Grandpa came home in a wheelchair, a broken man in body and spirit. Grandma said that when his workmates found out he would need a wheelchair, they took up a collection and bought one for him. For the first time in my life, he didn’t seem huge to me. While Grandpa was in the hospital, I was supposed to start public school. Grandma had taken a cleaning job in a big building a few blocks away, and Grandpa could not be left alone in the apartment. Since the lift was either padlocked or did not work most of the time, Grandpa was trapped in the apartment, so I stayed with him and didn’t start school.
My job was to run down four flights of stairs and up four doors to the storefront market to buy him his cigarettes, bread, cheese—whatever he needed. On the rare occasions when the lift was working and the weather was nice, I would roll Grandpa out of the apartment to the lift. We would take the lift down to the ground floor, and I would push his chair up the street to the park for some fresh air. Those were the days I lived for.
Having never attended school, I didn’t miss going. However, Grandpa would tell me that someday, when things were different, I would get to go to school. Right about this time, a new church opened in one of the storefronts right next to our grocery store—three doors down from our tenement. I remember sitting at the kitchen window on a summer night, listening to the beautiful voices of those churchgoers as they sang gospel hymns. I would ask Grandpa if we could go to that church and watch the singers, but Grandpa would always say, “Not for us, Toby Boy, those people are spreading the slave-master’s religion.”
I did not understand what Grandpa meant by this statement, but I knew it was a settled issue for him. Slavery was a topic my grandpa would never discuss. Although he loved his sisters living in Georgia, Grandpa would never talk about them either. Grandma told me one or two stories but as soon as Grandpa found out, he ordered her to stop. “We live here now. The past is the past, and it is not worth remembering.”
Even though I felt like I needed to hate this slave-master’s religion, I loved to sit by the open window and listen to the songs they were singing. You could hear the love these people had for this Jesus, and I was curious to know more about Him. However, Grandpa was firm—“No religion in this house”—that is, until the night Brother Jubilee came a calling.
I had just been tucked into bed when a knock at our door changed everything. I crept out of my bed and opened my bedroom door so I could hear what this stranger was saying. I climbed back into bed and listened while Grandpa Samuel argued with this young man who was sitting at our kitchen table, trying to tell Grandpa about a man named Jesus. As the young man talked about all the wonderful things this Jesus had done, I remember wanting to know more about Him and wondered why I had never heard any of this before. Just as the man began telling about the miracles this Jesus had done, Grandpa ordered the man to stop talking about Him. My heart sank. Then I heard Grandpa say, “You are talking about my slave owner’s Jesus. Your Jesus did not care about my father when he was sold away from us when I was six years old. He didn’t care about my mother or my sisters. Why would I want to come and listen to a slave-owner’s religion?”
I had heard Grandpa Samuel say he didn’t like the white man’s god, but I never knew why. I had heard the angry conversations of others, shouting about how terrible slavery was, and now I heard the terrible pain my grandpa had experienced. Loyal to him, I instantly took his side, deciding I too would not like this Jesus.
The stranger kept talking. “Samuel, Jesus is not the slave-owner’s religion. They didn’t make Him up. Jesus came to the Jews first—fellow slaves. They were first slaves in Egypt, and then when Jesus came, they were slaves under Rome’s control. Samuel, don’t you think Jesus understands what it was like to be a slave? Jesus could have come to the power-hungry Egyptians or the powerful Romans, but instead He came to the ones who knew what it was like to live under the thumb of slave-holders.”
I heard Grandpa say, “I never knew that. All I was ever told was that this Jesus wanted us to obey our master and be glad and thankful we had food and a roof over our heads. My own mother believed that Master Stewart was like a god to us.”
Brother Jubilee answered, “Samuel, people create lots of little gods, but none of them have ever been willing to give his own life to free us—that is what Jesus did. There is more than one kind of slavery. Slavery is when someone else owns you, right? The Bible says we are all slaves to sin, but Jesus came to free us from that slavery. He gave His own life as a ransom for us. He bought us off the slave auction block and wants to set us free. Samuel, don’t you want to get to know this Jesus who was willing to be your ransom?”
I remember lying in my bed, crying quietly, “Grandpa, please, please say yes. I want to know this Jesus.”
It was quiet for some time before my grandpa answered him. “Brother Jubilee, I think I do want to know more about this Jesus. I’ve always refused to read the Bible because I thought it was just a slave-owner’s book. My grandson has been begging me to come to your church, so I guess we will come and find out about this Jesus who loved all slaves.”
CHAPTER 5
Grandpa’s Confession
TOBIAS WAS LITERALLY jolted back to the present, as the heavyset man sitting behind him grabbed hold of the seatback in order to hoist himself up. He angrily shouted at his bedraggled wife, “Get up you lazy, good-for-nothing cow. I need to get to the water closet.”
No one looked up as the woman quickly got up and cleared a path for this man who evidently was used to getting his way. As she returned to her seat, Tobias tried to make eye contact and give her a smile, but she never looked up. He suspected she had developed a lifelong habit of not making eye contact.
Earlier, Ruth had turned around and offered them both a blueberry muffin. Although the wife had accepted her offer, she had avoided any eye contact and had mumbled a faint, “Thanks.”
Tobias studied this man’s face as he made his way back to his seat, and he thought to himself, “It’s sad how a face can become a road map to years of selfish bad choices. His eyes are hollow and empty, and I suspect the only feeling this man has felt in years is anger.”
Realizing that pressing a conversation upon this man would not accomplish any good right then, Tobias continued to look forward and again opened his tin box. He pulled out the envelope that contained the lapel pin that he had been given when he was seven years old. As he removed the pin from its protective envelope, he smiled as he studied the beautiful mother-of-pearl pin with the word “Mother” etched across it and a dainty heart dangling below it.
Holding the pin tightly, Tobias thought about the man who had given it to him the day he was leaving Harlem for good. Brother Jubilee came by and pinned it on his shirt, saying, “Toby Boy, you keep praying for your momma, and no matter what, you keep loving her.”
Holding the pin, Tobias could not help but think about how different his life would have been had Brother Jubilee not come a knocking on their door that night. Clasping the pin tightly, he allowed his sweet memories of how Brother Jubilee helped change his momma’s life to flood his mind.
For a good year, when the weather was decent and the lift was working, I would roll Grandpa to the storefront church, and Brother Jubilee would tell us all about this wonderful Jesus. The ladies would fix lunch, and then I would sit and watch them practice the beautiful songs that made my insides want to curl up in pure joy.
One afternoon as we were getting ready to return home, Brother Jubilee stopped us to ask Grandpa, “Doesn’t Tobias’ mother have a name? Samuel, I notice that you always refer to her as ‘Girl.’”
I froze in place, wondering how Grandpa was going to react to such a direct question. I had wanted to ask this same question many times, but I was afraid of hearing the answer. To my surprise, I heard his answer: “Brother Jubilee, could you come round to my place tonight? I think you and I need to talk. Tobias goes to bed about seven o’clock. Could you come round about eight?”
Obviously, Grandpa did not want
me hearing what he was going to say about my momma, but I was determined to stay awake and listen. That night, while lying in bed, I could smell the fresh coffee Grandpa was brewing. Brother Jubilee was a very young man, but I knew Grandpa respected him. I knew Grandpa was nervous about their private meeting. My eyes started getting heavy, and I was afraid I would fall asleep. I threw back my blanket, took off my socks, and sat on the edge of my bed, waiting. The warmth of my bed was beckoning me, but I fought to stay awake.
Finally, the welcome sound of a gentle knock on the door signaled Brother Jubilee’s arrival. I quickly tucked myself back under the covers—in case Grandpa came to check and see if I were asleep. My excitement was so high at this point; sleep was the last thing I worried about. I could hear the kitchen chair scooting back as Brother Jubilee offered to pour the coffee. They kept their voices low, not wanting to disturb my sleep, so I crept out of my bed and sat on the floor as far out into the hallway as I dared go. I could tell they were struggling to carry on small talk, when Brother Jubilee repeated the same question he had asked that morning.
Grandpa’s voice was soft and pleading. “I’ve been thinking about that question all day, Brother Jubilee. I want to be honest, but I don’t think I have a simple answer to your question. You see, I failed my girl, Brother Jubilee. I not only failed her, I betrayed her, and my shame is hurting her and killing me.”
While sitting on the floor hearing my grandpa talking with so much emotion, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what was coming. Grandpa was my hero, but now I was going to hear how he had failed my momma and had even betrayed her—was I ready to hear this?
I could hear Brother Jubilee scoot his chair closer to Grandpa’s wheelchair as he said, “Samuel, why don’t you just start at the beginning?”
“Brother Jubilee, do you remember my telling you that my family were all slaves back in Georgia before the War? I never talk about our life on the plantation. I think it’s best to leave the past in the past. But after thinking about your question all day and your sermon last Sunday about the sin of pride, I think my sinful pride has really hurt my little girl.”
Brother Jubilee kept quiet, letting Grandpa work through his story without pushing him. I heard Grandpa blow his nose before continuing, “You see, as far back as I can remember, it was my job to look after my mother and sisters. I was so young when Master Stewart sold my daddy away, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel responsible for them. I always worked extra hard, hoping to make myself so valuable to the plantation that Master Stewart wouldn’t dare sell me away from Momma and the sisters. Since I never knew how much enough was, I fairly killed myself doing a man’s labor. Even as a young boy, I knew he could just up and sell me off without a second thought.
“As the years went by and the war talk grew, Master Stewart was having a harder and harder time selling or trading any of us. When I was about thirteen, five or six of his best slaves started talking about running off. They were sure that if they worked together, they could make it North to freedom; they wanted me to go with them. I wanted to, but how could I leave behind my momma and my sisters?
“That next year Master Stewart’s daughter got married, and without a thought, he gave away my sister Ruby as a wedding present. My sweet, kind, gentle, little sister Ruby was suddenly gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. Her leaving about drove me crazy, Brother Jubilee. You see, I had no idea what kind of Master Miss Elizabeth’s new husband was. Master Stewart was strict, but he prided himself on being a righteous man. To my knowledge, he never touched any of our women. That is not to say he was above using a switch or selling us off like so much extra crop at the end of a harvest, and he didn’t beat us without cause. But what was happening to my Ruby? She was so young and defenseless, and I felt truly helpless.”
I heard Brother Jubilee whisper, “I am so sorry, Samuel. That must have been terrible.”
“Another day I will tell you all about what happened to Ruby, but for now, it is only important that you know it is because of my love for her that I named my little girl, Ruby Girl. Brother Jubilee, I was so full of pride, working so hard to care for my little family. I would see other men messing with other women, drinking their wages, and living a riotous life, and I would feel so superior to them. I had always been the one who took care of everyone I loved—no matter how hard I had to work. Then, one day after being beaten and raped, my Ruby Girl came running into this apartment, and all of those old emotions of feeling helpless when my sister Ruby had been given away simply overtook me. I remembered how frightened I was about what that man might be doing to my sister Ruby, and now all these years later, standing right in front of me, was my own little Ruby Girl, violated at the hands of three boys. I was again helpless to do anything about what happened to her. Once we were freed from slavery, I swore I would never be helpless again. I would take care of my family, work extra hard to make sure we never went without, and I would make sure my sisters and my family would always be safe; but I couldn’t keep that promise, Brother Jubilee.”
By now I had crawled all the way to the opening of the kitchen, so I could see Grandpa. I watched his broken spirit confess his deepest hurt. With his face covered in tears for my grandpa, Brother Jubilee knelt down on his knees and lifted Grandpa’s face with his hands and pleaded, “Samuel, we live in a fallen world. You could not keep that promise because it was never your promise to make. But there is one promise you should have kept, and that promise was to love your baby girl no matter what—no matter how she lives her life. No matter what, she deserves her daddy to love her. Do you love Ruby Girl, Samuel?”
“Yes, Brother Jubilee, I do. I have let my hurtful pride at not keeping my promise drive her away from me. It wasn’t that she was raped or that my Toby Boy came along. I drove her away because every time I looked at her, I saw my failure. My pride was hurt so I made her pay for it.”
Brother Jubilee took hold of Grandpa Samuel’s shoulders, pushed them back so he sat straight and tall in his wheelchair, and commanded, “Then Samuel, confess this matter to her. Lay down your pride. Ask God for the humility to make no excuses and tell your little girl how much you love her. She needs to hear this from her daddy, and from now on, you call her ‘Ruby Girl’ as proof that you do not hold her past against her.”
As Brother Jubilee continued to talk with Grandpa, I slipped back to my bed, pulled the covers up over my head and thought about my momma. I knew she hated coming here to see me. I always thought it was because of how I had been born. Many times as she was leaving, I would hear her say to Grandma, “Daddy can’t stand to look at me, Momma. I know it is because of how Boy was born and now how I am living. Momma, maybe I just shouldn’t come around here anymore.”
I never understood what they meant by how I was born, but I always knew that whatever it was, it was my fault. Now hearing Grandpa Samuel so heartbroken over how I was born that he had turned against my momma made it even worse. But somehow, hearing Brother Jubilee’s voice reading the Bible to my grandpa brought me great comfort that night.
Two days later, Grandpa called me to the kitchen table and said, “Toby Boy, I have sinned against your momma, and I need to find her and ask for her forgiveness. I felt so helpless when she was rap…beaten up. I wasn’t there to protect her. I failed her, and since I didn’t know what to do, I just shut off my hurt and ignored her.”
I finally gathered up the courage to ask, “Grandpa, are you sorry I was born—like my momma is sorry?”
Grandpa’s big strong hands lifted me up onto his lap as he began to cry, “Toby Boy, I could never be sorry having you as my little boy. I hate that my Ruby Girl had to be hurt by those bad boys, but that is not your fault. You are too young to understand what any of this means, but one day I will tell you the whole story. Just you know that we all love you, Toby Boy.”
Placing me back on the kitchen chair, Grandpa rolled his wheelchair around and drew up right in front of me. “Toby Boy, your momma needs to know that I love her no
matter how she is living. Brother Jubilee says God loved us while we were still sinners, and she deserves a daddy who will love her like God loves her.”
That afternoon Grandpa put out the word that he wanted to see my momma. Several weeks went by with nothing from her. Every day Grandpa prayed that God would give him the words my momma needed to hear. Apart from the three mornings a week that we went to Bible study, Grandpa sat in his wheelchair by the window, reading the Bible and waiting for his little girl to show up. On the other hand, I was not so sure I wanted her to show up. Their meetings had never gone well, and I knew that she hated the sight of me. She would show up smelling of cheap perfume, spouting ugly words, and wearing lots of makeup. The last few times she smelled like the barroom down the street and looked like someone had been beating on her, but Grandpa wanted to see her so we waited.
The week I turned seven, she came walking in the door with a baseball for me. Tossing it over to me, she said, “What are you now, Toby Boy, seven?”
I hated her calling me that. From my grandpa, “Toby Boy” was a sweet name—but not from her. I was surprised that she even remembered it was my birthday. Before I could even reply, she turned to her daddy and asked, “So I hear you want to see me. Is my momma okay?”
“Your momma is fine,” Grandpa responded. “She works too hard, but she is not the reason I wanted to see you, Ruby Girl. Will you sit down for a minute so we can talk?”
I was seven years old and had never heard my grandpa use my momma’s real name to her. She had always been just “Girl.” I watched as my momma’s usually hardened face became very emotional, and I realized this encounter was something huge. Her eyes filled with tears as she pleaded, “I can’t stay long, Daddy. People are waiting for me downstairs.”
Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1) Page 4
