Marse Williams stepped away from the carriage, held up an official-looking paper with facing markings on it. “All this talk about the Emancipation Proclamation.” He wadded up the paper as if it were garbage and threw it on the ground. “This is the first day of 1863, but it’s still Kentucky. It doesn’t free any of you.”
“It doesn’t free you,” he pointed toward Joe while he ground the paper beneath his boot heel. “Or you.” He pointed toward Rachel.