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Edwin standing up to her. That artist, a man she didn’t even know, kissing her. Her own wantonness to allow such a happening. Her father lying down beside that woman in her mother’s bed. A woman young enough to perhaps bear him the son he’d always wanted. Mellie not there to unfasten her buttons. Grayson slipping out of her hands and with it the power to do that right thing by Aunt Tish and Mellie the way she had promised in her heart as she sat beside Aunt Tish at the table that day so many years ago.
    Now there were those who said the country was going to war because Lincoln seemed poised to do what she had not had courage or strength to ask her father to do already.

5
    Charlotte was still staring in the mirror when Mellie slipped into the room to help her out of her dress. “You done had to try, didn’t you, Miss Lottie?” she fussed as she pulled the rest of the buttons loose with quick fingers.
    “I don’t like being captive to a dress.”
    Charlotte stood up to let Mellie untie the top of her hoops. They fell to the floor with a soft clatter as the silky skirt collapsed against her legs. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and stepped out of the piles of emerald fabric. Mellie gathered up the dress quickly and spread it out on the bed before it could get too rumpled.
    “How about squeezed half in two with a corset?” Mellie said as she pulled loose the ties on Charlotte’s stays. “It ain’t no easy thing bein’ a lady. Same with that Miss Selena. She had her stays pulled so tight it took me five minutes to work the lacings loose enough to get her out of the contraption. It’s a wonder she wasn’t faintin’.”
    “I’ve heard she does at times.” Charlotte rubbed her sides and pulled in a deep breath that felt wonderful as she sat back down at the dressing table in her camisole and pantalettes. “I ain’t surprised,” Mellie said as she began pulling the pins out of Charlotte’s hair and brushing it out. “You want me to massage your feet, Miss Lottie?”
    Charlotte took the brush from Mellie and began pulling it through her hair herself as she said, “You’re every bit as tired as I am, Mellie. You need to go on to bed and massage your own feet.”
    “I didn’t have to dance with ever’ man in the state,” Mellie said, but she didn’t try to take the brush away from Charlotte. Instead she sat down on the bench at the end of Charlotte’s bed, slipped off her shoes, and held her feet out in front of her to wiggle her toes inside her black stockings. “I was watchin’. How many times did that old Mr. Robertson step on your toes?”
    “Too many.” Charlotte groaned at the memory. “But he’s always generous whenever Father needs funds for his campaigns.” “Then let that new woman your daddy brung home get her toes stepped on.”
    “I don’t want to talk about her tonight, Mellie. Please.” Charlotte put down the brush and began plaiting her red hair in a thick rope.
    “Fine with me.” Mellie stood up and pushed Charlotte’s hands aside to finish the job quickly and efficiently. “Then how about we talk about that Mr. Wade what come with them? Now, he is one fine-lookin’ gentleman. And did I hear somebody say he was paintin’ that woman’s portrait?”
    “You did, and I don’t know about gentleman.” Charlotte’s cheeks warmed at the memory of her lack of control. How could she have been so wanton?
    Mellie leaned back and eyed Charlotte in the mirror. “Sounds like you must have run up on him in your mama’s garden. I did note you looked a mite breathless when you come in from outside.”
    “Nobody can breathe with those stays squeezing your ribs in a vice.” Charlotte pointed toward the corset she’d shed moments before.
    “Then it didn’t have naught to do with Mr. Edwin chasin’ in like some storm had hit out there and then you runnin’ in all aflush some minutes later followed by that painter feller with a grin like as how he’d just eat the last