From over the paddock hill, in the direction of the fields, a white man comes walking toward the house. In his workman clothes with his broad hat and the whip at his belt, he could almost be Master Mulch. Miss Martha prattles on about bluebells and petunias as he plods closer.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he says when he reaches the bottom of the porch. He touches his hat and bobs his head to her. Then he turns to me and does the same. “Ma’am,” he says.

My nerves go tight. It ain’t never good when a white man finds out he’s been bowing and ma’am-ing to a slave. Hurts his pride, and a man with hurt pride can turn, quick as lightning, into the lashing-out kind. Especially if he’s already got a whip on his belt.

“Such fine manners.” Miss Martha shoots me a look full of mischief. “You must be our new overseer, Mister Laramie. My husband mentioned he hired you. Won’t you join the two of us ladies in the shade?” She winks at me and I shake my head at her.

Mister Laramie climbs on to the porch and then, remembering, takes his hat off. “Pardon me, ladies,” he says, removing it.

Miss Martha giggles like she’s playing a game. “We do hope you’ll be comfortable here with us.” She turns to me and pokes my side with her elbow. “Don’t we?” She acts like she don’t know how this could turn on me. I can’t have him thinking I played him for a fool.

“Well, thank you, ma’am.” He bobs his head to her again. “Both of you.” He bobs to me.

I give her a hard, nudging look to tell her to quit it and set him straight, but she flashes me one of her rascally grins. This man and me’s her entertainment.

“Begging your ladies’ pardons,” he says, “but I was looking for Mister Johnson.”

I say, “I think Master’s in his study, sir. I’ll let him know you’re out here looking for him.”

The Master hangs hard and stiff in the air as surprise washes over his face.

I turn to my sister, whose sour face pouts like I took her toys. “Unless you need me for anything else right now, Miss Martha.”

“No, Maple. I do not.” She snatches her hat back and fixes it on her head.

When she was little, I could stop her sass with a look. But then she grew.

“I think we’ll have roses,” she says. “Lots and lots of roses.” She tilts her nose up and marches down the steps to her patchy grass.

Chapter 58

Henry

I leave early in the morning, walking up from Liberty Valley, through the woods and along the brush at the river’s edge. When I reach the spot behind Jubilee Plantation, Sarah’s waiting for me by the water, but Red’s there with her. I get an uneasy lurch in my gut seeing them with their heads leaned in close. Then he puts his hand on her shoulder.