Seraphine looked at Jonah.
He did not ask pity.
That was wise.
“Why did you not come for us?” she asked.
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
“No,” Jonah said. “Not hard enough.”
The honesty struck the room like a slap.
Seraphine did not know what to do with a guilty man who did not defend himself.
Jonah reached into his coat and pulled the folded deed from the torn lining.
The paper was wrapped in oilcloth.
He placed it on the table.
“This belongs to your family,” he said. “Briar Creek’s river landing. The springhouse. Twelve acres of low field. The old ferry road. It was never mine.”
Seraphine did not touch it.
“If it is mine,” she said, “why did you keep it?”
“Because Havelock wanted it. Because without it, he could not easily claim the crossing. Because if I recorded it without you, he would have had it buried. Because I was afraid. Because I told myself hiding it was protection when part of it was cowardice.”
“That is many becauses.”
“Yes.”
“None are good enough.”
“No.”
Lottie watched Seraphine carefully.
The tall woman’s face was stone, but her breathing was wrong.
At last Seraphine asked, “My brother. Is he alive?”
Jonah looked at Abram.
Abram nodded once.
Jonah said, “Three weeks ago, a boy matching him was seen at Redfern Hall. He was called Toby by one man and Little Ben by another. He had a scar near his left ear.”
Seraphine sat down so suddenly the chair nearly broke.
Her little brother had once had a round face, a laugh that came out in hiccups, and a habit of hiding stolen biscuits inside his shirt. He had been afraid of frogs and thunder, but he would put himself between Seraphine and punishment whenever he could, though he was half her size.
He had a scar near his left ear because she had dropped a clay jar when they were children and a shard had cut him.
Alive.
The word hurt more than dead.
Dead ended a road.
Alive demanded walking.
“What do you want?” Seraphine asked.
Jonah touched the auction receipt. “This paper says I can move you without Crane claiming theft. The deed says Havelock stole land. The old statements say he stole people. But courts like men like Havelock. They will call me mad, debtor, liar, abolitionist, thief. They will say I forged the deed. They will say you are dangerous. They will say your brother is property. They will say the names they invented are more lawful than the names your mother gave you.”
Seraphine stared at him. “And?”
“And Havelock keeps a black ledger in his counting room. Names before and after. Where people came from. What papers were burned. Who paid. Who signed. If that ledger reaches a courthouse with witnesses standing beside it, even men who love lies may find the truth safer.”
Lottie said, “Or they may hang us all.”
“Yes,” Jonah said.
Seraphine looked at the deed.
Then the receipt.
Then Jonah.
“You want me to go back.”
“No.”
“Do not dress the knife in flowers.”
Jonah’s face tightened. “I want your brother out. I want the others out. I want the ledger. But I will not send you back to Redfern Hall. If you choose to go, the choice is yours. If you refuse, we find another way.”
“There may not be another way.”
“I know.”
Seraphine stood.
The chair legs scraped loudly.
“Where do I sleep?”
Lottie pointed again. “Stable loft.”
“Is the pitchfork sharp?”
“Sharp enough.”
Seraphine nodded once and left the kitchen.
In the stable loft, she did not sleep.
She sat with the pitchfork across her lap and listened to the farm breathe.
Horses shifting.
Rain tapping the roof.
A baby crying once in the house, then quieting.
Abram coughing.
Lottie humming low in the kitchen.
Jonah walking out to the springhouse, then returning.
Near dawn, Seraphine took the auction receipt from where Jonah had left it on the stair.
She held it to the lantern.
Bina.
Seven cents.
Unsound temper.
She nearly tore it in half.
Then she folded it carefully and placed it inside her dress.
A lie could become a weapon if carried correctly.
Training began after breakfast.
Not because Jonah ordered it.
Because Seraphine said, “If I go back, I will not go back as the woman they remember.”
Jonah led her to the barn, where Abram had hung a row of objects from beams: a tin cup, a sack of corn, a rope loop, an iron hook, a cracked wagon wheel, and an egg inside a wooden spoon.
Seraphine stared at the egg.
“Is this a joke?”
“No,” Jonah said.
“I have lifted millstones.”
“I know.”
“I have broken chains.”
“I believe you.”
“And you bring me an egg.”
“Yes.”
She looked at Lottie, who had come to watch from the doorway.
Lottie said, “Do not look at me. I told him the egg was foolish.”
Jonah picked up the spoon and placed it in Seraphine’s hand.
“Carry it from this post to that barrel without cracking it.”
Seraphine’s mouth tightened. “I am not a child.”