An Awkward Weight

Misery. No other word encapsulated Celia’s agony. She scanned the skies but found no hope of relief from the scorching sun. Its hostile rays broiled her skin - including the naked scalp revealed between the braided rows of hair. Her usual mocha brown complexion now appeared burnished to a deep mahogany. Or maybe some of it was dirt - which covered her from head to foot. Gone were her girlish curves - her once 5’ 7”, 130 pounds now appeared thin, muscled, and most unladylike.

She longed to stop now. But there’d be no reprieve for another week. So she toiled on, buoyed by the nearness of her release. After seven long years, she’d be freed from this period of “indentured servitude” - to a wily old man who she called “Granddad.”

Clive Clay had a way of bending people to his will. Despite his 70 years, he stood tall, with an athletic frame, and a handsome face - his skin was coffee-color with the slightest hint of cream - a striking contrast with his short silver hair and straight white teeth.

The conversation seemed innocent at first. He’d asked her about college.

“Of course,” she’d responded. “I’m applying to Ohio State, Miami, maybe Bowling Green.”

Clive nodded his head and said, “Those are good -we’ve got some family nearby.”

Celia grew quiet. Living with relatives? No way, she’d thought. She wanted INDEPENDENCE.

He’d asked her what she planned to study.

“Oh,” she laughed nervously, “Either English or Poli-Sci.”

“Why?

Celia sheepishly related that she wanted to go to law school.

“What’s wrong with that?

“It sounds a little cliche.”

“Well, it could be, “ he mused, “if you use your law degree to suit yourself.”

“So,” he continued. “Seven years of schooling. How will you pay for it?”

She related that her parents would pay the first two years. “After that, I’m on my own. I’ll try for scholarships and probably take out student loans.”

Clive grimaced. Suddenly, his visage brightened. “I’ve gotta a plan.”

He’d proposed to fund five years of education in exchange for seven years of “service” - she’d live with family, maintain an A average, and come home to work every break!

"And,” Clive hesitated. “No dating.”

“What! Why?” Celia tried not to scream.

“No distractions,” he said. “And I don’t want some chump derailing your life.”

“Granddad, it’s just dating.”

“Tell that to your grandma. I was the chump who derailed hers.”

Celia sat in mute shock, mulling her options.

“I’m not budging on this,” he stated. “If I’m investing in you, it has to be about you and you alone. No stragglers.”

Celia’d opened her mouth to speak, but Clive cut her off. “Don’t answer now.” He said. “Think about it. Talk to your parents. Be sure it’s what you want because I’ll expect you to keep your word."

To the surprise of everyone, she’d agreed to his terms. He’d even made her sign a contract with a stipulation that she’d be required to repay any funds expended on her education if she failed to keep the plan as written. The “period of her indenture” started the day after her high school graduation.

For the next seven years she earned the grades, worked hard every break, and graduated from both schools with honors. She’d lived off campus, with elderly family members. But eventually, she’d come to appreciate the beauty found in home-cooked meals, occasional hugs, and limited distractions.

Her work experiences varied, from camp counseling, reading to the elderly, to even a work-mission trip to Peru. But mostly, she worked at “Clay’s Freedom,” the three-acre farm which had been in her family for over 100 years. Over the years, the story had been told and retold - about the first owner, Elias Clay, who’d been set free from slavery in 1880 and who, through the kindness and generosity of others, bought this land and settled his family. Although most of the acreage was rented to other farmers, there were eggs to collect, lawns to mow, and gardens to cultivate.

Just before her law school graduation, Clive suffered a stroke. Celia rushed home to be with her family, prepared to forego the graduation ceremony to be available for whatever was needed. “Don’t.” Clive said during one of her visits. His words were somewhat slurred but intelligible.

“Don’t do what, Granddad?”

“You go. You march. You earned it.” He said, while fighting for each word.

So she returned to school, took part in the ceremony, then returned home fo the farm, installing herself in a spare room. Each morning, she studied for the bar exam, which she’d take at the end of July. Every afternoon belonged to her grandmother, during which Celia chauffeured, shopped, cooked, cleaned and performed various indoor and outdoor chores.

Her thoughts returned to the present-Mid-August. She’d receive her bar results soon, which, if she passed, signaled the end of her agreement with Clive. She was more than grateful for the generosity of her grandfather. But she also reveled in the fact that she’d soon be heading back to Columbus to find a place to live and start her life. HER LIFE. She concentrated on that as she toiled in her oiled in her grandmother’s vegetable garden under the vicious sun..

Several hours later, having completed her tasks, she sought the coolness of the home.

“All done?”

“Yes, ma’am.

“Thank you, sugar. You want anything.”

Celia shook her head. “What I want is a very hot shower and a very soft bed.” They both laughed as Celia turned toward he bedroom.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” exclaimed her grandmother from the kitchen. She met Celia at the foot of the stairs and extended a business card to her. “You have an appointment with Mr. Manning tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM?” An appointment with the family lawyer? “What’s it about?” Celia asked.

“Don’t know. But your grandfather said to be on time.”

The next morning, Celia felt refreshed following the hot shower and good night’s sleep. She’d arrived at Mr. Manning’s office 10-minutes early. A few minutes later, his office door opened, and he invited her in.

“As you know,” he began, “you’d signed a contract, the terms of which were fulfilled the day you passed the bar. “ He smiled congenially, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you”

At this point, Manning bent and retrieved a box from the floor, from which he pulled out the oddest collection of items - a set of silver candelabras, an ancient-looking wooden box which jangled, an ornate mantle clock, and a small porcelain vase. He then opened a drawer and pulled out a little black book and a legal-sized envelope.

“You’re to read this,” said Manning as he slid the black to her.

Celia picked up the small journal and read the first page: “The Clay Family of Fairfield County, Ohio.” Her grandfather had written out the history of his family, neatly penning the letters. Celia was amazed. Her grandfather’s stroke had affected his left side, and he was left-handed. “He wrote all this himself?”

Manning nodded. “He considered it his therapy and worked on it all summer.”

Celia continued to read. She knew most of the story: how her several-times-great grandfather was freed from slavery in 1880 by the Quaker-daughter of his former master; how she’d presented each slave, from the oldest to the youngest, with manumission papers signed and dated by the county magistrate; how she’d allowed each working slave the choice of any two items in the old master's house, along with wages of $250; and how she’d offered safe passage to any who wished to relocate to Ohio. Elias, along with his wife and two children, had traveled with the Quaker family to Lancaster, OH, where they’d been able to purchase the land that had become Clay’s Freedom.

“The other items,” wrote her granddad, “used to belong to the old master and were selected by Elias, his wife Celie, and his oldest daughter Martha. It’s said that Elias hated to look at them, but he kept them around to remind himself that his sweat, pain and tears paid for them. I’m gifting them to you for safekeeping, with the understanding that they are to remain in the family.” Celia looked up and studied the items, estimating their sentimental value - the representation of freedom - as far outweighing any monetary one. “Now,” he continued writing. “Ask Mr. Manning for the envelope.”

Mr. Manning, anticipating where she was in the narrative, slid the envelope across the desk. Celia opened it and sat dumbfounded by its contents. She held in her hand a check for $20,000. She stared at Mr. Manning, who gestured to the note book and said, “Turn the page.”

“Celia, sugar. I so wish I could be with you, but please know I’m working hard to come home. Your diligence has been an inspiration to me. I know these past seven-years have been hard. But you did everything I asked and did so with respect and excellence, especially the way you’ve been there for your grandmother since my stroke.

“You might wonder why I did this. First, because I love you and want your success. But also, because I wanted you to have a taste of living a life that was not your own - an approximation of what Elias felt before he was freed. The truth is, you had a choice. No matter what penalties you would’ve faced, you could’ve walked away. But I wanted you to feel the weight of constraints. I wanted you to be able to imagine belonging to someone else and working from sun up to sun down to enrich them. It was an imperfect plan. Unlike Elias, your “servitude” was born of love-a desire to show toy the value of freedom. Unlike Elias, you could walk away without fear of physical punishment. And unlike Elias, you knew the end date of this experiment. Elias couldn’t have known if or when freedom would come. I could’ve just given you the benefits of two degrees and no debts. But like Elias, he gained more than his freedom.

He also gained an investment in his future. And so I do the same for you.”

“This check for $20,000 represents the current value of the $750 the Clay family received when they were freed. They used it to build a home that belonged to them and to create a family whose lives were changed by one person’s kindness.”

“My father always told me that each of us enters this world with a weight on our souls - to take the hand we’ve been dealt and to make the most of it. For Black people, it can be an awkward weight, for we are charged with remembering the past while looking to the future and lifting up others along the way. Whatever you may choose for yourself, make it something that extends beyond you. Something which offers others a future and a hope.”

Celia turned the page and saw there was nothing else written. She was moved beyond words. As she left the office carrying the box with her ancestors’ treasures, she thought about her grandfather’s words. Celia didn’t know what she would do, but she wouldn’t be frivolous. She knew that most people thought of freedom as the right to live for oneself, without regard to others. Her family's legacy revealed that true freedom could not be separated from responsibility, and that it was the ability to live with dignity and purpose, unconstrained by the ill-will of others. Seven long years to learn that her life was meant to be a delicate balance between liberty and service. An awkward weight? Yes. But a beautiful choice.