My mother left the Etons’s home an hour later and climbed onto the wagon seat beside me, but spoke not one word. I guided the horse onto the Worthville road.
It was a long, dreary ride—broken by the call of birds and the sobs of my mother. Mark, curled up in the back, appeared to be asleep.
Though I had forbidden Mark to speak about the day’s events, my own heart pelted me with troublesome questions. Had I done the right thing? Might Phoebe be miserable with the Etons? Would they regret taking her in? How soon could I see my sister again?
And there was the matter of my future job. Although I had brushed the concern aside when Mark mentioned it, there would likely be no position for me with the Etons this fall. I should have to find something else. The possibility of my working in a tavern loomed larger.
Since Phoebe had taken nine lessons from Mrs. Pratt, I would have to work them off. But I should still be able to leave in October.
Much as I wanted to avoid thoughts of my punishments, they crowded in. Mr. Pratt would be home by now. If his visit with his brother had gone well, might his good feelings soften his response to my absence?
I liked this idea enough to think no more on that topic.
My mother had still not spoken by the time we reached the drive to the farm. After I handed her the reins, Mark and I walked the rest of the way.
It was late afternoon when we reached the falls. The pain of saying goodbye to my sister had saturated me with grief. I had no room left for anxiety.
Mark hesitated at the edge of the cliff, but instead of climbing down, he touched my arm. “What’s going to happen to you?”
“I do not know.” I would learn within minutes. I would not speculate. “It is time for me to go.”
“Wait.” His hands dropped lightly on my shoulders. “No matter what happens next, remember, we won. Phoebe’s safe.”
“She is. That is worth quite a lot.”
“It’s worth everything. We won.” He smiled at me. “Say it.”
He looked so eager that I repeated it. “We won.”
“We won. Believe it. Your sister will be fine.”
“She will.” Truly, he was correct. My sister lived in a lovely home with a gracious woman for a mistress. Phoebe would use her talents and not be forced to ruin her skillful hands in drudgery. Most importantly, she was far from my master’s reach. It was a victory for which we all owed Mark. Gratitude flared within me. “You saved her.”
“No, I pitched in. Phoebe owes everything to you.” He gathered me up into his embrace so that my feet no longer touched the ground and then swung me in a circle, laughing. “We won.”
I laughed, too, ready to celebrate with him. “We won.” My cap flew off, and my hair fell about me like a curtain, yet I didn’t care. We were being silly to spin and laugh and enjoy this moment. But it felt good. Whatever the evening brought, my sister was safe.
Mark slowed the spin to a stop, the laughter dying, the foolish grin fading. “Susanna?” His arm remained steady at my waist as he lowered me to the ground. “You are beautiful. So amazingly beautiful.”
Me—beautiful?
Alexis was the beautiful one, with her fine, golden hair and silky clothes that exposed so much soft, golden skin. I had abundant scars, sun-darkened skin, and labor-hardened limbs. My garments had been patched together from my mistress’s discarded petticoats. I had hair too thick and straight for any style but a heavy braid.
Mark must have lost his mind, yet my heart thumped wildly at his words, wanting to believe.
He cupped my cheek and waited for the space of a breath. Did he want to kiss me? I hoped so.
His head lowered slowly.
What should I do? Remain still? Rise on my toes to meet him?
He had done this before. He knew what to do. I closed my eyes and waited.
His mouth clung to mine. Once…
Twice…
We kissed so many times I lost count. Long, heated kisses. Brief, playful kisses. All achingly sweet. I thrilled at the feel of him, following wherever he led, hoping to give as much pleasure as I received.
He broke away first, his mouth trailing along my jaw, my neck. When his lips reached the edges of my shift, he groaned.
“We have to stop.”
“What?” I murmured, eyes shut, drowning in want.
“If we go any further, you’ll be missed another hour.”
The words feathered along my fevered skin with the cold of dread. The evening stretched ahead of me—my punishment unknown but certain. And if anyone caught me with Mark, here in the open, his mouth on me…
“Merciful heavens.” I shuddered and dropped my head to his shoulder.
“Susanna?” His hands caressed my back restlessly. “Don’t return to your master. Come with me.”
My eyelids fluttered open, as if from a dream. A bold dream. An improbable one. “You’re mad,” I said, leaning back to savor his handsome face.
He smiled, glowing with eagerness. “No, I’m not. Move to my century.”
Move? For a fleeting second, I considered his offer. Freedom awaited me on the other side of the falls. Freedom.
I had often tried to imagine what a perfectly free day would be like, and always my mind thought of autumn. Freedom would be like an autumn morning—warm, but not too warm. There would be trees of gold and red. The scent of wood fires and baking apples. Freshly washed clothes, drying in the sun. I would sleep until I was rested. Eat until I was sated. Do only the chores that pleased me. Laugh a little. Smile often.
Is that what I would find in Mark’s world?
No, indeed. His world had too much. There were noises everywhere. Banging, barking, wailing. Hot, acrid odors. Rules that made no sense. Movement, fast and purposeful. Danger for the newly arrived. Bare skin.
The only thing I yearned for in his century was Mark. Could he be enough for me? Would my simple love be enough for him? In a world where machines performed magic and girls were the equal of boys, how soon would he grow weary of me?
And what of the life I would be leaving behind? I had people I loved and skills I could sell. No matter how bad it could be, this was a world I understood.
“I cannot move.”
“Why not?”
“My contract doesn’t end until the middle of October.”
He shrugged away my statement as if it didn’t matter. “Why do you care?”
“I have given my word. It wouldn’t be honorable.”
“Your master isn’t honorable. Screw him.”
I wished Mark hadn’t asked. For all that I must turn him down—and I must—it did raise longings within me. The longing for security. The longing to have the misery end.
But running away wasn’t the answer. Once my contract ended, I should have no need for Mark’s suggestion. I could live wherever I wanted, the past left behind in Worthville.
“I like my century quite well.”
“You’d like mine better.”
He was so earnest. It was charming and misguided.
“I can’t see how that’s possible.” I stepped away from him.
He held on to one of my hands and leaned toward me. Our lips clung. The kiss was delicious—speaking without words.
He dropped my hands and backed up. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Perhaps not tomorrow, but soon.”
“Soon, then.” He scrambled down the cliff and leapt through the falls. They flashed.
Mark was gone.
“Susanna!”
I spun around, horrified. Jedidiah, the incompetent spy, stood at the edge of the woods, lips curved in triumph, his gaze fixed on me like a cat stalking a mouse.
* * *
After shoving me into the kitchen, Jedidiah ran to the mill to notify his father of my return. I restored my appearance to order, tied on an apron, and bent over the hearth. My mistress had put a chicken on to stew. I tasted a sliver and winced in dismay. It demanded flavor. It gave me something to do rather than think about what was to come.
I checked the pantry, relieved to see the trip to George Pratt’s home meant we would eat well again. We had new portions of bacon, oats, sugar, and spices. There were bags of apples, yams, onions, potatoes, and a new barrel of smoked ham.
I selected seasonings for the chicken and repaired the dish. It was only then I heard the hiccupping snuffles. I hurried to the rear door. Dorcas sat on the stump, her eyes red-rimmed and watery.
“Have you been crying, little one?”
She nodded, lower lip trembling. “I had to wait here until you came. Now I must find Papa. He is very angry.” She slid off the stump and buried her head in my petticoat. “Where have you been?”
“At my mother’s,” I said, the half-truth coming easily.
“Jedidiah went there. He said no one was at home.”
I sighed. On the walk back from the farm, I had made up stories that would sound reasonable, but it didn’t matter anymore. No story would be believed after what Jedidiah had witnessed.
I knelt before her and gave her a hug. “I have no explanation for my absence, but I am here now.”
“Deborah said you ran away. She said Papa hurt you so badly this week that you didn’t want to live here anymore.”
“Your sister is wrong. I didn’t run away. I wouldn’t go without saying good-bye.” With the corner of my apron, I dabbed the tears from her cheeks.
“Did Papa hurt you too much this week?”
I wrapped my arms around her and filled my senses with the touch and smell and sight of her. One day, I would leave Dorcas behind, and it would be like abandoning my own child. The pain of it was sharp.
“Yes, he hurt me too much. I shall leave as soon as I am able, but you will always be on my mind.” I pressed a kiss to her temple and nudged her away. “Jedidiah has gone to tell your father of my return. You’re free to go.”
“Is Papa coming now?”
“I suspect so.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Her voice shook with dread.
I smiled at the brave offer, knowing I would never accept. Whatever happened, I was confident I wouldn’t want her to witness. “No, dearest. Run along.”
She ran a few steps, then turned and came back. “Uncle George gave us two slaves and a new horse.”
“Merciful heavens.” I gazed toward the barn but could detect no activity there. “Where are the slaves?”
“Frederick is young. He went to the mill with Papa. And Theophilus,” she said, stumbling over his name, “will tend to the horses. He has tall, white hair.” She fled toward the garden, disappearing among the cornstalks.
Once she was gone, the silence felt ominous. Even the birds seemed hushed.
I went to the pantry and reviewed the supplies with fresh eyes. How long would they last with two slaves to feed?
With a shake of the head, I forced my thoughts to the evening meal. Boiled potatoes would be nice with chicken.
As I peeled, I reflected on my first kiss, shared with Mark. It had been lovely. I would be quite willing to try again…
Shoes thudded on the floorboards behind me. Resisting the urge to turn and face my master, I picked up another potato.
“Susanna?” His voice was soft. Mild.
“Yes, sir?” I added another potato to the pile.
“Put down your knife and come to me.”
With reluctance, I obeyed, staying as close as I dared to the worktable, my breaths quick and shallow.
His hands gripped my wrists and tugged me closer. “My wife says you’ve been gone all day.”
To anyone observing us, it would’ve looked as if we embraced. I trained my eyes on the buttons of his waistcoat, repulsed by his touch, longing to pull away.
“I have been away a few hours.”
“Was the boy with you the whole time?”
I could truthfully say Mama had chaperoned us, but I didn’t wish for Mr. Pratt to learn of Phoebe’s rescue so soon. “Yes.”
My master laughed softly. “Oh, my lovely Susanna, you are determined to lengthen your stay at my house. I must say I am pleased.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You break the terms of the contract if you are caught fornicating.”
My shocked gaze rose to his. “I have not done such a thing.”
“Jedidiah saw you kiss.”
“A kiss isn’t the same as…” I stopped, unable to repeat the word aloud in my master’s hearing. “It was only a kiss. Nothing more.”
“Jedidiah did not describe it so.” He forced my wrists behind my back and held them in the iron grip of one hand. “If Mr. Lewis ever trespasses on my property again, I’ll have him flogged.”
I shrank away from him, hoping to put some space between us, but his hold was too tight. “Mr. Pratt, please let me go.”
“When I’m ready.” He lifted his free hand to my bodice and snapped a thorn that was pinning the edges together. “Perhaps I should see if your young man left any marks.”
Heat flooded my face. “He did not. You may take my word.”
“I place no value on your word.” He smiled. Snap, snap, snap. The edges of my bodice slid apart.
Before I could think of what to do next, he pressed me hard against the worktable, its rough edge cutting into my back. His fingers groped along my waist. The laces of my stays loosened.
Terror gave me strength. I kicked wildly, connecting with his shin. With a grunt, he moved, trapping my legs between his.
He yanked my shift and stays forward.
Humiliation filled my limbs with a sick weakness. I closed my eyes and prayed to be released from this waking nightmare.
He was silent as he inspected the exposed flesh, the heat of his breath brushing the tops of my breasts. My next prayer was to endure without begging.
“You have the plump tits of a cheap whore.”
I could hardly believe this was happening. For years, my master had played a game of wills with me. The rules were simple. If he beat my limbs until they bled, I suppressed my cries. If he whispered vile insults, I ignored their poison. If he offered praise, I neither acknowledged nor smiled. It was all part of the game.
But my body was private—the one line he did not breach. Until today.
He chuckled. “I see no marks on your flesh. Perhaps you’ve told the truth. Either he didn’t caress you, or he’s remarkably skilled for his age.”
I mustered my strength and kicked a heel hard into his ankle. He hissed in surprise, his hold on me relaxing. I broke away and raced to the other side of the worktable, my shaking hands clutching the edges of my bodice and the torn neckline of my shift.
He smoothed his waistcoat, then leaned against the kitchen wall, arms crossed over his chest. My gaze darted to the rear door.
“No need to flee, Susanna. Your body wouldn’t tempt a man of breeding.”
“That is hardly comforting, since there are no men of breeding in this room.”
His air of calm shattered. With a snarl, he lunged for me. I charged toward the door, stopping short when his fingers caught my hair. In the space of a gasp, his mouth covered mine, his teeth grinding against my own.
“God help me,” he muttered against my lips.
I trembled so violently, I could hardly control my limbs.
Dinah and Delilah shrieked in the yard, their calls coming closer to the kitchen.
He shoved me against the wall and stalked a few paces away.
I held onto the door frame, teeth chattering too hard to speak, as small feet stomped up the wooden steps.
“Papa, Papa,” two little girls shouted, giggling as they burst into the kitchen.
“Yes, my pets,” he said, stepping between me and them, reaching down to tousle their heads. “Let us go to the house.” He gestured them out the door again and then glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you enjoyed your hours away, for they will be the last time you leave my property until your indenture ends.”
My head ached fiercely. I stared at him, trying to make sense of his statement. “I don’t understand.”
“For this day’s crimes, you will forfeit all freedoms.”