Candle in the Darkness (5 page)

I was still sick every morning for several weeks, even with Eli and Massa Jesus by my side. Sometimes I had nosebleeds, which the doctor said were caused by fright. I once overheard my teachers whispering about my mother’s “condition,” but they seemed to take pity on me, declaring me a “sensitive” child. They never made me read or recite aloud.

While I can’t say I enjoyed school, I did learn to tolerate it. The best part was the long carriage ride with Eli twice a day. He drove a different route to school after that first day—one that wouldn’t take us past the slave market again. And at the end of each day I’d find him waiting for me outside the school, smiling as though he hadn’t seen me in a hundred years. He sat high on the driver’s seat as we rode up and down the hills, looking stiff in his fancy topcoat and hat, and mumbling under his breath all the way to the school each morning and all the way home again in the afternoon.

“Who are you talking to, Eli?” I finally asked him one morning.

“Sometime I talking to Massa Jesus, but today I talking to these here horses.”

“To the horses? Can they understand what you say?”

“Sure can, Missy.”

“And do the horses talk back to you, too?”

“Sure do.”

“What do they say?”

“Well, for one thing they say, ‘We sure glad our Missy a little thing. We glad we not toting that big old Missus Greeley up these hills all day long.’ ” I giggled. Mrs. Greeley, my very stout headmistress, was even bigger around than Esther.

“What else do the horses say?”

It became a game for us after that. Every day I would ask Eli what the horses were talking about, and every day he would tell me something different. “Today they say ‘I wonder when this rain ever gonna stop? We be up to our hocks in mud.’ ”

Or, “Today them horses say ‘Why you cracking that whip over our head, Mr. Eli? Don’t you know Little Missy ain’t in no hurry to get to that old school?’ ”

I laughed with delight at all his horse conversations. Before long, my nosebleeds stopped. Gradually my fear subsided, too.

One Saturday morning, when I didn’t have to go to school, I heard Eli mumbling to himself as he raked the leaves outside in our yard. “Who are you talking to now?” I asked. “The horses can’t hear you—they’re in the carriage house.”

“I know, Little Missy. I talking to Massa Jesus.”

I was dying to ask the question that had been bothering me for some time. “Is He the same Jesus the minister talks to when we pray in church?”

“He the same. There only one Jesus I know about.”

I couldn’t imagine how Eli could talk to Him while raking leaves in the backyard. “Don’t you have to be in church or kneeling down to talk to Jesus?”

“Nope. If He your friend, you can talk to Him anytime, anywhere.” He piled the leaves beside the curb and bent to light a match to them. I inhaled the wonderful fragrance of burning leaves, even though the smoke burned my eyes when the wind shifted my way.

“What do you talk to Jesus about?” I asked, swinging back and forth on the open gate while I watched him work.

He stood, leaning against the rake for a moment. “Well . . . I tell Him all the things I worried about.”

His answer perplexed me. Why would Eli have any worries? He certainly didn’t have ships to fret about, like Daddy did. “What kind of things?” I finally asked.

“Oh, like whether Little Missy be getting along all right in that school of hers, and whether Grady feeling homesick wherever he at. Whether he scared or missing his mama.”

I knew how badly I missed Grady, but it had never occurred to me that Grady might be missing all of us, too.

“And sometimes I talk to Jesus about my own son,” Eli continued. “I ask Him take good care him for me.”

I recalled what Esther had said that terrible morning, how their son had been sold to Hilltop, my grandfather’s plantation. “Do you miss your son, Eli?”

“Sure do, Missy. He born right here in this house, grew up here. Then he had to leave us and go on out to Hilltop.”

“What’s his name?”

“Josiah.” I heard the love in his voice as he spoke his son’s name. “Sometimes I recollect how he use to curl up on my lap like you and Grady, and my heart about breaks for missing him. That’s when I start praying to Jesus and asking Him take good care my boy. Make sure Josiah minds his massa so the overseer not beating him, and such like.”

“Does Jesus answer you, too . . . like the horses do?”

“I ain’t hearing Him in my ears, Missy, but I know He listening. And I know He gonna do something about what I asking.”

“How do you know that?”

Eli paused, poking at the fire with his rake. “Because after I finish talking to Massa Jesus, my heart empty of worry . . . and I feel better. It’s just like when I get to worrying about one of the horses that may be limping a little bit, or worry about something else belonging to Massa. If I take my worry to Massa Fletcher and tell him all I thinking about, he say, ‘Okay, I take care of it.’ And Massa Fletcher good as his word. He find out what ails that horse and see it gets taken care of. Now, if I just worry and don’t say nothing, horse still be limping. But if I turn everything over to the massa—all the things too big for me—I know he take care of them. They his horses, you see. He care about them even more than I do.”

I was confused, failing to see the connection. “What does that have to do with Jesus?”

“That’s what I about to tell you. Massa Jesus same way. This is His world. You and Josiah and Grady be His children. Anything I can’t fix, I take to Jesus. Then I don’t have to worry no more. Massa Jesus take care of it in His own time, His own way.”

I hopped down from the gate and kicked at the leaves with my toe. I longed to talk to him about Grady but I was afraid to. Then I remembered that Eli had mentioned Grady first, and I finally summoned my courage.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Missy Caroline.”

“Daddy said I need to forget about Grady. Esther said so, too. But I can’t forget him, Eli. I miss him so much.”

“Me too. He like a son to me.”

I looked up at Eli in surprise. “But . . . but Grady
is
your son, isn’t he?”

“No, I’m married to Esther, not Tessie.”

“Then who’s Grady’s daddy? Is it Gilbert?”

Eli’s thick gray brows met in the middle as he frowned. “This not a fit subject for Little Missy to be asking. That’s Tessie’s business, not you and mine.”

“But . . . but Grady has to have a father, doesn’t he? Everyone has to have a mother and a father.”

Eli turned away and resumed his raking. He looked more distressed than I’d ever seen him. I couldn’t understand why he was so afraid to answer a simple question. Grady and I had asked him much harder ones than this. “Why won’t you answer me, Eli?”

He stopped raking, his head bowed as he stared down at his feet. “Little Missy, you and me we talk about a lot of things. I always do my best by you, try and answer all your questions. But this here . . . this time . . . I ain’t having this conversation.”

“But why not?”

He looked frightened, desperate, glancing around in all directions as if someone might overhear us. “
Never
ask a slave who fathered her children,” he said in a harsh whisper. “They kill a gal if she tell.”

I didn’t believe him. It seemed preposterous. “Kill her? Why would they do that?” But Eli had turned away. He continued raking, as if he hadn’t heard my question.

A moment later Gilbert came outside through the rear door. I watched him walk toward us in his light, gliding step—like an empty ship sailing upriver. I wondered how old he was. Younger than Eli, certainly, but at least ten years older than Tessie. He saw me watching him and quickly looked down at the ground.

“Afternoon, Missy.” He tipped his hat in greeting, his eyes carefully averted. I wished he would smile so I could see if his grin resembled Grady’s—Grady almost always had a smile on his face. But I realized as Gilbert disappeared into the carriage house that I had never seen Daddy’s servant smile.

“You go on in the house now,” Eli said. “Before your hair and clothes be smelling like smoke and Tessie chews me out.”

“But—”

“Go on! Get!” It was the only time in my life that Eli had ever spoken harshly to me. He turned his back and moved away, raking in the opposite direction as if his life depended on it.

Chapter Three

July 1854

By the time I grew accustomed to going to the Richmond Female Institute every day, the school year ended for the summer. I’d celebrated my thirteenth birthday by then, and I was sometimes allowed to eat dinner in the formal dining room with Daddy and his guests—and with Mother when she was well enough to join us. The three of us were seated at the dinner table one warm July evening when we heard an urgent pounding on our front door. Gilbert stopped serving and sailed out to answer it, returning a few minutes later to speak to my father.

“Excuse me, sir. Young gentleman at the door say he your nephew, Jonathan Fletcher. He don’t have a calling card.”

“Jonathan?” Daddy’s face registered surprise. “Show him in, Gilbert.”

He wasn’t a “young gentleman” at all but a boy not much older than me, looking hot and tired and dusty, as if he’d traveled a long distance. But even in his disheveled state, the resemblance between him and my father was uncanny. They had the same handsome square face and aristocratic nose, the same wavy brown hair and dark eyes. A pale shadow on Jonathan’s upper lip foretold a mustache just like Daddy’s in a year or so.

“Good evening, Uncle George . . . Aunt Mary.” He bowed politely in greeting.

Daddy didn’t rise from his chair. “Jonathan. What brings you to Richmond at this hour?”

The words rushed from Jonathan’s mouth as if he’d been holding them back for a long time. “Father says you’d better come to Hilltop right away, sir. Grandfather is ill.”

Daddy resumed eating, cutting his meat without looking up. “Is he dying?”

I watched Jonathan’s face twist with emotion. He gazed up at the ceiling, as if to keep the tears that had sprung to his eyes from overflowing. “I . . . um . . . I believe so, sir.” He cleared his throat but his voice still sounded hoarse. “He had a dizzy spell, and now he . . . he can’t move . . . or speak.”

Daddy’s eyes met my mother’s. She shook her head slightly, then looked away. “You know how I hate it out in the country, George. The smell, the flies, all those Negroes . . .” She seemed oblivious to the fact that three Negroes, Tessie, Gilbert, and Ruby, were in the room serving us dinner.

“Would you like something to eat, Jonathan?” Daddy asked.

“Yes, thank you, sir. But I’d like to wash up first, if I may.”

Daddy returned to his meal while Gilbert showed Jonathan where to freshen up. Ruby hurried to set a place for him at the table. When Jonathan returned I saw that he had won the battle with his emotions.

“Sit down, son,” Daddy said, motioning to the empty chair across the table from me. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Caroline Ruth, this is your cousin Jonathan.”

“How do you do,” I said. Jonathan looked up at me in surprise.

“Very well, thank you.” His words sounded stiff and formal. I wondered if he was making fun of me. But then he flashed a friendly grin, and I saw a glint of humor and mischief in his eye. He reminded me so much of Grady it astonished me. I usually wasn’t comfortable around strangers, but I liked Jonathan from that very first night. He bowed his head in prayer for a moment, then began to eat, displaying the finest of table manners.

“We’ll leave for Hilltop first thing in the morning,” Daddy said after a moment. “I have a few things to take care of downtown first.”

Jonathan appeared surprised. “But . . . Father said you should . . . I mean, he thought that you might want to come right away . . . tonight.”

“You may return home tonight if you wish,” Daddy said, “although I would recommend you spend the night and rest yourself and your horses. Either way, I’ll follow you in my own carriage tomorrow. That way I won’t be dependent on anyone to drive me back to Richmond . . . afterward.”

Mother rested her hand on Daddy’s arm. “George, I’d prefer it if you left Gilbert here with me. His manners are more refined than that other Negro stable hand of yours. That large, coarse fellow makes me uncomfortable.”

I was stunned to realize that she meant Eli. How could anyone not love gentle Eli? I longed to rise to his defense but I knew better than to contradict my elders, especially at the dinner table.

“If you wish, my dear,” Daddy replied. “Eli can drive me tomorrow instead of Gilbert.”

When the meal ended, Daddy and Jonathan retired to the library. I was about to follow my mother into the drawing room when Tessie suddenly stopped stacking the dirty dishes and pulled me aside.

“Missy Caroline!” Her eyes danced with excitement, as if something wonderful was about to happen. “Why don’t you go along with your daddy tomorrow?”

“Go with him? Why?” The thought had never occurred to me.

“Nothing doing round here . . . besides, do you good to get out of this hot old city, meet your relations. . . .”

The more I pondered the idea, the more I liked it. I lived a lonely life, and I longed for a friend. Maybe my cousin with the impish grin could be a friend to me, like Grady had been.

“Would you come to Hilltop with me, too?” I asked Tessie.

“Oh, I would like that more than
anything,
Missy.” Her smile made the chandelier seem dim. I glimpsed a longing in her eyes, and it aroused my curiosity.

“Have you ever been to my grandparents’ plantation before?” I asked.

To my astonishment, her eyes seemed to grow even brighter as they filled with tears. “I born there, Missy. My mammy and pappy living there. I sure like to see them again. All my sisters and brothers there, too . . . if they ain’t been sold off by now.”

I didn’t know what to say. Tessie had taken care of me since the day I was born. My entire lifetime had passed—and nearly half of her own—since she’d seen her family.

“Tessie, you should have told me. . . .”

She swiped at her tears. “Never had the chance before, I guess.”