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keep them steady. Her nails dug into her exposed palms and formed red half-moons.
    Her father opened his eyes, incandescent against the pallor of his skin. She took a step back; the vibrancy of his stare had always been proof to her that he was what they claimed: a divine prophet.
    â€œMary,” he whispered. “Dear Mary.” He took her hands with his withered claws, and she kissed his fingers despite their grotesqueness.
    Annie wept. He cupped her cheek, then looked to Sarah, his gaze like the flash of gunpowder. She willed herself steadfast.
    â€œChildren, you will make men proud,” he began, then lapsed in a series of phlegmy coughs. When he stopped, his eyes had closed, and Sarah thought that, like the prophet Elijah, God had seen fit to take him before the sickle fell.
    Their mother ran her fingers over his chest, throat, and mouth, and he returned.
    â€œIt smells like Christmas,” he said. “Our Savior’s birth.”
    â€œGingerbread,” Mary whispered and pulled the handkerchief lump from her lap.
    He smiled weakly. “How did you know? I had a vision that the angels welcomed me with ginger cakes.”
    Her mother’s tears ran like sap. She lifted a soft wad of bread to his mouth. After he’d taken the bite, she turned to Sarah. “Water.”
    â€œMight you please give him something to drink?” Sarah asked the armed guard.
    He looked round the cell, inspecting each of the women. Detecting nothreat of intended escape, he nodded and strode off down the corridor, keys clanking with each step.
    Once the guard was gone, her father pulled himself up on his elbows. “Closer, family.” His voice was ardent and commanding—the voice she’d known her entire life. All three drew near.
    â€œListen carefully. Never be ashamed of our cause. I wish that my funeral attendants not be any of these policing pharisees but the barefoot and impoverished slave children of Virginia. Hold them close to you, my dears. Be their angels. The abolishment of slavery does not end with me. You must carry on. I have given this same revelation to your living brothers by letter. You girls, Ruth, and little Ellen are the mothers of the next generation, which I pray will know no nation that places shackles on another man and stands on his back. ‘Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?’ Promise me, daughters.”
    â€œI promise.” Annie kissed the underside of his palm and laid her head on the wool blanket over his chest.
    This was an easy vow for Sarah to make. She could never have children, would never mother the next generation. No man, equal or unequal, would yoke her.
    â€œYou have my promises in life and in eternity, Father.”
    She bent low by his side and pulled the muslin map free from under her skirt, but before she could slip it to him, he winced at some inward pain and rolled onto his side.
    â€œWe are each here to serve His divine will. I have done all that this mortal body will allow. I’m happy to leave this world having fulfilled my purpose. My deepest regret is that I won’t be here to watch my children discover theirs and see the blasphemy of slavery abolished.”
    The clanking of keys returned, and the guard’s booted footsteps were not alone. Two men in fitted frock coats followed. Sarah stood up quickly and hid the picture roll beneath the overhang of her shawl.
    â€œPreacher Hill and his son,” announced the guard. He’d forgotten the water.
    Mary rose at the company, as did Annie. The three women turned togreet the visitors, and Sarah gasped with recognition. She had met the preacher before—the night she’d first discovered her artistic aptitudes and joined the Underground Railroad’s mission.
    â€œGeorge, Freddy,” her father welcomed them.
    â€œHello, John,” said Mr. Hill.