If she wanted him dead, he would be dead. The fact that he was still alive meant she had chosen to let him live. The power dynamic had completely reversed. Thomas was the master in name only. Celia was the one who decided who lived and who died on Waverly Plantation.
The situation deteriorated further in early May. Hutchkins, who had been steadily deteriorating since his wife's passing, was found dead. Thomas found him in the old overseer's cabin, the same cabin where Celia had once lived, with an empty medicine bottle on the table beside him. The death was ruled a suicide, grief and alcohol combining to destroy what little will to live Hutchkins had retained. But Thomas noticed something odd.
The medicine bottle was one Celia had prepared months earlier for Hutchkins' wife during the final stages of her illness. How had Hutchkins obtained it? Had he saved it from his wife's possessions, or had someone given it to him knowing what he would do with it? Thomas asked Daniel about it, carefully avoiding any direct accusation. Daniel's response was measured, thoughtful.
Hutchkins was a troubled man these past months, sir. Couldn't forgive himself for things he'd done in his life. His wife's death broke something inside him. He was going to die one way or another, whether by drink or by his own hand. The laudanum just made it quicker and less painful.
Did Celia give it to him? Daniel met his gaze steadily. Does it matter, sir? Man was already dead inside. His body just took a while to catch up.
It was Thomas realized the same logic Celia used. Hutchkins was guilty of something. His participation in Celia's whipping at Peyton's plantation and therefore deserved his fate. Whether he had taken his own life or been helped toward that end was irrelevant in the scales of justice. Thomas arranged a simple burial and promoted one of the field hands to fill Daniel's previous position.
Life on Waverly continued. The routines of planting and maintenance proceeding as they always had. But beneath the surface, Thomas felt the ground shifting, eroding, threatening to collapse entirely.
In mid-May, Thomas received an unexpected visitor. Josiah Crenshaw, the planter who had warned him about Celia nearly a year earlier. Crenshaw looked older, more worn, his face lined with worry. Mr. Peete, Crenshaw said as they sat on the portico with bourbon, neither man drinking. I owe you an apology.
I should have been more forceful in my warning last year. Should have made you understand exactly what that woman is capable of. I understand now. Thomas said quietly. Do you?
Do you understand that she's not just someone capable of killing, but something far more dangerous? She's building a network, Mr. Peete. Teaching other women her knowledge, spreading her philosophy of balance and justice. There are whispers all over Chatham County about women meeting in secret sharing information about herbs and poisons talking about debts and scales and retribution. Thomas felt ice in his veins.
How do you know this? Because it's happening on my plantation, too. I have three women who spend time with Celia when she visits other properties. They become different. Bolder.
More knowing. One of them looked me dead in the eye last week and said, "The old ways are coming back, master. Best you remember that." What am I supposed to do with that? Have you considered that maybe we deserve it? The words were out before Thomas could stop them.
The old ways Celia talks about, the balance she's trying to achieve, maybe it's justice we've been avoiding for generations. Crenshaw stared at him in disbelief. She's gotten to you. God help me, that woman has actually gotten inside your head. She saved 21 people during the outbreak, Crenshaw.
She's delivered dozens of healthy babies. She's healed the sick when white doctors failed. Yes, people have died around her, but more have lived. Isn't that the definition of a net positive? A net positive.
Crenshaw stood abruptly. Listen to yourself. You're rationalizing murder because the murderer is also useful. That's not justice, Mr. Peete. That's moral bankruptcy.
He left without another word, and Thomas sat alone on the portico as evening fell, wondering when exactly he he had crossed the line from reluctant acceptance to active defense of Celia's actions. When had he stopped seeing her as a threat and started seeing her as a necessary corrective to an unjust system. The answer, he realized with growing horror, was that he had been moving toward this position since the moment he found her journals. Every day he didn't act against her, every death he rationalized away, every life she saved that he benefited from, all of it had been slowly eroding his moral foundation until he had become what Crenshaw accused him of being. Complicit.
June arrived with oppressive heat and humidity that made every breath feel like drowning. The cotton plants were growing well, but the weather also brought sickness, fever, dysentery, heat exhaustion. Celia worked tirelessly, moving from one patient to another. Her herb garden, now expanded to include dozens of medicinal plants. Thomas watched her work and saw, perhaps for the first time, the full complexity of what she was.
She was a murderer, yes, but she was also a healer who genuinely cared about the people she treated. She was a philosopher with a coherent moral system, however terrible its implications. She was a teacher passing on knowledge that predated slavery and would outlast it. She was an agent of justice in a world that provided no legal recourse for people like her. And she was, Thomas finally admitted to himself, the most remarkable person he had ever met.
The realization should have terrified him more than it did. On June 23rd, Celia came to the main house and requested to speak with Thomas privately. It was the first time she had initiated such a meeting since their confrontation in her cabin six months earlier. They sat in the study, the door closed, the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Celia looked tired but composed, her hands folded in her lap.
I'm going to tell you something, Master, and I need you to listen without interrupting. Can you do that? Thomas nodded. There's a man coming here tomorrow. His name is Benjamin Lovell.
He owns a rice plantation on the Ogeechee River. You may remember him from the auction where you bought me. He was one of the men who refused to bid. Thomas did remember. Lovell had been talking with Crenshaw outside the auction house, discussing Celia's reputation.
Lovell is coming here because his daughter is sick. She's 17, same age my Sarah was. The local doctor can't help her, and Lovell is desperate enough to overcome his fear of me. He's going to ask you to let me treat her. And will you?
Celia's expression was unreadable. That depends on what? On whether the scales demand it. You see, Benjamin Lovell was at Peyton's plantation the day they whipped me. He wasn't directly involved, but he was there visiting on business.
He saw them tie me up in that barn. He saw my daughter dying in the house, and he said nothing. Did nothing. Just looked away because it was easier than getting involved in another man's business. Thomas felt his chest tighten.
So, you're going to let his daughter die? I'm going to make him understand what it means to watch your child suffer while someone who could help chooses not to. I'm going to make him feel what I felt in that barn, knowing Sarah was dying and I couldn't reach her. Celia's voice remained calm, almost gentle. And then, after he's felt that pain, after he's begged and pleaded and promised anything if only I'll save her, then I'll decide.