Free Reborn by Aiden James, Lisa Collicutt

to live at a neighboring plantation. Although Solomon was young, he was bitter and hated the world. By the time he reached twenty, he was known as the most ruthless plantation owner in the South. The Brandt slaves were given no materials for building, so they lived in shacks made from fallen trees and sticks, built under the moonlight, because they were forced to work during daylight hours. Their dwellings had no windows, no furniture, or cook stoves. Meals consisted of what they caught in streams and hunted in the forest. They had no time to grow their own gardens, because they worked the plantation from dawn until after dark. Their only vegetables were the ones not fit to cook for their master. From time to time, the slaves would run, but most would get caught… those, Solomon tortured, branded, raped.” Desiree shuddered. “The list of unspeakable deeds goes on.
    “Even the white folk feared him. They say, ‘The devil took his soul and he became a monster.’ By the time Solomon was in his mid-twenties, none of the locals would do business with him. Eventually, he drank and gambled away his inheritance, all but this land and what was on it.”
    The image of everything she’d said played in my head, as if I was there. “What happened to him?”
    “He was last seen in 1862 riding a white horse in Atlanta; supposedly he got struck down by bandits. He was twenty-eight.”
    Desiree’s tale felt too familiar. I didn’t want to hear any more.
    “But there’s no real account of his death. According to vital statistics, the family plot holds his empty grave.” A line formed in the space between her eyebrows. “Do you think you’re related to him?”
    Something inside me screamed
yes,
but I didn’t want to admit to the truth out loud. I glanced at Melba out of the corner of my eye. She hadn’t said a word during the account of Desiree’s findings. Her wide-eyed gaze focused on the bare table in front of her, as she quietly fingered the pendants that sat at the deep hollow below her neck.
    “Auntie Mel?”
    Still holding the pendants, Melba glanced up. “It’s possible, I guess.”
    Desiree leaned closer to the center of the table. “If he is, maybe he has a claim to this place.”
    “I don’t want it.” And I didn’t. Chills crawled up my back, as I felt the invisible slave woman’s eyes on me. I would rather live in the wild than spend any more time on these cursed grounds.
    “If you were a descendant of the first Solomon Brandt, you would have known so by now. In all the twenty-six, twenty-seven years of your life, someone would have told you. I would have known.”
    “How would you have known?” Desiree asked.
    “I work here, child. History would be different.”
    Desiree flopped against the chair’s backrest, looking a little disappointed, and even more suspicious. “So you don’t think he’s who he says he is?”
    Melba stood so abruptly, the side of her hand hit a mug, which rattled against a plate. With both hands, she grabbed the two, and then pulled them apart, a look of relief masking her concern. Then, giving us a stern look she said, “The windows won’t clean themselves. Is the history lesson over, Des?”
    The perplexed look Desiree gave her aunt made me wonder why Melba wanted this meeting to end sooner rather than later.
    “There’s one more thing,” Desiree said in measured words, while reaching inside her bag.
    When she pulled out her hand, she held another piece of paper and sat it in the center of the table.
    Melba’s hands flew to her pendants.
    I stared in horror as the picture of a painting of a man who looked nearly identical to me stared back.
    Both women looked from the picture to me.
    “Seems pretty undeniable to me,” Desiree said with a pointed look at me. “You’re related.”
    “Nonsense,” Melba said tapping the picture with the tips of her fingers. “Look at the hair. Not even close.”
    Desiree cocked her head and pursed her lips.
    “Only the length is