The Loom by Shella Gillus

her, his hands on hers, his mouth, his lips on her ear, the back of her neck.
    The wagon was bumpy, much rougher than a carriage ride, and she couldn’t see a thing, but it didn’t matter. She felt everything. She knew they were passing the slave quarters when the air filled with the smell of sweet potatoes, caramel, and custard.
    Women preparing for Sunday, the best day of the week. She closed her eyes and thanked God for a sweet sliver of joy. So close she could taste it.
    Like a dream.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The perfect pearl.
    Lydia gripped Mrs. Kelly’s strand around her neck and forced her hand steady despite the bumpy carriage ride that bounced her endlessly into Lizzy.
    “Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” Her friend beamed.
    “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
    “Oh, Lydia, it’ll be fun.”
    “It’s foolish.” The whole thing was a foolish idea. Lydia’s hands shook as she straightened the shawl over the cream dress that had started this mess. Lizzy had arranged her hair again, but this time in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. “What if we get caught?”
    “My mother said yes, Lydia.”
    “Reluctantly.”
    “She said yes.”
    “To my going as your caretaker. Not as…” Lydia looked down at her attire. “If she knew what we’ve done. How I look…”
    “She won’t.”
    Lydia raised her brows.
    “She won’t.”
    “What if Dr. Kelly—”
    “Don’t worry about him.” Lizzy dismissed her concern with a shrug of her shoulders.
    “If he finds out, what do you think he’ll do?” Why had she gone along with this? Lydia balled the cloth of her dress in the palms of her hands. “Lizzy—”
    “Oh, stop it, Lydia. Live a little.”
    It was all she ever wanted to do.
    “Enjoy tonight.” Lizzy squeezed her hand. “No one will ever know.”
    Lydia pulled the curtain back inside the carriage and watched as she journeyed rough roads to another world. They were crossing the Maryland state line.
    “Tell me more about this Jackson.”
    “Well, he’s as handsome as he is charming. A well-to-do bachelor. The last of his bloodline. His brother was killed years ago.
    His father was a friend of the family, but he passed recently and left Jackson with everything. Wait until you see this place. I haven’t seen it in years, but if it’s anything like I remember, you’re going to be amazed.”
    Lydia only nodded because there was nothing to say. Why had she even asked? It wasn’t as though knowing more calmed her.
    In fact, it caused her more anxiety. She had never been in the company of White folk as their equal.
    “What do you all say to each other?”
    Lizzy’s forehead crinkled.
    “I mean, you know, when you’re talking? The only party I served at was the one your mother had five years ago and I was so nervous, trying not to spill nothing, I don’t remember a thing. So what do you talk about?”
    “I don’t know, Lydia. Same thing you talk about, I suppose. Just people talking. Nothing special.”
    “Let’s practice.”
    Lizzy laughed.
    “Come on, now, Lizzy. You be a lady at the party.”
    Lizzy straightened her posture and batted her lashes. She flapped the accordion fan in her hand against her chest. “So very nice to meet your acquaintance, dear.”
    “Oh. Yes, thank you.” Lydia shook the tips of her stiff hand.
    “Well, I’d be obliged to—”
    “Obliged?”
    “I’m just kidding, Lydia.” Lizzy snickered. “We don’t do that. And we don’t have a special language. You talk to me all the time! Just be yourself.”
    But Lizzy wasn’t like any other White person she knew.
    “We’re here.”
    The forty-five-minute carriage ride was quicker than Lydia was prepared for. The horse clanked to a stop. A lush evergreen meadow sparkled under the starry sky, framing, in the distance, the Whitfield manor.

    Lydia could feel her eyes widen, her back straighten at the sight. What would John think of this place?
    She had never seen a house more beautiful. The terra-cotta