woodwork extended to a rounded front porch with three seamless front windows. A narrow wooden platform extended from the front door to the sides of the manor.
They rode into the center of a circular path of grass worn thin from the frequent travel of wagons and carriages, and waited.
“You ever seen so many steps?” She counted. Twenty-nine…Thirty. “Thirty steps, Lizzy.”
“Magnificent, isn’t it? I remember the first time I saw it.” Lizzy stared at Lydia and the moonlit Victorian she admired.
Assisted by the driver, Lizzy stepped from the coach and crossed the dewy meadow to the rear of the manor. Lydia wobbled behind, the smell of blue grass under the ivory kid side-laced boots she struggled to walk in.
“Lydia, you’re with me, remember? Don’t walk behind me.” Lizzy looped her arm through hers. “You’re with me.”
“Oh, look. I see Margaret Dillon.” Lizzy released her. “Remember to be yourself.” She turned and added, “Oh, and your name is Caroline. Caroline.” She winked and walked away.
Be yourself but change your name. Not an easy charge to manage.
Lydia meandered through the crowd, acknowledging fellow guests with a slight tilt of her head, flashing smiles that faded as quickly as they appeared.
Occasionally, she fussed with the knot of tresses at the nape of her neck, until it loosened, but mostly, she focused.
She tried to disregard the faces, the inquisitive eyes, the mouths—it was the mouths, chattering, murmuring, whispering, that crept icy fingertips up her spine. What were they saying? Did they know? Did they sense that she was not like them? An imposter.
A Colored amongst them.
She noticed three ladies conversing nearby. She thought back to her reflection in the mirror. There was no difference if she focused, remembered who she was. Rolling the pearls between her fingertips, she joined them and plunged into an act of premeditated nods, grins, and “do tells” for dialogue she hardly heard.
Familiar laughter pulled her to the present.
From the gazebo porch, Lizzy waved her over and rose from the swing she shared with a woman in pink. Blond tendrils bounced against her round face as she made her way to Lydia.
“Ah, well now, aren’t you a picture, Caroline? Simply stunning.” Lizzy slipped her hand in Lydia’s and pecked both cheeks.
Her emerald dress shimmered in the moonlight.
“It’s a pleasure.” Lydia leaned into her friend and whispered, “Where’s Jackson? Have you seen him?”
“Did I hear my name?”
Both women turned. Jackson Whitfield, clad in black waistcoat and trousers, laid his hand on the backs of several guests as he edged his way to Lizzy’s side. He greeted Lydia with a grin.
Lydia took in this man. His deep sapphire eyes, black, wavy hair, and slender build. He was handsome, a perfect match for Lizzy.“Hello, Jackson,” Lizzy gushed.
He nodded his acknowledgment but kept his eyes on Lydia. “Have I had the pleasure…?”
“Oh, this is Caroline. My friend Caroline.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m much obliged,” Lydia said awkwardly.
Lizzy giggled.
“Are you ladies just arriving?”
“We are. Yes. Just arrived.” Lizzy inched closer to the man. “We didn’t miss anything, did we?” She lowered her head and looked up with wide eyes.
“You two miss anything? I don’t believe it’s possible.” Jackson looked through the crowd. “Listen, ladies, I would like you to meet someone. Ah, there he is.” He stretched out his hand, brushing it against the top of Lizzy’s head, and waved over a young man with freckles. “This is Andrew.”
Andrew pecked Lizzy’s hand, then Lydia’s, planting a kiss that seeped through the thin cotton of her glove.
“So Caroline, is it?” Jackson asked.
Lydia nodded, swallowed.
“And from where do you come?”
“She’s from Dorchester.” Lizzy inserted herself between them. “Her father is a friend of our family, Jackson.”
“Good ol’ Jack,” a balding,
They rode into the center of a circular path of grass worn thin from the frequent travel of wagons and carriages, and waited.
“You ever seen so many steps?” She counted. Twenty-nine…Thirty. “Thirty steps, Lizzy.”
“Magnificent, isn’t it? I remember the first time I saw it.” Lizzy stared at Lydia and the moonlit Victorian she admired.
Assisted by the driver, Lizzy stepped from the coach and crossed the dewy meadow to the rear of the manor. Lydia wobbled behind, the smell of blue grass under the ivory kid side-laced boots she struggled to walk in.
“Lydia, you’re with me, remember? Don’t walk behind me.” Lizzy looped her arm through hers. “You’re with me.”
“Oh, look. I see Margaret Dillon.” Lizzy released her. “Remember to be yourself.” She turned and added, “Oh, and your name is Caroline. Caroline.” She winked and walked away.
Be yourself but change your name. Not an easy charge to manage.
Lydia meandered through the crowd, acknowledging fellow guests with a slight tilt of her head, flashing smiles that faded as quickly as they appeared.
Occasionally, she fussed with the knot of tresses at the nape of her neck, until it loosened, but mostly, she focused.
She tried to disregard the faces, the inquisitive eyes, the mouths—it was the mouths, chattering, murmuring, whispering, that crept icy fingertips up her spine. What were they saying? Did they know? Did they sense that she was not like them? An imposter.
A Colored amongst them.
She noticed three ladies conversing nearby. She thought back to her reflection in the mirror. There was no difference if she focused, remembered who she was. Rolling the pearls between her fingertips, she joined them and plunged into an act of premeditated nods, grins, and “do tells” for dialogue she hardly heard.
Familiar laughter pulled her to the present.
From the gazebo porch, Lizzy waved her over and rose from the swing she shared with a woman in pink. Blond tendrils bounced against her round face as she made her way to Lydia.
“Ah, well now, aren’t you a picture, Caroline? Simply stunning.” Lizzy slipped her hand in Lydia’s and pecked both cheeks.
Her emerald dress shimmered in the moonlight.
“It’s a pleasure.” Lydia leaned into her friend and whispered, “Where’s Jackson? Have you seen him?”
“Did I hear my name?”
Both women turned. Jackson Whitfield, clad in black waistcoat and trousers, laid his hand on the backs of several guests as he edged his way to Lizzy’s side. He greeted Lydia with a grin.
Lydia took in this man. His deep sapphire eyes, black, wavy hair, and slender build. He was handsome, a perfect match for Lizzy.“Hello, Jackson,” Lizzy gushed.
He nodded his acknowledgment but kept his eyes on Lydia. “Have I had the pleasure…?”
“Oh, this is Caroline. My friend Caroline.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m much obliged,” Lydia said awkwardly.
Lizzy giggled.
“Are you ladies just arriving?”
“We are. Yes. Just arrived.” Lizzy inched closer to the man. “We didn’t miss anything, did we?” She lowered her head and looked up with wide eyes.
“You two miss anything? I don’t believe it’s possible.” Jackson looked through the crowd. “Listen, ladies, I would like you to meet someone. Ah, there he is.” He stretched out his hand, brushing it against the top of Lizzy’s head, and waved over a young man with freckles. “This is Andrew.”
Andrew pecked Lizzy’s hand, then Lydia’s, planting a kiss that seeped through the thin cotton of her glove.
“So Caroline, is it?” Jackson asked.
Lydia nodded, swallowed.
“And from where do you come?”
“She’s from Dorchester.” Lizzy inserted herself between them. “Her father is a friend of our family, Jackson.”
“Good ol’ Jack,” a balding,
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