A slight breeze teased Natalie’s hair as she and Samuel sat on the grass in the shade of the ancient black walnut tree with Carolina and Moses’ family. Thick branches and lush foliage overhead offered a respite from the sweltering weather now that July had arrived with the promise of sunny days and little rain.
“Did the others say they’s comin’?” Harriet asked her husband, fanning herself with an unhemmed square of cloth.
“They said they is.” Moses glanced in the direction of the quarter. “Told ’em we don’t meet in the chapel when it get hot like this. I ’spect the Lawd don’t mind where we meet on His day, ’long as we get together an’ say a word or two of praise.”
The couple exchanged a smile.
Natalie looked away, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. The love the pair had for each other was evident. As far back as she could remember, they’d been together. Even before Natalie married George and moved to Rose Hill, Moses and Harriet had lived on the Langford plantation. When Natalie married, Papa gave Moses to her as a wedding gift. After Aunt Lu ran away with Adella, leaving Rose Hill without a cook, Papa gave Harriet to Natalie too.
She heaved a sigh. That seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then. Mama and Papa were gone. The war came. George’s death, then Luther’s. And now freedom for the slaves. Nothing of her old life remained.
Lately, though, a quiet question stirred strange thoughts in her mind, usually in the dark of night as she lay in bed. A question she had yet to answer. If time could rewind, would she want things to remain as they’d been?
Voices drew her attention. Some of the new workers and former Rose Hill slaves came toward them. When they reached the shade of the tree, Ruth was the only one who smiled timidly in Natalie’s direction before settling down next to a tall man who held a fat baby. Adline and the others simply ignored her and Samuel.
“Welcome, folks. Glad you could join us.” Moses stood near the massive tree trunk as the newcomers sat on the grass. “We don’t got a fo’mal preacher that comes Sundays, but we do all right. The Lawd ain’t particular. He just say come in His name, so that’s what we do.”
He nodded to Harriet. She began singing a soulful song in her rich alto voice. A few of the others joined in, softly at first. Little Isaac tried to keep up with his mother, his high soprano squeaking, with him often mangling the words and the tune, though no one minded.
Natalie closed her eyes, enjoying the peaceful gathering. She didn’t know the hymn, but it didn’t matter. It washed over her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. Comforting. Soothing. The first years of her marriage, she hadn’t joined the slaves in the small chapel behind the quarter. George didn’t approve of the meetings, and for a time, after Jeptha and the others escaped, he’d banned the services altogether. Eventually, however, things fell back into their normal routine, including the worship gatherings. By then, though, she’d learned it was not wise to cross George, and she stayed away from the little chapel. After he died, there was nothing to keep her from attending.
With a glance toward Harriet, she recalled the first time she’d stepped foot in the small building. The singing had started before she’d worked up the nerve to enter. An awkward silence washed over the crowded room as everyone stared at her. Just when she thought she would turn and leave, Harriet stood, baby Isaac in her arms, and walked down the aisle between the crude benches. With every eye on them—and a collective intake of breath, it seemed— they waited to hear what the slave, who’d suffered so much loss because of Natalie’s family, would say to her mistress. But Harriet didn’t utter a word. She simply took Natalie by the arm and led her to the seat next to hers.
In that moment of acceptance—and undeserved forgiveness— Natalie encountered her first glimpse of grace.
When the singing quieted, Moses took in the crowd. “It shore has been a week we ain’t soon to forget.” He smiled broadly. “We is free.” His sweeping gaze included Natalie and Samuel. “All of us.” He paused to wipe a tear from his cheek. “I been thinkin’ on what freedom means. One thing I know it don’t mean is we’s all o’ sudden our own massa.” He shook his head. “No. We still has a Master.”
“I ain’t got no massa.” The man with the branded cheeks stood at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed, and glared at Moses. Natalie had only seen him from a distance and hadn’t realized the scars on his face were letters. A large “R” filled one cheek while a large “N” filled the other. She didn’t need to be told he’d received them after attempting to run away from his owner.
“Well, Jezro, maybe we ain’t got a white massa no more, but ever’body got a Master,” Moses said. “The Lawd be our Master. He done made us, so I ’spect He has the right to tell us what to do and what not to do. Long befo’ I come to know Him by name, He already know mine. Long befo’ I come to love Him, He already love me. Same be true for you.” His gaze swept the group. “Same be true for us all.”
Jezro remained silent, frowning.
Moses picked up a cloth bundle lying on the ground next to him. Carefully, he unwrapped the covering. Natalie was not the only one to gasp when he revealed a black leather-bound book, its edges worn and ragged.
Holding it as though it were a delicate china dish, a soft smile settled on his face. After a moment, he looked up. “This here … is the Holy Bible.”
The group remained wide-eyed, staring first at Moses
