“I lived with my grandparents for a while growing up in Maine; that might be what you’re hearing.”
She studied him as if assessing his explanation. “Are you faithful to your wife, Mr. Miller?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Until the day I die, ma’am.”
“Is he?” she asked Raven.
“Yes, ma’am.” Impressed by the lie he’d made up on the fly about Maine, Raven gave him a loving look, and he reached over and gently squeezed her hand in response.
Mrs. Stipe appeared pleased. “Good. This house doesn’t need another adulterer. Aubrey sins enough for every man on the Carolina coast.”
Raven heard the anger in her words and the pain beneath.
“I never should have married him,” she said wistfully. “Especially knowing my only asset was my fortune and my slaves. I wasn’t a beauty and ten years his senior, but I wanted a husband and he wanted to be something other than dirt poor.”
Raven wasn’t sure why she was telling them this, but it made for an uncomfortable moment. She glanced at Steele. Whatever he was thinking lay hidden behind the mask he was so good at donning.
Mrs. Stipe added, “I’m probably going to take an ax to him when it’s all said and done, but it won’t be today.”
The hairs stood up on the back of Raven’s neck. Steele’s mask dropped for a second, revealing his shock.
“And you don’t have to call me Mrs. Stipe. My slaves called me Miss Helen. I prefer that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were both of you free Coloreds?”
They nodded.
“Then pretend as if you weren’t and we’ll do just fine.” She rose to her feet. “I won’t need you anymore this evening. Get everything cleaned up and I’ll see you in the morning. Breakfast is always at seven.”
And she left the room.
Raven and Steele retrieved the dishes, and on the walk back to the kitchen, she said, “The sooner we leave here the better.”
“Can it be tomorrow?”
“From your lips to the good Lord’s ears.”
After the kitchen was cleaned and the dishes done, they sat on the porch and watched the sunset. Raven thought their small cottage was the best thing about Charleston so far. She enjoyed the flowers on the porch, the rocker, and the coziness of the place. “Do you really think she’ll take an ax to her husband? Or was she pulling our leg?”
“I’ve no idea, but if she does, I hope we’ll be gone by then. I don’t want us implicated in any way.”
Raven agreed. “One moment she seems kind, the next she’s talking about axes and wanting us to pretend we were enslaved.”
“Interesting woman. Will you need my help with breakfast in the morning?”
His answer was the sound of her softly snoring. Chuckling and finding her endearing once again, he very carefully picked her up from the rocker, and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down as if she were both fragile and precious before covering her with a light quilt. He doubted she wanted to sleep in her clothing, but he hadn’t the right nor the permission to undressher, so he leaned down, pressed a kiss against her cheek, and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
He was exhausted as well, and in spite of his chivalry wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the small sofa. He walked back outside instead and watched the dusk give way to night. In his perfect world, the stolen document would be found quickly. His attraction to Raven still needed closure but he was ready to return to Boston. He missed the city, his work at his tailor shop, and his role with the charity projects he sponsored and helped with as well. After his return from the war, he’d thrown himself into the good works championed by his mother and grandparents and began contributing not only his money but his time to those in need. It was as if bearing arms on behalf of the race and freedom had shown him his life’s purpose.
Presently, however, his purpose was to find a purloined copy of one of the nation’s founding articles. One that, when brought into existence, didn’t consider men with skin like his even worthy of a mention. That this mission was in the hands of people of the race held its own irony. He pulled his thoughts away from that maddening subject and chose to muse upon Miss Raven Moreau instead, and thought back on the talents she’d displayed in her searching. It would never have occurred to him to knock on walls or study the way floorboardswere laid as clues to hidden places. He’d been fascinated watching her use her fingertips to locate unseen seams in the plaster. If the object they were after was indeed on the property, she’d find it, and he had no doubts. Until then, he’d do his best to stay out of her way so she could do her job, support her in every way, keep her safe, and not do anything that might mess up her plans. Wanting to have her in his arms again and loving her slowly and fully wasn’t supposed to be on the official list, but was on his personal one. The memories of their night together on the verandah were so vivid and potent, he’d take them to the grave, and he wanted very much to add more. Smiling at that, he stood, slapped at a mosquito searching for a nighttime meal, and went inside to sleep on the sofa.