CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

A NEW FORM OF LIBERTY

Although I didn’t wish to think very long about today’s homecoming celebration or all of the activities Mark would participate in throughout this day, I could not help but wonder how often he missed fun because of me.

Was our relationship a burden for him? The very thought created an ache inside me.

Should I force myself to go out more? In my mind, I wanted to try, but the rest of me shuddered at the thought.

Perhaps I should plan fun things for us. Perhaps I should try harder to adapt to his world. Indeed, I ought to stop thinking of it as his world and start thinking of it as mine.

Dodging into the closet of my loft bedchamber, I grabbed a garment I’d been resisting and pulled it on. Standing before a full-length mirror, I studied myself in this pair of pants. The color was a dark blue, the fabric light and supple. The pants had no ties or elastic. They closed with a zipper. Norah had purchased them for me shortly after I arrived. She called them “capris.”

Pants might be normal for modern women, but they didn’t feel normal to me. Might I like these pants better with a bit of alteration? The width of the pant legs was acceptable, much wider and looser than what most women wore. But I didn’t care at all for the hem, which stopped too near my knees. Stockings wouldn’t be a reasonable remedy in October when it was still warm.

Perhaps I could lengthen the hem. I would consider this compromise.

After trading my brown skirt for the pants, I headed downstairs. Norah sat in a chair, reading a book. She dropped it immediately when I perched on the couch. “Morning, Susanna.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling today?”

“Much better.” She inclined her head. “There’s coffee waiting for you.”

As I smiled my gratitude and walked into the kitchen, the landline rang.

“Would you get that, please?” Norah asked.

I picked up the phone on the counter. “Hello?”

“Hey, Susanna,” Mark’s sister said.

“You’re up early, Marissa.” I returned to the living room.

“I have to be at work soon. Is Gran around?”

“Yes. Would you like to speak with her?”

“No.” There was a little laugh at the other end of the line. “You’re the person I want to talk to. Can you go somewhere so that she can’t hear?”

“Just a moment.” Surprised and pleased, I lowered the phone and smiled at Norah. “Marissa is calling me.”

“How nice.” She dropped her gaze back to her book.

I went outside and then spoke into the phone. “I’m on the deck now.”

“Okay, I want your opinion about something. I might come home for Thanksgiving. How do you think my family will react?”

“They’ll be delighted.” Could she have any doubt? Marissa was never far from their minds, particularly Sherri’s. “How long will you plan to stay?”

“Permanently?”

“Oh, I see.” This news would only heighten their delight, but the questions would be endless.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do.” She sighed loudly. “I’m homesick. I miss my family and my friends. I miss North Carolina. I want to be near the ocean again.” There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice had thickened. “Fletcher hasn’t said ten words to me in the past two weeks. He’s so totally consumed by school that I might as well not be here. I can’t continue the way we are.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happens.” She sniffed. “Will everyone make me crazy by saying I told you so?”

“Mark will.”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “How is my little brother? Is he excited about tonight?”

I stiffened. “I do not know.”

“Have you talked with him about it?”

“Briefly.”

She made an impatient sound. “Susanna, homecoming is important to him. You have to let him feel special.”

“Thank you for your advice.”

“But you’re not taking it.” She laughed again and then quickly sobered. “Don’t tell anyone about Thanksgiving. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“I shall not.” And with that, we said our goodbyes. When I reentered the house, Norah looked up expectantly.

“How is my granddaughter?”

“She is well.”

Norah’s eyes narrowed on me with concern. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“What might I do to help Mark feel special?”

She smiled. “Ask him out on a date.”

“That is a lovely idea.” I answered her smile with one of my own as my mind raced through the possibilities. “Perhaps I could prepare a quiet supper for him in the apartment.”

“Food is always an excellent option with Mark, but I think the two of you need to avoid time together in that apartment for a while.” She gripped the arms of her chair and pushed up, biting back a small groan. “You can fry chicken, can’t you?”

“Certainly.” I hovered near her, ready to assist if she needed me. “I have not seen this dish served at the Lewis house.”

“Not when Bruce is there, much to Mark’s regret.” She laughed. “I know you can bake an apple pie.”

“Indeed.”

“Well honey, you have the perfect fixings for a romantic picnic.”

“A picnic?” I shook my head. “I do not know what that is.”

“It’s simple. Pack a basket with food. Find a secluded spot outside, and there you go. The rest is left up to you.”

* * *

Norah and Charlie took me home Friday night. It must have been unannounced, for when we entered the kitchen, Mark’s parents were standing there, dressed to go out.

Charlie shook hands with Bruce and kissed Sherri on the forehead. “Where are you two headed?”

“Homecoming.”

They all watched me for my reaction. I had none—at least none I would permit them to see. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Want to come with us, Susanna?” Sherri asked.

We stared at each other intently. It wasn’t exactly a battle of wills, more like a testing of the other’s mettle.

“An entire football game will be more than I can tolerate,” I said.

“We’ll leave after halftime.”

Bruce blinked at his wife.

Mark had asked me to come, and now his parents were making it easy. It was special to him, and I needed to try. “All right. I accept.” I glanced down at my clothes.

“You look fine. It could get cold, though.”

“I do not have a wrap.” I felt oddly disappointed. For a few seconds, I’d been proud of my decision.

“No problem. We have extras.” She disappeared into the laundry room.

“Going now,” Norah said, hugging me from behind. “Bravo, honey,” she whispered.

Once the door had slammed on Charlie and Norah, Sherri returned, a glowing green jacket in her hand. It was one of Mark’s.

“Here you are.”

I put it on. It smelled like a freshly-washed version of him. The scent and feel gave me courage. “I am ready.”

* * *

Huge lights rose like great trees above the stadium, and the noise was daunting.

After five minutes in the stands, I began to fidget. The applause of thousands and the cold hardness of the bench—it all served to shroud me in misery.

Bruce placed his mouth near my ear. “Want me to find you a quieter spot?”

I nodded. We rose and edged out along the aisle and down the stairs.

He stopped near a place to buy food. “Hang out around here. We’ll find you after halftime.”

“Certainly.”

He left, plunging into the crowd fearlessly. There was less noise in my new location, fewer people, and a clear view of the field.

After an hour elapsed, whistles shrieked and then the players ran to their benches and sat down. The people in the stands stood and screamed.

Guards in dark uniforms opened a gate near me. Cars drove onto the odd road that circled the football field. None of the cars had tops. I stood in the shadows as they rolled past.

Mark’s car was near the end. He sat in the front seat, but someone else drove. His friend perched high in the back of the vehicle, so high we could see all but her legs and feet.

Gabrielle was more beautiful than I remembered from her photographs and movies. Abundant dark curls cascaded to her shoulders, held away from her face by a jeweled spray of flowers clipped behind an ear.

I walked as closely as I dared to the odd road and watched.

The ritual that followed might have been more fitting in my century than I would’ve expected here. Girls stepped from white cars on the arms of their suitors. In pairs, they sauntered to the field’s center, their gowns dragging in the grass. I blinked with concentration as Mark and Gabrielle stepped away from their car. Her gown was purple except the back, which was the same shade as her skin. Or was it…?

Merciful heavens. The dress left the skin of her back exposed, from her neck to the tops of her buttocks. I blushed at the sight. I didn’t wish to know if Mark would touch her there. I looked instead at him.

Once all of the couples had reached the center of the field, a man talked in loud, annoying echoes.

The crowd screamed.

The man echoed more, and then loud music played.

The couples made their way back to the cars.

The entire ceremony had lasted only a few minutes and had displayed a bewildering lack of charm. Why had this been important to Mark?

When his vehicle passed by, he nodded at the crowd, a detached curve to his lips. Then his body stiffened. He leaned forward, staring my way. Had he spotted me?

No, I must’ve been mistaken.

Mark’s parents left early Saturday morning for one of their “turbo errand runs.” It felt good to know they trusted us to be alone.

I dressed carefully. First came the blue capris, with the hems lowered as far as the fabric permitted. Then my birthday T-shirt, striped in blue and white. It too had been altered. The sleeve on my left arm had revealed my burn, and that I could not allow. Norah had helped me to add bands of wide, white lace.

As I skipped down the stairs to the kitchen, I ticked off the preparations for the picnic on my fingers. The fried chicken and apple pie that I brought with me from the lake house waited in the fridge. Norah had lent me her best picnic basket, complete with tablecloth and napkins. The basket looked too bulky for transport, but she assured me that Mark would figure it out.

He trudged in after nine o’clock, sweaty and splattered. I watched him from my spot at the table. “Are the trails muddy?” It was a possibility I had not allowed for.

He shook his head. “Not really. I went off-road in an area with a few muddy spots.” He stopped at the fridge and drew out a bottle of Propel.

“I would like to ask you out on a date.”

He lowered the bottle and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re asking me?”

“I am.”

He smiled slowly. “What’re we going to do?”

“I shall pack a picnic dinner.”

“Cool. Where are we going?”

“Perhaps you could decide. I would like to ride our bikes on paved trails. Is there somewhere close?”

“The Museum of Art. My friends Jesse and Benita say it has a lot of great places to…” He stopped and smiled again.

“Picnic?”

“Right.” He laughed. “What time?”

“Shall we leave at eleven?” I felt happy anticipation spiraling all the way to my toes.

“I’ll be ready.”

* * *

We biked on the greenway to the Museum of Art and followed it past the buildings as it wound through their outdoor garden of artwork. We continued up a hill and down into a valley, swallowed by a lovely forest. Once we crested the next hill, we left the pavement and locked our bikes.

Mark carried the basket with one hand and clasped mine with the other. We found the perfect spot high on the ridge, cool and fragrant with pine. Glimpses of the museum’s manicured grounds stretched below us.

“I think it’s great you’re wearing pants.”

“Indeed.” I smoothed my hands over the fabric against my hips. He had been correct; they were easier to pedal in. I was happy that I had tried them, and happy he’d noticed.

A quartet of cyclists pedaled up the incline, their gears clicking. They passed but didn’t glance our way. Perhaps we were hidden from view in this spot.

After spreading out the blanket, we sat down. He immediately grabbed the basket and pulled back the lid.

“Fried chicken?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” He peeled back lids on the other containers.

“Mark.” I stared straight ahead, arms wrapped about my knees. “Have you been on picnics before?”

“A lot.” He reached up to wrap a stray curl from my ponytail around his finger. “But…this is the first time I’ve been on a picnic date.”

That pleased me. “Do you know what happens on a picnic date?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“No problem. I have plenty of ideas.” His fingers slipped to my cheek, cupped it gently, and turned me toward him. “Kiss me.”

I braced a hand on his chest, the muscle hard and smooth beneath the fabric of his shirt. Our mouths clung briefly and then released.

He smiled lazily at me. “That is official picnic behavior.”

“Indeed? Picnics involve kissing?”

“The two-person kind of picnic does.” He urged me back against the blanket. I shivered with anticipation and uncertainty, but all thought fled at the slide of his lips over mine.

The weight of his hand at my waist held me steady. Our legs entwined. I was surrounded by the warmth of his body. The cool of a pine-scented breeze. And hot, sweet kisses.

He groaned and broke away, his mouth trailing along my jaw to my neck. I drank in air, overwhelmed by the feelings he created.

Voices passed by on the greenway.

I grasped at the excuse. “Mark?”

He pushed up on his arms, gazing at me through half-closed lids. “Hmmm?”

“Can they see us?”

“Uh-uh.” He rolled to his back, pulling me along until I lay partially over him. “Babe. If making out is too much for you, we’ll stop.”

“And that will be acceptable?”

“You’re in charge. Always.” His lips twitched. “I won’t promise not to get grumpy, but better that than scare you off.”

“I am in charge?” I must be clear on this magical fact. “Even now?”

“Completely. Totally. Absolutely—”

I hushed him with a kiss.

* * *

It had been a glorious afternoon. I had not been so happy since I moved to this century. The time to leave came too quickly.

I packed our trash in the basket while he folded the blanket. We held hands and walked to our bikes in silence, both melancholy that our picnic date had come to an end.

While he secured our things, I stepped to the side of the greenway trail and watched a couple trudging up the incline, absorbed in each other. I felt a sense of communion with them. This was a beautiful place to be in love.

“Susanna, I know this question might sound crazy, but did you come to the game last night wearing my green hoodie?”

“Yes.” I looked up the trail, which rose above us before curving sharply around a stand of pines.

“Why?”

I turned to him and squinted. The sun was at his back, outlining him in a golden glow. “It was important to you.”

He came closer, his helmet dangling from his hand. “Did you want to see Gabrielle?”

“I most certainly did.”

“What did you think?”

I looked away, not entirely sure how to sort through the feelings I’d experienced. Perhaps I should make light of them. “I can understand why she wanted you for her escort. You’re quite handsome in a tuxedo.”

“You don’t need to be jealous of Gabrielle.” He hadn’t been fooled.

“It isn’t envy that I feel.” I took a step back and stumbled against the edge of the pavement.

There was a scream and the shriek of brakes even as I found myself jerked into Mark’s arms. We twisted and fell. His body took the full blow against the ground.

The bike whirred down the hill even as running feet pounded nearer.

Mark and I stayed in our tangled heap of limbs, breathing hard and in unison.

“Hello there! Are you two okay?”

Mark shifted under me and grunted. “I think so.”

“Mark?” a young man asked.

“Hey, Jesse, Benita.” There was welcome in Mark’s voice. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, since you told me about it.” His hold on me loosened. “Meet Susanna.”

“Hello,” I said and turned to look up at them. “I am pleased to meet you.”

The couple stood at our feet, staring down, frozen with horror. I craned to see what they saw.

Realization hit me like a punch to the gut, even as Mark whispered in my ear, “Your pants are above your knees.”

Unbidden, moisture stung behind my eyes. I mumbled, “My scars.” What must they think of the thin lines mottling my calves? Or the shiny pink bands encircling my ankles?

“I’m sorry, babe.”

I slid off his body and landed on my bottom, unsure how to proceed.

Mark groaned. “Help her up, Jesse.”

His friend pulled me to my feet and then stepped back to his girlfriend’s side. I brushed debris from my pants, saddened by the sudden change. It had been a joyous day. The introduction to his friends should have made it even better. For the first time since I moved to this place, I had done normal things. Today, I’d been a girl with her boyfriend out on a date. Except that I had scars that demanded explanation.

“What happened to you?” Benita asked. Her boyfriend jabbed her with his elbow, but she didn’t look away.

Mark rose and stood beside me, his arm firmly around my waist, gazing down at me, his silence telling me the decision was all mine.

I’d never had to speak these words. Mark’s parents and grandparents had seen with their own eyes as they tended to my wounds. The explanation had come out slowly, piecemeal, in vague bits that his family had woven together on their own.

Today was different. If Jesse and Benita were to be my friends too, there must be truth—however harsh—between us. But how much would be enough? “My master thrashed me.”

“Your master?” Jesse asked, his gaze shifting to Mark.

“Susanna was enslaved.”

“Oh my god.” Benita’s eyes widened. “Like, human trafficking?”

Mark nodded. “More like a sweatshop, but close enough.”

She gasped. “He must’ve been a monster. Why did he do that?”

They were horrified—at Mr. Pratt, not me. “It was how he corrected my mistakes.”

Jesse and Benita said something in unison—a phrase I had never heard uttered in polite company.

“Yeah, really,” Mark said. His hand caressed my neck. “Although they weren’t always your mistakes. Persuasion was mine.”

It had been the first novel I’d ever read, and Mark had given it to me. I had loved reading that book, despite knowing the fury its discovery would unleash in my master. How could any of us have imagined that Mr. Pratt’s punishment that time would involve a hot skillet?

I looked into Mark’s face, into his beautiful amber eyes. “Mark, please. It was a wondrous gift. Do not ever express regret again.” Adoration swelled inside me like a living thing.

Benita held out both hands to me, palms up. She wore lace gloves whose fingertips had been snipped off. “Susanna.”

I set my hands in hers as we both took one step closer to the other. She was taller than I, with a lovely thin face and expressive eyes of the darkest brown. Right now, her eyes held shock and something else. Something that resonated sweetly and painfully inside me.

Releasing her hands, I turned to Mark almost blindly. When he wrapped me in his arms, I closed my eyes, overcome at the knowledge that I had shared my secret and had been offered sympathy in return. A new form of liberty.

Mark spoke in muffled tones with his friends, but I could not listen to the words. I only knew that, by the time I had recovered my bearings, they were gone.