Go on out to Sim? And what did that sorrowing look coming over Dell’s face signify?
“Go now,” Sarah Parrish said. “If this is still what you want.”
“Miss Sarah … thank you.” Dell cast her mother an anguished look, then hurried from the room, tears spilling down her brown cheeks.
Tamsen stared after her. “Mama, what’s upset Dell?”
Her mother was inspecting the blue gown, hung from one of the bedposts, though there couldn’t be a crease left hiding in its folds. “Never mind Dell. ’Tis you we must speak of now. I’ve been informed of what you tried to do last night.”
Tamsen sank onto the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers together. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Another lie. She’d let desperation drive her to attempt something that, had it succeeded, would have haunted her the rest of her days. Abandoning her mother. Yet remorse ran countercurrent to resentment at being trapped by the person she loved best in the world.
Her voice shook as she asked, “Does he know?”
“You’d know if he did. Sim was circumspect.”
More so than she’d been, apparently. Her mother had been unusually silent the day long. Tamsen, stewing in her misery, had left her to Dell’s company, the pair often whispering together. About what?
“And there is no need to tell me you are sorry. ’Tis I should be saying that to you.”
Tamsen frowned at the back of her mother’s neck, at the coil of blackhair swept up sleek and elegant, the crown of it decorously covered. “What do you mean, Mama? What are you sorry for?”
“For every choice I’ve made since the day your father died. For standing by while Mr. Parrish has done all in his power to see you make the same choices.” Despite her words, Tamsen’s mother turned with her beautiful face serenely calm. “There is one thing more on the subject of Mr. Kincaid I need to ask you, Tamsen. Have you considered there is occasion for you to do great good in all of this, in marrying that man?”
“Good for whom?”
“For Mr. Kincaid’s people. They will have a mistress eventually, and there are far less kind ones than you would make. Your presence in his house could mean all the difference in their lives. That is no small thing to which to devote oneself.”
Tamsen had begun shaking her head before her mother finished speaking. “If that’s what you think, Mama, then answer me this. Did marrying you make a difference in how Mr. Parrish treats his slaves?” Look how he treats us , she wanted to scream.
Her mother must have plucked those stillborn words from the air and taken them to heart. Her face drained of color, yet it held its resolve. Moving as if in a daze, she drew Tamsen to the chairs by the hearth. Her hands were cold.
“Not a blessed difference,” she said, with a conviction all the more startling for its suddenness. “Still, Mr. Kincaid may prove more open to influence. Aren’t you willing to give him that chance?”
“Not unless I’m forced to it. Mama, is there a way out of this? If Mr. Parrish doesn’t know I tried to run away, maybe we could try … together?”
Her mother drew a shaky breath. “I have little doubt of it coming to that, Tamsen. And I believe ’tis here, in Morganton, where we must make the attempt. But not in secret. It must be done openly, with as many as we can muster to bear witness.”
This wasn’t making sense. At long last her mother wanted to break free of Mr. Parrish, but she didn’t want to run away in secret? What other option was there?
Her mother read her bewilderment. “There’s something I have never told you, Tamsen. Something that could prevent your marrying Mr. Kincaid, or any man like him. But more importantly, it should free us both from Mr. Parrish, if we can convince the right people to believe it. But ’tis a risk, all the same.”
Tamsen could barely catch her breath. She grasped her mother’s wrist. The pulse beneath her fingers beat
“Go now,” Sarah Parrish said. “If this is still what you want.”
“Miss Sarah … thank you.” Dell cast her mother an anguished look, then hurried from the room, tears spilling down her brown cheeks.
Tamsen stared after her. “Mama, what’s upset Dell?”
Her mother was inspecting the blue gown, hung from one of the bedposts, though there couldn’t be a crease left hiding in its folds. “Never mind Dell. ’Tis you we must speak of now. I’ve been informed of what you tried to do last night.”
Tamsen sank onto the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers together. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Another lie. She’d let desperation drive her to attempt something that, had it succeeded, would have haunted her the rest of her days. Abandoning her mother. Yet remorse ran countercurrent to resentment at being trapped by the person she loved best in the world.
Her voice shook as she asked, “Does he know?”
“You’d know if he did. Sim was circumspect.”
More so than she’d been, apparently. Her mother had been unusually silent the day long. Tamsen, stewing in her misery, had left her to Dell’s company, the pair often whispering together. About what?
“And there is no need to tell me you are sorry. ’Tis I should be saying that to you.”
Tamsen frowned at the back of her mother’s neck, at the coil of blackhair swept up sleek and elegant, the crown of it decorously covered. “What do you mean, Mama? What are you sorry for?”
“For every choice I’ve made since the day your father died. For standing by while Mr. Parrish has done all in his power to see you make the same choices.” Despite her words, Tamsen’s mother turned with her beautiful face serenely calm. “There is one thing more on the subject of Mr. Kincaid I need to ask you, Tamsen. Have you considered there is occasion for you to do great good in all of this, in marrying that man?”
“Good for whom?”
“For Mr. Kincaid’s people. They will have a mistress eventually, and there are far less kind ones than you would make. Your presence in his house could mean all the difference in their lives. That is no small thing to which to devote oneself.”
Tamsen had begun shaking her head before her mother finished speaking. “If that’s what you think, Mama, then answer me this. Did marrying you make a difference in how Mr. Parrish treats his slaves?” Look how he treats us , she wanted to scream.
Her mother must have plucked those stillborn words from the air and taken them to heart. Her face drained of color, yet it held its resolve. Moving as if in a daze, she drew Tamsen to the chairs by the hearth. Her hands were cold.
“Not a blessed difference,” she said, with a conviction all the more startling for its suddenness. “Still, Mr. Kincaid may prove more open to influence. Aren’t you willing to give him that chance?”
“Not unless I’m forced to it. Mama, is there a way out of this? If Mr. Parrish doesn’t know I tried to run away, maybe we could try … together?”
Her mother drew a shaky breath. “I have little doubt of it coming to that, Tamsen. And I believe ’tis here, in Morganton, where we must make the attempt. But not in secret. It must be done openly, with as many as we can muster to bear witness.”
This wasn’t making sense. At long last her mother wanted to break free of Mr. Parrish, but she didn’t want to run away in secret? What other option was there?
Her mother read her bewilderment. “There’s something I have never told you, Tamsen. Something that could prevent your marrying Mr. Kincaid, or any man like him. But more importantly, it should free us both from Mr. Parrish, if we can convince the right people to believe it. But ’tis a risk, all the same.”
Tamsen could barely catch her breath. She grasped her mother’s wrist. The pulse beneath her fingers beat
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