THE FULL MOON CAST silver on the foxglove May had planted that spring from her sister's seeds. They grew as grandly as if they had always been here, as though they belonged here, deep pink flowers as pretty as the woman who had sown them.
Adele held her breath. All was silent. The Washbrooks had retired for the night. No light shone in their window. Except for Peter, the manservants had also turned in after working from dawn to sunset in the tobacco field. Peter had stolen away in Master Washbrook's smallest boat. Adele had spied him creeping off at moonrise, heading downstream. He had been doing this for weeks. Finn had whispered that Peter had a sweetheart at the Banham Plantation, a kitchen girl named Rosie. Every other night, he rowed downriver, then labored back upstream in the early hours before dawn. A few times Adele had woken, hearing him pass her hut as he hurried to his quarters. If Nathan Washbrook ever got wind of this, he would give Peter the flogging of his life. But at least Peter had the sense to fall in love with someone other than Mistress May. Later, when his indenture was completed, he could marry his girl and start planting his own fifty acres.
Enough of Peter, she told herself. After glancing around one last time to make sure that she was alone, she set to work. Wrapping a rag around her hand, she grabbed hold of the stalk. With her other hand, she plunged her spade into the earth and dug up the root. She prayed that May would not notice one missing foxglove plant. May had warned her never to touch the plant with her bare hands—it could raise a powerful rash. Adele laid the plant on the ground, took the knife from her basket, and cut off the root. The charm called for orchid root. Since she could find no orchids here, she had decided to use foxglove. May herself had told her it was powerful physick that worked on the heart.
Reaching into her basket, Adele took out the materials she had gathered. A handkerchief belonging to May, a long strip of linen cut from one of Gabriel's raveling old shirts, strands of May's and Gabriel's hair that she had plucked from their pillows, and an old stoneware flask containing a measure of Nathan Washbrook's rum. She had pilfered the turkey quill and ink bottle from May's trunk—tomorrow she would return them before May noticed they were missing. She had procured a scrap of paper torn from the sugar cone wrapping. Pricking the ball of her thumb with a knife, she let her blood fall into the inkpot. The charm called for dove's blood, but her own would have to do.
She placed the foxglove root in the center of May's handkerchief, then arranged the hairs and a few foxglove flowers around it. She closed her eyes and called the powers. Her mother's old chants came back to her, those words that weren't French or English but African. Their music and rhythm issued forth from her mouth, though she didn't know what she was saying or what spirits she invoked. If only her mother were here to guide her. She called on her mother's ghost.
As she dipped the quill into the inkpot, her fears paraded before her. She might work the charm the wrong way. What if she unleashed forces beyond her control? Obeah was powerful magic. Her mother had worked spells only in moments of extreme need. Adele also feared that she was casting the spell too late. Really, she should have done it in November when May had first asked for it. But no foxglove had grown then. She hoped and prayed it was not too late to turn things around.
May was in grave danger. The certainty of this gripped Adele tighter each morning when she awoke from nightmares of May's destruction. She hadn't been visited by such terrors since leaving her island. May had set off down a path that could only lead to ruin. Adele had sensed the first prickle of dread the night of the Christmas dance when May had let the men spin her round and round like a child's top, faster and faster, until Adele had feared she would hit the wall and break. May hadn't been able to stop her perilous game, even after James had come to his senses and begun to withdraw from her. May wouldn't let him go, but kept trying to rekindle the flame. When he ignored her, she flirted with the other men—including with his own brother, Finn—to spark his jealousy. How could she carry on like that when she was at least four months gone with child? Somehow Nathan Washbrook didn't condemn her for it. But Gabriel couldn't look at May without his lip curling in spite. Adele's worst nightmares concerned Gabriel and what would happen when he could contain his anger no longer.
Shaking her head clear, she lifted the quill from the inkpot. Setting the paper on a flat stone in the bright moonlight, she wrote the passage she had learned by heart from the English Bible:
This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.
May had allowed her to practice writing with the quill on a scrap of paper. Adele was grateful at how easily the quill moved in her hand. When the ink dried, she folded the paper three times and wrapped it in the handkerchief with the root, flowers, and hairs. She twisted the handkerchief in a bundle and tied it shut with the piece of linen cut from Gabriel's shirt. She knotted it nine times. Throwing back her head, Adele whispered her mother's name. Please give me the powers to save her before it is too late. She poured nine drops of Nathan Washbrook's rum on the handkerchief, then spilled the rest on the earth as an offering. Adele breathed on the bundle and held it against her pounding heart. The thing was done. She had created a conjuring bag. Tomorrow she would hide it under May and Gabriel's mattress.
***
Adele counted the passing days while waiting for the magic to take hold. When she carried the basket of cornbread and bacon to the men in the tobacco field, she observed Gabriel closely to see if her charm had any effect. He labored shirtless, uprooting weeds with his hoe, evidently unaware of her presence. She could see the muscles in his arms and back. One thing was certain—he was a beanpole boy no longer. He had changed since his marriage, had grown into a man who was stronger and tougher than anyone would care to admit. She tried not to see the scars left by his father's bullwhip. As the sun glared on his skin, slick with sweat, she could sense something brewing inside him, simmering beneath the surface. She had heard that quiet men had the most deadly tempers.
He wiped his forehead with his hand and caught her gaping. A few months ago, she would have set down the basket of victuals and fled. Now she looked into his eyes, pretending that she had the power to trap his spirit with her gaze. Please, let the charm do its work.
"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you look at me that way?"
She forced herself to stand her ground. May had made her bold, given her courage. If only Gabriel could forgive his wife and open his heart, allow May's beauty to conquer him, as it had conquered everyone else. If only he could grant her one more chance.
Patrick burst out laughing. "Taken a shine to the master, have you, Adele?" When she ignored him, he plowed right on. "I suppose someone has to, if his own wife won't."
Gabriel clenched his hoe in both fists. His eyes went black. He reminded her of a copperhead about to strike. For one awful moment, she thought he would go after Patrick.
Tom stepped between them. "Master, don't listen to the fool." He laid a careful hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Then he turned to Patrick. "You insult the mistress again, I'll tell Mr. Nathan."
A wary silence descended. She imagined they were thinking of the whipping Patrick would get if he overstepped his bounds again.
***
During the evening meal, Adele couldn't keep her eyes off May as she smiled and laughed with the men. Pregnancy had only made her more beautiful. Her hair had a special sheen to it. Her eyes seemed bluer than before. Finn gazed at her in adoration, as though she shone brighter than the moon and sun combined.
Gabriel bent his head over his food. When his trencher was clean, he left the table.
"Where do you go?" May called out.
"To feed the dogs." The door shuddered behind him.
Nathan merely sighed. May went on chatting with the others, taking no more notice of her husband than she would of a sulky child. Adele's eyes smarted.
She would have to talk to May, woman to woman. She struggled to gather her thoughts, translate them into English. Meanwhile the manservants filed out the door. Gabriel did not return. Nathan retired to the porch with his pipe while she and May scrubbed the trenchers and pots.
There is something I must tell you. She held the words ripe on her tongue.
May looked up from the dishpan and peered into her eyes. "You are so quiet this day. You have been sad of late, I think. Are you lonely here, Adele?"
"I was lonely before you came."
May took the clout and dried the last pot. "In faith, I don't know what I would do without you." She spoke with such kindness. Adele reminded herself that she had May to thank that she could read and write. May had given her two of her own dresses and made them over for her. She was beautiful and generous with both her body and her things. How was anyone supposed to resist her charms? We were all so lonely and lost, she wanted to tell her, before you came.
"Some creature has been into the garden," May remarked as she hung the clouts to dry. "It dug up one of my foxgloves."
Before Adele could think what to say, May took the Bible from its box and set it on the table.
"Are you ready for your lesson?"
She and May read from the Bible every night. Adele had nearly finished the book of Genesis and had memorized passages to trace in the hearth ashes. Taking the poker, she wrote:
Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.
"Ah, yes." May's laughter rang out like music. "Adam and Eve."
Once that story had been Adele's favorite in the Bible. She loved the description of the Garden of Paradise and of how God had given Adam a companion so he wouldn't be alone. Why had it ended so sadly, then? Why had Eve gone astray and destroyed it?
"Adele, you are crying." May searched for her handkerchief. Not finding it, she yanked her neckcloth from her bodice and used it to wipe Adele's tears. "What is it? Tell me."
Her breasts moved up and down with each breath, bathed gold in the firelight. Eve herself couldn't have been lovelier.
I am afraid. You lead yourself into danger. But Adele couldn't speak those words aloud. She could not bear the thought of causing May such distress. Blood of my blood. At that moment, it became clear. What her spell had accomplished was not the joining of May and Gabriel in conjugal love, but the binding of her own destiny to May's. Her blood in the ink with which she had written the charm. Flesh of my flesh. Their fate and fortune were intertwined, just as their fingers were as May held both her hands. It didn't matter that they were black and white, or mistress and servant. They were blood sisters.