Skip to content 
They were still enslaved there, and the laws were being broken. The marshal promised to investigate, but promises were easy, but action was hard.
Amelia wouldn’t let herself believe it. She’d learned not to get her hopes up too much. Hope hurt more than anything when it was taken away.
Then she saw them.
A group of men on horseback, coming down the road. There were about twenty of them. The federal marshal was in front, wearing a dark suit and a badge on his chest. Behind him were deputies and soldiers carrying rifles and official papers.
Samuel came out to meet them. Amelia and Marcus followed.
“Are you Samuel?” the marshal asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I am Marshal Clayton. I received your report. I’ve come to investigate the allegations about Thornhill Ranch.”
“They are not allegations,” Samuel said. “They are the truth, and I have two witnesses to prove it.”
The marshal looked at Amelia and Marcus. His eyes lingered on Amelia. She was just a child, thin, scarred, with eyes older than her years.
“You’re from Thornhill?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you say there are people being held there as slaves?”
“Yes, sir. Forty-two. Perhaps forty-one now if one of them is punished for my escape.”
The marshal’s jaw tightened. He turned to his men.
“Hang on. We’re moving now.”
“I’m coming with you,” Marcus said.
“And I am too.”
The marshal looked at her.
“Girl, there’s no need,” she said firmly. “But there is. These people are my family. They must see me come back. They must see that someone cared.”
The marshal studied her for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well. But stay behind us. It could get dangerous.”
They gave them horses. Amelia had never ridden before, but she learned quickly. The group set off south toward Thornhill Farm. The drive took most of the day.
The closer they got, the faster Amelia’s heart pounded. She didn’t know what they would find. She didn’t know if anyone was still alive.
They reached the ranch just before sunset.
It was exactly as she remembered it.
The big white house on the hill, the little cottages behind it, the fields stretching in every direction. Smoke was rising from the chimneys.
People were still there.
The marshal raised his hand.
Halt. Spread out. Surround. No one leaves until I give the order.
The men moved into position. The marshal advanced toward the main house with six deputies. Amelia and Marcus stayed behind, but within sight.
Thomas Thornhill came out onto the porch. He was a big man, red-faced, with gray hair. He was holding a glass of whiskey. He looked at the marshal and smiled.
Can I help you, gentlemen?
“I am Federal Marshal Clayton,” the marshal said. I came to investigate reports of illegal slavery on this property.
Thornhill’s smile didn’t falter.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a farm. My workers are paid employees.
If that’s the case, the marshal said, you wouldn’t mind if I spoke to them.
Of course not, Thornhill said. But you’re wasting your time.
The marshal got out of the car and walked toward the huts behind the house. Amelia followed him from a distance. Her heart was pounding.
People began to gather. They had heard the horses and seen the men approaching, with their official insignia and imposing presence. They stood silent, afraid.
Amelia saw familiar faces.
Ruth was there.
She looked older, thinner, but alive.
Ruth saw Amelia, and her eyes widened.
The marshal stepped forward.
My name is Marshal Clayton. I’m a federal officer. I need to ask you a few questions.
Silence.
Are you being held here against your will? No one spoke.
They looked at each other.
Then at Thornhill, who was standing on his balcony.
Then at Cyrus Gunn, who appeared with his rifle.
Are you free to leave whenever you wish?
Silence.
Are you paid for your work?
Amelia said suddenly, unable to bear it any longer.
They are afraid.
She took a step forward.
Afraid because if they tell the truth they will be punished. They have been punished all their lives for telling the truth.
She moved toward them. Ruth took her hand.
Amelia, she whispered. What are you doing, child?
She said what I should have done long ago.
Then she turned to the marshal.
These people have been enslaved here since before I was born. Mr. Thornhill’s father started this. He kept us hidden. He told us the war wasn’t over, that we were still property. He abused us. He exploited us. And he punished us.