LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Eight

      The shadow of a man passed the door and Teddy gasped, tears forgotten. She grabbed the broom and began to sweep a floor that looked as though it had not been touched in a generation. Dust flew and Jem sneezed.

      When the footsteps receded, Jem grabbed the broom. ‘Hey now, lady, he walked on by.’

      He tried to pry the broom from her grasp, but Teddy was strong and hung onto it. ‘You don’t understand that I am a slave and this is the South,’ she said and yanked on the broom. ‘Let go.’

      Jem released the broom, acutely aware of the terror in her eyes. He watched her edge toward the door and knew he had no incentive to keep her there, if she wanted to leave. Her fear told him chapter and verse of what could happen to a slave alone with a white man. Eleven years had changed Theodora Winnings even more than it had changed him. Better keep talking.

      ‘When I did not hear from you, I was moderately philosophical about the matter, I’ll admit,’ he told her. ‘Who was I, after all? A Royal Navy first lieutenant barely alive and still shaky. I assumed you were the pampered daughter of a Charleston merchant, determined to do good in a fever hospital. I was nothing but very small fry.’

      As practical as he remembered, Teddy shook her head. To his relief, she put down the broom and moved away from the door, not far, but far enough to give him reason to hope. It began to matter to him more with each passing minute that she not leave.

      ‘Captain Grey, no one volunteers at a fever hospital,’ she said, enunciating each word in a most un-Southern way. ‘Mr Winnings hated it, but Mrs Winnings volunteered me all the time. I had no choice.’

      ‘My God, what kind of woman is she?’ he asked.

      ‘A sad woman who could not produce any children of her own and could only look on as I was born and cherished by her husband,’ Teddy told him. ‘He even taught me to read and write, which is illegal, I assure you.’

      ‘White folks are afraid you’ll get ideas?’ he asked, unable to mask his disgust.

      ‘Most likely.’ She sat down. She smiled at him, and years fell away. ‘Don’t get a swelled head, Captain Grey, but going to the fever hospital became the best part of my week.’

      The smile left her face soon enough and she settled into that neutral expression he had seen on many a slave’s face in his brief tenure in the South. ‘I should never have walked through the convent grounds with you when you started feeling better.’

      ‘Probably didn’t have a choice, did you?’ he asked, his understanding growing of Theodora Winnings’ life spent balancing on the tightrope of keeping Mr Winnings happy and not irritating Mrs Winnings too much.

      ‘I did, actually,’ she said. ‘For all that they were cloistered, religious women and unacquainted with actual life, some of the nuns could see what was happening between us. They told me I should find another patient, or at least tell you of my parentage.’ Her expression softened. ‘They didn’t order me away, however.’

      As he watched her, Jem wondered how easy it would have been to ignore that ruin of a letter Mrs Fillion gave him. He could still be in England, restless at being ashore on half pay, and thinking about nothing more interesting than what he would be having for dinner that night. All things considered, this was better. Come to think of it, any time at all in Theodora Winnings’ gentle orbit was better. Maybe this was his odd little Christmas gift from St Nicholas.

      She sat back on the chair, her guard down again. ‘Every morning before I went to the hospital, I told myself it would be the last time. I ordered myself to tell you I was a slave, and every morning, I could not.’

      In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. ‘The thing is, Teddy, it would have changed nothing,’ he said and took his own deep breath. ‘I remain firm in my resolve.’

      ‘You can’t be serious,’ she replied.

      ‘Never more so.’

      ‘Even if you know any sort of...connection between us is impossible?’ she asked.

      He shrugged. ‘Why? I assume you could not tell me the truth because you loved me.’ He touched the ruined letter on the drafting table. ‘Your letter confirmed it eleven years ago.’

      Teddy opened her mouth to speak, then gasped as another shadow approached the door and opened it. She leaped to her feet and crouched behind the drafting table as Osgood Hollinsworth opened the door, bearing a pasteboard box of food.

      Go away and let me talk to this lady, he wanted to shout as Mr Hollinsworth set the box on the desk.

      ‘You can talk after we eat,’ the printer said. ‘I’m not going anywhere until we do. Chicken, greens, Johnny cake!’

      How was it that this round little man seemed to know what he was thinking? I am losing my mind, Jem thought, exasperated.

      ‘Captain Grey! Coax that pretty miss out from behind my drafting table. You can be as high-minded as you wish, but we need to eat. You know, as we puzzle out what to do.’

      ‘There is nothing we can do,’ Teddy Winnings said as she left her hiding place and sat where Mr Hollinsworth pointed.

      Hollinsworth blinked his eyes in surprise and clucked his tongue. ‘Missy, you have a lot to learn. Doesn’t she, James?’

      Hollinsworth looked from one to the other, smiling as though all was well in the world. ‘Must I do all the thinking?’ he asked the air in general. ‘Eat something.’

      Maybe the chance was gone. Teddy seemed almost relieved not to venture deeper into their conversation. She arranged the food, setting it just so, as if seeking order to a life suddenly out of kilter.

      So be it. He was hungry. He could be superficial, too, although for how long he did not know. The chicken was tasty enough for Jem to ask her, ‘Miss Winnings, can you cook like this?’

      ‘Certainly, sir,’ she said, after she chewed and swallowed. ‘I can cook chicken anywhere.’

      ‘Don’t be so...so...blamed trivial!’ Hollinsworth declared, and waved a chicken leg for emphasis. ‘Miss Winnings, how did you find my broadside? Just curious.’

      The soul of manners, she wiped her fingers delicately on a piece of newsprint. ‘It was the strangest thing, sir. I was hanging up the wash today when the broadside just sailed into the yard on that high wind, and dropped in my hands.’

      ‘There wasn’t any wind this morning,’ Jem said, reaching

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