“Where are you from?” Julia Pennington had asked when Sarah arrived at her door, the Gazette ad in hand. She had introduced herself as Sarah Rogers, come to apply for the position of housekeeper.
“Baxter County, ma’am,” Sarah had lied. “My James was killed at Shiloh and jayhawkers burned the farm. Nothing left up north for me. What kin ain’t dead up and left to get away from the bushwhackers.”
“Don’t suppose you’d have a reference?”
“Not among the living,” Sarah had replied, looking into the woman’s calculating brown eyes.
“You seem well dressed for a refugee.”
“Sold my gray horse, ma’am. I got twenty dollars for him, and five went for the dress. Don’t know when I’ll find work so the rest goes to keep me fed in the meantime.”
“That everything you own?” Mrs. Pennington had pointed at the bundled blanket rolled over Sarah’s shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am.”
For long moments, Julia Pennington had peered at Sarah as if she could scry into her very soul. Then she said, “Five dollars a month, room, and board. Since the Yankees arrived, the slaves have all left. You can have Percy’s old room under the stairs. It’s not much, and hardly fit for a white woman, but I suppose it’s better than the streets.”
Sarah might have taken on the role of slave as well as having moved into the household quarters. Pennington expected her to be up at five, have a fire in the cookstove and both hot tea and breakfast prepared by the time Mrs. Pennington awakened at seven. At night, Sarah was expected to be the last one in bed after seeing to the dishes, making sure the doors were locked, and ensuring the lamps were extinguished.
For the first month all Sarah had done was clean the big and beautiful house. Nor was the irony lost upon her. This was the house of her dreams with its ornate woodwork, grand parlor, tiled fireplaces, fine staircase, and tall ceilings.
Had she really promised God she’d endure anything to live in a house like this?
The nightmares still came upon her, and she’d awaken in the middle of the night, her fist tight on the pistol grip, her body trembling as Dewley’s frigid blue eyes burned into hers. But the odd moments in the middle of the day—when out of thin air she’d be back in that clearing, shuddering as men laid hands on her skin—had been fewer and farther between.
She had been doing so well. But that afternoon Maxwell Johnson, one of Julia Pennington’s cousins from New Orleans, had arrived. He was in his early thirties, well dressed in pressed brown suit with ribbon-lined lapels, and had a cravat at his throat. Thick curly brown hair seemed to sweep up from his high forehead like a wave. His eyes, however, were hard, dark, and impenetrable.
As Sarah served the dessert cake, she was aware of how he watched her. Just knowing that she was the center of his attention brought on a shiver that made her almost drop Mrs. Pennington’s fine china plate.
“Sarah? Goodness gracious, what makes you so clumsy tonight?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied as she beat a fast retreat from the lamp-lit dining room and into the safety of the kitchen. There she took a deep breath, hand to her heart, feeling it pound beneath her apron.
“It’s all right, Sarah. You’re in Little Rock. You’re safe.” She looked around, reassured by the familiar kitchen with its big cookstove, the counters, and the dishes soaking in soapy water.
When she managed to still her breathing, she leaned her ear against the door, hearing Julia Pennington. “… no doubt some hardscrabble farm up north. Lost her husband at Shiloh. There are so many like her.”
“Is she honest?”
“Nothing she’s done would indicate otherwise. Oh, I tested her, believe me. I left some jewelry, fake things, where she’d find them. Not only did she not take them, but she brought them to me with a reminder that I best not leave such things lying about. Can you believe it? Her work is exemplary. Better than Percy on her finest day. And unlike having a slave, I can ask her to leave at any time.”
“She has a man?” Maxwell’s voice rose suggestively.
“Not the slightest interest, and I’ve entertained some of our city’s leading lights … even Yankees. She never so much as looks them in the eyes let alone flirts.” A pause. “You ask me? She’s better off with that husband of hers dead. I’m sure he used to beat her.”
“Why would you think?”
“I’ve seen her, Maxwell. At times something will set her off. She just freezes and shakes. Terrified and paralyzed. Then it will pass.”
Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes. Damn! Was she that transparent?
“But something about her doesn’t ring true,” Julia Pennington continued, lowering her voice. “She’s educated. Knows the classics, reads well above her station, and writes in a most legible hand. She does sums well enough to be a bookkeeper. Then just as you would think she were a lady, some word will slip out like she was raised in a backwoods frontier cabin.”
“A most attractive young woman,” Maxwell added. “Very well formed. Were she properly groomed, dressed, and had her hair—”
“You’re married.”
Maxwell laughed. “Vanessa could care less. You know as well as I do that I married her for financial reasons. Besides, she’s happy to dedicate herself to the children. That’s all she wanted out of the marriage anyway. Well, and the status, of course.”
“And I suppose you, as a healthy young man, have your amusements?” The tone in Julia’s voice was curiously cold. “I know you and Percy had an arrangement. And because it was mutual, I never said anything.”
“Men will be men, cousin.”
There was a silence, then Mrs. Pennington said, “I suppose I should have grown used to it. John never threw it in my face. Was always dignified.” Another pause. “My advice here is that you leave that girl alone. Don’t even suggest it.”
“Of course, Julia. I wouldn’t
