It was Mr. Abernathy's rule that whenever they ventured into town, they did not go alone. For safety, he said. Whether it was to protect the townspeople from unintentional slaughter, or themselves from accidental discovery, Margaret did not know. Nor did she particularly care. Whatever the reason, she did not mind the company of her brother or sister.

Most days.

Today, Margaret left the house on her own, without an escort. She doubted she would be missed in any event. Her father was away on business, embroiled in political matters as he seemed to always be these days. Her mother had secluded herself in her room, purposely starving herself. And Tommy and Eliza were off somewhere together, pretending to be human doing charitable deeds among the Friends of the Quaker establishment. Oh, the irony!

Margaret walked with purposeful strides down the road, churning up motes of red-clay dust with her boots. She should have called for a carriage, but the horses could not tolerate her presence and she didn't want to torture them so. Besides, she was strong now, stronger than she had ever been as a human, and the physical exertion did not bother her. She craved it, in fact. Walking was a distraction to the other cravings she felt, as well, which could be very bothersome.

A gentle breeze brought with it the sound of low-pitched humming from the adjacent field. Margaret paused, craning her head. They were neighbors to an indigo plantation, and she often heard the indistinct singing of the slaves in the fields as they harvested leaves to be processed for dye. Caroline had possessed a lovely voice, forever singing little poems and rhymes learned from the nursery maid or cook. Margaret had never felt inclined to sing, believing it too silly, but now there was no one to hear. She cleared her throat and, resting her fingers on her slender neck just under her chin, attempted a tentative hum. The vibration of her voice felt odd, but not unpleasant. She tried it again, this time opening her mouth, but the resulting sound was more monotone than musical. The rich baritone humming in the field stopped abruptly and she froze. Had they heard her? But then the humming soon resumed. Margaret let out the breath she had been holding and continued on her way, her lips pressed tight together.

After another half hour of walking, Margaret made it to town and found the house she had since learned belonged to Willy's uncle. Mr. Edgar Roberts was his name, a merchant who oversaw the export of goods such as tobacco, fish, and rice. Judging by his home, he had done very well for himself.

Smoothing her dress, Margaret made her way up the walk and raised her hand to the door. A moment later, a young woman answered.

"I am here to see the master of this house," Margaret said to the maid.

The maid, who was no older than she, gave her a strange look and peered over her shoulder into the street beyond. Margaret pursed her lips. Had she been thinking, she would have brought her brother, but this was an errand for which she wished no interference. Still, it was not appropriate to call on a gentleman without a male escort present. She wondered if there would ever come a time in which women were not defined by men or viewed as somehow deficient.

Margaret squared her shoulders. "I am Margaret Abernathy. The governor's daughter."

The maid seemed unmoved. "Mr. Roberts isn't home."

"When will he return?" Margaret asked.

"I cannot say," the maid answered. "He has gone to the dock."

"Then I will wait."

The maid's eyes widened. "But˗˗"

Margaret took a step forward. "Invite me in."

The maid blinked but moved aside, opening the door wider. "Please, come in."

"Thank you," Margaret replied, stepping around her.

"You can wait in there," the maid said, indicating a room down the hall and to the right. "Can I offer you refreshment?"

"I don't believe you have what I want," Margaret replied. At the maid's confused look, she added, "No, thank you. I am fine."

The maid gave a curtsy and left the room, leaving Margaret alone with her thoughts once more.

She had started off without a concrete plan of what she would say to Mr. Roberts, but the walk had afforded her some clarity of mind. She would explain to him that Eliza no longer loved Willy, that time and distance had allowed her to see that their relationship had been juvenile, a game that they had played at. Willy must move on.

Margaret swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was doing this for Eliza, she reminded herself. So why did it hurt so much? She had managed to put Willy out of her mind since arriving in the colony, but speaking of him with Eliza had conjured memories of a past life and, with them, feelings she could not afford to entertain.

She did not know how long she had been sitting there—it could have been minutes or hours—but she heard the door open and men's voices raised in jovial laughter. She rose abruptly, recognizing one of the voices. Willy was here! In the colony! But how was that possible? She looked frantically about the room for escape, some door she could run through and never look back, but there was none. It didn't matter in any case. Nerves had rooted her to the spot. The maid had already gone to the door to greet them, and Margaret heard her announce that "Miss Abernathy" was presently waiting in the common room.

"Eliza?" Willy asked. There was no mistaking the elation in his voice.

Jealousy sparked.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," she said as Willy rushed into the room, only to stop short at the sight of her.

It was difficult to gauge the expression on his face, though he didn't appear unhappy to see her. In fact, he appeared quite ecstatic.

"I am not disappointed at all!" Willy said, gathering her in his arms and giving her a spin. "Surprised and overjoyed is more like it."

Despite herself, she wrapped her arms around Willy, breathing in deeply as she relaxed into his embrace. He felt like home, as it had once been. "It is very nice to see you," she said, meaning it.

They broke apart and Willy held her at arm's length. "You look well, Meg. Truly. Uncle!" he called. "Come meet the younger Miss Abernathy."

Mr. Roberts, having held back, entered the room. "The governor's daughter," he replied genially. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I had the pleasure of meeting your sister Eliza some weeks back."

"Why did no one write?" Willy asked, getting straight to it. His eyes were filled with a sadness that broke Margaret's heart.

Mr. Roberts cleared his throat. "I will leave you two alone to talk," he said and left the room.

Willy led her to the couch and gestured for her to sit. "When I received word about the ship," he said, "I thought you and your family were lost for good. I was . . . devastated. But then I received news from my uncle that you had arrived, after all." He grasped Margaret's hand and squeezed. "Though I am very sorry about Caroline. I said many prayers for her soul."

"Thank you," Margaret said. "It was a terrible journey."

"But why didn't you write?" Willy pressed. "I received nothing from no one, not even Eliza."

Margaret withdrew her hand from his. "I did not anticipate seeing you today, Willy."

"I only just got off the ship."

"Then I will go," she said, standing. "No doubt you are tired. You need your rest."

"I do not need rest," he said. "I feel quite alive, in fact." He took her hand and pulled her down next to him once more.

Margaret cleared her throat. "I came to see your uncle, Willy. To deliver a message intended for you."

"Oh? What message?"

"I will get straight to it then." Margaret took a deep breath. "I am afraid Eliza no longer loves you."

Willy blinked. "What?"

"The reason she did not write is because she does not want to marry you."

Willy didn't say anything for a moment. "And you?"

"What about me?" Margaret asked sharply.

Willy gave her an indulgent smile. "Are we really going to play this game?"

Margaret got to her feet and put distance between them. "Willy, we cannot be together," she hissed, her voice pitched low.

Willy stood and advanced, taking her in his arms. "I love Eliza. I do. But it's you I want."

Margaret shook her head. "You wouldn't say that if you really knew me, Willy."

"But I do know you," he said.

"No, you don't. I have changed."

"I can see that," Willy said, his eyes raking hungrily over her body.

Margaret's insides twisted and her gums ached. She tried to wriggle free, but he was strong. And determined. "Willy, please."

"I have missed you, Meg," he said, holding her closer.

"Willy, let go!"

He did as she commanded and she took a step back. "I must go," she said, her breathing coming quick.

"May I call on you?" he said, trailing after her as she fled toward the door.

"I don't think that would be wise, William," she said, stepping out into the bustling street, feeling like she could finally breathe again.

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. "Then I am a fool."

*****

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