“And what do we do now?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“After you’re fully recovered, we’ll pack our bags. We’ll leave for London.”
“And what happens when they discover you aren’t who you said you were? You were supposed to report your findings to the coroner, remember?”
“By the time he realizes it was all a hoax, we’ll be long gone, making our new life together.” Kate nuzzles my shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Lil. Do you forgive me?”
“You frightened me. Terribly.”
“Look at me.” She turns me in her arms, fixing me with her eyes. “I’ll never hurt you again. Ever. In any way.” She shakes me gently. “Do you hear me? Iloveyou. You’re my wife. My North Star, my light.”
“I ... I love you, too,” I say.
“All is forgiven then, eh?” She grins at me playfully, raising a brow.
Though I accept her apology and stifle my bitterness, my feelings are in tumult. We have breakfast together in our room, and then Kate goes out to do the chores, leaving me bundled beneath the covers. By evening, I have a fierce headache, and my mood has soured even more, though I do my best to hide it. After Kate falls asleep, I sneak out of bed, and go up to the library. Ruby’s tablet is still there, with her name written across the slate in looping, even letters. She was so proud that day. She’d practiced writing her name, over and over. Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden. I miss her sweet smile. The way she bit her lip when forming her letters.
This can’t be all there is for me—becoming Kate’s doting wife. I reach up, feel the stubble at my temple, where she sheared off a lock of my hair to give to some pretty girl as a trophy. A souvenir. Kate didn’tconsider how that would make me feel. How my hair is one of my few vanities. She didn’t care about anything other than their applause. Their praise.
We spend the following days preparing for our trip. We pack two trunks with Kate’s favorite costumes, a few of Lucrezia’s altered dresses for me, and enough cookery and utensils to set us up in a new home. We give the chickens to the Gullah Geechee elders and learn that Ruby and her father successfully stowed away on a ship bound for Canada. It’s a relief to know they’re safe.
The day before our departure, Kate goes to town for a few necessary supplies for our journey, and I wander the house, poking in all the rooms, taking stock of the memories we’ve made here. Finally, I make my way up to the widow’s walk. Kate forbade me from going there, alone, due to the danger, but I want one last view of the marshes to capture in my memory forever—my place of salvation, where I discovered my first taste of freedom.
I climb the rickety stairs and emerge atop the roof as the sun sets. The view takes my breath away. The creeks and rivulets cut through the spartina, lit up like twisting roads made of molten gold. From here, I can see the hammock island where I built my hermitage, the lights of Mount Pleasant winking on in the dusk, and past that, the glittering sea beyond the harbor. I take a deep breath, leaning over the wrought iron balcony. It creaks under my weight and then gives way under my elbows, the iron rusted and weakened by the salt air. I step back as a section of it falls to the ground, far below. My heart gallops. If I’d leaned against it with my full weight, I’d have lost my balance and toppled over. Regretting my folly, I descend to the attic on shaky legs and stay there until I reclaim my senses.
Once night falls, I begin to worry. Kate told me her errand wouldn’t take long—that she merely needed to go into Mount Pleasant to pawnsome of the jewelry I’d stolen and shop for supplies. But as midnight passes, suspicion seeps along the edges of my mind. What if she’s double-crossed me? Tricked me? What if she’s already left for England, and never intended to take me with her at all?
When dawn breaks and she still hasn’t returned, I hastily dress and hide my face with my cloak. She’s taken our skiff, so I walk to the nearest wharf, hoping that one of the fishermen plying the morning waters will take me down to Mount Pleasant. It’s risky. And with the rising temperatures, my cloak will draw attention. But I cannot sit idly at Angel’s Rest, pacing the floors and worrying that Kate has betrayed me.
Luckily, an elderly Gullah fisherman rows by and offers to take me to town. I sit in the keel of his boat, my head lowered as he hums and checks his nets along the way. I give him a few coins from my pouch as payment, then make my way up the King’s Highway into town. Though it’s early, people are already out and about on their errands. I furtively scan the alleyways and shops, lingering in the shadows outside the pawnbroker’s to see if I can get a glimpse of Kate, to no avail. Finally, exasperated, I steel my spine and go into the shops to ask if anyone has seen a man fitting her description. She went out as Alex—in full gentleman’s dress, so as not to attract suspicion from the brokers.
But although I go from shop to shop, asking about my “husband,” the shopkeepers only shake their heads. I’m becoming hot, and agitated, and my worry has grown teeth. I debate hiring a skiff to take me back up the Wando to Angel’s Rest or boarding the ferry over to town proper. Finally, I decide on the latter. I won’t go back home until I find her. As the steamer churns across the Cooper, I stand against the railing, my fear rising as we pass White Point—that place of my greatest fear and humiliation. I swore I’d never set foot on the Peninsula again after that night. Yet here I am, on a fool’s errand for love.
Where is she? What has she done?
Do you trust her?
When the ferry makes port, I wait until all the other passengers have disembarked, then rush along the wharves, looking everywherefor her tall hat, her confident stride. Again, I search the pawnshops along the wharves, but she’s not there and no one has seen her. I have no idea where else I should look. My mind spins out in a thousand scenarios. Perhaps she has another lover. Or she’s gone to see Barbara, her paramour in yellow, one last time. Has Kate met her for a final farewell tryst? Eventually, the midday heat and my emotions get the best of me. I go inside Saint Michael’s to rest and cool off, tucking myself into a box near the back. I need water. And food. I rushed out this morning without eating. All this seems foolish. Every bit of it. I resent Kate for her inconstant heart and broken promises.
The church bells chime two o’clock. I’m only a few blocks from our Tradd Street rowhouse, and my mother, who thinks me a monster. But she loves me still—I saw it that night, at White Point. Suddenly, such a longing overtakes me. Such an undeniable, powerful yearning to see her one last time, and to say all the things I need to say before we’re parted forever.
I stand outside the ocher-painted door for a long time, thinking of the right words to say in greeting. A black crepe bunting adorns the lintel, and all the shutters are drawn. She’s still in mourning, then. Surely for Papa. But perhaps for me, too.
I lift the brass knocker and tap three times.
At first, I hear nothing. And then, from inside, a rustle of stiff skirts. The sound of paws scratching the door and Walter’s excited bark. The door opens, slowly. My mother stands there, blinking at me in confusion. “Yes? Is there something I might help you with?”
I lower my hood. She takes a step back, her hand flying up to cover her mouth and the whimper that follows. Walter dances at her side, hopping onto his hind legs and pawing at my skirts. Mother doesn’t say a word, only snatches my wrist and pulls me inside. She shuts the door and bolts it behind me.
Then I’m smothered in waves of black bombazine as she embraces me, her thick rose attar perfume clouding my senses. Walter nudges my hand, and I bury my fingers in his rough fur. Tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh, Lil,” Mother coos. “You’re here. It’s really you, isn’t it? This isn’t a dream?”
“Yes, Mama,” I say, pulling back to look at her. I wipe my eyes and smile, showing my teeth. “And I’m no monster, I promise you. It was all a ruse. But you mustn’t tell a soul. You mustn’t tell anyone you saw me, or that I came here.”
“Oh, Lil, I didn’t dare hope.” She squeezes my hand. “Yet here you are, as rosy-cheeked as I remember. You look well, daughter. Healthy. That color suits you,” she says, motioning to the blue walking suit I wear. One of Lucrezia’s, altered to fit me. Of course she would focus on my appearance, but I glow under the light of her approval all the same.
She leads me into the parlor, its velvet curtains drawn to block out the afternoon light. Walter trails us, his tail still wagging excitedly. “Come, sit. I’ll lay out tea.”
