I grab at my chest as I slide off the bed and, in this moment, dying on the floor, I don’t regret my lack of fortune. I regret not having more time with Sarah. Not having her here to say goodbye to. Not meeting our child. I yearn for the life we could have had together.

The whore crouches down in front of me.

“Hey. You all right?”

I can’t answer. My mouth is too busy sucking in air that my lungs don’t seem to know what to do with.

She tears my shirt open, her features twisted in fright, and I close my eyes. I don’t want her face to be the last thing I see. Holding still on the floor, my heartbeat begins to slow. Soon after, my breathing comes easier. I open my eyes and see the whore sitting in front of me, confused. I clench and stretch my fingers while they get their feeling back.

“Something wrong with you?” she asks.

“I thought I was dying.”

She wipes a gray kerchief along my face, taking the sweat. She smiles uneasily at me, showing tobacco-yellowed teeth. “You going to be okay for this?”

I’m dizzy and don’t move when she strokes my chest under my open shirt. She smells of cheap perfume and whiskey and sweat. She dips her hands to my breeches and I grab her wrist.

“Stop,” I say. “I need to leave.”

“Come on now, honey, you sit back and enjoy yourself. When I’m through with you you’re going to think you died and went to heaven.”

She unhooks her bodice revealing large white breasts with pink nipples. They look wrong. She straddles my legs and I push her off, rougher than I mean to. She lays sprawled on the floor as I drag myself up, clinging to the bed against the dizziness.

“What in Sam Hill’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry.” I grab my shoes and shove my feet inside.

“You’ve got problems, mister.”

She’s right, sure enough, but I’m going to fix them. I head downstairs and straight out of the tavern. The cool air of the evening tastes sweet and clear after the foul tavern room. There’s a calmness that comes with being decided. I feel heavy in my knowing, like a rock that doesn’t care about the wind or the rain because it’s stuck solid and it’s not shifting. Sarah and me belong together. The rest of the world will have to step aside and make room for that fact.

Ennis made it clear he won’t help me get her free, so I have to find someone who will. As frightening as the realization is, the best chance I have is trusting a man I barely know. I strike off with a strong hope and a stronger prayer, headed for Aaron Newman in Culpeper, the Quaker in the green house with the white door.

Chapter 66

Sarah

Every slave on the plantation’s down here whooping it up like it’s Christmas. The ham and hooch from Master’s got everybody fired up. A handful of the field men sing some old songs, slapping their thighs and stomping their feet, and Red’s dancing with about every gal here. He’s trying to show me that he could have his pick, and I reckon it’s true. Long as it ain’t me.