Her ability to read the face of a white man, honed over years of enslavement, had failed her. Instinct had told her to look down, but now Mr. Beaumont had commanded her otherwise. “Where have you been?” he pressed. “Have you been out all night?” “No, sir. Me—me just go for a walk.” “Well, if I catch you out walking again . . .” His lip curled as he trailed off, as though he found everything about this encounter distasteful. He wielded his power bluntly—nothing about his tone made the threat less clear—but he seemed to take no pleasure in it.
