“Cecily?” her mother says in a sharp whisper. “Is that you?”
“Shhh,” Cecily says. She moves like lightning to the side of her mother’s bed and touches her finger to her lips.
“Mama, listen to me,” she says in the quietest voice she can manage. “I gotta talk to you, but we can’t do it here. Nobody can know I’m back.”
Della pulls her head back to get a better look at Cecily. Like she is trying to figure out if it’s her daughter’s spirit visiting her house or the real thing. “What you mean?” she says slowly.
“Quiet,” Cecily whispers, then moves toward the door. “Come with me.”
When Cecily glances over at the pallet in front of the fire, she is relieved to find Moses asleep, the little girls curled up around him like cats.
A jacket hangs on a peg by the door. It used to belong to Master Price, and when it became too threadbare, he gave it to Cecily’s papa, who eventually passed it on to Moses. Cecily doesn’t even ask if she can take it. She is so desperate to get warm she discards her shawl and wraps herself in the soft, quilted flannel, which smells like her mother’s cooking fire and the rosemary and thyme she hangs from the beams to dry.
Cecily cracks the door open, and when she is sure the path is clear, she leads her mother down the steps, around the side of the cabin, and through the woods. They walk in silence for several minutes, guided by the light of the moon, until they get close enough to the river that Cecily can be sure anything they say will be drowned out by the sound of the water rushing by.
“The fire’s bad, Mama,” Cecily starts. “The place was packed, and the flames spread quick.”
“I’m just glad you’re—”
“Don’t get glad yet. Hold on.” Cecily takes a deep breath. “Lots of folks is dead. A hundred. Maybe more. Some of the people dead from jumping out the windows, trying to get away from the flames. Other people burned up inside, no hope of getting anywhere.”
Della clasps her hand to her mouth and closes her eyes, and Cecily is certain she is praying. Praying for all those souls, yes. But also thanking God that her daughter’s body and soul are still one and the same thing.
“Mama?”
Della opens her eyes. The whites of them shine in the dark.
“What I got is a unique opportunity.”
Her mother starts shaking her head.
“Hear me out,” says Cecily. “The building will be gone by morning, all them bodies with it. No one’s going to be able to identify any of them.”
“What are you saying, child?”
Cecily takes a deep breath. “I’m saying if everyone thinks I’m dead, I might finally be able to be free.”
SALLY
In the middle of thenight, there is a knock on Mrs. Cowley’s front door, and Sally opens it to find an older gentleman standing on the front porch. He has a wiry frame, his coat hangs on a pair of stooped shoulders, and while he may have been clean-shaven a day ago, the whiskers on his face now bear a long shadow.
“Mrs. Cowley sent for a surgeon,” he says by way of an introduction, and Sally nearly screams in delight. “My name is Dr. Foushee.”
“Please, come in,” she says and ushers him inside. “A neighbor was out twice, trying to track someone down, and he came back empty-handed both times.”
“It’s hard to find anybody,” he acknowledges. “I know of at least two physicians who were injured in the fire or are missing.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” says Sally as she shuts the door behind him.
“Is Mrs. Cowley in?”
“She just stepped out.” What Sally doesn’t tell him, because it’s not her place, is that there’s been a steady stream of colored families at Mrs. Cowley’s back door, and that when a woman, whose husband worked as an attendant at the theater, showed up screaming about burns up and down his body, Mrs. Cowley had gathered a few supplies and taken off running.
The doctor takes one look at Mr. Scott, who lies at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he hands Sally his leather valise and begins to unbutton his coat. “Is this the patient?”
“No,” says Sally, but Mr. Scott’s condition has so thoroughly captured the doctor’s attention that there is no pulling him away.
“This is the new delegate from Fauquier County,” he says as he inspects Mr. Scott’s burns.
