Free Healing Grace by Elizabeth Courtright Page A

once she’d suggested Sadie save money by doing the same. Sadie supposed, without income, she wouldn’t have a choice in that regard. The only problem was, like the bookstore, colored people weren’t allowed in the library.
    Sadie didn’t bother with shoes or a shawl as she slipped through the door and out into the night. It wasn’t far to the vacant house, and she’d traversed the path so many times, she could have done it in her sleep. She was lost in thought—would the library let her in if she pretended the books were for her mistress? She didn’t have a mistress, but she could say she worked for Miss Emily. Miss Emily wouldn’t mind. Her musings were interrupted by movement in the bushes under one of the bedroom windows.
    It could have been a squirrel, or a raccoon, or any number of harmless wild creatures that foraged the nearby woods. But that’s not what it was. It was a child… a boy. A white boy. Moonlight spilling over the pale face and yellow hair gave him away.
    “What are you doing there?” Sadie called out, but the boy was already running.
    Why a white boy would be snooping around these houses—houses lived in by the people who served Grace Manor—didn’t make sense. All of the employees on the estate were black. Regardless—white, black, green or purple, didn’t much matter—the boy was clearly up to no good.
    Sadie took off after him, adeptly skittering through the grass and patches of dirt. Instead of going toward the trees, where sticks and leaves would have slowed her on bare feet, the boy went around to the rear of the house and that was good. By the time he rounded the corner to the other side, she’d almost caught up to him. In the next instant she did.
    “Let go! Let me go!” the boy wailed as her fingers fisted in his shirt and spun him.
    He flailed madly. His forearm slammed hard enough under her chin to knock her head back and make her teeth clap, but Sadie didn’t let go.
    “Stop it!” she hollered, though it didn’t help. He clocked her again, and this time his balled fist caught her across the cheekbone.
    He left her no choice. The only way to subdue him was to wrestle him to the ground, so that’s what she did. A second later she had him down on his stomach, arms behind his back, wrists together in her grip.
    “Get off me, you dumb nigger!” he screeched.
    “Not until you tell me what you’re doing here, you… you white trash… white trash juvenile!” Sadie fired back.
    “I ain’t no juvenile!” he hollered. “You can’t call me that!”
    “Uhhh, excuse me…?”
    Sadie’s head snapped up. Just a few feet away was a man—a white man—with no clothes on!
    “Sam! Sam! Help!” the kid wailed. “It’s me! Archie!”
    The blinding glare reflecting off all that pale flesh had been enough to cause Sadie’s eyes to squeeze shut. Marginally she opened one of them—the one that wasn’t smarting. And no, the man wasn’t entirely naked. He had trousers on.
    The kid was still hollering, “Sam! Get this tramp off me! Sam! She called me a juv… juvlenite!”
    Hadn’t Wally said the soldier’s name was Sam? Which meant the mostly naked man was the soldier. And the kid knew him.
    “Archie, be quiet,” he said.
    Sadie let go and scrambled to her feet. Her cheekbone, where the kid had hit her, was throbbing. Humbly she stepped back, attempting in the process to smooth the mess her skirt had become.
    “Are you alright?”
    Assuming the question was posed to the boy, Sadie took another step away. She didn’t look up.
    “Sam, that nigger gal called me a jub… jublewine! ” the boy yelled.
    “I told you to be quiet,” the soldier said, firmly this time. Then his voice lowered and he asked again, “Are you alright?”
    Sadie smelled him before she saw him. Honeysuckle and heather, like the fancy soap Miss Emily used—the same soap Sadie had left in the house when she’d cleaned it. Then his feet came into view. He didn’t have shoes on, either. The