He turned to go, but at the door he stopped. “Roman is mine. He will do as I direct.” He started out, but her voice again stopped him.

“You and your wife are free, and of course your children too, except for Roman.”

“Would Mistress like me to remind him he is still a slave?” Roscoe held the doorknob, turning it slowly one way and then the other before he went on. “I believe the time has come for me to buy the boy,” he said softly.

“He’s not for sale.”

“The old mistress made a promise to let me buy his freedom.”

“The old mistress is dead.”

“I shall speak to the master then.”

“It will make no difference.”

“I will not have a child who is encouraged to disobey me living in my house.”

“Then I shall arrange for him to live in my house.”

Roscoe hesitated, wanting her to say more, to give him the advantage again with a show of temper, but she did not. “Mistress—we have spoken in haste.”

She forced a smile. “I had some time to reflect before you came. Roman belongs to Beulah Land. Send him to me. I shall tell him where he is to sleep in future.”

Roscoe left, closing the door firmly but not in a way that admitted anger or defeat. A minute later Lovey entered without bothering to knock.

“There will be no school today, Lovey. But tomorrow it will be kept as usual. Is there a place in one of the store rooms off the kitchen for a bed, do you think?”

“Who for?”

“Roscoe says he does not want Roman to stay in his house if Roman continues to work in the school.”

“You see now? Let the boy stay where he is—let him alone! I told you, everybody told you!”

“Yes, you all told me, seven years ago, and I wouldn’t listen.” Sarah let her shoulders relax. When she did so, her hands untensed of themselves, curled naturally in her lap, and she smiled a genuine smile. “I did not invent Roman, nor did he create himself. He has as much right to life at Beulah Land as I or you—or, indeed, his father.”

Lovey might frown, and she did, but she knew Sarah’s strength and accepted her authority. “There is a little room,” she said grudgingly, “back of the kitchen; but Myrtis keeps her flour barrels and lard tubs there.”

“I know the one. It won’t do. It has no window. There’s a bigger room beyond it with a window.”

“That has the extra stove for baking! Myrtis will never give it up! It’s where we dry clothes when it won’t stop raining—”

“Leave the stove where it is. It will warm the room in winter. Tell Myrtis. No—I shall.”