Excerpt from Underground Airlines by Ben H. Winters, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

And he sounded sorry. Oh, he did. His calm Catholic voice glowed with gentle apology. He squeezed my hands as a real father would, never mind that I was a decade or more his senior. "I know this is not what you wanted to hear."

"But—wait, now, Father, hold on a moment. You're here. You came."

"Out of compassion," he said. "Compassion compelled me."

"Oh, Lord." I leaned away from him, feeling like a damn fool, and dropped my face into my hands. My heart was trembling. "Lord almighty."

"You have my sympathy, and you have my prayers." When I looked up his eyes were straight on me and steady, crystal blue and radiating kindness. "But I must be truthful and say there is nothing else that I can offer you."

He watched me, unblinking, waiting for me to nod and say, "I understand." Waiting for me to give up. But I couldn't give up. How could I?

"Listen. Just—I am a free man, as you see, sir, legally so," I said, then charging on before he could interrupt. "Manumitted years ago, thanks to the good Lord in heaven and my master's merciful last will and testament. I have my papers; my papers are in order. I got my high school equivalency, and I'm working, sir, a good job, and I'm in no kind of trouble. It's my wife, sir, my wife. I have searched for years to find her, and I've found her. I tracked her down, sir!"

"I understand," said Father Barton, grimacing, shaking his head. "But ... Jim—"

"She is called Gentle, sir. Her name's Gentle. She is thirty-three years old, thirty-three or thirty-four. I—" I stopped, blinking away tears, gathering my dignity. "I'm afraid I have no photograph."

"Please. Jim. Please."

He spread his hands. My mouth was dry. I licked my lips. The fan turned overhead, disinterested. One of the cops, the white one, thick-necked and pink-skinned, reared back and slapped the table, cracking up at something his black partner had said.

I held myself steady and let my eyes bore into the priest's. Let him see me clear, hear me properly.

"Gentle is at a strip mine in western Carolina, sir. The conditions are of the utmost privation. Her owner employs overseers, sir, of the cruelest stripe, from one of these services—you know, private contractors. And, now, this mine—I've been looking, Father, and this mine has been sanctioned half a dozen times by the BLP. They've been fined, you know, paid millions in these fines, for treatment violations, but you ... you know how it is with these fines, it's a drop in the—you know, it's a drop in the bucket." Barton was shaking his head, gritting his teeth emphatically, but I wouldn't stop—I couldn't stop—my words had become a hot rush by then, fervent and angry. "Now, this mine, this is a bauxite mine, and a female PB, one of her age and ... and her weight, you see? According to the law, you see—"

"Please, Jim."

Father Barton tapped his fingertips twice on the table, a small but firm gesture, like he was calling me to order or calling me to heel. The compassionate glow in his voice was beginning to dim. "You need to listen to me, now. We don't do it. I know what is said of me and of my church. I do. And I believe in the Cause, and the church believes in the Cause, as a matter of policy and faith. I have spoken on it and will continue to speak on it, but speaking is all that I do." He shook his young head again, looked quickly at me and then away, away from my frustration and grief. "I feel deeply for your situation, and my prayers are with you and your wife. But I cannot be her savior."

I was silent then. I had more words, but I swallowed them. This was a bitter result.

Excerpted from Underground Airlines by Ben H Winters. Copyright © 2016 by Ben H Winters. Excerpted by permission of Mulholland. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.