From the Unwritten Letters of Joseph Freeman

(February, 1841) Melinda, I've been preparing to write. That peculiar girl named Molly, who has a bit of liberty in the house, has said she'll find some paper. I have practiced mixing charred wood with water and have managed to shave a twig so one end nearly resembles a nib, but tonight Lila got caught up under the good Doctor's whip for such a little offense. I am frightened. Doctor Jackson brought in a new troop of slaves today. A boy of thirteen among them had the welted cheek that speaks of a driver's dissatisfaction. Lila put a poultice on to ease the swelling, but Jackson wants the boy to understand his place and thinks a scar will help. Lila's back and neck and arms have thirty new wounds to replace the one she thought to heal. Melinda, how is Jacob? Ever yours, (February, 1841) Do you ever start at night believing I might be dead? I leave my body sometimes, Melinda. Is that all dying is? Remember how I'd scold you when the stew was thin, believing I needed a thick stock to forge muscle for all the work I had ahead? Your stew would make me big again, Melinda. Sometimes we have to trap, skin and roast possum, rabbit, snake and squirrel. Except for that, I have swallowed naught but salt pork and coarse meal in all my days away from you. But I work just fine. Ever your beloved husband, (March, 1841) What a herd of slaves Jackson brought in last month. No sooner had their strength returned after the long march to the farm from Lynchburg but they began to plot another run. We didn't know they'd planned to leave until they were already gone a day. All manner of neighborhood men came around to tip Jackson's whiskey and help him on the hunt, though all they brought back for their trouble were two bodies. One dead, one fighting off living. That boy I told you about, Ben with the slashed cheek? At the stony fork of the river Doc Jackson found his body, cut up, twisted as if it had fought long under water, a dead hand pointing in the direction his netted sister and the "damned lost lot of niggers" had run. I guess he was too obstinate even for the water to hold down easily. Jackson used Ben like a scarecrow, his shirt hooked on a pole, his body meant to warn us from the road. Lila's still not certain that the girl will live. Until tomorrow, I am ever your Joe. (December, 1843) William is the name Smythe matched to my description when he shipped me from his Wilmington slave pen to the Richmond consigner Jackson bought me from. So I am William, though it took more than one whipping for me to remember it. There is a woman keeps the kitchen here prefers we call her Auntie. She's been called so many names she "most forgets" which one means her. I trust Jacob is getting on in school just fine. I was, at his age, learning to carry myself with the pride of a Freeman. It's been many years since I've been able to answer to any person calling me that name. And Jacob? Can he remember his father? Please hug him for me, Melinda. I am ever your husband, (November, 1845) How many live on our alley in Philadelphia? There, this room might accommodate a bed and two chairs, but here we are three men, two women, some potions, and a girl. We sleep in turns. Marlo often walks the woods at night, his eye out on the traps for all of us.   'Dolphus steals sleep in the smithing shop and steals everything else before dawn. Just last week, we bore the tread of a muzzled goat and two hens he brought in from a neighbor's farm. Our field sweat adds stench to the store of bones, feathers, brews, and herbs Lila claims can cure the women on this place. Sadie, who Lila never tried to stop herself from bearing, sleeps with her body wedged behind the door. Molly swings it in her side each night when she turns up to sleep after Miss Amy's laudanum takes and again when she races the conch call to the house in the morning. Even Lena, who had a well-built cabin of her own when she lived on the place, pushed four babies off her tit to make room for the Doctor and for Miss Amy's boy. I wonder, Melinda, are your wages enough, since I went away, to satisfy the rent? Yours in tribulation, (December, 1847) The Doctor's had his eye on Molly since he caught her listening while the tutor drilled his son on Greek. She says the boy translates slowly. On a war now, his spoiled tongue has spent two days flogging some warrior's impenetrable shield. Molly showed me yesterday what a heart looks like. Traced it in the dirt that is my bed, my stool, my desk, my cabin floor. I miss you, Melinda. I miss feeling the little skip your heart took sometimes, though I know the pinch that came along with the stutter pained you.   Molly is a smart girl, though brutal in her zeal. She's quicker than a butcher to find cause to wield a knife. I am certain the Doctor will lapse in his vigilance soon enough. Then I will chance to capture on the page one of these letters. May God be good and grant so large a prayer. Yours, (January, 1848) We are like to lose another hand unless 'Dolphus can recover from the flogging he took over a missing pair of cufflinks. The girl who was brought home with Ben's body was quickly well enough to work, and she had less skin on her bones than Doctor Jackson left on 'Dolphus. Perhaps there is some little hope for Lila's husband. Molly is afraid to sneak me any of the Doctor's paper. Molly, who can be as bad as 'Dolphus about purloining pretty, useful things. I doubted she was earnest in her fear, but now I see what she, born here, must have always known. A man whose livelihood depends on stealing the toil of other people's bodies must keep a keen eye on his own most dear and precious things.