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opportunity. Sometimes she thought about leaving Texas and heading for Paris, because her ancestors had been French.
    Unfortunately, the news from Paris wasn't rosy either. The monarchists had taken over the government last April, after the collapse of the Paris Commune.Now they squabbled among themselves over power, some factions aligned with the Count of Chambord, others behind the Count of Paris, and a few backing the Bonapartists.
    Vanessa threw down the newspaper in dismay. Wherever she turned, obstacles appeared. She'd believed that her husband's fortune would bring happiness, but she still felt strangely unfulfilled.
    There was a knock, and she guessed it was her maid. She opened the door, and a tall strong-boned Negro woman whom she'd never seen stood before her. “Maxine can't come today, but I'm her sister, and I'll do a good job for you, you'll see.”
    Vanessa still hadn't adjusted to Negroes who hired themselves for wages and quit whenever they felt like it. “What's your name?”
    â€œLonnie Mae.”
    â€œWhy can't Maxine come today?”
    â€œI don't rightfully know.”
    She knows, Vanessa figured, but doesn't want to tell me. It was the same at the plantation, with slaves scheming and plotting constantly. But Vanessa didn't feel like cleaning the suite of rooms herself. “Has Maxine told you what to do?”
    â€œI don't need nobody to teach me how to clean a house, ma'am. I been cleanin’ houses since I could walk. Besides, Maxine told me how you like things, and where everythin’ is.”
    â€œWhere's my office?” Vanessa replied quickly, hoping to trip her up.
    â€œShould be the room on your left.”
    Vanessa couldn't help smiling. At least this one's not stupid, she evaluated. “Come in. There's a lot to do.”
    Vanessa retreated to her desk to get out of themaid's way. She thought of going for a walk, but didn't feel like chatting with society women on the sidewalks of Austin. Vanessa felt more comfortable with men, but propriety had to be observed; she was a lady with a reputation to uphold.
    Since she'd acquired wealth, some men seemed afraid of her, while fortune hunters were in constant hot pursuit. Men from the best families gave her a wide berth, because they wanted fresh young virgins for wives, not a worn-out old married lady of thirty-one years.
    She fidgeted with a pen and blank piece of paper, fancying herself a poetess of sorts, but language seemed inadequate to describe her troubled feelings. Sometimes she thought she was insane, because of countless bad decisions, and strangest of all was running off with a seventeen-year-old boy.
    Except that Duane Braddock hadn't really been a boy, despite his tender years. He was tall and strong as a man, unusually well educated for frontier Texas, and he'd turned eighteen since she'd met him. She wondered what he was doing just then, and with whom.
    Lonnie Mae entered the office, dustrag in hand, a spotless white apron covering her black dress. She set to work diligently, wiping everything in sight. Vanessa watched surreptitiously over the blank sheet of paper. Lonnie Mae represented the new free Negro, subject of much controversy. It cost eight hundred thousand casualties on both sides to free them, considered Vanessa, and they're still cleaning houses, just as in the old days. The real cause of the war was damned Yankees wanting to humiliate the South, thought Vanessa, and darkies were pawns in their dirty game.
    Lonnie Mae worked her way methodically around theroom, giving every surface a thorough cleaning. At least she's a worker, Vanessa acknowledged. I don't have trouble respecting somebody who does a good job.
    Lonnie Mae approached the desk. “Would you like me to pass by while you're here, ma'am?”
    â€œI'll stop.” Vanessa arose and walked to the chair in the corner, where she sat with Lord Byron. She glanced over the pages and observed Lonnie Mae polishing the desk. The