Sarah opens the door for me, beaming bright as the sun. She squeezes my hand as she lets me in. I touch the wallet on my belt again where I have the money. Over a thousand dollars. Much more than he paid for her, but it means I’m ready if he tries to drive up the price.

I sit on the bench in the hall while she goes to tell Mister Johnson that I’m here with some business to discuss. My knee jitters when I sit down. I straighten my leg and pull it back, but it starts jumping again, so I leave it. I rest my hand on the cash at my belt and wait.

Mister Johnson’s smiling when he comes in, holding his hand out to shake mine.

I stand as soon as I see him.

“Good to see you back so soon,” he says. “Missus Johnson’s still eager to have you make that gate. You can set up where you were.” He pumps my hand as he talks, looking almost relieved to see me.

“Sir,” I say, “I’ve come for something else.”

His confusion stills him to a careful considering. “Sarah mentioned business. You have some business other than blacksmithing in mind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see. You’d better step into my office.”

He leads the way down the hall to his study and sits behind his wooden desk, offering me a cushioned armchair. He pushes the books and ledgers to the side and folds his hands.

“So, tell me,” he says, “what’s on your mind?”

“Sir, I’ve come to buy Sarah.”

He stares at me, confused.

I pull out my wallet and hold it between us. “I know how much you paid for her and I want to give you that money. I want to take Sarah with me.”

Mister Johnson sits back and considers me. “What on earth do you want with my slave?”

The question pulls me up short and I can’t answer it. I open my wallet. I’ve tied off the seven hundred and eighty dollars and I pull out the cash, placing it on the desk. “I have the money,” I tell him.

He ignores the pile of bills and steeples his fingers, leaning forward in his chair. “I see a young man before me with no plantation and no house, and yet you want a house slave.”

He’s wrong. I don’t want a house slave. I want Sarah. The jiggling comes back to my leg, so I adjust my backside on the seat and shuffle my feet.

“We’d go west,” I say. “There’s an opportunity in Missouri.”

“I don’t generally like to sell my slaves, Mister Taylor. It creates anxiety and unrest in the quarters. But in a situation like this, you seem to be asking me to sell you a bed wench. I have to tell you I find the suggestion unconscionable.”

“No, sir. It wouldn’t be like that.” I want to stand. I feel trapped sitting here. I shuffle forward on my seat. “Sarah wants to go with me.”