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he was hunting. I was in tears, so we strolled amid the flowers until I regained my composure. I turned my ankle and tumbled into a ditch. We rested for a while until my ankle stopped throbbing. I am fine now, but it took a good deal of time to hobble home on my tender foot.”
    The ticking of the shelf clock on my nightstand slowed in my ears as Aunt Augusta held my eyes with hers, waiting for me to look away and reveal my deceit. But in sheer terror of the consequences, I faced her, still and silent like a fawn awaiting the move of a targeted hunter. Would she pull the trigger or let the shot pass? My heart hung in the air between us until finally she twisted her face in disgust.
    “A suitable result after your disgraceful outburst in town,” she said evenly. “It was an inexcusable and embarrassing display that will never be repeated. You are too naive to understand the far-reaching effects of such unrestrained sentimentality. However, since your mother and father often indulged in histrionics such as this, I believe you are a victim of your breeding. Therefore, I will spare you the harshness your behavior deserves.” Aunt Augusta paused momentarily, as if overcome by her words. “This reprieve will be afforded to you only once. Do not ever challenge me in this arena in the future, or you will desperately regret it. For now you will remain in your room without supper.”
    She turned and went to the door. “Heed my warning, Hannalore; I will not tolerate another outburst like the one I witnessed today. You are no longer a child, and therefore will be held accountable for your actions. When you are judged, so too is this household. And you will not cast a shadow on the name of Augusta Reynolds.”
    With that, Aunt Augusta was gone, and I collapsed on the bed in tears.
    My empty belly awakened me during the pause between midnight and dawn. I had tossed beneath quilted covers most of the evening with thoughts of Livetta and Marcus colliding with those of Colt and Aunt Augusta. My conscience finally gave way to exhaustion after the clock struck eleven, but now the tugging of unmitigated hunger coaxed me from my bed.
    The smooth hardwood floor of the upstairs hallway creaked under my bare feet as I stepped carefully past the muted flow of light from underneath Aunt Augusta’s bedroom door. It was a common sight as the oil lamp in her room often burned throughout the night, one of the hidden chinks in the armor of a woman known for her unwavering fortitude. I long thought she was afraid of the dark, until one stormy night I was awakened by loud thunder and found her doorframe darkened and undisturbed. When I posed the question to Esther Mae, she said, “Chile, Miz ’Gusta gots’ta run de land and de house like a massa man. It be hard on de mind of a missus who is all by herself, alone. It steals her soul of peace and her mind of restful sleep. ’Tain’t fo’ us to question her ways. Where would any of us be if she didn’t have de wherewithal to keep de plantation goin’?”
    No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Esther Mae’s eyes widened in panic and she rambled nonstop to cover her unguarded comments. “You best not ask so many questions, Miz Hannah. Speakin’ words about Miz ’Gusta will bring me a whippin’ fo’ sure. Now, you go on and pay no mind to yo’ aunt and her peculiar ways.”
    I thought it well deserved for Aunt Augusta to wrestle demons in the night. To spare Esther Mae further distress, I kept the thought unspoken and never questioned her again. However, I learned an important lesson. Each of us, including Aunt Augusta, is not always what we appear. To all of Echo Ridge, she was a respected pillar of strength, but out of sight in the secluded rear of the house was an overused lamp she relied on to keep her demons at bay. It gave me satisfaction those windows glowed almost as frequently as her blood ran cold. I remembered words once spoken by my mother: “Wretchedness should pay a