When they finally stood in front of the Livingstons’ fine house—carved wooden lintels and gleaming brass, beveled glass in tall windows aglow with candlelight, so that the whole gleamed like a treasure box—Jennet stopped to catch her breath.

Luke waited patiently beside her. He looked at ease, though she knew he was not; he had that knack, of hiding his feelings. She wished she had more of it. The borrowed clothes might not fit him exactly as they should, but no one would take note of that. They would see the blond hair smoothed back to a queue, and the strong nose and jaw and high brow, his suntanned face solemn above the stark white linen at his throat.

He smiled back, scar high on his cheekbone. It was small and white and curved like a quarter-moon.

The inconstant moon.

Jennet shook her head to dislodge that unwelcome echo. This was her husband, who would protect her and their son with his life. She squeezed his arm, and gave him a sincere smile.

He said, “All will be well, girl. I promise you that. Can you trust me?”

Jennet remembered, quite suddenly but very clearly, the day she had realized she loved him. She had been fifteen and furious because he had refused to let her ride out with the men.

When will you stop seeing a little girl when you look at me? she had asked him, and he had paused at the door and glanced at her over his shoulder. The look in his eyes had given her a very clear answer: He did see her as she wished to be seen.

He knows me, she had thought. And he loves me for who I am. It had been that simple.

“Let them do their worst,” Jennet said now. “I’m not afraid so long as we’re together.”

Chapter 33

Louisiana Gazette

News reached us late yesterday evening of a short-lived slave uprising in Whitehall County, Mississippi. We report the verified details of this horrible event to forestall rumors and panic.

Cedar Grove Plantation has been burned to the ground. The violence began when the slaves who were at work in the sugarhouse rose up and overpowered an overseer. Cedar Grove’s owner, M. Christophe Jardin, died when fire spread to his mansion. M. Jardin was an unmarried man, and to our certain knowledge he and his three overseers were the only casualties of this savagery. No other innocents died in the conflagration.

Some two dozen slaves escaped before neighbors and officials could gain control of the situation. It is our understanding that most of those runaways have already been caught, and those responsible for the uprising summarily executed, as justice demands.

Our local officials take great pains to point out that the rebellion at Cedar Grove is in no way part of a larger, more sinister plot. In this case, rumors that the uprising was incited by British spies are simply false. Officials in Whitehall County have satisfied themselves that what happened at Cedar Grove had other causes, specifically an owner who was too liberal with his slaves, and an overseer who was too trusting.

We are reminded of our responsibilities to those lesser creations who depend on us to instill in them the discipline, self-control, and Christian principles which are foreign to their natures.

Chapter 34

“It will be light in an hour,” Ben said into the dark. He sounded as sleepy as Hannah felt.

She said, “Do you have to go?”

He turned on his side. “I have to go. Do you have to stay?”

“No, I’m going back to the city.” She yawned. “I’ll walk out with you.”

But neither of them moved. Finally Hannah said, “I have this feeling that everything is changing. The whole world is changing around me, and it’s going to be hard to hold on.”

“It’s the war,” Ben said. “And me.”

She snorted a surprised laugh. “Such modesty.”

“Go on,” he said. “Deny it.” His voice was low and sure. And then: “I unsettle you. Have you figured out why?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Hannah said, and wished she could snatch back the words.

“Because we fit,” he said. “And you can’t pretend we don’t.”

“Are you talking about the fact that we’re both half white?”

He pushed himself up on an elbow. “That’s only part of it.”

It was odd, wanting to disagree and unable to find any flaw in his reasoning.

“We fit in some ways,” she said. “But not in the most important ones. You belong here, and I don’t.”

Ben traced a finger along her hairline. He seemed to be picking his words, but then he only shook his head. His smile sometimes made him look almost boyish. He said, “Come. Walk out with me.”

The freezing rain of last night might have been a dream, if it weren’t for the fact that Hannah’s clothes were still vaguely damp. The air was sweet and much warmer than she had expected. By the time they had finished saddling their horses and walked them out to the shell path the sky was full light.

Hannah glanced toward the kitchen and wondered if Tibère was still there with Caspar. He would be buried today, no doubt in secret. To announce to the world that a slave who had run away so many years ago had come back to die would bring a lot of unwanted attention. It would bring Honoré Poiterin, almost certainly, to make sure that his bad habits didn’t become public knowledge.

Ben was so quiet that Hannah thought he must be thinking about Caspar, too, or about Honoré.

She said, “How long will your company be stationed here?”

He turned as if he could see through the trees as far as the old Spanish fort, which stood on high ground at the point where the bayou met Lake Pontchartrain.