I put my hand atop my head and she sewed up the wound, concentrating hard on her task and making large crossing stitches. I enjoyed watching her work....She smiled at me at one point and said, "I was never very good with a needle."It turned out that the slaves were her father's and only came over on a weekly basis to do chores while her husband was away."He's up north, Philadelphia I think," she said as she ladled stew into bowls after the three black men had left, taking the boots and muskets. Then I looked down into her eyes and whispered, "I'm curious, was he nice enough and good looking enough to let him fuck you?" "What? No, of course not," she quickly said but then she must have realized she was reverting back to her old ways, the way a committed and loving wife was 'supposed' to act. She looked up at me a little surprised and searched my eyes to see if I was really serious with that question. She must have realized I was serious. She was silent for awhile and then said, "Oh. More

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