“Your very wealthy childhood?” she replied teasingly.
He nodded, then viewed her seriously. “My only worries at age nine were whether my boots were shined and not getting my stockings dirty at school. My mother was obsessed with appearances and insisted that I remember I represented the race wherever I went, and should act accordingly.”
“Which meant?”
“Always being on my best behavior, and being as clean and neat when I returned from school as I’d been when I headed off to school each morning.”
“That’s a lot to put on the shoulders of a child.”
“I didn’t realize it then, but looking back now, you’re right.” A memory rose. “I remember playing stickball after school one day. The field was muddy and I was covered with dirt and grime when I came home. I’ll never forget the disappointment in my mother’s eyes or the stern lecture I received about the image I presented to those outside the race by being so dirty. She said they were always looking for ways to prove we were less polished than they in every way. I never played stickball after school again.” He saw the empathy on Raven’s face. “You probably think my life was pretty joyless.”
“My opinion doesn’t matter, only yours.”
He realized she was correct, and he wondered if she knew how wise that made her. “I suppose it was in some ways. I was never encouraged to do the typical boy things like climb trees or kneel in the dust to shoot marbles, or splash in puddles. You and your cousins probably did all those things and more.”
“We did. We hunted frogs and dug worms for fishing. Climbed trees, built tree houses and rope swings. We got really, really dirty when we played, and our parents never fussed. But we spent most of our daylight hours working. I grew up without shoes or a pretty dress. My hands were red and covered with blisters all the time from the lye I had to use to wash other people’s clothes and mop their floors, but I remember lots of joy and good food and family celebrations. It balanced out the bad parts, I suppose.”
“You needed some of my life and I needed some of yours.”
“I think you’re right.”
A part of him wanted to make her life easier so she’d never have to wash the clothes or mop the floors of others ever again. He wanted to gift her with closets filled with shoes and pretty dresses. He wanted to take her sailing. Walk with her through the streets of Madrid and Rome and buy her French pastry from the Parisian shops he’d visited with his grandfather. Again, he wondered what it would be like to have her in his life.
“Did your family do anything that was fun?” she asked.
“We went to lectures, abolitionist marches, and theater performances. My grandfather threw a large gathering for his birthday every year, and most of the city’s representative classwas invited, but it was always a dignified affair. People wore their Sunday best and discussed things like politics, the state of the race, and business deals.”
“No dancing or music?”
“No. I usually made an appearance when the guests arrived, then hid out in the attic and read until it was time to eat.”
“You value reading quite a bit.”
“I do. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, as I said before. My books were my companions.” When she looked away and stared out unseeingly, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
She didn’t respond at first, then said, “Nothing. Just thinking about another way we’re unevenly yoked.”
“Meaning?”
“If I share this with you and you laugh, I’ll never speak to you again. Ever.”
Her serious tone matched the fierce flash in her eyes.
He couldn’t imagine what this might be tied to, but he nodded in agreement.
“I can’t read. I mean—I can, but not very well. I left school when I was very young so I could help Mama feed us.”
His heart stopped. He knew some families took their children out of school to assist with planting and harvests; he just hadn’t expected to associate that with her because she was so clever and confident. As he took in her chin-raisedstance, his heart filled with emotion knowing she’d trusted him enough to share something so personal and private, but he wasn’t sure how to respond. The last thing he wanted was to destroy that trust by saying something inadvertently hurtful or belittling. He chose his words carefully. “Have you considered going back to school? Many places have classes in the evenings.”
She shook her head. “No, I think I’m too old to learn at my age.”
“But you aren’t too old. I can teach you if you’d like. We can use times like now, at the end of the workday.”
She turned her gaze back to the field surrounding the cottage and didn’t respond.
“Please let me help, Raven,” he implored softly. “I’d never yell at you or berate you. We could make it fun.” Admittedly, he’d never taught anyone to read before, and yet he felt the importance of this for her in his bones. He might not be able to take her to Paris, but this he could do.
“Let me think on it, okay?”