“Bear!” Nathan slaps his thigh twice. She hastens back to his side and quiets, though her tail thumps like a landed fish. “Pardon me. But it’s rather late to be leaving letters.” Nathan’s gruff voice sounds weighted by weariness. He’s still wearing his day clothes, but his shirt is untucked and his sleeves are unbuttoned, as if he were about to undress. Before I can flee, he adjusts the knob of an oil lamp to burn brighter.
I retreat to a spot halfway between the door and the stairs, and turn my back. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” I call over my shoulder. My voice comes out too girlishly high, and I clear my throat loudly, trying to find a lower range.
“MissSweetie, is it?” Nathan’s voice perks up. He is holding my letter and reading the envelope where I’d written, To: Mr. Nathan Bell, From: Miss Sweetie.
I shrink farther into the shadows and summon a self-important madam’s voice, one that sounds suspiciously like Mrs. English. “Yes. Miss Sweetie, that’s me.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you face to, er, back.”
“As you might recall, I’ve requested anonymity.”
“Don’t leave yet,” he orders, then belatedly tacks on aplease. “I was hoping to discuss a matter with you.”
“A matter?”
“Your letters of admiration.”
“My what?”
“Letters.” His shoulders tug with the effort of restraining Bear. “People have been dropping them into our mail slot all day, which is why it’s a bit cantankerous. I think the springs have twisted. Sorry about your sleeve.”
“What do these letters say?”
“Wait a moment, and I’ll fetch them.”
Before I can answer, Nathan disappears with Bear.
As much as I want to know about these letters, every moment standing here I risk discovery. Passing as white is a punishable offense whose severity depends on who is duped and to what degree. If it were discovered that a lowly Chinese girl dispensed courtship advice to hundreds, if not thousandsof Atlanta women, I would get jail time if I was lucky. If not, I could get an angry mob on my heels, reminding me never to make that mistake again. I have dipped my toe into too deep a pond, and now an alligator must surely be on its way up. Chinese people can’t be advice columnists. I thought we could be hatters, but clearly I was wrong about that, too.
While I clutch my sleeves, Nathan reappears holding letters tied with twine. Bear barks another greeting. “I read some of them. I wasn’t quite sure if you’d... be back. Anyway, not all of it is admiration, but the main thing is that you provoked a discussion, and that’s our motto.”
I think of the drawing of a microscope that adorns the front page of every issue of theFocus, below which is printed,to feed public discourse that such may achieve an enlightened citizenry. “I’m pleased at the enthusiasm. Have you received more subscriptions?”
“Forty-two today, and none lost. It’s incredible. I suppose we have you to thank.”
If theFocusneeds a hundred subscribers each week until April, or fifty new subscribers for each edition, I will have to do better.
He rubs his arms. “You should come in unless you want to catch a draft. I promise not to... look.”
“No, it is late.”
“How did you get here? Do you have an escort? I don’t see anyone.” He tries to peer beyond me, though I shift around, blocking his view.
“Yes. He is not far. In fact, there he is now,” I lie, searching the empty streets as if I can actually see someone.
“Take the letters. You might get ideas for future columns.” He holds out the bundle. The familiar smells of the shop beckon me—printer’s ink, lemon oil, the charred hickory used in the fireplace, and other scents I can’t identify but that taken together smell like home.
“Toss them here.”
He sizes me up, now facing him directly. “Er, will you catch them?”
“No, I shall let them give me a black eye.” Then I could definitely wear an eye patch. “Be quick about it.”
He tosses the bundle, and I snatch them easily.
“Will you be sending regular posts? Er, not to press a thumb on you. Wearegrateful, in case that wasn’t—”
“I will do my best,” I interrupt, sure he can see every dot and crease on my face through my hat brim. “I’ll send the posts a day or two before publication. Is that acceptable?”
