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She sat up, straining to see through the glass. But whatever might have been there was gone. Her son was dead. She closed her eyes and she was back in an earlier time.
    Water poured from that same fountain. Cars filled the drive-
    way around it, a valet parking them neatly in every available space.
    People scattered across the property dressed in their finest. Cora scanned their faces but knew no one. Her father’s money and family name demanded a formal affair for his daughter’s wedding. But he held mostly disdain for those who’d accepted the invitation.
    He was an ostracized aristocrat. The strangest of breeds. Money,
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    ELLEN J. GREEN
    power, prominent name, but barred from most social events
    because of the past, rumor, gossip, and local lore.
    A few months prior, in the midst of dinner one night, Edward
    Monroe had looked up at his daughter and said, “The wedding
    date will be July fourteenth.”
    Cora’s breath left her. That was only four months away. “Is that
    enough time, Father?”
    He leaned back in his chair. “You’re lucky I even told you
    the date. I might have just dragged you downstairs on the day
    and shoved you in front of the minister.” He laughed. “If Joseph
    Whitfield wasn’t my business partner, I’d do just that. Make a laughingstock of you in front of everyone. To get married in a stained cleaning dress, that’s what you deserve.” He slapped his knee and stood up. “No, there is no need to put this off any longer. If I have to jam a shotgun up your ass during the ceremony, you’re marrying Whitfield’s son. Get any other thoughts out of your head.”
    “It’s just, so many plans have to be made.” She felt sick in her
    stomach, and she feared that it showed on her face. Marrying
    Bradford Whitfield meant giving in, giving up her hope that get-
    ting off the property someday, having freedom, might bring her
    happiness. She was doomed to the same fate as her mother years
    before. Her life would never be her own.
    “And they wil . Keep in mind what’s at stake.” He smiled.
    “Don’t marry him and you’ll have no place in this family. Is that what you want? To be thrown out of the gates in the clothes you
    were born in?”
    She shook her head. “No.” But inside she was desperately try-
    ing to figure a way out.
    She’d met Bradford many times when he’d come to the prop-
    erty with his father. An arrogant, confident boy, he’d never had
    many words for her, though he understood, as did she, that they
    would one day be married. He’d sit by his father, taking in the male chatter while she hung to the side. Occasional y he’d glance in her THE BOOK of JAMES
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    direction, looking her up and down as if trying to imagine her
    transforming into something he might want to marry.
    The days leading up to the wedding were a nightmare of events
    for a girl who’d been isolated her entire life. With each dress fitting, each tent that went up, each caterer who came through the front
    door, she felt they might as well be building a gallows.
    That morning, her father had entered the dressing room just
    as Bradford’s mother finished arranging Cora’s veil. The older
    woman excused herself, and Cora’s father stepped close so no one
    else would hear.
    “Wipe that shitty expression off your face, Cora.” He squeezed
    her arm hard enough to leave marks. “It’s not fitting for a Whitfield bride to be an unhappy shrew.”
    Cora forced her expression blank. “I’m fine, Father.”
    He released her. “If I see you moping today, there will be hell
    later. Nothing in your life is going to change. After the ceremony you’re going back upstairs. And I’ll still be here. Understand?”
    Cora nodded.
    Just then William McBride walked past the open door. He was
    of medium height, with a full head of dark, curly hair and a twisted smile. “Cora, it’s bad luck to be seen before the wedding—but you look beautiful.” He leaned in to give her the smallest of pecks on her