“Is there anything you don’t notice?”
“Oh my, yes. I am far from perfect.”
“You can say that again,” Daniel muttered.
“Although my hearing is quite good,” she said, a grin sweeping across her face.
They rounded the corner, and Gwen stopped mid-stride and put a hand to her mouth to muffle her gasp.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s terrible,” she said. “How can your father allow his employees to live like this?”
“I suppose it was the slave’s quarters, and most plantations I’m told have left the free workers to do their own fixing.” He scanned the area. “Doesn’t look like they care much.”
“Or they can’t afford it,” Gwen suggested.
“Guess they’re used to living that way, leastways the ones who stayed on.”
“Do you have employees that come in from town?”
“The whites do. Wouldn’t think of living in the row houses.”
“I can see why,” she said her nose scrunching her disapproval. “And do you think it’s humane to have families living in such poverty?”
“Some get paid cash, and others share the profits from the crops they raise. It’s their choice how they spend the money.”
Gwen noticed a woman hanging clothes outside and marched in her direction. “Excuse me—my name is Gwen Peters, Daniel’s nurse. I wanted to introduce myself.” She held out her hand and the woman took it gingerly.
The surprised look on her face told the story—no one usually dropped by the row houses for a casual visit. “Mighty fine to meet you, miss.”
“Do you work for the McAlister family?” It was a stupid question—she wouldn’t live here if she didn’t.
“I do the laundry up at the big house, but this morning, I have some free time to tackle my own. It seems to mount up faster than I can tend to it.”
Children’s clothes blew from the line in the morning breeze. “I see you have youngsters.”
“Oh, yes. I have five. The oldest is Bessy, and she minds the little ones when I work.”
Gwen noticed the small house. “And you all squeeze in there?”
“We’re used to tight quarters. Would you care for some tea so the young master can rest some?”
“That’s very kind of you.” She glanced at Daniel for confirmation, but he offered none. Curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see inside. A plan stirred in her mind. “Yes, tea would be nice—if it’s no trouble.”
“Oh, no. Be right pleased to have grown up folks to talk to. The young’uns have near drove me plumb crazy.”
Inside was everything Gwen feared, and she glanced over to see Daniel’s initial reaction. His face was ashen, and she rushed to his side. “Sit here: You look pale.”
The lady of the house ran to pour a cup of tea and passed it to Daniel. “Here you go. Boil my own tea leaves from healing herbs. It’ll take that woozy feeling away shortly.”
“Thank you,” he said as he sipped the hot liquid. “It’s tasty.” His hollowed cheeks and watery eyes implied the opposite.
“It’s an old recipe passed down from my great grandma. She lived in this house, same as my Ma did and now me and my family. Holds a special place in my heart.”
Gwen could hardly imagine that the place hadn’t been spruced up in three generations. Stirred up dust from the dirt floors spread layers of particles on the few pieces of furniture populating the main room. A bug that had no name in her vocabulary, crawled up the thin wall, and she cringed. She sat next to Daniel, took a deep breath, and prayed for something positive to say. She blurted out the first thing that crossed her mind and view.
“Did you do that cross-stitch hanging on the wall?”
“My ma did. I ain’t no good with a needle, not for the fancy stuff. Story goes that she saw that little white church when she went to town one day with her mistress. Thought she’d died and gone to heaven, it was so purty. Just had to put it on her wall to keep the memory alive.”
“Do you attend church in town, now?”
“When I have the time off. The McAlisters change their duds more often than I can count.” She looked at Daniel. “Sorry if that offends you sir.”
“Not at all. What’s your name?”
“Mable. Don’t rightly know my last one.”
Gwen interrupted. “You don’t know your last name?” She felt impressed to state the obvious common link between the two people sitting with her. “Mr. McAlister did not know his last name for over two years after his war-time injury.”
“But he knows it now,” Mable said as if his plight didn’t count.
“I know the name only, not the faces,” Daniel said. “Have I been to the row houses before?”
“Oh, yes, siree. You shot through here more often than I could count. You was pure joy to have around. Kept us all laughing with your antics. And our Arthur, well, he took right to you. Gave a body hope to see the two of you play—at least, the days you escaped the eyes of the overseer. He’d snitch on his own kind, sure as the day was long.”
“Arthur was my childhood friend?” Daniel asked. “Why has he not told me?”
The woman brought her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, Master, sir. I didn’t know I was speaking out of turn. Weren’t my place to spout off my mouth. Thought Artie would have talked to you before this.”
“No need for concern, but remember, I’m not your master—Daniel is what they call me,” he said before continuing. “But something on the inside responded to the nickname you mentioned. “Did I call him Artie?”
“Yes, sir. Only the folks at the big house calls him Arthur. Suppose it
