Chapter Seven

"Read another chapter. One more. Please?"

Nancy arched her brows. "Theo Randolph. Are you never to be satisfied? Judy expects me to oversee work in the garden. When I don't appear, she'll be full of sighs and silent reproach. You know how she is."

"Please?"

He was stretched out on the couch by the window while she sat in a nearby armchair with Robinson Crusoe open in her lap. His thick brown hair was damp with sweat, even though he hadn't moved for an hour. This bout of fever had proved worse than the last, and Theo had lost weight. His face was gaunt, the similarities between him and his older brother more pronounced. His chest heaved under a thick layer of blankets.

"You're not too warm? Can I fetch you something to drink?"

He pulled an arm out from his covers and twisted so that his hand found hers. His skin was hot but dry. She wrapped her other hand over the top of his, hoping to cool him.

"I just like the sound of your voice," he said. He had hazel eyes, flecked with gold. Handsome, but weary. He'd coughed all night again. "It might help me sleep."

She lifted the book once more. Judy would understand. And as soon as Theo was asleep, she would change her shoes and get to work on choosing seeds for planting. She read with her eyes on the words, but her mind wandered to a future where Theo was recovered and the garden she was supervising was not Dick and Judy's, but her own. And his.

But weeks turned to months, and Theo showed no sign of recovering. Shoots rose up in the vegetable garden. New scents filled the air at the brush of Nancy's skirts or the rub of her fingertips: tomatoes, rosemary, lavender. Dick helped Theo outside each morning, but any gust of cool air set off his cough, and the spasms grew longer, not shorter, even as the days grew warmer and the world grew green and lush. His spirits were good, but as they moved around him, the rest of the household frowned only more deeply. After some debate, Dick wrote to his stepfather expressing concern — enough to bring Mr. Tucker over one hundred miles from Williamsburg to examine the patient in person. He wasn't happy with what he saw.

Theo was removed from Bizarre the next day. Mr. Tucker had family in Bermuda and was sure the tropical climate would help overcome the congestion in Theo's chest. Nancy watched the carriage roll away, certain he'd return in a few short months, back on his feet and in good health.

Bizarre grew too quiet. She passed her days with Judy, but with her heart and mind busy with memories — the touch of Theo's hand, his grateful smile, his preference for her company. Would he feel the same when he was whole again? In the meantime, Jack Randolph was back, and Nancy found his presence less than charming. He'd a habit of staring at her. Theo could not return soon enough.

Summer came. Humid days sapped everyone's energy. She spent long night hours in her room, oppressed by heat and physically tired, yet with her mind restless. Sleep was hard to find. Bizarre was home, yes, but it was Judy's home, not hers, and in small ways, but consistently — and to Nancy's mind deliberately — Judy made that clear.

"Remind my woman, Sarah, to bring me the stock list for my smokehouse," she might say over breakfast. Or: "Tell Lottie that her master's boots were not properly shined yesterday, and her mistress has taken note of it." Or: "Dick and I feel our responsibilities keenly, Nancy. You're so fortunate. Able to contribute but without any responsibility."

"Disingenuous, that's my sister," she told Phebe. "Says one thing but means another." She didn't add that she felt Judy managed her, her own sister, not so differently than she did the slaves at Bizarre, which was to say not unkindly, but with distance. Over time, Nancy was happier out in the garden, working with Sarah's son, Billy Ellis, than she was stuck inside with Judy, always checking on her stitching and sniffing, much as their mother used to do.

With Jack's presence occupying Dick, Nancy looked to a visit from Aunt Page to ease the growing tension between herself and Judy. Their aunt was as frivolous as Mother had been serious, but her propensity for gossip became far less amusing to Nancy when she found she was her aunt's new target. She first realized it walking up to the front porch with a basket of lilies. Aunt Page and Judy were settled in wicker chairs, their heads together in cozy conversation, but as she reached the steps, they drew apart abruptly.

"Nancy, dearest," said Aunt Page, "how quickly you stride along. Almost mannish, swinging that heavy basket as if it were empty."

"It only holds flowers, Aunt."

"Ah, but a girl your age and in your situation cannot forget herself for a moment. Judy and I were just discussing your prospects. How I wish your poor mother were still with us."

"I don't see what there is to discuss."

"No?"

"Judy?" said Nancy.

"Our aunt is simply thinking of your future, sister."

"My future? Why? I am happy here. I work hard, I—"

"Yes, yes. Judy was just telling me what a help you are. And if that's how you see your future, well, then . . ." When Nancy said nothing, her aunt shifted in her seat. "Sit down, girl. I told Judy that you needed some guidance. Don't look so stiff. Why, if that's the way you were around the new Mrs. Randolph, I can see why Gabriella sent you packing."

Nancy bit on her lip and sat down.

"Our aunt is only concerned for your welfare," said Judy.

"Really?"

Two pink spots appeared on Aunt Page's soft cheeks. "Indeed I am. Because unless you long to be a maiden aunt, running after another woman's children and never having a stick of furniture to call your own, you'd do well to stop looking so haughty and start realizing when someone is trying to do the right thing by you."

"You call this the right thing? Gossiping about me behind my back? Deciding my future without involving me?"

"You're overreacting." Judy threw their aunt a speaking glance. Nancy read it as clearly as if her sister had spoken. It said, I told you so. I warned you she would not take this well. Theo's name pressed on Nancy's lips as her eyes darted from one woman to the other, but she refused to dignify them with her confidences. They didn't deserve to hear of her hopes. Nor did she want them dashing those hopes with lies about his illness or his character. Aunt Page's opinion of Theo wasn't high. No need to give her an opening to disparage him.

"I am but seventeen years old, Aunt."

"By which age both your mother and I were married."

"Not Lizzie though. Or Molly."

Aunt Page waved Nancy's argument away and turned to Judy. "What about Cousin Archie? Is he still dangling after her?"

"I will not be marrying Archie!" Nancy jumped to her feet and grabbed the basket of lilies, dropping several blooms and sending up a cloud of yellow pollen in the process. She headed into the house with Aunt Page's answer ringing in her ears.

"You say that now, Nancy. But give it a year or so, and you may be begging for a man like Archie, foolish though he is, to take you and give you a home of your own."

For the remainder of the visit, Nancy was cool with her aunt. She put the confrontation out of her mind by indulging in daydreams. She pictured how Bizarre might be if she and Theo were in charge. While Theo might have some lessons to learn from the example of his excellent older brother, Dick, she was confident of being a better mistress than Judy, who was too thorough, too rigid with everyone and sadly lacking in any sense of humor. Marriage had changed Judy. And not for the better.

Nancy was glad, toward the end of August, to watch Jack Randolph ride away from Bizarre to return to his studies at Columbia. Dick spent his evenings with them again, and she enjoyed the change from long evenings spent reading or sewing with Judy. But Jack had not been gone a week before a lengthy letter arrived from him, addressed to her. What she read made her angry.

"Where's the master?" She went straight to the slave quarters and called over to Syphax. "Did you see his direction this morning?"

"North field, miss."

"Thank you."

The heat pricked her skin as she walked. Nancy thrust the letter into her apron pocket and wiped the sweat from her hands. A bead of moisture slid down her back between her shoulder blades. Beyond the line of trees behind the house, the sun baked the earth. She saw Dick astride his gelding, Cassie, and waved. She tried to flatten the curls escaping her hat in the heat as she strode toward him.

"I need you to speak with your brother, Jack, for me." She thrust the letter into Dick's hand as soon as he dismounted. "I've given him no encouragement. I hope you know that."

Dick looked over his brother's missive, his expression grave. "He is very young in some ways."

Nancy laid her hand on his arm. "I don't wish to hurt him, Dick. He's your brother. That's why I thought you might write to him. Tell him what he suggests can never be. Make it clear somehow. I don't know. Tell him I'm engaged to Theo."

"Are you?"

"Not formally, but—"

"You're in love with him?"

Was she? Nancy struggled for an answer, her mouth suddenly dry. The temper that had sent her traipsing across the fields to Dick deserted her. "I might be."

His eyes traveled from hers to the letter and back again. "I'll deal with Jack. You may be easy on that head. He will not embarrass you further."

She tried to read his face but could not. "Thank you." She held out Cassie's reins. His fingers grazed hers as he handed back Jack's letter. She turned to go but had only taken a step when he spoke again.

"Do you remember, Nancy, back at Randy and Mary's wedding, when I said you would enslave all the Randolph brothers?"

"You were teasing me."

"Was I?" The look in his eyes said something else entirely.

As fast as she had marched toward him, Nancy fled back to the house. She dared not look back.