Della knows better than to say anything. She just lets the two of them stew in an awkward silence.
“Well, regardless,” Elliott says finally. “This should be all the patrol needs to track our girl down.”
Della mutters something, but Cecily can’t hear what. Apparently, Elliott didn’t catch it either because he asks her to repeat herself.
“I said,” says Della as clear as a bell, “she’s notyourgirl.”
Elliott laughs. “We got a set of papers that says different.”
“You been all over her since she was a bitty thing. Your daddy won’t tell it to you straight, but I will. That girl has the same blood you do, and what you done to her these last years is an abomination in the eyes of God.”
Cecily squeezes her eyes shut. So, the rumor is true. All this time, the answer to the question she’s been too afraid to ask had been right on the tip of her mama’s tongue.
Gilbert gives her a pitying look, which she ignores. Then, because she cannot stand not knowing, she asks, “Does my papa know?”
He nods once, real slow, then whispers, “Always has.”
Cecily is stunned, but she doesn’t have time to think about what it all means because Elliott and Della are in each other’s faces—Elliott telling Della he doesn’t have to listen to her lies, and her screaming, “Yes, you do. And I ain’t lying when I tell you that Cecily is with God, and that I am glad he saw fit to take her out of this wretched place.”
Listening to her mama stand up to Elliott, after all these years of watching him take exactly what he pleased, fills Cecily with gratitude. But the feeling doesn’t last because the next thing Cecily knows, Della is laid out in the middle of the street, blood pouring from her nose.
“Mama,” Cecily moans, and starts to move out from behind the cabin, but Gilbert grabs her by the arm and pulls her back.
“She knows what she’s doing,” he whispers as they listen to Elliott haul her mother onto her feet.
“All of you, get up into the yard,” Elliott shouts, loud enough to be heard by every slave in the quarters. “We’re about to find out where Cecily is, once and for all.”
SALLY
The Prices’ carriage is rollingdown H Street, when Sally notices a sheaf of papers on the seat opposite Maria and her.
She flips through them, realizes they’re runaway flyers, and shows them to Maria. “Is your brother serious?”
“Reading makes me nauseous,” Maria says, closing her eyes. “Tell me what they say.”
Sally begins to read aloud, and when she gets to the last line, she waits for Maria to say something.
“He is completely serious.”
Sally waves the papers in the air. “What is the matter with him? More than fifty women died, including plenty of colored women. Why is it so preposterous that Cecily should be among them?”
Maria sighs and leans her head on Sally’s shoulder. “He’s been infatuated with her my whole life.”
“And she with him?”
“God no,” says Maria quickly. “He’s made her life miserable. Won’t leave her alone.”
“Do you mean…” Sally can’t say the words out loud, but she doesn’t need to.
Maria nods once, then looks out the window. They are passing the canal, and there is a barge in the lock. “He’s meant to be married next week. Did you know that?”
“Married?” Sally is so startled she has to check to make sure her mouth is not hanging open. No one in the family, including Elliott, has said one word to her about an engagement.
“Though with all of the funerals, it hardly seems the proper time for a wedding.”
“Who is he marrying?” Sally asks when she recovers herself.
“Our cousin, Lavinia Price,” says Maria. “She’s a nitwit, and her father’sin a great deal of debt. So, I think my parents are hoping my aunt and uncle will turn a blind eye to most everything he does.”
