Grimes found her in the parlor that afternoon.
He didn't knock. Just pushed open the door and stood there, his face a thundercloud.
"I've heard what you did."
Amara set down the household accounts she'd been reviewing. "Good. I was going to tell you anyway."
"You went to the quarters. Without my knowledge. Without my permission."
"I don't need your permission, Mr. Grimes. This is my plantation."
"You made promises." His voice was shaking with barely contained fury. "Increased rations. Rest days. No punishment without your approval. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I've given eighty-four people slightly better living conditions. I fail to see the problem."
Grimes stepped closer. "The problem is discipline. The problem is order. You've just told every Negro on this plantation that the rules don't apply anymore. That they can run to you whenever they don't like something I do. You've undermined my entire authority."
"Your authority was being used to brutalize people." Amara stood, refusing to let him loom over her. "I saw the quarters, Mr. Grimes. I saw how they live. The crowding. The lack of food. The buildings falling apart around them."
"That's how quarters are everywhere in Virginia—"
"Then everywhere in Virginia is wrong."
Grimes stared at her. His jaw worked silently, and Amara could see the veins pulsing in his temple.
"You don't know what you're doing," he said finally. "You think you're being kind. You think you're helping. But all you're doing is making them soft. Making them think they deserve better. And when they start demanding more—when they start running away or fighting back—what then?"
"Maybe if they were treated like human beings in the first place, they wouldn't feel the need to run."
"They're not human beings." Grimes's voice dropped, cold and flat. "Not under the law. They're property. They're assets. And your job—my job—is to maximize their value while keeping them under control. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."
Amara felt something crack inside her. All the rage she'd been holding back, all the horror and disgust and grief—it surged up like a wave.
"Get out."
"Mistress—"
"Get out of my house." Her voice was shaking now too, but not with fear. With fury. "I don't want to hear your justifications. I don't want to hear how this is just 'how things work.' I know how things work. I know the law. I know the economics. I know all the reasons people like you use to convince themselves that treating human beings like livestock is acceptable."
She stepped toward him, and to her surprise, he stepped back.
"But I don't accept it. I will never accept it. And as long as I'm mistress of this plantation, things are going to change. You can either adapt or you can leave. Those are your options."
Grimes's face had gone pale. Not with fear—with rage. The kind of rage that came from being humiliated, from having his worldview challenged by someone he considered beneath him.
"Master Custis will hear about this."
"I'm counting on it."
"He won't stand for it. He'll—"
"He'll what?" Amara cut him off. "Fire me? Divorce me? I'm his wife, Mr. Grimes. I control his household, raise his children, manage his domestic affairs. He needs me a great deal more than he needs you."
It was a gamble. She had no idea what Daniel Custis was actually like, no idea how he'd react to any of this. But Grimes didn't know that.
"We'll see about that," Grimes said, but some of the certainty had gone out of his voice. "We'll see what happens when he comes home."
He turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
Amara sank into her chair. Her hands were trembling. Her heart was racing.
I just made an enemy. A real enemy. A man who knows this system inside and out, who has connections and credibility, who's going to do everything in his power to destroy me.
And I have eleven days until Daniel comes home.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity.
Breechy brought her the report she'd requested—a careful list of needed repairs, supply shortages, and recommendations for the new ration schedule. His handwriting was neat and precise, and the analysis showed a sharp mind at work.
Oney said he had some literacy. She undersold him.
"This is excellent work," Amara told him. "Can you implement these changes?"
"If you authorize the expenditure, yes, Mistress."
"Consider it authorized." She paused. "Breechy—William—I want you to know that I value your expertise. This household couldn't function without you."
Something shifted in his face. A crack in the professional mask.
"Thank you, Mistress."
"I mean it. And I want you to feel free to bring concerns to me directly. If something isn't working, if you see problems I'm missing—tell me. I can't fix what I don't know about."
He studied her for a long moment. "You're really serious about this. The changes."
"Yes."
"May I ask why?"
Because I'm a Black woman from the future trapped in your owner's body. Because my ancestors lived through this nightmare. Because I can't look at your face and pretend you're not a person.
"Because it's right," she said. "And because I can."
Breechy nodded slowly. "Then I'll do my best to help, Mistress. But you should know—Mr. Grimes has friends. Among the other plantation owners, among the magistrates. If he decides to make trouble..."
"Let him try."
That night, Amara sat alone in her bedroom, writing in her journal by candlelight.
Day two. Changes implemented: increased rations, rest periods, discipline policy. Enemies made: Grimes, definitely. Possibly others. Allies: uncertain. Breechy seems cooperative. Elias is watching. Ruth is grateful. Samuel is eager.
Daniel comes home in eleven days. Everything I've done can be undone with a single order from him.
But I couldn't do nothing. I couldn't stand by and watch and pretend it was acceptable. Whatever happens next, at least I tried.
At least I—
A sound from outside. Soft but distinct. Footsteps on the stairs.
Amara set down her pen and listened. The footsteps stopped outside her door.
Then nothing.
She waited. A minute. Two. The house was silent.
Probably just a servant. Nothing to worry about.
But her instincts were screaming.
She crossed to the door and opened it.
The hallway was dark and empty. Nothing seemed out of place.
Then she looked down.
A dead rat lay on the threshold. Its throat had been cut, and blood pooled in a dark stain around its body. A small piece of paper was pinned to its fur with a needle.
Amara picked up the note with trembling fingers.
SOFT HEARTS MAKE HARD GRAVES.
No signature. But she didn't need one.
Grimes. It has to be.
She looked down the dark hallway, heart pounding.
He's not going to wait for Daniel. He's coming for me now.
[End of Chapter 10]