Free Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) by Elizabeth Courtright Page B

front lawn of the manor. Past it, he veered off to the right, toward the creek that marked the western border of the property. From there he followed the shallow water until he spied the marked oak. Turning east, he came upon three small shed-like structures. There were seven others just like them, but the seven were farther down the property line over the crest of a hill and couldn’t be seen from the three. At one time the slaves at Bent Oak Manor had resided in these horrid, one-room dwellings. In the last ten years or so, while they were uninhabited, the elements had taken a toll leaving them all the more decrepit. But now, people were living in them again.
    The family in the first cabin consisted of a colored man named Herlin Jefferson, his wife, Martha, and their seven-year-old son, Willy. After securing Midnight’s reins to an old tree stump, the man in black approached the rickety looking building, and rapped lightly.
    Herlin Jefferson swung the door wide. Briefly, as if sizing him up, Herlin’s eyes traveled the length of the man in black, from his leather riding boots and belted trousers, to the long-sleeved, silk shirt, two buttons of which he’d left open at his collar. The kerchief he used to cover his hair was still in place, from low on his forehead to where it was tied at the back of his neck. His second kerchief, the one he used to cover the bottom half of his face was hanging loosely at his throat. When their eyes met, Herlin grinned. The man in black grinned back.
    Herlin was a well built, good looking man, with intelligent, deep brown eyes. Although shorter than the man in black by several inches, his shoulders were broader and his muscles more pronounced. For once, his neatly clipped, tight black hair wasn’t covered by his signature red cap.
    The little bit of history the man in black knew of Herlin was that he’d been born a slave and spent the early years of his life working the cotton fields of North Carolina. He was twenty years old when his owner deemed him a menace and sold him to a tobacco plantation owner in Northern Virginia. It was there that he met his wife, Martha, also a slave but in the coveted position of housemaid. All too soon, Herlin and Martha jumped over the broom. Their owner, however, wouldn’t allow them to live as husband and wife.
    Shortly after the war began, with the help of the Underground Railroad, Herlin ran away, leaving Martha with a promise and a prayer that someday he would return for her. Midway through the war, the plantation where Martha waited was ravaged and abandoned. The slaves, left to fend for themselves, eventually traveled to nearby Washington, D.C., where they hoped to find food and shelter. It was there that Martha and Herlin were reunited.
    At the time Herlin was employed as an errand boy for the lobbyist, Frederick Washington. Over the next several years, while Herlin went to work every day, Martha went to school. In the evenings, in their small apartment, by candle light, Martha passed along everything she learned to Herlin. By the time Willy was born, Herlin was working for Frederick Washington in an entirely different capacity.
    “You’re late,” Herlin said. “Did you have trouble?”
    “No, no trouble,” the man in black told him. “Just another meeting. I didn’t think they’d ever shut up.”
    Herlin chuckled. “Come on in and tell me about it. I sent Martha and Willy over to Ditter’s. Martha made us coffee before she left.”
    Although from the outside Herlin’s cabin appeared to be in bad shape, the interior was not. The walls and ceiling were covered with new boards, plastered to hold up against the weather, and whitewashed. Fresh boards also hid what used to be a dirt floor. A decent-sized fireplace took up most of the rear wall. To the left of it, three bed rolls were neatly stacked. Against the wall to the right was a cabinet to hold food supplies and dishes. A small square table, barely big enough for the family to sit