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have a name. Some matching strangeness in us that may or may not have come from our being related. Still, now I had a special reason for being glad I had been able to save him. After all … after all, what would have happened to me, to my mother’s family, if I hadn’t saved him?
    Was that why I was here? Not only to insure the survival of one accident-prone small boy, but to insure my family’s survival, my own birth.
    Again, what would have happened if the boy had drowned? Would he have drowned without me? Or would his mother have saved him somehow? Would his father have arrived in time to save him? It must be that one of them would have saved him somehow. His life could not depend on the actions of his unconceived descendant. No matter what I did, he would have to survive to father Hagar, or I could not exist. That made sense.
    But somehow, it didn’t make enough sense to give me any comfort. It didn’t make enough sense for me to test it by ignoring him if I found him in trouble again—not that I could have ignored any child in trouble. But this child needed special care. If I was to live, if others were to live, he must live. I didn’t dare test the paradox.
    “You know,” he said, peering at me, “you look a little like Alice’s mother. If you wore a dress and tied your hair up, you’d look a lot like her.” He sat down companionably beside me on the bed.
    “I’m surprised your mother didn’t mistake me for her then,” I said.
    “Not with you dressed like that! She thought you were a man at first, just like I did—and like Daddy did.”
    “Oh.” That mistake was a little easier to understand now.
    “Are you sure you aren’t related to Alice yourself?”
    “Not that I know of,” I lied. And I changed the subject abruptly. “Rufe, are there slaves here?”
    He nodded. “Thirty-eight slaves, Daddy said.” He drew his bare feet up and sat cross-legged on the bed facing me, still examining me with interest. “You’re not a slave, are you?”
    “No.”
    “I didn’t think so. You don’t talk right or dress right or act right. You don’t even seem like a runaway.”
    “I’m not.”
    “And you don’t call me ‘Master’ either.”
    I surprised myself by laughing. “Master?”
    “You’re supposed to.” He was very serious. “You want me to call you black.”
    His seriousness stopped my laughter. What was funny, anyway? He was probably right. No doubt I was supposed to give him some title of respect. But “Master”?
    “You have to say it,” he insisted. “Or ‘Young Master’ or … or ‘Mister’ like Alice does. You’re supposed to.”
    “No.” I shook my head. “Not unless things get a lot worse than they are.”
    The boy gripped my arm. “Yes!” he whispered. “You’ll get into trouble if you don’t, if Daddy hears you.”
    I’d get into trouble if “Daddy” heard me say anything at all. But the boy was obviously concerned, even frightened for me. His father sounded like a man who worked at inspiring fear. “All right,” I said. “If anyone else comes, I’ll call you ‘Mister Rufus.’ Will that do?” If anyone else came, I’d be lucky to survive.
    “Yes,” said Rufus. He looked relieved. “I still have scars on my back where Daddy hit me with the whip.”
    “I saw them.” It was time for me to get out of this house. I had done enough talking and learning and hoping to be transported home. It was clear that whatever power had used me to protect Rufus had not provided for my own protection. I had to get out of the house and to a place of safety before day came—if there was a place of safety for me here. I wondered how Alice’s parents managed, how they survived.
    “Hey!” said Rufus suddenly.
    I jumped, looked at him, and realized that he had been saying something—something I had missed.
    “I said what’s your name?” he repeated. “You never told me.”
    Was that all? “Edana,” I said. “Most people call me Dana.”
    “Oh, no!” he