It was a fair question. Why did I care? I’d lived my entire life benefiting from slavery without questioning it. I’d worn clothes made by enslaved people, eaten food prepared by enslaved people, lived in luxury built on enslaved labor. What made this different?
“Because what my father is planning is wrong. Not just morally wrong in some abstract sense, but practically, specifically wrong in a way I can’t ignore anymore.”
“You think slavery’s wrong.” There was skepticism in her voice.
“I think…” I struggled for words. “I think I’ve been reading too much lately. Books that make me question things I’ve always accepted. And when my father laid out his plan, when he talked about you like you were livestock to be bred for his purposes, something in me couldn’t accept it.”
“But you still own slaves. Your father still owns me.”
“Yes. And I don’t have an answer for that contradiction. I’m complicit in a system I’m starting to understand is evil. But I couldn’t let my father’s plan happen without at least warning you.”
Delilah sat down on one of the stools, suddenly looking exhausted. “Master Thomas, I appreciate the warning. Truly. But what am I supposed to do with this information? I can’t refuse. If the judge orders me bread, I’ll be bred. If I resist, I’ll be whipped until I comply or sold to someone worse or killed. There is no escape from this.”
“There might be.” The words were out before I’d fully thought them through.
She looked up. “What?”
“There might be a way out. I’ve been thinking about it all day. If you were to escape.”
“Escape to where? We’re in Mississippi. There are slave patrols everywhere. I have no papers, no money, no knowledge of the roads north. And I’m a 6-ft tall black woman. I’m not exactly inconspicuous. I’d be caught within a day and sold south—probably to a Louisiana sugar plantation where I’d be worked to death within a few years.”
“What if you had papers? What if you had money? What if you had someone to travel with who could deflect suspicion?”
She stared at me. “Master Thomas, what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting…” I took a deep breath. “I’m suggesting that maybe we both leave together. We go north. I have money. My mother left me a trust fund that I can access. Not a fortune, but enough to get us started somewhere. I can forge travel passes in my father’s handwriting. We take a wagon and supplies and we just go.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“Master Thomas, if we’re caught, do you know what would happen? You’d be imprisoned for slave theft. I’d be killed. They don’t just whip runaway slaves in Mississippi. They make examples of them. Public hanging—sometimes worse.”
“I know.”
“But if we succeed—and if we somehow make it north, then what? You’d be throwing away everything. Your inheritance, your social position, your family name… you’d be poor. You’d be an outcast. And for what? To help one slave escape when your father owns 300?”
It was the fundamental question. And I didn’t have a good answer except the truth. “Because I can’t save 300 people. But maybe I can save one. Maybe I can stop one evil thing from happening. And maybe that’s better than doing nothing.”
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