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that wretched foolishness away, you hear.” Mama was whispering with a sure force. Even in the dimness, I could see her anger.
    I knew arguing was no use, though I tried. “But Mama, I’m—”
    â€œDon’t give me sass, Summer,” she snapped. “I’m a tired woman tonight. We’ve had enough bad fortune come to this plantation for one day, and we don’t need no more. I told you to keep that book hid away, and I told Rosco the same about any books he gets his hands on. But Rosco, he ain’t like you—he knows better than to be waving a stolen book around.”
    I wanted to tell Mama that I had me a silent thunder, and that everyone—even her—had one, too. And that letters were beautiful, fancy things. But Mama wasn’t hearing me, not tonight. I slid my book closer to me. “Mama, I’m not waving it around,” I said
    But faster than I could blink, Mama snatched the book from my hands. Thankfully, none of the pages tore, though something inside me was ripping fast. Mama spoke her final words. “Child, this is the wrong night for talkin’ back to your mama. This blasted book is gonna stay with me from here on. You ain’t got no more use for it.”
    â€œI do have use for it!” I snapped. “Why you gotta take it now ?”
    Mama spoke firmly. “I’m takin’ it now so’s we don’t risk any trouble from here on in. With Gideon’s heart-shock, there’s gonna be all kinds of white folks comin’ round here. Surely, we’ll have visitors—friends of the Parnells—and just plain nosy people from town who want to see for themselves what’s happening now that Gideon’s sickly. This plantation is gonna be swarming with white folks soon as tomorrow. The last thing I need is for you to go around flauntin’ a book.”
    I was too churned up to speak. When I parted my lips to say something, to give Mama more of my protest, not even the squeak of a mouse came to my throat. But Mama must have seen the disappointment on my face. She said, “Wipe that pout off your lips and listen to me good. If I find you dabbling with letters again, I’ll give you a true reason to be down in the mouth.”
    I snuffed my lantern. I rolled to my side. I whispered to Walnut way into the darkness.

12
Rosco
    October 28, 1862
    M AMA’S CRADLING A TINY BABY . I can see his little body wriggling in Mama’s arms as she lets droplets of sugar-water drip from her finger onto the baby’s suckling lips.
    The baby lets out a whimper. Mama rocks him, coos down into the blanket, where he’s bundled tight. That baby’s whimper sets something off in me. Makes me want to cuddle that babe in my own arms. “Can I hold him, Mama?”
    Mama shakes her head. “Best that I tend to him,” she says. “But come, take a look.” Mama loosens the blanket where it’s tucked at the baby’s chin. She peels the soft fabric away from the baby’s face.
    Soon as I peer in, I’m startled back. This baby’s got the face of a grown man. The face of Gideon Parnell !
    Mama doesn’t see what I see. To her, there ain’t nothin’ strange about the baby. She coddles him. Strokes his face gently. Wipes the spittle from his chin.
    I look closer to make sure my eyes aren’t playing a trick on me.I turn back the blanket so’s I can see even more of the baby. On the place where that baby’s ribs would be, there’s a fleshy, pink wound—a cattle brand, like the one me and Summer and Mama and all of us Parnell slaves got burned into our sides. But this half baby-half Gideon isn’t branded with the letter P. He’s got Mama’s name—Kit—burned into him. And the brand is surrounded by the black body hairs of a full-grown man! I shudder and wince at the same time.
    Mama don’t notice the baby’s brand, either. This baby is all sweetness