Chapter Seven
Bourbon County, Kentucky: 1846 – 1858


“She’s such a pretty little thing. Daddy, can’t we keep her?”

These were the first things she could remember. Pamela, six years old, all golden curls and doe eyes, begging her father for a gift.

“She has to go, dear,” Lucian said. “She needs her mother.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Pamela begged. “Please, Daddy, please?”

Lucian Carr’s dark eyes regarded his daughter. His brow wrinkled. Finally, he relented. “I suppose you will need a ladies’ maid when you’re a little older, Pammy. Will you let Aunt Elsie help you care for her until she’s big enough?”

Pamela clapped her hands and threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Yes, yes, thank you, Daddy! Can I name her?”

“May I, Pamela,” her father corrected.

“May I name her?”

Lucian smiled. “All right, dear, what shall you name her?”

“Itty Bitty!” Pamela declared.

“She won’t always be so ‘itty bitty’, dear. Perhaps another name would suit her better?”

“Itty Bitty,” Pamela said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

“How about a compromise? Would ‘Bitty’ do?”

“All right,” Pamela agreed. “So she’s mine?”

“She’s yours,” her father assented, but his brow darkened even as he agreed.


At first, she was more Pamela’s doll than her maid or her playmate. Dressed in Pamela’s cast-offs, sometimes changed several times a day at Pamela’s whims, given the minimum of attention by ‘Aunt’ Elsie, the ruler of the kitchen, Bitty showered all her babyish affections on her mistress. The ‘children of the house’ – Bitty, Pamela and Benjamin – formed an alliance, with Bitty an anchor to their triangle. In ordinary circumstances a colored boy and a white girl would never have formed a friendship, except that Bitty, being a bit of both, was the bridge.

The farm was their world. They fed handfuls of hay to the horses, or ran through the hemp fields, playing hide-and-seek with each other and the ten or twelve field hands who worked there. It was a long time before Bitty realized what a slave was, or that she was one, as well as every colored face she saw around her.

And they were all colored, except for Pamela and her father, who was often absent. The field hands; the six or seven grooms who raised and bred the horses; Aunt Elsie; and Mr. Butler, Benjamin’s father, who ran the farm in Mr. Carr’s frequent absences. Always ‘Mr.’ Butler, never ‘Butler’. She never thought of this as odd until much later. Even Pamela called him ‘Mr. Butler’.

When she was three and Pamela seven, Mr. Carr hired a governess for Pamela’s education, a development Pamela met with some resistance. The sewing and knitting lessons she did not mind, since she was clever with her hands and these were activities that Bitty could join, but she went into hysterics at being separated from her ‘baby’ for actual lessons. Mr. Carr intervened, and allowed that it would do no harm to let Bitty occupy herself in the classroom while Pamela was instructed, so the governess supplied the younger girl with paper and pencils for drawing while Pamela had her lessons.

She often wondered in after years if this had been an underhanded way around the laws that forbade educating slaves, for, of course, she could not fail to learn while present in the classroom, for all that she was more interested in drawing than in reading or writing.

Governesses came and went – the farm was several miles north of Paris, too out of the way for many of them, and many more showed extreme discomfort at being the only white woman in the house. Pamela’s mother had died when she was six, and although some of the young women may have taken the job with the romantic notion of becoming the next Mrs. Lucian Carr, it did not take long for them to find that their hopes were misplaced and to seek a recommendation, which Lucian was only too happy to provide.

Between governesses, the children reveled in their freedom. It was Benjamin who bestowed Bitty’s nickname upon her, one summer afternoon when she had bedecked all three of them with daisy-chains. “You’re a daisy, yourself,” he said, plucking a bright yellow flower from the garland around his neck. “If I count the petals, will they say you love me?”

“Of course I love you, Benjamin,” she had replied, for all that she was five years old and he only seven.

“Would you marry me, Daisy?” he teased.

“I might,” she said in all seriousness.

Pamela laughed at both of them. “I’m never getting married,” she asserted. She slapped Benjamin’s shoulder. “You’re it!” and the three of them ran through the pasture and into the hemp field.

But Bitty was ‘Daisy’ to the three of them after that.


Of course, sunny childhood days soon end for all of us. As the years passed, the relations between the three changed, as did they. Benjamin was apprenticed to a carpenter in town, and resided at the farm only on Sundays for a year, returning at age fifteen a strapping young man, with skills that could be, and often were, hired out to neighboring farms and businesses.

When Lucian took note of Daisy’s artistic talents, for she had continued to draw even after the need for that fiction had passed, he made sure that the next governess was qualified to teach the skills of drawing and painting.

This development did not please Pamela at all, and the next time he was home, she taxed her father with it. “It’s not fair, Daddy,” she argued. “I’ve been positively begging you for a piano for months, and here you spend money teaching Daisy to draw, which she already does well enough.”

“It’s the same reason I have the men learn skills,” Lucian explained patiently. “I can sell art, the same as I can hire the men out, dear. It’s an investment.”

“I can’t believe you’d rather invest in my maid than in your own daughter,” Pamela pouted.

Daisy might have been embarrassed to witness this scene, if she had not seen so many like it before. She wondered why Mr. Carr bothered to argue since Pamela always got her way when she wanted it. Not so much spoiled as neglected – for even when home, her father spent much time closeted with Mr. Butler in the study – Pamela always knew the way to play upon her father’s guilty conscience.

A few days later a second-hand spinet was delivered to the house, and both girls were happy.


Pamela threw herself into practicing, which freed Daisy’s time for drawing and her new passion, painting. Not that she found her usual duties in any way onerous – Pamela was no stylish miss. Although well-dressed as suited her station, she looked down her nose at those vapid girls of their acquaintance who boasted the latest Paris, France, fashions. She always said that Paris, Kentucky, fashions were quite well enough for her, thank you. Daisy’s needle was more than enough to keep her modest wardrobe in good state.

For Pamela’s seventeenth birthday, Daisy presented her with a miniature portrait of herself. “It’s charming, dear,” Pamela proclaimed, “but what shall I do with it? I know what I look like.”

“Give it to a beau, when you have one,” Daisy said. “That’s what most people do.”

“I don’t want a beau,” Pamela asserted. “I shall be an old maid, then I may do as I please.”

Daisy was shocked. “But Miss Pamela, isn’t it shameful to be an old maid?”

“I don’t care,” Pamela said. “I’ll never ask a man for permission.” She looked down at the miniature. “You take it, Daisy. Have something to remember me by, when we’re grown up.”

Daisy took it, reluctantly, puzzled at Pamela’s words. Did she believe that Daisy would ever leave her, no matter how ‘grown up’ they became? If Miss Pamela never married, wouldn’t she need Daisy more than ever?


Daisy sat painting in the pasture, trying to capture the strength and essence of the horses that grazed there. Benjamin worked nearby, repairing a broken gate. He strolled up to her, looking over her shoulder as she worked. “That’s good. You’ve become quite an artist, Daisy dear.”

“Who thought I’d have to study anatomy to do it?” Daisy complained. “Muscles, bones.” She glanced at Benjamin’s shirtless torso, then hurriedly turned back to her canvas. “In order to paint something’s outsides, I have to understand its insides.”

“People, too?” he inquired.

She smiled. “Yes, of course. But there’s more to a person than skin and muscle.”

Benjamin raised his eyebrows. “You want to go into town?” he asked abruptly.

“Can’t. Don’t have a pass, and Mr. Carr’s out of town again.”

“I have one,” Benjamin said. “I’m doing a job for Mr. Hunt later. I doubt anyone would ask for yours if I show them mine.”

“Too risky.” Daisy shook her head. “What do you want to go into town for?”

“Want to show you something, since you’re interested in people’s insides.”

She was intrigued. “What?”

“There’s an auction on the courthouse steps today.”

Daisy shivered. “Why do you think I’d want to see that?”

“Because it’s real, Daisy,” Benjamin said heatedly. “It doesn’t bother you that you, or I, or anyone like us, can be bought and sold like so much cattle?”

“Mr. Carr wouldn’t sell us. He doesn’t sell slaves. He never has, you know,” she said primly.

“He might have to someday.” His tone was grim, now.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“The auction today is for debt.”

Daisy laughed. “Mr. Carr would never go into debt. He’s too careful with money.”

“Bad things happen, Daisy,” Benjamin said angrily. “If not to you, then to others. But if you’re too cold-hearted to care. . .”

“What is it you want?” Daisy said, growing angry herself. “Yes, it’s terrible slaves are sold. But what can I do about it?”

“What’s terrible is that we’re property in the first place,” Benjamin said.

“Maybe,” Daisy said, wrinkling her brow. “But, again, what can I do about it?”

“You can start thinking, for one thing.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “And it’s not true that Mr. Carr has never sold a slave.”

“Not since I’ve been here,” she asserted.

“Bury your head in the sand, Daisy. See what it gets you.” He stalked off to finish repairing the gate.

Daisy turned back to her work. Ever since Benjamin had come back from his apprenticeship, he had been like this – it terrified her sometimes. The world outside the farm seemed to be a wild and frightful place. If that was what became of those who went out into it, she would have none of it.


Her paintings were gone, two of them – the one of the horses in the pasture, and another she had sketched out that same day, of Benjamin working on the gate. She had been rather proud of that one – she felt she had captured something of his fire in it. Now it was missing and she could not think where it might have gone.

She asked Pamela. “Daddy took them,” Pamela told her. “He said they were good enough to sell – you should be proud, dear.”

“They were mine,” Daisy said, wrinkling her brow.

“Now, dear, Daddy told you he intended to sell your work when it was good enough, right from the start, didn’t he?” Pamela’s attempts to soothe her seemed half-hearted, but she spoke the truth.

“I reckon,” Daisy agreed, but she went to the small room she inhabited next to Pamela’s bedroom and sat down, thoughtful. Nothing I have is my own, she realized. She looked down at her hands. Not even these. She wondered if she would even desire to paint anymore, if nothing she did was hers, and yet the thought of that nearly crushed her soul. If I have nothing, not even myself, then who am I?

Mr. Carr came home a few days later, closeting himself as usual with Mr. Butler. Pamela stalked into the study unannounced, and was there some time. When she came out, she was red-faced, but she smiled at Daisy. “Daddy wishes to speak with you, dear.”

Daisy quailed. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

“It’s all right.” Pamela patted her shoulder. “It’s good news. Go on in.”

Daisy opened the door, quaking, but Mr. Carr smiled at her and offered her a chair. “Sit down, Bitty. I have some good news for you.”

“So Miss Pamela said,” she said, sitting. Mr. Butler was busying himself dusting the bookshelves, and she took no further notice of him.

“I’ve sold your paintings to a dealer in Louisville,” Mr. Carr said, “and he’s asked for more. Congratulations, my dear.”

“Sold?” Daisy said weakly.

“Yes,” Mr. Carr said cheerfully. “And you’re to have some of the proceeds.” He gave her a ten dollar gold piece. “And there’ll be more, if you keep doing the same kind of work. I’m very proud of you.”

The coin weighed heavily in her hand. “Some of the proceeds?” she said.

Mr. Carr reddened. “Well, yes.” He leaned forward. “Consider this your apprenticeship – I am due back the money I’ve spent on you, aren’t I? For lessons, and supplies?”

“Of course, sir,” Daisy said. “I thank you very kindly.” She rose to go.

“This is only the beginning,” Mr. Carr said. “You’ll be a fine artist someday.”

“Thank you,” Daisy said, stunned. “May I go now?”

“Of course,” Mr. Carr said, seeming somewhat disappointed. Did he expect her to be grateful? Perhaps he did.

Pamela was waiting for her in the hall. “Well, isn’t it wonderful?” she asked.

“Yes, wonderful,” Daisy said, pretending an enthusiasm she did not feel. She showed Pamela the coin. “So much money. What do I do with it?”

“Why, whatever you like,” Pamela laughed. “It’s yours.”

Daisy clenched her fist over the coin. Well, something is my own, it seems. For now.

It suddenly struck her – she doubted that Mr. Butler spent all his time in the study dusting. What did he and Mr. Carr do in there? Going over accounts, she supposed, but she did not reckon the bookkeeping could be so extensive. She shrugged. She had other things to think about. What did Benjamin mean that Mr. Carr sold slaves?

That night, Pamela called her into the bedroom. “Come sit by me, Daisy.” She patted the bed. Daisy clambered up and Pamela wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so excited for you, love,” Pamela said. “This is the beginning of great things for you, I know it.”

Daisy’s heart began to lift. “I wish he’d asked me,” she confessed. “I would have liked to have kept one of them.”

“I know.” Pamela gave her a squeeze. “Don’t think I don’t know how you feel about Benjamin. It was a good picture, but there’ll be lots more. And one day, you can keep or sell your paintings any way you’d like.”

“I don’t see how,” Daisy said. “I’m a slave.”

It was the first time those words had been said aloud, and it caused Pamela’s eyes to turn grave. “I know, dear,” she said, “but Daddy says the day is coming when all the slaves will be free. It’s one reason he makes sure all the servants have some skills, so they won’t be destitute when that day comes. And in the meantime, you’ll have money to spend, and when I turn eighteen, I’ll ask Daddy to give you to me, and we can go to Paris, the one in France, and you can sell your paintings and I can play my music, and we’ll be oh, so happy, won’t we, Daisy?”

Mollified by this happy vision, Daisy smiled, and the two girls talked and planned until they fell asleep in each others’ arms.


But when Pamela did turn eighteen, neither the hoped for transfer of ownership nor the promised trip to France materialized. Instead, Pamela began to entertain a suitor.

Harold Pike was tall, reasonably handsome, and the son of a wealthy landowning neighbor. He and his sister Belinda began to pay calls on Pamela and, at her father’s insistence, she received them.

There was no spark there, that Daisy could see. Harold was far from unattractive, but it was obvious that Pamela did not care for him, yet within a month of her eighteenth birthday, the engagement was announced.

Daisy was distraught, but hid it for Pamela’s sake. Her own future was in doubt – she did not wish to be separated from Pamela, but neither did she want to become that man’s property. Her fears were vague and unfounded until the night she was forced to run away.

Pamela had gone out riding with Belinda and Harold, and Daisy was repairing a piece of lace on one of Pamela’s dresses when she heard the front door open downstairs. There was a brief exchange of words, a tread on the stair, then Pamela’s bedroom door was flung open by Harold.

Daisy jumped up from the settee. “Mr. Pike! What are you doing here? I thought you were out riding.”

“My horse threw a shoe,” Harold replied, closing the door behind him. “I thought we might get to know each other better, Bitty.”

Daisy’s heart leapt into her throat. “In the parlor?” she choked out.

“Here’s fine,” Harold said. “After all, you will be living in my house, once I marry your mistress.”

“Not married yet,” Daisy pointed out. “You shouldn’t be here, in Miss Pamela’s bedroom. It’s most improper.”

“What does a nigger know about propriety?” Harold said, grasping Daisy’s wrist. “I’ve seen the way you look at me – you’re all alike.”

Daisy gasped. That word had never been spoken in that house before – neither Mr. Carr nor Mr. Butler would allow it. But there were matters more important than the insult she had just been dealt. That’s my painting hand. Calming herself, she said steadily. “What is it you want?”

“A little kiss, is all.” He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Do it!” he commanded.

She would rather kiss a copperhead, but she steeled herself. “All right, please don’t hurt me.”

“That’s more like it.” He grinned and yanked her close, covering her mouth with his, hungrily. Disgust filled her, but she allowed the indignity, as long as he held his grip on her wrist.

“So sweet, my dear, so sweet,” he murmured. He cupped her breast in one hand, then dropped her wrist to tug at her skirt with the other.

Daisy saw her chance and took it, raking her nails across his face as hard as she could.

Harold cried out, jerking back and covering his bleeding face with one hand. He drew back the other to strike her, when the door was opened behind him. “Do you require assistance, Mr. Pike?” Mr. Butler asked quietly.

“No, damn you!” Harold said. “Get out of here!”

“You’re bleeding, sir,” Mr. Butler insisted. “Come with me and I’ll attend to you.”

Harold growled, stymied. “All right.” He turned to Daisy. “You’ll pay for that, I’ll see to it!”

Daisy rearranged her skirt as Mr. Butler escorted Harold out of the room. Mr. Butler cast her a significant look as he shut the door behind him, and Daisy heard the key turn in the lock. Am I locked in, or is he locked out? Either way, she was safe, for the time being.

She tried to still herself and work on Pamela’s dress, but her hands were shaking. She paced back and forth until she heard Pamela return from her ride. Her heart pounded until she heard her mistress sprint up the stairs and unlock the door.

“Whatever has been going on here, Daisy?” she asked testily. “It’s not like you to misbehave.”

“I didn’t,” Daisy said.

“Harold says you enticed him up here,” Pamela said, frowning.

“You know I didn’t,” Daisy said. “Would I do that to you? With your fiancé? You know me better than that.”

“Then what did happen?” Pamela asked gently.

“He came up here, threatened me, demanded a kiss, then he. . .” Daisy covered her face, “. . .tried to ravish me,” she said weakly.

“You’re a child,” Pamela scoffed. “What do you know of ravishing?” She patted Daisy’s shoulder. “Now, admit it, Daisy. You tried to flirt, perfectly harmlessly, I’m sure, but things got out of hand. Apologize and promise not to do it again, and everything will be all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Daisy said. “I told you what happened. Why won’t you believe me?”

“He’s going to be my husband, Daisy. I have to take his part.”

“You’re not going to marry him, after this?” Daisy asked, horrified.

“I have to,” Pamela said weakly. “I gave my word.”

“Girls break engagements all the time,” Daisy said.

“It’s not like that,” Pamela said. “I can’t explain, please don’t ask me. I’m doing this as much for your good as anyone’s.”

“You can’t,” Daisy pleaded. “Please, Pamela, say you won’t.”

“Miss Pamela,” Pamela corrected sternly. “You forget yourself, Daisy. Now do be a good girl, and say you’re sorry.”

“I won’t,” Daisy said stubbornly.

Pamela sighed. “Daddy’s coming home tonight – I don’t know what he’ll have to say about all this. Very well, I’ll let him handle it. He’ll know how to deal with you, I daresay.”

Pamela left Daisy alone, locking the door behind her. Daisy went into her closet and threw herself down on her cot, choking back the wails that wanted to escape her. Pamela might be spoiled, but she had never been so unjust before. She could only hope that when Mr. Carr found out what had happened, that he would send Harold packing.

She waited until dusk, when she finally heard the carriage and then the front door slamming. A babble of voices, and then her owner unlocked the bedroom door and called to her. “Yes, sir,” she answered, drying her face with her hands.

“Now, now, Bitty,” Lucian Carr said, patting her shoulder. “Come sit on the settee and tell me what happened.”

Daisy related her tale, all the while Lucian frowned. “You do believe me, don’t you, Mr. Carr?”

“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid I do,” Lucian answered. “You do see that there’s only one thing I can do?”

“Send Mr. Pike packing?”

Lucian laughed wearily. “Oh, if only I could. No, Bitty, I shall have to find another home for you.”

“You mean sell me,” Daisy said, horrified.

“Since you put it like that, yes,” Lucian said.

“Why? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“It’s to protect you, and Pamela.” Lucian shook his head. “I’m certainly not going to supply her husband with a mistress the same time I supply him with a wife.”

“Supply him. . .” Daisy was struck speechless.

“Come now, it’s a pity this had to happen, but surely you can’t believe you’re the first slave to be ravished by her owner,” Lucian said bitterly. “I’ll preserve you from that, if I can.”

Daisy was beyond horror now. The future opened before her, a black pit at her feet.

Lucian stood. “It’s for the best, you’ll see.” He turned toward the door.

Daisy cried out, “Father!”

She hardly had time to think, how did I know? when did I know? before the back of Lucian’s hand smacked her across the cheek and she fell off the settee. “Don’t you dare call me that!” he shouted. “You may be of my getting, but you are none of mine! Don’t forget that! You are nothing to me, nothing!”

She could only whimper in reply as he stormed out of the room, once again locking the door. Daisy fell to her knees and clasped her hands, praying to God for her deliverance. Heavenly Father, I go to Church every Sunday, am always obedient, have never harmed another. If you love me at all, please deliver me from my bondage.

She did not know how long she prayed, but she was interrupted by a rattle of gravel against the window pane. She rushed to it and flung up the sash. “Daisy?” she heard Benjamin call. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said, unable to hold back a sob. “Mr. Carr is going to sell me!”

“Is he now?” Benjamin said grimly. “Wait there.”

She did not have much choice, but hope began to spring in her heart. Benjamin returned shortly bearing a ladder. He set the ladder against the wall and climbed up, clambering over the sill. He took Daisy in his arms. “Sh. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

She let herself sob now. “What are we going to do?”

“Why, escape, of course,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“How can we? They’ll have the slave catchers on us in a jiffy.”

“Trust me,” Benjamin said. “Do you have any money?”

“A little,” Daisy said. She went into her closet and took a small purse from under the mattress. “About fifty dollars.”

“That’s fine,” Benjamin said. “Bring it, but nothing else. We must travel light.”

“Are you sure, Benjamin? It’s awfully dangerous.”

“It is, and you must be brave,” Benjamin answered, “but it will be all right.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“Better change into trousers, and boots,” Benjamin said. “It’s going to be a rough road.”

“Of course,” Daisy said. “Give me a minute.”

Benjamin went out into the bedroom while Daisy changed. When she opened her trunk, she found the miniature of Pamela she had given her the year before. She almost crushed it in her fist, but decided to bring it along. Perhaps they could sell it if they needed to.

Benjamin helped her down the ladder. He carefully closed the window before climbing down himself. He replaced the ladder behind the stables, then took Daisy by the hand and led her into the darkness.

It began to rain, and Benjamin smiled broadly. “Good,” he said. “This will help keep the dogs off our trail.”

“Dogs?” Daisy said. “They won't set the dogs on us?”

“We're runaways, Daisy,” Benjamin said. “Mr. Carr might be a gentleman, but the slave catchers aren't. If you have no stomach for it we'd better turn back now, before you're missed.”

Daisy paused, then shook her head. “I don't know where we're going, but I can't go back.”

Benjamin nodded. “Come on then.”

They ran through the pastures, and into the woods. They ran for what seemed like hours but was probably less than one. Benjamin guided her down into a steep gully, and they waded through the creek that lay at its bottom, nettles and briars tearing at their clothes until they reached the end. Benjamin tied a thread around one of the briars, then pushed aside the undergrowth to reveal an opening barely large enough to squirm through. He urged Daisy through into the darkness, then followed her, carefully covering the opening behind them.

The darkness was thick and black as ink. There was a smell of oil and the flick of a match, and Daisy opened her eyes to find herself in a small cave. Benjamin held a lantern aloft and said, “Follow me.”

There was room enough to stand, and Daisy followed him through a narrow opening into a much larger cavern. Mica and quartz embedded in the walls caught the flickering lamplight and dazzled her eyes. “What is this place?” she asked.

Benjamin grinned. “This is your first stop on the Underground Railroad.”

“Railroad? I don’t see a railroad.”

“It’s only a metaphorical railroad.” Benjamin laughed aloud, “but it will take us to Canada, if we’re lucky.”

“If you use words like ‘metaphorical’ around white folks, you’ll get in trouble for sure,” she chided.

Benjamin led her into another, smaller chamber. Here were blankets, food, water – every necessity. “Come sit, Daisy,” Benjamin said. “we may have a while to wait. I don’t know how often Willie checks for the signal.” He stroked her cheek, frowning. “Who struck you?”

“Mr. Carr.” The thought of it almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Why?”

She hung her head. “Because I called him ‘Father’.”

Benjamin clenched his fists and turned his back on her. “Benjamin?” she said timidly.

He turned back around, his cheeks livid. He did not speak while he took a moment to calm his rage. “How dare he? It’s shameful.”

“I’m sorry. But he shouldn’t have struck me.”

“Don’t apologize – you’re not the one who should be ashamed. After the way he treated your mother. . .”

“What do you know about my mother?”

Benjamin smoothed a blanket over a straw-stuffed tick that lay on the floor of the cave. Taking Daisy’s hand, he pulled her down next to him. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing really. Only vague impressions.” She stretched out on the blanket and Benjamin lay down beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her.

“He sold her,” Benjamin said grimly. “Bought her, used her, sold her.” He hugged her tightly. “Just like every other white man.”

Daisy’s life was shattering about her, everything she had believed about herself and the world dissolving. Before today, she would never have believed it of Mr. Carr. Now she could believe anything. “And kept me?” She contemplated this for a long moment. “Do you know where she is? What happened to her?”

Benjamin shook his head. “Sold down South, I believe. No one ever hears from any one again. Not from there.”

Daisy shivered. “How do you know of this place? How did you know I needed you?”

“Aunt Elsie can’t keep anything to herself. She said you’d been locked in, although she didn’t know why. Do you want to tell me?”

“He tried to ravish me.” Daisy stomach roiled in turmoil to think of it.

“Mr. Carr?” Benjamin’s voice could barely contain his rage.

“Oh, no! Mr. Pike. But Pamela wouldn’t believe me, and Mr. Carr said he would sell me. I begged him not to, and that’s when I called him Father, and that’s when he struck me.”

Benjamin relaxed, but only a little bit. “Well, that’s bad enough. Lucky for you I’m an agent on the Railroad.”

“What’s an agent?”

“When I hear of a slave who might want to run away, I help him find this place. A thread on the briar is the signal, and then the conductor comes to help him to the next station.”

“You’re a slave stealer!” Realization dawned.

“So the whites call it,” Benjamin agreed. “Now I’ve stolen myself, and you.” He turned to look into her eyes. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”

Daisy shuddered. “No, I can’t go back.” She stroked his cheek. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he said. “Surely you know that by now.”

She felt suddenly shy. “Would you kiss me?”

He hesitated. “Daisy. . .”

“I need to rid myself of the taste of him.”

Benjamin shook his head. “I’m sorry, Daisy. Not for that. . .” He frowned. “I can’t take advantage of the situation.”

She snuggled closer to him. “Are we going to be married? When we get to Canada?”

“Ah, Daisy. You’ll see – you’ll be the prettiest girl in all of Canada. You’ll have your choice of beaux. Don’t fix on me because you’ve known me all your life.”

“Loved you all my life, you mean. If you think there’s anyone else for me, you don’t know me very well, Benjamin.”

Benjamin looked down tenderly at her. “You’re sure?”

Daisy nodded, suddenly shy. She reached up and kissed him, softly, but warmly. He pulled her closer to him, caressing her gently. “You touch me the same way,” she said. “Why is it so different?”

“Because I love you, Daisy. I’ve always loved you.”


It was some hours before Willie finally arrived. Benjamin pulled Daisy to her feet. “Willie,” he said proudly, “I’d like you to meet my wife, Daisy.”