He knew that staring at the desk in front of him would get him no closer to preparing a defense. Yet Camden had been sitting there for longer than he dared to calculate, unsure how to proceed. As the clock in the corner ticked away the seconds that brought dinner and Georgiana’s departure ever closer, he once more mulled over the additional information he had been able to gather.

He had visited Isaac in the jail again that morning. His client’s physical condition was greatly improved, thanks in no small part, he was sure, to the brief visits from his wife that had been allowed. Streaks of gray had begun to show in his beard seemingly overnight, but Isaac still insisted that he felt stronger.

Better by far than his bodily health, however, was the fact that the man seemed to be regaining some memories of what had happened to him. He still could not fill in every gap—and Camden worried that he might not be able to identify the men who had initially captured him—but certain details began to form together. For instance, Isaac was certain that the men who took him from Lexington in Kentucky the rest of the way to Virginia were not the same men who had appeared on the trail near his homestead that day. He also insisted that he had been in Lexington for more than one day before his captors continued the journey.

Camden was still trying to put the timeline together in his own mind. It did not help that his client’s own memory was still a patchwork of mostly disconnected vignettes. For instance, although he remembered only fragments of that first day, Isaac was certain that the crates the men had spilled had been full of muskets. Neither lawyer nor accused, however, could see what difference that would make to the defense of Isaac’s case. With a little time, perhaps the disjointed narrative would begin to weave itself together as memories continued to resurface.

For what must have been the tenth time just that afternoon, Camden struck the desk in frustration. Time was the one thing that he could not supply. The trial would be upon them before they were ready. If he was sure of nothing else in this case, he was sure of at least that much.

A knock came at the office door, which he had uncharacteristically closed that afternoon.

“Come in,” he said.

Georgiana appeared in the doorway. She had taken it upon herself to keep Sophia company most of the time. Camden was glad to see more of her than usual, but her presence somehow made him slightly apprehensive at the same time. He knew that his success in this case would have no bearing on her love for him, but it was difficult to disabuse himself of the notion at times.

“You have a visitor, Mr. Page: Reverend John Lachland. He says it concerns your most important case.”

The name was unfamiliar to Camden. Yet he decided that at the very least he could do with a few minutes’ distraction.

“You may send him in, Ms. Burwell.”

Georgiana pushed the door fully open. Just to her side stood a man who wore a severe expression. A prominent nose, a sagging chin, and a wrinkled, balding forehead cast a less than inspiring first impression. His manner of dress was simple, but dignified in a way that befit a minister, Camden thought. The man stepped into the office and Georgiana gently closed the door behind him. Camden rose to greet the man who seated himself on the other side of the desk without prompting.

“I am the Reverend John Lachland, Mr. Page. I’ve come to speak to you about your defense of Isaac Freeman.”

Camden had known that the rumor factories would be in full swing very quickly on a case like this. By now, somewhat to his chagrin, even Senator Burwell would be aware of Camden’s involvement. So to have this stranger sitting in his office, speaking of something that had never been publicly announced, was no tremendous surprise. As he had learned when the case against Kentucky was proceeding, a high-profile matter could bring with it an untold amount of unsolicited advice from all corners. Still, he determined that the most efficient way to dispatch such unlooked for and unwanted callers was simply to allow this man to say his piece.

“Very well, Reverend Lachland.”

The man took that as sufficient warrant to proceed. “It has been rumored,” he began, “that Isaac Freeman has claimed to have been freed by his late master, thus opening the argument that any capture was unlawful and any violence he used to resist such an abduction was justified at law, up to and including the use of lethal force.”

Lachland appeared to want to let the words hang for effect, before he continued.

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“You must see, however, sir, that slavery is a most grievous deprivation of the natural rights of men and is utterly inadmissible in such a system of republican government as ours. Whatever the laws of this Commonwealth may say about Isaac Freeman’s status as slave or free—may the very word ‘slave’ be banished from our vocabulary!—matters not, because any such law is no law at all, violating, as it most surely does, the greater and higher law of God Almighty who has made all of us in His image.”

“I follow your reasoning, sir.”

“As of course all thinking men must, Mr. Page. But in your position, you must do more. My influence reaches little farther than my own pulpit, a place that I must soon vacate in any case. Your case, however, will be watched by all of Richmond—nay, all of Virginia at least, if not the Confederation as a whole. Your chance to strike a blow for liberty—true liberty, not the counterfeit proclaimed in ‘76—is a greater chance than I shall ever have.”

“I value your insight, Reverend Lachland. No doubt you are quite right in what you say. If you will forgive me, however, it is that very case that I have been laboring this afternoon to prepare. I hope you will not think me discourteous—and I truly thank you for being so bold as to tell me what you felt compelled to tell me—but I really should return to my work on Mr. Freeman’s case.”

“Naturally. Of course.”

The Reverend began to rise from his chair and Camden came around the desk to shake his hand. As they clasped hands, the Reverend leaned close to Camden’s ear and said, “Mistake it not, Mr. Page: Providence has brought this case to your very doorstep. You must live up to his calling.”

Camden nodded politely and led the man to the door. Once the Reverend was outside, Camden returned to his office, leaving the door open now, and Georgiana came in shortly thereafter.

When she had sat down, Camden asked, “You heard that, I suppose?”

Georgiana chuckled. “I didn’t have to. I was treated to the much longer version when the Reverend first arrived.”

“I was not merely trying to end his audience when I told him that I think he is right—although how the Reverend came to know that Isaac claims to be free is a bit puzzling. Small consolation to the condemned man to be in the right when justice has pronounced him in the wrong.”

Georgiana sat forward slightly, concern evident in her eyes. “Cam, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak with such contempt for the law.”

“I’m sure I haven’t. Perhaps it is because no case I have tried has ever laid bare the injustices of our Commonwealth so plainly as this one has. What the Reverend suggests is literally impossible. Whatever judge we chance to draw will never allow any such argument. I would quickly find my client on the gallows and myself in contempt of court if I were to take his advice.”

“Then what will you do?”

“The only thing to do is to show that under the existing laws Isaac is a free man. That being shown, he has the same right to self defense as anyone else. Then, given what we know already, an acquittal seems all but assured. The remaining difficulty is that it will be the word of a negro man accused of being a runaway slave against a white man. What chance does my client have in such a situation?”

Camden and Georgiana sat back in their chairs almost simultaneously. They remained silent for several minutes. Eventually Camden saw Georgiana’s eyes begin to dart back and forth, the way they tended to do when she had immersed herself in trying to discover a solution to some vexing riddle.

“What if—” she began before halting for a moment. “What if you didn’t have to rely only on Isaac’s testimony to prove he is free?”

Camden knew that she would not ask the question if she had not already formulated an answer. He raised his eyebrows and she took that as license to continue.

“The word of an accused slave might not be worth much, but certainly a copy of the document that freed him would be.”

“But that’s just the problem,” said Camden. “Freed slaves are required to carry documentation of their manumission on their persons at all times. Isaac has no such paper.”

“Yes, but that is not the only evidence that he was freed. You’ve been too busy to talk with Sophia many times, but I must have heard the history of her entire family by now. Isaac was freed in his late master’s will. A copy of that last will and testament certainly must have been filed with the clerk of court, given how much property was at issue.”

Camden scratched his head. “Perhaps it would be, yes. But the trial will start soon and I cannot leave Richmond and the rest of the law practice on a long journey in search of a document that might or might not even exist. It’s a very good idea, Georgiana, but it seems incapable of coming to fruition.”

They sat in silence again, before Georgiana interjected, “I’ll go.”

“What? Go where?”

“I’ll go to James City County to find a copy of the will. It’s not that far, really. Sophia can come with me. Isaac is much better now—you’ve said so yourself—and it will give her the chance to help beyond what she’s already done. It does her no good to sit here all day since even I cannot keep her thoughts from frequently wandering toward despair.”

“Georgiana, it’s out of the question. What will your father say? He’ll never—”

“Leave Father to me, Cam,” she said.

Camden was not sure what that would mean and he was not eager to find out. She appeared to be resolute on the course of action, now that it had come to her. Camden could little doubt that a copy of the will would help tremendously, perhaps even be the factor that would win Isaac his freedom once more.

“Very well,” he said.

“I knew you would see the sense of it!” she said and a smile gradually widened across her face. “I’ll tell Mary that I won’t be staying for supper after all. I have an idea about how to convince father to let me go, but it—”

Camden held up a hand to stop her. “Please, Georgiana, the less I know about that the better.”