lowered his hand. “Is that so.”
Joanna knew she was unlikely to get anything more from the men in payment for her silence. “As far as Marse Chester ever know, I never had no baby.”
They crossed the Virginia border a few days later. Joanna would not have known except that Peter announced the news as the horses splashed across a stream. Only a few months before, sheltered by a kind Quaker family in a barn on the Pennsylvania border, she had vowed never to return to Virginia. Then she had dared dream that someday she would live as a free woman in Canada. Now the most she could hope for was that Josiah Chester would not hobble her, she would not be sold off so far south that escape to the free North would be impossible, and that her son would remain safe.
She would wait, and stay alive, and bide her time, and when the time was right, she would run.
Chapter Two
1859
Greenfields Plantation, Virginia
W hen they passed the Richardson plantation, Joanna knew they were no more than a half day’s ride from their destination—Greenfields Plantation and Marse Chester. She felt a sting of phantom pain as if his knife already dug into the cord at the back of her ankle. If it were severed, she could not run.
Later they crossed Ashworth land, where Joanna had been born. Joanna’s mother and four of her brothers and sisters lived there still, if they hadn’t died or been sold off. Joanna scarcely remembered them. When she was around five years old, Josiah Chester’s mother had come in her carriage to ask Marse Ashworth if he had a young girl to sell, for she needed someone to care for her grandson now that he had started walking. The master’s wife promptly offered Joanna, overcoming her husband’s objections with a wordless look of reproachful defiance that Joanna did not understand, except that she had always known the mistress hated her.
Swooping her up in her arms, Joanna’s mother fled back to their cabin and hid her beneath a mound of quilts, but the overseer came in swift pursuit. He seized Joanna by the wrist, dragged her outside, and hefted her into the carriage across from her new mistress. When she shrieked for her mother, the gray-haired white lady in the fine dress slapped her and told her to hush, and as the coachman chirruped to the horses, she instructed Joanna in her new duties. She must tend the baby and keep him safe from harm, rock his cradle at night, and change his diapers. She must keep him clean, keep him from crying, and let the younger Mrs. Chester rest.
Joanna did her best, but she was too young for the task. Mason was a good baby as babies went, but all babies cried, and all soiled their clothes. Joanna could barely lift the chubby ten-month-old and she struggled to hold him still when changing his diapers. Her forearms soon became bruised from his strong kicks, and she ran herself ragged keeping him from breaking her mistress’s precious trinkets or tumbling from the veranda. She was expected to stay up all night rocking his cradle, but sometimes weariness overcame her and she nodded off, awaking with a jolt when Mason wailed. Instead of picking up her son and soothing him, the mistress would snatch a willow whip from her beside table and beat Joanna on the neck and shoulders to teach her to stay awake.
“She’s useless,” the mistress complained to her mother-in-law one afternoon when an exhausted, starving Joanna could not run fast enough to prevent Mason from toddling happily into a mud puddle. “I’ll thank you to allow me to choose my own servants next time.”
Mother Chester’s thin lips formed a hard line in her wrinkled face. “Mr. Ashworth assured me she’s from excellent stock. Her mother is a strong field hand and she’s already borne five children, and at no more than one-and-twenty. The girl only wants training, and she has six months to acquire it.”
With a doubtful frown, the mistress lay her slender white hand upon her abdomen, and with that
Joanna knew she was unlikely to get anything more from the men in payment for her silence. “As far as Marse Chester ever know, I never had no baby.”
They crossed the Virginia border a few days later. Joanna would not have known except that Peter announced the news as the horses splashed across a stream. Only a few months before, sheltered by a kind Quaker family in a barn on the Pennsylvania border, she had vowed never to return to Virginia. Then she had dared dream that someday she would live as a free woman in Canada. Now the most she could hope for was that Josiah Chester would not hobble her, she would not be sold off so far south that escape to the free North would be impossible, and that her son would remain safe.
She would wait, and stay alive, and bide her time, and when the time was right, she would run.
Chapter Two
1859
Greenfields Plantation, Virginia
W hen they passed the Richardson plantation, Joanna knew they were no more than a half day’s ride from their destination—Greenfields Plantation and Marse Chester. She felt a sting of phantom pain as if his knife already dug into the cord at the back of her ankle. If it were severed, she could not run.
Later they crossed Ashworth land, where Joanna had been born. Joanna’s mother and four of her brothers and sisters lived there still, if they hadn’t died or been sold off. Joanna scarcely remembered them. When she was around five years old, Josiah Chester’s mother had come in her carriage to ask Marse Ashworth if he had a young girl to sell, for she needed someone to care for her grandson now that he had started walking. The master’s wife promptly offered Joanna, overcoming her husband’s objections with a wordless look of reproachful defiance that Joanna did not understand, except that she had always known the mistress hated her.
Swooping her up in her arms, Joanna’s mother fled back to their cabin and hid her beneath a mound of quilts, but the overseer came in swift pursuit. He seized Joanna by the wrist, dragged her outside, and hefted her into the carriage across from her new mistress. When she shrieked for her mother, the gray-haired white lady in the fine dress slapped her and told her to hush, and as the coachman chirruped to the horses, she instructed Joanna in her new duties. She must tend the baby and keep him safe from harm, rock his cradle at night, and change his diapers. She must keep him clean, keep him from crying, and let the younger Mrs. Chester rest.
Joanna did her best, but she was too young for the task. Mason was a good baby as babies went, but all babies cried, and all soiled their clothes. Joanna could barely lift the chubby ten-month-old and she struggled to hold him still when changing his diapers. Her forearms soon became bruised from his strong kicks, and she ran herself ragged keeping him from breaking her mistress’s precious trinkets or tumbling from the veranda. She was expected to stay up all night rocking his cradle, but sometimes weariness overcame her and she nodded off, awaking with a jolt when Mason wailed. Instead of picking up her son and soothing him, the mistress would snatch a willow whip from her beside table and beat Joanna on the neck and shoulders to teach her to stay awake.
“She’s useless,” the mistress complained to her mother-in-law one afternoon when an exhausted, starving Joanna could not run fast enough to prevent Mason from toddling happily into a mud puddle. “I’ll thank you to allow me to choose my own servants next time.”
Mother Chester’s thin lips formed a hard line in her wrinkled face. “Mr. Ashworth assured me she’s from excellent stock. Her mother is a strong field hand and she’s already borne five children, and at no more than one-and-twenty. The girl only wants training, and she has six months to acquire it.”
With a doubtful frown, the mistress lay her slender white hand upon her abdomen, and with that
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