“It wasn’t a bird,” she said. “It was your mother. She knew some of the witchy lore that Gullah Joe uses. She made wings and she flew, carrying you the whole way.”

“But I saw a bird,” said Arthur.

“You were a newborn,” said Margaret. “How could you possibly remember?”

“Wings, so wide,” said Arthur. “It was so beautiful to fly. I still dream about it all the time.”

“Your mother wasn’t a bird, Arthur Stuart,” said Margaret.

“Yes she was,” said Arthur. “A bird in the air, and then a woman when she came to earth.”

Alvin remembered now how a question had nagged at Arthur the whole time he was with Audubon, a question that he could never quite frame in a way to get the answer he needed. Now Alvin had the answer for him. “She is waiting for you, Arthur Stuart,” said Alvin. “With wings or without, your mother bird is still alive, waiting for you when the time comes.”

Arthur Stuart nodded. “I think you’re right,” he said. “I feel her sometimes in the sky, so high I can’t see her, but she’s looking down and she sees me.” He looked to Alvin and Margaret for reassurance. “That’s not silly, is it?”

“They’d have to have a thousand angels watching her every minute in heaven,” said Margaret, “to keep your mama from watching over you.”

Arthur Stuart nodded. “When I see her,” he said, “that’s when I’ll find out my true name.”

“All names are true on that day,” said Alvin. “When we see each other for what we really are.”

Margaret said nothing. She took no comfort in thinking of a day of resurrection far in the distant future, for she had never seen that day in any heartfire. All her visions ended, sooner or later, in death. That’s what was real to her.

Real and yet not terribly important. She felt her own swelling abdomen, where the baby’s tiny heartfire was growing. As long as she had enough time to see this through, to bring this girl into the world and raise her to adulthood, she’d have no complaint when death came for her.

The ferry pulled in and the people from the New Sweden side disembarked noisily. Alvin, Margaret, and Arthur walked back to where Fishy, Gullah Joe, and Denmark and his wife waited for them. Fast as they were traveling, news had already reached them of mass hangings of rebel slaves in Camelot. They feared the worst—John Calhoun’s proposal to hang one in every three. But it turned out to be only twenty.

Only twenty.

In addition, a warrant had been issued for a scoundrel named Denmark Vesey, an illegally freed half-Black who had plotted the whole thing, meeting every slave ship that came to port. Well, that would never happen again. Blacktown was cleaned out and the laws concerning the movements of slaves without their masters were going to be tightened considerably. The days of soft treatment were over for the slaves of the Crown Colonies. They’d learn who was boss.