“Bessie, you are my proof. And, Mister Laramie, you’re my witness. I’ve been saying this all along.”

“Don’t mean to make no trouble,” Bessie says, shrinking from Master’s excitement.

“Bessie, you’re the best slave I ever had. We’ve got to get this in the papers. Treat your slaves right and they don’t want their freedom.”

She shakes her head, backing away from him. “No, Master. I… I—”

Master throws an arm around Bessie’s shoulders and squeezes her into him, making her stumble to catch her footing. “Let’s see what those abolitionists make of that!”

I don’t know if Bessie meant to give back her freedom, or just ask to stay at Jubilee a free woman, but Master’s like a hound with a scent. Any chance she had of getting those free papers is already gone.

Chapter 55

Henry

On Sunday morning, I wait by the river behind Jubilee Plantation for Mister Johnson to finish sermonizing so Sarah can come see me. I spend the morning sitting and pacing and growing impatient.

From the bank, I pick up five flat stones and skip them over the slow-moving river. Each makes three skips before sinking into the water. I dig a stick into the mud by the bank, listening over the cry of the thrush and sparrow for the sound of her coming.

She calls my name and I turn to the sight of her rushing toward me. I drop the stick and, arms open, face smiling, I scoop her close to me. She gets more beautiful every time I see her. When I dip my head down to kiss her, she rakes her fingers through my hair. The feel of her makes everything speed up and slow down all at once. She’s in my blood, making me alive and she’s in my head making me want to be alive.

I pull out the wooden door hidden in the bushes and settle Sarah on top of it. I wade into the water and float her across. At the other side, she takes my hand and follows me down the path.

In our clearing, I’ve already left two blankets and a wrapped bundle of cornbread and smoked fish. She doesn’t want to eat, but asks me to hold her. I feel in her touch that something’s happened and when she crawls on to my lap and curls up against me, I’m terrified.

“Tell me what’s happened,” I say.

“Henry,” she says into my neck.

My name on her lips is a precious thing, alive with possibility.

I wait for her to speak, but she stays silent. I stroke her back for encouragement and she takes my hand and lays it low on her stomach.

“Did someone hurt you?” I ask. I probe her belly gently with my fingers.

She pulls a long, slow breath in and then pushes it out again. “No one hurt me,” she says.

I tip her chin up so that I can see into her face. “Did someone say something to you? Threaten you?”