Grady’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “What good’s it gonna do me to fall in love and get married, huh? My life ain’t my own, you know that. Ain’t no way I can ever choose a wife and be with her for the rest of my life. This here’s a white man’s world, and slaves don’t get to choose. My life belongs to Massa Fuller.”
“You’re wrong. Your life belongs to God. He’s the One you’d better be obeying.”
“God never did me any favors, so why should I obey Him? No, sir! I’m gonna make the most of this sorry life, and if I can scrape up a little loving on Massa’s travels, then I’ll do it. Never know what tomorrow’s gonna bring. Gals don’t have to say yes to me. I ain’t forcing no one to give me hugs and kisses.”
“You gonna marry this girl you’re seeing tonight?”
Grady made a face, as if she’d asked a ridiculous question.
“Then what you’re planning on doing with her is wrong.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t care, Delia.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re afraid to be getting close to anyone. Afraid if you love people, they’ll be ripped away from you again.”
“I got good reason to be afraid—they might be! First my family, now Jesse … You know they never would of let Jesse die if he’d been a white man.”
“Don’t matter if our skin is white or black—our day to die is in the Lord’s hands. And white or black, we’re always taking a risk when we love people. There’s always a chance of losing them. But you can’t go through life without love, Grady. Life just ain’t worth living without love.”
He held up his hands in partial surrender. “Look, I’m just having a little fun. That’s all.”
Delia could see that he was holding back his temper, reluctant to argue with her. She didn’t want to argue, either, but she loved Grady too much to keep quiet.
“Fun? You think that’s all it is—just
fun
? Then you’re no better than an animal. That’s what white folks are thinking about us anyway, ain’t it? That we got no more feelings or morals than animals do? Go on! You go right on out there, now, and prove them right.” She stood aside, pointing to the door.
He looked chastened, but not repentant. “Don’t nag me, Delia. I got me a night off, the only time that belongs to me and not to Massa. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me what to do with it.” He squeezed past her and through the door.
“God’s gonna punish you for making slave babies all over the county,” she yelled after him. “Don’t you care that you’re condemning your children to be slaves?”
Grady halted, glancing all around as if worried that someone might have overheard her shouts. He turned to her, anger flushing his face. “I ain’t condemning them to slavery,” he said in a harsh voice, “the white folks are. And as far as God is concerned, He’s a white man’s God. I ain’t got nothing to do with Him.”
Delia grabbed his sleeve to stop him from striding away. “What happens when a slave runs off?” she asked. “Don’t his master do everything in his power to find him and bring him back? You belong to God, Grady.”
“No I don’t! I already told you—”
“Don’t try and tell me otherwise,” she interrupted, “because I know you do. Your mama and all them other good folks taught you all about Him, didn’t they? And God’s gonna chase you down and hound your steps until He gets you back. Not because you’re His slave, but because you’re His son. God will get you—”
“He already has! He sold me to a slave trader for no reason. I didn’t do anything to deserve that. Now leave me alone!” He pried her fingers off and left.
Delia let him go. But as she watched him stride down the road, her heart ached for him. “I know he’s running from you, Lord,” she murmured. “But please bring him back soon… .”
Grady’s anger propelled him down the road at a brisk pace. He was fond of Delia, but tonight she’d gone too far. She wasn’t his boss. She had no right to try and tell him what to do. Sometimes she reminded him of Eli with all her Jesus talk, and Grady didn’t want to be reminded.
The Emerson plantation was about four miles away. It would take him more than an hour to walk there, even at the rate he was moving. The moonless night was as dark as his mood. Grady hoped that his temper would cool down by the time he arrived, but Delia’s words were still racing around in his mind like riled hornets as he turned down the path to Slave Row and walked toward the girl’s cabin. She stood on the steps, waiting for him, leaning seductively against the doorframe. To make matters worse, he’d forgotten her name.
“Hey, Grady. I thought you’d never get here. What took you so long?”
“Don’t matter. I’m here now, sugar.”
He slipped his arms around her and began kissing her neck. What was her name? She didn’t seem to notice his lapse as she responded eagerly to his kisses.
“Let’s go inside,” she whispered a few minutes later.
Grady followed her into the darkened cabin, determined to forget his argument with Delia and allow more pleasant sensations to carry him away. But the accusation that he was condemning his children to be slaves still haunted him. If this girl ever did get pregnant, Grady’s child would belong to Mr. Emerson. Grady was helping white men like Emerson and Fletcher and Coop enslave his race.
He stopped kissing her. His arms fell to his sides.
“What’s wrong, Grady?”
“Listen … um …” He fumbled for her name. “I ain’t feeling so good. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. Can we … um … finish this later?”
“I guess so.” Even in the darkness he saw her confusion and disappointment. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Maybe some air will help.” He hurried from the cabin and slumped down on the step outside. She followed him, sitting down beside him, leaning against him. She was a pretty girl, and it shamed Grady to realize that not only didn’t he know her name, he didn’t know anything about her. The only feelings he had for her were physical. He silently cursed Delia for telling him he was no better than an animal.
“You walked such a long way to get here,” she said softly. “Be a real shame if you can’t enjoy the evening.”
But Grady knew that he wouldn’t enjoy it. Delia had ruined it for him. He didn’t know what to do. There seemed to be a lot of activity on the Row tonight, knots of young people talking and flirting with each other, mothers chasing their little ones off to bed, older men chewing tobacco and swapping stories. Folks were glancing his way, seeing the girl twined all around him the way she was, and it embarrassed him. But he didn’t want to hide inside the cabin with her, either.
“Maybe I better go on home,” he mumbled.
“Aw, come on, Grady. I went through a lot of trouble to get all my work done—and to make sure we’d have this cabin all to ourselves tonight.”
“I know. I’m sorry—” Her name still eluded him. He pried her arms from around his shoulders and moved away from her.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you love me no more?” she asked.
Grady sighed. He couldn’t force himself to lie. “You know we can’t get married or anything. We belong to two different masters.
Don’t you think we better be calling this whole thing off before it’s too late?”
“What?” she shouted. “Too late? We—”
“Shh … listen,” he said as her shouts drew stares. “You’d be happier if you fell for someone around here, on your own plantation. Don’t you think?”
She planted her hands on his chest, shoving him backward as 128 she began to shout. “You no-good two-timer! You found someone else didn’t you? They warned me about you—sweet-talking all the girls to get your own way. You never cared about me at all, did you?”
Grady saw people peering out of their cabins, staring at him. “Is everything all right, Rosie?” a man across the row asked. Rosie stood, hands on her hips.
“Yeah, it will be just fine when
he’s
gone. Get out of here, Grady! Go on back to whatever hole you crawled out of!”
He took his time walking home, unwilling to let Delia know she’d ruined his night off. He stopped to sit on a fallen log beside the road for a long time, gazing up at the stars that were barely visible through the leaves, listening to the quiet murmurs of the night forest. Then he moved on. He was half a mile from home, still thinking about Rosie, thinking he’d been a fool to throw away a night of fun, when he heard dogs barking. Grady froze, listening. No one around here owned dogs. His heart began to race at the sounds of horse hooves, baying bloodhounds, muted laughter. They were coming toward him.
The paddyrollers.
Grady had left home in such a hurry after arguing with Delia that he’d forgotten to ask Massa Fuller for a pass. The paddyrollers would demand to see one. Before he could decide what to do, four horsemen rounded a bend in the darkened road. Two dogs trotted alongside them. Without thinking, Grady plunged into the woods to hide.
“Hey! Stop right there!” one of the men shouted. A second one fired his shotgun over Grady’s head.
Grady ran through the woods in a blind panic, branches whipping against his face, brush and leaves rustling beneath his crashing feet. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but there was no telling what the paddyrollers would do to a slave who couldn’t show them a pass.
A shotgun boomed behind him again, echoing through the woods. “You want to die, boy?”
The dogs quickly caught up to him, barking and lunging at his legs. Grady realized it was useless. He cursed himself for getting caught, for running into the woods in the first place and making the men suspicious. He might have been able to talk his way out of trouble if he’d stayed on the road. Now he looked guilty—and acted guilty, too. He stopped and turned to face them, leaning against a tree, panting.
The four paddyrollers were young, not much older than Grady was. As they dismounted and walked toward him he could tell that they’d been drinking. Two of them grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides. Grady let himself go limp. It would be useless to struggle.
“Where’s your pass, boy?”
He stared at the ground, forcing himself to act subservient. “I don’t need one, sir. Massa Fuller trusts me.”
“You were running off, weren’t you?”
“No, sir. Massa’s plantation is just down the road half a mile. I was heading that way.”
“Then why’d you run from us, boy?”
Before Grady could reply, one of the men lifted his rifle butt and punched him in the stomach with it. Grady hadn’t seen it coming and he doubled over in pain, the breath knocked out of him.
“Guess we’d better teach this boy a lesson for trying to escape.”
Before Grady could recover, the men spun him around and ripped his shirt down to his waist, then wrapped his arms around the tree, tying his hands. Panic filled him. They were going to whip him. He tried to fight back but there were too many of them. His hands were bound too tightly.
“Wait! I ain’t a runaway!” he said. “Go ask Massa Fuller. He’ll tell you I have the night off. I’m his coachman. I forgot my pass. Please!”
They paid no attention to him, laughing and hooting as they discussed whose turn it was to deliver the punishment. Rage consumed Grady as he struggled against his bonds, the same helpless rage he’d felt the day they’d carried him from his home, the same rage he’d felt every time Coop had beaten him. Crazed, helpless rage.
“You have no right! I ain’t done nothing wrong!”
The whip cracked through the night air and Grady felt the first stroke of pain. He made up his mind that he wouldn’t cry out, wouldn’t give them that satisfaction, just as Amos had counseled him to do that first night. But each blow of the whip brought an agony of white-hot fire that blazed through him. He grew to dread the sound of the lash as it sliced through the air, anticipating the pain, waiting that long second before it struck. He could feel the skin on his back being ripped into shreds, the lash landing on flesh, then raw muscle, then bone. Long, slow minutes passed. The torture went on and on until Grady couldn’t help crying out in agony.
“Stop!” he begged. “I ain’t done nothing wrong!” He writhed against the tree, trying to dodge the next blow.
“Stop!”
“Hey, maybe that’s enough,” Grady heard one of them say.
“What do you care?” There was more drunken laughter, another stroke of the whip.
“I think he’s telling the truth about being Fuller’s coachman. I think I remember seeing him driving Mr. Fuller all around.”
“So what? He doesn’t have a pass. He deserves a whipping for that.” The lash struck again.
Grady’s knees buckled and he slid down the tree, scraping his chest and face on the bark. Shock and pain had made him so weak he was about to pass out. He felt his own warm blood soaking the back of his trousers.
“Okay, but maybe that’s enough,” one of the men said. “We showed him.”
“Yeah, better not kill him or Fuller will make us pay for him.”
“Since when are you two Negro-lovers?”
Grady lay slumped and quivering, waiting for the next blow, trying to brace for it. His back was a sheet of fire. But instead of the whip, he felt someone fumbling with the rope around his hands, untying him. Grady wanted to sink all the way to the ground, but two of them grabbed his arms again and pulled him to his feet, tying his hands behind his back. He could barely stand, but they mounted their horses and forced him to walk ahead of them, tethered by the rope.
A few minutes later, they emerged from the woods and started down the road. The bully with the whip laughed as he cracked it over Grady’s head every now and then, but it didn’t make contact. As weak as Grady was with shock and loss of blood, he knew an anger that was powerful enough to commit murder. If his hands weren’t bound, if he had the weapons instead of these white boys, he would kill all four of them without an ounce of remorse. Again, he thought of Amos and his vow to get even. Grady would do the same, even if it cost him his life. He’d seen these boys’ faces. He would find out where they lived, and he would kill every last one of them along with their families. He comforted himself with these thoughts for the half-mile walk home. The prospect of revenge kept his mind off his staggering weakness and pain.
Martin appeared at the front door of the Big House as soon as the paddyrollers’ horses tromped into the yard. The butler quickly appraised the scene and his eyes went wide. Grady was surprised when a look of pity flickered across Martin’s face, but fear swiftly replaced it.