Or maybe he was waiting on Rose. “She ain’t but thirteen years old.”

Master’s got the good grace to squirm in his seat. “I know this is disappointing news,” he says, “but I’ve done all that I can. It’s in God’s hands now. I recommend you pray.”

“Master,” I say. “Who was the white man Freddy put his hands on?”

He shakes his head like he don’t want to answer, but then he sighs and says, “Nathaniel Keeler.”

My mouth is dry as a stone. Freddy. Whipped and sold trying to protect his girl. And Momma. That’s what she nagged her way to the fields about.

“Can you ask Master Jeremiah again?” I say. I feel like my bones are melting. I lean against the chair to keep me from tipping over.

He scoffs, snatching up a pen and tossing it back down. It skids across his desk, over the edge and falls to the floor by my feet. “My father-in-law is grooming his nephew to take over Belle Grove Plantation. An inheritance that should be mine, by right of my wife. He’d disinherit his own grandson so as not to oblige me,” he growls.

I swallow past the choking in my throat. Master Nathaniel might get Belle Grove. My heart near about stops and I can’t help the noise that rises up in me like someone dying. I ball my hands so I don’t scratch his face. All his fool-headed talk about treating slaves better ain’t worth a damn if this is what it gets me. My Rose owned by that devil. I swipe at my eyes and blink hard. I will not cry in front of this man.

“He’s a spiteful old man and he means to control me with this. He thinks he can stop me from pursuing my legislation.”

I’m breathing so hard my head’s starting to spin. “Maybe,” I say, my words weightless as air, “maybe Miss Martha could talk to Master Jeremiah?”

He shoots me a look fit to burn through my head. “I will not send my wife to argue on my behalf.”

“But she could—”

“You’re not listening, Maple. The issue is much bigger than Rose.” He leans forward and stabs at his desk with his finger. “This is a chance to unify the nation in a slavery compromise. If we can silence abolitionist criticism in the North, we can hold new territories for Southern interests. Why can’t he see that?” His anger is like a bad odor. He runs his hand across his mouth. The stubble on his face makes a scratching noise against his palm. “I will not be manipulated by my father-in-law.”

On the rug, by my foot, lies his favorite pen. I step to the side and crush it. I hear the shaft crack under my weight and the metal tip snap. That’s for Rose. But it’s nowhere near enough.

Chapter 30

Sarah

Sunday morning we’re all underneath the big walnut tree at the back of the house. Before he goes off to church every Sunday, Master comes out here and gives us his gospel. We stand there a spell and, when he’s good and ready, Master comes striding on down the back steps of the Big House and across the yard to the edge of the garden where we all wait.