CHAPTER FIFTEEN — A DIFFERENT KIND OF BARGAIN

The negotiation lasted most of the afternoon.
It was not heroic, and it was not clean.
Julian named prices that rose whenever he noticed Samuel’s hope.
Martin offered money, Catherine offered part of her separate allowance, and Ida insisted that every proposed change be spoken where Samuel and Liza could hear it.
Ruth’s name entered the discussion only after Samuel refused every proposal that excluded her.
Julian laughed at the idea that an older woman with worn hands should determine the terms of a transaction.
Ruth, who had reached the square in Ida’s second wagon,

laughed back.
“If I am worth so little to you, you can afford to let me go.”
A few people in the crowd smiled, and Julian’s face reddened.
He threatened to end the discussion.
The editor asked whether he wished that threat printed beside the account of the photograph.
Julian stopped walking toward his carriage.
For the first time that day, his public pride worked against him.
Martin remained at the table beside the broker, counting coins with hands that shook.
Samuel watched without mistaking the purchase for a generous gift.
He understood that the law had made a market out of his family,

and that even the men who wished to help were using the language of that market.
The money would not return the stolen years.
It would not release everyone on the plantation.
It would not transform Julian into a decent person.
But if the agreement could be completed, it might give Samuel, Liza, and Ruth choices they had been denied.
Catherine approached Samuel while the men argued over an additional fee.
“I thought I could buy your safety with my silence,” she said.
Samuel looked at her.
“You thought I should be grateful for whatever you offered.”
“Yes.”
“Have you stopped thinking that?”
“I am trying.”


He nodded once.
“That is something you must do without asking me to praise you for it.”
Catherine accepted the rebuke.
She glanced toward Julian.
“He’ll try to punish somebody when he returns.”
“Then tell the people who stay what you intend to do.”
“I cannot free the whole plantation in an afternoon.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Samuel paused.
“I asked what you intend to do.”
Catherine looked across the square at Ida, who was speaking with the editor about the sale conditions.
“I will leave the house,” she said.
Samuel considered her answer.
“That is your business.”
“I will also continue sending money through Ida to help those who are forced to remain.”


“Ask Ida whether she wants that responsibility.”
Catherine almost smiled.
“You have a way of refusing to let me make arrangements for other people.”
“I have had enough arrangements made for me.”
The broker called them back.
Julian had agreed to the release of Samuel, Liza, and Ruth under terms that required immediate payment.
Martin signed the purchase papers before witnesses.
Catherine contributed the remainder of the price without making a speech.
Ida insisted on examining the manumission provisions with an attorney she trusted before allowing anyone to celebrate.
There were legal complications, including Virginia’s restrictions on the residence of newly freed people,

and those complications could not be wished away by a signature.
Samuel listened as Ida explained what the next days would require.
Travel, documents, money, and trustworthy companions would all matter.
He would not be safe merely because a crowd had watched one bargain conclude.
Yet when Liza took his hand, he felt a new possibility open before them.
Ruth stood on his other side, her expression fierce and tired.
“We move carefully,” she said.
Samuel nodded.
“We move together.”

EPILOGUE — THE OPEN GATE

Six weeks later, Samuel stood outside a small boarding house north of Virginia with a plain travel bag at his feet.


Liza was inside helping Ruth arrange blankets near the stove.
They had crossed the state line with Ida’s assistance and with more anxiety than any of them would later describe.
The papers had been examined repeatedly, their route had changed twice, and they had accepted help from people whose names Samuel intended never to write down.
The journey was not a victory parade.
It was a sequence of difficult mornings that ended, finally, at a door they could close themselves.
A local carpenter had offered Samuel work repairing wagon wheels.
He had accepted the work because he knew the tools and because the carpenter had agreed to pay him directly.


Liza intended to begin sewing for customers under her own name.
Ruth had announced that she would spend at least one whole afternoon doing nothing anyone could reasonably call useful.
Samuel doubted she would keep that promise, but he looked forward to seeing her try.
A letter arrived from Ida that morning.
It said that Catherine had moved to a relative’s house and had stopped presiding over Julian’s dinners.
Martin had gone north without Julian.
The county newspaper had printed the story of the staged photograph, but not the private correspondence between the two men.
Ida had insisted upon that distinction.


Samuel folded the letter and put it away.
He did not owe Catherine forgiveness, and he did not owe Martin gratitude for a conscience discovered so late.
He did owe Ida a reply, and he meant to write one after supper.
Liza opened the boarding house door.
“Are you coming inside?” she asked.
Samuel picked up his bag.
“Yes,” he said.
For the first time in his life, the decision was entirely his.

The End.