Roscoe looked quickly around the office, as if to remind her that he should be dealing with the master of the plantation, not his wife. Abruptly bringing his eyes back to focus on her face, he said without any concession, “He stole.”

“He took corn from the barn to feed his pig, which I gave him last Christmas along with permission to eat it then or raise it and sell it, keeping whatever money he got for his own use.”

“He stole,” Roscoe repeated coldly.

“They do not consider it stealing to take from the family supplies, because they are part of the family. They think stealing is only when they take from each other.”

“Stealing is stealing.”

“Does Pojo owe you money?”

That made him hesitate, but only for a moment “I would have to look in my record book to say.”

“You remember that Mr. Kendrick and I gave you instructions that no one was to be dealt physical punishment without our knowledge and approval?”

He said nothing.

“You do remember, then.”

“If I might speak to Mr. Kendrick, I’m sure I could make my position clear so that he would understand and not disapprove of what I have ordered done.”

This was open insolence, for they both knew that Leon, two days ago, had saddled a horse and ridden off without speaking to a soul. There had been no word of him since.

“You may speak to Mr. Kendrick as much as you like, and he allows—when he returns. In his absence, you answer to me, as does everyone else who works here.”

He looked at her long and hard before nodding curtly. “To be seen running to the owners to clear every point of discipline for mischief and error would destroy my authority. I cannot manage one hundred and sixty-two slaves without authority. They are like mules, not to be reasoned with, but told to gee and haw.”

“They are people, Mr. Elk. Our people.”

“May God make them grateful for that,” he said drily.

She flushed. “Where is Pojo’s pig now?”

“With the general lot.”

“You took the pig from him?”

“Because he was fattened on stolen grain, he belongs to the plantation. That is how I figure to right his wrong.”

“You did that on your own authority?”

“I did not actually carry the pig myself from Pojo’s pen to the main pens—no.”

She held onto her temper. If she admitted to him that she saw his impertinence, the thing would have to go further than she wanted it to go—or rather, further than Leon would let her go. “See that the pig is returned to Pojo.”

“I don’t think I would recognize the pig.”

“I’m sure Pojo would. Let him take him back.”

“Perhaps if he is left to choose, he will take another, larger, fatter.”

“Give him the pig, I say!”