Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [9]
He shook his head. “They’re not going to prison. Only slaves who have tried to run away wear chains. I’m sure Tessie’s boy has better sense than that.”
“Tessie said it was all Mother’s fault. That sending Grady away 29 was her doing.”
Daddy’s expression changed. He looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden, and he stirred in his armchair as if the springs had poked him. For an awful moment I was afraid that I’d made him angry, that he would glare at me in the same hateful way that Tessie had. But Daddy looked down at the cigar he was fingering, not at me.
“Listen, Caroline. Grady is a grown boy now. It’s time for him to go out into the world, just like it’s time for you to go to school. You need to make new friends, and he needs to start earning his keep.”
“But Grady does earn his keep. He helps Eli with the horses, and he carries water and wood for Esther, and—”
“A bright, healthy boy like Grady can be trained for something useful—how to be a blacksmith or a carpenter or some other trade that will benefit his new owner. Besides, we have enough help around here without him.”
“But Grady—”
“Hush.” Papa placed his fingers over my lips to silence me. “We no longer own Grady. I sold him. And that’s the last I ever want to hear about the boy. Understand? Forget about him.”
Daddy finished his drink in one gulp and laid aside the unlit cigar. “You’ll have to excuse me now, Caroline. Your mother and I are expecting company for dinner and I need to get ready.”
Esther fed me all by myself upstairs in my bedroom that evening. She looked worn out from cooking all day. “Missy,” she said, wiping the sweat from her face with her apron, “I so tired I could fall asleep standing up, just like the horses do.”
“Will Tessie come up to tuck me in bed?” I asked.
“No, child,” she said gently. “Let Tessie finish grieving in peace. She be herself tomorrow. You see.”
“But who will help me get undressed? I can’t reach the fasteners in back by myself . . . or undo my corset laces . . .”
“It have to be Luella or Ruby. I clean wore out.” She turned to leave the bedroom, then paused. “And listen, Missy. Don’t you be talking about Grady and asking Tessie bunch of questions tomorrow. Best thing is to forget him, and she can’t do that if you talking about him all time.”
It was what my father had told me, too. Forget him. Forget Grady.
“But may I ask her—”
“No, Miss Caroline. You can’t be asking her nothing about that poor boy.”
The day ended as strangely as it had begun. Luella came upstairs to help me undress, but her hands were so rough and callused from all her scrubbing and polishing that I only allowed her to unfasten my bodice and loosen the corset laces. I took off my petticoats by myself. Luella didn’t know how to pull back the bedcovers like Tessie always did, either. Or how to tuck me in properly.
It seemed strange to see my mammy’s empty mat across the room. I had never gone to sleep all by myself before. I begged Luella to leave a candle burning.
“Just don’t be setting the house afire,” she warned before hurrying back to the kitchen to finish scrubbing the dishes.
As I lay in bed watching the candle’s wavering flame, I couldn’t help thinking about Grady even though Daddy and Esther had told me not to. I’d watched Grady nurse at Tessie’s breast and helped him take his first toddling steps. I’d seen him grow from a plump, contented baby to a carefree little boy who’d played with me as if we were brother and sister. We’d romped in the garden together, climbed the magnolia tree, and pestered Big Eli while he worked, barraging him with our endless questions. Soon Grady had grown big enough to be put to work, and while I’d learned to read and write, he had learned how to take care of the horses and grease the carriage wheels. But every afternoon when our work was finished, we had played together.
Grady was as happy and good-natured as his mother, and the chores he did every day—hauling wood and toting water— molded him into a sturdy, muscular youth. By the age of nine, he’d grown as tall as me and twice as strong. But he had looked