"Wait right here, Sam. I'll be right back," Finn said and slipped away into the darkness. There was no moon and barely a star in the sky. The clouds were heavy in the air and Sam wondered if that meant there would be a storm. He had always liked storms. Mostly. Heavy storms meant no working out in the fields. But then that meant that the next day they would be slipping and sliding in the mud. It was only fun for the first minute. Then it was just work.

Sam found a spot along the boat's railing that seemed empty. All around him, men were talking low, smoking, sleeping. When the wind blew through the boat, he shivered and wished he had had the sense to grab his bag with his food and blanket. But then again, if Finn needed him to do some more work, he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon anyway. He slid down against the railing, leaning his back against it. He wasn't hardly tired. Nothing he had done today added up to a day's labor on a tobacco farm. But. Now he had Adam Ward's words spinning around in his head. Thinking, he was beginning to realize, could be just as tiring as moving. And yet, he couldn't stop his brain from going back to when he returned the warrants to Adam Ward.

"You found someone to read them, then?" Mr. Ward had asked after he took the papers from Sam.

"I did," Sam said slowly, looking around Mr. Ward's room. Nothing stood out to him. He wondered what or rather if anything would stand out to Laura. He didn't like the idea of her sneaking up here one bit. No matter what she said about doing so at... Salis House. If you asked Sam, them white folks up at Salis House seemed to let a lot get by under they noses. He didn't think that was the case for most slave owners.

"So, you see I wasn't lying?"

"You weren't lyin' about the warrants," Sam replied, returning his gaze to the man before him. He watched as Mr. Ward opened his trunk and set the papers inside. He wondered what other papers the man kept in there.

A small smile flew across Adam Ward's lips. "But you think I might be lying about other things."

"I don't know you well enough to say." He made sure to keep his voice bland, neutral.

"Sam," Mr. Ward said, his dark gaze piercing. "I think I've underestimated you. I don't know much about darkies. I didn't grow up with any. I'm no slave owner. I only know what I've heard." Sam said nothing, merely stared back.

Finally, Mr. Ward sighed. "Here's the deal, Sam. Three weeks ago, James Alexander Sherringhouse was murdered in his home. He lived alone except for the usual servants, a housekeeper, a butler, two maidservants, a cook, etc. Anyway. The robbers, before stabbing him fifteen times in his bed, managed to get access to his safe stealing thousands of dollars. It was a safe that few people knew about. Now, of course, they could have broken in and demanded that he tell them where it was, but you see, James Sherringhouse was paranoid. He kept two safes: an obvious one in his office and a hidden one in his bedroom closet. Both of them were robbed. To me, an obvious inside job. Especially since he was robbed on a night when the butler was visiting his brother and the maidservants were sick. Both of them. No one heard anything. All of the staff were more than helpful with supplying information. But as we began to look closely at the housekeeper, the butler, and the gardener, certain things didn't add up. Long story short, they weren't who they said they were. They realized we were on to them. I traced them to this boat. Baldwin was the butler. Vance the gardener. I haven't found Mary Stiles, the housekeeper. I have reason to believe she was wearing a disguise when she played the housekeeper. I've got no proof. Only suspicions."

"You know Baldwin killed Vance." Wasn't that enough? One white man killing another? Why did he need more proof?

"I do," Mr. Ward said with a slow nod. "But that's not going to tell me anything about who killed Sherringhouse. And that is the prize I'm focusing on here. I'm doing all I can to keep an eye on Baldwin and trying to find out which woman is Mary Stiles. I can't do both. I need you to watch Baldwin. You know what he looks like. I need you to study him, take note of his habits. Where does he go? Who does he talk to? When we pull up to a port, I need you to make sure he doesn't get off this boat without me knowing. That's all I want you to do for me now. But the more I find out, the more I may need you."

Sam felt his lips twist to the side, his gaze on the wall nearest him. Follow a white man around a boat not much bigger than an acre. That wasn't so bad. Matter of fact it was too easy.

"Sam," Mr. Ward's voice said, harder now. "You don't want to mess this up. You will regret it. I may not have a warrant on you, but I have no problem having you detained until I do find one."

Sam glanced at him for a second and then looked away. If it was one thing Sam knew, it was just how good white men felt when they tossed out their threats. Well. He would just have to talk to his God about this. That thought reminded him of Laura. Praying. For them. Other than his mama way back when, he had never had anyone pray with him, pray for him. And why had they held hands, exactly? He let go of his thoughts when he felt Mr. Ward's eyes on him.

Sam gave a quick nod, since Mr. Ward seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"I bet you don't even have a last name." Ward said it with a huff, a laugh. A dismissal.

"Not true," Sam said quickly, feeling more than a little annoyed. "Rivers," he said, making it up on the spot. An easy thing to do since no matter what his last name was, it going to be pulled from thin air. "Samuel Rivers."

"Rivers," Adam Ward said slowly as though he didn't believe him.

"That's what I said," Sam said, eyeing the man for a second, daring him to say something else on the matter.

Adam Ward grunted. Let it go. "I think we should meet up, once a day, just before noon to discuss. Alright, Sam?" Mr. Ward said as though Sam were none too bright. Wanted him to do an important job, but still wanted to remind him he was less than a man. Slave or no, Sam was beginning to realize there was some things he might never be free of.

"Alright."

And now here Sam was on the lower deck 'bout to get new orders from Finn. Way he figured it, Baldwin wasn't going nowhere what with them not moving and in the middle of the river. He'd take up keeping an eye on the man in the morning. That part didn't worry him. What did worry him was what Adam Ward would demand next. Cause Sam had no doubts something else would be coming down the line.

"There you is," Manny said and sat down with a huff next to Sam. "I ain't seen you all day."

"Been workin'," Sam said quietly. Amongst other things. There was no way he would tell Manny a thing about Adam Ward or what he had said. Though he supposed he would tell Laura. The thought made him feel skittish. It would require some trusting and Sam had never trusted anyone other than the man sitting beside him. And it wasn't cause Sam felt like most folks was untrustworthy. But when you started to trust folks, they had a way of starting to mean more than they ought. And Sam couldn't afford to have another person mean more than they ought. It hurt too much when you had to let them go.

"Me too." Manny stretched next to him. "Everythin' hurts, but it's a different kind of hurt so it ain't so bad." Manny reached down and pulled his boots off. "Whew wee, my feet stink. I know we supposed to wear shoes, but that is just somethin'."

"Uh huh."

"What you thinkin' on?" Manny's voice was low, quiet, knowing as he set his boots aside and aired his toes... much to Sam's frustration.

If he was going to get away with keeping Manny out of the loop than he was going to have to do better at keeping his emotions under wrap. "When we get out west, what we gonna do?"

"Stop worryin' 'bout that Sam," Manny said a smile on his lips. Sam looked at him, really looked at him. He had never seen his brother so at peace. "Ain't you the one who goes to God for everythin' with prayer? Ain't you prayed yet and got a peace?"

"How 'bout for once you pray and get a peace."

"Nope. You do just fine, Sam."

"Hey," a familiar voice said. Sam watched as Benji came and sat down on his other side.

"Where did you go?" Manny asked the boy. And Sam remembered that they worked together.

"See, Pa. He says it's hard work bein' in the boiler room, but he's used to the heat from the smithy. He's already sleep."

Benji reached into his bag. "Ya'll ate yet?"

"Nope," Manny said and reached for his bag. It was another they had purchased back in Ohio. A second bag so they could both have one. Looked like Sam was the only one who had left his bag. He had found a little spot in the storage room. It was safe. But it wasn't here. "Here," Manny said and tossed him some cold bread that had been baked by Mrs. G.

"I haven't seen none of my family other than Pa," Ben said after taking a few bites of his food.

"Saw your sister," Sam said before he could think.

"She up there servin' white folks?" Benji asked, but there was a harsh tinge to his voice.

"Ain't that... what we all do?" Manny asked him, leaning past Sam.

"Yeah, well it's different for her," Benji grumbled, his eyes on the food in his hand.

"You got a reason to be talkin' down your sister or you just jealous?" Sam asked quietly. Cause Laura's work might be different than theirs, but last time he checked she was still working.

He felt both Manny and Benji's stares. He knew Manny was wondering why he gave two hoots about defending Laura, he didn't know what Benji thought.

"You don't understand," the boy finally said. "She. They. You don't understand."

"Apparently not," Sam said with a sigh. Suddenly very tired. "But I can tell you this much, that girl has been workin' hard and she don't say not one hard word about you." And if this business with Adam Ward continued, and Sam had no reason to think it wouldn't, she would really be working hard to protect Benji. To protect all of them.

There was an awkward silence, but Sam refused to say anything to lessen it.

"You don't know what it was like havin' family up at Salis House while me and Pa and my brothers worked from sunup to sundown. Then Laura would come home lookin' at us like we less than."

"Lookin'?" Sam asked the word in such a way that Benji had to sense his disbelief.

"Yes! Lookin'! Maybe you had to be there," Benji sputtered, throwing out a hand in exasperation. "My oldest brother was the worst. He just pretended we didn't exist, just cause his daddy was Massa Richard."

"Now, this is gettin' interestin'," Manny said, leaning forward. "Please. Tell me more." Sam elbowed him in the side while Benji threw him a murderous glance. "What? I heard stuff like this happened in Big Houses, ain't never know nobody what lived it."

"Did she ever say somethin' to you?" Sam asked, in attempt to get them back on target with the conversation.

"No," Benji said reluctantly, eyeing the piece of bread in his hand as though it had betrayed him.

"Then it's not your place to assign intents of the heart. You don't get to judge her for words unsaid. And even if she had said them, when you stand before God, he's gone look at your heart and how you dealt with the matter. He ain't gone be askin' no questions 'bout her."

"Sam talks to God regularly. He knows these things," Manny said, only half-joking. "Even though he ain't never read the Good Book for himself." But Benji, no longer eating, said nothing. "You know how to read?" Manny asked, filling the silence. Unusually taking note of someone else's feelings, Sam thought.

"A little," Benji said quietly. "I don't get a chance to read as much as Laura, but I know my letters. I can sound out words if needed." After a pause, he said, "I can write my name, too. And it's long."

"Sound out?" Manny repeated even though he was still chewing.

"Yeah. It's like a puzzle sometimes. You got to put all the words and their soundings together sometimes to get the big words to make sense."

"We know our letters," Manny said quickly.

"But do you know all of their sounds?"

Sam listened as Benji went through each letter making the sound that it reflected. Sam quietly repeated Benji's words to himself.

"Sam?" Finn said, appearing out of nowhere, now holding a lantern.

Sam hadn't even realized just how dark it had gotten until he saw that light. He stood up.

"We'll be right here, brother. When you're done," Manny said quietly.

Sam followed Finn to the familiar storage room.

"Hold this." Sam took the lantern as Finn pulled out what looked to be a basket. Except it was made of iron and not wood.

"This is a torch basket. We use it when and if we travel at night. We aren't travelin' at night now because we're ahead of schedule. There's no need to, but don't be surprised if the Captain decides we have to. If that happens, I'll send you for these. We fill them with oil-soaked scraps and then toss them over the side. Sometimes the firemen need them to see when they load the wood for fuel. Now watch me show you how this works. You have to be careful. The last thing we want is to set the whole boat on fire."

Sam leaned against the doorframe and watched as Finn showed him which scraps to use, where the oil was, and how to place it in the iron basket.

"You won't be alone doin' this. But you should still know how it works. Go ahead and get some sleep cause tomorrow we start all over again, cleanin' the deck and whatnot."

Sam grabbed his bag that he had tucked in a corner and headed back towards where he had left his brother and Benji. On the other side of the steamer.

He was just past the stairs when he saw the flicker of a light, then smelled the scent of tobacco. He wasn't sure what made him pause, but he did. It was Baldwin. And he was not alone.


The key to not being in trouble was to have no quick movements. She saw the gun first, and then the slim body of Adam Ward entered the room.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice hard, his gun pointed at her. And his accent... he was a northerner. Not at all familiar with slaves then.

She looked down at the gun and then flicked her gaze at him. "I was straightenin' but if that's the thanks I'm gonna get, I won't do it again."

Adam Ward blinked, looked down at his own gun, and slipped it in the holster at his waist. "I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"You did pay to be in first class, didn't you?" Laura made sure her disdain for him was clear.

He flushed. "I did."

"Perhaps you like to live in filth," she motioned towards his corner of dirty clothes. "I certainly will not stop you," she made to move.

"No," he said, holding up a hand. "Please. Continue. I've been on this boat a few days and... ,"

"I've been a bit more concerned with the women, thought I could help out now. But I can leave."

"No," he said quickly. "Only here to get some more cheroots. Got a poker game starting in the salon," he said offhandedly. Laura turned, giving him her back and began making up his bed. She heard him fiddling around in his suitcase.

"Are you in here every day?"

"I can be, if you like," she said, tucking the corners of the sheets under the mattress.

"How about every other day?"

"That works, too."

"You got a name?"

She paused. He might recognize her name if she gave it. "Lolly," she said finally. She had answered to it often enough. "Would you like your clothes laundered and ironed?"

"Yes," he said and then just like that, he was gone.

She exhaled. Loudly. She had just given herself more work. But it might be a good idea to have constant access to Adam Ward's room. She finished cleaning his room as promised, grabbed his dirty clothes, dropped them off in the laundry room, and finally went to get some sleep.

—-

She was up early the next morning and happy to feel the smooth rhythm of the boat moving again underneath her. Like Sam said, every day on the boat was one day further away from Virginia.

"Chop these," Miz Nellie said, setting a bunch of onions on the only empty table. Laura had changed into her patterned muslin again, and took a minute to pin on an apron. "Them other girls handlin' the cabins this mornin'."

"After breakfast, I'll do the laundry if that's alright with you," Laura said as she went to get a knife.

Miz Nellie stopped beating the dough in front of her, sizing up Laura. "You used to hard work."

"I'm used to work," Laura corrected, but sent the older woman a small smile. She picked up the knife and started making quick work through the onions. She was glad when Miz Nellie didn't ask anymore questions.

The door to the dining hall opened revealing Sol and Gid.

"Laura!" They said together and rushed in. Both of them were carrying shoes, a rag, and polish.

"We're cabin boys," Sol said quickly as they took a seat at the table where Laura was chopping the onions.

"We supposed to be polishin' shoes," Gid said, holding up somebody's boot. He wrinkled his nose, though she wasn't sure if it was from the smell or the job. "How come you got to polish shoes if you only gone wear them again?"

"Polish doesn't clean shoes," Laura corrected gently as she reached for another onion. "If the shoe is made of leather, it makes the shoe last longer. And it makes it look nice." She ignored the quick glance Miz Nellie sent her way.

"Uh huh," Gid said, making a face. "All I know is I almost cain't breathe no more cause of all this polish. I been polishin' all mornin'!" But even though he complained, his eyes twinkled with what he wasn't saying. Spending his days polishing shoes was a lot better than spending his days digging up coal for the salt mines.

"You know these two heathens?" Miz Nellie asked as she began to separate the dough, forming small biscuits.

"Laura's our sister," Sol said firmly.

"They came by yesterday and helped me out some," Miz Nellie said, sprinkling more flour on the dough. "When you boys finish them boots, you come back and I'll give you some breakfast."

Her brothers shared a wide grin before returning back to their jobs with renewed vigor.

"You seen Pa?" Gid asked, rubbing his scrap of polish, hard over the shoes. Laura hid a wince. She had seen Prince polish Massa Richard's shoes. Delicate and gentle were the words that defined his movements.

"No." And wasn't that something? Once again, Laura was separated from Papa.

"We gone try and find him when we can," Sol said seriously. "Him and Benji both."

"We got more time, Laura," Gid said, sending her a smile. And wasn't that the truth? Maybe she needed to make time to see Papa. Except that if anyone could figure out what she was up to with Adam Ward and the warrants, it was him. It might be best if she didn't seek him out. Unless she absolutely had too.

The kitchen door opened and one of the Irish girls, Maureen, peeked her head in. "Miz Nellie, can you come out here for a second?"

When Miz Nellie was gone, Laura turned to her brothers. "While ya'll runnin' around lookin' for Papa, stop and see if you can't help Sam and Manny."

"Help 'em with what?" Sol asked suspiciously. Unlike Gid, she was beginning to realize that Sol didn't take things at face value.

"Help them learn their letters or even their numbers. They don't know as much you do."

"They can count," Sol countered, still eyeing her. Cause they had always been told to keep what they learned to the family. Less likely to get caught that way.

"But can they do maths?"

"How come?" Gid asked, his cute face curious. She fought an urge to squeeze his cheeks. He wasn't going to be little forever.

"Because. We need to look out for each other." And because Sam was keeping their bacon from being cooked.

"We may not have that much time," Sol said slowly. "Learnin' ain't easy."

"Just try. Okay? And ask Papa if he needs anythin'."


Laura was in the laundry room, bent over a metal tub, and scrubbing somebody's shirt against the washboard when she heard knocking on the door.

"Come in," she said. She dropped the shirt in the water and ran the back of her hand against the top of her forehead, wiping away moisture. The heat from the water was making her sweat some fierce. She was tempted to prop the door open, but had already been told by Maureen and the other girl, Emma, that if Captain Leahy caught wind of it, he wouldn't be happy. Servants and their duties were not to be seen. So there she was, overheating in the small space. Fortunately, she would be able to hang some of the clothes outside on a clothesline to dry. She was very much looking forward to that.

"I wasn't sure if you would be in here or not," Sam said slowly as he pushed the door open wider.

"Come in, and shut the door," Laura said, reaching for a cup of cool water behind her. For a second she wondered what she looked like and then tossed that thought right out of her mind. What she looked like didn't matter at all.

Sam, on the other hand, somehow managed to look clean and neat even though he was wearing the same clothes he had worn yesterday. If she recollected correctly, he only had one other pair.

"You should look into purchasin' more cloth." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. He frowned and shot her a confused look. "You only have two pairs of clothes, right?" Working like they did took a toll on clothes. Nothing gave you away faster than worn, holey clothes. At least in Laura's opinion.

Sam looked down for a second, wrapping his arms around himself. "I saved the clothes I ran in."

Laura thought back to what he was running in. "You need more clothes. Your clothes won't last long. Buy some cloth and I'll make you a shirt and some pants." With three pairs of clothes, there would be a nice rotation.

Sam, tapping a finger against his bicep said, "Need my money for more than clothes."

"The right fabric won't cost much and I won't charge you. How could I? Look at what you're doin' for us." He sent her a frown. "I went to Adam Ward's room last night." His expression changed as he stared at her. If she didn't know any better she would say he was horrified. "He is who he says he is. Some kind of detective. Workin' for Pinkerton. I only wish I had someone to ask about this Pinkerton."

"Did he... were you..."

"Was I caught? Yes." Sam flinched. "Don't worry, though, Sam," Laura said as she bent over the metal tub again and stuck her fingers back into the hot water. She would have to continue this conversation as she worked before the water had a chance to cool. "He just thinks I was there to clean. I've arranged to clean his room every other day in case we need to go back in there. Now. What does Adam Ward want from you?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why were you spyin'," he said the last word quietly and shot a quick glance around the room as though to make sure someone else hadn't somehow appeared in there with them, "on the white folks at Salis House?"

Laura eyed him for a second. "Do you know why we ran?"

"Cause your massa was goin' to sell Sol and Gid."

"Who you think found that out?" He bit his bottom lip as understanding dawned. "I like to know change is comin'."

"You ever get caught?" Had she ever been caught? In a word: yes. And she had been soundly beaten with a broom, slapped across the face more times than she could count, yelled at and fussed at, forced to scrub all the chamber pots until she vomited from the smell. Miss Annabelle, when she had been alive, had even cut off all of her hair once as punishment. She had cried for days until Prince told her she was just as ugly with hair as without. Mama had had to break up that fight. But she had never stopped. She had only grown better. For the most part. Of course her punishment was nothing compared to an actual whipping. There was nothing more she hated than being forced to watch someone being whipped.

"Yes. I been caught. Why did you and Manny run?"

His eyes darted away, and she read embarrassment in his face. His words were mumbled when they came out, but she still heard them. "They wanted us to breed."

She had heard of this of course. Charity had been forced to breed on purpose when Miss Annabelle found herself increasing with Missy Adora. Miss Annabelle had wanted a wet-nurse who was also a house slave and Massa Richard wasn't in the mood to buy anymore slaves. She had always thought the men had it easy when it came to those things. But by the look on Sam's face, maybe not.

She took mercy on him. "What did that Adam Ward want?"

Sam exhaled, but then he told her the story about some old white man being murdered for his money and Adam Ward looking for proof. "You just supposed to follow the man?"

"Right now. But I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks of somethin' else." She heard the hesitation in his voice.

"Tell me."

"Huh?" he said and looked up, his face carefully blank. But it didn't fool her none.

"You don't get to throw yourself headlong into danger and I don't. We're in this together, Sam," Laura said quietly. But she meant it. She wouldn't let him take on the burden of her family, while they sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Sam sent her another look, but she wasn't too sure what it meant. "Saw the man, Baldwin, last night, smokin' on the lower deck. He wasn't alone. There was a woman."

"Describe her," Laura said quickly as she ran the shirt in her hand up and down the washer.

"Can I help?" he asked, his eyes dropping to her hands.

"No, Sam. You can't help," Laura said, exasperated. She pulled the shirt out of the water, hoped it was clean and went to hang it on the line behind her. She would wring it out later. When he was gone. "Stay on topic." But he didn't listen. He came around to her side of the tub and rolled up his sleeves. "It's not in me to not help."

"Sam," she said, censure in her voice as he reached for a dirty shirt and pressed it against the washboard. She watched him dunk it in the water.

He glanced up at her, a small grin on his face. "Never really washed my clothes before. Just gave them a little twirl in the creek. This here is some hot water."

Laura sighed. He was like her brothers all over again when she showed them how irons worked. It's always fun in the beginning. "Well. Hot water cleans. You're doin' it wrong," she said, and slipped in front of him. Bending over, she reached down and grabbed his hands which were under water. "Like this," she said gently, moving the shirt against the washboard until there was a distinct pace.

"All this bendin' reminds me of the farm."

"Waterin' and weedin'?" They had kept a garden by the kitchens. More often than she had liked she had found herself out there turning over dirt and picking out weeds.

"No," in her ear, his voice was dry. Humorless. "You have to plant the tobacco plants and then uproot 'em." He paused. "You ever seen a tobacco seed? They small and you gotta plant 'em one way at first and then another way so that they roots have room to grow. Mindless but continuous work." She met his gaze then. Which was not hard to do since he was so close. His had a strong face, an appealing face with eyes so brown they were almost black. She had already been hot from the steam off the water, but now his body heat was making her hotter. She removed the shirt they had been scrubbing, giving her some space from him and then replaced it with another. This time, he got on his knees leaning over the bin. He was taller so it was easier for him, but still she mimicked his position, stretching forward as she showed him again how to get the shirt clean. "Is this what you did all day?" he asked.

"I sewed. And took care of Missy Adora, Massa Richard's youngest daughter, and just helped where needed. Sometimes launderin', sometimes cookin' with my best friend, Annie."

"Annie didn't run?"

"She has children. Little ones." But maybe they should have tried. They hadn't even tried.

"That's got to be hard," he said, he was so close. "Havin' young'uns."

"It's like you want them, but..."

"You cain't promise 'em no better life than yours." And then suddenly she didn't notice the water anymore or the shirt. He was just plain too close. She stood up. He followed. But still there was no space between them as he gripped her arm.

"Laura." She felt his breath against her cheek. "Be careful. Alright? I know you know more about this... sneakin' business than me. But just be careful." She gave a quick nod, unable at the moment to form words. She had thought him handsome, yes. But it was almost along the same lines as thinking a dress was beautiful. And because there was so much of the world he didn't know, she had, at some point, began to think of him as just another younger brother. But he wasn't her brother. "I'm prayin'... for both of us in this matter. But still be careful. About Baldwin talkin' to that person, it was a woman. It was so dark I couldn't make out much what she looked like, but I did follow her to her cabin when she left him. She's in cabin twelve."


Sam closed the laundry room door behind him and then leaned back against it. Goodness. He reached for his own shirt, feathering it against his skin to cool off. It was mighty hot in there. He refused, absolutely refused to think about how soft her hands were under the water, and how small she was standing next to him, or how pleasant she smelled, even sweating in there. But he still found himself wishing he had any old excuse to go back in that room, to talk to her one more time. She had unsettled him, and he thought for a second that he had unsettled her.

Laughter in the distance made him pull out of his thoughts about unsettling. He took a step forward. And then two. He needed to go to Adam Ward's room and speak to the man quickly. He still had deckhand duties below that he needed to accomplish.

He found his way to cabin eight and knocked softly on the door.

"Come in."

Sam pushed the door open and found Mr. Ward sitting at the desk in the room, scribbling something on the paper in front of him. A cheroot was smoking in the corner of the desk.

"Close the door."

Sam closed it behind him and went to stand next to the desk. Adam Ward said nothing as he finished dragging his pen across the paper. Sam watched as the letters formed effortlessly, one right after the other. The letters that Mr. Ward were writing looked different somehow than the letters he had seen in his own Bible, and Sam wondered why. He rocked back on his heels, again, overwhelmed with all the things he just did not know.

Mr. Ward set his pen down, leaned back, and grabbed another sheet of paper, fanning his inky wet scrawling. "Any news for me?"

"I saw Mr. Baldwin last night, smokin' on the lower deck. He was talkin' to a woman. I couldn't make out hide or hair of her in the dark, but I followed her to cabin twelve."

Adam Ward looked at him then. "Good job, Sam," he said, making Sam feel very much like a puppy.

Sam kept his gaze on the floor and bit back a sigh.

"I didn't actually expect you to have anything for me today. If you keep going the way you're going, we may solve this thing before we reach New Orleans." Sam said nothing. "Of course," Mr. Ward drawled slowly. "That might be in your best interest to wrap things up sooner rather later. I can't think why a runaway slave would take himself straight back into the south." Ward paused as though waiting for Sam to add something to this. He didn't. "If you do have plans to get off early," Mr. Ward said, his voice getting harder. "Then you had better hope that all on my end is resolved before then, because I will send off a telegram about those warrants."

And there they were again. The threats.

"Yes, sir," Sam said quietly with a nod, his hands now on his waist. "If I can go back, suh, I have things I need to do."

"Yes. We'll reconvene tomorrow. Once I find out who is in room twelve, I may need you to search it for me."

Sam grunted. A Negro man in a white woman's bedroom. He had no doubts that if he was caught things would go very differently for him than they had for Laura.

He gave Mr. Ward one more nod acknowledging that he had heard him cause it wouldn't do for Mr. Ward to think he was insolent and went back down the stairs.

Hours later, Sam was making his third trip around the steamboat, mop in hand when he saw Gideon leaning against the railing and watching the boat cut across the river. He moved over to the boy, careful to mop the entire way.

"Don't lean out too far," he said and watched as the boy jerked back, startled. Then he sent him a shy smile.

"Hey, Sam."

"Gid."

Gid returned to his previous posture, arms on the rail, leaning over for a look. "Isn't this nice, Sam? I mean, we got to work and all, but..."

"They not so heavy-handed."

"Yes."

"What are you two talkin' 'bout?" Manny asked, coming up alongside Sam so that he was between his brother and Gid.

"How nice it is on the boat."

"What are you doin' down here anyway?" Manny asked, reaching around Sam to place a hand on Gid's head, giving him a little shake. They never had any reason to spend time with young ones. Gid's presence was almost a treat.

"Went and saw Papa," the boy told Manny. "Oh," he said, his eyes lighting up. "What do ya'll know about math?"

"Math?" Sam asked, pausing in his mopping.

"You know like addin' numbers and takin' 'em away..." Gid's voice trailed off as Sam and Manny stared at him. "Nevermind." He waved his hand in the air. "None of that's important."

"Wait a minute," Manny said, sounding indignant. "What's this about takin' numbers away?"

"Look. That's real hard stuff, alright? Mama barely knew what she was talkin' 'bout when she explained it to us and Prince taught her."

"We keep hearin' about this Prince," Manny muttered to no one in particular.

"Forget numbers," Gid said with a definitive nod.

"Are numbers somethin' other folks know about?" Sam asked. Other folks being white folks.

"Yes. But. No one really uses numbers anyway. I don't think," Gid said, a frown appearing on his face.

Sam turned to look at Manny who was looking at him.

"I can teach you about other things like... when were you born?" Sam and Manny eyed each other again. "I didn't know either until I asked Prince. He told me I was born March 7, 1845. I just turned ten years old!"

"Well, unfortunately, Prince is not here for us to ask," Manny's voice was dry.

"Do you know the year?"

"We think we're around twenty-one," Sam said finally, no longer mopping. He knew they had been sold ten years ago. And he was pretty sure when they were sold, they were no bigger than Gid was now.

"Okay, let me do the math," Gid said, closing his eyes thinking.

"You're usin' it!" Manny said, pointing at him. Gid's mouth twitched and then he gave them a sheepish smile.

"I guess I am. We'll say you were born, oh, 1834. Yes. 1834 plus 21 is 1855." Before Sam could figure out what the boy was talking about, he continued. "What season were you born in?"

"Winter," Manny said in annoyance as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Ooh, that's hard. Cause if you were born in December, that's one year. If you were born in January that's another."

"We know some months," Sam said quietly. "I'm not sure we know them all in order."

"Where do these months come from?" Manny asked.

Gid blinked several times. "I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I don't ask questions, I just learn. I can teach you the months, though. Did you want to be born in December, January, or February?"

"New year, new life," Manny said decidedly. "January."

"January it is. We'll just stay with 1834. Now, you have to pick a day. I think there's thirty-one days in January to choose from."

"Not every month has thirty-one days?" Sam asked, staring at the boy.

"No. And don't ask me why. I don't ask questions—,"

"You just learn," Manny said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey, I know a lot about time and changin' time. I can even tell time."

"We can tell time," Manny said belligerently.

"Because of the sun?" Gid asked slowly, giving him a look that that just wasn't good enough. "Or can you read the little hands on a clock?"

Sam closed his eyes for a second. Then opened them. "No. We can't read a clock."

"Clocks have hands?" Manny muttered under his breath.

"Then there is still just so much I can teach you. Get comfortable. This might take a while. And don't ask me no 'why' questions. I didn't ask, ok? I just learn."


Following Baldwin around on the boat when he was supposed to be keeping to one deck of the Paine and doing whatever it was that Finn thought up next, was not easy. Sam had overheard two of the sailors talking and knew that they would be approaching Louisville, Kentucky before the day was over. The fact that they were still in Kentucky gave Sam slight anxiety. But he figured if he just stayed on the steamboat and kept his head down, he'd be fine. Captain Leahy, thankfully, employed a lot of Negroes.

Finn had already given him the same task of sweeping up any and all manure dropped by animals getting on and off the Paine when they docked. And if stopping at this port was anything like the one in Cincinnati, hopefully everyone would be too busy to notice if Sam wasn't completely on top of his job. But the whole thing made him irritated. Sam had never been one to shirk his duties whether he felt like doing them or not. He didn't want to start now.

He was in the midst of sharing all of his thoughts and concerns with the Lord when Baldwin came down the steps. Sam stared at the man for a second and then looked away, returning to the job of cleaning the deck. Baldwin went to the same spot he had last night and lit a cheroot, careful to keep his gaze on the water. It was the same spot, Sam realized as he moved behind some cargo, from which he had killed Vance. Since the space was filled with so much freight, it was not a spot where a lot of people stopped to take in the view.

"Here they come!" Someone called out. Sam looked past Baldwin towards the water. Like in Cincinnati, before they got to the official port in Louisville, some small boats were coming out to the Paine. Sam moved to help make room for more cargo, all the while keeping an eye on Baldwin who smoked from the railing, and making note of any new people coming aboard. There were about five. Two Negroes and three whites. Could be slaves weren't the only ones running.

"How long 'til we dock in Louisville?" Sam heard Baldwin ask one of the sailors.

Before the sailor could answer the steam whistle sang, loud and clear.

"Ten minutes."

"How long will we be there?"

"No longer than an hour. Captain wants to keep it moving while it's still daylight."

Baldwin tossed what was left of his cheroot into the river and headed for the stairs.

Looking both ways, Sam made sure all the cargo was secured and then followed.


Whoever was in cabin number twelve was going to have to wait. Cabin number twelve was not one of the cabins that Laura was assigned to and she wasn't about to go and take on any extra work. Between cooking, serving, doing laundry, ironing, assisting different ladies, and now cleaning Adam Ward's room—though that wouldn't start until tomorrow—Laura felt she had more than enough on her plate.

She knocked on cabin number six. "Come in," both of the girls said at the same time.

"Hello," Laura's greeting was quiet as she went straight to the small closet to hang up the dresses that they requested be ironed in time for supper that night.

"Hi, Laura. If we don't get off at Louisville today, when will we reach the next port?" Daphne asked. She was lying on top of her bed, on her stomach, flipping through a magazine.

"Lyin' like that will not improve your posture," the gentle words of rebuke were out of Laura's mouth before she remembered who she was talking to.

Lucinda was sitting at the small vanity, pinning her own hair. Both she and Daphne turned their heads to look at her.

"Sorry," Laura said, closing her eyes for a second. "Before I came here," she said slowly. "I worked for a family... with daughters." Laura re-straightened the gown she was holding and looked away.

"Like a lady's maid," Daphne said in awe as she sat up. Even Lucinda stared at her.

"Just so." She had the skills of a trained lady's maid. But she did more work than them. This she knew thanks to Missy Charlotte. The girls exchanged quick looks which Laura ignored. She hoped she had not just given them a reason to have her in their room all the time. She was not their lady's maid after all.

"What do you mean not get off at Louisville?" Lucinda finally asked, her question aimed at Daphne. Laura exhaled with relief and hung up the other dress in her hand. She closed the closet door and then found herself meeting Lucinda's gaze in the mirror. Lucinda made a disgruntled face. "Our maid is with Aunt Crissy again." The girl pointed to her hair with a pout.

"Our maid?" Daphne muttered, without lifting her eyes from the page of the magazine in front of her. Except now she was sitting up straight on the bed, her shoulders level.

Lucinda turned to face her with a huff. "Don't think I won't tell Aunt Crissy if you don't stop being rude!"

"I wasn't being rude, Cousin. I was just making a point." The girls shared icy, humorless grins. "Anyway, Laura, do you know anything about the next port? Is Louisville the last major city before we reach Memphis?"

"Does Evansville, Indiana count? We're about three days from there, though we'll hit one more port in Kentucky maybe tomorrow." At least that was what she had overheard. Just so long as they kept moving west.

"See," Lucinda said. She was back to facing the vanity. Laura coughed into her hand as Lucinda sprayed several mists of something flowery into the air. She also noticed that the vanity was filled with all kinds of cosmetics. Facial paste, rose water, almond oil, even pearl powder which Laura knew was more than a little expensive. Miss Martha had some that she pulled out every Christmas. Her own special indulgence.

"Do ya'll need anythin' else?"

"No," the girls said in unison and Laura left their room. She went back to the laundry room for Mrs. Hartford's gown. Maureen and Emma were in there. Maureen was ironing while Emma was stitching a shirt. They quit talking upon Laura's entrance casting a few glances her way. She didn't blame them for their hesitation. She had never worked with white servants herself. Were servants the same everywhere? Or was their still some kind of hierarchy Laura was supposed to be following? And more importantly, did the two Irish girls know it? So many questions. It was better to just pretend the other didn't exist... which is what they had been doing for the past day and a half.

Laura grabbed Mrs. Hartford's dress and gave it a shake. It was even more beautiful now cleaned and ironed.

"Oh, that's lovely," Maureen said softly as she set the iron back on top of the small stove to get hot. She was a dark haired girl, a bit plump, but pretty.

"Isn't it?" Laura asked, giving her a small smile.

"You'll have to show me how you got the stains out. I didn't think it was possible," Emma said softly. Emma was thin, with blond hair, and a hard worker. She never seemed to stop moving.

"I would be happy too. It's a mix my mama showed me, a little honey, a little gin, hot water, some soap. And then you have to have a deft hand as you apply it."

"You've been a domestic for a long time then?" Maureen asked as she reached behind her for the iron.

Laura hesitated only for a second. "Yes. If you'll excuse me, I'll go run this to Mrs. Hartford."

Laura turned towards the door, but then stopped, turned back. "A friend of mine who works on here needs something from the lady in cabin twelve... would you..."

"Oh, that's Mrs. Dabney," Maureen said with a nod. "She's been on here since the Paine left." Laura frowned. She couldn't recall a Mrs. Dabney. "She's not exactly welcome in the dining room, but she's got the money for a cabin of her own. Captain Leahy's hardly going to say no," Maureen continued, seeing the expression on Laura's face.

"Miz Nellie says Mrs. Dabney is a painted woman," Emma said, stressing the last two words and raising her eyebrows. "I'm fairly certain she's not even a Missus. Tell your friend to speak to her outside of her room. You never know what might be happening inside."

Laura gave a brisk nod and left the laundry room. Mrs. Dabney being a painted woman neither confirmed nor denied that she was the missing Mary Stiles.

Laura hummed softly to herself as she made her way to Mrs. Hartford's door. She knocked twice. "It's Laura, ma'am." Laura had come by the night before to help Mrs. Hartford into a red, silk taffeta dress. It had been stunning. Missy Charlotte's gowns had always been soft colors like pink and yellow. Miss Martha said it was on account of the fact that she was still unmarried. Missy Charlotte had always complained that it was such an old-fashioned, un-American rule, but nevertheless had stayed with pastels. It had been easy though, to wave off any envy because she knew those colors wouldn't do much for her own skin. But that red... when Laura was finally settled in her free life that was the first extravagant thing she was going to do. She was going to make herself a red, silk, taffeta gown. Even if the only place she could wear it was at home. Maybe. There was a time that she would never have indulged such a fancy, but now? Now, she could dream a little.

"Come in."

Laura entered the room to see Mrs. Hartford sashaying back and forth in front of the mirror. "I've got to look my best for when I got into town," she said with a smile, though it was directed at the mirror and not at Laura.

"I've got your dress ma'am."

"Oh, excellent." Mrs. Hartford walked over to Laura, running her hands down the front. "And you got out the stains too. It was clumsy of me to spill my wine."

Wine stains on the dress, blood stains on her letters. It was not the first time that Laura wondered if Sam had made a mistake with his numbers. Though to be fair, nine looked nothing like twelve. But could Mrs. Hartford have been going to cabin twelve simply to visit with Mrs. Dabney? They could be friends. There was really no way to know.

"I'll just hang this in your closet and be on my way," Laura said softly and moved around Mrs. Hartford.

"While you're in there can you grab me a parasol? I'm going to stand out on the deck and watch us pull into Louisville."

"Yes ma'am," Laura said as she hung up the beautiful gown. She then reached around the side of the closet until her hands found the parasols. There were three of them. All new, Laura saw as she turned one in her hand this way and that. She knew this because the design was the latest thing from London. Missy Charlotte had begged for one for months. Their handles were ivory and there was gold banding. Well, it was no nevermind. Unless the woman was indeed Mrs. Stiles. Laura placed two of the parasols back, keeping her hand on the one that best matched Mrs. Hartford's dress.

"Oh, I don't know, Laura. Do you really think the blue one matches? I'm wearing pink and white."

"The seams are blue. The parasol will bring them out," Laura said quietly as she handed Mrs. Hartford the parasol.

"Ha. I didn't think of that."

"Anythin' else, ma'am?"

"No. You've been a big help already. Come and dress me tonight."

After checking in on all of the ladies assigned to her, the smelly Paulina, the sick Virginia, the ever growing Diana, Laura grabbed her simple afternoon meal of fresh bread, cheese, and meat and left the passenger deck. Out of sight. Out of mind. At least for a few minutes.

When she got to the lower deck, she went in the opposite direction she had gone in before. She didn't get too far before she saw Papa and Benji standing together against the railing and talking. She made her way over, ripping the sandwich into two pieces as she got closer. It was ingrained in her to offer them whatever she had received in service. After all, she had a better chance of replacing it then they had of getting it at all.

"Hungry?" Laura asked as she handed one piece of her sandwich to her brother and one piece to Papa.

She would just make sure that she was working that evening in the kitchen when supper was being prepared. It would be easy enough to get a taste of whatever Miz Nellie or Shadrach decided would be on the menu.

"See ya around, Papa," Benji said, and with one glance at her he walked off without saying a word. Even as his mouth moved from eating the food she had just given him. She took his place, next to Papa, leaning against the railing. He was sweaty, and looked hot in spite of the small bite of cold in the air. Laura hadn't even noticed it until this moment, now that she wasn't moving. Her body shivered.

"He'll get past it," Papa said, as he tossed the last bit of her sandwich in his mouth.

"I'm not sure what there is to get past," Laura said, closing her eyes and raising her face to the sun. She wasn't used to being out in the elements so much. Aside from leaving the Big House for the kitchen to eat and talk to Annie, and the occasional foray to hang laundry or work the kitchen gardens, she spent most of her time in the sewing room at Salis.

"He's strong. And a hard worker. And he'll probably work a smithy like me, but it wouldn't have been his first choice, had he had one. I wish he could have gotten some schoolin'. It was my only hesitation to goin' out west. There ain't no schools he can go to."

Laura reached down and gripped the railing in front of her, pushing and pulling herself slowly against it. "There are correspondence courses. And he doesn't have to stay out west. If it's ever safe enough, he could take a steamboat right back up north."

"That is a fact," Amos said slowly, his gaze on his own hands that gripped the railing before him. His hands were large, wide, dark, and scarred. It was hard to believe that those hands had cradled her as a baby. Laura had had this thought before, but for the first time she didn't look at it with skepticism. Instead she felt a little... pride. He had worked so hard to get them there. She would make sure that Adam Ward did not send off a single telegram. Somehow. Someway. Papa's shoulders rose and fell, his mind clearly on their conversation. "I never heard of no correspondence courses though. That might be somethin' you could mention to him."

Laura would have grunted except Miss Martha had instilled in Missy Charlotte and Missy Adora how unladylike it was to make such a noise. She thought about whether there was anything else to say about her brother but as Miss Martha always said, when you had nothing nice to say, change the subject. "How is it? Feedin' the boiler?

"Hot, dirty work." Papa sent her a smile. "Just like workin' the smithy."

The steam whistle blew behind them causing Laura to jump. "We'll be pullin' up to Louisville soon. I'm gonna sit out the stop at the port in the boiler room. Hot as it may be in there, it's better than bein' sighted by a paddy roller and I'm too big a target to miss." Laura nodded quickly. Heard his hesitation. "How is it? Up there? They workin' you too hard?"

"No, sir. Cleanin' and cookin'." And detecting. "Nothin' I'm not used to already."

She felt Papa's gaze on her and she was careful to keep her eyes out on the water before them. In the distance she could see the Louisville port. Like Papa it was probably best that she disappeared inside somewhere.

"It's my hope that this is the last time you ever have to wait on white folks, Laura."

"Just wait on ya'll?" she asked, her voice teasing.

"Exactly," he said with a small smile. He began to take a few steps back.

"Be careful, Papa," Laura said even as she looked toward the stairs. The tug of the water pulled her once more and she found herself glancing out towards the river once more. This time she could see the reflection of the colors of different ones' clothing as they waited for the steamboat to pull in. It was time for her to disappear as well.

"Always. And you let me know if there's any trouble now. You hear?"


Sam found Mr. Ward in the dining hall. He had gone to Mr. Ward's room and knocked but gotten no answer. One of the white men walking the upper deck had seen Sam and told him that if he was looking for Mr. Ward to go to the dining hall. How the man had known Sam was looking for Mr. Ward was a bit disconcerting, but Sam had hesitated only for a minute. He didn't have time to waste. When the second bell whistled, he winced. He was supposed to be on the lower deck now. But he went on to the dining hall anyway and stopped dead in the doorway. He had never seen anything so fine in all his days. Taking one step into the room, he froze as his boots sank into the ground. Looking down he could see that below him there was carpet so thick and pretty, he didn't hardly want to take another step for fear of smearing something foul on it. But then something sparkling caught his eye, forcing him to look up. A thousand lights glistened above his head changing colors as they swayed with the rhythm of the boat. He blinked and his eyes drifted along the wall. The walls were lined with colored paper that seemed to shimmer with gold and he was almost sure that expensive metal was fashioned to the rafters.

"Can I help you?" A white man asked. He was tending the bar, wiping it down.

"Uh, yes. I was lookin' for Mr. Adam Ward. I has a message for him."

The man nodded in a specific direction. Daylight it may have been but that didn't stop men from smoking, drinking, and playing cards. And there in the center of it all was Adam Ward. Sam watched as Mr. Ward laughed, threw his cards down, and raised his arms in delight. The men around him alternatively groaned or muttered under their breath.

"And that my dear southern friends, is how it's done," Adam said as he leaned forward pulling his cash winnings toward him. He did glance up for a second though and spotted Sam. He gave Sam a nod towards the door. Sam exhaled and headed back towards the exit. He really didn't have time for this. Just as the thought entered his mind, his eyes spotted a clock. He had seen them before. But since he had not understood how they worked, he had never really looked at them. Now, he saw the short hand and the long one that Gid had told him about. He watched as the long hand moved just a little bit. A minute had passed. The sound of a familiar click pulled his gaze from the clock. Without taking a step, his eyes darted to the table where Adam Ward now sat with his gun out and pointed at the man across from him. "I'm not a cheater."

"I didn't say—,"

"Yes. You did. Apologize." Adam Ward's voice was hard and angry and broke no argument.

"I didn't mean no disrespect," the man finally said slowly.

"Yes, you did," Adam repeated, but uncocked his gun. Sam took that as an opportunity to leave the salon. How the man had time in the midst of an investigation to not only play cards but start trouble was a mystery to him. Then again, he had Sam doing all of his work. And wasn't that just the way of folks?

He wasn't waiting long before Mr. Ward came through the salon doors, counting his money and sliding it into one of his pockets. The expression on his face was pure joy. Apparently being called a cheater hadn't truly bothered him none. Sam didn't know him well enough to know if that was likely to be true or untrue at any rate. And quite frankly, he didn't care.

The steam engine whistled again and Sam looked over the railing behind him. They were pulling into port.

"Yes?"

"Baldwin is gettin' off here. I just thought you would like to know."

Mr. Ward swore under his breath. "Thanks." And then he was gone.

Sam went down the steps to the lower deck at a quick pace, found his shovel, which he had tucked in a corner close by, and went to clean up after the animals.

He was distracted only once and that was when he passed the boiler room and caught sight of everything and everybody in there. All kinds of folks was moving about.

"Sam." The voice was deep. Familiar. Sam searched the room. Found him.

"Amos."

"Come and let me show you."

Sam took a step in the boiler room and Amos met him towards the back of it. He pointed to a few men who had nothing on but pants, sweat dripping down their backs. "They stokin' the firebox," Amos explained, though Sam figured it out watching the men shoving coal into the fire. "Every ten minutes, that fella," Amos said, pointing to a white man, "opens the try cocks on the boilers. He lifts the valves and releases the steam. Got to be careful with these things, one wrong move and they'll explode." Sam said nothing as Amos, almost excitedly, explained how the entire steamboat worked.

"You learn all that in a couple of days?"

"Son, I built things similar to these. Don't take much to learn how they work." Sam couldn't stop the sharp look he sent Amos. No one had called him son in years.

Sam returned his gaze to the boilers and the men working them, the pipes and valves, the knobs and cranks. It looked like just too much was going on. He turned and glanced at Amos. Watched the older man's gaze take it all in. "You don't get to work 'em though do you?"

"No indeed," Amos said, shaking his head slowly. "I ain't never get to work a single thing I've ever built. I just keep steam in the boiler, shovelin' coal in when it's my turn." Sam returned his gaze back to the unusual dance of machinery before him. "I'm glad you're here, Sam. I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" Sam asked, genuinely confused.

"For bein' kind to my boys. They've got nothin' but good things to say 'bout you and your brother."

Sam thought on that for a second. "Truth be told, Amos. I'm learnin' a lot from your boys. They know much more'n me and that's a fact."

"They know more'n me too," Amos said, pride filling his voice. "But knowledge ain't all knowhow. Benji was tellin' me 'bout what you said about Laura. I 'preciate that. Been tellin' him for years, but my words ain't been no good."

Sam fought the urge to stare at the man again. "Well. I'm glad I could help," he said finally. "But I'm not sure how my words can beat those comin' from your own pa."

Amos said nothing for a minute. And then, "Was your pa sold?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't know. Never got around to askin' my ma before she was. Thanks for showin' me how it works," Sam said with a nod and left the room.


They entered the Louisville port with no problems, and they left with no problems, which by the looks Sam exchanged with Manny and Benji on the sly, was nothing short of sweet relief. According to Finn, the next stop would be Owensboro, Kentucky. If they kept on moving all night, they would reach it by morning. All Sam knew was that Kentucky was one large state. Finn had indicated that they still had one more stop in Kentucky following this one. After a quick breakfast of hard bread and harder meat with Manny, Sam had slipped up the stairs. He figured since they would be arriving at Owensboro before his arranged time with Mr. Ward, he had better get their meeting over with sooner rather than later. He had no new information. The last he had seen of Baldwin had been the night before when he had been entering the dining hall for supper and it wasn't like Sam was gonna be invited in.

"Sam," he heard his name quietly whispered. Sam took his eyes off the ground and found Laura's. She was exiting a room and carrying towels. "Do you have a minute?" she asked and nodded towards the laundry room. Sam followed her inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Cabin number twelve belongs to a Mrs. Dabney," she said before the door was properly shut. "I saw her for the first time this morning. According to Maureen and Emma, the Irish girls, Mrs. Dabney is a lady of the night." All of this Laura said as she dumped the towels into an already filled bucket of clothing and placed an iron on a small stove. Sam watched as she pulled a small table out and reached for some clothing.

"Lady of the night?" Sam asked, his brows lowered.

Laura looked over at him and stared. Sam fought the urge to duck his head. Whatever a 'lady of the night' was, most folks knew already. Except Sam. And probably Manny. "You know, Sam. A lady of the night," she said, stressing the last word, her eyes pleading with him to not make her explain it further. For a moment he wrestled with his pride. Admit his ignorance... again? Or just tell Adam Ward and hope he understood the phrase? His pride won. He gave a quick nod and she sent him a relived smile. What exactly was a lady of the night?

"Anyways," she said with a wave of her hand before reaching behind her for the iron and placing a hand an inch away from it to see if it was hot. It wasn't. Sam watched her return it to the stove. "There's another woman. Her name is Hartford. A redhead. There's somethin' very... odd about her. I just wanted to tell you in case she has somethin' to do with Baldwin."

Sam looked away, thinking. He hadn't seen any redheaded women with Baldwin, though to be fair, most white women wore them funny hats and he was more than a little disinclined to be peering at 'em enough to figure out what was underneath.

"I'll keep an eye out," he said with a nod. "Anythin' else?"

He saw her hesitate for a moment. "Did you see my brothers any?"

"Yeah. Gid was talkin' to us 'bout stuff like clocks and time. My brother and I fixed a date for our birthday." Sam was amazed at how calm and collected he sounded when he said that. When he and Manny had finally agreed on a date, the moment had brought tears to both of their eyes. And not necessarily happy ones. There was a new ache on the inside of him... one that longed to know the truth of the matter combined with the realization that that would never happen for him.

Perhaps Laura did sense the underlying emotion because she gave him a gentle smile. One that made him feel about Gid's age. He fought against releasing a sigh. It wasn't as if her viewing him as a child made him any less a man. But that still didn't stop the fact that he very much wanted her respect.

"Is that all?" He knew he sounded short. Abrupt.

The smile on her face wavered a bit. Then she gave a quick nod. "Yes. I'll let you know if I hear or see anythin' else."

With another nod, Sam left the closet. He made the short walk to Adam Ward's room, but before he could raise a fist to knock on the door, he heard a familiar voice. Below.

This time, Sam did sigh. He turned back around and headed down the stairs. It appeared that Mr. Ward had been coming to him this time.

He made it to the bottom of the steps just in time to hear Adam Ward's voice get louder. Another voice, angrier, harder, returned a statement. Sam exhaled. Deeply. The man had managed to find himself entangled in yet another argument. Maybe they should get off this boat and try their chances with another steamer. Adam Ward seemed about as stable as gun powder.

Turning the corner, Sam could see Mr. Ward yelling at a shorter man in front of him. Next to the short man was the man who had accused Mr. Ward of cheating at cards the day before. Sam walked past them quietly, his eyes only darting to the angry men for a few seconds before looking away. He noticed quickly that he wasn't the only one looking and trying not to look. Just about everyone working on the lower deck was starting to take notice of Mr. Ward and the shorter man's argument.

"Somehow, magically winnin' night after night..."

"There's no magic too it. Can't help it if you don't know how to play the game." Ward's voice was tight and laced with frustration.

And then the boat did something Sam had never felt it do before, it gave a sharp turn. He felt himself sliding to the left and reached out for a railing that he hadn't noticed before to steady himself. Boxes, half the height of Sam, but twice as large slid down the lower deck past him. When he looked up, he could see others grabbing whatever their hands could hold on to in an effort to keep steady.

"Snag in the water," a sailor called out. Grumbles filled the air, but no one seemed alarmed.

But of course, Sam had heard about these snags. Snags being trees and other debris that had fallen into the water but were still close enough to the surface to reach up from their watery graves to snag a hole into a passing steamboat.

"You can see it just over there," he heard another man say with excitement. Sam made his way to the front of the boat, staring hard into the water. He wanted to see. Was it a tree? A large rock? Something else entirely? The men who had been lingering, listening to Ward's argument came alongside him at the front railing. And then there it was: a long tree with erstwhile branches. All of them eyed the snag in quiet and awe as the captain steered them around it.

"Good thing it's a clear day," he heard someone mutter. Sam watched as several men hefted one of the boxes of goods, stacking it atop another. He didn't think that was a particularly good idea, but he said nothing as the boxes were moved closer to their original position, blocking Ward from Sam's sight.

"Good thing we have the Captain," another person said as they pushed more goods back into place. Then the voices drifted as they chased down the rest of the cargo that had gone sliding across the deck.

"Where we come from, you don't win a man's livelihood." The words drifted down towards Sam. The argument had not ended just cause the steamer had made a sharp turn. Sam let out a huff and shook his head from his spot behind the boxes. What kind of person, exactly, had he got himself tied to?

"Where I come from you don't play unless you can afford to," Ward countered.

Sam didn't hear the other man's response as the men who were feeding the boilers started calling out louder and louder orders on the other side of the steamer. Turning the thing was causing quite the ripple effect. He wondered how Amos was doing in that hot oven of a room.

And just when he decided he was going to go himself and see the activity of the boiler room, the boat turned again, this time swinging right. It was all Sam could do to jump out of the way of the boxes headed in his direction.

Men yelled. Animals either mooed, snorted, brayed, or yelped. Sam clung to a pole, dodging whatever cargo was not tied down to the deck. And still—despite all that was going on—he heard it. A splash.

As the steamer seemed to stabilize, Sam peeked around the box. He spotted the two men that Ward had been arguing with, but no Ward. He couldn't say what made him look in the water, but he did and saw a hand. Leaving his space in the shadows, Sam made his way to the railing, past the other men. And yes, there was Ward, trying to swim and getting further and further away.

They didn't make eye contact. Ward was too busy struggling and losing. Sam's grip on the railing was tight. He could walk away and Ward and all of his threats would be gone.

"Sam!" the voice was familiar, almost frantic.

Sam tossed one quick look at his brother and dove overboard.


Laura stared, her hands gripping the railing of the steamboat tightly as Sam—it couldn't be Sam—dove into the water. She was out on the promenade deck, her, Gid, Sol, Maureen, and Emma.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she heard Maureen say from behind her. The comment wasn't surprising. Her face had already turned green from the first sharp turn.

"This is so much fun," Gid whispered from his place next to Laura. After the boat had swerved that first time, everyone who served on the upper deck had all come out, including Nellie and Shad, to see what was going on. Nellie and Shad had gone back in to finish cooking though a few minutes ago muttering something about snags. Laura was quickly beginning to realize there was a whole nother language out here on the steamboat. She didn't want to learn it.

"Man overboard!" she heard called from below.

"Was that Sam?" Sol asked as he came up on her other side. He stood on his tiptoes, leaning over to see.

Laura didn't respond. Instead, she pulled away from the railing and headed down the steps. She reached the bottom in time to see Manny running past her.

"There's no way you'll catch him," a sailor was saying to Manny as Manny was pulling rope out of a closet.

"My brother can swim," he said, giving the rope one last tug.

"Tie it around somethin' that will float," Laura said, her eyes darting around the small room. "That," she said, pointing to an empty wood shelf. "Wood floats."

Manny stepped past her, jerked the shelf out of its place and tied a knot around the middle of the wood. Laura ran alongside him as he tossed it high and far into the water. It hit the water with a splash that was seen but not heard over the noise behind them.

And even though it seemed somewhat close to Sam, it wasn't close enough. Sam was moving, but the steamer was moving faster. And something was slowing him down...

"Wait. Is he helpin' someone?"

"Yes," Manny growled. "Some fool fell in the water so of course Sam had to jump in."

"He'll never make it." The same unhelpful man behind Manny repeated himself.

Laura turned to frown at him, and saw that half the people on the steamer were right behind her. Glancing up above her head, she could see bodies pressed against the railing of the hurricane deck and the Texas deck watching Sam struggling to swim for the piece of wood and carry the man in the water.

Laura turned back to look though she was almost afraid to. She couldn't bear it if they had to leave him. He was just starting to become her friend, she realized in that moment. She closed her eyes, prayed. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

"He's got it!" Someone yelled. Laura opened her eyes, saw Sam gripping the wood tightly as it dragged him and the person he carried, clear across the water. People whopped loudly from behind her.

Men lined up to pull the rope and wood that Sam clung to into the boat. As they got closer, Laura watched in amazement as Ward's familiar figure took shape. He did not appear to be breathing.

"You fool," Manny's voice was low, and Laura was fairly certain only she and Sam heard him say it as he grabbed two fistfuls of Sam's shirt and helped him overboard. Ward, she could see out the corner of her eye, was being pulled up by some sailors.

"You know me," Sam said, breathing quick and deep. He looked tired and she noticed that he was very much leaning into his brother who now had an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Laura fought an unusual urge to reach out and touch him. As though that would do something.

"Can you make it up the stairs? We can have more privacy in the laundry room."

Both men turned to look at her, their eyes wide with surprise at her presence. "I can get you a cup of somethin' warm upstairs. I'm sure you're cold."

"Where," Manny asked, eyeing her, "Did you come from?"

Before she could tell him that she had been there the whole time, someone—several someones—slapped Sam on the back, congratulating him on such a great swim.

Laura took that moment to leave the lower level and run up the stairs.

"Oh, my goodness, Laura did you see that?!" Gid was still straining his thin body over the rails where Laura had left him as though he might miss something else.

"I didn't think he would make it. Honest to goodness, I didn't," Sol said to no one in particular.

"Fun's over. Ya'll best get back to work, now."

"I could never have swum that fast," Gid muttered walking past her.

"You can't swim at all," Sol countered, following him.

She went first to the laundry room and saw that no one was there. Good. Then she ran into the steamboat kitchen.

"They say a man fell overboard and another man jumped in to save him?" Nellie asked. She was cutting her daily quota of potatoes.

"Yes. Sam, one of the Negroes jumped in and saved a white man. Could I pour him a cup of coffee?" Laura asked, pointing to the coffee pot that was kept warm on the stove. Laura knew Nellie changed it every other hour so that the coffee was kept as fresh as it could be.

"Aint' that somethin'," Nellie said, shaking her head. "Go on, but bring me my cup back."

Not sure how Sam took his coffee, Laura poured in a little cream, a lot of sugar and gave it a quick stir before setting it on a saucer. "I'll be back to help you in just a moment."

She made her way slowly to the laundry room, pausing only when the whistle blew. They had pretty much arrived at the next port. She figured in that moment that if Sam hadn't caught up with the ship he could have swam to shore and met them at Owensboro, but that was more than a little fraught with risk.

She kept going towards the laundry room and tapped gently.

"Um... we're here," Manny said, his voice, low and unsure. How she knew it was Manny and not Sam, she didn't know.

She pushed into the room where Sam now sat on a trunk still in his wet clothes. "Didn't you have another set of clothes?"

"Yes," Sam said slowly, eyeing the cup in her hand.

"Then why haven't you changed yet? The last thing you want is to take a chill and I imagine the water was cold," she scolded as she handed him the small glass saucer and cup. Sam took it slowly, carefully, as though he had never handled anything so breakable in his life. And it was quite possible that he hadn't.

"What is it?" Manny asked brusquely.

"Coffee," Laura said slowly. Even Papa and Benji had had a cup of coffee. Prince drank a cup every morning while reading yesterday's newspaper, but Prince wasn't exactly a good measuring stick for most slaves.

"We've heard of coffee, thank you very much," Manny said before snatching the cup off the saucer and tasting it. He grimaced. "It's hot and it tastes... bitter."

"I put in cream and sugar."

"Cream and sugar?" Manny asked before raising it to his lips again.

"What are you doin'? That's not for you," Laura said when his second sip was particularly long.

"Here," Manny said, pushing the cup at Sam. "It'll definitely warm you."

Sam took it slowly and raised it to his nose, smelling it. Then he took a small sip before also grimacing.

"An acquired taste, perhaps," Laura said with a small shrug, feeling more than a little embarrassed.

"Yes, but kind of nice," Sam said slowly, taking another sip.

"And addictive. Don't drink it all, brother."

"Maybe you should go get Sam somethin' dry to wear," Laura said, meeting Manny's gaze. "He did, after all, almost just die."

"Sam, always, almost just dies," Manny said, giving her a look that told her Sam was exactly none of her business. "But, since I was born to serve, literally, I will go back down and get Sam's dry clothes. Because I have nothin' better to do than serve. Obviously."

Manny went to the door and Laura could not stop the next sentence that came out of her mouth. "Learn some new words?" Manny stiffened. It was something Prince would have asked her had she repeated herself. With a huff, he opened up the door to the laundry room and left.

A small snort caught her attention and she turned back to Sam who was smiling behind his coffee cup. He took another sip and set it and the saucer on the table next to him. Laura leaned over and looked in. There was still enough for Manny to get another swallow.

"I probably shouldn't have said that to your brother," Laura said softly, before raising her gaze to his.

"Manny'll respect you more if you say your piece than if you hold it in... he always dishes out more'n what most folks can take."

A wry smile crossed Laura's lips. She could take. She watched him grip the edge of the trunk tightly as a shiver hit him. Walking past him, she went to a shelf and grabbed a towel. If she had to stay up and wash it later, then oh well. Coming up behind him, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, leaning into him for just one moment before stepping away and turning to face him. His gaze was direct, almost piercing and for some reason her heart started racing. He really was one of the handsomest men of her acquaintance. And, apparently, the kindest as well.

"Why?"

He didn't even have to ask her what she was talking about. "Because I couldn't live with myself if I let him die when I could have saved him." His eyes dropped to the floor and his voice was quiet and sure though his grip on the trunk seemed to be turning the tips of his fingers white. "I couldn't pray to my Jesus with confidence with that kind of stain on my soul."

Laura stared at him, and she was sure he could feel the intensity of her gaze, but he did not look up. "I've always considered myself to be a believer in Jesus, but I don't think I've ever seen faith lived out the way you do it."

His eyes flickered to hers then, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Is it really faith if it doesn't call us to action?"

She opened her mouth to reply but shut it when he continued. "Before you paint me as a saint," he began, his eyes returning to the ground. "My mama... she made us promise not to look for her when we was sold. She made us promise not to look back," he said simply, but even still she could hear a world of hurt in his words. "I believe you reap what you sow and... if someone ever has or had the opportunity to help her, I pray that my actions... that somehow... that if I do a kindness for someone else, then they'll have done a kindness for her."

Laura swallowed the emotion in her throat and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "Sam," she said quietly and when he looked up, she placed a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. He blinked once. "Sam."

The laundry door opened and Manny stood in the entrance, a pile of clothes in his hand. His gaze narrowed and Laura realized that her hand was still on Sam's face.

"What. Is. This?" he asked, one finger moving back and forth at the both of them.

She would ignore it. And she would ignore him, she decided. "It's 'bout time you got back. I don't know what took you so long," she said quickly. She walked right past him and out the door, pulling it closed behind her. Then she leaned back against it and exhaled. Sam was... well she didn't know what he was. She straightened, ran a hand down her apron and headed off to the kitchen.


"What was that?" Manny asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and pointing to the door behind him.

"Can I have my clothes?" Sam asked even as he felt the blush rise up his neck and to his face. And why was he blushing exactly? He was a man full grown and Laura, a woman. And there had been nothing indecent. But she had touched him...

Manny tossed him his change of clothes and he caught them one handed. "Where did you get that soft towel from?" he asked, his voice mulish as he reached out and ran a hand across the cloth that Laura had draped around Sam. Manny shook his head and then reached for the coffee cup and drained the remains. "Here I am, feelin' all kinds of sorry for you and you've got yourself a lady friend whose got all kind of reach..."

"She's not my lady friend," Sam said, his voice gruff as he peeled off his wet clothes, shivering almost nonstop now. But maybe, just maybe, Laura wanted to be. She had touched him after all...

"Sam," Manny said definitively as he set the empty coffee cup on the small glass plate. "We don't have time for womenfolk. We decided that a long time ago." Sam supposed they were to ignore the string of girls that Manny had tangled with back on the plantation.

"Do you hear me sayin' otherwise?" Sam asked as he balled up his wet clothes in one hand. Looking around, he tossed them in a corner. He would come back and get them later tonight. Maybe he could wash them while Laura ironed or something. Her skin had been so soft...

"No," Manny admitted, but his eyes were still small. "But you never, ever let women get that close to you. All I'm sayin'," Manny said quickly, before Sam could say anything, "is that I'm watchin' you."

"Well, when you put it like that," Sam said with a roll of his eyes as he motioned for his brother to leave the room.

They were at the top of the stairs, arguing about nothing, when Sol slid up alongside of them. "Sam, that was somethin' else."

"Don't encourage him," Manny muttered.

"Mr. Ward told me to find you," Sol said, his gaze still on Sam. "He's the man you saved. His room is just this way. I'll show you. I think he wants to thank you."

"Sam," Manny said, reaching out and gripping his arm tight. "Whatever that white man gives you, you better take. Don't you be on that high road nonsense."

Sam exhaled, gave his brother a look, and followed Sol to Mr. Ward's room even though he could probably make it there in the dark.

"Thanks, Sol," Sam said and placed a hand on top of Sol's head for a moment before knocking on Mr. Ward's door.

"Who is it?" Ward's voice sounded rough, like it had caught a lot of smoke instead of water.

"Me. Sam."

"Come in."

Sam entered the room but stayed very close to the door. Mr. Ward was sitting at the edge of his bed, gripping the bedframe rail. He looked like he had been in that position for quite some time. For a second, Sam was curious about what he was thinking, but then he wasn't. It made no nevermind to him.

Ward too had changed into dry clothes, but his hair was going in all kinds of directions making him look like a wet cat. His feet were bare. He looked younger. And tired.

"You didn't have to save me, Sam. But you did. And if anyone on this ship had reason to see me dead it would have been you. And I have to know why? Why did you jump in and save me?"

Avoiding answering that question, Sam sent Mr. Ward one of his. "You don't know how to swim?"

"Not at all. Where did you learn to swim?"

"I spent my growin' years along the Potomac. Did those men push you in?"

"No. Some cargo broke loose and pushed me. They could have helped though." His voice was wry. "Instead they watched me fall." Ward's blue eyes focused in on Sam. "But you, you of all people, jumped in and saved me. Why?"

This time the question was hard and brook no argument. And Sam, trained since birth to obey, finally relented.

"Well, I supposed it's not really me you have to thank, but my God," Sam drawled out. There. Now maybe he would leave it be. Sam had saved him yes, but he didn't want this man getting any kind of ideas.

A quizzical expression crossed Ward's. "You mean... like Jesus?"

"Any other god out there you servin'?"

Ward stared at him for a moment and then blinked. "You saved me cause of Jesus?" His tone implied that Sam was more simple than he had realized.

Sam shifted, straightened. The steamboat whistle blew. "If that's all, suh, I has to be goin'."

Ward, still staring at Sam, opened him mouth and then closed it. Then opened it again. "I mean, Sam. I heard darkies were spiritual, but I've always wondered why. I mean you're slaves. And the men who keep you that way serve the same god."

"So they say."

Ward's eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. "You don't think so?"

"I believe people who serve Jesus, look like Jesus. And my faith is in Jesus, not in these people who claim to follow Him. That's what I think." It was more than what Sam had intended to say.

"Can you even read? I mean, how do you know who Jesus really is? Don't you go to their churches?" Their being slaveholders, Sam realized. But he was done having this conversation.

He looked toward the wall. "I needs to go, suh."

Ward huffed. "Fine. We're done with the religious talk. But you saved my life, Sam. When no one else would. I wouldn't have just been left in Kentucky, I would have died. And I owe you."

"No, suh. God..."

"Yeah," Ward said, standing, waving off his words. He walked up to Sam, close so that they were only a foot apart and Sam found his body growing tense as Ward held out a hand. He looked at the white man's hand and then into his eyes. "I think you can call me Adam now, Sam." That would never happen, Sam thought, even though it was a nice thought. He might call him Adam in his head, but he would never call him Adam out loud. Adam dangled his hand in the air, waiting for Sam, apparently, to shake it. Sam didn't move.

Adam sighed and ran said hand through his black hair. "Look Sam. I'm not going to force you to help me anymore. But, if you do help me, maybe I can help you? I can teach you stuff you need to know for when you leave. It could be anything like reading and writing and stuff."

Sam kept his face blank. It wasn't an unkind offer, but between Sol, Gid, and Benjamin, he and Manny already had teachers.

"I need to go."

Adam's thin lips pressed together in frustration. "You'll see, Sam. I can help. Look, I want to give you something." Adam went over to his trunk and opened it. Sam watched him rifle through it, wondering what it was that Adam would produce. It turned out to be a hat. "I know we're on the river, but I don't have a sea cap. I do have this railroad cap though," he said and tossed to Sam. Sam caught it instinctively, turning the dark blue cap in his hand. "Free men wear hats, Sam." Sam raised his eyes to Adam. "I can teach you how to be free."

Sam stared down at the hat before slowly putting it on. It fit like it was made for him and he wondered what he looked like. "Woman from cabin number twelve is a... lady of the night."

Adam blinked with the sudden change of subject. "A prostitute? I wonder if Captain Leahy knows he's got one on the ship plying her trade."

A prostitute! No wonder Laura had been so wary about the woman.

"Well, that's something. From what I know Mary Stiles was never a prostitute and with all the money she stole I doubt she would turn to the profession now."

Sam reached for the door.

"Don't forget what I said. I can help you."

Sam left the room.


"A hat," Manny said slowly, eyeing Sam. "You saved the man from drownin' and he gave you a hat?"

"It's a nice hat," Gid offered. It was evening time. The sun was gone for the night, and all their labor wrapped up. Manny and Sam had their bedrolls out alongside Benji, Sol, and Gid. The latter two had decided it was better sleeping on the lower deck with them than on the upper deck by themselves. Amos, apparently, had to sleep near the hot boiler. "I thought it made you look... different."

Free, Sam thought. He had never noticed it before, but most men wore hats. Slaves didn't. Or at least he never had.

Manny huffed next to him. No doubt, he wanted a hat. But Sam was not sharing this time. "Save a white man's life. Get a hat. Don't that just beat all?"

"What's our next stop?" Sam asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Indiana," Gid said with a sigh.

"We done with Kentucky?" Manny asked.

"Nope. Back to Kentucky after Indiana, but that is the final and last stop of Kentucky," Gid said, raising his fists in the air in excitement.

"Least we're movin'," Benji said, though his voice was a grumble.

"Ain't that the truth," an unfamiliar voice said, walking past them.

"Sam, this is Willie," Manny said as the man came and sat down alongside them. "He got on at the last stop."

Willie was a young, thin, dark-skinned man. He had former slave written all over him. Sam could see it in the way he walked, in the clothes he wore, in his small, quick glances. And now he suddenly wanted very much for Adam to teach him how to look free.

"You travelin' by yourself?" Sam asked politely.

"Nope. Got my sister Birdie on here. She's up the stairs though." Willie leaned against the railing with a sigh. "It's so good to be on this boat," he said quietly. "Ya'll just don't know."

Sam and Manny exchanged a quick glance and Sam saw Laura's brothers do the same. And just when he thought the night was going to stay quiet, Willie opened his mouth and started singing. "I'm just a poor, wayfarin' stranger. Travellin' through this world of woe." His voice was clear and strong and rang out all over the lower deck, completely belying his thin, scrawny frame. "Where there's no sickness, toil, or danger, and that bright world to which I go. I'm goin' home to be with Jesus. I'm goin' home no more to roam. I'm just a poor wayfarin' stranger, a travellin' through this world of woe."

The lyrics were unfamiliar, but the sentiment was one Sam knew deep down in his bones. He had to blink when Willie started singing again, this time with a guitar that had struck up to accompany him.

"I know dark clouds will gather round me, I know my way is hard and steep... I'm goin' there to meet my mother, she said she'd meet me when I come. I'm just goin' over Jordan, I'm just goin' over home."

The last line had Sam swallowing hard. And by the large sniff next to him, coming from Gid, he could tell he wasn't the only one. He had long reconciled himself to the fact that he wouldn't see his mama again until heaven, but still, the thought hurt something fierce every now and then.

Caught up in the words and the mood such as he was, Sam almost missed Baldwin and a woman talking in the corner. Excusing himself under the pretense of relieving himself, Sam walked towards them quietly and carefully. This time he was gonna see the woman. If it was the prostitute in room twelve, well, then there was nothing to say. But if it was Mary Stiles...

And yet, careful as Sam was, even he heard the wood creak beneath his foot. Both Baldwin and the woman froze. The woman said something quickly and then turned to leave. In that moment, the moon seemed to shine bright, and while he couldn't see the woman's face. He could see her hair. It was red. Bright red.


"And oh, my landsakes, I had never seen such a thing before!"

The new girl, Birdie, talked a lot. Too much, in Laura's opinion. She reminded Laura of a girl at Salis named Verity who forever had something to say. Prince had always said that anyone who talked that much just plain couldn't be trusted. His scowl had always been fierce when Verity was within five feet of him. Even Mama would roll her eyes and sigh when Verity entered a room. And none of their feelings were over-exaggerated. Verity had gotten more than one person in trouble with Miss Martha cause she just talked too much. No one had been surprised when she had been sent to work in the salt mines after saying just one thing too much.

"What about you, Laura?" Birdie asked. She was young. Younger than Laura and prettier. And she seemed kind. Maybe in another place or another time they could have been friends. But this simply wasn't the moment. Laura was of like mind with her brother. Slaves who talked too much weren't nothing but trouble. And it was clear as day Birdie had been a slave. It was in the way she bowed her head, her threadbare dress, her bare feet, the way she talked. She wasn't just a slave, she was a runaway. Laura would be kind. But Laura would be distant.

"No," Laura said carefully, slowly. "I've never seen anythin' like the boiler room before either."

"Boiler room," the young woman mouthed to herself. "I didn't know it was called that. That sound just 'bout made me jump out of my skin. One time, when I was a small girl..."

Nellie, who was at the stove stirring a pot of soup, stopped and stared at the girl. Laura could tell that she too didn't understand all this chatter, but she didn't say anything cause Birdie worked hard. Laura had thought she could move fast in the kitchen. Birdie moved like she was born to it, as efficient if not more so than Annie. She had only been in there with them one day, and Nellie was already letting the girl stir and add stuff to the pots.

"Maybe you can show me 'round if we get us some free time?" Birdie asked, tossing the question Laura's way.

Laura's first reaction was a hard no. After all, what was there to show around? The steamboat only had three floors and each one was shorter than the last. But then she thought on what Sam had said, about faith being more than just a belief but an action. And for the first time ever, she wondered what Jesus would have her to do about Birdie. She always knew what Prince and Mama would do. They were her measuring stick for everything. Jesus was always somewhere there in the background.

"Maybe," Laura murmured, but she said it kindly. That much, she knew Jesus would have her do. She gave Nellie a nod and left the kitchen. The three of them had served breakfast together that morning, but now that Birdie was there, Nellie didn't need Laura in the kitchen to help prepare the afternoon meal. Laura walked down the small hallway to the laundry. Upon entering, she saw Maureen ironing and Emma sewing in the corner.

"Good day to you," Emma said softly, sending her a small smile. They were nice, Laura had decided. She returned the smile.

"Good mornin'," Laura replied as she gathered the clothes needed for Daphne, Lucinda, Mrs. Hartford, Mrs. Jameson, Mrs. McRae. Mrs. Potter had gotten off and been replaced with Mrs. Bauner and her daughter Gerta. They were two of the strangest women Laura had ever seen with all their brown hair and old looking clothes. They didn't look like they could afford the Texas deck, but it made no nevermind. They had asked her to wash some skirts and she had. She reached for them now, pausing only for a moment at the sight of Sam's now clean and folded clothes in the corner. She had found them balled up and wet on the floor when she had come back the night before. She had washed them along with the towel and hung them to dry all night. She made a quick decision to bring them to him as soon as she was done waiting on the ladies. And with that thought, she was out of the door.

She grabbed dirty laundry, she helped ladies into dresses, she sewed up small tears. They entered the port in Evansville, Indiana, left it, and she was still on her feet.

"Settle an argument for us, Laura," Daphne said when Laura entered the room for the third time that day. Daphne was on her knees rifling through her trunk.

"Oh, leave Laura out of this," Lucinda said, sending Daphne a look of anger and something else... Laura stopped herself from shaking her head. Their disagreements were apparently worse than she had thought them. "Help me out of this, Laura," Lucinda said and gave Laura her back. The two girls had gotten off in Indiana and gone for a walk. Now that the steamer was up and going again, they had decided on an afternoon nap. "What's our next stop?" Lucinda asked as Laura began undoing the many buttons down her back.

"I believe it's Mount Vernon, Indiana."

"And then Tennessee?" Daphne asked, coming to her feet. She had several papers in her hand.

"And then Kentucky."

Daphne made a face not unlike one Laura wanted to make. "Mama says after the Indiana stop we'll really be stuck on the boat then. No stops for near upon three days!"

"That's what I heard," Laura said, making quick work of Lucinda's stays.

"And we'll still be in Kentucky at the end," she said with a shake of her head. "Now, tell me, Laura," Daphne said, holding out sketches. "If you were trying to get someone's attention would you wear this dress or this dress?"

"I told you I don't need anyone else's opinion! I think I'm grown enough to make up my own mind." Lucinda's words were said through clenched teeth.

"Fine," Daphne said and tossed the papers on her bed. "You're right, with the way you dress, sometimes I forget how old you truly are."

Lucinda growled something under her breath as she stepped out of her garments. "Come back and dress us for supper, Laura."

"Yes ma'am," Laura said and left the room. She heaved a loud sigh upon leaving. Then she went to her last patron, Mrs. Hartford.

The visit to Mrs. Hartford's room was uneventful and soon Laura found herself headed down to the lower deck with Sam's clothes tucked under her arm. It would be good to see him... even if she had seen him just yesterday. She reached the bottom of the steps when she heard her name.

"Laura."

Laura turned at the sound of Benji's voice. He was standing in the opposite direction that she wished to turn. Sam probably wasn't on the boiler room side of the ship, but she walked over to him anyway.

"Pa was askin' 'bout you," Benji said when she got within a foot of him. As usual, his expression was surly and his words curt. "You might want to remember you got a pa in between takin' care of all them fancy ladies."

Laura, careful to keep her face blank, though she did mentally wince a bit, just stared at Benji for a moment until his eyes dropped. "And a good afternoon to you too." She walked past him and headed to the boiler room.

It wasn't that she was avoiding Papa. It was just that she was used to doing without him. As she walked the few feet to where she assumed Papa must be, she found herself waving to the familiar faces of the crew. In some ways, it felt like she had been on the boat forever.

She found Papa sitting on the floor of the lower deck, his back against the wall that hid the boiler room.

"There's my girl," he said, his grin wide in his tired face.

Laura walked over to him and crouched down. "Are you hungry, Papa?" she asked as she reached into her pocket where she had stuffed an extra bread roll. It had been for Sam. But really, Papa came first.

"Sit," he said as he took the roll from her.

She sat, placing her back against the wall and stretching out her legs before her.

"We 'bout to head to Missouri."

"I heard."

"Jest 'bout seven or eight more stops 'til we get where we're goin'."

"Yes," Laura said as a cool breeze wafted over them. Though she no longer felt as awkward as she usually did in his presence, she didn't have anything to say.

"I think it's gonna be hard," he finally said, filling the silence.

"What's goin' to be hard?"

"Bein' free," he said simply.

Laura glanced over at his face, but he was staring straight ahead at the railing and the water before them. People were walking past at different paces, often stopping to talk to whomever they were passing.

"It's not easy makin' decisions all on your own, but I find that I am ready for the challenge."

She had never thought about it quite like that. Being free would present its own set of challenges. But she didn't quite feel free just yet. Not with Adam Ward in the background and knowing he could call for bounty hunters at any time.

"What's the one thing you've always wanted to do but couldn't?" Papa's voice was wistful, almost young.

"I don't know..." She hadn't thought about it truthfully... had never considered that she would ever do anything other than serve.

"Sleep in? That's what your mama would always say. She said she wanted one day when she could sleep in till noon like Miss Charlotte."

Laura hummed, a smile tickling her lips. That sounded like Mama. Except she could never picture Mama sleeping in.

"Me? I just want my own. My own home, my own family. Somethin' no one can take from me," he said quietly.

"I want to wear a red ball gown." The words slipped out unhindered, surprising even Laura. And she felt foolish the moment she realized what she had said.

Papa turned and looked at her then. "Tired of seein' your makins on other folks?"

"Yes," she said quickly, glancing away. Of all the things a free woman could want or do and she said the one thing that would probably never happen.

He reached over and patted her hand. "No sense why it can't happen baby girl."

Laura grunted.

"Dream big. And don't ever stop. The moment you've stopped is the moment they've really made a slave of you."