to them. He was so bloody tired. “Let us talk on the morrow.”
Grace felt an insistent tug of pity inside her chest. The man looked like he was about to fall over. No one was going anywhere, and the morrow was soon enough. “Might you show me your ship, Captain? After breakfast, perhaps.”
He nodded and gave her a brief smile. “I’d like that.”
*
Matu had stripped down to her shift and lay on her pallet on Grace’s floor, where she had lain every night for twelve years. At first, it had been to reassure a terrified child, but in time, the two had become an indispensable source of comfort to one another. Once, the master had insisted that Matu leave after Grace was asleep, but the first night that she had tried it, Grace had a nightmare and woke up screaming in her empty chamber. She begged Matu, pleaded with her never to leave her alone again, and Edmund, shaken by the little girl’s terror, nodded silently to the nursemaid.
Sometimes, she still could hardly believe her own luck in having been chosen for this position. The sacrifice she had made for it had been a small one. It meant better food, better shelter, and oh, how she loved Falala’s girl! Matu closed her eyes and remembered her beautiful, mulatto friend, Falala, who had been thrilled when her perfect, golden daughter had been taken into the big house to be raised by the master. So thrilled that she had gladly accepted her own fate. Of course, the mistress was angry. Of course, she had insisted that Falala be sold, but none of that had mattered to Falala. Her child would be free. There was no way that Matu would allow Grace to jeopardize that now.
Through the floorboards, Matu could hear the hushed voices of Grace and the sailor. He was a good man. She had sensed it the moment that she had met him, and a slave’s instincts had to be good. A Negro who couldn’t read a white man was as good as dead.
No, this man was not color-blind, Grace was right about that, but who was? Would she love Grace as she did if the girl were not such a pretty gold, if she were as pasty white as Iolanthe? Matu wasn’t sure.
She sat up when Grace slipped quietly into the dark room, but it took the young woman a while to notice.
“Oh, Matu! Did I wake you?”
Matu shook her head, but since she could barely see Grace, she doubted Grace could see her. She got up and fumbled to help Grace out of her gown. How differently the day had gone than she had planned when she’d dressed Grace with such care earlier. Folding the dress carefully, she decided that it would have to be laundered on the morrow if it was to be saved from the day’s dirt.
“Don’t bother folding it,” Grace murmured. “‘Tis ruined. Leave it on the floor for now.”
For all that Grace had a much better understanding of a slave’s plight than most planters’ daughters, the child was still so white. How many slaves wore the same set of rags day after day until they had nearly disintegrated from their bodies? And Grace thought that this gown was ruined. She was so careless with her possessions. Matu folded the gown anyway and set it at the foot of Grace’s bed.
Grace sighed. “He’s taking me to his ship tomorrow.”
Matu smiled, and a little flame of hope lit inside of her. She had been appalled by her own actions when she had struck this child of her heart earlier, in the kitchen, but now it occurred to her that Grace had needed a bit of sense slapped into her. Guilt over a situation that was not of her making was a foolish reason to toss aside this chance at, not just freedom, but happiness. Matu would have sacrificed her tongue a hundred times over for such a chance. Falala, exquisite, cream-and-coffee-colored Falala, would have forfeited her life to give her child this chance. If Matu had to, she would beat the girl senseless to make her marry the sailor.
“Mind you,” Grace told her, “I’m not making any promises, but he is kind and strong, and I would be the worst sort
Grace felt an insistent tug of pity inside her chest. The man looked like he was about to fall over. No one was going anywhere, and the morrow was soon enough. “Might you show me your ship, Captain? After breakfast, perhaps.”
He nodded and gave her a brief smile. “I’d like that.”
*
Matu had stripped down to her shift and lay on her pallet on Grace’s floor, where she had lain every night for twelve years. At first, it had been to reassure a terrified child, but in time, the two had become an indispensable source of comfort to one another. Once, the master had insisted that Matu leave after Grace was asleep, but the first night that she had tried it, Grace had a nightmare and woke up screaming in her empty chamber. She begged Matu, pleaded with her never to leave her alone again, and Edmund, shaken by the little girl’s terror, nodded silently to the nursemaid.
Sometimes, she still could hardly believe her own luck in having been chosen for this position. The sacrifice she had made for it had been a small one. It meant better food, better shelter, and oh, how she loved Falala’s girl! Matu closed her eyes and remembered her beautiful, mulatto friend, Falala, who had been thrilled when her perfect, golden daughter had been taken into the big house to be raised by the master. So thrilled that she had gladly accepted her own fate. Of course, the mistress was angry. Of course, she had insisted that Falala be sold, but none of that had mattered to Falala. Her child would be free. There was no way that Matu would allow Grace to jeopardize that now.
Through the floorboards, Matu could hear the hushed voices of Grace and the sailor. He was a good man. She had sensed it the moment that she had met him, and a slave’s instincts had to be good. A Negro who couldn’t read a white man was as good as dead.
No, this man was not color-blind, Grace was right about that, but who was? Would she love Grace as she did if the girl were not such a pretty gold, if she were as pasty white as Iolanthe? Matu wasn’t sure.
She sat up when Grace slipped quietly into the dark room, but it took the young woman a while to notice.
“Oh, Matu! Did I wake you?”
Matu shook her head, but since she could barely see Grace, she doubted Grace could see her. She got up and fumbled to help Grace out of her gown. How differently the day had gone than she had planned when she’d dressed Grace with such care earlier. Folding the dress carefully, she decided that it would have to be laundered on the morrow if it was to be saved from the day’s dirt.
“Don’t bother folding it,” Grace murmured. “‘Tis ruined. Leave it on the floor for now.”
For all that Grace had a much better understanding of a slave’s plight than most planters’ daughters, the child was still so white. How many slaves wore the same set of rags day after day until they had nearly disintegrated from their bodies? And Grace thought that this gown was ruined. She was so careless with her possessions. Matu folded the gown anyway and set it at the foot of Grace’s bed.
Grace sighed. “He’s taking me to his ship tomorrow.”
Matu smiled, and a little flame of hope lit inside of her. She had been appalled by her own actions when she had struck this child of her heart earlier, in the kitchen, but now it occurred to her that Grace had needed a bit of sense slapped into her. Guilt over a situation that was not of her making was a foolish reason to toss aside this chance at, not just freedom, but happiness. Matu would have sacrificed her tongue a hundred times over for such a chance. Falala, exquisite, cream-and-coffee-colored Falala, would have forfeited her life to give her child this chance. If Matu had to, she would beat the girl senseless to make her marry the sailor.
“Mind you,” Grace told her, “I’m not making any promises, but he is kind and strong, and I would be the worst sort
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