Free Come Juneteenth by Ann Rinaldi

leave Sis Goose? Here was where it got sticky as spilled honey. She didn't have to obey him, but I did? All my life she'd been another little sister to him and now she wasn't anymore.
    I backed off from the door. It was easier that way.

    Just then Pa opened it, smiling, "Well, little lady? You ready to see your pa?"
    "Yes, sir," Sis Goose said.
    To my surprise Pa came out and gave them their privacy. I wanted to go in. I made a move toward it, but Pa grabbed my arm and said, "She can do this without you."
    They were in there near an hour visiting. I went back to the table, pulled there by Gabe's look. When Sis Goose came out she was holding two packages wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes were glistening and she set the packages aside and sat down at the table with us.
    "Is he going to take you away with him?" Gabe asked.
    I hadn't thought of that. Only Gabe would. "No," she said shakily.
    What if he wanted to?
I wondered. What rights did Gabe have? Oh, I was so confused. Then before I knew it, Pa asked me to fix a dish of breakfast and bring it into the study for Captain Smith. He was busy with some papers. And although he'd brought us a large basket filled with wine, sugar in cones, coffee beans, and a giant ham, he didn't have time to join us, thank you.
    The food, it turned out, was just an excuse. Mr. Smith wanted to see me.
    "I understand you've been looking after my daughter all these years," he said to me.
    He wore a beard that was part white, though he was not yet an elderly man. His blue eyes were piercing but
unfathomable as the river currents he maneuvered every day. His blue coat was open and I could see that he wore a pistol, something long handled and carved.

    "Some people would say she looks after me," I answered bravely.
    He settled back in his chair and sipped his coffee. "I like you. You're straightforward. No duplicity about you." He smiled. "You haven't told Sis Goose yet that she is free, I hear."
    This man doesn't waste time,
I thought. "No."
    "Good. I was just telling your pa that I'm glad of it. There's no telling what notion she'll get in her head if she knows it. I don't need her running off with some roustabout like her mother ran off with me."
    I was shocked into silence.
    "You keep on being her friend," Captain Smith went on. "She'll need one in the future."
    "She's my sister," I said. "I can't think of her any other way."
    He nodded approvingly. "Good girl. I've brought her a fine velvet cloak for Christmas. And one for you. You can wear them together and be sisters."
    Then it was over, for me at least. Pa went back in his study for more conferring. "Likely they're talking about how to make money with the end of the war." Mama never glossed over things.
    I don't know why, but I expected Gabe to meet with Sis Goose's father that day. Isn't that what you did with
the father of your intended? Or wasn't he serious? Was it all one of Sis Goose's dreamed-up secrets?

    I'd have to wait to find out.

    T HE GIFTS Sis Goose got from her pa were long cloaks of blue velvet trimmed with fur. "For the day when you come aboard ship," the note read.
    For just a moment I envied her. You could see, if you were blind as a skunk in daylight, how happy she was. I just didn't know how much of it was from her pa's visit and how much because of Gabe.
    We had Christmas. The slaves were given the week between Christmas and New Year's off, except for feeding the livestock, milking, and gathering eggs.
    It was my job, with my brothers, to give the slaves their gifts on Christmas morning when they came up to the big house to stand outside by the front steps. I stood between my brothers and now Sis Goose stood with us.
    Mama insisted we wear our long blue velvet coats. And I was surprised at how much it made us feel even closer, how we giggled and smiled as we handed out the gifts.
    The children got candy and small sacks of pennies. The men and women each got a new blanket and a pair of shoes.
    The tradition on our place was