Stella Bradford was already seated on his left, wrapped in green velvet, with lace on her sleeves, and Rhody sat across the table from her. His father was at the head of the table, his mother at its foot. Beside his father were Stella’s parents, and Mr.and Mrs.Morris, who owned the moccasin-infested creek, sat on the opposite end.
It appeared that his mother had distracted herself by decorating this afternoon. Strips of silky white were draped from the chandelier to each corner of the ceiling, and a silver candelabrum with white candles stood as the table’s centerpiece. In front of each place setting was a spray of red flowers, displayed in a slender glass vase beside the goblets of sherry.
“How was your journey?” Stella asked.
“Tolerable,” he replied. “It was snowing when I took the train through New York.”
“How I wish we would get snow this year.” Stella swirled the sherry in her goblet. “It makes everything look so magical.”
His father’s chair scraped against the wood as he stood and began to pray over the meal, an elaborate show of thanksgiving. Alden glanced around the table at all the heads bowed in prayer. How could his parents and Rhody enjoy this meal knowing that Benjamin was shackled out in the barn? That he was hurting and hungry?
His gaze landed on Thomas, who was waiting along the wallpapered wall with a silver platter in his gloved hands. His mother must have instructed Victor and Eliza’s coachman to assist the other house slaves with dinner, but he didn’t see Isaac.
In all the confusion, he’d forgotten about the boy who didn’t seem to realize he was a slave. Poor Isaac. He might be dreaming about California, but there would be no future for him outside Virginia. No schooling and no freedom even to speak his mind. His tongue would have to be lassoed for a lifetime.
After his father finished praying, Thomas stepped forward to place a fricandeau of veal on each plate. Even though the smell was intoxicating, Alden’s appetite had waned.
His mother lifted her fork. “It’s your favorite, Alden.”
“I fear my tastes have changed.”
“Oh, Alden.” Rhody laughed. “Don’t be so disagreeable.”
Part of him wished he could block out Benjamin’s face and his agony, like the rest of them. He was tired of feeling so helpless. Trapped.
Tonight, both he and Benjamin would break free.
“Did you find your slave?” Mr.Morris asked.
His father nodded. “Rhody found him for me.”
“It wasn’t hard,” she replied. “He left tracks across the church foyer.”
John took another bite of the braised veal. “Rhody’s better than any of my hound dogs.”
A proud smile slid across his sister’s face again, her youth evident in the ribbons that Mammy had woven through her blonde hair, but she was growing more mature each time he came home. And more like the man who’d reared her.
“Father taught me well.”
Alden shook his head. Even if his sister hadn’t spent hours listening to the lectures of abolitionists, how had her heart grown so cold? Alden was six years older than Rhody, but Benjamin was only four years her senior. Rhody and Benjamin had played together for years, from the time she’d been old enough to stumble over the wooden blocks in the nursery.
Rhody sipped gingerly on her sherry before changing the subject. “I heard Robert Kelly just returned from California.”
Mr.Morris leaned forward, an extra layer of flesh bulging above his collar. “Did he find his gold?”
Rhody dabbed her napkin on her lips. “Claims he brought enough home to save their plantation.”
“At least he’s doing something to help his father,” John said, pushing away his plate.
Alden ignored the slight.
“TheDaily Dispatchsaid millions of dollars’ worth of gold are buried out there.”
“Then I wonder why he came home,” Alden said.
Rhody glanced over at him. “I’d go to California if I could.”
His mother set down her spoon. “There are no ladies out west.”
