I must wait and see, even visit Nathan tonight if I have to. I vowed to stop eavesdropping, but a visit by Miss Sweetie—well, Jo Kuan, now that I have been unmasked—would be okay. This is business, after all.
Outside, Old Gin shuffles up between Sweet Potato and Frederick. The horses’ necks turn adoringly toward him. My own heart is a sparrow’s nest of emotions for the old man: love, annoyance, gratitude, and injury, threaded with worry. He could look in every nook and cranny Atlanta has to offer, but it would take him years to find three hundred dollars’ worth of change. His gaze meets mine, his eyes dark like printer’s ink, with smudges under the eyes. He needs a rest.
Caroline scratches at a dry patch on her forehead. The red puffiness on her face has mellowed into a flaky pink. “Oh, bother.”
“Miss, is everything all right?”
“Obviously not. Wait here.” She stomps back into the house, probably to rub more lard into her forehead.
Old Gin holds Sweet Potato steady for me. “Thank you for minding the burrows, daughter. How are you?”
I bite my tongue, which longs to wag about the three-hundred-dollar debt. But it would upset him greatly to know that I went to see Billy Riggs, and in the company of Nathan Bell, too. Once trust is lost, it is a mountain of gravel to reclimb.On the other hand, what is a mountain of gravel compared to the never-ending hole of debt? What we need is a solution, one that cannot be found right now, with Caroline’s footsteps punching the hallway. “I am well. And you?”
“Pretty good.” Old Gin tilts his chin toward me, the way he does when he’s listening for the unspoken words. I have trouble meeting his gaze, as if doing so might crack the egg of my resolve and all my messy secrets will come spilling out.
Caroline emerges through the front door looking no different from when she entered. Her black hat, maybe to match her mood, comes to a point in the front. Taken with her gunmetalgray riding habit, her figure puts me in mind of a crow, those most cunning birds known for bullying others twice their size. “Let us be off. I have an appointment to keep,” she snipes, as if she wasn’t the reason for her own delay.
We have hardly made it off the property when a rider on a black stallion appears.
Caroline pulls up on her rein. “Merritt!”
Ameer chugs merrily toward us, his mane rising like black smoke off a locomotive with every sure step. Unlike the horse, the Payne heir is not in good form. His normally erect shoulders stoop as if trying to touch, and his head crooks to one side. “Good afternoon, ladies. Fine day for a ride, isn’t it?” He attempts a devilish smile, but it comes out as strained as the whey through a cheesecloth.
“Why do you look so down in the mouth?” Caroline demands.
“I think I just had my heart flambéed.”
Sweet Potato fidgets under me, eager to fly.
“What do you mean?”
“Doused in alcohol and set on fire.”
Caroline tosses her eyes to the canopy of the magnolia we’re standing under. “By whom?”
“The blue-blooded Jane Bentley of Boston. She broke off our engagement. Apparently she’s an admirer of that Miss Sweetie. She told me she’d rather be single than chained to a bore for a lifetime.”
I choke on my own saliva and begin to cough. With an impatient huff, Caroline moves Frederick away from me, as if choking were infectious. “Good riddance. She had an apple-juice smell about her and not in a good way. And why is everyone so stuck on this Miss Sweetie?”
Merritt picks up his smile. “Why, sister, are you jealous?”
“You are insufferable.” Caroline kicks off.
“I am sorry, sir,” I tell him.
“Father will probably disown me.”
“He would not want you in an unhappy marriage.”
He swats at a cloud of gnats. “My father owns a paper mill. Jane’s owns a lumber mill. That is two broken engagements. Miss Sweetie’s opinion might work in theory, but it is hardly realistic for people like us. Marriages need not be happy as long as they are mutually advantageous.” That’s his father speaking. “Plus, she wasn’t that bad.”
Apparently, the same could not be said of Merritt Payne.
He rolls his wrist and bows.
I set off after Caroline, wondering if a bruised ego feels the same as a broken heart, and if so, does knowing the difference shorten the recovery time? Miss Sweetie doesn’t worry aboutMerritt. The roses of wealth and good looks tied with the bud of youth open many doors.
Sweet Potato kicks up grass and scatters the crows, bringing us even with my lady in no time. Caroline seems to hardly notice us walking beside her. She keeps playing with her lace collar, folding it up in the demure style, and then flipping it down for a more casual look. Her hat moves from the mansions on our left to a field of long grass on our right, and then into the boughs of a pine. I sense she is looking for Mr. Q. Though, of course, why would he be hiding in a tree?
