“In here,” my mysterious mate tells me.
We walk into a larger house, up the stairs, and into a small room with only a mattress slung to a corner and a table for holding a candle. Like most bedrooms in slave villages, there is no window, but the house is drafty, so air is no problem. There is nothing personal about the room. Perhaps my mate is one of the seasonal workers, and he was lucky enough to find an empty room.
“Let’s sit down to talk first.”
My heart practically jumps from his words, suddenly becoming nervous. There is no place to sit except on his mattress, so we bend to sit beside each other, leaning against the wall. I’m sweating, not only from the lingering heat of late summer. The air between us practically buzzes. Our bodies want to entangle with each other. It’s hard not t
