Come August, Come Freedom by Gigi Amateau Page A

the house without a word for Gabriel.
    Inside, Kissey put both boys in crisp linen sleeping shirts. To keep the mosquitoes at bay, she draped Thomas Henry’s bed with netting that hung from the ceiling.
    For Gabriel, she made a pallet on the floor.
    Gabriel loved Kissey’s pallets, and this one felt extra plump. When Kissey bent down to tuck the sheet under Gabriel’s chin, he put his hands on her round moon face and pulled her ear close to his mouth. “You can have my birthday, Miss Kissey,” he whispered. “We can share.”
    Kissey swiped at Gabriel’s nose. She pushed the tip of her thumb out between her fingers. “Thumbkin got your sniffer.” Kissey wagged the tip of her peeking-out thumb, and this made Gabriel giggle.
    “Take your leave now, Kissey,” Thomas Henry said.
    Kissey pecked Gabriel’s forehead, and once she closed the door, he snuggled down deep into the pallet to hide away from the bright-white light from the window, imposing itself on the darkness. The moon pierced through his closed eyes, so he pulled the sheet up over his head. He let the night hold him, and the night returned him to his own natural breath.
    He set his hands on his belly and felt his clasped fingers open wide apart when he inhaled and come back, touching, when he let his breath go. His even and steady breath drew him into the invisible world inside, where he was always just Gabriel.
    When he had about reached the tunnel that would take him through sleep, to the place where he could be his whole and true self, Thomas Henry jolted him back awake and aware of the hard floor.
    “After she sent you off to the field, Mother wore my tail out today, Gabriel, for eating Father’s cake. This is your fault, and you should have spoken up for me.” Thomas Henry rolled back over and leaned down to Gabriel. “You’re Mother’s pet. Haven’t you noticed?”
    Gabriel poked his head out from under the sheet. “I’m no one’s pet. I’m Gabriel.”
    “Mother should have whipped you worse than she whipped me. Of course you’re her pet. Who else would teach you to read?”
    Gabriel burrowed deep in the covers so that he couldn’t see Thomas Henry anymore. He could still smell Kissey’s kitchen scent from where she had tucked the bedclothes under his chin. The lingering of grease and flour and corn, mixed with Kissey’s skin, made Gabriel wish Kissey would come and take him back to Ma in the quarter. Even from the great house, he could hear Dog baying in the forest, and he wondered if Old Major had gotten a squirrel or a rabbit or a nasty opossum.
    Thomas Henry turned his back to Gabriel. He said over his shoulder, “You just remember this: Mother likes you so well because I like you, and if I didn’t, I might tell her all sorts of stories about the trouble you cause; then do you know what she’d do?”
    “No.” Gabriel’s stomach turned queasy.
    “She would tell Father to sell you, and you’d be sent away from Brookfield, just on her word. You’d never again see your mother or your brothers or Kissey or me. One day, Gabriel, I will be the master of Brookfield. I do whatever I want; just remember that.”
    This is my home, too, Gabriel thought at the time, and he rose up from his place on the floor. He went to find Kissey so she could console him.
    Now, all these years later, it was Gabriel doing the consoling. He put his arms around Nanny, who wept over Joseph and Dolly. He recalled how Thomas Henry had tossed around in his downy bed after the threat. Then he understood; Thomas Henry had only ever loved him in the way that privileged people love their possessions.
    The conviction that had been growing in his heart for some years, which burned only stronger since he’d come back from Jacob’s forge, formed clearly in him now: I am my own master. Gabriel belongs only to Gabriel.

A MONTH , a year, then two years, passed. People came and went, were bought and sold, from Young’s, from Wilkinson’s, and from Brookfield. In