It’s not the same as anybody’s. Daisy’s skin is coppery brown, just like that kettle over there. And Cook’s is like a plowed field. Mammy Bertha’s is just the same color as ashes, and Mary’s skin looks like molasses.”
There were ripples of laughter all around the table, but Anna didn’t know what had caused them. “How about your own skin, then?” Daisy asked, pointing to Anna. “What color are you?”
“Me? I’m like the crust on a fresh loaf of brown bread.” The others laughed again. Anna still didn’t know why. “We’re all different colors, ain’t we? Just like trees. Sometimes their bark is dark brown, sometimes lighter—just like our skin.”
“You’re wrong!” Cook said, frowning. She was the only one who hadn’t laughed. “There’s only two colors of skin—white and black. All the in-between ones is still black. And as far as the world’s concerned, the only good color skin to have is white.”
That was the first time Anna had heard anyone say it outright, but when she thought about it later, she knew Cook was right. People with white skin never did any work. They slept in soft beds and ate the very best food and had scores of black people to wait on them. Missus Goodman seemed terrified that Missy’s milkwhite skin would get dark, so she was always reminding her to use a parasol or wear a hat whenever she went outside. Anna couldn’t understand why. Dark skin was much, much better—even if it did mean she had to work hard and sleep on the floor.
She was learning to do all kinds of things in the Big House—helping Missy get dressed and undressed, filling and emptying her washbasin, running and fetching things for her or for Mammy Bertha. Anna had no time to play with her kittens anymore. And by the time they’d grown into cats, she had quite forgotten that her name had ever been Anna.
Chapter Four
Richmond, Virginia 1853
A week after Grady had been sold at the auction, his new master, Edward Coop, came for him and all the other slaves he had purchased. Coop’s manservant, William, carefully inspected the slaves’ shackles to make sure they were secure before the guards unlocked the door. William was a stocky, fierce-looking Negro who showed no sympathy at all for his fellow slaves as he poked and prodded them into a column, walking two-abreast. He ignored one of the men who complained that his leg irons were too tight and were rubbing his skin raw, and it seemed to Grady that William sided with their white master more than with his fellow slaves, in spite of his inky skin.
William chained all of the slaves together except Grady and herded everyone out of the slave pen for the last time. Grady had gone all week without washing, and he felt grimy with sweat and filth. Mama had always kept him clean, making him wash his face and hands and scrub behind his ears every night before he went to bed. Once a week she would make him take a bath in the kitchen in the big tin tub. But even more than he hated the dirt, Grady hated that he reeked of fear.
He tried to look around as William and Massa Coop marched the slaves through the streets, hoping to see his mama or Eli coming to rescue him. But Coop forced them to shuffle along at such 44 a brisk pace that Grady needed to watch his footing on the lumpy cobblestone streets just to keep up with everyone. His new master had purchased about fifty slaves, most of them men between the ages of twenty and forty. Grady was the only child. The women were all young and pretty, some still in their teens. They looked as terrified as Grady was.
He stuck close to Big Amos, who had also been bought by Massa Coop. But Amos’ steps slowed when he saw that they were headed down to the docks at Rockett’s Wharf. “This ain’t good,” he mumbled. “This ain’t good at all.”
Grady’s stomach clenched in fear. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s gonna put us on a ship. That means we going a long ways away, not some plantation close by. If we