Please, God, is all I can think. Please, God, please, God.

“To do what, exactly?” Missus asks.

“To relieve you, this very night, of this slave.”

Master and Missus look at each other and I get needle pricks to the back of my neck.

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” the Quaker says when no one speaks.

“Does that mean you’re gonna take her?” Maple asks from just inside the room.

“Leave us, Maple,” Master says. “And not a word to anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, practically singing. Ain’t no way she can keep this kind of news to herself.

She leaves the room and Master closes the door behind her. “I appreciate your offer, sir, but why would you take her, knowing what she is?”

“I have experience with ones such as this,” he says. “You will agree, sir, that she does not belong here with your wife and son. I know just what to do with her, and it will be right and pleasing in the eyes of God.”

Missus goes pale and sits back in the chair. “Will you kill her? Can we allow that, Matthew?”

“There’s hope for every soul, madam,” the Quaker says. “I mean to deliver her for God. Sell her to me, legal and proper, and I will take this burden from you. May God’s will be done.”

Missus and Master lock eyes on each other. She nods to him and he nods to the Quaker.

“Then let us draw up the papers,” the Quaker says. “And I trust, sir, that you will consider the extenuating circumstances in setting the price.”

Chapter 75

Henry

I slip out of the carry-through and slink my way back to Sarah’s cabin. Bessie’s gone. Up by Ben’s grave, more than likely, and I’m glad to have it so. I close the door and lay on her bed. She’d howl if she caught me, but my ribs are sore and painful, so I take the chance.

I’ve had barely a minute to think about everything that’s been happening, but now I do. Mulch is coming back. And Aaron Newman hasn’t been able to buy Sarah free either. And it won’t be long before Matthew Johnson sees what she’s carrying. It’d be a reckless thing running off with no plan, but staying feels more reckless, knowing what’s coming.

There are too many slave catchers around Aaron Newman’s place. Escaping that way is too dangerous. But maybe he could find somewhere else for us to run to. Maybe he could help us get out to a free state. Ohio, or Pennsylvania.

We could fix it so she looks like she’s my slave, and I’m transporting her, fair and legal. I could get a cart and she could sit in the back. Except he’d be sure to take out notices saying to look out for a Negro woman looking like her, traveling with a white man looking like me.

Even if we make it up north, they could find us out and snatch us up. The Fugitive Slave Act sees to it that no runaway can be safe in the whole of the United States. Which maybe leaves the territories. Out west, past Independence, taking the Oregon Trail, or maybe not. Plowing through the wilderness into Indian country to scratch out a life between the bears and the wolves, where illegal doesn’t have quite the same meaning.