Freedom Stone by Jeffrey Kluger Page B

fields with shovels and scythes, and before long would even try their hands behind a plow. Cal couldn’t help but notice the swagger they’d been walking with ever since they’d been put to their new chores—nor the fact that the girls seemed to notice it too. None of them were of a mind to notice how many grown slaves would eventually be broken by such labors; that was something they would learn when they were older. For now, the work seemed only manly and thrilling.
    For most of this season, it had appeared that Cal would have to wait until next year before he’d be given such serious chores, but this very morning it looked like all that had changed. Mr. Willis himself came to his cabin during breakfast and told Cal he’d finally decided to give him a chance to work the plow in the tobacco fields. Cal beamed at the news—and Nelly and George beamed to see him so happy. The boy had jumped past the scythe and shovel work the older boys were doing and gone straight to the labors of a full-grown man. If Mr. Willis had been cross about what happened with Bull, certainly this was proof that his anger had cooled and he might even value the boy’s unexpected brass.
    Mr. Willis allowed Cal to gulp down a mug of milk and two biscuits Nelly gave him, then escorted him personally to the spot where he’d be working today—the two of them attracting curious stares as they strolled along the grounds. When the man and the boy drew closer to the tobacco fields, Cal could see a few other, early-arriving slaves already at work, their heads and shoulders rising and falling above the tall leaves. Just at the edge of the field was a long patch of unplanted land that was known as the scrub strip, for its stony soil and bristly weeds. There’d been talk in recent months that the Master hoped to plant there next year. Though seeding season was months off, it would not be unusual for an uncultivated stretch of land like that to be cleared and turned in the early fall so it would have the winter to take in air and water. As Cal approached now, he was thrilled to see a large plow already standing in wait in the scrub strip with a black horse rigged to the front. The animal occasionally pawed the topsoil and tossed its mane, looking as impatient to set to work as Cal felt. Cal smiled broadly—but his expression quickly changed when he took a few more steps and saw just which horse it was that was waiting for him. He stopped and turned to Mr. Willis.
    â€œThat’s Coal Mine,” he said.
    â€œThem’s sharp eyes,” Willis answered. “Coal Mine’s who it is.”
    That was a very bad turn. Coal Mine was one of the biggest horses at Greenfog and easily the orneriest, a beast so ill-tempered it snorted and bit even when it was in a good frame of mind. The horse had been given its name on account of its deep, black coat, but none of the slaves ever addressed him that way, since—unlike any horse they’d ever seen—Coal Mine seemed to grow angrier at the very sound of his name. The safest way to address him was usually just “you horse!”—at least until he took offense to that too.
    Cal slowly approached the field, stopping when he was still a good fifteen feet away from the horse and the plow. Willis looked at him with a small, mean smile.
    â€œThe matter, boy?” he asked. “You ain’t scared, are you?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Cal said.
    â€œYou don’t wanna go back to bird chasin’, do you?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œThen get yourself in harness and get behind that animal,” Willis instructed.
    Cal nodded but didn’t move.
    â€œNow,” the man said.
    Cal circled nervously around Coal Mine and stepped toward the harness laid out along the ground. He lifted the heavy leather shoulder straps, jostling them as little as possible. Coal Mine snorted menacingly.
    â€œFaster, boy!” Willis snapped.