by Lynn Austin
I never wanted the glorious music to end. But gradually it calmed down, changing into some of the slow, mournful songs I’d heard the slaves singing early each morning on their way to the fields and coming home again at night. By the time the music died away altogether, the people had found places to sit on the ground or on logs and tree stumps. Then Eli stepped forward to deliver his sermon, and I thought my heart would burst with love and pride. He began in the quiet, gentle voice I loved so much, but as he spoke I sensed a dreadful, wonderful power rising up inside him, transforming him.
“Long time ago,” he began, “God’s people all be slaves—just like us. But pretty soon Massa Jesus hear them groaning down there in Egypt land. He hear how they suffering. He know how they yearn for freedom. That sound reach His ear. And it touch His heart. That’s how I know He hears our groaning, too.”
“Yes!” Some of the slaves began to shout and moan. “Hear us, Lord Jesus!” Eli continued to preach above the sound, spurred on by it, it seemed.
“Pretty soon the time come when Massa Jesus say ‘Enough!’ He say ‘No more’ to this slavery! He say ‘Let my people go!’ ”
There were more cries and shouts of “Halleluia!”
Eli’s voice thundered with power. “That’s how I know time’s gonna come for our freedom, too. Jesus know it ain’t right to make people you property. It ain’t right they sell us like a horse or a bale of cotton. Ain’t right they whip us and treat us like animals. Massa Jesus see everything we suffering, just like He see them Israelites suffering in Egypt land.”
“Yes!”
“Amen!”
“And if we keep praying . . . if we keep believing . . . He gonna do right by us, too. He gonna hear our cry! And He gonna set us free!”
The shouts and cries of joy rose in a great crescendo until I could barely hear Eli above it all.
“ ’Cause the Lord is faithful to His people! He’s a just Lord! A loving God! He gonna set us free from our bondage! Oh, yes sir! One day very soon we gonna be free at last!”
Suddenly Jonathan gripped my arm. When I turned and saw the look of alarm on his face, I nearly cried out in fright.
“What? What’s wrong?” He scrambled from our hiding place, pulling me back the way we had come. “What’s the matter?” I whispered again when we were on the main path.
“Your boy is preaching rebellion! He’s trying to start a slave uprising, telling them they’ll all be set free. This is exactly why slaves aren’t allowed to meet, don’t you see? There’s more of them than there are of us. They’ll rise up and kill us all in our beds some night, just like Nat Turner’s men did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A slave named Nat Turner started an uprising just like this, right here in Virginia. The slaves went from plantation to plantation one night, slaughtering white people in their beds—even women and children.”
“Eli would never do that!”
“You’re very naïve, Caroline. All it takes is one or two troublemakers to start a mob. We can’t let them plan a rebellion. We have to go warn Father.”
“No, wait! That wasn’t what Eli was saying. He wasn’t telling them to rebel—”
“Caroline, we’re wasting time!”
I was desperate to stop him. I couldn’t let Eli get into trouble. I was certain my cousin had misunderstood. “Wait!” I pleaded. “Wouldn’t it be better if we stayed a few more minutes and heard exactly what they’re planning?” The shouting and singing had died down once again. Eli had resumed preaching.
Jonathan looked toward the clearing, then at the path home, then back toward the clearing again, as if trying to decide what to do. At last, he reluctantly agreed. “All right. We’ll stay until we find out what their plans are.”
We crawled back to our hiding place in time to hear Eli say, “Now, don’t y’all be getting ahead of the Lord. That’s what Moses try and do. He take matters in his own hands and he kill that overseer one day. Moses think he doing the Lord’s work. But he ain’t.”
The grove fell silent. Eli had everyone’s full attention. Even the women had stopped fanning themselves.
“Now, I know them overseers be mean men. I know they be hateful men. But we can’t be deciding for ourself what God should do and who He should kill. We can’t be telling God how to run His business. We got to wait for the fullness of time. We got to trust God’s mercy and justice. When time come for us to be free—and it will come! Oh, yes sir, it will surely come!”
“Preach it, brother!”
“When the time come for our freedom, we won’t have to lift a finger against our enemies. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will repay.’ We just have to sit back and watch—just like the Israelites sit back and watch. And God gonna send His plagues down upon this land. Grasshoppers . . . and hail . . . and ruined crops . . . and dying cattle. God gonna send His plagues on this here land while we just sit back. And in the end, when God finish showing white folks His power, our time finally gonna come! We gonna be free!”
This time there were no shouts. The people simply stared at Eli—unbelieving, yet yearning to believe.
“You say we not have to fight for our freedom, Eli?” someone in the crowd finally asked.
“Yes sir, that’s what gonna happen. The Bible say it ain’t by the sword that they won the land, nor did their own arm bring them victory. God do it for them, with His right hand, because He loved them. It ain’t gonna be our power but God’s power that set us free! And when He set us free, brothers and sisters, we be free indeed!”
The people were on their feet as one, clapping, dancing, shouting. Someone started singing a song about freedom. Above it all I heard Eli shouting, “ ‘Some trust in chariots and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.’ ”
I felt the thrill I always felt at Eli’s conviction and faith. Then Jonathan tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to follow him.
“You aren’t going to tell your father, are you?” I whispered when we were back on the path again. “You heard what Eli said— they won’t lift a finger.”
“I heard, but . . . what did he mean? God isn’t going to set the slaves free. Slavery is part of God’s plan. It’s in the Bible.”
“But the story Eli told is in the Bible, too. God did set the Israelites free. And they didn’t have to fight the Egyptians. Pharaoh let them all go free after the firstborn sons died.”
Jonathan waved impatiently. “I know the story. But those slaves weren’t Negroes. The black race is cursed by God. Their skin color is the mark of Cain.”
“How can you think that way? You said Josiah is your best friend.”
“He is. But he’s still a Negro. And he belongs to me, just like Tessie belongs to you.”
“She doesn’t belong to me—”
“Okay then, to your father. They’re our slaves, Carrie. Nothing is ever going to change that.”
Jonathan and Eli couldn’t both be right.
As I finally crawled back into bed that night, I decided I believed Eli. I hid the words he’d spoken in my heart. Still, I couldn’t imagine what he’d meant when he said God would show white folks His power—ruined crops and dying cattle. I was one of those white folks. And even though Eli had said the slaves shouldn’t lift a finger against me, his words scared me to death.
Chapter Five
The next morning at breakfast I asked Daddy if I could stay at Hilltop instead of going home with him. He considered it for a long moment without answering. “Please,” I begged, “Jonathan and I are just becoming friends—and I don’t have any friends back home.”
“All right,” he finally agreed. “But Tessie and Eli will have to come back to Richmond with me.”
I knew Daddy needed Eli to drive the carriage home, but I couldn’t understand why Tessie had to leave, too. I’d never been without my mammy before, and I didn’t want to be without her now.
“Why, Daddy? Why can’t Tessie stay here with me?”
> “Because there are plenty of servants to help out around here. Tessie is needed back home.” He wouldn’t look at me when he spoke, and I had the feeling there was more to it than he was willing to say. But he had made up his mind, and I could tell that I wouldn’t be able to change it. Before I’d come to Hilltop I never could have imagined being separated from Tessie. But my adventures with my cousin had made me stronger, braver. I decided to stay without her.
I ran upstairs to my room where Tessie was packing our things, and told her I was staying and she was going home. I bravely fought my tears as we kissed and hugged good-bye, then I hurried outside to say good-bye to Eli. As I neared the barn I heard his gentle voice, but it didn’t sound like he was talking to the horses or to Massa Jesus. I peered around the open doorway and saw him deep in conversation with his son, Josiah. I waited outside, giving them time alone. But I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.
“There something I need you to do for me, Pa,” Josiah said. “I need you to take care Tessie for me when you get back home. She my wife now. We jump the broom the other night.”
“Son . . . you didn’t!” Eli sounded shaken. “You know you can’t marry Tessie without Massa’s say-so. And you know for sure Massa Fletcher ain’t giving it to you.”
“I don’t need no white man’s say-so.”
“Son, listen—”
“No! She’s my wife now. Ain’t no one telling me I can’t marry the woman I love.”
“Tessie’s going back to Richmond with Miss Caroline and me,” Eli said firmly. “So how you two gonna be husband and wife?”
“I plan on buying our freedom someday. I’m working as a blacksmith now. If Massa hire me out, I can earn my freedom doing extra work, then I move to town and make enough money to buy hers.”
“You know my massa ain’t never gonna sell Tessie to you. And you know why.”
“She’s my wife now!”
“Not without Massa’s say-so she ain’t. Son, the path you heading down lead to nothing but trouble. They get mad at you, they sell you south as fast as you can turn around.”
“They wouldn’t sell me—”
“They sold Grady!”
Something about the way Eli spoke those words—as if he still couldn’t believe they were true—sent a shiver through me.
“Please, Josiah,” Eli begged. “Don’t act this way.”
“I have to!” he shouted. “I’m not like you. I can’t lay down and be a dog for the massa. I’m a man, not a dog!”
Eli grabbed his son’s shirtfront and hauled him close, speaking right in his face. “Now you get one thing straight. I know I’m just as good as any white man. Ain’t no difference between me and Massa Fletcher in God’s sight. Bible say there neither slave nor free, but we all one in Christ Jesus.”
Josiah shook himself loose. “If you believe that, then why you acting all yes sir and no sir? Why you letting them white folks treat you like dirt? How can you live with yourself?”
“Because Jesus is my massa, not Massa Fletcher, and Jesus tell me I have to turn the other cheek. He say do good to them that persecute me. Night before He died, He wash all them white men’s feet, even the one who betrayed Him. And He say, ‘Do just like me.’ Jesus is God’s son and the white folk treat Him like dirt! They whip Him till He half dead, then they crucify Him. Ain’t no different than way they treat us. Jesus say, ‘Take up you cross and follow me.’ God knows how we’re treated, Josiah. He put us where we are for time being and give us a job to do. And even if I can’t see a reason why, I gonna do this job for Jesus. I gonna love white folks, whether they love me back or not, ’cause that’s what Jesus tell me to do.”
“How you know what Jesus say?” Josiah said angrily. “That’s only what them white preachers say is in the Bible. They tell us that stuff to keep us low. I don’t believe any of it. They lie to us.”
“They not lying. That’s what the Bible really say.”
“How you know?”
“ ’Cause I can read it for myself!”
The shock of Eli’s words seemed to rip through the air like a whip. The hair on my arms stood on end. “You have to kill a Negro if he learns to read.”
Josiah stared at his father, stunned. Eli seemed shaken by his own confession, too. In a quieter voice, he said, “I know how to read, son. I have me a Bible of my own. Preacher man in Richmond give it to me one time and I reading it every day. I know what it say. It say ‘Love you enemies . . . return evil with good . . . bless them that persecute you.’ ”
I could tell Josiah wasn’t listening. He shook his head as if dazed. “You never told me you could read.”
“Well, now you know. I can.”
Josiah’s voice rose in volume. “Then why didn’t you teach me how to read?”
“Son, I waiting all your life till you learn to control your temper. But you never did learn. If I teach you to read, I be killing you myself. I may as well be stabbing a knife in you. Devil get ahold of you and use your reading for his purpose, not God’s.”
As they stared at each other, I saw all the anger leave Eli’s face. It was replaced by sorrow. “Josiah, I be going soon. I can’t leave here with bitterness between us. Lord knows when I ever see you again.”
Eli went to his son, embraced him. At first Josiah’s arms hung limp at his sides. The two men were the same height, had the same wide shoulders and strong arms. One head of hair was black, the other gray. Slowly, Josiah lifted his arms and returned his father’s embrace.
“Guard your heart, son,” Eli said in a hushed voice. “That’s what God looks at—your heart. Most folks look at the outside things, like the color of your skin. But God looks at your heart.”
I settled comfortably into the rhythm of country life, enjoying the freedom of long, leisurely days, the excitement of new places to explore, and the contentment of my cousin’s friendship. The carefree life I led wasn’t typical of a woman’s life on the plantation, though. Grandmother and Aunt Anne worked hard all day, everyday, overseeing the work that needed to be done. There was laundry to scrub, candles and soap to make, homespun cloth to be woven and dyed, then sewn into clothing for both the slaves and the family. The garden needed to be tended, the house cleaned, the food preserved, the cows milked, the butter churned, meat salted and smoked, and three hearty meals cooked and served each day. I wanted nothing to do with learning how to take charge of all that work.
I’d always been a bit of a tomboy when I’d played with Grady—before my teachers at the Richmond Female Institute tried to drum into me that proper young ladies didn’t climb trees or wander through the woods or lie on riverbanks fishing. But for those few wonderful weeks at Hilltop, I didn’t care about being a proper young lady. The Institute had taught my mother to be a lady, and I shuddered at the thought of living a life like hers. I loved the outdoors, and I didn’t care one bit if my complexion turned as sunbrowned as Jonathan’s. We explored the woods together, read books to each other beneath the trees, and simply gazed up at the stars and talked. I noticed that he was careful to keep me away from the harsher side of plantation life, such as the slaves laboring in the fields beneath the blazing sun, or life down on Slave Row, but one lazy, rainy day, as we sat in the parlor playing a game of dominoes, I asked him about the man I’d seen with the lash scars on his back.
“Our overseer isn’t a cruel man,” Jonathan replied. “He might yell and crack the whip a few times over everybody’s head, but he would never give forty lashes like that unless it was absolutely necessary. My father would never allow his slaves to be abused.”
“Then why did he whip that man?”
Jonathan hesitated, choosing his words as carefully as his next domino. “We caught him stealing bacon from our smokehouse. He had to be whipped in order to set an example. Otherwise, all the other slaves might start stealing from us, too. It’s your turn,” he added impatiently.
I studied my remaining dominoes, then played one. “I once saw slaves in Richmond wearing leg
-irons and chains,” I said. “Daddy told me it was because they’d tried to run away.”
“Our people hardly ever try to run away. They know they have it good here. We take good care of them.”
“But their cabins are so small, and they only have dirt floors, and—”
“The slaves don’t care. They’re used to it. They’re not like us, Carrie.” He was growing annoyed. I didn’t know whether it was from our conversation or because he’d had to draw a half-dozen dominoes from the bone pile before finding one he could use. “Besides,” he added, “our slaves are treated a lot better than the immigrants who work in the factories up north. Ever see where they live? And nobody gives them free clothing and food like we give our slaves.”
I played another piece, then hid my last domino in my hand so he couldn’t see it. “If the slaves are contented and happy, then why does everyone worry so much about them rebelling like Nat what’s-his-name?”
“Some of the slaves are fools and very easily led. If another leader like Nat Turner came along, they might be persuaded to do anything.” Jonathan groaned when he had to draw three more dominoes.
“No one could ever persuade Eli or Tessie to murder me,” I said, playing my last piece.
Jonathan stood, sweeping the dominoes into the box with one hand as if wiping a slate. “I’d trust Josiah with my life, too. But there are more than fifty colored folk down in Slave Row and only half a dozen of us up here. We’d be fools to turn our backs on them.” He was angry. And I knew it wasn’t because I’d won the game. I decided never to talk about such things with him again.
The next morning, with the sun shining brightly again, Jonathan and his father left to attend a meeting at a neighboring plantation. Afterward, they were going to spend a few days drilling with the local militia—Jonathan’s first time.
“Seems like I’ve been waiting all my life to finally join the militia,” he said with a grin. He lifted an imaginary gun to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. “Can’t wait to get my hands on a rifle for once, instead of Pa’s old shotgun.”