her. It was our secret. Barley knew but would never tell. And oh, I felt so proud, riding her. So free, and proud because he trusted me with her.
Tucked under me, my skirts exposed my legs up to the thighs. But the warm sun felt good and John paid no mind, except to laugh.
"Your reputation is getting sullied," he said.
Lord knew, he'd heard Patsy's words often enough.
"Yes," I said.
"But you are affable, cheerful, and cleanly industrious, and perfectly qualified to ride Small Hope in the steeplechase. If they let girls do it, I'd let you ride for me."
Oh, and he would, too!
I hadn't worn my riding habit because to go into the house and get it would have meant a confrontation with Patsy.
I cantered across the field, feeling the wind on my face and wishing I was John and could just pack a saddlebag and leave for a day or two.
But I wasn't, and I had to face my own thoughts.
I know Patsy blames Pa for what happened to Mama. But when he comes home, she seeks to reclaim him with smiles and flattery. And Pa allows it because he needs her.
She lies, Patsy does. I've known for a long time that she drinks Mama's tea in secret. And wears her silk when Pa isn't home, and she sits at the head of the table. Oh, she says she doesn't like it, but I know she does. We don't tell, none of us. Which makes us part of her lie. It's important for her to wear that silk dress, I suppose. It makes her feel like the mistress of the plantation.
Well, one red silk dress wasn't going to insure or take away the freedom of the colony. Or even the country.
But her lies have no purpose. And mine do. At least that's what I told myself as I rode across the countryside.
Chapter Fourteen
"A NNE, ARE YOU ready? Mr. Thacker is waiting."
"Let him wait."
It was two days later, and Patsy had stepped into my room as I was leaning over to buckle my shoes, after yet another ride.
"Did you wash?" she asked. "Or is Mr. Thacker to be treated to the perfume of horse?"
I straightened up. "If he is, it's a magnificent perfume. Yes, I'm ready. Where are we to do this dolorous act?"
"It isn't dolorous," Patsy explained as she guided me to the front parlor. "Mr. Thacker has ridden here on a snowy, miserable day to buy some of Pa's property along the Holston River."
"Then why doesn't Pa sign Mama's name? He's done it before."
"Ssh!" She shushed me. "That's not to be bandied about. Mr. Thacker does not know Mama is sickly. And he expects two signatures. Now go down and fetch Mama, and bring her to the parlor."
I did so. The fetching part wasn't difficult. Pegg was downstairs already, plying Mama with tea with laudanum in it. Dressing her. Fixing her hair. Mama would have a glazed and distracted look about her, but to the unpracticed eye of a man who would be ushered into a room to meet with her for only five minutes, nothing would be discerned that wasn't ordinary.
"Come on, Mama," I urged, holding her arm and guiding her up the stairs. "Wouldn't you like to take your tea in the parlor?"
"I was in the parlor," she said. Many times she did not know where she was, belowstairs.
"If your pa was here, I wouldn't have to do this," she complained. "He had to go and die and leave legal matters to me. It's never good, a woman having to sign legal papers. Our minds are not fit for such. What property is this man buying?"
"Along the Holston River," I told her.
She humphed. "Got that land from my father, he did. Sheer wilderness out there. Not even under cultivation. Well, I suppose we could use the money. Where is this man? Does he wish to keep me waiting?"
I sat her down in a chair by the window and put a blanket over her knees. "I'll fetch him, Mama."
Pegg stayed with her and I went down the hall to fetch Pa. and Mr. Thacker and, of course, Patsy.
***
I WAS GOOD ENOUGH for this, I pondered, as Patsy set down the quill pen and ink and paper on a small table.
"Mrs. Henry, how good of you to give me your time." Mr. Thacker was short and squat and balding. He
Tucked under me, my skirts exposed my legs up to the thighs. But the warm sun felt good and John paid no mind, except to laugh.
"Your reputation is getting sullied," he said.
Lord knew, he'd heard Patsy's words often enough.
"Yes," I said.
"But you are affable, cheerful, and cleanly industrious, and perfectly qualified to ride Small Hope in the steeplechase. If they let girls do it, I'd let you ride for me."
Oh, and he would, too!
I hadn't worn my riding habit because to go into the house and get it would have meant a confrontation with Patsy.
I cantered across the field, feeling the wind on my face and wishing I was John and could just pack a saddlebag and leave for a day or two.
But I wasn't, and I had to face my own thoughts.
I know Patsy blames Pa for what happened to Mama. But when he comes home, she seeks to reclaim him with smiles and flattery. And Pa allows it because he needs her.
She lies, Patsy does. I've known for a long time that she drinks Mama's tea in secret. And wears her silk when Pa isn't home, and she sits at the head of the table. Oh, she says she doesn't like it, but I know she does. We don't tell, none of us. Which makes us part of her lie. It's important for her to wear that silk dress, I suppose. It makes her feel like the mistress of the plantation.
Well, one red silk dress wasn't going to insure or take away the freedom of the colony. Or even the country.
But her lies have no purpose. And mine do. At least that's what I told myself as I rode across the countryside.
Chapter Fourteen
"A NNE, ARE YOU ready? Mr. Thacker is waiting."
"Let him wait."
It was two days later, and Patsy had stepped into my room as I was leaning over to buckle my shoes, after yet another ride.
"Did you wash?" she asked. "Or is Mr. Thacker to be treated to the perfume of horse?"
I straightened up. "If he is, it's a magnificent perfume. Yes, I'm ready. Where are we to do this dolorous act?"
"It isn't dolorous," Patsy explained as she guided me to the front parlor. "Mr. Thacker has ridden here on a snowy, miserable day to buy some of Pa's property along the Holston River."
"Then why doesn't Pa sign Mama's name? He's done it before."
"Ssh!" She shushed me. "That's not to be bandied about. Mr. Thacker does not know Mama is sickly. And he expects two signatures. Now go down and fetch Mama, and bring her to the parlor."
I did so. The fetching part wasn't difficult. Pegg was downstairs already, plying Mama with tea with laudanum in it. Dressing her. Fixing her hair. Mama would have a glazed and distracted look about her, but to the unpracticed eye of a man who would be ushered into a room to meet with her for only five minutes, nothing would be discerned that wasn't ordinary.
"Come on, Mama," I urged, holding her arm and guiding her up the stairs. "Wouldn't you like to take your tea in the parlor?"
"I was in the parlor," she said. Many times she did not know where she was, belowstairs.
"If your pa was here, I wouldn't have to do this," she complained. "He had to go and die and leave legal matters to me. It's never good, a woman having to sign legal papers. Our minds are not fit for such. What property is this man buying?"
"Along the Holston River," I told her.
She humphed. "Got that land from my father, he did. Sheer wilderness out there. Not even under cultivation. Well, I suppose we could use the money. Where is this man? Does he wish to keep me waiting?"
I sat her down in a chair by the window and put a blanket over her knees. "I'll fetch him, Mama."
Pegg stayed with her and I went down the hall to fetch Pa. and Mr. Thacker and, of course, Patsy.
***
I WAS GOOD ENOUGH for this, I pondered, as Patsy set down the quill pen and ink and paper on a small table.
"Mrs. Henry, how good of you to give me your time." Mr. Thacker was short and squat and balding. He
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