I wonder what kind of master the Tennessee man would be. There’s all kinds. Some are vicious and cruel and serving them is like a musket to your head. And some are so gentle and kind that it takes a while for you to remember they got you trapped against your free will, like an animal in a cage for their pleasure. And it takes another stretch of time for you to see that they’ve been eating away at you like a crow, peck, peck, pecking at your flesh, taking years to do the work, till you don’t remember how it was to be whole. I don’t reckon I ever knew. Until Henry showed me. I won’t go to Tennessee, or anywhere else. I’m waiting right here for Henry.

Master frowns at me on the floor and slams his book closed. “I don’t want any more trouble out of you.”

“No, sir.” I shake my head.

“Then I’ll decline the offer, but I expect you to be a mate to Red. And I don’t want to hear another word about that devil who turned your head and tainted your salvation.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” The words curl up on my tongue and it feels like another chunk of flesh is being pecked from my body.

Chapter 72

Henry

I leave Bessie and go straight to the Big House, ducking and skimming along the walled garden before dashing in through the doorway of the carry-through. I slip into one of the attached cellar rooms and hide myself behind a sack of beans. When I hear steps, I peek out, but it’s Maple, so I duck back and wait. My legs cramp, crouched in the corner. The next time footsteps come down the back stairs, I know it’s Sarah without looking. I hear it in the lightness and the rhythm of her step. The pad, pad of her feet has her mark on it, as clear as hearing her voice or catching her scent. It’s a pleasurable thought that I’ve found another thing to know about her.

I stand up and step out from behind the bean sack. When she sees me, she nearly drops the tray of glasses she’s carrying. I rush over to her and stay the glasses, but she sets the tray right on the floor in the middle of the carry-through, knocking over three glasses in her rush, and flings her arms around my neck. God, I love this woman. I wrap my arms around her and lift her off her feet. She’s kissing me before I set her back down. I can’t believe I even thought about giving her up.

She takes my hand and leads me deeper into the cellar, past the bean sack and bolts of cloth and a broken spinning wheel, stopping at the furthest corner beside an old baby cot.

“I knew you’d come,” she says, eyes shining. She runs her fingers over the bruising and swelling on my face. “Who hurt you?”