“Now I understand why, Delia! I know how he feels.”
“And are you wanting your little baby boy to grow up hating, too? Because he will, you know. He’ll learn whatever his mama teaches him. Jesus can’t be listening to our prayers if we don’t forgive.” Anna felt despair pulling her down, immobilizing her with its massive weight. “What am I going to do?” she sobbed.
“Pray, honey. Ask Jesus to light the way for you.”
Anna suddenly remembered her Easter prayer, and how God had miraculously answered it. “Oh, Delia!” she cried. “In all the excitement of George’s birth, I forgot to tell you. Grady’s free! He’s free, and he’s a soldier fighting with the Yankees.”
Delia went very still. “Where are you hearing about all this?”
“Massa Fuller told me. He saw Grady! I went to a church in Charleston, and I prayed and asked Jesus to please tell me, somehow, if Grady was alive. And Jesus answered my prayer.”
“And you’re saying that Grady’s free? For sure?”
“Yes! He’s alive and he’s free. He’s with the Yankees.”
“Oh thank you, Lord,” Delia whispered. “Thank you.” Her voice trembled with tears.
Anna remembered the beautiful church window and the woman who lay slumped at Jesus’ feet. She was as helpless as Anna was right now. But Jesus had stretched out His strong hand to help her, to lift her up.
“Delia, I want to ask Jesus for something else,” she said. “He helped your daughter go free, and I want to ask Him to help George. I want my baby far, far away from here, away from Missy—even if it means never seeing him again. Will you help me pray?”
“Of course, honey.”
“I want my baby to be free.”
Beaufort, South Carolina
July 1863
Grady stood outside Colonel Higginson’s tent with a select group of men, listening intently as the officer outlined his plans. “Excuse me, sir,” Grady interrupted. “What’d you say the name of that river was?”
“The Edisto. It’s about halfway between Beaufort and Charleston.” The name sounded familiar to Grady, for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why. He pulled his mind back to the mission Colonel Higginson was describing, eager for another chance to fight the Rebels.
“Our goal is to destroy a bridge on the Charleston & Savannah Railway,” Higginson said. “But in order to do that, we’ll need to sail some thirty miles up the river, deep into Rebel-held territory. And as always, we want to rescue as many slaves as we possibly can. There are several large rice plantations on the Edisto.”
Grady realized, suddenly, why the name sounded so familiar to him. Great Oak Plantation—Missus Fuller’s family’s plantation—was on that river. It was where Anna and Delia had gone. He sat forward, his heart racing.
“When do we leave?” someone asked.
“Tonight. We’ll have a full moon and a flood tide,” Higginson said. “We want to take the Rebels by surprise, arriving at their doorstep at daybreak, before they even have a clue that we’re coming. That means sailing at night so the smoke from our stacks can’t be seen. But the Edisto is shallow and winding. We’ll need the full moon to navigate.
“Ten miles below the railroad bridge is Wiltown Bluff,” Higginson continued. “The Rebels have an armed battery there, and they’ve placed obstructions in the river. We’ll need to silence the battery and clear a passage through the barricade before we can continue upstream and burn the bridge.”
When the briefing ended, Grady returned to his tent. He had promised himself that he would forget about Anna, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her as he and Joseph packed their gear for the mission. He wondered if they would pass her plantation, if he would have an opportunity to rescue her and Delia. And if he did find her, he wondered if she would come with him this time. It still hurt him to recall how he’d pleaded with her to escape with him—and how she hadn’t trusted him enough to overcome her fear.
“What’re you so heated up about?” Joseph asked.
Grady realized that he had been shoving and slamming things all around in their tent as he packed, his face creased in anger. “Rebels,” he mumbled, hoping that would satisfy Joe. But he was remembering Anna’s cringing submission to Missy Claire, her refusal to think of herself as anything but a slave. He shouldered his knapsack with a grunt. Let her stay a slave, then, if that’s what she wanted.
Their three ships sailed from Beaufort late that afternoon, reaching the mouth of the Edisto close to midnight. They had no guide as they ascended the shallow, muddy river, and Grady felt a breathless anticipation as they approached each turn, listening for the enemy, waiting to be fired upon. He had read in the newspapers about all the great battles being fought in other parts of the country, with thousands of troops locked in combat. But Grady thought he preferred the more adventurous life of a bush fighter, ascending dangerous rivers in the darkness, fighting hand-to-hand, freeing his fellow slaves. Tonight the riverbanks remained dark, the unnerving silence broken only by the startled cries and flapping wings of herons nesting in the reeds. The full moon revealed the outlines of graceful plantation houses along both sides of the river, but Grady had no way of knowing if one of them was Anna’s.
They reached Wiltown Bluff shortly after four in the morning. Captain Metcalf ordered Grady and the others to take cover as the ship opened fire on the Rebel battery that guarded the river. The Rebels quickly returned fire, and Grady had to cover his ears to deaden the sound as the thundering roar of artillery rocked the predawn stillness. It seemed to last forever. He wondered if his or any of the other ships would be sunk in the brawl. But all three ships still were afloat when the Rebel guns gradually fell silent. The smoke of battle cleared, and Grady gazed in amazement at the shoreline. The dawning sun revealed hundreds of slaves, running down the dikes through the lush green rice fields, cheering as they headed toward the boats.
Grady joined the first boatload of troops that went ashore, his heart racing as he scanned the faces of the slaves waiting there, searching for Anna’s. The ragged collection of men who tugged Grady’s boat through the marshy reeds and onto the riverbank stared at him and the other soldiers in astonishment. “You’re Yankee soldiers?” they asked again and again. “And you’re black, like us?”
Captain Metcalf tried to get information from them about the size of the Rebel force that was stationed on the bluff. But the slaves’ excitement was so frenzied, as men, women, and children raced to the river to greet their saviors, that none of the slaves seemed to understand what the captain was asking. Hundreds of jubilant souls surrounded Grady—the men reaching to grasp his hands in thanks; the women weeping for joy, their bundled belongings balanced on their heads; the children hopping from foot to foot with delight as they carried their younger siblings on their backs. One old woman reminded Grady of Delia as she knelt in the grass repeating, “Bless the Lord … Oh, bless the Lord.”
But she wasn’t Delia. And Grady grew desperate as he asked the men who swarmed around him, “Who’s your massa? What’s your massa’s name? Is it Goodman?” No one seemed to hear him. Most were too incoherent with joy to reply.
When an elderly man finally told him, “It’s Elliot. We was working for Massa Elliot,” Grady felt his disappointment like a blow to the gut. But he forced himself to put Anna out of his mind as Captain Metcalf rallied the troops and gave the order to assault the hilltop battery.
Grady knew that they might be walking into a trap. They made easy targets as they ascended the barren slope. And he wondered briefly if he was prepared to die—if God had really forgiven him for killing Coop. But no shots greeted them as they jogged up the hill. They found the Rebel battery abandoned.
The captain sent a band of skirmishers into the woods to hunt for the Rebels. Another band went to search the plantation house and other buildings. Grady returned to the riverbank to help transport the waiting refugees to the ships. Each time he lifted a child in his arms or helped a woman onboard, he thought of Delia’s words to him on that long-ago night, after the white boys had whipped him:
“Ever think that maybe the Lord’s preparing you to save your black brothers and sisters?”
Meanwhile, the obstructions that the Rebels had planted in the river proved difficult to remove. Progress was so slow that lunchtime came and went, the tide began to ebb, and all hope of a surprise attack on the bridge was lost. Grady paced impatiently beneath the blistering sun. He felt the heat from the wooden deck through the soles of his shoes, as warm as a bed of coals beneath his feet.
At last the barricade was cleared. Colonel Higginson left the
John Adams
behind for a rear guard and told Grady and the others to crowd aboard the two smaller boats for the ten-mile journey to the railroad bridge. They sailed with torches lit, ready to set it ablaze. But by now the tide was so low that both ships continually ran aground, frustrating everyone. Slowly, mile by mile, they made their way north, passing acres of emerald rice fields on both shores.
Grady knew that those fields should be filled with laborers on this sultry July day. Instead, they were strangely deserted. There were no joyous mobs of slaves rushing out to meet them, like the mob that had greeted them early this morning.
The route grew more and more treacherous. At one point, when the other ship lay aground, two excited slaves paddled out to Grady’s ship in a dugout canoe. “Are there any more of you onshore that need to be rescued?” Colonel Higginson asked.
“No, sir. We been hiding in one of the rice canals all day, waiting for y’all. The overseer move everybody else away from the river when they heard y’all was coming.”
“What’s the name of your plantation?” Grady asked them. “Who’s your massa?”
Again, the reply was disappointing. “His name’s Massa Ferguson, sir.”
The ship was finally freed to continue upstream. But a scant two miles below the railroad bridge, Grady’s boat ran aground on a mudbank. Unwilling to waste any more time, Colonel Higginson waved the other boat on, ordering them to steam ahead and burn the bridge without them. The ship soon disappeared from sight around a bend.
Grady pounded the rail with his fist in frustration. Grounded! Now he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of watching the bridge go up in flames. When Joseph came to stand beside him at the rail, Grady’s anger boiled over. “Why is God always on the Rebels’ side?” he asked. “Why can’t He help us, for once, instead of working everything in their favor?”
“What makes you think He’s helping them?” No sooner had the question left Joseph’s lips when the boom of artillery fire sounded close by, coming from upstream.
“Hear that?” Grady said. “The Rebels have been waiting for us all day, and now they’re firing on our other ship. We’re sitting here with no way to help them. Why would God do this to us?”
“If we was smart enough to figure out what God was doing, then that would make Him pretty small, wouldn’t it?” Joe said. “You really want a God like that? A God you can figure out?”
“All I know is, every time I ask Him for help, He’s turning His back. We came here to set some slaves free, and look at that—there ain’t even a single slave left over there to save.” He gestured angrily to the empty rice fields on the shore across from them. “We been getting stuck so many times that the Rebels had all the time in the world to be moving their slaves away from here. Now, what reason would God have for doing that?”
“I don’t know, Grady,” he said quietly, “but I’m trusting that He has a good one.”
Grady shook his head, staring at the distant plantation house, its roof shimmering in the wavy heat. Then an egret caught his attention, wading near shore. Something unseen startled it, and the bird stretched its broad white wings to soar above the boat landing. Grady followed the path of its flight to the top of the hill above the landing—and that’s when he saw it: an enormous oak tree. The pale silver moss that was entwined with its leaves swayed gently in the breeze.
Grady drew in his breath so sharply that Joe asked, “What’s wrong? You seeing Rebels?”
Grady didn’t reply as he quickly scanned the crowded deck. “Where’s those slaves we rescued from the dugout?”
“Over there,” Joseph said, pointing. “What’s wrong, Grady?”
He jogged across the deck, not caring that he interrupted the slave’s conversation with Captain Metcalf. “Do you know this plantation?” he asked, pointing to it. “What’s the name of it?”
The slave seemed to take forever to reply. “Why, I believe that’s Great Oak. Owned by the Goodmans.”
Grady turned to Joseph, grabbing his lapels. “That’s where my wife is!”
“Your … your
wife
?” Joe stared at him as if Grady had lost his mind. “You never told me you had a wife.”
“Her name is Anna,” he said frantically. “She works in the Big House.”
Joseph gently pried Grady’s hands loose. “Then maybe she’s still up there. Maybe they’re just hiding the field slaves, not the house slaves.”
“Let’s take one of the skiffs ashore and find out,” Captain Metcalf said. “I’ll come with you.”
“Me too,” Joseph said.
Grady didn’t know what to do. Suppose Anna refused to escape with him after these men risked their lives to go ashore with him? Grady was afraid to be hurt a second time, afraid to have the others see that his wife didn’t love him enough to trust him.
Joseph tugged on his arm. “Come on, Grady. You have to try, even if she ain’t there. Maybe we can help somebody else.”
Captain Metcalf quickly gathered a squad of volunteers, and Grady found himself climbing into the skiff with them, rowing toward shore. He felt dazed and breathless—and more afraid than he’d ever been in his life.
“I hope I’m not leading y’all into an ambush,” he murmured as they approached the quiet landing dock.
“That ain’t likely,” Joseph said. “Don’t you think the Rebels would have attacked our ship by now, seeing as we’re stuck?”
“Which way should we go when we land?” Captain Metcalf asked.
“I-I don’t know. I ain’t never been here before.” The men looked at him as if he was crazy. “My wife worked for Massa Fuller’s wife, and this is her daddy’s place,” he explained. “She packed up and came here the night I escaped.”