It was an answer to an unspoken prayer, Laura thought as she entered the dark room. She only walked a few steps in before the woman lit a candle, giving them a little something to see by. The windows were covered by heavy curtains, and Laura could understand not wanting to take any chances. Laura looked around her. It was an empty bedroom with a bed, a table, and a vanity. "I'll get a basin of water. I'm sure if you're like any other woman I know, you desperately want to be clean."

"I do. Thank you," Laura said and the woman sent her a small smile. In the dim light, Laura could see that the woman was old, older than Miss Martha if one could tell age by the wrinkles that lined one's face. Her hair was hidden under a night cap and she wore a simple cream housedress that had seen better days but was in fairly good condition.

"There's another woman downstairs in the cellar. I offered her the same thing, but she wouldn't take me up on it," the woman said quietly. Laura almost winced. Almost. Getting clean was more important than her pride, however. "I'll be back with the water and the dress. Then you can give me yours and we can get it washed and hangin' tonight."

"I can wash it myself," Laura said quickly. No white person had ever offered to help her do anything. And it would take more than an offer of water for Laura to be too trusting. Of course the woman was keeping her entire family safe from bounty hunters... but still, Laura would take care of herself as best she could.

"It's no bother, dear. I'll be just a minute."

The woman left, pulling the door to the bedroom shut right behind her. Laura exhaled, closed her eyes. Then she stepped out of her shoes feeling blessed relief. She pulled down her stockings. They were torn, bloodied, and disgusting. There was no saving them. She undid her cloak and set it across a chair. It too could use a good washing. She pulled her bag up and over her head and opened it. She had two extra dresses and three pairs of stockings though they had gotten wet in the dunking. But not as wet as what she was in the process of removing. They would do. She would not take this woman's clothes. She was a free woman now, not merchandise to be dressed. It was time to live like it. There was a gentle tapping on the door.

"Come in," Laura said. The woman pushed open the door, but looked to be struggling with the large basin of water. Laura hurried over and relieved her of it. Laura placed it on the table in the room. The woman came to stand next to her and placed two towels and a bar of soap. "I have a dress I can change into."

The woman held up a simple calico dress. "Are you sure? Most women who come through here only have the one. If you're worried that you're takin' somethin' of mine, don't be. We get a lot of donations from abolitionists around the country."

"I'm sure," Laura said and pulled out her wrinkled, slightly damp, plaid day dress with a wide white collar on the top. Another old dress of Missy Charlotte's that Laura had worked over to fit her. Laura had had five of them. More dresses than most slaves; a deep red one, a plaid one, a dark blue one, a black one, and a gray one. She had packed the red one and the plaid one and ran in the dark blue one. She had very happily left the black and gray dresses. She would never dress as a servant again. She wasn't so prideful as to say she would never work as one. No. There was a good chance she would be sewing for some woman whenever they ended up wherever Papa was leading them. But she wouldn't look like a servant and she certainly wouldn't dress like one.

"What a lovely dress."

It wasn't. Not really for the fabric was quite faded. But Laura had done her best to keep it in mint condition. "Thank you," Laura said quietly. "I've worked on it myself."

"A seamstress are you?"

"Yes." Only every day of her life. Laura hesitated. The woman had been nothing but kind to her and her family. "You've been very generous to me and my family. If you have somethin' you would like me to look at..."

A small smile lit across the woman's face. "Well, I do have somethin'."

"Then bring it to me. As soon as I get changed I can work on it."

"But you must be tired." She was. But she could sew in her sleep.

"We came by boat and you're not that far from the river. I'll be fine. And it's the least I can do."

The woman gave her a serious look, her eyes, which Laura could see were gray, met Laura's. "No, dear, it's the least I can do."

"You've been a help to me. To us. Please, let me help if I can."

The woman beamed and then left the room pulling the door behind her. Laura dipped her hand in the basin of water and sighed when she felt the heat touch her fingers. Still warm. She reached for the soap and brought it up to her nose. She was used to lye soap. Lye soap that either had no scent or sometimes had an offensive scent depending on who made it at Salis House. This bar of soap though... Laura gave it another sniff. Rose. It was something Missy Adora or Missy Charlotte would have used. And now her. One day she would only use scented soap too.

She made quick work of undressing, washing, and redressing. Then she did her best to wash the clothes she had worn the past day and a half. When those were rung out and off to the side, she undid her hair, brushed it out, and rebraided it. Laura only washed her hair every few weeks and she had washed it the morning before they left. But with all the sweating and the river water, she could tell it could already use another washing. But she didn't have time for that. She attached the pins in her hair, making her bun tight. Almost she felt like herself.

Though she had on clean stockings, she wasn't yet ready to brave her shoes. There was a gentle knocking on the door again. The woman.

"Please come in," Laura said and went to the door.

"I would let you sleep in here, but sometimes the sheriff comes by and it has to look like we don't have anyone here," the woman said as she entered. Fabric draped her arm. "But give me your clothes. I'll take care of them."

"I've already given them a quick wash," Laura said, exchanging her wet clothing for the woman's fabrics.

"I'm supposed to be makin' a dress for the church social. It's not turnin' out right."

"I can fix it," Laura whispered.

The woman stopped, eyed Laura. "You're not much like the others we have."

"Oh?"

"You speak different and you're not as... afraid."

Laura exhaled, ran her hands down the sides of her dress. "I probably should be."

"No. I don't mean about runnin'. I mean... oh nevermind. I'm goin' to set your clothes with mine and then I'll be right back."

Laura spent the next hour or so measuring, cutting, and draping, pausing only to eat some bread and cheese or whenever she heard voices outside the room. There was the chance that the sheriff still might come knocking on the door, so Laura had to be prepared to run for the cellar. But finally, the dress came together.

"It's not the best work I've ever done," Laura whispered. Without good lighting, it was hard to get perfect stitches.

"It's better than any other dress I own," the woman said, her voice slightly shaky as she ran her hands down the length of her gown. "It's a nice thing to feel beautiful, isn't it?"

"It sure is," Laura said, placing all of the sewing needles and thread she had used into the woman's sewing kit. She folded all of her clothes and things and put them back in her bag. She had hoped that airing them out would do them so good. "I should head on down before Papa and the boys get worried."

"Come on," Mrs. G said without taking off her new dress. She opened the door and led Laura across the darkened hallway and to the room with the trap door. There was no one around. The woman pushed aside the carpet again and lifted the hook in the floor.

"Thank you again, ma'am," Laura said as she followed the steps below. The trap door closed quietly above her. But it wasn't dark. She could see light ahead, and then people. First, she saw the twins, Sam and was it Manny? They were sitting on the floor, talking quietly to each other. They both looked up when she took a step.

"Laura," Gid said, raising a hand. He was on the floor curled up next to Sol who was curled up next to Papa. Papa sat directly in front of her, a bunch of papers in his lap. Benji was on Papa's other side. Across from them were three Negros Laura didn't know. All of them looked to be asleep, though one of them, a man, opened his eyes for a second to look at her, before closing them. "Come sit by me," Gid said and moved his bag which separated him from either Sam or Manny.

"Alright," Laura said quietly and walked to her brother. This cellar was clean and didn't look like it was used for food or supplies or anything other than hiding people. It was long and deep and there was plenty of room for stretching out a bit. Papa had a lantern lit next to him, but so did either Sam or Manny providing some dim light in a space that could probably get very dark.

Laura plopped down next to Gid. "You changed," he said, leaning close and giving her a big sniff. She felt the gaze of Sam or his brother next to her. But she didn't know what to do with that, so she ignored him. Them.

"I simply could not resist the temptation," Laura said quietly as she wrapped an arm around her youngest brother's shoulder and squeezed.

"Surprisin'," Benji muttered loud enough for her to hear.

"Ben," Papa said, his voice low. Then he leaned across a snoring Sol and dropped the papers in her lap. "Look at that."

Laura unraveled the papers realizing that it was one paper. A map. "What is it?"

"Where we're goin'. Mr. G let me borrow it."

"Where are we goin'?" Laura asked as she tried to make sense of it.

"West." Laura dropped the map. West? What was out west?

"Really?" Sam or Manny asked from next to her. She turned to her right, but both of the men were looking at Papa.

"Yes." Papa answered.

"How come?" The voice was low, familiar. It was Sam who was sitting next to her. She was sure of it.

"Way I figure it they'll be expectin' us to go north. Most runaways do. They won't be spendin' nearly as much time or money goin' out west to Indian Territory."

"Now that makes a lot of sense," the twin sitting furthest away from her said. She was wrong, that one was Sam. The one next to her must be Manny.

"I want land. I want open space. I'm a blacksmith. They'll need me more out west anyway. It's a risk, but I've been prayin' on it and I think that's where God wants my family."

Laura stared at him, forgetting about the men next to her. Out. West. Where it wasn't even civilized.


What were the chances?

Sam turned and looked at Manny who was already looking at him. After Sly had left they had discussed the matter in great detail.

"Canada is safer," Manny had whispered to him after they had gotten settled in the room underground. The family that had taken them in had not been lying. There were blankets and plenty cheese, meat, and bread to go around. Sam hadn't even realized how hungry he was until he inhaled what was given. "On a whole lot of levels. No paddy rollers to deal with."

"I agree," Sam said when he finally slowed down his eating. It was clear to him that Manny had already eaten cause he was just playing with the food in his hand.

"Goin' west would be foolish. We don't know about what's out west. Paddy rollers will be lookin' for us. And whoever heard of a Negro with a gun?" Manny was saying all of the right things. But. Sam stuffed the last of his meal into his mouth and stared at his hands. His brother was not finished talking yet.

"Out west, the Indians might kill us. Now, in the all the years I have lived, in all the years I have contemplated my death, getting' killed by Indians was never one of the things I considered."

"You been thinkin' 'bout death?"

"Sam. This is no time for your distractions," Manny had hissed. He had kept his voice low the entire time. "You hearin' me?"

"I'm hearin' you."

He was hearing his brother and while he might be looking calm on the outside, on the inside he was floundering. Go out west? He had never thought of such a thing. All of his hopes and dreams had been pinned on going up north. Course he had no clue what up north looked like. And if Sly was to be trusted, and Sam had no reason to doubt him, it might just be one disappointment after another. He leaned forward, pulling his knees to his chest and buried his face there. Lord God, grant us direction.

Because he had no direction. Running had been a spur of the moment thing. And now he didn't know what to do next.

"Are you really sleepin' right now?"

"Manny," Sam growled.

"Oh. Are you prayin'? Tell God we lost." Sam sighed. "I mean but if you think about it, we ain't city boys. All them people... and up north I hear it's a lot of white people. Now what I want to go live with a bunch of white people for?"

"So you want to go west?" Sam asked without raising his face from his knees.

"Cause a child no bigger than a mite told me to? No, indeed. We goin' to Canada like we always said we would." Sam waited. "But I done heard it's real cold up there. Sam, you know I hate the cold. Course if the option is between bein' cold forever or bein' a slave forever. I take the cold."

And on and on Manny went, talking enough for the both of them while Sam quietly prayed and watched Laura's family out of the corner of his eye. The other three slaves that Manny had left with were down there, but they were sleep or feigning sleep.

But Laura's family? The four of them were just as quietly whispering amongst themselves as he and Manny were. They looked like a family. Amos was clearly in charge, but by the way he placed a hand on one of the smaller boys or smiled at Benji, Sam could see that he was a loving parent. A deep, yearning rose up from inside of him, so heavy he had to blink back tears. It had been so long since he had been anyone's son. And he probably never would be again. He exhaled in an effort to get control of his emotions. He was a man full grown. The last thing he needed was a daddy. Or a mama. And at least he had Manny. Some folks didn't have nobody. But still he found himself glancing over at them again. All of them were barefoot. But all of them had the same kind of cloak as Laura had had. Their clothes didn't seem to have any holes in them. And they didn't look worn down. Used. He wondered what had happened that had made them want to run. If he recollected correctly, Amos worked a smithy. That was a nice job for a slave. Sometimes a smithy could make his own money on the side. The youngest boy leaned over, said something, and all four of them laughed. The only thing missing in the picture they presented was Laura. And a mama. And if their closeness was any indication, than the only reason there wasn't a mama was because she was dead.

"We cain't buy land up north, Sam," Manny said quietly, reminding Sam that he had bigger fish to fry than wondering about the family sitting a few feet away from him. "It's probably all taken at this point. And all we is, is farmers."

Sam listened to his brother's chatter until the door above the stairs lifted and Laura had timidly walked into their midst.

"I see the allure."

"Hush."

Laura had come to sit between him and her youngest brother. She smelled like sunshine and roses and looked even better and he was man enough to appreciate it in a distant sort of way. She had fallen into the category he put all pretty women. Nice looking, but not for him. He had returned his attention to his brother until he saw Amos hand her papers. She could read? The fascination was back. She wasn't like no slave he had ever met in his life. And then Amos had said they were going west. And now here Sam was, feeling thunderstruck.

Amos started speaking again, and Sam turned to face him taking in another whiff of the roses on Laura's skin. He tried not to think about that. "Ain't no jobs for Negros up north other than servin' white folks. Spent my whole life at the whim of a white man. Ain't gone do that as a free man."

"See!" Manny hissed against Sam's other ear.

"Papa, how far west you talkin'?"

Laura's voice was low, but Sam could hear that hint of panic in it. He and Manny weren't the only ones unsure.

"Don't know for sure. I'm hopin' I'll know it when I see it, but definitely Indian Territory where paddy rollers less likely to go huntin'."

"It's far," Laura said and raised the paper, stretching it out. Sam could not help but lean in close to look at it. When she glanced over at him, he leaned back. "No," she said and moved the paper so that it crossed both of their laps. "It's a map," she said simply.

Sam had heard that word before but where?

"Treasure map?" There was awe in Manny's voice. That's right. As boys they had heard stories of treasure maps. Pieces of paper that showed you were to go to find buried gold.

"Where are we?" Laura muttered to herself, her finger making lines on the map. Sam turned to his brother, his eyes wide. Manny's were wider. They both turned to the map, even though they didn't understand a thing on it.

"Cincinnati is the biggest town closest to us," Amos said, his voice like gravel.

Sam watched as Laura stared hard at the paper for a second and then placed a finger somewhere near the center. "I think I've found it."

"Now follow the river. See where it leads."

"The river?"

"Steamboat is faster than walkin'."

Sam felt a pinch on his arm. He turned.

"Why didn't we think of that?"

"Cause we don't know where we are," Sam hissed in frustration and turned back to the map. It didn't help. He didn't know what he was looking at or how any of it came together. And he felt a strong urge to throw something somewhere even though it wouldn't change the fact that he was an ignorant fool.

But still. He made himself watch as Laura's finger dragged from one point to the next. Even he could tell that going west meant going far.

"Can you read it?" Laura's voice was quiet, low and Sam knew she was talking to him.

"No."

"This is where we are near abouts," she said softly, slowly pointing to a black dot on the map. "Cincinnati, Ohio. This squiggly line is the river. The Ohio River. See it flows into the Mississippi. The Mississippi will take you out west."

"I think she think you stupid," Manny said, his breath hot in Sam's ear. He fought the desire to roll his eyes. In all the ways that mattered they were stupid. It would be an enormous undertaking to go to a land he didn't know, in a direction he wasn't familiar, with people he had no relation with, and completely unable to figure out anything on his own. They would be at the mercy of others, hoping and praying along the way that everyone they encountered would tell them the truth.

Sam leaned back, distancing himself from the map. It could be done. It would just be the hardest thing he had ever done before. He had lived his whole life letting someone else tell him what to do and where to go. Now he would have to learn how to make decisions on his own.

"Stop gettin' worked up. You act like we got places to go and people to see." Sam fought an urge to hit his brother.

"How we gone get on the steamboat?" Laura asked Amos. Sam didn't move, but listened.

"Steamboats always hirin'," Amos said and held out his hand. Laura folded the map and handed it to her pa. "We'll hire on. It ain't gone be easy. Our life ain't gone be easy but we knew that long ago when we figured out we was slaves."

Laura said nothing, though Sam could see that she was considering her pa's words. Finally, she nodded. "It is, what it is."

"Can I lay on your lap, Laura?" the boy next to Laura asked.

"Of course, Gid," she said and ran a hand up and down his shoulder as he got comfortable.

"Are you Sam?" Laura asked, turning to face him.

The boy in her lap, Gid, sat up. "I can't tell them apart either."

"Most people can't," Manny said from the other side of Sam.

"I'm Sam," Sam said, giving her a nod.

"Is he though?" Manny dragged out slowly.

Gid snickered, his brown eyes darting between him and Manny probably looking for something to differentiate them by. But physically there was nothing. Except the scars on Sam's back. Manny had scars too, but Sam had more.

His gaze met Laura's and he could see that she too was eyeing the both of them.

"You two ever switch places?" Gid asked, still blinking at them both.

"Only all the time," Manny said, before breaking off a piece of the bread in his hand and stuffing his face. And it was true. Especially when they were younger. There had been no reason to just be Sam when he could also be Manny.

"Not recently," Sam said slowly. First off, it was only something they could pull on folks who didn't know them. The more people knew them, the easier it was to tell them apart. Because Sam and Manny might look the same, but they didn't talk the same. That wasn't to say that Sam couldn't become Manny again if he wanted to. Or needed to. And vice versa. But there was just no good reason to switch places anymore.

"You know dem paddy rollers gone be on the river. How you aim to get there without them seein' you?"

The question came from one of the three formerly silent slaves and it was aimed at Amos. It was one of the men who had been pretending to sleep, but it was clear he had been paying attention to every word. Sam noted that the other two were just as wide awake. His gaze flickered to Amos then cause it was a good question. Why wouldn't paddy rollers be looking for escaped slaves at steamboat ports?

Amos stretched his legs out slowly. "Don't aim to get there without them seein' us. We got us free papers."

Sam blinked. And then blinked again. He heard the slave who had asked that question make a humming sound. Then he felt a sharp elbow in his gut. And Manny's hot breath again.

"We stayin' with these people. They know what they doin'."


Steamboats sank. This, Laura knew. Cause she read the papers whenever she got a chance and had heard discussions of their sinking often amongst Massa Will and Massa Richard and even Miss Martha a time or two. Massa Will didn't even like to place their cotton or salt on steamboats that travelled along the Missouri. Massa Will said the Missouri ate boats. And if by chance the rivers didn't eat the boats, then the boats were busy exploding. And the stories she had heard about steamboat captains... they weren't nice to their own kind. How would they treat a bunch of Negros? And here was Papa talking about riding a steamboat as though they were merely going to take a Sunday afternoon picnic.

Sometimes I think you trust Miss Martha more than you trust your own papa. It was something Mama had told Laura more than once... and usually after Papa had just finished giving his opinion about something. She meant no disrespect, but just how could he judge a situation when he didn't exactly know what was going on? And as for Miss Martha? Well, Laura didn't always like her, but she was one of the smartest people Laura had ever encountered. Smarter even than Massa Richard and Massa Will truth be told. But not smarter than Prince.

And yet. She had thought they would use the free papers in case a paddy roller caught them that wasn't from Salis House. She hadn't seen this far ahead. Hadn't considered they might need the papers for later. And now it was making sense as to why Prince had given them false names with the wrong owners' written on the documents. He had anticipated this. And so had Papa. Feeling eyes on her, Laura glanced up. Papa was staring at her, no doubt watching all of her thoughts as they ran through her mind.

"Papa—,"

The trap door above opened. The sound of the hinges creaking as it lifted cut off every conversation that was taking place around her. The man known as Mr. G came down the stairs slowly. Laura finally got a good look at him. He was older than his wife with his halo of white hair, but not too old for he stood upright, not stooping. His suit was not threadbare, but neither was it new. And the cut was decidedly old. Whoever these people were, they were not in the first stare of fashion. Not at all the kind of white people Laura had grown up surrounded by. She wondered for a moment why they were helping escaped slaves. Did they feel sorry for the slaves? For her? Because that was what she was whether she wanted to think about it or not. A slave. The very lowest of the low. Or did they feel that slavery was against God's law and so must be fought against in every way possible? And wasn't that the thing? When Missy Adora was little, Laura had spent most of her Sundays in the balcony of Reverend Gautier's church in case Missy Adora needed to be taken out. She had learned a lot up in that balcony... one of the things being that it seemed like you could use God's law to put you on either side of the fence of an argument. Laura had told Mama that once and suffered a smack to the backside while Prince later told her it was the smartest thing she had ever said. Either way, she had missed her chance to find out more about these people who had opened up their home to runaway slaves when she had left the room upstairs.

"I thought you would be able to stay the night and mornin' through, but it looks like if you plannin' on goin' to Canada you got to leave tonight or wait 'bout a week." His voice was gruff, but he met the gaze of all of them. And wasn't he in for a surprise? They weren't going to Canada.

"We gone go out west," Papa said softly, giving Mr. G that piercing look he often gave her.

"West." In the silence, the word seemed to bounce around the small space filling everyone's ears. The man straightened, stared at Papa a moment. Then nodded. Slowly. "Alright. We can get you headed in that direction. But not tonight. May take a day or so."

"If you don't mind us stayin'..."

The man shook his head. "Not a problem. The wife and I don't mind. Is everyone goin' out west then?"

"Not us," the man said who had asked Papa about getting caught at steamboat ports. He stood up and so did the other two slaves next to him. Or were they now all former slaves? At what point did that happen? Laura just did not know. There was just so much she did not know. Worryin' don't bring you nothin' but trouble. Mama had always said that. But Mama had never done this before, Mama had never been free.

"We goin' to Canada. Don't want to live our lives lookin' over our shoulder," the slave said, continuing his speech. He made sure his words were tossed in Papa's direction. Laura glanced over at Papa. His calm expression did not change. And that did not surprise her one bit. If there was one thing she knew about Papa, it was that he didn't give two hoots what anyone said or cared about him. Mama had always claimed it was cause he knew he had favor with Jesus and when you got favor with Jesus, you didn't care about man. Laura glanced at him again. She wondered if that was really true.

"We're headed west too." The words were said quietly, but with a firmness that held no doubts. Laura turned slowly to the right. For a moment, caught up as she was in her own circumstances, she had forgotten about the handsome brothers sitting next to her.

The words hadn't come from Sam. In fact, he was staring hard at his brother, Manny. Now, wait just a minute...

"Alright. I'll be back down in a few so we can hammer out the details. Let me get these three goin'."

Everyone was quiet as the three slaves and Mr. G climbed up the stairs and left. The trap door slammed close with a thud.

"You're going west too?" Gid asked, sleep completely forgotten as he stared at the men sitting next to her. He wasn't laying on her lap anymore, but he was leaning up against her. She wondered if he found comfort in her touch because he missed Mama and she was the next best thing or if he was always up under someone. As opposed to quiet, serious Sol who seemed to do his best to prove he was growing up. Sol was no longer sleeping, but watching everyone through tired eyes. Laura watched him now as he stared at the twin brothers. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned and sent her questioning glance. She shook her head slightly and smiled at him. He looked away, looking a bit unsure. They still had time to go before they would know each other well.

"A man has to have his land, his honor, and his gun," the one who was Manny said. His what? Laura let go of the thoughts about her family and turned her attention to him. A Negro was lucky if he had land, wasn't considered to be honorable or dishonorable, and they certainly couldn't own guns. She fought the urge to correct him. What abolitionist had been spilling seed into that ground? She noticed that even Sam was staring at him. Manny looked past him. "Now, what's this about free papers?"

It was Sam's turn to lean forward, looking past her and towards Papa. "We don't think livin' up north is what's best for us, but I'll be honest, we cain't read and we don't know where we goin' or what we gone do when we get there. But we got a little money and we can pay our own way if you can help us get there."

And they wanted to go out west? Course she had always heard going out west was a young man's inclination. She was not sure what that meant for her as the only woman 'bout to go on this here journey. But at least she could read. It was her turn to look at Papa. Papa was staring at Sam. Hard. "It ain't gone be easy."

"Like you said. Life for our kind ain't ever been." Sam's voice was low and certain which seemed almost at odds with the way he had been looking at his brother only moments earlier. Laura looked around Sam at his brother. Manny had a small smile playing on his lips. Interesting. No, not interesting. She had more than enough on her plate. Thinking about the happenings between two brothers was a waste of her time. And yet...

"True enough," Papa finally said.

"You mind explainin' how you plan to get out west in them steamboats?"

Papa unraveled the map Prince had given them and this time laid it out on the floor so all of them could see. Prince had drawn a route straight up to Canada for them to follow. And wouldn't he be in for a shock when he learned they had gone west instead? If he ever learned that that is. Laura rubbed her chest in an effort to ease the tightness there. It was time to think on something else.

Manny and Sam moved to where the other slaves had been, across from Laura and Gid, and all seven of them gathered around Prince's map. "The papers are just in case somethin' comes up." Laura didn't want to think about what that something could be. "But I'm hopin' we can all hire on to a steamboat. I heard tell they always need help. It should take no more than 'bout eleven days—cause of the stops—to get us from here," he said, pointing at Cincinnati, "to here." His finger was on Oklahoma. Laura knew her states and her territories. Missy Adora had spent all summer learning them. She felt another small pang in her chest. She would never spend another summer running around Salis with Missy Adora again. She didn't know why she missed the little girl. It was like Annie had said, Missy Adora was one day gonna grow old and when that happened she wasn't going to be thinking about Laura. But it was taking her heart a long minute to catch up with her brain. "This here is Oklahoma, right Laura?" Papa asked. Though he clearly knew the answer already.

Laura felt the twins' gaze on her, but she licked her lips, leaned forward. "Yes, Papa."

"My Laura can read real good." He pointed a finger at her though he was talking to Sam and Manny. "She'll get us there."

Laura looked up at him. Stared. Surely the man was joking. "Papa."

"Ain't no one smarter."

"Prince is," Benji muttered. Course he would say that. Laura looked at him and made a face. He smiled back.

"I'm not so sure on that. Laura's here. Prince isn't."

"Who's Prince?" Manny asked, dragging his gaze off of the map in front of him.

"My oldest brother," Laura said with a sigh. "He didn't come with us."

"What do you know about steamboats?" Papa asked quickly. His eyes and fingers still on the map.

"Only what I've read and heard." She ignored the quick glances from Sam and Manny.

"That's more'n what I know," Papa's voice was low, gentle. And now she knew what he was doing.

With a sigh, she let him distract her. "They can be dangerous." Laura hesitated. "Though the ones floatin' down the Mississippi seem to be the safest." If Prince were here, they would know anything and everything they wanted to know about steamboats. Prince knew everything about anything. But instead it was just her. And Laura only knew what she heard discussed and what she could glean in random, quiet moments. "If you don't have money it's not the way to travel." Miss Martha had made that observation more than once.

"We can put up with anythin' for eleven days." Papa said. He turned towards Sam. "When we get to Oklahoma, I'll set up a smithy, my own business. That's the short of it."

Laura glanced between Papa and Sam and Manny. What was it about them that made Papa so willing to share information? He had never been one for loose talking in all the time that she had known him.

"It's more than what we got," Manny said, his eyes back on the map.

"How come you left?" Sol asked the question, but Laura found it was one she wanted answered as well.

Manny and Sam exchanged looks before Manny spoke again. "It was just time. That's all." That was not all. Laura looked over at Papa who was looking at the two young men, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Were you goin' to be sold? They were goin' to sell me and Gid. That's how come we left," Sol volunteered.

"No," Sam said slowly. "We wasn't gonna be sold." Sam looked up, meeting Laura's gaze for a second before returning to the map. "Where's Kentucky? That's where we come from."

Laura blinked, tried to meet Papa's gaze, but met Benji's instead. For once in their life they exchanged a look of understanding. So, they could be open and free with information but the twin brothers weren't?

Laura's eyes dropped back down to the paper in front of her. "What city?" Laura asked. She placed a finger on Kentucky. When Sam told her the city, she then found it. "You ran from here to here... that is, if you ran?"

"Oh, we ran," Manny said with a decisive nod.

"How you get across the river?" Benji asked, his voice suspicious. He would never have made it in Salis. He was just too obvious about everything.

Manny gave Benji a look, but Sam answered. "We swam."

"You never did," Gid said, eyeing them both in awe and amazement. There was one person who wasn't suspicious of nothing.

"Hey," Manny said, pointing a finger at him. "If we say it, it's true." And yet there was something in his voice that led one to believe that nothing that came out of his mouth was ever true. Laura's eyes narrowed as she took him in.

"We grew up on the Potomac. Learned to swim there as boys," Sam said quietly, his gaze still on the map. But by the gentle way he answered, she knew he too could pick up on some tension.

"Benji said you two worked a tobacco farm?" Papa asked, his voice startling Laura for a second.

"Yeah. For too long," Manny drawled. Now that, Laura believed. There was a lightness to his voice that told her it was not only true, but that there had been something rather horrifying about it all. It was like that for some slaves. Laura may have been raised in Salis, but that didn't mean she didn't know some things. The brothers had had it rough. And they were just not going to be sharing everything. Fair enough. "So, this is west. Which way is north?"

"You see this symbol right here?" Laura asked and pointed to the compass rose on the map. "It's called a compass rose." She knew this because this too was part of Missy Adora's geography lessons and what Missy Adora learned, Laura learned. Because of Prince. When Missy Adora first started learning how to read, Prince had pulled her to the side, even knowing that he had already taught Laura some reading, and said, Don't be stupid and let that girl learn something you don't. It was advice she had taken to the heart. Which meant Laura knew a little bit about everything. She had been looking forward to Missy Adora getting a new tutor that fall. She had already composed a list of excuses to be in the same room with her as she learned.

"I've seen that before," Manny said quickly, lunging forward. "Where did we see that, Sam?"

Laura glanced at Sam whose brow was furrowed, thinking. "It's often on a compass. People who travel—,"

"That's it!" Manny said, snapping his fingers. He turned to Sam. "Remember that one sailor..."

"North, south, east and west," Sam said, his fingers tracing the compass rose in the corner of the map. "That's how you know."

"Yes," Laura said, sitting back on her legs. She could read the eagerness in their faces, their desire to know more about the world around them. She had seen it in different ones that Mama had taken the time to teach. Other than her brothers and Annie, Laura had never shared what she knew with anyone. Prince had cautioned her against it. Don't be a hero, Laura. Heroes die. Though to be honest, Laura had ignored Prince. Prince didn't believe in saving nobody's skin except his... usually. But since Mama had also told her not to, Laura had listened. When the time comes and you need to do big things, God will tell you. That time ain't now. And now Laura was curious as to just how she knew that. But it made no nevermind. This was different. Cause they was... kind of free. And yet when the trap door opened seconds later, Laura wasn't the only one who scurried away from the map and to the other side of the room.


When he first heard the groaning of the door as it opened from up above, Sam lurched for the map, folding it quickly. He would have stuffed it down his shirt, but Amos spoke.

"Here," Amos said, his voice low and light, and his hands held out. Sam tossed him the map before pressing his body against the wall.

Sam's heart was pounding fast, but he took several deep breaths to slow his breathing. His mind told him he had nothing to fear if Mr. G caught them reading or in his case trying to read, but all his body knew was to panic if there was a white man around and he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. Mr. G came down the stairs slowly and then took a seat on the second to last step with a huff. If he sensed the tension that his presence had added to the room, he ignored it. With a sigh, he looked across the room first at Amos, and then at Sam and Manny. "Now, you say you want to go out west?"

"Yes. By steamboat," Amos said quietly. It was a good plan. A much better one than the one Sam had thought would play out if they took Sly's suggestion and went west. Sam had pictured him and Manny travelling on foot by night, hiding in cellar after cellar until one day they looked up and was there. It seemed silly now that he had seen how far away the West truly was and how unprepared he and Manny were. Staying with Amos and his family seemed like the smartest thing to do. Sam only wished that he and Manny had something else to contribute to the trip besides extra bodies. He hadn't missed the look exchanged between Laura and Benji when he and Manny wouldn't talk about why they left. But admitting that Molloy and Massa Charles wanted to use them as breeding horses felt... shameful. Though he had no doubt it was something that had probably been done even at the plantation Amos and the others had come from. And then Manny, of course, was starting to be his usual, ornery self. Sam had to think of something... some useful reason for them to be glad to have him and Manny tag along.

Mr. G's low hum caught Sam's attention, pulling him from his thoughts. He watched as the man ran a hand over his face. "Steamboats come through these parts fairly often. I know a few captains who would take on runaway slaves. In fact, I know such a man who is on his way here now from Pittsburgh." No one moved, but Sam could feel the alertness of everyone, even the younger boys, Sol and Gid. "My wife's cousin of a cousin. He's a captain of a steamer. He's expected in a few days. He's not an abolitionist, but so long as you cause no trouble and are willin' to work, he'll take you on. He's done it for me before."

"But he'll know we're runaways?" Manny asked, folding his arms over his chest. Sam heard what his brother was not saying... this captain could just as easily lead a paddy roller right to them just as soon as they got out west and then turn around and collect the bounty.

"If you was free you wouldn't need me to be a go-between. If I bring you to him, he'll know he has to be careful with how you get on the boat." Which made sense. But Sam wasn't used to trusting nobody but his brother and maybe the occasional fellow slave. But this...

"He'll expect you to work for your ride with no pay. That's why he'll take you on. The accommodations will be harsh. He may or may not provide a meal. But if I didn't think he would get you there, I wouldn't tell you. It's your choice to make though. Your lives to live. I'll take you to the nearest port in two days. You can decide if you want an introduction or not then."

Mr. G stood up, stretched. "My wife or I will be down in a few hours with some more food to eat and in case you need to use the outhouse. Otherwise, have a good night. And don't forget. You can still change your mind if you like. Got rides constantly goin' to and from the north."

When the door slammed shut behind him, Benji spoke into the silence. "Well, Pa?"

Well, Pa. Sam fought the envy that question brought up on the inside of him. To know there was someone else he could rely on to make the big decisions would be such a relief. And yet, Sam had lived just about his whole life never making a single decision on his own. This was what it meant to be free. It meant making the hard decisions and letting the chips fall where they may. And the thing was, he didn't really have to be all that different from Benji at all. He didn't have a natural father. But he had a heavenly one.

He spoke before Amos could. "Maybe we could pray on it? We don't know the steamboat captain, but God does."

Manny made a small noise in the back of his throat. Amos, who had been looking at his son, turned and looked at Sam for a second. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "I think that's a fine idea, Sam."


The steamboat was like any and every other steamboat Sam had seen in his life. Called the Thomas Paine, it was white with three stacked floors, each one a little bit smaller than the first.

"It looks like a cake," Laura said. She was standing next to Sam and now wearing the same solid blue dress and dark blue cloak she had been wearing the first night she met him. They had all changed. The G family had allowed for all of them to wash up and change into some different clothes if needed so that they didn't look like runaway slaves. Sam had on the change of clothes he had been saving for almost a year. A white shirt and blue pants. For the first time in ever he had a pair of shoes on. He and Manny had given Mr. G some money to purchase them. They fit. They didn't pinch. And yet, he felt like a part of his body couldn't breathe.

But he would get used to them. Free men didn't walk around barefoot less they was poor as Job's turkey. That was just the plain truth. He ran a hand over his head and hid a small smile. He had also shaved and cut his hair. The G family had lent them real honest to goodness soap and for the first time in his life, Sam had been tempted to steal. He loved the way he currently smelled. Sandalwood, Gid had called it. Every now and then there would be a breeze carrying the scent and Sam would realize it was coming from him. It smelled like freedom to Sam. Course everything that was new did. He didn't know how he could ever go back. Just the thought of it would probably break him. He shook his head, forced himself to think on something else. Manny, standing on the other side of him was wearing brown pants and a white shirt. He had not shaved though he had trimmed his beard. They were going to do their very best not to look identical.

"Not like any cake I've ever seen," Manny muttered. It was early morning, so early in the morning, the morning wasn't quite there yet as night hadn't quite left.

They were standing on the shores of the Ohio in the dim light. After much prayer, together, and alone, they had agreed to trust Mr. G's steamboat captain. If all went well, in minutes they would begin their journey out west. But Laura's family, with their free papers, were going to get on the boat at the port. He and Manny were going to take a smuggler's route... so to speak.

"You ready?" Mr. G asked, coming alongside them. "Mrs. G is going to take you five to the port. I'll take the twins."

There were no goodbyes, no exchanges of good luck. Sam didn't believe in luck anyway. He, Manny, and Mr. G watched as Laura, Amos, Benji, Gid, and Sol climbed into the back of Mrs. G's wagon and pulled off. Gid gave a little, hesitant wave which Sam returned. It made sense for them to split up. Too many people drew attention, but passing off phony free papers was gutsy. And they would have to show them, Sam was sure. It only made sense that paddy rollers would be waiting at the steamer.

"Come on, we got to meet the steamer for it gets to port." They were already at the edge of the bank, a small boat tied up to a rock and bobbing in the water awaited them. Mr. G climbed into the small boat that swayed and dipped into the water. The night before, Mr. G had signaled to the ship using the flash of lanterns in another conductor's window. He admitted that his friend the captain dipped in smuggling. He always stopped the steamer at night at a certain spot on the Ohio to see if anyone had goods... not runaway slaves exactly, but he would take them too. But the flashing lights must have worked, because here was the steamer, waiting on them.

It seemed like it took no time for their small boat to approach the Paine, as Mr. G called it. The steamer wasn't old or at least it didn't look old. Sam was no expert on boats, but he knew fresh paint when he saw it. In the dawn, he could see men working along the side, tossing glances their way. He prayed there just wouldn't be trouble. For there were so many ways this could go wrong. And yet, he knew in his heart that going north was not the way to go.

They were not the first to get on the boat. No, he and Manny and Mr. G had to wait for boats loaded down with boxes of stuff to be hauled up first. They were the only Negros though, planning on coming aboard.

"What you got there?" a voice called out even as a rope ladder was flung down the side.

"Two workers," Mr. G replied.

"Two?"

"I'll go up first," Manny said after giving Sam a quick nod and proceeded to do just that. Sam followed behind. The first thing he noticed were the men with guns patrolling the boat. Mr. G had told him about them. They were hired to make sure the boat wasn't attacked, to keep the peace if someone was looking to cause trouble... and to look the other way when Captain Leahy was doing business. But still, even though he only saw about five of them, it was enough to get his heart racing.

"Let's go talk. Follow me," a gruff voice on his right said. Sam turned to see a man in a dark pants, and a buttoned up jacket. A hat sat on his head. Captain Leahy, most likely. "Tell the wife I said hi, G."

When Sam turned around to say goodbye to the man who had got them this far, it was too late. Mr. G's boat was already more than halfway close to the Ohio shoreline.

Sam ignored the glances the other workers around him were tossing their way and followed the man down the deck of the steamboat. His nose was assaulted with the smell of animals, unwashed bodies, and something burning that Sam could not identify. The man led them to a small room no bigger than a closet. In fact, Sam thought with everything in there it probably was a closet.

"I'm Captain Leahy," the man said and lit a lantern. Sam took a moment to look the man over. Captain Leahy was shorter than Sam, had a beard of gray hair and slim of build. He had hard, blue eyes and Sam knew in a moment's glance this wasn't a man to disobey. "Ya'll got experience with a boat?"

"No, sir," Sam and Manny said softly, together.

"You will work the deck. You'll fire the boilers if needed, man the pumps, handle the cargo and supply the wood. Do us all a favor and stay out of trouble. Got it?"


Getting on the boat was far easier than Laura had anticipated. After a long drive down to the port that had her so nervous she almost lost her breakfast, they had finally arrived at the Thomas Paine. The sun was just hitting the sky.

With quiet looks of courage exchanged, they had said goodbye to Mrs. G and headed down to the wharf. There was a bit of a line what with people and cargo getting on, but finally they reached the front of it.

"Papers," the young, bored white man had asked. He was standing in front of the plank that led to the steamer. On the side of him were two men who could be nothing but paddy rollers with their stern expressions and their holstered guns at their waist. Laura had silently handed him hers. He didn't look them over half as thoroughly as she expected and in moments she was on the steamer. Her and her whole family. All the work to get those papers for something that took less than a minute.

They had been told when they got aboard to ask for Captain Leahy and tell him that the G family had sent them. He had met them in a small room.

Captain Leahy had turned to Laura. "Can you cook? Clean?"

"Yes," Laura said softly.

"Good. You'll work with my head cook and work in the ladies' cabins as needed." Captain Leahy had turned to Sol and Gid. "I'm in need of cabin boys. I'll show you who's in charge when we leave. You," he said, eying Papa. "Will work in the boiler room. You will all have to sleep on deck. Ya'll have food?"

"Yes," Amos said, his voice low. Laura and Mrs. G had made sure they all left with something in their bags. Unless you paid for the privilege, steamboats did not provide meals and Captain Leahy did not provide meals for runaway slaves.

"Good."

And now here she was on the Texas deck where Captain Leahy had told her to go. She had seen neither hide nor hair of Sam or Manny, but she was sure they were somewhere here, probably below with her brothers and Papa.

"This here is the kitchen. You sure you can cook? Cap'n Leahy like him some good food and he like good food served to his passengers."

Laura stared at the older, Negro woman who reminded her of half the women she knew back at Salis House. The woman was cutting up potatoes and steadily dropping them in a pot of boiling water. She looked older than Mama had looked and was a stone or so heavier. Her hair was peppered with white and she had deep lines on her face. There were scars, that put Laura in mind of burns, that crawled up the woman's arms and Laura wondered if the woman was free, enslaved, or a runaway like her. But since Laura didn't want anyone asking her those questions, she wasn't hardly going to ask someone else.

"I can cook." She hadn't spent most of her childhood in the kitchen of Salis with Annie and learned nothing.

"Good. We be cookin' for the meals in the dining room and for folks what pay for it. Good thing you here cause we picked up more passengers today. You hear that?" the woman said, holding up the hand with the cutting knife.

Laura listened intently, heard the sound of men's voices and then the bang of something in the distance.

"They be raisin' the stage and pullin' up out of port." As soon as the woman finished speaking, the boat shuddered. Laura reached out, placing a hand on the nearest wall to steady herself. Then the sound of a whistle piercing filled the air.

"And we off."

Laura gave a shaky sigh. Said a quick prayer to God to hide them from any and all paddy rollers.

"Pin that apron on," the woman said with a nod toward some folded aprons in a corner.

Laura took off her cloak and bag and began pinning on the apron.

"We can share a room," the woman said. "My room just over there. I'll have one of the boys bring an extra cot. Name's Nellie."

"Laura," Laura said, and then immediately wondered if she should have given Nellie a different name.

Laura picked up her cloak and went to the door Nellie had pointed out. It was very small with a small bed and a dresser. She supposed they might be able to squeeze another cot in there if they worked really hard, but she wasn't hardly about to complain. The boys would be sleeping out in the open under the elements for the duration of the trip. She folded her cloak and set it on the end of Nellie's bed. Then she slid her bag of clothes and food under the bed.

"Laura, next time we enter a port you'll need to check on the lady passengers and make sure they have all they needs."

"Yes ma'am," Laura said and came back into the kitchen.

"We got two other girls. Irish. Maureen and Emma. Right now, that's what they doin'. Helpin' the women folk get settled. Levi!" Nellie called out, her hands steadily peeling the potatoes and dropping them in water. A small Negro boy, who had to be ten if he was a day, popped his head around the corner. "Take Laura down to the deck. Show her where the chickens and pigs are kept. Laura, I need me two chickens. Wring their necks for you come up."

Right. Laura had done that before, but now she remembered one of the many reasons why she preferred a sewing needle and cloth to working in the kitchen.

There were two doors in the kitchen. One that was clearly for servants use and the other that led to the dining room. Levi pushed through the second door and waved Laura forward. She paused upon entering the room. The floor was carpeted, the walls were gleaming, there were tables situated everywhere and a bar in a corner. It was small, cramped. And more than a bit gaudy for its space. But it was nice. Nicer than anything she had seen on the steamboat thus far.

"Dinin' room," Levi said, watching her take in all in. There were a few men sitting at the tables reading papers, but otherwise the room was empty. "This ain't nothin' compared to when we turn it into a salon at night," the boy said with a quick raise of his brows.

Levi kept walking and Laura followed him out another set of doors onto the deck.

"Cabins this way and that," the boy said, pointing first left and then right. They walked past several and Laura could see that most everyone had tiny rooms. She paused for a moment to look over the side of the railing. She could see people all up and down the decks below, steadily moving.

"That be the pilothouse," Levi said, pointing up to a small, box like room above them. "No reason to be there."

He turned and kept on moving. This time down the stairs. They paused on the second deck. "This here the hurricane deck. Not the second floor." He leaned in closer. "Folks who ain't got much money stay here. They all stay in one big room. Women and men but we use curtains to separate them. We ain't got to clean those rooms other than a quick sweep. Texas deck," the boy said, pointing to the ceiling above them. "Monied folk. Hurricane deck," he said, pointing to the wall next to him. "Not so monied folk. Understand?"

"Understand. Do they eat upstairs?"

"No," the boy said, shaking his head. "Meals are served four times a day in there too," he said, jerking a thumb behind him towards the large cabin. "During the day, folks don't sleep in there. Now's not a good time to show you around in there cause it's always hectic after we leave a port. But, I'll show you a few things." She followed Levi down the deck. "We do bring the meals though through this door," he said, rapping his knuckles on a skinny door. After the last meal, we put up a curtain and it becomes the men's cabins instead of the dining area."

Well. That was odd, Laura thought. The setup was not unlike their own cabin at Salis House except they weren't strangers. No wonder Miss Martha said traveling steamboats was not for ladies.

"Some men pay extra for they own curtain so sometimes we have to pull out more." The boy stopped talking as several women passed by them talking.

"But we don't serve them?"

Levi made a face. "They supposed to pay us for stuff like cleanin' sheets and extra meals, but if they tell you to fetch somethin'..."

"Fetch."

"Right. Come on, let's go to the boiler deck."

When they got to the bottom, Levi pulled her into a dark corner, tucked under the stairwell so that they were out of the way of those moving things on and off the Paine. "This here a packet steamboat. Means we carry cargo and whatnot. It's a side-wheeler," the boy said, and leaning around her pointed to the large wheel on the side that was rapidly turning water over and over in a rhythmic fashion. "They faster." Laura gave a nod as though she understood.

"You know a lot about steamboats?"

"Miz Nellie my granny. We been travelin' with Captain Leahy for years. You learn a lot," the boy said with a decisive wave of his hand. She bet he did. They didn't move as men walked past them balancing wood on their shoulders. Laura looked around to see if there were any familiar faces around, but she saw none. "Boiler room," he said as they passed a room that was hot and noisy. She didn't get a chance to peek in to see if Papa was there cause Levi was moving fast. "C'mon."

Laura followed Levi down the length of the boat, careful to hug the shadowy places and dark corners. She smelled the animals before she saw them. "Pigs, cows, chickens," Levi said, pointing to the obvious as they approached the pens.

"Hey there, Levi," an older white man said as he slopped something into the pig pen.

"Miz Nellie need two chickens, Mr. Fernbach. She says to give 'em to her," Levi said, pointing a thumb in Laura's direction.

"Two chickens comin' right up," Mr. Fernbach said with a laugh.

"Move," someone said from behind Laura and she took a timid step closer to the pens, allowing the men to move past her. They had horses behind them, stamping and sniffing and leaving a trail of mess in their wake.

"Two chickens," Mr. Fernbach said, holding out two dead chickens by the feet. He had already done the hard work.

"Thank you," Laura said, taking them from him.

"You new?"

"Yes. Just got on," she said slowly. There was no sense in denying it. Laura figured everyone had to know just about everyone on a boat this small.

"Welcome to the Paine then."

"Thank you," Laura said and looked around her

"If you looking for Levi, he's probably off somewhere on someone's errand. Boy never sits still."

Right. Laura gave Mr. Fernbach a nod and then retraced her steps back to the stairs, up them, and to the kitchen next to the dining room.

"Get the chickens plucked, seasoned and roastin'. Then I need you to help me with breakfast before you go check on the lady passengers."

Laura set the chickens on the table and then rolled up her sleeves. It was time to get to work.


"Is there anythin' else you need?" Laura asked the two young ladies as she finished helping them unpack. Yankees the both of them. At Salis House they had entertained a few Yankees before. She never could understand why they talked so fast.

"How many other women will be traveling with us?" one of the girls asked. She was short, a few inches below Laura with brown hair and a plain face. Laura did her best to memorize it.

"Who cares about women, Daphne? How many other men will be riding with us?" the other girl said with a giggle. She was blond... with an equally plain face. They were not beauties, but by the cut and style of their gowns, they were not poor either. Which should have been obvious. They had one of the few rooms set aside for women on the Texas deck.

"Sometimes, Lucinda you say just too much. What would Uncle Philip say if he heard you just now?"

"Oh, don't speak to me about Papa. Well?" the girl turned to Laura, expectation in her eyes. This Lucinda could be trouble if she wanted to be.

"I'm not sure how many are on the hurricane deck. We don't wait on those folks, but I believe there are nine other ladies on the Texas deck," Laura said, thinking back to what Miz Nellie had told her. "And at least fifteen other men, though I can't say for certain since I'm not waitin' on any of 'em."

"Any of them single? Rich?" Lucinda asked as she went to primp in front of the sole mirror in the room. The room was as tiny. There were two beds with trunks at the end, a vanity and a small closet. Bigger than Laura's shared room with Miz Nellie, but not by much.

"Lucinda!" Daphne turned to Laura. It was becoming clear that she was the younger of the girls, but also the most level headed. Yep, that Lucinda was a problem. Thank the good Lord her days keepin' after girls were over. Now, all she had to do was keep after herself. What a thought. "Thank you for helping us. Our maid, Grenada is here somewhere."

"She's probably with Aunt Crissy," Lucinda said, still touching up her hair.

"Either way, we shouldn't need your help too much on this boat," Daphne said firmly.

"But still come and check on us," Lucinda said quickly. "Sometimes it takes forever for Grenada to get us both dressed."

"Yes ma'am," Laura said with a quick nod, slipping into a familiar role.

"Can we walk around?" this question came from Daphne.

"Yes ma'am, but you may want to stay up here on the cabin deck." Cabin deck. Texas deck. Did it matter what it was called, really?

"It probably isn't safe down there," the other girl said with excitement. Laura ignored their chatter, made sure everything was neat, and then left the room.

Onto the next room. She was tired, but it was a familiar tiredness. She hadn't always worked this hard at Salis, but if the family ever hosted a summer party or event it wasn't unusual for Laura to be up at the crack of dawn waiting and assisting any and every one.

"Laura."

She turned at the sound of Gid's voice. He, Sol, and Levi were carrying buckets of water on each of their arms. She gave them a small wave and they gave her nods as they delivered them to different cabins in the men's section of the deck.

She returned her gaze to the door next to her. Tapped on it.

"Yes?"

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Laura. I work here on the Paine. I was just wonderin' if you needed any help."

The door opened revealing a very pretty redheaded woman. She was older than Missy Charlotte, but younger than Miss Martha. And tall. Very tall. She opened the door wider.

"You must be new." The woman eyed Laura from the top of her head to the toes of her feet.

"Yes ma'am."

"There was another girl named Maureen who helped me before. Where is she?"

Laura had met the girl earlier. She was one of the Irish girls Miz Nellie had mentioned. Had Miss Martha been on board she would have had something to say about that. But the girls had ignored Laura and Laura had ignored them. So far, all was well.

"Maureen is in the kitchen helpin' Miz Nellie. I can get her if you want?"

"No," the woman said quickly. "I didn't care for the girl's attitude anyway. Fetch me a bowl of fresh, warm water. Then get that dress laundered for me," the woman said, pointing to a gown that was draped over a trunk. Laura assessed the blue and white silk moiré taffeta evening gown. Then she looked at the woman. The woman gave her a haughty look, peering down at Laura over the top of her nose. "I had to leave my maid, she was ill."

Laura looked back at the gown. The woman was lying. That was clear as day to Laura, but what did she care if the woman had or didn't have a maid?

"Yes ma'am."

"That's an expensive dress, you'll have to be careful when cleaning it."

"I'm familiar with silk taffeta, ma'am."

Laura felt the woman assessing her slowly again. "Perhaps you can come back before supper and help me dress?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What's your name again?"

"Laura."

"You can call me Mrs. Hartford. I am Lavinia Hartford," the woman said with a nod. The boat gave a small shudder causing Laura's foot to slip for a second. "New Orleans can't get here fast enough," the woman muttered to herself. "Lock the door behind you," Mrs. Hartford said, reaching for her door and trusting Laura to handle everything she had asked.

"Did you still want some fresh water, ma'am?"

"Yes. I'll only be gone a minute," Mrs. Hartford replied and stepped out the room. The door clicked shut behind her.

Laura exhaled and reached for the gown. It truly was a beautiful thing, but Laura could see a few stains on the front. She would have to ask Miz Nellie if she had any honey and gin on hand. That plus soap and hot water should remove the stains. She should probably get her hands on an iron too. Slinging it over her shoulder she paused when a piece of paper fell out. Habit made her not only pick it up but read it. It was a letter and none of the people or the sentiment meant anything to Laura at all, though Laura did note that as it was addressed to a Marianne and signed by a Thomas Andrew Carter. Neither name was of course, Mrs. Hartford's. But that wasn't what made Laura pause. No. It was the familiar stains that crept along the edges of the paper. Blood.


Sam was not going to deny that steamboats had always been a bit fascinating to him, but Manny's heart—and thus in many ways his—had always been for ships. Real ships. There was something about the large white sails, the massive decks, the intricately detailed figureheads that spoke of greatness. Steamboats not so much, Sam thought, especially as he watched a body slip quietly into the Ohio River. If only he had not come this direction.

Captain Leahy had assigned Sam to the position of deckhand and Manny as a roustabout. It was the first time ever that Sam had had a job that wasn't the same as his brother's.

"Sam," a young white man named Finn had come to get him from Captain Leahy's office. Sam hurried to follow behind him as he walked the length of the deck. "You ain't really a deckhand. Captain Leahy got too much on his brain. Only whites are deckhands. All the Negroes are roustabouts. But I know what the Captain meant." Sam listened to this speech and said nothing. So long as he wasn't called slave, he didn't care what position he was given. "You got three jobs," Finn said, holding up three fingers in front of him. "Cleaning the deck, stowing the goods, and measuring the depths of the river. I'll teach you about the river tomorrow. Today, you're going to clean the deck," Finn said, a smug look on his face as they came to a stop before a closet. He reached in and handed Sam a shovel. Then he pointed down. Animal droppings.

Scooping manure off the deck of the steamboat was the easiest job Sam had ever done in his life. He moved quickly around the deck, pausing only when they first pulled into port to watch as the ramp was lowered and the ropes were pulled in, anchoring the steamboat to shore. He saw Benji, who gave him a wink and felt a small sense of relief that their papers had worked. While he cleaned the deck, he passed Benji and Manny carrying cargo on and off the steamboat making several trips, looking tired and sweaty while he felt like he was on a bit of a stroll. With animals coming on and off the deck, the manure pile seemed never ending. That was fine with Sam.

He had just finished what he thought might be his last lap around the deck with the shovel and was headed back to the closet to return it and get new orders when he heard a muffled argument. If there was one thing Sam had learned as a slave, it was that being around angry white men was probably not in your best interest. Sam looked behind him and before him and saw no one. Not even the men hired to keep the peace. Straining his ears, he could hear the distant sounds of men yelling and cursing... and the ramp coming up. Most everyone, it seemed, was helping to get the boat out of port. For a second, the argument got louder. Sam used the noise to slip behind several large boxes of cargo. Eventually they would go away and he would come back out. But he didn't want them to catch sight of him while they were angry.

"No, Baldwin. That was not what we agreed to!" Sam peeked around the box and saw the speaker. He was a heavyweight white man dressed in a suit and talking to a thinner, leaner man also dressed in a suit. Passengers, most likely. Sam had made enough rounds on the steamboat to start to get a feel for how it worked. There were workers, there were sailors, and there were passengers. These were passengers.

"Vance," the thinner man said calmly. "You're not thinking clearly." And Yankees to boot. Sam hadn't heard that accent in quite some time.

"Oh, yes I am. You and Jonas—,"

Clear as day, Sam watched as the man called Baldwin took a step forward, covered the mouth of Vance, wrap an arm around his neck and snap. The sound seemed to echo around them. Sam, feeling like he was breathing too loud, held his breath and looked around them. Was there no one else on board this boat? Minutes ago, he had felt surrounded. Now, it seemed like everyone was gone. He closed his eyes for a moment but opened them again when he heard another sound. Vance had slumped forward, his body hitting the railing. Baldwin muttered a curse before reaching down and grabbing several stones that were on deck—Sam knew they were used to weigh different items down on the steamboat—and stuffing them in Vance's pockets. Baldwin looked both ways for a second and then with another curse, slid Vance's body into the water so that there was barely a splash. And then Sam stumbled, hitting the cargo in front of him. The steamboat was leaving.

He held his breath as Baldwin looked around again, clearly alerted to the noise Sam had just made. But when the sound of cheers went up in the distance, Baldwin slipped away. Sam exhaled.

"Oh, Lord," Sam muttered and closed his eyes for a moment. Should he do something? Should he say anything at all? A slave's word was no word at all and opening his mouth would really only open the door for trouble. Jesus, I need me some wisdom here.

But this time when Sam inhaled, he smelled tobacco. He paused, and then very slowly turned to his right. Standing less than a foot away from him, deep in the shadows of the boat, was yet another tall, white man, smoking a cheroot.

"What did you see?" the man's voice was low and intense, clipped and short. Another Yankee. Smoke wafted out of the man's mouth, hitting Sam in the face.

Not a question Sam wanted to answer. And when that happened, it was always best to play dumb. "Suh, I just here to clean." Sam raised the shovel and took several steps backward in an effort to create more distance between them.

"I'm in cabin eight on the Texas. You come to my room in one hour. You hear? And if you don't come, I'll find you. The boat's not that big. If I have to find you..."

Sam gritted his teeth, but kept his face blank, his eyes down.

"You hear me, boy?" the man asked slowly. Maybe the man did think Sam was slow on the uptake.

"Suh, I is a deckhand. Not s'pose to be up on the passenger deck without reason."

"Find a way. You hear me, boy?"

"Yes, suh. I hears."

And then the man disappeared. When he was gone, Sam leaned forward, tapping his head against one of the boxes. Lord, why this? Why now?

Should he tell Manny? How dangerous was the man from cabin eight? Course he hadn't stopped the one man from killing the other. Sam exhaled again. All he could do was pray on the matter... and show up at cabin eight.


It had been easier than Sam thought it would be to slip away from his deckhand duties. There was a distinct lack of... watching. Any other day that would have given him a sense of relief. Today, though...

Licking his lips, he stood before cabin eight. It was different up here, smaller, quieter, and fresher smelling.

He raised his fist and hesitantly knocked. The door swung open before he could finish the second knock.

The tall, white man who had been smoking down on the lower deck an hour ago stood before Sam.

"It had only just occurred to me that you might not recognize the number eight or know when an hour had passed."

Sam, keeping his eyes, on the man's third button said nothing. The less he said about anything, the less the man could use against him.

"Come in," the man said, holding the door open wider once he realized Sam was not going to speak.

Sam entered the cabin room and glanced around quickly. It was small and the man whose room he inhabited was a mess. Clothes were strewn on every surface. He heard the door click shut behind him.

"Listen, boy," the man said, coming around Sam so that they faced each other. The man was really only a few inches taller than Sam, but Sam did his best to hunch his shoulders, look smaller... be non-threatening. Though Sam kept his eyes down, he had seen that the man was maybe a few years older than Sam with black hair and a thin black mustache. Sam hadn't caught the color of his eyes and he didn't care to. "I know you saw something but what I want to know is if you heard something?"

Sam allowed his gaze to flicker to the man's for a second before returning to the floor.

The man sighed. Deeply. "What's your name?"

Sam pressed his lips together for a second. "Sam."

"I'm Adam. Adam Ward. And I'm a Pinkerton. Do you know what that is?" Sam said nothing. But no, in fact, he didn't know what that was. Nor did he give a rat's behind. "I'm a detective. I investigate crimes. And currently I'm investigating Baldwin and Vance. Or I was investigating Vance, but Vance is now on the bottom of the Ohio. I did see that much."

Well, excellent. What did Mr. Ward need him for then?

"You must be wondering why I asked you here?" Adam Ward asked as he moved over to a suitcase. Sam watched as Mr. Ward pulled some papers out of his suitcase. "It's very complicated Sam, but the short of it is this: Baldwin, Vance, and a woman named Mary Stiles, if that's her real name, robbed and murdered a wealthy man in Pittsburgh. I was hired to follow them, get proof, and have them arrested by the time the ship reaches New Orleans. Turns out this is a job a bit too big for one man. I'm going to need your help."

Sam allowed his gaze to meet Mr. Ward's for a second. He allowed him to see his answer. It was a flat-out no.

"It wouldn't be complicated. You would just be keeping an eye out on them, making sure they didn't jump ship. Stealing into their cabins every now and then to see if you could find anything incriminating."

Sam was already shaking his head before Mr. Ward had finished speaking. "No, suh. I don't do none of that. I just here to work."

"Yes, and you'll be working for me. Or I'll send a telegram to my bounty hunter friend." Sam clenched his jaw, but said nothing. "I saw you when you came on board with that other darkie. I'm pretty sure you're a runaway, but I know," Mr. Ward said, waving the papers in his hand. "That several of the others on this boat are. Have to be. All these warrants," Mr. Ward said, waving the papers in his hand again. "Were just made. Hot and fresh off the printer for slaves missing around Ohio. Ward looked down at the papers. "Let's see, we've got Jack, the farm hand, Maria, the cook. There's Lem, a negro boy, Amos the blacksmith and his sons Benjamin, Solomon, Gideon," the man said as he flipped pages. "And his daughter, a seamstress named... Laura. I don't have any with the name Sam. Yet."

It was all Sam could do to keep his expression neutral as a rock took form in his stomach. Adam Ward's eyes glittered as they moved from the papers in front of him to Sam's eyes. "Sam, these slaves are worth a lot of money," Adam Ward said, his expression hard even as a smile touched his lips. "Worth, I think, you helping me out with this case. Cause if you help me, I'll put these papers away and I won't look at them anymore. You don't help me, I'll be watching you and anyone else you talk to."

"Give me the papers." The words were out of Sam's mouth, before he could think about them.

It was Adam Ward's turn to blink. "What?"

"I would like to see the warrants."

Adam stared at him for a second. And then handed him the papers. "You can read them for yourself."

"No," Sam said flatly, folding them up and slipping them in his pocket. "I can't. But I know someone who can."

Adam Ward continued to stare at him. "You're a lot brighter than you look."

Sam met his gaze, head-on, allowing the man to see his anger. Adam Ward blinked again. "If this checks out, I'll be back."

Sam didn't give him a chance to say anything else. He opened the door and left the cabin.

This. This was bad. And he could not tell his brother. Because he knew what Manny's response would be. He would tell Sam that they would jump ship at the next port. Let the Virginia slaves handle their own problems. But. It wasn't in Sam to just leave.

He was walking so quickly, he almost didn't see Laura.

"Sam?" She was carrying clothes, draped over her arm. Her hair was pinned up, her dress was dark, though she had on an apron. She looked like a proper house slave. "What are you doin' up here?"

"We need to talk. Somewhere quiet," Sam said, his voice low.

She looked around, gave a quick nod. "Follow me," she said, and he followed her to the door of a cabin. She pulled out a key and unlocked it. It was a storage room. Or a laundry room. Or something. He watched as she set the dresses down on top of a growing pile. She lit a lantern, illuminating the room and then turned to face him. "What is it?"

Sam reached into his pocket and handed her the papers. "What these say?"


An uneasiness settled on Laura's shoulders as she took the papers from Sam. She had been feeling uneasy from the moment she first saw him. Was it cause Sam was on the passenger deck when she was sure he was supposed to be on the lower deck? Or was it cause the expression on Sam's face was grim. More grim than she had ever seen? Course the fact that he had papers didn't help.

Though she took the papers from him, she kept her eyes on him all the while, hoping he would give something away, but other than his clenched jaw, his expression was blank, hiding his emotions.

She looked down at the sheets in her hand. Stared.

"Is that what I think it is?" His voice was soft and he came to stand a few feet closer, as though he could read the writing on the pages.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her stomach dropping so quickly she placed a hand over it. At first the names and descriptions meant nothing. Then she saw something that made the air in her lungs whoosh out. There was a $200 reward for Papa. He was described in detail. Negro man, dark of color, six foot, three inches high, about a foot wide, almost forty years old. Blacksmith. She couldn't read no more. But she had too. She saw one for Benji, Sol, Gid. Herself. Worse and worse. And the bounties added together? Nigh unto a thousand dollars. It was all she could do not to fall apart.

"That's ya'll, ain't it?"

"Where—,"

"White man who saw me and Manny get on the steamboat." Her stomach churned a bit. It had always been a risk, but still the irony of it all..."He wants somethin' from me. Said if I don't help, he'll have ya'll arrested or anyone I talk to until he finds a warrant for me."

"A real nice fellow," Laura said, hearing the bitterness in her own voice. Why couldn't folks just leave them be?

Sam shrugged, looked away. "Least we know who the enemy is."

Laura stared down at the papers in front of her. "I don't understand. What's he want from you? Can we even believe that if you do it, he'll not still have us all arrested? Cause he can take you and Manny in too without a warrant, you know." She looked up at Sam who was now pacing the small storage room, with his hands laced behind the back of his head.

"Said somethin' 'bout being a detective. Somethin'... I don't know. He's solvin' a murder..." Sam shrugged and then turned to face her. "He wants me to spy on the folks or somethin'." He exhaled. "I saw a man kill another man," he said. Laura felt her eyes grow wide as he told her what had happened. "Now, this here man wants my help." Laura swallowed the fear in her throat. "And if you're askin' me if I trust him. I don't."

"Okay," she said, her mind racing. They would have to get off this boat at the next port. Somehow, someway.

"But," Sam said, his voice low. "I do think he needs my help. He ain't likely to call in the warrants 'fore he gets it. It'll buy us some time."

"Us?" Laura looked at him. They weren't a package deal. It would be easier for him and Manny to disappear than for her family to. He looked back, gave one quick nod.

"Us."

"You don't have to—."

"Ain't in me to leave when someone needs help." Laura blinked back tears of frustration she hadn't realized were forming. She glanced down at the papers in her hand. "Manny and I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. Without all of ya'll."

"We haven't exactly gotten that far, Sam." Yes, the steamboat moved quickly. Five miles an hour she overheard one of the passengers say this morning. But still. She had very little doubt that they were still somewhere in Ohio.

Sam shrugged again, stuck his hands in his pockets. It was gesture he made often to make it seem like he knew nothing. And she was beginning to quickly realize that wasn't the case. "It's not like we got anybody else to teach us about life. Teach us how to read and whatnot." The last part he said with embarrassment. Laura huffed. He would learn how to read, with or without her family. This much she knew was true. Sam was... he was special. Even she could tell that and she barely knew him. And for a second she wondered what that detective had noticed about him. And she got angry.

"This man is threatenin' you, Sam. You should leave while you have the chance. There's nothin' in here about you. Or Manny. You've got time."

"I think," Sam said slowly, biting his lip. He still wouldn't meet her gaze. "I think we should see how this plays out. The longer we on this ship, the farther we are from Kentucky. From Virginia. Take it one step at a time."

Laura folded up the papers in her hand, handed them back to him. He took them slowly, as though she were handing him a poisonous snake. Which she supposed, they kind of were. "I can't let you do that, Sam. I can't let you stay here a minute longer than you have to. We'll be alright. We'll figure somethin' out." They would. Laura had no doubt that the moment she told Papa about what she had seen, he would think of something.

"You're not lettin' me do anythin'." Sam's voice was low, hard. "I'm choosin' to do this. Choosin' to stay."

"What would Manny say?" Laura saw his wince. "He would say leave us." She hadn't known them that long, but that much she had picked up on.

"There's no reason why Manny needs to know about this at all."

"Sam."

"I've made up my mind, Laura. We'll play it by ear. But as long as this boat is movin,' it's gettin' us all just one more step closer to freedom."

Laura folded her arms over her chest, watching as Sam finally slipped the papers back into his pocket. She didn't see one thing he was getting out of this. Out of helping them all. "Then let me help you. Whatever this man, this detective wants, you tell me."

"Laura—," Sam said, a frown beginning to form on his handsome face.

"In fact, I think I should find out if he's even tellin' the truth about bein' a detective."

"And just how you gone do that?"

"I'll slip into his room, go through his stuff." She still had her lock picks, there was no lock she couldn't break into.

"I can't let you—,"

"Let me?" Laura asked softly. She saw him wince. There was no let anymore. "You're not lettin' me do anythin'. If you're willin' to risk yourself, risk Manny for my family, then I'm goin' to help. Besides, Sam. This," she said, waving a hand around. "Is what I'm good at."

"What?"

"Findin' out white folks' secrets. What you think we did in the Big House? Just cook and clean?"

Sam eyed her for a second. Then said slowly, humor tugging at his lips for a moment, "I suppose I did."

"Well, you supposed wrong. I learned from the best how to get information." Though she had been the one to teach Prince how to pick locks. He had complained the whole time about how low and criminal she was even as he made her show him again and again and again. He claimed that he was better at it now than her. She didn't believe him. Not even Benji was better than her. He may have taught her how it worked, but he had never had a chance to really practice.

"I'll find out what I can on this detective... what did you say his name was again?"

"Adam. Adam Ward," Sam said slowly, reluctantly.

"Adam Ward. You leave him to me. And whatever thing he asks you to do, you tell me so I can help."

"Laura."

"Sam."

They stared at each other.

"We'll pray on it too." Laura said definitively. Sam blinked once. Slowly. It wasn't anything she had ever said to Prince. Prince would have rolled his eyes to high heaven. But she hadn't forgotten that Sam had wanted to pray about going west first. Odd as that had been, it had felt right. "When life gets uncertain, you have to run to the one thing that is." Or so Mama had always said. She had never put it into practice before though. Life hadn't seemed all that uncertain. It did now. She held out her hands toward Sam. It was how she and Mama had always prayed, holding hands. Sam looked at her for a second and then at her hands. "Hold them and hurry."

"Why would we hold—,"

Didn't he know they didn't have time for this? Field hands, Laura thought with a shake of her hand. She grabbed his hands, felt how hard and calloused they were for a second. "Dear Lord, grant us wisdom and knowledge as we deal with this Adam Ward. He is no good, Lord. Make it clear to us if we need to leave, show us what we need to do if we should stay. Let us have ears to hear and eyes to see your guidance. Protect Sam. Protect me. In Jesus' name. Amen." She released his hands, took a step back. Ignored the wideness of his eyes as he stared at her.

Women laughing outside the door broke his focus.

"I need to get back to Ward and give the papers back. See what he wants from me," Sam said quickly, quietly.

"And until I know that, I'll keep my eye on Adam Ward."


"We're not movin'," Laura stated, but really it was a question.

"No ma'am," Shadrach said. He was a big, hefty, dark skinned man, and the head cook for the evening. Laura had been on her feet all day. First she had cooked with Nellie for the morning and afternoon meals, then assisted all the female passengers in the cabin deck which essentially meant she ran errands and cleaned. Then she had laundered and ironed clothes, occasionally stopping to reattach a button or fix a seam. When Levi had caught sight of her, he had told her to grab something to eat when she could. It had been the only time that day that she had sat down. It had also been the second time she had seen Sol and Gid. They had been serving the noon meal in the dining hall. Both of them had beamed at the sight of her though there had been no time for conversation.

But she didn't slow down. She worked harder. Because she had to make herself indispensable for the duration of her time here. And she needed to make sure she knew everybody and everything that happened on this ship. Which was why she had volunteered to serve supper that night. She and Sam did not have a moment to waste.

"Must not be a full moon and Captain Leahy don't like to move when it's dark out. Might hit a snag and ain't nothin' worth a snag." Or he might be smuggling more goods on the ship was what the man didn't say. She couldn't hardly complain. It was how Sam and Manny had gotten on board after all.

Laura hid a sigh. She wanted them to move. And move quickly. "Do you know where we are?"

"I can tell you we ain't hit the Mississippi yet. You'll know when we get to the Mississippi. Here," Shadrach said, placing several bowls of piping hot food on the tray next to Laura. "You know how to set a table?" he asked, giving her a critical eye.

"I told you I did," Laura said and hefted the tray. She had set more than one table when Salis House entertained.

Walking backwards, she pushed through the kitchen door and turned. For a second, she paused, taking in the dining room. It was quite something for a boat with its plush carpet, dangling chandeliers, and painted wood ornament. The room had been changed, like Levi had told her it would be. Gone were the sparse tables and chairs from earlier in the day. Now, there were long elegant tables dressed with white tablecloths and silverware. Almost it felt like she was serving supper at Salis for the tables were filled with elegantly dressed passengers, laughing and talking. Laura saw the girls she had waited on earlier, Daphne and Lucinda. She saw Mrs. Lavinia Hartford fluttering her fan at a man next to her. She saw Paulina McRae who had nigh unto twenty bottles of perfume cause she didn't like to bathe and Virginia Potter who was increasing for the first time and very ill. Even now she looked a bit green. Diana Jameson whose dress Laura had had to almost remake cause the woman's wardrobe was old and she was getting bigger. She was already getting a feel for each and every woman on the Texas deck, but she knew very little about the men. She wondered which man seated at the table was the illustrious Adam Ward who had the temerity to blackmail them. Sam.

Then she lifted the tray higher in her hand and stepped forward into the role of server. Keeping her ears attuned and her face expressionless, she listened in on every conversation, paying careful attention to the men and wishing she had asked Sam for some kind of description. She poured lemonade, she poured wine. She replaced silverware, she wiped up messes, and all the while she listened.

She was on her feet for almost an hour before she heard his name uttered.

"Why, Mr. Ward!" a woman tittered in front of Laura as she refilled her glass. It was the heavily scented Paulina McRae.

Laura looked across the table and saw a young, slender, handsome white man with a head full of black hair. In seconds, she had his face, his voice memorized. Good. She knew who he was. More importantly, she knew he was here.

She walked back to the kitchen, a bottle of wine in her hand.

"Shadrach, would it be alright if I called it a night?" she asked, careful not to make eye contact.

"Girl, I told you, you didn't need to be down here no way!" The cook said, though his voice was friendly. "I thank you all the same. These other folks could use some of your gumption," he muttered, sending a look towards two other servers in the kitchen. They were two colored men who, she learned, only came to serve in the evenings. She wondered if either of them were on the papers in Adam Ward's room. But by the way they responded, with a roll of their eyes, they had been on this ship a lot longer than her.

"Have a good night," Laura said and slipped out the back door.

Cabin eight, she believed Sam had said.

She walked out onto the deck and moved to the railing. Taking just a moment, she stared into the deep, vast, dark, and endless sky. Distant, tiny stars winked at her in the distance. Lord God, she prayed, Creator of all of this. Keep us safe.

She then turned and walked to the male side of the boat. Counted down the doors. Found cabin eight. She placed a hand on it and found it locked. Just as she assumed it might be. She eyed the lock for a second and decided against using the lock picks in her pocket. She reached into her hair and pulled out a pin. Making sure no one was around, she jimmied the lock, heard it pop, and then pushed the door open.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Tobacco. A very different brand than the one Massa Will smoked. She walked over to the small dresser where the lantern would be, and upon finding it, lit it. The room was a mess. Except, she realized a moment later, not really. She noted the clothes all in one corner. The personal items in another. His trunk at the foot of his bed. She got started there. The lock was not on. She got on her knees and lifted the top. There were more clothes, a shaving kit, books, she moved things around, reached for the bottom. A satchel. She opened it, flipped through the papers. She found the warrants that he had given Sam. Either he had extra copies or Sam had returned them. She found other warrants as well but mostly for white men. Then she found letters. All of them seemed personal in kind. She would come back, read them later if she had time. Blackmail worked two ways, Prince had always said though neither of them had ever had the courage to try it. And while she had no problems snooping, she figured blackmail had to be against God's law. With a sigh, she put them back. She didn't really want to know anything about this man anyway.

She replaced the lid when she found nothing about detective work. She went through his suitcase next, ran her hand against the lining of the case and found something that shouldn't be there. An extra seam. Running her fingers across the cloth she found where it opened. Aha. She pulled the papers out. It seemed he was some kind of detective. Pinkerton. She wished she had someone to ask. She slipped the papers back inside, smoothed down the fabric and closed the suitcase.

And then the door opened.