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imagine? How would you like him baptizing you?"
    "He is said to be a genius with furniture making," I told her. "He learned when he was about sixteen. He was apprenticed out. And you know how Mother wants new tables for the parlor and the hallway."
    She just stood there. "So Mother did ask for him."
    "I'm not supposed to talk about any of her private correspondence," I said.
    "Well, she'd best be careful. He can read and write. One of his previous masters taught him in an experiment. And now nobody knows quite what to do with him! So Mr. Travis hires him out and uses the money he brings in."
    "Well, that's one thing to do with him, I suppose," I said.
    "Well, what would you do, Miss Holier-than-thou? You think you're so all-count better than the rest of us because you sympathize with the darkies. Well, you think Richard doesn't?"
    "I can hear, right now, how he does," I said.
    "Well somebody has to keep them in line or they'd kill us all in our beds at night. You think Richard enjoys doing it? But he knows he has to. He's a minister, for heaven's sake. A man of God. He knows his earthly responsibilities, taking care of us. You think he hasn't considered what's to become of the slaves in Virginia, even before you put foot on the place? You think Mother, sitting out there on the veranda, isn't thinking of it right now?"
    I sighed. "If I'm wrong, I'm sorry," I said. "But I just don't think this is the way."
    "If you come up with a better one, let us know. And go on now to Mother." She went out the door, leaving me alone in the room.
    Nat Turner. I had heard of him even before Mother wrote asking to hire him. I had heard Turner was a fanatical minister, a man who went about telling people
he'd seen visions in his dreams, who baptized people in ponds. How could he take orders from Richard, who believed ponds were only for fishing in? And if he had a vision in his dreams, would he wake up and tell his wife it was because he'd had too many fresh oysters for supper?
    I sighed again, sensing trouble, and went to see to Mother Whitehead.

Three
    "Would you like any more lemonade, Mother White-head?" I came upon her on the veranda, just where I'd left her, only now her head was back against the flowered cushion and she was dozing. The piercing blue eyes opened. "I want dinner. When is dinner?"
    "Connie said in half an hour."
    "What are we having? I'm about starved. Where is Violet? Why isn't she fanning me? Where is Owen? I need these wicker shades pulled down."
    "Owen ran off, Mother. Two weeks ago now. Don't you remember?"
    The negro boy in question was fifteen. She'd raised him up since he was two. He was the son of Jack and
Charlotte, who'd been with her forever, as had most of her people. Of a sudden Owen had felt the call of being free, and one day a couple of weeks ago he simply could not be found anywhere.
    Richard was furious. Because Mother wanted Owen back so badly, he'd spent forty dollars already on travel expenses, meals, newspaper ads, and rewards trying to find the boy.
NOTICE FOR A NEGRO BOY NAMED OWEN. Source: The
Richmond Constitutional Whig.
Runaway from the subscriber living near Jerusalem in Southampton County. June 2, 1831, a negro boy age 15, five feet two inches high, slim, well built, active, and likely, wears his hair in two plaits, smokes segars when he thinks nobody is watching, and walks with considerable confidence when he thinks people are. He can cook eggs, make coffee, wait the table, answer the door, fetch and carry, and do all other houseboy duties with admirable grace. Wearing a cotton shirt and pantaloons and good homemade shoes when he ran. May be headed for the Canadian border. Fifteen

dollars in gold coin will be rewarded the finder for giving over the above-described negro.

Mrs. Catharine Whitehead

Owner of Whitehead Farms

Southampton County, Virginia
    ***
    It must appear in the
Richmond Whig.
No other paper would do. Richard was furious because his mother made him take the buggy on the