Laura sat at the head of the old, worn, but well-smoothed table in the one room wooden house. The table was situated right in the center of the dwelling, taking up most of the space. From her spot, Laura sat directly in view of the front door. They wouldn't be able to miss her. One single candle, which Laura had borrowed from Salis House because no one would miss it, stood in front of her burning, casting an eerie glow around the small slave cabin, making small crackling noises, and spreading the foul, acrid smell of tallow in the air.

A small cough startled her, reminding her that she wasn't supposed to just be sitting and thinking like she had all the time in the world. Using the low light, she leaned forward and made another stitch in the coarse shirt on her lap, attaching a small patch to the hole that Gideon had torn in his shirt carrying coal out of the mines. She didn't even hesitate when the needle slipped, stabbing the meaty center of her finger. Her fingers had long since grown callous from the piercing of needles. That's what happened when you were the head seamstress on the plantation. Sometimes she felt like her whole life had been about attaching one piece of fabric to another. And now with Missy Charlotte's wedding, the needles didn't just follow her throughout her day, they followed her even in her dreams. The light before her flickered as she turned the shirt at an angle so that she could see better. She needed to hurry if she was going to finish the patchwork before going back. Another small cough from up above filled the air.

They were awake. Of course, they were awake. It wasn't that unusual that she had come down from Salis House to fix supper for the boys now that mama was dead. It had been one of her many last requests. Don't you stay up in this here big house, girl. You best go down and take care of your brothers. You hear? Laura had heard. She came down at least once a week, fixed supper, darned clothes, cleaned house. Not that there was much to clean. Her brothers worked every day of the week. Even on the Lord's day, cause if you did, Massa Richard would pay you for working extra at Christmas. It meant they always had a ham of their very own for New Year's, though Papa always opened the house and shared with everyone. And there was always new clothes for her and the boys, though the fabric was cheap and—before a good washing or two—sometimes made you itch. Nothing like the silks and lace that Laura's fingers danced across day in and day out at Salis House. But it was sturdy and long lasting and really that was all that mattered. At any rate, evening time was the only time they were home and that usually meant they didn't have much time for doing anything other than eating and sleeping. So, there was always very little mess. No, it wasn't unusual that she had come down. What was unusual was that she stayed.

Laura hadn't slept a night apart from Missy Adora since she was born near 'bout ten years ago. Sometimes, Missy Adora got awful hot at night and she always wanted Laura right there at the floor of her bed.

"Lolly, I need me some water." It was a request Laura had heard time and time again. And truly no bother.

Even though Laura had only reached child-bearing age a few years ago, at times it felt like Missy Adora was her own sweet baby. And Laura hoped she was sleeping well tonight. She had wrestled for hours as to whether or not to tell Missy Adora she wasn't going to be in the House that night. If she told her, she would have to come up with a reason as to why she was staying the night at the cabin. And then it would be just like Missy Adora to mention it to Miss Martha or Miss Julia and well, Laura didn't want to deal with Miss Martha and Miss Julia. And so she had prayed, Dear Lord when Missy Adora go to sleep, let her stay asleep. Laura prayed it again in that moment, silently as she ran the needle and thread in and out of the shirt in haste. It wouldn't be the prettiest patch, but that didn't matter none anyway. No matter how many times Laura washed this brown shirt, it couldn't erase the coal stains that had seeped into it. No one would be able to even tell that she had sewn a different color patch onto it. She couldn't stop herself from making a small clucking sound of dismay with her tongue. Like Mama used to make, before she got sick.

The wood beneath one of her brothers creaked as he moved under his covers and Laura paused. She looked up quickly to the loft where Solomon and Gideon were each wrapped and stuffed in a blanket. Most times the boys fell asleep like a stone dropped in a river. They just hit the bed and was gone. But though they had told her good night an hour ago, she could tell by their breathing that sleep had long since travelled the way of the past. Laura exhaled, her hands moving faster, it would be hard enough to say what she had to say and now the boys would be wide awake to hear it.

The sound of low voices from outside the cabin reached Laura's ears. For a minute there, she had wondered if they was coming, though Sol and Gid had told her they usually made the two mile trek each night from the smithy to the house. In the summer time, when the sun didn't set so soon, Laura figured it wasn't so bad. But when it was cold and dark like this, she wondered how they could stand it. She heard Benji's voice and Papa's low answer. She sat up straighter, the shirt and patch, still in her lap. The door creaked open slowly, allowing her to see Benji first and then Papa. Both stopped at the sight of her sitting there. Laura noticed Benji tossing a quick glance at Papa. Benji was tall. Tall as Papa. But where Papa's shoulders filled the doorway of the cabin, Benji's only filled half. Skinny as a beanpole, Mama had always said. Not the man next to him though. A big bear of a man, was how Mama had always described him. Tall, strong, and hairy. That was Papa.

Laura pointed to the plates on the small table that stood a few feet away from her, next to the fireplace. The food was probably cold by now since she hadn't kept the fire burning hot, but they were used to that. "I fixed ya'll supper," Laura said quietly, pointing out the obvious and trying not to feel nervous. They was her own kin after all.

Neither man moved from their spot in the cabin doorway, letting all manner of cool air fill the small space. Papa cleared his throat and finally took a step further into the room, pushing Benji a bit before shutting the door closed behind him.

"Why don't you tell us why you're here, Laura?" His voice was quiet, but the deep bass bounced off the four walls of the cabin, making its presence known. His dark brown eyes were intense, penetrating. It had always been hard to meet Papa's eyes full on. Felt like he could see her center deep. Which was odd seeing as how she didn't know the man all that well at all.

She could feel the pause in Solomon and Gideon's breathing cause they had surely been wanting to know why she was still there too. "Massa Richard gone sell Sol and Gid."

Papa blinked and looked away. She heard soft moans from above and a loud, deep sigh exit Benji's mouth.

"You ever hear Massa say he gone sell you or your brothers you tell your Papa first thing, you hear?"

"What he gone do?" Laura felt the back of Mama's hand against her head before she could get her next sentence out. There she was, sick and weak, but Mama still had enough strength to rebuke her.

"Don't you worry none 'bout what he gone do. You tell your Papa first thing, you hear?"

Another deathbed request. Well, she had done what mama said. She had told him first thing.

"When?" Sol asked from up above, his head peeking out from over the top, no longer pretending to sleep. Gideon's head appeared next to him, and Laura could tell even in the dim light that his small fingers were gripping the ledge tightly.

"I heard tell just 'fore Easter. Costs done got high for Miss Charlotte's wedding. Slave auction for the highest price," Laura whispered even though there was no real reason to. "I just found out today." Missy Adora had done left her doll, Baby Pru, downstairs. That's when Laura had heard Massa Richard talking to Massa William. They was gone sell some slaves to cover the expense of the wedding. He had compiled a list, he said, of all the male slaves between the ages of twelve and fourteen. Boys that young weren't necessarily a big help in the salt mines. But that didn't meant they wouldn't bring in a fine price elsewhere.

When Massa Richard and Massa William left the room, Laura had slipped in, saw the list, saw the boys' names. Now here she was.

Laura looked up at Papa.

Papa walked over to the small table, grabbed his plate, and took a seat at the bigger table Laura was sitting at. Benji, after staring hard at Papa, did the same. Sol and Gid made their way down the ladder quick and came to stand at the table. Together, they all watched Papa take some bites of his cold bacon and cornbread.

Well. She had been planning on staying the whole night cause she thought he might do something. Whatever it was Mama had been thinking he would do did not appear like it was going to happen. She started to stand.

"You can write girl?"

She sat back down. Her papa looked over at her, his stare intense, fierce, as though by sheer willpower he could keep her in her chair.

"I can," Laura said softly. Somewhat. She had never written more than a quick word or two on Missy Adora's slate. Usually just her name over and over. Sometimes Mama's name.

"What you need to draw up some free papers?"

Laura stared at him. She could read a little. She could write a little. She didn't think she could draw up any free papers. But, no matter what Papa saw in her eyes, he just stared back with that intense gaze of his. She looked away, losing whatever battle they had been fighting. Sol and Gid were now standing shoulder to shoulder, the same size, just like tin soldiers even though they weren't even the same age. And just like soldiers, in spite of what they were discussing, there was very little emotion in their faces. No. The emotion was hidden in the tenseness of their shoulders, in the slight fisting of their hands. In the small light of hope in their eyes. She turned to look at her other brother, Benji. He wasn't even pretending to eat. Just staring hard at Papa and occasionally flicking his dark gaze at her. For whatever unknown reason, Laura had long sense discerned that Benji did not think very highly of her. The feeling was mutual. Though Laura wasn't sure exactly why.

"Papers for Sol and Gid?" she finally asked. Because she felt like she had to say something.

"For all of us," he said and pointed at himself, Benji, Gid, Sol. Her. "Less you plannin' on stayin' here," he said, as his eyes slid down to the plate before him. She watched as he helped himself to another bite as though what he had said wasn't like dropping a hive of bees on the center of the table. She exhaled, trying to ignore the weight of all of her brothers' stares.

What he said was not entirely a surprise, because she had figured that if Papa did anything, it would be something like this. Running away, that is. Though to hear the actual words out loud set Laura's heart to racing. Because that was the question wasn't it? If Papa and the boys ran away, would she stay or would she go?

"You gotta come," Gid urged softly, moving from his soldier's position and leaning forward. His eyes were pleading, and Laura found her mouth opening slightly in surprise. They barely talked, they didn't spend more than a minute together day in and day out. But maybe she reminded him of Mama. Laura felt her gaze softening.

"No," Papa said his voice deep, cutting through her thoughts. He didn't want her to come? Laura winced, feeling his rejection somewhere deep. But as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he kept on talking. "I want you to come, Laura. But I ain't gonna make you do nothin'." He stood up, filling the space around him. "Can you do the papers, Laura?"

Write up free papers? The likes of which she had seen once before, in fancy writing she had never practiced, on paper she had never touched? Laura glanced at Sol and Gid. She had known them all her life, in the general sense. And she did care about them. She was here after all. But it was Mama's thoughts and feelings on the matter that made her say what she said next.

"I can do it."


The hot, Kentucky sun wasn't even beating down too hard yet and Sam was already sweating. Calm down, Sam. Calm down, he repeated to himself as he dug his hands into the soil and slowly, carefully began to uproot the small tobacco plant he had planted only three weeks ago. If he damaged the roots at all, Molloy would take it right out of his hide.

And as though thinking about him conjured him, Molloy, only a few feet away from Sam, spoke, "Gonna have to move faster than that, Sam." This, Sam knew. Molloy exhaled, pulling his britches up to cover his girth. It was a completely useless movement. Sam knew and Molloy probably knew, it would only be a minute before the britches slipped down several inches again just under Molloy's gut. "Sun's almost down now, Sam. You ain't gonna finish."

Sam stood up, little shoots of pain ricocheting up his back, but Sam ignored them. He was sure that he had dug up and replanted over a thousand of the little plants already that day, spending a good portion of his time with his back bent over. The continuous pain had long since stopped affecting him. Sam dug the heels of his feet into the ground to get traction and slipped only a little in the mud as he moved. It had rained the night before, making the conditions perfect for transplanting, but not so easy for moving fast. And Sam needed to move fast.

"Sam," Manny muttered when he reached him, but said nothing else as Sam dropped the seedling plant into the hole Manny had created. Manny pushed Sam away before Sam could finish replanting the roots. Instead, Manny gently pressed the plant into its new soil. Sam went back to his row for another plant to dig up.

"You don't finish this row, I'm going to whip you and that is a promise you can take to the bank, Sam. Not like that moon promise you made this mornin'."

Lord Jesus, Sam prayed, but otherwise he didn't think too long on Molloy's words, just dug his hand into the ground again, feeling for the small, tender stems of the plant. He wasted seconds trying to untangle the roots. Why some plants came up easy and others fought him, he just didn't know. But still he moved, even when the sun got so low in the sky, it was just an orange glow. The crack of a whip snapping in the air sounded. That was it. Time was up. Sam stared down the endless row of tobacco plants he had not yet finished transplanting.

"Sam," Manny groaned his name as he came alongside him. "I told you not to say nothin'."

"Don't nobody go far," Molloy declared as some workers started edging towards their cabins. "Sam here promised to do double his rows today and as you can tell he did not finish."

No. He hadn't. But he had come so close. The smallness of the last couple of rows mocked him. His back, already aching from spending most of the day parallel to the ground started aching in a different way, as though in anticipation for the licks that was coming.

"For costin' me time, he's gonna get his whippin' and you're goin' to watch. Sam, I do believe it is not a good year, heck a good few months, unless I'm whippin' you. Now you know where to go so get."

Sam didn't know what was worse: the wait for Molloy to finish checking up on everyone's planting, the pulling of his arms as they were tied to the metal ring fastened to the whipping tree, the humiliation of having his naked body bared to the world, the whistle of the whip as it flew across space, or the burn of the sting when it cut across his back.

Every single time he was whipped he considered all of these things. There was never a clear winner.

"Sam," Molloy said. Sam had already experienced the first two things: his arms were fastened to the ring and he didn't have a stitch of clothes on. He tried not to shudder as the cool wind danced across his naked body. He wasn't hot now. Sam could hear Molloy behind him, unraveling his whip. He could also hear the whispers of the others behind them. He wondered what they thought of him being whipped again. And then he told himself he didn't care. He had made his decision that morning knowing this was where he was most likely going to be at the end of the day. Didn't matter what any person thought about him. Only mattered what his God thought. Jesus, don't let it be too painful, he prayed. A senseless prayer really. It was going to be painful. All whippings were. It was a lesson Sam had been taught when he was knee high to a duck. The whip cracked behind him, reminding Sam about what was to come next. Sam swallowed convulsively. They were almost at the last two stages. "I don't get why you're up there. You know better than to not finish your rows." But he had finished his rows. He just hadn't finished Big Dave's rows too. "And yet here we are."

Did Molloy have to give a speech each time? Couldn't he just—

Sam's whole body flinched as the leather of the raw cow's hide cut across the skin of his back. And then he didn't think anymore beyond counting the licks that flew.

"Cut him down, Manny," Molloy said after the twentieth one. "And ya'll get on out of here!"

Everything ached, his arms, his back, his buttocks. Even his chest and the whip hadn't come close to there at all.

"You're a fool," his brother said, as he cut the rope that tied Sam to the ring and then loosened the ties on his hand. When Sam stumbled, Manny wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

"You always say that," Sam said, through deep, heavy breaths. Manny wasn't one for hugs. Neither was Sam for that matter, but Manny didn't move as Sam leaned against him and caught his breath.

When Sam was able to stand up without fear of falling, Manny spoke again, "Yeah, well, you always gettin' whipped for other people's doin's. And Molloy know that. That's how come he ain't never talk of sellin' you. Fool." Manny's words were hard, angry words, but he patiently helped Sam get dressed. "Big Dave deserved to be whipped," he said finally as he walked and Sam limped the half a mile from the whipping tree to the one room cabin they shared with five others.

Ole Mose was out front already, cooking steadily over a fire. Men with families ate their women's cooking. Men without families, like Sam and Manny, ate ole Moses' cooking. Sam liked Ole Moses' cooking just fine, but he sure wished he knew what it was like to eat a woman's cooking. He hadn't eaten at a woman's table since he and Manny had been sold away from they mama almost ten years ago. Or was it eleven now? Sam told himself it didn't matter none at all, but he still found himself forever curious about things he wasn't supposed to be curious about.

"Hey, Sam," Ole Mose said, his eyes grave and darting up and down Sam's figure. Sam's limping, no doubt, made it obvious as to what had happened even to a man whose eyesight wasn't that sharp anymore. Ole Mose was old. He had been old when Sam and Manny had arrived way back when and he was old now. He didn't have a family and Sam had long since learned never to ask if had ever had a family.

It would be too much to say Ole Mose was like a father to Sam and Manny, but he wasn't nothing neither. Much as Sam and Manny had tried to keep their distance, Ole Mose had always seemed to be right there all up in they business. The old man was squatting now, though he still looked slightly hunched over, lasting evidence that he had always worked a tobacco farm. Sam watched as he picked up bowls and filled them to the brim with some kind of stew. Sam watched as different ones came up and grabbed their bowls.

"Hey, Mose," Sam finally responded when he got close to the cooking fire.

"You don't see me standin' here, Mose?" Manny asked, spreading his hands. Him and Ole Mose had never really gotten along. Sam thought it was cause they was too much alike. Both stubborn old mules.

"I sure smell you."

The men lingering in front of the house hooted with laughter. The sound of it, so little heard, made Sam smile in spite of his discomfort. "Made you some extra, Sam," Ole Mose said as the two brothers came to stand next to the big pot. "Though I'm not sure why."

"I'm not sure I can eat," Sam said weakly. He was hungry. That was certain. Working sunup till sundown did that to a body. But he was more tired than anything. Eating meant taking time from sleeping. And he couldn't afford to be tired tomorrow. He was already going to have a devil of a day bending over with welts and open sores layered across his back.

"Don't be stupid," Manny warned. "You give me his food. I'll make sure he eats it."

"Every bite," Old Mose said sternly, handing Manny two bowls. That was one way in which Old Mose and Manny were alike. They were always fussing at Sam about something.

"How Big Dave doin'?" Sam asked as he walked over to the cabin and leaned against the wall, taking big, deep breaths.

"Same as this mornin'. His mama come by and say thank you. She done left you somethin' on your bed."

Manny muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but then he must have changed his mind cause he said loudly, "Sam's not offerin' tomorrow. You tell Big Dave his problems are between him and Molloy and he best leave my brother out of it."

"Manny," Sam whispered in rebuke. He wanted to say more, to cut him off, but he felt like to say even three more words would be more than he could stand. Even now he felt himself slipping against the side of the house.

Manny's voice only got louder. "You hear me! Ya'll leave him out of it! Take your own whippin's," Manny grumbled before using his elbow to nudge Sam into the dark, dank, smelly cabin. There was a reason their bunkmates were outside talking rather than spending time inside even though it was late. Sam made his way to his and Manny's spot which was really just straw covered with a coarse, thin, blanket. 'Cept this time there was something on it. Sam sat down hard on his straw bed. Breathed a few times and then reached for the unfamiliar object. He hadn't gotten a present from someone other than his brother in quite some time. He ran his hands down the fabric, marveling at the plushness and wondering where Big Dave's mama had gotten the cotton from to make such a thing. His long, thin fingers ran across the seams. He couldn't make out the color in the darkness of the cabin but it was either black or dark blue.

"It's a blanket," he said, holding it up as Manny squatted down next to him with the bowls of food.

"Oh good," Manny said, his voice held a mocking tinge to it. "A blanket. And summer right around the corner."

"We'll be happy for it this winter and you know it." Cause Sam would share it. He and Manny shared everything.

"I still say you stupid," Manny said, handing him his bowl.

Sam took it, sniffed, and then took a bite. He couldn't tell if it was squirrel or possum. "Big Dave would have died." That morning, fever had been raging through Big Dave's body. But Molloy hadn't cared. He never cared. You had to be missing a body part for him to care and even then it might not get you out work.

"Big Dave is probably still goin' to die. This is his third day with that fever. If he ain't lost it now, he ain't 'bout to lose it. You just put off what was comin'," Manny hissed in irritation.

"I prayed on it—,"

"Fool talk."

"God gave me peace."

"He always does. Right 'fore you do somethin' stupid."

"I could take it. He couldn't," Sam said stubbornly. They had had this same argument before. Many times. So many times, sometimes Sam thought they said the words now just cause they had to.

"You still goin' to have to do them rows tomorrow."

"You gone help me."

"I am, am I? One day you gonna look for me and I ain't gonna be there. You betta stop makin' plans and expectin' me to follow."

"You'll always be there." And he would be and he knew it too. All they had was each other. And Jesus. Though whenever Sam said that, Manny would growl at him. They finished eating in peace and Sam handed Manny his empty bowl. "You check today?"

"Don't see the point in checkin'."

"But you check today?"

"Yeah I checked and ain't nothin' changed. Caesar ain't come back," Manny said his voice clipped. Every footstep was a stomp as he left the cabin. But he had checked and that was the important thing. Sam turned himself and cautiously lay down on his stomach. He closed his eyes. He dreamed that he had checked and this time there had been change. This time Caesar, the conductor, had come back. This time he was going to take them with him and help them escape.


"Why can't girls were breeches, Lolly?"

"Raise your arms high, Missy Adora," Laura said as she slipped the gingham dress over Missy Adora and straightened it carefully, making sure it covered her pantalets.

"Lolly!" It was a name Missy Adora had given her when she was young. Only Missy Adora called her Lolly.

"Cause them the rules. And you know better than to talk about men's clothing. Ain't proper," Laura said, pulling and tugging and making sure everything fit just right. Missy Adora was growing both longer and wider at the same time. How she did that, Laura just did not know. "Sit down. Let me straighten your hair. You look like you got in a fight with a possum last night and lost."

Missy Adora giggled as she plopped down on the pink cushion chair in front of her dressing table. She handed Laura her brush before Laura could reach for it. Laura had been doing the girl's hair since she had grown hair. With the tips of her fingers, Laura gently touched Missy Adora's cheeks, turning her face so that it faced the mirror. Laura paused, taking note of the familiar blue eyes, the long, curly dark blond hair, the small button nose, freckles dancing across the tops of her cheeks. It was a face Laura knew almost as well as her own. And if she left with Papa and the boys, it was a face she would never see again... whether or not they ever made it to freedom. Glancing in the mirror one more time, she noticed Missy Adora giving her the same thorough examination. And she wondered what caught her eye. Was it Laura's dark skin? The color of soil just kissed by the sun. Or her black hair pulled as tight as can be in a bun with still a few rebellious, stray curly hairs escaping on the side? Maybe it was her dark eyes or her dark lips? They could not look more different, but Missy Adora could not feel more like family. But could Laura stay? And never see her own blood again? She ran the brush through Missy Adora's hair quickly. Nothing got rid of distracting thoughts like work.

"Want me to read out loud this morning?"

"Go on," Laura said, slowing down her brushstrokes as Missy Adora reached for the Bible she had been gifted when her maternal grandmother died.

"Where were we last time?"

"We readin' the Psalms with the dates."

"Oh yeah," Missy Adora said, turning the silk pages of the Bible. Laura stared at the book hard, wishing she could run her own fingers down the leaves of the book.

"Go back, baby. You done went too far."

"Oh yeah." It was Missy Adora's favorite expression. She never liked to admit she didn't know something. "Today is...

"March 20, 1855."

"Psalms 20, then," Missy Adora said definitively. "'The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble; the name of the God of Jacob defend thee," Missy Adora read, not a one mistake in her words, Laura thought with pride. They had learned to read almost at the same time. Once Laura had got her mind wrapped around the alphabet she had encouraged Missy Adora to read every day, as much as possible, out loud and usually where Laura could see over her shoulder. Like she did now. Laura found her mouth moving along with the words. "Some trusts in chariots and some in horses; but we will remember the name of the Lord our God."

"Are you done yet?" Missy Adora asked and Laura quickly finished brushing her hair out and tied a ribbon in it.

"I am now. You go on down to breakfast. It smells like Annie done cooked the house down this mornin'."

"Mmm hmmm. Bacon."

"Biscuits."

"Grits."

"Girl, you cain't smell no grits."

Missy Adora giggled, set the Bible on her dressing table, and ran out of the room. Laura hoped she slowed down when she reached the stairs. Miss Martha didn't cotton to no running in the house—even if it was Missy Adora. A shame really, that the child had been born so late in Massa Richard's and Miss Annabelle's marriage. She didn't seem to fit in nowhere. 'Cept with Laura.

Laura picked up Missy Adora's discarded nightgown folding it slowly, waiting for the sound of the little girl's footsteps to disappear. When she was sure she was gone, she reached for the Bible, flipped back to Psalms 20, and read it, every word for herself. She didn't rightly know why the Bible had words in it the likes that nobody ever used, but she supposed if a book was going to be different, it ought to be this one.

"Laura." Laura flipped the book closed and moved objects on Missy Adora's table careful to keep a steady hand even as her heart picked up its pace. "There you are," Miss Martha said from the doorway, peeking in. "Come see me after I take breakfast. Charlotte and I have changed the fabric for one of her morning dresses."

"Yes'm," Laura said and quickly put away Missy Adora's things even though Miss Martha was gone just as quick as she had come. But Laura had things she needed to do anyways and wasting time reading wasn't one of them. She made Missy Adora's bed quickly, grabbed a book off of Missy Adora's nightstand, and then moved quietly and swiftly down the stairs. She paused at the bottom, listening. She heard Massa Richard's low voice, Miss Martha's response, Miss Charlotte's laughter, Miss Julia's hissed whisper, Missy Adora's plaintive whine, and Massa Will's low rumble. They was all at breakfast. Laura exhaled, tugged on the collar of her deep blue calico dress, a cast off from Miss Charlotte long ago, and walked slowly to Massa Richard's office. A slow slave was about his or her business. A fast one was asking for trouble.

Massa Richard's office had two glass doors that were partially covered by white curtains. Laura looked around and placed one hand on the door handle, the other hand holding Missy Adora's book in case she got caught. She held her breath, not wanting to make one sound as she turned the knob and heard the click. She waited again, and then pushed the door open.

Stepping into the room, Laura's nose was affronted with the smell of paper, ink, cigar smoke, and even a hint of spirits. Closing the door behind her just as quietly as she opened it, she took inventory of the room. Massa Richard's office had large windows on one side and a sofa tucked right under. Bookcases covered all the rest of the walls. Laura reckoned there were hundreds of them; old ones, new ones, ones written in English and even some in Greek. This she knew cause Missy Adora had showed her once, all the while giggling. Thick carpet was on the floor muting each step Laura took to the other side of the room where the desk and three chairs sat. There were two in front of the desk and one large chair behind the desk. Laura placed Missy Adora's book on the desk and then stooped low in front of Massa Richard's desk so no one could see her should they glance in one of the windows.

She tugged on the bottom drawer. Locked. She reached into the small pocket of her apron and pulled out two small pieces of metal her brother Benji had given her years ago, back when they got along fine. When you had a brother who knew how to make locks, chances were, he knew how to make keys too. Laura slipped the pieces into the tiny keyhole, heard a click, and pulled the drawer open. It was filled with papers. She slipped her lock picks back in her pocket, taking it all in. Laura had seen free papers. Once. A quick glance, when she saw a Negro man whip his out to show Mr. Hamden, the general store owner. She remembered the fancy writing and the large red mark. A seal, she had later learned. The seal was what had her really worried. She wondered if Papa knew about the seal. Laura herself had touched her first seal only weeks ago when Miss Martha handed her a letter to give to Massa Richard on account of her being too busy. The seal was red, circular, and raised off the paper. Laura flipped through Massa Richard's papers now, looking for a sheet that might have a seal.

Then she heard a familiar click and stopped moving. She held her breath as the door opened.

"Laura?" a familiar voice whispered.

Laura exhaled. Loudly. It was just Annie.

Laura peeked around the desk and saw her best friend in the whole world. Annie was standing in the center of the office, wearing an old, brown, calico dress made of some of the ugliest fabric Laura had ever seen in her life. But that still did nothing to detract from her beauty. Annie had warm, brown skin, large bright eyes, and hair that came out of her head already styled. When they were young, Laura used to grumble to Mama about the unfairness of it all. Why was Annie blessed with looking so beautiful when Laura was so forgettable? Because it had been quite clear even when they were young which one of them the boys favored on Sunday afternoons. Her mama had given her a sharp slap on the back of her head. Beauty ain't nothin' on a slave but a curse. You thank God everyday he ain't make you beautiful. Laura hadn't believed that and neither had she thanked God that she didn't have much in the way of looks. Until Annie gave birth to her first son, Noble.

"Laura, I saw you come in here," Annie said, placing her hands on her hips.

"Shh," Laura said from her spot on the floor where she was peeking around the large desk at her friend. Annie tossed her a look of confusion, but, after glancing over her shoulder, got down on the floor, and crawled behind the desk with her.

"What you doin'?"

"Lookin' for free papers."

"Lookin' for free papers? Why you need..." The light dimmed in Annie's eyes. "You talked to Papa Bear?"

"Yes," Laura said, unable to look Annie in the eye. Ain't no one talk more 'bout escaping than Annie when they was young. Her talk of escaping got quieter when Noble was born. It all but disappeared when Venture entered the world. Annie wanted to leave Salis House powerful bad. But she wouldn't leave without her sons. And they were so small still. And there was no forgetting that she could always wind up with a third child. Yes, Laura thanked God she wasn't beautiful, but her heart ached for Annie.

"When you leavin'?"

Laura ducked her head. "Best you don't know. You know that." Laura paused. "And I ain't too sure I'm goin' yet."

"If you stay here when you have a chance to go, by God, Laura, I'll kill you myself," Annie said, her voice serious.

"Annie..."

"You got it good now. But you just wait 'til Missy Adora grows older. You just wait. And you'll have wished you run. What we lookin' for?" Annie asked as she opened another drawer so hard it almost came out of the desk. Laura looked over at her friend, saw her jaw quivering, her eyes blinking. Because that was who Annie was. She would help a friend no matter what, even if it hurt her.

"How I'm supposed to leave you and Noble and Venture?"

"Don't you worry 'bout us," she said with a small sniff. "If I can't go, then I can't think of a better person to go."

"Annie," Laura said, her voice, her heart, breaking.

"I said, what we lookin' for?" Laura had taught Annie her alphabet, and some book learning. But Annie couldn't read as well as Laura could.

"Papers with seals. A seal is—,"

The sound of a click filled the room. Someone else was entering the office. Laura sent Annie a questioning glance and Annie shook her head quickly. She didn't know who it could be. Both girls' eyes darted across the room. Laura saw a glass bottle of spirits on a small table stand behind them. She moved quickly and grabbed it.

Annie already ready, pulled a rag out of the confines of her apron. Laura had always been convinced that Annie hid the whole world within the pockets of her apron. Laura pulled the topper out as footsteps pressed against the carpet. She upturned the bottle and then heard a low, familiar drawl.

"If you pour that wine on the carpet I'll beat you myself, Laura," Prince said. He was standing on the other side of the desk, his hazel gaze taking in both Laura and Annie, his usual sneer forming on his face at the sight of them together. Laura sighed with relief and Annie fell back against the desk.

"Oh, thank God it's you," Annie whispered, fanning herself. She always claimed that she sweated extra hard whenever trouble was coming. Feeling the pools of wetness gather under her own arms, Laura guessed it was true for herself too. She put the topper back in the bottle and replaced it.

"Get up." Prince's voice was hard and merciless. But it always was. Laura stood up slowly, Annie next to her. Prince, a few years older than Laura, but the same age as Annie, was not much taller. A clear mulatto with his light eyes, light skin, and curly dark hair, he was Massa Richard's favorite slave and if rumors were to be believed, his son. Laura had once asked Mama about Prince's parentage and had been given so sharp a look she hadn't dared bring it up again. Some secrets died.

And yet, noting the cut of his jaw and the sharpness of his nose, Laura had decided rumors were to be believed. Not only did Prince favor Massa Richard in all but his skin color, Massa Richard doted on Prince. He had taught Prince to read and write himself over the protests of first his wife, Miss Annabelle, then his sister, Miss Martha, and finally his sons, Massa Will and Massa Logan. He had taught Prince so well, Prince kept all of his records and worked with him day in and day out. Prince got extra rations, new clothes made from good cloth, and his own room in Salis House. Prince was also one of the biggest pains in Laura's backside. And Annie's. And anyone else alive and breathing at Salis House. Laura could think of no one who actually liked Prince.

He took great joy in catching her, Annie, and others in compromising situations. With glee he informed Massa Richard and Miss Martha about others' activities. Laura had gotten more than one slap from Miss Martha cause of Prince telling on her. He had no friends, no honor, no compassion, and very little kindness.

But still. Seeing him was a sight better than seeing Massa Richard and Massa Will. Because you could reason with Prince... especially if you had something he wanted or would want. Why, then he could be most amenable to anything. Laura's eyes flickered down to the open drawer at her feet. She could be here all day long looking for free papers and even if she found them she had great doubts that she could duplicate them. She just plain didn't have the knowhow. But Prince did.


Sam came to with a gasp, raising himself on his arms.

"Sunday," Manny muttered next to him and rolled over, taking Sam's new blanket with him and leaving Sam more than a bit cold and exposed to the chill of the morning. But it was a state that Sam was used to. He lowered himself slowly back onto the straw.

He thanked God that it was Sunday. And more than that, that Massa Charles believed in not working on the Lord's day no matter how good the soil or the harvest was. Sam had put in a full day's work yesterday, sweating profusely. His back had already been on fire from the whipping the day before and the constant bending over to transfer the tobacco plants from one place to the next, but when the salty rivers of sweat hit the burns it felt like being struck by lightning. Constantly. With an exhale, he pushed himself up.

"You need to rest," Manny murmured without even turning over, but he knew Sam. So he didn't say anything else as Sam slowly rocked on all fours, muffled a groan, and then shakily stood up. He exited the cabin, inhaling the fresh air deeply. Sometimes he didn't realize just how rank the cabin was until he went outside first thing in the morning. By the time he returned at night he was usually so tired he didn't care.

"Mornin' Sam," Ole Mose said, already sitting over the breakfast fire.

"Mornin', Mose," Sam said as he moved slowly, stretching and testing the muscles in his body. He didn't think he had much more than twenty years but sometimes he sure felt as old as Ole Mose looked.

"Headed to the church?"

"You know it." But first he needed to make a trip to the outhouse and to the river out back. At least try not to go to the Lord's house stinking.

The church was five miles away and every Sunday, Sam made the early morning trek. Rain, sun, and even rare times, in the snow. Every Sunday. It was his only escape from the world in which he lived in, the only time he could sit for a few minutes and pretend like he was free. Manny thought it was the stupidest thing he could be doing. Sometimes Sam thought Manny was right. It did seem stupid at times to keep going to a place he wasn't really welcomed to, to hear about God who at times didn't always seem to be listening. But Sam knew it would be worse to give up. It would be worse to just accept that it was God's will that this was his lot in life. The five-mile trek was always a long one. And that morning it felt even longer as with each step he took his thoughts grew darker.

There was nothing he wanted more than his freedom. He had been dreaming about having his own since he first realized he didn't own a thing. Not even himself. And what was a man if he couldn't make his own decisions? If he couldn't choose his own path? He was nothing, less than a dog that followed a scent cause it caught his fancy. He also wanted a family. A wife of his own, children even. But he would die alone—or with Manny—first before he gave Massa Charles more slaves. He and Manny had decided that a long time ago. He wanted a second name. Wanted to be more than just Sam. He had already decided that when he was free he would go by Samuel. Sam stepped on a rock, stumbled. Erased his thoughts. For they were foolish thoughts. Thoughts that if he dwelled on too long would bring him near to tears. For there was nothing in his life that suggested that freedom was any nearer today than it was yesterday. He was powerful afraid he would die hunched and bent over, making food for the next batch of slaves like Old Mose with nothing to show for his life.

But still he walked on. He reached the church just as the sun was starting to make an appearance in the sky and Sam was happy for it. When he walked back it wouldn't be as cold. He paused for a minute taking in the newly white washed building with its large steeple. Unlike the church on the plantation he had been born on, this church was taken care of regularly and looked it. The woodwork on the railing was fancy and the stain-glassed windows shined with pride as Sam got closer. He walked around to a side door and slipped into the sanctuary quietly, his bare feet taking in the cold but well-sanded wood floor. When the door shut behind him, he slid down it, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his hands around his legs.

"Yet now hear, O Jacob my servant; and Israel, whom I have chosen: Thus said the Lord that made thee, and formed thee from the womb..." Reverend Carlisle had already started and he was reading from the Book of Isaiah. At least Sam thought so. He closed his eyes and listened, doing his best to hide small nuggets in his heart and in his mind as he had since he was a child. He and Manny and Mama had been owned by a reverend. When they wasn't working the fields, Reverend Baptiste would read to them from the Bible. All the time. Both he and Manny would listen quietly, but while he fell in love with the writer of the words, Manny began to bitterly resent Him. Sam could separate God from His earthly ministers. Manny could not. But it was God's words that had made both him and Manny realize that there could be more to life than the fruitless one they seemed to be living.

"Fear ye not, neither be afraid: have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it? Ye are even my witnesses. Is there a God beside me? Yea there is no God; I know not any."

Yes. It was Isaiah alright. Sam couldn't read a lick, but he had heard so much Bible reading he could tell a few books apart. Reverend Carlisle kept reading and Sam listened to the words of his God and how He was God and not to be limited to Sam's small-minded thinking. Sam couldn't see a way to freedom. And even if there was a way, what would he and Manny do? They only had one skill really and that was knowing everything there was to know about tobacco farming. Sam didn't think they had tobacco farms up north. And it wasn't like they could buy their own. They had barely a dollar to their name.

They had no other skills, and the only letters of the alphabet they could recognize were the letters 'a' and 'm' cause they were in both of their names. But it wasn't for Sam to be worrying about. If he was worrying, then he wasn't trusting. And the god who had created all the land in the world, the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea was his God. And his God could do anything. Sam needed to focus on that. He spent the rest of his time in the church repeating the words that came out of Reverend Carlisle's mouth.

Then Reverend Carlisle stopped. Sam stood up slowly, his back stiff and reached for the door knob. "Bye Sam," Reverend Carlisle called out quietly.

Sam said nothing as he pulled the door shut behind him.


"Sam, why we out here again?" Manny asked even as he dug under the familiar roots of the tree. They were in the small forest on Massa Charles's land. Years ago, they had found a spot around a bent-over tulip tree that seemed perfect for burying things they hadn't wanted to share with others. Now they buried anything they thought they might like to take with them when their new life started.

"To add the blanket to our bag. You know why."

"I think we should keep the blanket," Manny said, frustration heavy in his voice.

"When we gotta run—,"

"You know somethin' I don't know?" Manny asked, tossing Sam a look from the ground. "And how come I'm the one diggin' anyway?"

"Cause you know I need to stand for my back."

Manny grumbled but kept on digging until the stick in his hand, hit something solid: the old leather hunting bag they had found washed up on the edge of a stream years ago. It had a strap on it that was solid and fringes that always put Sam in mind of Injuns. It held their secret stash. Wasn't much in there. Just their nice shirts they had received at Christmas and one pair of pants for each of them. Some coins that came to just under a dollar, and then Sam's most prize possession: a Bible. They had found it years ago, just lying on the road. Sam liked to open it sometimes and touch the papers. He liked to find the letters in his name on the pages.

"We should be wearin' these shirts," Manny grumbled as he reached up and took the folded blanket from Sam. "And these pants. And sleepin' in this blanket." The bag bulged with the addition of the blanket though they had wrapped up everything tight and small. Sam supposed it was good that they didn't have much more.

"You'll be glad we saved our nice things for when we is free." It was an old argument, like so many of their arguments were. But it was hard to argue about not using their nice things when life never changed.

"You always get this way when you come back from church."

"Hopeful?"

"Idiotic."

"I was thinkin' we should go with Shepherd."

"We ain't no shepherds," Manny said as he began to rebury their things.

"I like being Samuel Shepherd. Manning Shepherd sounds good to."

"No. We can't read. It should be short so we can learn to recognize it." They might not be able to read, but they knew well enough when some words sounded longer than others.

"Like what?"

"Like... Manning Fry or Manning Rim."

"Samuel Fry," Sam said slowly, trying it out. He ignored the small stab of fear that told him he would never get a chance to add another name. But he refused to think like that. His God had plans for him and they were greater than being a slave. He was going to live with expectation, and more than that, he was going to live with hope.

"I didn't say Fry."

"You just did."

"I said somethin' like Fry."

Manny stood up and stomped on the ground a bit, his toes leaving marks in the soil as he pressed down with his foot, returning their leather bag to its hole in the ground. "Cora want you to come by."

Sam straightened. Smiled. "She might have some of them molasses cookies."

"Get a big one."

"I always do." Cora didn't like Manny, but she liked Sam. And Sam shared everything with Manny.

"Molloy came by to."

"What he want?" Sam asked, his shoulders falling.

"Don't know." Manny looked over at him. "You gettin' all them whippin's makes things harder on us both."

"I know."

"Now, come on fore we miss the service." It wasn't the sermon that Manny didn't want to miss but the gathering. Sunday was the only time they all came together, men, women, and children. They heard preaching and then ate and sang and caught up. Usually with one of they overseers in the corner watching to make sure they didn't get up to too much trouble, but at least no one made them work.

"You go on. I'm goin' to go see what Molloy wants," Sam said. He saw his brother hesitate. "You go on. I doubt I'm in trouble today, but if I am you'll know where to find me," Sam said, referring to the whipping post.

Manny's expression went flat. "You ain't funny," he said, but he did turn and walk away.

Sam headed towards the barn which is where Molloy spent most of his Sundays. Horse racing was Molloy's secret passion and if he wasn't out in the fields with 'em, he was in the barn talking sweet to one of Massa Charles's horses.

"Hey, Manny," Abram, one of the slaves who dealt in horse flesh, said as Sam approached. He was leaning against the barn, chewing on something that had leaves on the end of it. Sam didn't know him well, though they were about the same age.

"Sam," Sam said, correcting. He guessed Abram didn't know him or Manny that well either. "Mister Molloy in there?" Sam always added the Mister when there was a chance that Molloy was in hearing distance.

"You know it." Abram didn't even bother to look at Sam as he passed. There were times Sam thought his lot in life wasn't so great. But he had realized that it was better to recognize that you was a slave and be unhappy than to think being a slave was the end all be all. Not that Sam had the first clue as to what was going on in Abram's head, but Abram had always seemed so content that Sam just had a feeling the man liked life just as it was. There was some people you met in life that was born a firecracker and you knew it. And then there were others that was born a plant and just grew where you put 'em. Sam was not going to grow where he was put.

Least that's what he told himself as he walked down the long length of the dimly lit barn.

"Eh, Sam," Molloy said from the other end of the barn. He waved Sam forward. "Let's walk," he said and they exited the barn on the other side.

Sam watched as Molloy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pipe and a match. They kept on walking—as to where, Sam had no clue—while he lit the thing and started smoking.

Sam saw a fence in the distance and realized they were headed towards Massa Charles's horse farm. Behind the fence, a black horse ran fast, up and down its length as though declaring its presence to everyone watching.

Molloy made a sound in the back of his throat and Sam glanced over at him. "Look at that stallion. You see that horse? That's one fine horse," Molloy said, coming to a stop. Sam stopped too. He looked at the horse again and then back at Molloy. He knew how to feed a horse, how to clean up after a horse, and how to walk a horse. That was it. That was the extent of his knowledge. There was no way on this earth Molloy had him out here to do some work for the horses unless all of his stable hands were sick or dead. But Molloy seemed to be waiting for something.

"It's a fine horse," Sam said finally.

Molloy took the pipe out of his mouth. "He's won one race already this year. Not a big race, just a small one, but me and Charles are likin' his chances this year." Sam almost let out a sigh. Had Molloy decided he had to clean up after the horse or something?

"Good breedin' produces good horses. That's why, Sam," Molloy said, clasping a hand on Sam's shoulder as if they were good friends, as if Molloy hadn't beaten him many, many times. Sam kept his eyes averted, so that he didn't have to meet Molloy's gaze and he didn't have to view his large sweat stains either. "I'm thinkin' it's time for you to breed."


Annie clasped her hands in front of her, all fear of being heard and in trouble gone. She gave Prince a wide smile filled with false joy. "My day never starts until I see your face."

Prince's full, pink lips twisted to the side. "I'm so glad you're happy, Annie. I noticed you devouring several pieces of ham last night after supper and have been meaning to ask you for days, are you in anticipation of an interesting event?" An interesting event. He meant was she with child. Laura exhaled, closing her eyes. Only Prince would say something so rude. And not only rude, but profoundly untrue. Everyone knew there was only one man responsible for Noble and Venture. And he was away up north studying the law and had been for nigh unto six months now. And Prince knew that too.

"Prince," Laura hissed as Annie's expression grew dark and angry, her nostrils flaring and her eyes narrowing. Laura knew if she didn't step in, Annie was liable to grab the nearest thing to her and beat Prince to death. Not that he didn't deserve it, but Laura needed him now. Preferably alive. "Annie, you go on. They gone need you in the kitchen."

"Yes," Prince said, with a nod towards the direction of the kitchen. "You go on now. And while you going, you better think of how you can get on my good side. Would hate to tell Miss Martha you were on the floor in Master Richard's office when you got but one place to be and that's behind the stove."

Annie gave him a look that would have scorched a kinder man except Prince had long since stopped caring what others thought of him. She folded her arms over her chest, sent him another look of rage, and left the office. They would talk later. No doubt, most of it would be Laura talking Annie out of poisoning Prince when he came to the kitchen for his next meal.

"Why would you say somethin' so hateful?" Laura asked when the office door closed behind Annie. One thing she could say about Prince's presence, no slave ever feared being in trouble when he was around. Massa Richard thought Prince could do no wrong, so if Prince was in the middle of things than there was nothing to get worried about.

Prince, still staring at where Annie had stood, turned and faced Laura full on. "What are you doing in here?" And here it was. Her chance to do something so risky her palms were sweating and her stomach was clenching and unclenching. Was she going to risk it all and hope Prince had more than an ounce of goodness still left in him? "I just want you to know," Prince continued, folding his arms over his chest. "That now I fully expect a brand-new coat made of the finest fabric in a week." Prince always wanted her to make him clothes when she got into a sticky situation that only he could get her out of... or if he was the only one who had caught sight of her doing something dicey. It happened a lot more than Laura would have liked. Sometimes, she swore he followed her around the house watching to see if she was taking more food than she should or keeping the extra fabric scraps that Miss Martha had told her to toss just so she could make him some nice clothes. Cause Prince liked to look nice.

"Alright," Laura said sure to keep her tone placating even as her mind raced. How many sets of clothes would she have to make Prince to get him to make them free papers?

Prince held up a finger. "I'm not done yet. I liked the buttons you put on Master Richard's shirt. I want some just like it." He stated it as though she had access to gold buttons. Did she have access to good fabric? Yes. Shiny buttons... maybe. Cause they sure as shooting weren't going to be gold. Prince wearing gold buttons would catch even Master Richard's unmindful eye.

He tapped his chest again, as though to get her to focus on him. He clearly wanted her to beg. The negotiation process when it came to bribing him was the only time she ever saw Prince's eyes light up with excitement. When she exhaled loudly, he moved his hand up and down the center of his chest to indicate where the buttons should go. As if she didn't know that already.

"Master Richard, I saw Laura on the floor going through your papers... ," he began, not taking his eyes off of hers. Laura knew he only said her name cause he was hoping to work out some kind of separate deal with Annie. Annie was always required to bake him a pie of some sort. Prince loved his pies. Annie said it wasn't unusual for him to sit there and eat the whole thing in one sitting and not offer a single crumb to anyone.

"Alright," Laura said again, nodding. It would not be easy getting her hands on those buttons. But. She needed Prince. Prince hesitated for a second, his stare growing intense. And she knew it was cause she was not following the script of their play. They usually fought tooth and nail over the extent of his bribes. Not to mention his clothing choices. He might like to look nice but his taste had a tendency to run towards gaudy. Laura always reined him in—especially if she had to procure the fabric and any extra attachments herself. Prince knew she couldn't pay for the things he asked... which meant that she... borrowed them for him. She didn't look at it as stealing, after all the material was going towards the health and welfare of one of the family's slaves. Though she knew Mama wouldn't have liked it. Not that Prince had been all that demanding when Mama was alive. Back then his requests had been small, because he had been slightly afraid of Mama. Mama was the only person Laura knew of that Prince had ever been afraid of. But Mama was dead now. He feared no one.

At any rate, Prince knew she didn't pay for most of what he asked for cause she rarely had more than a penny to her name, but he always managed to look the other way when Laura borrowed extra fabric if the fabric and frills were for him. On several occasions, he had ordered his own fabric knowing that Master Richard would be none the wiser. It was such a daring move, that Laura had almost feared for him for weeks. Laura saw his fingers tapping against the muscle of his arm. He was thinking. And that was not always a good thing. Then he walked around her slowly, making her feel like a rabbit being looked over by a wolf. He walked past her to the front of the desk, glanced down at where she and Annie had been crouched. But there was nothing to see, Laura had already closed the drawers that she and Annie had been rifling through.

"Why were you in here?" He leaned in close behind her so that his lips almost touched her ear.

Laura swallowed and sent a quick, thoroughly sincere prayer to the Lord. Here goes. "I was lookin' for free papers," she whispered. She could not see him, but she could feel him recoil.

"Free papers?" he asked in disbelief. "For what?"

"We... we thinkin' 'bout runnin'. I was gonna see if I could copy one."

Prince moved in front of her, so quick and so quietly it was scary. Laura took a step back. His expression was dark. "You can barely read or write and you're going to try... Laura, I've always known you were stupid, but this... I mean have you got rocks for brains or something?"

"It makes sense to have them if you think about it. I have to try." Laura said, her voice just barely above a whisper. She knew her eyes were pleading with him, begging. And she hadn't even gotten to the hard part yet.

"Forget I asked," he said flatly. He took a step back as though to distance himself from her.

But Laura took a step forward. "You know he's goin' to sell Sol and Gid."

"Were they on the list?" Prince asked lightly. "I didn't see." That was a lie. Nothing, absolutely not one sheet of paper left this office without Prince's knowhow. Laura didn't know how that was the case, but he knew everything there was to know about everything before it happened. But now was not the time to call him out on it.

"I can't let Massa Richard do that. We can't—,"

Prince held up a finger. "There is no we."

"Mama would have wanted you—,"

"Don't," Prince warned. "Don't talk to me about Mama."

"If Mama had asked you—,"

"But you ain't Mama, now is you?" Prince asked, his eyes blazing. The fact that his English had changed told her just how ruffled he was. Prince talked like Massa Richard. Always. "I said, leave Mama out of this," he hissed.

"Sol and Gid your brothers too."

"No," Prince said, shaking his head in disbelief as though the notion had never crossed his mind before. He reached past her towards Massa Richard's desk, fiddling with stuff on it like he had a right to or something. "You best get out of here 'fore Massa Richard come. And I still want my coat. Two coats now."

"You right, Prince. I probably can't make the free papers. But you can," Laura said, drawing on all of her strength as she stared at her oldest brother.

Prince's flinch was a visible thing. "No. Laura."

"Prince..."

"If you get caught," Prince whisper-yelled. "Who they gone come for? Me. That's who. Me."

"You can tell them I did it."

Prince scoffed. "No one would believe that. And if they did, it would be cause they figured I taught you how to read!" He had taught her how to read. And write too. He had shared all his books with her up until he hadn't. One day he was her brother, the next day a stranger.

"Then we won't get caught."

Prince's face grew dark. He turned his back to her, again arranging and rearranging the items on the desk. "It's just that easy is it?" His voice was mocking. "This conversation is over, Laura. Don't you bring it up again."

"I'll make you some fancy breeches too." Laura could hear the whining in her voice.

"You say one more thing. Open your mouth, one more time. And I'm going to tell Master Richard on you. Now you get out of here." His voice was clear and firm, but she could see his hands shaking as he moved the ink jar from one spot to the next.

But if there was one thing Laura had learned with her brother it was that his words did not always match his actions. Which was why she had taken the risk in the first place. "I need one for me and Papa, Benji, Sol, and Gid." Laura paused at the door. "You can come with us too if you want," she said, though she believed a pig had a better chance of flying than of Prince leaving with them. She thought she was attached to the family and Salis. He lived and breathed them. He didn't say anything, didn't even look her way as she left Massa Richard's office.


"You asked him to do what?" Annie asked, as she rolled out the dough for a pie she was making. Laura stood in the hot kitchen, with three of Miss Charlotte's dresses hanging over her arm. It was just the two of them and little Venture in the kitchen. Venture sat in a corner on a very low stool attacking a plum with single-minded ferocity.

"What's he doin' here?" Laura asked, nodding at Venture. Venture was two years old with black hair, freckles, hazel eyes, and pale skin. He was also the quietest child Laura had ever known. Only Noble, Annie's oldest, was as quiet. Sometimes, Laura wondered if it was because they had inherently known upon their birth that their mama hadn't exactly wanted them and they made up for it by being no trouble at all. Venture, feeling her eyes on him, gave her a small smile, revealing a cute dimple he had gotten from his mama, as he took another small bite from the plum. Laura winked at him. His smile grew wider. She adored Venture. And Noble. She had held them both in her arms hours after they were born. Leaving Missy Adora was going to be hard. Leaving Annie almost unbearable. Leaving Venture and Noble? She couldn't bring herself to think about it. She looked back at Annie unable to face his quiet, serious stare.

"He didn't want to go with Mama Essie or Ma Dovie today. He promised to be quiet and stay out of the way," Annie said, glancing over at Venture. Slave children weren't supposed to be in Salis House. But the kitchen wasn't technically in Salis House as it was a separate building and Annie had had the reins of it ever since Callie fell over dead one day. Sides, Annie was a fine cook. So long as she was discreet, meaning she kept the boys away from Miss Martha, Miss Julia, Missy Charlotte, and Missy Adora, all was well.

Laura watched as Venture gave his mama a small smile and Annie's expression softened. Nevermind their begetting, Annie loved her boys. "Don't you try changin' the subject. Tellin' Prince was just plain foolish," Annie said with a frown as she dusted the dough with flour.

"He's not goin' to tell."

"You think? He ain't never been kind so long as I've known him." Annie had only been at Salis for seven years. She had never known Prince when he was nice. "He was tractable when ya'll mama was alive. How a woman as sweet and kind as yo mama gave birth to such a... one as he, I'll never know." Mama hadn't known either. Prince had driven her just plum crazy all the time. But he had been good to her. "With her gone, ain't nothin' holdin' him back now," she said, shaking her head as she rolled out the dough one more time. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him and that ain't very far."

"He's not goin' to tell," Laura said stubbornly. She had to believe it. Because the alternative...

"He already came up in here, demandin' an apple pie and a pecan pie. Like I ain't got nothin' else to do," she grumbled as she placed the dough into a baking pan. Taking a pot out of the hearth, she poured the mixture onto the dough.

Laura inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of cinnamon and apples.

"Don't you worry about food none, okay," she said quietly, giving Laura a knowing look. Laura looked down at the clothes she was supposed to be repairing, feeling overwhelmed. That's what made Annie such a good friend. You never had to ask with her. She always offered.

"Thank you, Annie."

"When are you...?"

Laura shrugged. "I don't know nothin' yet. Just what Papa asked me to do. We got until Easter and that'll be here in less than two weeks."

Annie's back was to Laura now, and Laura could see her shoulders rise and fall with every breath. "I'll help anyway I can."

"I know you will," Laura said. She walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. Annie reached up and covered it with her own.

Laura could see that she was crying and Laura started crying too. Sniffing she looked away and met the wide-eyes of Venture whose own lips started trembling. He didn't like to see his mama cry.

"If he tells on you, I'll kill him myself," Annie said, wiping her face. "He'll eat this apple pie and die."


Sam stared at Molloy as though he could not have possibly heard him right. "Me?"

"You," Molloy said, one meaty finger poking him in the chest. "You and Manny. You're both young and strong and I can't figure out for the life of me why you and he ain't come around askin' for a cabin of your own. Surely there must be some filly you've got your eye on?"

Sam blinked. Careful to keep his expression as blank as could be. "No, sir. Don't have no time for courtin' or for young'uns." There. Sam, keeping his eyes somewhere around the top button of Molloy's shirt, waited for his response.

"Now, Sam," Molloy said, squeezing his shoulder again, but this time with some force. "Why would you need to be doin' any courtin'? I'm sure any of those fillies would be right ready to take you on." Sam felt his gaze narrow, but he said nothing. Molloy exhaled and took a step back. "Let me tell you somethin' about horse breedin'. To produce a good foal you've got to have a sire and a dam of impeccable pedigree." Molloy opened one hand before Sam. "Sam, you've got impeccable pedigree. You get more work done than almost anybody. Only time you ever in trouble, is when you tryin' to do somebody else's work too. Your brother, impeccable pedigree, though he's lazier than you. But I notice that when you fire him up, he gets things done. Now, you know Leathie's girls?"

Sam nodded slowly as Molloy opened his second hand, more than a little afraid as to where this was going. He did know Leathie's girls. She had several of them though only two seemed old enough to jump the broom. One was Cora. The same one who always gave Sam any extra molasses cookies she made. Sam thought she was about his and Manny's age. Manny had called himself walking out with her a few months back. Only problem was he was also walking out with Lula on the Rawlins' plantation. When they found out about each other (cause they both showed up on a Sunday to be with him), they had turned on Manny. Sam had laughed about it for weeks. He wasn't laughing now.

"There's Cora. She's only about a year younger than you, Sam, and ripe as a peach." Sam felt his jaw clench. Sam didn't fancy Cora in the least bit, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear her talked about like this. "And then there's Lizbeth."

"Lizbeth is too young," Sam said, cutting him off before he could say anything rude about her.

"Not that young," Molloy followed up quickly. "Just think Sam, you could have one sister and your brother the other. Find foals from each of ya'll."

Sam's head started shaking before his mouth formed a word. "No." When Molloy's eyes narrowed, he spoke again. "Thanks. No, thank you, suh. Me and Manny just fine."

"I'm tellin' you, you're not fine," Molloy said flatly, all cajoling out of his voice.

"Suh?"

"I already spoke with Cora and Lizabeth. Ya'll is jumpin' the broom or whatever it is you niggers do."

Sam stared at him, confused. "Suh?"

"By this time next year, Charles and I will be expectin' at least two more new slaves of fine stock. You hear?" Molloy's voice was hard as he jabbed a finger at Sam. "You best talk to your brother and get him in line. If he gives me any lip I'll string him up so fast he won't know what got him. And I won't go easy on him like I go on you. You hear?"

"Yes. Suh," Sam said, his heart sinking all the way down to his stomach. This is what he got for lamenting about having a repetitive life.

"Unless you got some other gal you want? I don't rightly care."

"No. I mean, I hadn't thought about it, suh," Sam said, his words just barely above a whisper.

"Well, you think on it. Let me know by next Sunday. Massa Charles is thinkin' 'bout havin' a preacher come in and do the colored marriages. He's gonna do 'em all in one sweep. And you and Manny gone be one of 'em. Now get out of here. I got things to do."

Sam walked off in a complete daze, his mind racing so much, so quickly, he didn't notice Cora until she appeared right in front of him.

"Sam, what you thinkin' about?"

Sam froze, staring at her. He supposed she was pretty, though he hadn't given her too much thought. Sam thought about women in a general sense, as in one day he would marry when he was free. He did not think of them in a literal sense. To walk down that road was to travel somewhere with no destination. At least as far as he was concerned. But looking at Cora now, he could see how Manny might be fascinated with the big-boned, shapely girl standing right in front of him.

"How come you here?" Sam asked, looking around her. They were a ways away from the cabins and the meeting-house.

"I was lookin' for you. Manny said you had gone this way. Your brother is a ne'er do well." Sam stared at her. She folded her arms just under her ample bosom. "I take it Molloy done talked to you?"

"I ain't marryin' you, Cora," Sam said and made to walk around her. But she stuck out a hand, grabbing his arm.

"It's me or Lizabeth. And if I have to choose between you and Manny, I choose you. We'll get on just fine, Sam."

But Sam was already shaking his head and pulling his arm from her strong grip. "Cora. I'm not marryin' you."

"Sam," she said, leaning in close. She was his height, so she didn't have to lean far. "You ain't got no choice. I ain't got no choice. So what little choice I do have, I'm gone use. You and me'll get hitched and Manny and Lizabeth will get hitched. She still thinks he walks on air." Sam didn't say anything. "You hear me, Sam?" What was with everyone asking him that? Had he gone deaf recently and not noticed?

"Yes, I hear you. If I have to marry someone it'll be you," he said dryly and pulled his arm free from hers.

"You don't have to say it like that, Sam," she said, cutting her eyes at him, but he could see the hurt too. And it wasn't in Sam to ever hurt anyone.

"It ain't you, Cora," he said, meeting her gaze for a second. "Ain't you."

They were silent for a moment. Then Cora spoke. "Sam, you live like you expect this to just be a season in your life. Like one day you gone wake up somewhere free. You ain't goin' nowhere and the sooner you make peace with that the better."


"What did he say?" Manny's voice was quiet, serious as he walked slowly over to Sam and sat down next to him under their tree. Even though there was more than enough room, Manny squeezed himself in tight between the roots of the sapling and right under Sam, like he had always done when they were scared and little.

"What makes you think he said somethin'?" Sam asked, not meeting his brother's gaze. If they made eye contact, there was no way Sam could hide his feelings or his thoughts. And he was having some thoughts.

"You didn't come back," Manny said flatly. "You missed the service. And the meal. And Cora was sendin' me smug looks. Did she give you a molasses cookie or not?" Sam exhaled. "Cause I saw her bring some out so I know she made 'em."

"No molasses cookie." Sam uprooted a piece of grass and tossed it aside.

"He gone sell one of us?" Manny's voice was barely above a whisper.

Sam pressed his lips together. "Wants us to breed." Manny cringed next to him. "Like horses," Sam said, and this time he did meet his brother's gaze. It was Manny's turn to press his lips together. "It gets worse." Manny said nothing, just blinked a few times. "Next week we supposed to jump the broom. With Leathie's daughters."

Manny's eyes darted to the side for a second. "Daughters? Only Cora's of age."

"Apparently, Lizbeth's close enough."

Manny coughed. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Don't talk like that. Cora already said Lizbeth was gonna be yours."

Manny cringed again.

A small smile tickled Sam's lips.

"What?"

"He did say you could pick another girl if you want."

"How kind of him," Manny said mockingly. Sam returned his gaze to the ground before him, uprooted another piece of grass. A cool breeze rattled the strands of grass before him, lifting the loose one he had just had in his hand for a second before dropping it. It wouldn't be cool for much longer. The nights were chilly, but the days were starting to heat up. Another hot, fierce summer in the tobacco fields was on its way. "And how come he told you and not me?"

"Cause I can get you to do anythin'," Sam said dully. Manny didn't even respond. On the one hand, it should be obvious that brothers listened and valued each other. On the other hand, it was disconcerting to know that Molloy had realized that they were not only each other's weakness but that if there was a hierarchy between them, Sam ruled the roost. Most people always assumed it was Manny. And if Molloy knew that, then he had been watching them more closely then Sam had known. And that was not exactly a good thing.

"What are you thinkin'? Do we make like we're sick that day? Find somewhere else to be and get a whippin' later?"

"That won't stop it. The preacher man is for us. Not for them. They don't care if we married or not so long as a baby is born a year from now."

Manny exhaled and pulled his knees to his chest. "If we take on a wife, we won't ever leave."

"I know."

"Cause you won't leave your wife."

"I know."

"For freedom, I would leave my wife." Sam grunted. Because it was all so true. Manny wanted freedom more than just about anything. "I'd probably leave my children too. But I won't leave you."

"My mind is now at rest."

"Sam."

"Our wives could always run with us." The thought was new. They had never talked about running with their families. It just always seemed like escaping was hard enough with just them two. To add more seemed to be asking for trouble.

Manny grunted. "Slow us down more like. And then get us caught." Well, it appeared that they were of the same mind then. Not surprisingly. "Sam."

"We gonna run." Sam's words were more breath than noise, but he knew Manny heard him when he stiffened next to him.

"Sam."

"Ain't no better time than the present."

"Sam," Manny said again. His eyes were wide and blinking and he was sitting up straighter. "I thought you wanted to wait until that man came through again. The one they told us about with the Ohio River and how they hang a quilt on the side to show they is in town..."

Sam was slowly shaking his head. "Don't have time for that."

Manny reached out, gripping Sam's arm so tight, Sam knew he would have bruises in the morning. Manny's breath was releasing in quick, short bursts, his heart racing a mile a minute. Sam knew this for a fact, cause his own heart was pounding just as fast. "How we gone know where to go?"

"Follow the Drinkin' Gourd. It's goin' to be a clear night tonight. Did you realize that?"

"Tonight?" Manny's voice was high, almost shrill.

"Ohio River is north of us. We follow the stars, cain't help but run right into it. Don't need no conductor to tell me that."

"I'm gone be sick," Manny said, releasing Sam's arm and getting on all fours with his face almost to the ground, though nothing came out.

Sam felt his brow wrinkle. "You want to stay?"

"No. I want to go so bad my stomach hurts. What's gone happen after we cross the Ohio? How we gone find a conductor? You know... like Caesar."

"Do I look like I've ever tried this before? I don't know." And there was the rub of it. They had no clue what happened on the other side of the Ohio River... which is why they had long ago agreed to wait for someone who did. Someone like Caesar, a man or a ghost some said who led slaves to freedom. But there was no Caesar.

They would be running with almost no money, very few clothes, and no food. What was that Reverend Carlisle had said only this morning? It felt almost like Sam's visit to the church had been days ago. So much had changed in little time. Fear ye not, neither be afraid: have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it? Ye are even my witnesses. Is there a God beside me? Yea there is no God.; I know not any. The verse had been in his mind ever since he had come to their tree to pray. He was just going to have to get those words deep in his heart. And now. Before things got scary on the other side of the Ohio. Cause sure as shooting they would.

"Oh my dear Lord in heaven. Sam."

"Manny."

"And we gone go tonight? That hardly gives us enough time to think."

"It's all we been thinkin' 'bout for years. We're rested and we can go to bed tonight on a full stomach. Ain't no better time." It was his job, as Sam the brother of Manny, to sound like he knew what he was talking 'bout.

"You just got whipped two days ago."

"Ain't no better time," Sam said stubbornly. Even if his back still gave him a few twinges of pain. But he had lived more than half of his life with some kind of ache or pain. It had never stopped him before. It wouldn't stop him now.

"Don't you need to pray or somethin'? What's God think on all this?"

Turning only his head, Sam gave him a look. "Oh, now you want to know what God thinks?"

"If I'm 'bout to risk my life, I would very much like to know what He thinks. If He tells you we gonna meet soon, I'm going to stay my Negro butt right here, thank you very much."

Sometimes Sam didn't think anything Manny said could surprise him. And then he said something like that. "I've been prayin'."

"You gotta peace on it?"

"Thought you didn't care 'bout my peace."

"You gotta peace on it?" Manny repeated as though Sam hadn't said a thing.

"I gotta peace on it. This mornin', Reverend Carlisle was sayin'—,"

"That's fine enough for me," Manny said, cutting him off. "I want to hear what he read about," Manny said quickly cause even though he wasn't always trusting the words in the Bible, he did like to know what it said. "Later. Cause that's fine enough for me. Tonight. Good Lord. I think I'm gone be sick."


Laura didn't tell Papa and her brothers about her conversation with Prince. There was no sense in worrying them. Either Prince told or he didn't. Either he would help or he wouldn't. Instead she took care of Missy Adora, sewed up Prince's two new coats in between dresses for Missy Charlotte's wedding, and did what she could to get them ready for running... including borrowing cloth to make them cloaks since there was still a bit of a chill in the air. Miss Martha took inventory every five to six weeks. Whether Prince drafted the freedom papers or not, they would be gone by that time. There was no sense in being discreet now.

When she had decided that she was running, she didn't know, though she knew it had a lot to do with what Annie would think about her if she stayed. And Mama. Stayed? To be a slave when there was a whole world out there? It was too bad that Laura had never had any desire whatsoever to see it.

"What do you think, Laura?" Missy Charlotte asked yet again, as she raised a burgundy silk gown against her chest. Laura said nothing. She had learned a long time ago that for questions like these, Missy Charlotte didn't really want an answer. But. Laura thought it was perfect. It was why Laura had suggested the color to Miss Martha. With Missy Charlotte's dark hair and eyes, burgundy was the best color for the girl. Or young lady. They were the same age after all. "Laura, can I tell you something?" Missy Charlotte asked, her voice whispering as she turned to face Laura.

Laura blinked slowly in response because with sewing needles in her mouth and her hands steadily moving, she couldn't speak aloud. And it kept her from doing what she wanted to do... which was roll her eyes. Missy Charlotte always had these urges to confess things. And they were always to Laura. She confessed to stealing a candy, kissing Pierce Lafayette, faking sick. Laura supposed it was cause she felt she had to tell someone and someone who couldn't say nothing was perfect.

"I don't think I want to marry Woodrow. But Papa... ," Missy Charlotte sighed, eyed herself in the mirror with the burgundy dress in hand and cheered up some. This, Laura knew already. Missy Charlotte could be about as fun as a fly at a picnic, but she wasn't no dummy. Woodrow was a dummy. Laura watched as Missy Charlotte's face fell again. "You don't know what it's like, Laura, to live with all this pressure..."

"Charlotte?" Miss Martha was in the hall.

"Here," the girl said quickly and placed the gown in her hand on the back of one of the chairs in the room before slipping into the hallway. Laura heard Miss Martha and Missy Charlotte talking but ignored them. She had so many clothes to sew she could hardly think.

"Laura," Miss Martha said, entering the sewing room with all the command of a general. She would have made a fine soldier, Mama had always said. Laura looked up from the lace she was furiously adding to one of Missy Charlotte's dresses and saw Miss Martha in the doorway with a skinny, dark-skinned girl next to her. Laura stopped sewing and took the needles out of her mouth. "This is Hagar. I'm borrowing her from Mrs. Harper. She's going to help you with your sewing for the next few weeks. You would be done now if Charlotte would stop changing her mind," Miss Martha said, her voice tired. She was the older sister of Massa Richard. Tall and robust, she had outlived two husbands and three children. When Missy Annabelle died, she had moved in to help Massa Richard take care of Massa William, Massa Logan, Missy Charlotte and Missy Adora. She was tough, but fair. Cause Laura remembered what unfair looked like. Unfair looked like Miss Annabelle. Unfair was high strung emotions that saw the boogeyman at every corner and made you pay. Laura was no friend of Miss Martha's that was for sure, but she didn't mind her. It was thoughts like these that reminded Laura why it would be a good thing to run. Sure everything was fine now. But who was to say what things would be like later.

"Now that she's here, hopefully we can get that trousseau done." Hopefully the girl didn't notice much and wasn't a tattler... after all, Laura couldn't blame all the delays on Missy Charlotte's inability to make a decision.

"Yes'm," Laura said quietly and Miss Martha left. The skinny girl, Hagar, didn't move from her spot. "Come, child. You can measure out the length of this lace for me," she said kindly. Hagar, her expression blank, came over and, following Laura's instructions began to measure and cut the lace. "Call me when you're done," Laura said and quietly left the room. She looked both ways, up and down the hall. She had barely seen Prince since that day in the office. It almost seemed as though he were hiding from her. Which would be highly unlikely for him. Prince ran from nothing. Certain no one was in the hall, Laura checked all of his regular haunts: Massa Richard's office, the closet just outside Miss Martha's bedroom where he always pretended to be taking inventory, but Laura knew instead he listened in on Miss Martha's conversations, the wine cellar where he hid when he wanted to be alone, even his small bedroom, though Laura almost never saw him in there.

When she finally came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to catch him that day, she found him. In her sewing room.

"Where's the girl? Hagar?" Laura asked, taking a small step into the room so as to not startle Prince. Prince was rifling through her sewing kit, touching things, and rearranging things like always.

"Sent her to get something to eat. We need to talk. Close the door."

Miss Martha didn't like closed doors in Salis House. Specially if only slaves was in the room with the door closed. But if Prince thought it was fine, then it was fine. She closed the door behind her.

He turned around and they stared at each other for one silent moment. Then he reached into his vest and pulled out several folded sheets of paper. "You get caught, I never wrote these."

"No," Laura said, her heart racing as she walked up to him and held out her hand.

He moved his hand up, just out of her reach. "I mean it, Laura. I've already started leaving breadcrumbs for how you could have done this on your own. I will deny it and denounce you to your face."

Laura drew her hand back, squared her shoulders. She didn't believe him. About denouncing her. He would, however, deny it and deny it loudly. "I understand." He lowered his face, made sure to make eye contact with her before handing them to her. Laura didn't bother looking at them before folding them and slipping them down the front of her dress and into a pocket she had sewn into her chemise for purposes just like these. When it came to being sneaky and underhanded, she trusted her older brother. The papers were what he said they were.

Prince, who had looked away when she started adjusting her dress, looked back at her, his hazel eyes cold and lacking any warmth. "Leave in two days' time."

"Why?"

"Master Richard and Master Will will be gone and you know how Fitzhugh gets when they aren't around." Fitzhugh, the overseer, believed that when the cat was away, the mice played. Which meant he may or may not be sober if Massa Richard and Massa Will was gone.

Laura gave one decisive nod. She would go down to the cabin tonight and tell Papa and the boys.

"Don't you ask Annie for any food and don't you tell her a thing."

"But-,"

"Who are they going to go to first, Laura?" Laura bit her bottom lip, thinking. "You need food, I'll bring it. But leave Annie out of it. Miss Martha wants nothing more than to sell Noble and Venture from right under Annie. Don't give her a reason," Prince warned, staring down into Laura's sewing basket again. She watched him lean down, his fingers replacing her thimble with a spool of thread. She looked up and saw the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as though it were an effort to hold back more words.

"Annie—,"

"I've said all I'm going to say about Annie." His voice was clipped and his words were short.

Any other day, Laura would have ignored his strange mood and pushed him some more, but he had already done more than she would have expected. She would leave him alone. "I made your coats."

"I know. I saw them on my bed. Amos have a route mapped out?"

Laura shook her head slowly. "I don't know."

Prince nodded towards her chest. "I folded one into your paper."

Laura clasped her hands together. It was starting to feel real. Her leaving. His staying. "Prince, you sure—,"

"I'm sure," he said and with that he stepped around her and left the room.


"You told Prince?" Benji asked, spoon hovering in the air, inches from his mouth. Laura watched as rice slid off the utensil and back onto his plate. "That was a fool thing to do," he said before stuffing his face. Then he glanced over at Papa to make sure he agreed.

Laura, sitting once again at the head of the table, too looked over at Papa to see what he thought. But first she straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. He had asked for her help and she had done what she thought best. When her gaze met Papa's, his eyes held that hint of amusement that always seemed to linger when he looked at her.

"If Prince was goin' to say somethin' he'd a said it by now." There was a time that Papa had known Prince just as well as Laura if not more so. He had jumped the broom with Mama when Prince was not even a year old. Prince had called Papa, papa for years. Until he didn't. He had slept in their cabin for years. Until he wouldn't. It had about broke Mama's heart. But he didn't come back. Benji barely remembered him while Sol and Gid only knew him by sight. Mama and Laura was the only ones who actually talked to him. And when she left, she would never talk to him again. She exhaled, her gaze on the table before her. She hadn't realized that she would miss Prince too. Even with all of his shady ways, he would always be the one who had patiently taught her her letters and where all the best hiding spots were in Salis House. Her throat tightened up for a second and she swallowed heavily to relieve the pain.

"You ask him to come?" Papa asked, seeing into her like he always done.

Benji scoffed. "Ain't no way that pretty boy would dirty his fingers with the likes of us."

Laura ignored him. "I asked. He's not comin'."

"Did you think he would?"

"That's enough, Benji," Papa said, before returning his gaze to his plate. "He's still your kin."

"No kin of mine," Benji muttered, always having to have the last word.

"How come he won't come?" Gideon asked, his voice small as he tapped his spoon against his empty plate. He always ate fast as though fearful someone else would eat off his plate if he didn't hurry. Course Laura had seen Sol and Benji do just that at times, so maybe he had the right of it.

"Cause he think he's free," Benji answered, looking down at his spoon. "And he's in for one surefire of an awakenin'."

"He doesn't think he's free," Laura said sharply, eyeing Benji. Benji who thought he knew everything but had spent most of his life in the smithy hiding behind Papa. "You don't know him. So leave it be."

Benji looked over at her and rolled his eyes so she couldn't miss it.

"Enough," Papa said, his voice quiet. "We're leavin' in two days, like Prince suggested."

"I made cloaks for everyone," Laura said tiredly. And she was tired. She was literally working to the bone. Her fingers were numb. "Prince said he's goin' to sneak us out some food."

"Why not Annie?" Solomon asked and then flushed. Laura could tell even with his dark skin. Like every other boy over the age of twelve, Sol was half in love with Annie. All she had to do was smile in his direction and he was stumbling over his feet. And he wasn't near as bad as Benji who couldn't hardly talk in her presence.

"Cause it's best to leave Annie out of this. She knows we're leavin' and that we're leavin' soon, but she doesn't need to know the details."

Gideon sighed. "I'm goin' to miss Noble and Venture."

"We gonna miss a lot of folks," Papa said quietly. "But we've got to make up our minds this is it. We're goin' all the way. No lookin' back," he said, making sure to meet the gaze of all of his children. Laura could only hold his gaze for a few seconds.

"Get the bag," Papa said with a nod to Sol. Sol left the table and went over the floor. He dug up several boards and then hefted an old, worn bag onto the table. It was Mama's bag. Without anyone telling him too, Sol emptied the bag onto the table. The first thing that fell out was soap, and then tooth powder, combs and brushes and a small sewing kit. There was a small knife, a set of matches, willow bark for tea, and a small bottle of whiskey. Their own, crude source for doctoring. Laura sent a quick prayer to the Lord that none of it would be necessary. Last to fall out was a small book of Psalms. Prince had got it for Mama a couple years back. Laura never did have any time to read through it herself cause when Mama was alive she kept it on her person always and when she died, Papa had taken it. Every now and then he would pull it out and have Laura read a Psalm or two. Papa reached for the small book and opened it. Nestled in its pages were more than a few dollars. But he ignored the bills and kept turning the pages until he found a small, folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Laura.

"Mama and I always was thinkin' about what our family should be called," he said, his voice gruff as Laura unfolded the little paper. "She wrote down a couple of ideas there," he said, nodding at what Laura had in her hand.

"Smith," Laura said, reading the first one.

"Cause I'm a blacksmith, but not everyone in our family gone work in a smithy. What's the next one say?"

"Salis."

"Cause we was all born here, but I think we should start over. Leave the past in the past," Papa said, once again, meeting all of their eyes. "Next one."

"Guy," Laura read slowly.

"That be my daddy's name," Papa said slowly. "He came from Africa himself," Papa said, biting his lip as though deciding if he wanted to say more about the man. Laura didn't know much about Papa Guy. He had died before Papa and Mama even married. But she knew his end hadn't been a happy one. Mama had always hushed her from asking questions. "Read the last one."

"Altan."

"Mama found that one. She was in the store with Miss Annabelle and met a man from some... other country." Papa placed a hand on the table. "The man told Miss Annabelle his name was Altan and it meant red dawn. I always remembered that cause 'red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in morning, sailor's warnin'."

"So, a red dawn is a bad thing?" Gideon asked, leaning forward.

"It just means rain's a comin'. And I like that idea, of being a family where somethin' is always comin' down the line. You don't have to be afraid of it none cause rain is good thing. Rain brings life and the hope of tomorrow. It's a blessin' after a season of drought. And there's nothin' drier than bein' a slave. Can't grow for nothin'. But with rain," Papa said, shaking his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's the one, Mama and I settled on. We ain't gone be Amos, Benjamin, Laura, Solomon and Gideon of Salis House no mo'. Leave that drought-thinkin' here with all the salt that soaked up the waters of our freedom. In two days' time we gone be Amos Altan, Benjamin Altan, Laura Altan, Solomon Altan and Gideon Altan. We're startin' a new day, a new beginnin', a red dawn."