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fingers. Auburn waves tumbled over pale shoulders.
    Lydia swept strands of hair across her scar.
    Lizzy ran to the door and fastened it shut before dragging the stool over to the mirror. “Here. Sit,” she instructed. At Lydia’s worktable, she grabbed knitting needles and with a few quick strokes of her hand, secured her hair into a tousled chignon.
    Lydia rose to her feet at the transformation. Green eyes blinked back in amazement.
    “Do you see it?”
    She saw it.
    “Lydia.”
    She saw it. Before her very eyes, she was changed. Others had spoken of her beauty, but it was the first time she saw it, staring back at her, boldly in the arch of her brow, in the pout of her mouth, the lift of her breasts. No longer a slave. In all the times she had tried on the dresses, she had never thought to arrange her hair. Lady was always in her mind. Never had it manifested before her eyes.Lizzy slipped the pearl necklace from her neck and draped it across Lydia’s. Ivory against ivory. She straightened her back, her neck regal. She grazed her finger over a nose and lips as narrow as any on the side of power. Something flickered in her eyes. And then she knew; she was not like them. She was them. There was no difference. She was not a slave. She was a lady.
    The moment she thought it, that very second, her heart fluttered. Was her African ancestry nothing? Was it nothing to be disconnected from the people she loved? She thought of her father in the tobacco fields, her grandmother in the confined slave quarters. She thought of John. “It don’t much matter to me what shade a woman’s skin is.”
    Really? What if he saw her now? A sadness overtook the moment. A death of sorts.
    “Oh Lydia, you don’t look at all like a slave anymore. You’re beautiful now.”
    Was she not the same woman with the same features that she had been only moments before?
    “You look White.”
    But she was not. Not on the inside. She slipped the dress off her shoulder.
    “What’s wrong, Lydia? Don’t you like how you look?”
    “I do, but…”
    “But what?”
    “Never mind, Lizzy.”
    “No, tell me.” Lizzy plopped back on Lydia’s bed, her eyes wide with wonder. “I want to know.”
    “It’s hard to make clear.” She shook her head. “I love looking like a lady. Just not a White one.” She had come full out of the formal dress now and stood shrugging into her old clothes.
    “Honestly?”
    “Yes.”
    “I thought everyone wanted to be White.”
    “Lizzy.” Such foolishness.
    “Well, I did. I’m not trying to be funny, Lydia. I just thought—”
    “You really thought we wanted to be White? We don’t want that at all. Just freedom. We want to be free.” I want to be free.
    “I’ve never wanted to be White.”
    It sounded ridiculous coming from her, a woman as near light as the one on the bed. Even still, it was true. “Never, Lizzy. I just want what you have. I want the same rights as you.”
    “As me?” Lizzy laughed. “I’m as much a slave as you in this house. Most women don’t have their say neither. If you’re wanting rights, ask for those my daddy’s got. Now those are rights.”
    They both laughed. The thought had never occurred to Lydia. Dr. Kelly was the only one able to come and go as he pleased.
    To do whatever godforsaken thing he wanted.
    “Lydia.” Lizzy slid to the edge of the bed. “I met a man.”
    She laughed again. They were mirrors. Funny how life was.
    “You did? Tell me about him.” Lydia joined Lizzy on the bed, sitting on her legs.
    “He’s handsome. Charming. Just a perfect gentleman.”
    “And his name?”
    “Jackson.”
    Jackson and John.
    “I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to the gathering and look what happened. I’m smitten.”
    “Smitten? Is that right?”
    “Why, I might as well be. I can’t get him off my mind.”
    “Well, when will you see him again?”
    “I’m hoping soon. He told me he’s arranging a ball at his manor next weekend. I want to go, but he lives in