Zeek ties the satchel down, tightening the rope, looking away from me. Kitty sits stiffly in the wagon.

“Why not, Master?” I ask, playacting like I know nothing.

He tips his face to where the mountains sit smoky blue above the treetops. “I sent her to the fields,” he says, studying the horizon.

Miss Martha gasps. “Clemmy, in the fields? What on earth for?”

I hold my breath waiting for the answer.

“Because she forgot her place, and I do mean to remind her of it.”

I sink in my bones. She must’ve been fighting him on selling Rose. Can’t think what else she would’ve dared speak against him on.

“Master Jeremiah, did you sell my Rose?” I can’t stop the words from spilling out my mouth. I’m shaking and tears already fill my eyes.

“Father! How could you sell Rose?” Miss Martha takes my hand. “Don’t worry, Maple. We’ll buy her back. She’s like family to us. Isn’t that right, Father?”

He glares at his daughter, a warning in his eyes. “I did not sell Rose. She’s where she belongs.”

It feels like the ground keeps shifting under my feet. I’m light-headed with grateful. Rose is safe at Belle Grove Plantation. But then why did Freddy run? And what did Momma do that got her sent out working the fields? Or not do? Holding thoughts feels like holding fish. Every time I think I got one clear, it slips through.

I think of what I saw in the bedroom, and of all the years of that man prodding at her, and I guess it’s a wonder Momma didn’t forget her place a long time ago.

Master Jeremiah climbs into his carriage beside Kitty and lays his hand on her lap, tucking his fingers between her thighs. Miss Martha flattens her mouth and turns away. Leaning out of the buggy he says, “You’ll let me know if Freddy turns up here. And, Maple, I’ll give your regards to Rose.”

I still have so many questions, but relief has stolen my tongue. He taps the frame of the trap and Zeek drives the horses on.

Chapter 19

Henry

I hammer out the iron and turn the ends while it’s still hot. Reheat and turn. Reheat and turn. It’s a foot-high cross. High enough to mark a grave, but small enough for the Johnsons to let it stand.

When I finish it, I take it out to Bessie in her cabin. Ben’s laid out on the bed. Today he goes in the ground.

“I thought you might like to have this,” I say. I place the iron cross with the curled ends in her hands.

She runs her fingers over the length of it and the height of it, feeling the stretch and shape of the metal. “Thank you, sir,” she says. She tears up as she clutches it to her chest. The sorrow and gratitude wrapped in those two words could knock you over.

I turn to leave and find Sarah just outside the doorway.