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concession was very open-minded of him.
    With a nudge of his bootheels, he urged the gelding toward the overseer. "Brewster," Jackson said with a nod. "How goes the work today?"
    "The soil is wet, but the weeds not too plentiful," the man said, wiping his balding head with a cloth.
    "We've had no rain this week, but I see the river is up."
    Brewster settled his hat on balding head. "Might be a good idea to build up this levee a bit, just in case the snowmelt upriver pushes the Old Man over his banks."
    "See to it, then. Weeding will do us little good if the cotton is underwater."
    Brewster wiped his head again. "It'll be done."
    Jackson nodded, then turned the gelding back toward the house. He wondered what he'd find when he walked in this time. If there was a God in heaven, Miss Randi Mae Galloway would appear more like a proper young lady and less like a lowly field hand.
    Then perhaps he could deal with her better, more objectively. And he would find out why she'd claimed to be a friend of Miss Agnes Delacey . . . and Rose's new governess.
    #
    After tea and toast, corsets and lacing, Randi felt much more like a genteel Southern lady. Unfortunately, she'd learned that eating and lacing didn't go together very well, and that using the primitive facilities in yards of petticoats and skirts was not the easiest task a woman had ever performed.
    As a matter of fact, she'd gotten so tired from her ordeal of fitting and dressing that she needed a nap. In her time, she'd slept about one hour since midnight. Right now she should be sound asleep, about three hours away from the buzz of the alarm clock that got her up each morning at seven o'clock.
    She glanced at the stack of her comfortable clothing, neatly folded on the room's only chair, and wondered if she should hide these twentieth century garments. Probably. Jackson Durant would no doubt order them destroyed since he found her so repulsive. And her fanny pack! Fortunately, he'd ignored that item when asking questions earlier. She couldn't let him get his hands on her money, driver's license, or keys. She wouldn't be able to explain those so easily.
    "Loosen up this dress, will you, Melody?" she asked one of the two servants who'd played lady's maid and seamstress for the last hour.
    "Yes, ma'am," the girl said, tackling the endless row of hooks and eyes that ran from neck to hips on the less fancy of the three dresses they'd brought in for her to try on.
    "How is Mr. Durant to work for?" Randi asked in a conversational tone as Melody continued her task.
    "The master is just fine, ma'am," she replied in a respectful, almost automatic tone of voice.
    "No, I mean really. Is he short-tempered, mean, unreasonable?"
    "No, ma'am."
    "Would you tell me if he were?"
    The girl was silent for a long time, but Randi felt her fingers working on the fastenings near her waist. Soon they were all undone, and Melody tackled the laces on the corset they'd convinced her was necessary for all ladies.
    "The master is fine," she finally said.
    "He seems a little angry to me. I wonder if he's always been that way?"
    "I wouldn't know, ma'am. I've just been here the last year, after Miss Pansy married the master."
    Pansy? His dearly departed wife's name was Pansy? Well, Randi supposed that was an appropriate name for a Southern belle. And with their daughter's name of Rose, Jackson Durant had a whole flower motif going. To him, accustomed to such feminine names, the name Randi must seem totally wrong.
    But Pansy? Oh, well. Randi shrugged out of the dress, leaving on the camisole and pantaloons they'd insisted she wear instead of her underwire bra and serviceable cotton bikini underwear with the Mickey Mouse logo.
    "I'm going to take a nap now," she announced. "Thanks for all your help, and I'm really grateful that we didn't have to alter much on the dresses. At the moment, I'm just too tired to appreciate them. Could one of you wake me for dinner? I've got a feeling I'm going to be famished."
    The two