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married to a dear woman and my life is an open book.”
    â€œAnd your wife,” said the congressman. “What does she think?”
    â€œShe is very supportive. She would be willing to relocate to Washington.”
    McSimmons did not add that the congressional seat had originally been his wife’s idea, and that she was a more opportunistic social climber than he. She had, in fact, been urging him to run against Galbreath before the announcement of his retirement.
    The two men continued to chat informally for another five or ten minutes. Neither particularly liked the other. But in politics that hardly mattered.
    When William McSimmons boarded the train two hours later to return to Charlotte and then to Oakwood, it was with a smile of satisfaction. He had done well, he thought, to endear himself to the old man. With Galbreath’s endorsement, his own election would be in the bag.
    It was time to make plans for a formal announcement, probably sometime this spring. His wife would want to make an event of it. And why not? The more publicity involved, and the more influential people they could invite, the better.
    In the meantime, he would make himself more visible and respectable in the community. He was not thinking about his secret right then. But it wouldn’t be long before he would start thinking about it.
    And wondering what to do about it.

A M IGHTY F INE -L OOKING M AN
    7

    M icah Duff gradually gained his strength and before long was out of his bed and back on his feet. With the ploughing and planting already under way, there was plenty to be done, and Micah and Jeremiah were better friends than ever—more like brothers than anything. They were almost inseparable.
    Spring advanced and again the shoots of cotton and wheat and other crops began to color the landscape with carpets of green. The earth warmed and rich smells rose from it, and life at Rosewood seemed a good thing to us all. There had been no more incidents with the men dressed in white robes, and we hoped maybe people were at last getting used to how things were at Rosewood. Having Micah with us added new interest and excitement and zest to our lives.
    It wasn’t every day we had a newspaper around the house, but whenever Uncle Ward or my papawent into town, they usually bought one from Mrs. Hammond, which might have been every couple of weeks.
    I heard some muttering one day as I walked toward the kitchen from the parlor and came in to see Josepha sitting at the table humphing to herself over the paper they’d brought home yesterday. Then she went back to reading and seemed engrossed in it for another minute.
    â€œI didn’t know you could read so well, Josepha,” I said. “I’ve never seen you with a newspaper before.”
    â€œI kin read well enuff, Mayme chil’. Dere wuz a time in my life when I had as much learnin’ as any white lady. It’s jes’ dat I don’t git much occasion ter use all dat no more.”
    â€œIt sounds like you were reading something that upset you.”
    â€œI jes’ oughta keep my big mouf shut,” she said. “It’s jes’ dat when a man goes struttin’ ’bout like he’s somebody important when I used ter take him on my own knee fo his mama before he got old enuff ter take the whip in his own hand, well, den I ain’t got no use fo a man like dat.”
    â€œWho are you talking about?”
    â€œJes’ dat blamed McSimmons boy here,” she said, pointing to the paper. “It says he’s fixin’ ter run fo Congress or somethin’. Dat boy ain’t fit ter lick his daddy’s boots. Now he’s settin’ hisse’f up as a big important man, when he ain’t—”
    Josepha stopped whatever she had been about to say. Emma had walked in a few seconds behind meand now stood listening. She always got both quiet and afraid when the subject of William McSimmons came up. I could never tell