Margaret sat at the base of a giant oak, staring up at the tendrils of Spanish moss hanging from the wide branches. She was trying to think of a more fitting description for the color other than "pale green" but was finding her creativity severely lacking at the moment. She had other things on her mind, and her thoughts danced and drifted in a way that made it impossible to concentrate.

She spied Eliza emerge from the main house and start in her direction, and she felt an unwelcome qualm in the pit of her stomach. She had come out here precisely to avoid her sister, but there was no dodging her now. When at last Eliza reached the spot where she sat, she stood looking down at her, one dark brow raised and an indignant shape to her mouth. Still, she did not speak.

"Well," Margaret said, annoyed. "If you have something to say, I suggest you say it."

Eliza's gaze was unwavering. She snorted through her nose, a sound Margaret had never heard her sister make until now. "What is it between you and William?" she demanded.

Margaret clasped her hands in her lap and held her gaze steady. "Willy and I are friends. You know that."

Eliza's eyes hardened. "I think you know I am not speaking of mere friendship."

Margaret rose and Eliza took an involuntary step back. "Are you suggesting that Willy and I are embroiled in some torrid love affair?"

Both brows went up at that. "Are you?"

"Of course not. You're being ridiculous, Sister. Willy has been in the colony but a few days."

"Do not patronize me," Eliza said, nostrils flaring.

Margaret bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Patronize you? Honestly, Eliza, you are imagining things that aren't true."

Margaret turned to walk away, but Eliza grabbed her arm, holding her in place. "I know you think I am a fool," she said. "You and Father and the rest of the family."

"I think no such thing," Margaret said.

"I am not blind, Meg. For years I have watched the way you look at Willy."

"And what way is that?" Margaret wondered, more amused than concerned.

"Like he is yours."

Margaret did laugh then, which, judging by the look on her sister's face, only made her all the angrier. "You have a very active imagination," she said, still laughing. "Perhaps you should pursue the theater."

She tried to pull free, but Eliza was surprisingly strong. She dug her fingernails into Margaret's arm. "William thinks of you as a younger sister and nothing more."

"Is that what he told you?" Margaret said. "Or is that what you tell yourself?"

Eliza's cheeks bloomed with red, but she finally released her hold on Margaret. "Why did he go after you that day when you fled the parlor?"

"He was concerned for me," Margaret said, which was the truth. "Mother was speaking of Caroline, remember? She was our sister, our blood, and yet this family acts as though Mother is the only one allowed to grieve. Talking about her causes me great pain, too, even all these months later. No amount of time will mend my broken heart."

Tears shone in Eliza's eyes as she nodded. "I understand," she said. "I do. But what I don't understand," she added, more vehemently, "is why you chose to reveal yourself to Willy. Why did you expose what we are? You know the risk."

"It was unintentional," Margaret said. "I was . . . emotional. You know what happens when our emotions get the better of us."

"Yes," Eliza said. "I am well aware."

The neighing of horses reached them on the wind from the adjacent field, momentarily interrupting their conversation.

"Fair warning," Eliza said with sudden malice in her voice. "If you dare take from me the one thing that matters most, rest assured I will one day return the favor."

She turned on her heel then and marched away, leaving Margaret staring after her, her mouth hanging open in an unattractive gape. She heard laughing coming from somewhere nearby and turned in circles, trying to locate the sound.

"God's teeth!" Margaret exclaimed when she spied her brother in the branches of a neighboring oak. "How long have you been lurking up there?"

Thomas swung down from above. "Long enough," he said. "You've really made a mess of things, haven't you?"

"It's not my fault," Margaret said, brushing off imaginary dirt from her dress while avoiding her brother's penetrating gaze. "If Willy had only stayed in England . . ."

Thomas sighed and looped his arm through Margaret's. "Yes, if Willy had only stayed in England. Let's walk, shall we? I believe a little fresh air and exercise will do you good."

Margaret didn't want to go for a walk, though she didn't protest as Thomas led them down the road.

They made their way slowly, even by human standards, for they could afford to take their time. They passed Artemis and Apollo chasing each other in the field and playing equine games. It buoyed Margaret's spirits to see the twins happy. As they kept walking, they came upon the slaves harvesting indigo.

"I enjoy their singing," Thomas remarked, pulling them to a stop at the edge of the field.

"Are we not going to town?" Margaret wondered. "I could do with a drink."

"Patience," Thomas replied. "I want to listen."

Margaret stood without complaint. Their singing was beautiful and, for the time being at least, the music took her mind off other things.

"Do you believe that slavery is an affront to morality?" Thomas asked suddenly.

Margaret blinked. "Pardon?"

"Do you believe that owning another person is wrong on a moral level?"

"No," Margaret answered succinctly. "Slaves are nothing more than property. They are barbarous savages from the wild."

"Is that truly what you think about them, those people?"

"They are not people, Thomas. I doubt they are even human. Really, those who own slaves are doing them a great service."

She saw Thomas wince, though he didn't immediately reply. After a few moments, however, he spoke again.

"In the north, there are those who have realized the horror of holding others against their will."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Brother, do not think for one moment that our northern brethren are morally superior to you or me or anyone else. Slavery is an economic institution. After all, who would work these fields if not the slaves? And if no one worked the fields, how would the colony prosper?"

"I would think that you, being a woman, would have some compassion for their state of affairs," Thomas said, nodding in the slaves' direction.

Margaret looked at him, aghast. "Whatever for? I may be a woman, but father did not raise me to be weak."

"No, he did not," Thomas agreed.

Margaret elbowed him in the side, which made him smile. This conversation was becoming entirely too serious, in her opinion. "Listen to them singing," she said. "Surely they are not unhappy."

"But how can we know that?" Thomas said. "We do not speak their language. We do not know what is in their hearts or minds."

Margaret sighed. "Abigail gave me, and all of us, a great gift. I harbor no ill will for the slaves, Tommy, but they are property."

"They are people," Thomas insisted.

Margaret took her brother by the hand and began pulling him away. "We all have our place in this world," she said. "We just happen to be at the top. It would serve you well to remember that. Now, come. Let us make our way to town and find our supper."

*****

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