The sun was just dipping below the buildings to the west when Nate’s rented carriage rolled away on Third Street. Amanda didn’t want the afternoon to end. She couldn’t remember ever enjoying herself so much. Perhaps she couldn’t remember because she never had. The spot along the river he’d selected for their picnic had been perfect. They had shucked off their shoes and splashed in the shallows, dined on Ruth’s delicious pork and wilted greens, and laughed and talked and laughed some more.
Nate had entertained her with tender vignettes of his mountain childhood, interesting observations about the society women of Wilmington, and amusing tales of his less than successful attempts at cooking in his landlady’s kitchen. He’d put her at ease and then charmed her. Amanda had never once worried about being miles from town and alone with a man she barely knew on a remote riverbank—in a foreign land, no less. But she did know Nate. He was as transparent as crystal clear water, unassuming and pragmatic. If she wasn’t careful she could easily fall in love with him. And that would be a foolish thing to do. Whether it was a few more weeks or a few months, one day she would return to England and maybe never come back. Yet after each time they were together, she couldn’t wait to see him again.
Amanda skipped down the street, feeling lighter than air until she ducked under the wisteria-covered arbor into the garden. Only then did the late hour and the likelihood that her ruse had been discovered sour her mood. Creeping silently along the hedgerow, she spied on the slaves eating, chatting, and finishing evening chores in the back courtyard. Her sole chance for an unseen entry was through the front foyer, unless her sister happened to be sewing in the parlor. The weaknesses in her plan loomed large as Amanda opened the door and stepped inside. Finding no one afoot in the front public rooms, she tiptoed upstairs and down the hall to her suite. Once inside the overly warm room, she let out her pent-up breath with a rush.
“Ah, there you are, at last.” Abigail’s musical voice drifted from the open gallery doorway. “I practically dozed off waiting for you to return. Shakespeare’s sonnets may be more enjoyable in the winter. This heat makes me drowsy.” She smiled and stretched like a cat.
“Good evening, Abby. I hope you weren’t concerned unnecessarily.” Amanda crossed the floor toward the open French doors, tugging off her gloves along the way. She tossed her broad-brimmed hat on the bed.
“Unnecessarily? Certainly not. It’s perfectly normal to worry when a loved one takes ill and is neither seen nor heard from for hours.” Abigail’s features were perfectly composed.
Amanda spotted Helene sewing in the corner. The young woman looked anxious. Her other maid fidgeted on a stool by Abigail. “Helene, please go down to supper. I’m sure a few turns around the garden will do you good too.”
Abigail tapped the slave’s arm with her fan. “Josie, bring a tray of tea and sandwiches here to the gallery, and then you are dismissed for the evening as well.”
Amanda pulled a chair close to her sister as soon as the women departed. “I’m sorry I deceived you today. Truly, I am.”
Abby waited for additional explanation. When it didn’t come, she said, “I can only surmise you had an errand I might disapprove of or were meeting someone in that same category.”
Amanda focused briefly on the embellished plaster ceiling above their heads. “The latter is the case. I met Mr. Cooper for lunch. He packed a hamper for a picnic.”
Abby’s mouth formed the letter O. “The shopkeeper? I assumed after that disastrous dinner party, you would have realized his unsuitability.”
“I realized that Mr. Cooper wasn’t comfortable at formal gatherings, but he’s another man altogether in less formal settings.”
“How so?” Abby arched an eyebrow.
“He’s charming and witty and a good storyteller. It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so hard or enjoyed myself more.” Amanda shifted uneasily.
“That doesn’t reflect well on my company.”
“I beg your pardon, sister. I meant in a man’s company.” Blood rushed to her face.
“And where was this congenial atmosphere conducive to Mr. Cooper putting his best foot forward?”
“Nate hired a carriage. We took the beach road south and then turned onto the river road. It was quite beautiful along the Cape Fear once we left the city. We found a nice spot to picnic and wade into the water up to our—”
Abby curtailed the narrative with a wave of her hand. “You left the city, with a shopkeeper, without telling anyone where you were going?”
The question hung in the humid air as Josie bustled in with the tea tray. The girl set it on the low table, bobbed a curtsey, and hurried to the gallery stairs.
“Which of those three facts upsets you more?” Amanda tried to tamp down her rising irritation.
Abby filled both cups with tea. “The last one, I suppose. If you hadn’t turned up, Jackson and I wouldn’t have known where to start looking for you. Even if Mr. Cooper is a trustworthy man, the two of you could have been robbed by army deserters.” She nibbled on a sandwich from the tray.
“I had less than a dollar in coins in my purse. And Mr. Cooper doesn’t strike me as the sort who would carry a fat billfold full of currency.” Amanda sipped her tea.
“Vagabond soldiers would take your horse and carriage, you goose. Deserters from Fort Fisher would cut any throat to get away from the seacoast. You keep forgetting there is a war on.”
“You’re right. Because I’m not American, I do have a tendency to forget that.” Amanda reached for a soft cheese sandwich. Lunch seemed like ages ago. “I won’t venture beyond the city limits again, at least not without telling you.”
Abby peered at her as though attempting to decipher a difficult secret code. “You plan to see this storekeeper again?”
Amanda’s nerves began to fray. “Yes, I do. As I explained, I enjoy his company. I’ve never had a male friend and we get along famously. But why do you insist on referring to him by his vocation? You don’t identify Jackson as a tobacco and cotton broker or Papa as a mill owner. You refer to them by name. So kindly call him Mr. Cooper while I refer to him as Nate.”
Abby sniffed with indignation. “What would Papa and Mama say about your cavorting with Mr. Cooper?” Suddenly, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Goodness, I forgot that Papa is gone. It’s hard to remember when so many miles separate us from home.”
Amanda reached over to squeeze her arm. “I know. I often think about what I’ll say to him when I return, but he won’t be there. Maybe that’s why I’m eager to get to know Nate. Papa ruled with a firm hand. He tried to marry me off to the village vicar or one of his widowed friends several times—someone staid and respectable.”
“You no longer wrapped Papa around your little finger?” Abby twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.
“That’s what you recall? Dear sister, no one manipulated our father, certainly not Mama or me.”
“Don’t rewrite history. I was there growing up. You were Papa’s favorite. Alfred might have been heir because he was male, but sweet Amanda was the apple of his eye.” Her sister’s chin jutted out and her eyes squinted. For a moment Abby resembled the snappish teenager from one of their sisterly arguments. “You could do no wrong, while I seldom escaped his wrath. I was such a disappointment to him.”
With the scab torn from an old wound, Amanda’s heart swelled with pity. “You’re right. I learned to say what he wanted to hear and act in a ladylike fashion. Papa didn’t like women or young girls with spirit. But after you left with Jackson, I also fell from favor.” Amanda paused to collect her thoughts and tamp down sorrow inching up her throat. “He realized he couldn’t control his daughters, not as long as we had the ability to fall in love. He knew I too would eventually marry and escape his domain, leaving only Mama under his thumb.”
For several minutes they sat quietly in the growing darkness. On the street the clatter of horse hooves and steel wheels on cobblestones provided the only sound. “That’s why you came—not to see me but to escape from his authority?”
“I came to win his favor, to prove I could be as viable an heir as Alfred would have been. It wasn’t until I slipped the yoke did I realize how strangled I’d been. But I truly did yearn to see how my sister fared in the new world.” Amanda squeezed her hand.
Abigail reared back as though bit by a snake. “But I wasn’t your priority.”
“I didn’t know how much I’d missed having a sister until I got here, Abby. Mama still hopes I can convince you to come home—with Jackson, of course—so our family can be together again.”
Abby drained her teacup. “Don’t be ridiculous. My husband will never leave Wilmington. His family, his work, his life are here. And thus my life is here. Jackson loves me exactly how I am. I’m not second-best to anyone. He doesn’t make impossible demands on me like Papa. And because I love him, I have no desire to keep secrets.” She set down her cup and stood. “I intend to tell him about your escapade today—not to punish you, but because Jackson has a right to know what goes on in his house.”
Amanda chose her words carefully. “I respect your decision, but you should understand that now that I’m out from Papa’s control I plan to enjoy my freedom. Maybe that’s why I’m intrigued by the shopkeeper. I wasn’t allowed to make friends among those socially beneath us. I don’t care about those standings now.”
“You’ll care about your reputation and those standings once you are back in England.”
“Maybe so, but in the meantime I want to go where my heart leads me.”
“Very well, but let’s have no more deception while you’re my guest. Josie came to me rather upset. You placed her in a difficult position by expecting her to keep silent. She knows that one day you’ll board a ship and sail away with Helene. She will be left behind working for Jackson and me. Please don’t make life harder for her.”
Nate hooked his long apron on its peg and blew out the lamp that hung over his worktable. It had been a long day. A steady stream of customers promised decent profits for the week, but it also meant less time replaying in his mind the delightful hours spent with Amanda. Staying busy may be good for a man’s hands and mental state, but when the bell jangled to signal more customers, Nate sent them away.
“Sorry, I’m closed for the day,” he called. “I’ll be open tomorrow by eight.” He pulled on his coat with a frown. No second bell chime indicated that his tardy customer had left. Stepping from the back room, Nate saw a man leaning against a stack of grain sacks. “May I help you, sir? Do you need directions or assistance of some sort?”
The man turned, his face partially obscured by a hat brim. “As I live and breathe, it really is you!” he exclaimed.
His voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet Nate couldn’t place him. His rough-spun clothes and long duster coat provided little identification. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I apologize if we were previously introduced.”
“Mason. Mason Hooks from Balsam. Don’t ya ’member me, Nate?” He yanked off his dirty felt hat.
Despite the fact he was thirty pounds thinner, bearded, and sallow-faced, Nate indeed recognized his old childhood friend from the mountains. A man he thought most likely would be dead by now. “Mason, of course. How are you?” Nate asked, slapping him on the back.
“I had a rough patch, but things are lookin’ up these days.” Mason’s smile revealed several missing teeth. “Got me a job offloading ships that come in. Make a good daily wage, more money than I seen in a week back home.”
“That’s not hard to imagine. Back in the hills we had plenty of whitetails, squirrels, and pretty sunsets, but not much that would put a pair of new leather boots on a man’s feet.” Nate extracted his hand before Mason pumped his arm from the socket.
“Heard there was a mercantile owner named Cooper on this block. And I also heard tell you came to Wilmington dead set on opening a store. I put two and two together and thought I’d have a look-see.”
“I’m glad you did. Do you like coffee? I could reheat some on the woodstove.” Nate opened the door on the stove to stir the coals.
“They pour a fine pint down at Flannigan’s at a fair price. What say we git something stronger if ’n you’re done for the day here.”
“Does that establishment sell anything besides spirits—coffee or tea maybe?” Nate felt himself flush. “I don’t imbibe, not since it killed my father.”
“I just see men drink whiskey or beer. It ain’t no teahouse.” He laughed good-naturedly. “But your coffee sounds fine by me. Why don’t we pull up a chair?”
“There’s a good spot out back where we could catch a breeze. Take those stools out and I’ll be right with you.” Nate pointed toward the door. A few minutes later he carried the pot of coffee and some of Ruth’s homemade molasses cookies outdoors.
Mason sat by the low stone wall behind the row of shops. He’d already removed his coat and hat. In the harbor, tall masts bobbed with the current as ships moved in and out. “Good location to set up shop. You doin’ all right?”
“Can’t complain. I’m not getting rich, but I pay my bills on time.”
Mason scratched at a crusty scab. “Story I heard was your pap hanged himself in the barn not two years after your ma died. That musta been a sorry site to behold.” He shook his head.
“Pa tried his best to drink himself to death, but when that didn’t work he decided to hurry matters along.” Nate sipped the coffee, not meeting his friend’s eye. “Even that old still wouldn’t produce anymore.”
“When you left, did you leave your little brother back on the farm?”
Nate flinched. “Do you think I would leave a fifteen-year-old alone in Balsam in a shack that might blow over in a good wind? I sent him to my aunt and uncle outside Fayetteville. They grow corn and raise pigs. Joshua liked farming, but that spread we had never amounted to much. The soil was too rocky and worn out.”
“Didn’t he want to move to Wilmington? That boy used to follow you around like a hound dog.”
“He did, but I knew I would have nothing here at first. Took me nigh a week before I found work. I slept in folks’ stables and ate from their gardens until I got paid. When I got a job here, Mr. Starkey let me sleep on a pallet in the storeroom. I saved every penny I earned, but it was no place to bring a boy to live. My aunt promised that Joshua would go to school. That’s what Ma would have wanted.”
“Have you heard from your brother lately?”
“I wrote five or six times but never heard a word back. ’Course, Joshua never was one for letter writing. He said that was sissy doings.”
“Yeah, that sounds like your lil’ brother. But Josh ain’t at your uncle’s hog farm no more. He left a while ago.”
Nate bristled for the second time that afternoon. “How would you know? I’m betting you never been to Fayetteville in your life.”
“You would win that bet, my friend. I saw Joshua at the battle of Shiloh. He enlisted in the Confederate army right after North Carolina seceded. He fought bravely too, as I recall.”
Every hair on the back of Nate’s neck stood on end while his gut tightened. He ticked off the years in his head. “Why…he would only have been seventeen at the time.”
“Yep, sounds about right. Old enough for a poor boy to fight and die in a war started by rich old men.” Mason’s face screwed into a scowl.
“Old enough to die?” Nate’s stool toppled as he jumped to his feet.
“Simmer down. That’s just a figure of speech. Your brother was alive and well the last time I saw him at Chattanooga.” Mason reached down to pick up the stool.
“But why would he enlist? He grew up listening to Ma preach about the evils of slavery, while Pa ranted about a government that helps only rich landowners. Backwoods folks were left to fend for themselves.” Nate scrubbed his face with his hands.
“I recollect your pa standing up one Sunday after church telling folks not to pay their taxes. He said the government shouldn’t get another dime from the hill folk,” Mason said thoughtfully, taking the last cookie from the plate.
His reminiscences did nothing to lift Nate’s spirits. “The Reb recruiters couldn’t even raise a regiment in our county. They had to go to Asheville to fill ranks. Joshua knew I wouldn’t enlist—not because I didn’t love North Carolina, but because it was time to end slavery. If Jefferson Davis had his way, slavery would spread into the western territories.”
Mason pulled on his shaggy beard. “I try not to think much ’bout politics these days. But I bet your uncle was the reason Joshua signed up. You know folks in the flatlands ’round Charlotte and Fayetteville don’t think like we do. Plenty of them own slaves in those parts. Maybe even your uncle does too.”
That possibility had never occurred to Nate, even though his uncle owned at least three hundred acres of land. “Did you speak to Joshua? Did he ask about me?”
“The last time I saw him it was early in the morning before the fightin’ started. He said to tell you ‘hey’ and that he was doin’ fine.”
Swallowing a lump of regret, Nate stretched his neck from side to side. “What about you, Mason? Did you muster out after your enlistment period ended?”
He snorted with contempt. “All the majors and generals forgot terms of enlistment once the Yankees started thinning our numbers. There was no mustering out. Only way to leave was into a shallow trench beside your fallen comrades. They threw just enough soil atop the graves to keep the crows and wild hogs from pickin’ your bones clean.”
With a shudder Nate refilled their mugs from the coffee pot. “I’m curious, then, about how you came to Wilmington.”
“You callin’ me a coward, Nate? I’ll take on any man who calls me a yellow-belly.”
Nate recoiled from his friend’s perceived insult. Putting up his hands in front of him, he said, “Easy. I meant no disrespect. Far be it for a man who refused to enlist to judge someone who did. Everyone must make that decision for himself and live with the consequences.”
Mason slumped lower on the stool. “I’m not a coward, but I did desert. They could hang me if they catch me, but I figured I’m as safe here as anywhere. And the coastline is where the jobs are.”
“You realize that Fort Fisher is but thirty miles downriver. That place is guarded better than the fortifications at Charleston.”
“I know that, but with the Yankee navy out to sea, they’ll be too busy to look for deserters on the docks.”
Nate was content to let the matter drop, but apparently his old friend wanted to talk.
“I fought hard on the line at both Chickamauga and Chattanooga. But I couldn’t abide with those planter sons astride their fancy horses along the back, ordering us privates to take that hill or claim that worthless cornfield against terrible odds. We were always outnumbered. Always.” Mason drank the last of his cold coffee. “So the next day I acted like I was headed to the latrine trench and just kept walking. I expected somebody to spot me and shoot me in the back, but nobody did. I kept moving east, foraging off the land like an animal.”
“Our paths were destined to cross.”
“Say, you like this coat?” Mason tugged on the lapels. “Some man left it in his carriage when he went inside his house for the night. Musta been in his cups not to take care of so fine a garment.” He ran his hand down the cloth lovingly.
“That will teach him to be careless.” Nate stood rather stiffly, the long work hours sapping his strength. “I’d best get to my rented quarters or my landlady may throw my supper to the hogs out back. Do you need a place to sleep for the night? Mr. Sims probably won’t mind if you stay in the hayloft. Nothing but bales of fresh hay up there. Might just remind you of your pa’s farm in Balsam.”
Mason scowled. “No, thanks. I don’t care to remember the past. ’Sides, I don’t sleep in barns. I rented me a room above Flannigan’s. Nice place until the drunks start shooting. One night a bullet tore right through the floorboards and cut off the tip of my ear.” He tucked his hair behind his maimed ear, the scar still a fiery red.
Nate couldn’t fathom an appropriate response, so he said mildly, “If you change your mind, I live in the attic of the Simses’ place on Castle Street.”
Mason stood and brushed crumbs from his clothes. “And if you change your mind about that pint of beer, I’m at Flannigan’s most evenings, including tonight. At least until my old lieutenant recognizes me and puts a bullet in my head.”
The two men shook hands, and then Mason hopped the stone wall and walked down the wharf. He didn’t look back, but Nate could hear him whistling long after he disappeared from sight.
For a while he sat contemplating everything he’d learned. His old friend deserted the army and lived in Wilmington. His father’s suicide was apparently common knowledge, even though the preacher promised not to spread gossip. And his brother no longer tended pigs on the outskirts of Fayetteville. Joshua was fighting Yankees, if he still walked among the living.
Nate locked up the store and trudged home, wearier than he’d been in a long time. At least his supper was waiting on the table, covered by a clean linen cloth. A glass of water with a saucer over it to keep out flies had also been left. After washing his face and hands, he bowed his head to give thanks—an old childhood habit that refused to die. His fork was halfway to his mouth when Odom Sims stepped from the shadows.
“Didn’t take you for a praying man, Nathaniel, but I’m mighty glad to see it. Mind if I join you while you eat?”
Nate shoved the piece of ham into his mouth and waved at the seat next to him. “My ma always said if we don’t give thanks for what we got, we’ll have even less tomorrow. Sit, Odom. I’m not shy about eating in front of people, but I may slap your hand if you reach for my slice of pie.”
“Had two pieces with my supper. You’re lucky to get that skinny slice a’tal.” Odom laughed with a deep, throaty sound. “You know, my granny used to say something similar to what your ma said, so I never wanted to take chances either. Now I’ve lived long enough to know it’s true.”
Nate shrugged. “I see plenty of ungrateful people who still have their worldly possessions the next day.”
“God isn’t finished with them yet or with us. He has all sorts of plans up His sleeve whether we believe in Him or not.”
Nate scooped up some potatoes. “Weren’t you a preacher down by Charleston? You sure sound like one.”
“Yes, sir, I was. But they don’t need any Negro preachers in Wilmington. I’ll just bide my time at the livery stable and sow my seeds out back.” Odom leaned back in his chair with his fingers interlaced behind his head.
“This must be my night for company—those with a mind to talk.” Nate told him about his visitor at the store and his unsettling revelations.
“What do you think about your friend skedaddling from his regiment? It makes life harder for the boys who stayed to fight.”
“It’s not my place to judge him or anyone else.” Nate focused on cutting up his chunk of ham. “Some might call me a coward for not enlisting after our state seceded.”
“Is that how you see yourself, Nathaniel? Afraid to pick up a gun?”
“Nope. I won’t fight to preserve slavery; it’s evil. But I can’t bear arms against the Confederates either. I’ve lived in North Carolina my entire life. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, keeping my head down and hoping the war will be over soon.”
Sims patted his shoulder. “That’s pretty much how I figure it too. Negroes are in both armies.”
“The Rebs conscripted them and are forcing them to stay. It wasn’t their choice.”
“True enough, but you don’t see me joining the Fifty-Fourth or Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts or the Twenty-Ninth Connecticut volunteers. I reckon if God wanted me to die for the Union, I would have been born in Boston or New York City. He put us all exactly where He wants us to do the job He has in mind.”
Nate scoffed, shaking his head. “You think our lives are that orchestrated?”
“I think it’s exactly that orchestrated. You’ll see, Nathaniel. God has big plans for you yet. That’s why you’re here in Wilmington, and maybe why you met Miss Dunn. Which reminds me. Ruth wants to know when we’ll meet this special gal.”
“It’s not that easy. She’s reluctant to be seen out because her family doesn’t approve of me. I’m destined to hope she’ll need a pack of needles or crave a bag of peppermints.”
“Why not invite her to have supper with us? None of the society folk will notice her here. I’ll ask Ruth to cook something not too spicy.”
Nate couldn’t imagine a proper British girl dining in their rustic kitchen. What on earth would they talk about? Yet he also couldn’t imagine hurting Odom’s feelings. “That might work,” he murmured as he finished up his skinny slice of pie.
“I’ll send Rufus to Miss Dunn with your message. How about Tuesday?”
“That will give me almost two full days to fret about seeing her again.” Nate could hear Odom’s chuckles all the way to the attic bedroom.
Amanda grinned as the Henthorne carriage rolled down the hill toward the river. Her sister’s expression had been one she would remember for the rest of her life. Keeping her promise, Amanda informed Abigail that she would dine with the Sims family that night, Nathaniel’s landlords. Questions began flying like salvos on a battlefield.
Who are these Simses, and where do their people hail from—the coast or the interior?
Where do they live?
Shall I have Thomas remain with the carriage until you’re ready to come home?
When Amanda explained that Mr. and Mrs. Sims were free people of color and that a carriage and coachman would only be in the way on their narrow street, Abigail clutched her throat as though choking on a bone.
“Have Thomas return after he drops you off. I trust Mr. Cooper will see that you get home safely.” Abby walked away, doubtlessly regretting her decision to tell Jackson everything that happened in his household.
Thomas stopped in the middle of Castle Street with the barest glance left or right. “Send word if you need me to come back for you, Miss Dunn.”
“Thank you, Thomas, but I’m sure I will be fine.” Inhaling a deep breath, Amanda accepted his help down.
Whatever trepidation she felt vanished when Nate walked out the front door. Dressed in a dark coat and trousers, his cravat and shirt were pressed and his shoes polished. But it was his expression that dissolved the last of her misgivings. His blue eyes twinkled from his tanned, clean-shaven face as he beckoned her up the pebble walkway. How could she feel like an animal freed from its cage when the Henthornes lived in a mansion?
“Good evening, Miss Dunn. I’m delighted you could join us.” Nate stepped forward and offered an elbow.
“I would reply that wild horses couldn’t keep me away, but I don’t want your head to swell with pride.” Amanda fluttered her fan, a silly habit she had picked up from Abby.
“Is it Mrs. Sims’s cuisine which intrigues you or my company?” he asked as they strolled up the rosebush-lined path.
“I’m curious about both.”
Blessedly the front door opened and their host and hostess appeared, curtailing their banter. “Miss Dunn, welcome to our home. I’m Odom Sims,” said a thirtyish man, his thick beard already streaked with gray. “This is my wife, Ruth, and you’ve already met our son, Rufus.”
A small, almond-eyed woman stepped forward, her arm encircling the boy’s shoulders. “How do you do, miss?” Ruth nudged her son.
“Good evening, Miss Dunn.” Rufus bowed from the waist.
“Good evening, Rufus, Mr. and Mrs. Sims.” Amanda bobbed a tiny curtsey. And that was the final formal gesture all evening. “Rufus, I believe I owe you a dime.” She held the coin out in her palm.
Nate and the Simses led her on a short tour of the three downstairs rooms, describing how the family came by a particular piece of furniture or painting on the wall. During the tour they heard about Odom’s past. His father had earned his freedom by saving the master’s son from a raging river, along with the freedom of his wife and children. Growing up free, Odom’s life was unlike most Negroes in the South. Amanda was hard pressed not to ask a dozen curious questions—ones that were none of her business. Throughout the delicious dinner of smoked turkey, butter beans, and sweet potatoes, the tale unfolded of Odom wooing Ruth from a distance while saving his money. He finally secured Ruth’s liberty after paying an exorbitant sum to her former owner.
“That makes us appreciate what we were born with,” Nate whispered close to her ear.
His breath tickled, while the scent of his spicy shaving balm filled her nostrils like an elixir. Because Amanda had fought tears during the telling of the Simses’ saga, all she could do was nod in agreement. Despite being rather silent during the dinner conversation, Amanda was acutely aware of Nate’s proximity. She caught his eye more than once, his grin never failing to spike her heart rate. Nate, who seemed to be monitoring her food intake, grinned when she speared another slice of turkey from the platter. Amanda relaxed in the tidy dining room. It was the first time she’d eaten in the home of free blacks. The abolitionists’ determination to abolish slavery throughout the states took on new meaning for her. Another member was added to their ranks that evening.
When it was time to take her leave, Amanda felt the flutters in her stomach return. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sims, for the most enjoyable evening I can remember,” she said on their front stoop.
After adding his own words of gratitude, Nate peered up at the starry sky. “May I walk you home, Miss Dunn, or shall I pay Rufus a dime to summon the Henthorne carriage?”
“The way you throw your dimes around, one might get the idea you’re a spendthrift, sir,” she said once they reached the sidewalk. “I prefer to walk since the evening remains mild and exercise aids digestion.”
“And my company? Do you find it remotely appealing?” Nate’s dimple appeared in his cheek.
“Because you inserted the word ‘remotely,’ I can answer with an unequivocal yes.” Amanda stepped off the curb onto the flagstones. Yellow streetlamps separated the dark into pools of light and shadow. The only sounds were the faraway whistles and horns on the river, yet she felt not an ounce of fear.
“And I covet your company more with each passing day, Amanda.”
“I do like the way you switch to my given name the moment we’re beyond earshot of others, Nate. It makes me feel independent and modern simultaneously.”
And so for the four-block stroll, they exchanged friendly banter along with thinly veiled flirting. But on the front porch, the idyllic evening came to a screeching halt. When Amanda timidly applied the knocker, she fully expected to see the aged face of Amos.
Instead, Jackson opened the massive carved door. “Ah, finally you’re safely home, Miss Dunn. Good of you, Cooper, not to send her down the deserted streets alone.”
“That isn’t something I would do, Mr. Henthorne.” Nate offered a polite bow.
“Yes, well, I’m glad to see you. Would you like to join us for dinner on Thursday?”
“Dinner…on Thursday?” Nate stammered.
“Yes, that is two days from now.”
The gaslight revealed his flush. “It would be my pleasure. Good evening, Miss Dunn, Mr. Henthorne.” Nate offered a brief smile before turning on his heel.
Amanda moved inside and up the stairs before she was tempted to deliver a swift kick to Jackson’s shin.