THE STRIKING OF the downstairs clock dragged me from my pit of sleep. Three o’clock? Four o’clock? The stench of vomit on my shirt and the sour taste in my mouth jerked me awake. I remembered Ma shaking me, coaxing me awake for supper, then telling me to rest. Like a black bell tolling against my head it came back to me: Slocum’s beating of Jeremiah, and me grabbing the whip to beat Slocum to the ground, the revelation that Grandfather had violated Jeremiah’s mother and sold her south after Jeremiah’s birth, all for helping my own mother elope with Pa, and Grandfather’s plan to sell Jeremiah, his own son. I needed to talk with William Henry. Then I remembered that William Henry was dead, and a mountain of pain crushed my chest all over again. I needed Pa and Mr. Heath, who worked every day to stop this kind of craziness. I wanted the world turned right side up.
I pulled myself up and reached for the water pitcher. Empty. The burning in my throat matched the pounding in my head. I slipped out my door and felt my way down the staircase, trying not to wake anyone. I wondered if every room in this God-forsaken house held ugly secrets, then pushed the thought away because even if they did, I did not want to know them.
I pulled the back door behind me and found the well in the dark. Lowering the bucket, I willed it not to knock against the stone sides. Frozen grass blades and pine needles shot prickles through my bare feet, but I welcomed the pain as a rival to the one in my head. I gulped the icy water too fast. It burned my throat and I heaved in a fit of coughing.
That’s when I looked up and saw the light from Grandfather’s study window. I imagined him sitting there, smoking one of his expensive cigars, drinking his brandy, and making plans to sell Jeremiah, his own blood—my own blood—so he and Ma could decorate this stupid house. The fear and disbelief and grief that had numbed me fell away. Anger and shame for my grandfather exploded in its place, plugging every hole burned in my heart. I did not try to harness the red-black rage eating my body, my fingers, my mind. With no plan in my head except to tell the old man just what he was, I rounded the house, stumbled through the front door, and threw back the door to Grandfather’s study.
“Yes? May I help you?” The voice wasn’t Grandfather’s. I blinked in the lamplight that shielded the face.
“Grandfather?” I stammered, taken off guard.
“Ah. You must be Robert,” the voice said, followed by the rising of a figure from behind the desk. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.” Hesitation. “I’m Andrew Goforth.”
I came stupidly to myself. “I was expecting to find my grandfather here.”
“At four in the morning? I didn’t realize he was such an early riser. I mustn’t presume to use his study if he might be down.”
“No—I mean, no, he isn’t an early riser.” I pushed my hair from my face. “I saw the light and thought—I meant to speak with him.”
“I see.” But he didn’t.
“Before you go, Robert, I want to say something. I heard of the—events—in the yard just before I arrived yesterday.” I didn’t turn around. I was in no mood for another Southern “gentleman’s” lecture, especially a slaver hiding behind the Word of God. He hesitated. “I simply wanted to offer my hand and commend you for your act of mercy. It was a brave thing you did, and compassionate.”
I turned to face him, not sure I’d heard right. I met his outstretched hand and mumbled, “Thank you.” My armor of anger cracked.
“It is rarely easy to live obedient to our conscience or our calling.”
There was that word, calling, again. “Are you the preacher?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I’ve practiced law these last few years, and have only recently heard the call of God.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you have your own calling?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t mean anything, particularly. Only that it is refreshing to meet someone so young with strong convictions and compassion for his fellow man. I was trying to encourage you, but I gather I’m bungling the job.”
“No. I’m just not—not used to—” I stopped. I looked him square in the eye. “Do you believe that it is right to break laws that hurt people?”
“I’ve spent much time with the law, Robert. And now I spend much time with God. I can only repeat our Lord’s words, that we render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God that which is God’s.”
“What if we’re not sure what belongs to God and what belongs to Caesar?”
He removed his spectacles and polished them on his vest. “Ah,” he sighed, “there is the dilemma. I think we can only pray to be led of the Holy Spirit for that, and perhaps, to rely on the leading of those we trust as God’s instruments.”
“Like you?” I challenged.
“No. I am an instrument in training.” Rev. Goforth walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Lamplight reflected in its dark glass. “I believe your ear is as finely tuned to the Spirit’s leading as mine, Robert. ‘Be still,’” he quoted, ‘“and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.’” Then he returned my gaze. “Ask yourself if the voice you hear exalts God or belittles Him.”
I felt that a blindfold I didn’t know I wore was being pulled from my eyes. Maybe it was the early hour, or the strangeness of finding this man, so different from Grandfather, in his study at just this time. But a little of the creeping in of wonder and strength I used to feel when William Henry was beside me, egging me on, returned. I stepped up. “I had a friend—my best friend. He was colored.” Rev. Goforth didn’t flinch, so I went on. “But I have to know—do people with colored skin in this life go to the same heaven as those with white skin? Does God make a difference between colored and white once He’s looking at our bare souls? What is a soul, anyway? And if color doesn’t matter then, why does it matter now? Does slavery end with death? Then, is death a good thing?”
Rev. Goforth didn’t answer. He knelt on the carpet between us and reached for my hand. Dizzy, I went down on one knee. “Loving Father,” he prayed. “Robert and I come to You, broken by this life. We long for that promised day, when there will be no more death or sorrow, no more crying or pain, when things as we know them are passed away. We are ready, Lord, to be instruments of Your peace, soldiers for Your kingdom. Show us the way. Bind Robert’s broken heart, Lord. Cast out his sorrow and the dark spirit of fear. Fill him with Your Spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Make Your will clear to him and give him strength of character to go forward in Your name. Give him a thirst for Your Word. Guide him by the examples of the faithful found therein. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”
Small shards of anger fell away, like broken panes of glass. I felt, for a moment, like Moses, standing on Mt. Horeb, staring into the burning bush—as though Grandfather’s study had turned into holy ground. Rev. Goforth stood, placed his hand on my shoulder, then turned away. “I’ll be here at five every morning. If you want to join me for prayer, you are welcome.”
I couldn’t speak. I walked to my room, feeling strange in my own body. I didn’t have answers to my questions, but for the first time it seemed like maybe there could be answers, and that maybe Rev. Goforth could help me find them. I felt like I’d walked through fire these last weeks, that nobody could ever take anything away from me again, nothing that mattered nearly as much as what had already been taken. So, I got down on my knees and prayed. For the first time since William Henry’s death, I talked with God without fighting Him. And I believe He heard me.
I kept my distance from Grandfather and I kept my early morning meetings with Rev. Goforth over the next few days. We prayed together. Sometimes I prayed. That was new to me. At home, Pa had always prayed out loud. At night, when I was little, Ma made me recite prayers. But now I came to the God of heaven alone, and we talked.
Rev. Goforth didn’t answer my questions straight on. But he gave me things to read, and more to think about. Once I asked him if the Lord might ask me to do something that He might not ask of somebody else, and he said, “Abraham was asked to leave his country for a new land. Moses was asked to lead a nation from bondage. Joshua challenged the Israelites, ‘Choose you this day whom ye will serve … but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’ The Lord does not require us to be obedient on behalf of our brothers, but He requires us to choose for ourselves. We are responsible before God for our actions, or our lack of action—no one else’s.”
One afternoon Grandfather spoke of the Souths “peculiar institution” of slavery at the dinner table and how it benefited both the owner and the owned. “It is what has enabled this country to grow agriculturally. It’s God’s gift to these United States and to the heathen people of Africa.”
Rev. Goforth placed his fork across his plate. “It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine the South without slaves. I wonder how they’ve managed in the North?” Things like that confused me. Which side of the fence did he come down on? I wanted to ask him directly, but something held me back. I was beginning to heed the stirrings in my own soul. That was new, too, and the feeling that I could trust myself.
“Robert.” Grandfather broke my wondering after Rev. Goforth left the dinner table. “I hear you’re up before dawn with the preacher. I hope you’re not going soft in the head, Boy. A little religion is a dangerous thing. Remember you have a future here ahead of you. No good getting your head in the clouds.”
“Oh, Papa. I think it’s wonderful that Robert has taken to the Reverend. Commitment at any age is a noble thing.” Ma glowed, and I realized she was looking younger and prettier lately.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ashton.” Jed Slocum stood at the dining room door, hat in hand.
“I’ll thank you not to interrupt my dinner, Slocum,” Grandfather spoke gruffly.
Slocum didn’t like the rebuke. “I’m on my way to town and wondered if you wanted me to have that bill of sale drawn up.”
“No hurry.”
“January first will be here before my next trip to town.”
“Step into my study, Slocum. I’ll be there directly.” Grandfather waited until Slocum left the room, then rose from his chair. Rebecca cleared the plates.
“Mr. Slocum still has difficulty keeping his place with you, Papa. I’m surprised you tolerate his insolence. I saw Dr. Lemly in church on Sunday. He asked if we’d taken Jed Slocum to task for the mix-up in your laudanum dosage.”
“Hang Dr. Lemly and hang the laudanum! You’re both to stop meddling. I spoke to Slocum, and it was just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding! Papa, it nearly took your life! Mr. Slocum—”
“Not another word, Caroline. It’s over. I can’t do without Jed, and I’ll not accuse him further. Let me remind you that I’m perfectly capable of looking to my own affairs.” Grandfather spoke low, in his “this is final” voice.
Ma sighed. “All right, Papa. As you say.” She folded her napkin and rose from the table. “I’m off to Mitchell House. Will you need me for a few hours?”
“No, my dear.” Grandfather seemed glad to change the subject. “Enjoy yourself. It will do you good to get out of the house for a bit. Robert might like to go along.”
“No, thanks. I need to work on my lessons.”
Ma raised her eyebrows. “I’m delighted to see you so industrious, Robert. But a little fresh air and sunshine might do you good.” I looked down at my plate. “Another time, then,” she said.
As soon as they’d left the room, I shucked my shoes and crept toward Grandfather’s study, pressing my ear to the door.
“I’ll see Stephen Bailey to draw up the papers. The buyer’s planning to run this coffle of slaves to a plantation in Louisiana January first. Jeremiah should fetch near twelve hundred dollars, and being shed of him will be a good lesson for the rest.”
“I suppose,” Grandfather said. “I don’t want to know where he’s going, and I don’t want any word of this getting past these walls, Slocum. I’ll not have Sara throwing fits before Christmas.”
“I could take Jeremiah into town now. Jeff Dawson could hold him until New Year’s Day. That would cut off the commotion.”
“No, no. Let them have Christmas week together. I’d like to keep peace as long as possible. I want to make this a special Christmas for Caroline and Robert. If Sara gets her dander up she’ll spoil the meals.”
“I could take care of that.”
“Keep your hands off my house slaves, Slocum. You have free rein in the fields, but not in the house. This is Caroline’s domain.”
A door closed above me, and I ducked behind the stairs, tugging on my shoes. Slocum came out a moment later, and Grandfather closed the door to his study. The pit of my stomach heaved, but I swallowed it down. I had to warn Jeremiah and Sara, or I had to stop the sale. Grandfather had no right to sell his own son like he was some of the livestock, and I didn’t know if Ma even knew she had a half brother.
“Rebecca, bring my hat and muffler. I’m off to Mitchell House.” Ma’s voice came from above me. I met her on the stairs. “Robert!”
“I’ll walk you to your carriage, Mother, and—I need a word with you.”
“I’m so pleased with the fine manners and speech you’ve developed, Robert. I believe this stay is doing us both a great deal of good.”
I held the front door for her. “Mother, I need your help.”
“Of course, dear. What is it?” She seemed anxious to help. I dared hope.
“Grandfather is planning to sell Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah?”
“Nanny Sara’s grandson.” She lowered her head. “Your half bro—”
“Robert, that is no concern of mine, nor should it be yours. I can’t imagine Papa telling you such things, and I trust you have not reduced yourself to listening at keyholes. Papa must handle his slaves in the way he sees fit. They are his property.” I winced. She swept her eyes past me and continued. “You heard Rev. Goforth at dinner—it is the way things are in the South. Slavery and the discipline and orderliness of slaves is crucial for the development of the land, and the running of happy homes, safe for all.”
“Andrew—Rev. Goforth didn’t say all that, Mother. And Jeremiah is not just any slave. Do you know who his father is?”
Ma’s face froze and her back grew rigid. “That is a rumor, Robert, and I’d like to know where you heard such filth. I’ll thank you not to repeat it.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ma tugged sharply at her gloves, pulling them over her wrists. “Such is the grief of every Southern woman, and the sin and shame of every Southern man. Sometimes life is ugly, Robert, but it is life just the same.” She stepped up into the carriage and was gone.