearly two days.

  “Kitty tells me you’re gonna have to live down on Slave Row from now on,” Delia said.

  “Looks that way,” he said, swallowing a chunk of corn bread. “Massa don’t need a driver if he ain’t got any horses.”

  “Well, I put a couple of Kitty’s pictures in with your things. I know how much you like them. Thought maybe you could hang them up in your new place. Be a little like home, anyway.”

  “Is Anna okay?” he asked quietly. “Missus Fuller didn’t punish her, too, did she?”

  “No, she’s fine—worried sick about you. She wanted to come with me, but I told her she better not be giving Missus Fuller any more reasons to be mad.”

  “I hate that woman.” Grady felt a shiver travel through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Kitty ain’t making excuses for her this time.”

  “Good.” He felt Delia’s eyes studying him in the darkness.

  “Grady, honey, please don’t waste your life hating people. You’re the one who’s gonna suffer for it, not them. Don’t you know you’re poisoning yourself?”

  He didn’t answer. He had finished eating, and he didn’t think he could bear to hear one of Delia’s sermons about Jesus when he was chained to the floor like an animal. Grady had nothing more to say. He gulped down all of the water, then leaned over as far as he could and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming, Delia. And thanks for the food and things. You better head back now, before you get into trouble.”

  She slowly rose to her feet, then caressed his hair for a moment. “I’ll be praying for you, honey,” she said.

  He smiled at her in the darkness. “Yeah. I know you will.”

  * * *

  Fuller Plantation

  April 1862

  On a warm day in springtime, Kitty looked out one of the front windows and saw Massa Fuller walking up the long driveway to the Big House. She thought she must be dreaming.

  “Missy Claire!” she called. “Missy Claire, come quick! Massa’s home!” Kitty didn’t wait for the butler but ran out into the foyer and opened the door wide for him.

  “Welcome home, Massa Fuller! I know Missy’s sure gonna be pleased to see you. And wait till you see your beautiful new baby boy.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be home.” He smiled wearily as he leaned his rifle against the hall table. He slid a canvas pack from his shoulders, and Kitty could tell by the way that it thumped to the floor that it was very heavy. Massa Fuller looked exhausted. His boots were falling apart, and the handsome uniform that he’d worn at his wedding was muddy and ragged.

  “Kindly fetch your mistress,” he said. But Missy Claire was already hurrying into the hallway from the morning room. She flew into his arms.

  Kitty looked away as they embraced, remembering how wonderful it felt to be held in Grady’s arms that way. She hadn’t seen him since he’d been sent down, two months ago, and she missed him.

  “Kitty, run upstairs and fetch the baby,” Missy said. “And be careful with him. We’ll be in the morning room.”

  Baby Richard was asleep in his cradle, his hands curled into tiny fists. He had no hair and his skin was as pale as Missy’s was, but Kitty had grown to love him as she’d helped take care of him these past two months. Sometimes she would close her eyes as she cuddled him in her arms and imagine that he had beautiful coffeebrown skin and wooly black hair—and that he belonged to her and Grady. She lifted Richard from his cradle, careful not to wake him, and carried him downstairs to meet his papa.

  Massa Fuller rose from the sofa as Kitty carried Richard into the room, but he didn’t ask to hold him. Instead, he stood gazing down at his new son for a long moment, and the lines of fatigue that were etched in his face grew soft.

  “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see new life again, after so much—” His voice faltered slightly, then faded into silence.

  “He looks like you, Roger,” Missy Claire said. She remained seated on the sofa. Massa Fuller touched his sleeping son’s hand, then sank down beside his wife again.

  “You think so?” he asked.

  “Of course. He’s been surrounded by so many Fullers,” she said, gesturing to the portraits on the walls, “what other choice did he have?” They laughed together, and Kitty felt another stab of loneliness. Maybe if she talked to Massa Fuller alone and begged him to let Grady come home—maybe he would allow it. Massa Fuller had always been good to Grady.

  The baby stirred in her arms and yawned. “Shall I take him back upstairs now, Missy Claire?” she asked. She knew better than to offer him to Missy to hold. She seldom wanted to.

  “Not yet,” she replied. “He seems content for now.”

  Kitty remained standing, rocking the sleeping baby in her arms. She was a little surprised that Missy and her husband didn’t want their privacy after being apart from each other for so long. She decided to daydream about Grady as she waited, but when she realized that Massa was talking about the war, she suddenly became alert. This was the first real news she or any of her fellow house slaves had heard in months.

  “Mother sent me a Charleston newspaper,” Missy said, “and I read about the naval battles last month. I was so proud that our little Confederate navy was victorious.”

  “Yes, the battle of the ironclads must have been a sight. We’ve enjoyed several land victories as well, I’m happy to say. But it always comes dow
n to numbers. I heard about a battle up in Shiloh, Tennessee, earlier this month, where we had the Yanks all but licked until they sent for reinforcements. Our men always fight better than theirs do, but there are always more of them than there are of us.”

  “Have you heard from Ellis?” Missy asked.

  “I recently received letters from both my sons. Ellis is in Yorktown, Virginia, bracing for a huge assault that may be coming soon. The Union commander is expected to launch an attack against the Peninsula this spring with the goal of taking Richmond. Rumors are that he has amassed an enormous arsenal and a hundred thousand men. But Ellis says they’re dug in behind earthworks and they’re ready for him. The news from John,” Massa said with a sigh, “was worrisome, I’m afraid. He left the Citadel and enlisted in a new South Carolina regiment as soon as he became of age. He isn’t sure where he’ll be sent yet.”

  “What about you, Roger? Will you be sent up to Virginia, too?”

  “No, too much is happening down here at the moment. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Fort Pulaski fell into Union hands.

  It guarded the harbor of Savannah.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard. Thank God Charleston is well protected.”

  “Yes, the Yanks will have a tougher time there. But what’s worrisome about the fall of Fort Pulaski is that more and more slaves are escaping to Union-held territory, and the Yankees are refusing to return them.”

  “I thought the Fugitive Slave Law said that they had to return them.”

  “It does. But Major General Hunter isn’t honoring it. He’s calling the fugitives ‘contrabands of war,’ like any other property that’s been confiscated during wartime. Of course, word of this has spread to the slaves somehow, and more and more of them are trying to escape to Union-held territory—all along the coastal area between Charleston and Savannah.”

  Kitty didn’t realized how tense she had become as she’d listened to this news until she felt the baby squirm in her arms. She looked down and saw that his eyes were open. If he began to cry she would have to take him upstairs—and then she would miss the rest of the conversation. She shifted Richard to her shoulder and rubbed his back, humming softly to soothe him.