“How did you know you could use that plant?”

I use my thumb to rinse his palm as I pour. “Just something my momma showed me.”

“You saved me days of trouble. And probably an infection besides.”

When I pull out a cloth and start to dry his hand, his little finger hooks around my thumb. I pull away.

“Looks like you’re just about fine now, Mister Taylor,” I say.

“That’ll be thanks to you,” he says. “And it’s Henry.”

I pick up my basket and hold it between us like a shield. “You’ll want to keep it clean as you can.”

“Maybe you can check on it again tomorrow.”

I don’t answer. Just turn and strike out across the yard for the kitchen house.

When I get there, Maple’s waiting for me. She throws me a hard look that don’t need much interpreting.

“I been to see Jim,” I say. “Give him something for his stripes.”

“Humph,” she says putting her back to me. “All I know is this mess won’t clean itself.”

I tuck my basket in the corner and get to work.

May 1849

Chapter 12

Maple

I’m making corn cakes when I hear heavy boots stomping up to the kitchen house. Ain’t no way it’s Master or Miss Martha walking up here like a bear in heat, so I don’t turn around when I hear the boots stomp right up inside.

“Where is he, Maple?”

I about jump out of my skin when I hear that voice. I whip around and see my ears ain’t lying. My old master stands there, dusty from the road and scowling. His close-set eyes draw in tight and his big forehead reaches right over his bald head.

“You tell me what you know, girl.”

I ain’t seen this man in seven years and here he comes out of the clear blue talking about what I know.

“Hello, sir,” I say.

“You hiding him?”

Jeremiah Keeler looks around the room, behind baskets and in food sacks. Even looks in the fireplace. “Freddy ran,” he says, when it’s clear there’s only me and him in the kitchen house. “Now, you tell me if you’ve seen him.”

“My Freddy?” I say, like some other Freddy might run to me if he got the chance. He can’t be right. Freddy wouldn’t leave our daughter. But could he have run with her? My heart steps up its beating and I pinch my thigh to keep the excitement out of my voice. “And Rose?”

“No. Just Freddy.”

I slump a little where I stand, surprised at myself that I can still hope. “He wouldn’t leave Rose,” I say. “If he’s gone, slave stealers must’ve snatched him meaning to make money out of selling him on.”

“Off my land in the middle of the night? No, Maple. He ran all right. And God help you if you’re hiding him.”

“I ain’t seen him in seven years,” I say. “Or Rose, or Momma. Not since you sent me here.”