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The Arrival of Truth
The Arrival of Truth
The Arrival of Truth
Ebook41 pages33 minutes

The Arrival of Truth

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Kristine Kathryn Rusch's alternate history stories have won or been nominated for every award in the sf field. "The Arrival of Truth" shows why. In pre-Civil War Virginia, some slaves tell a story about Sojourner and the Truth. One young girl, forced to give up her own children and nurse a white baby, wonders what the Truth will mean. Will it set her free? Or will it force her to make terrible choices of her own?

In "The Arrival of Truth," Kristine Kathryn Rusch casts light on the powerful struggle between right and wrong, slavery and freedom.

"Rusch is a great storyteller."—RT Book Reviews

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 20, 2016
ISBN9781524262976
The Arrival of Truth
Author

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

USA Today bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. Under that name, she publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov’s Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award. Publications from The Chicago Tribune to Booklist have included her Kris Nelscott mystery novels in their top-ten-best mystery novels of the year. The Nelscott books have received nominations for almost every award in the mystery field, including the best novel Edgar Award, and the Shamus Award. She writes goofy romance novels as award-winner Kristine Grayson, romantic suspense as Kristine Dexter, and futuristic sf as Kris DeLake.  She also edits. Beginning with work at the innovative publishing company, Pulphouse, followed by her award-winning tenure at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, she took fifteen years off before returning to editing with the original anthology series Fiction River, published by WMG Publishing. She acts as series editor with her husband, writer Dean Wesley Smith, and edits at least two anthologies in the series per year on her own. To keep up with everything she does, go to kriswrites.com and sign up for her newsletter. To track her many pen names and series, see their individual websites (krisnelscott.com, kristinegrayson.com, krisdelake.com, retrievalartist.com, divingintothewreck.com). She lives and occasionally sleeps in Oregon.

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    Book preview

    The Arrival of Truth - Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    The Arrival of Truth

    The Arrival of Truth

    Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    WMG Publishing, Inc.

    Contents

    The Arrival of Truth

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    Also by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    About the Author

    The Arrival of Truth

    I first heard the story the morning they took my third child. My body, half-hidden in the feather bed, ached from the effort of birthing a baby I would never raise. My breasts dribbled milk that would soon feed a white child. The Missus and Old Sal, the midwife, took my new baby out of the room so I couldn’t hear it cry. I reached for it—all small, bloody, and wrinkled—but wasn’t strong enough to get out of bed. As the door closed, I turned by face against the Missus’ feather pillow and wished I had died.

    A breeze rustled the gingham curtains on the open window. Voices echoed in the yard, and from Big Jim’s yelp, I knew I had had a son. The voices hushed for a moment, then Big Jim cried, No! No! That’s my boy! You can’t take him away! That’s my boy! and I tried to sink deeper in the soft bed, softer than I was used to, the bed the Missus used when a girl gave birth to a baby she could sell and make more money for the House. Big Jim’s shout got cut off mid-word as a whip snapped and cracked through the air. Big Jim would get another scar because of my baby, and the child wasn’t even his.

    The door creaked open, and Nesta stood there, eyes sad as eyes could be. She snuck inside and let the door close quietly. She was big and soft, and I wanted to bury my face against her chest and cry until no more tears would come, but when her hand caressed my forehead, I couldn’t look at her.

    Oh, baby, she said. All that learning didn’t save you. It don’t save none of us, long as we look different from them.

    She took a cornhusk doll, painted black, with frizzed yarn hair and a sackcloth dress, and tucked it in my arms. Sojourner’s coming, Nesta said. And when she gets here, all them white folks are going to learn the Truth.

    Then she slipped out the door, quietly as she came. I buried my face in the doll’s rough skin and I wished, Lord how I wished, it could move and cry and pat its little fist against my cheek.

    Some days I can still remember the feeling of being a child, the closest to white I’ll ever get.

    The old Missus, she had ideas that her son, Master Tom, said was dangerous and harmful to

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