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carved posters of the linen-draped bed. The wood was smooth and cool. Hannah followed her gaze. “Ain’t you ever seen mosquito netting before?”
    Grace shook her head. The coverlet was white, and lace-trimmed. There was a big, plush dark blue chair with a footstool, perfect for reading at night, and a beautiful pine bureau, with a lace doily, wash basin, pitcher, and mirror. On the other side of the room was a small escritoire. She couldn’t wait to sit down at it and write. There was even an immense rosewood wardrobe. She strode to the window.
    Below, a green lawn fell away to the stables, the smokehouse, and the ice house. Beyond that, another mansion was visible. The sky was incredibly blue, with not a cloudto mar it. She turned to look at Hannah, and she was smiling.
    â€œLord, you’re pretty when you smile like that,” Hannah said. “Bet you’re a looker without those glasses.”
    Grace blushed. She knew she was more than pretty. It was the bane of her existence. She had always been considered a good-looking child, but by the time she was eighteen, she was considered beautiful. It was frustrating. As long as she was pretty, men would not take her seriously. She didn’t want them looking at her, chasing her, trying to feel up beneath her skirts—not when she was trying to accomplish something with her life. For some unknown reason God had given her all that hair and beautiful features and a slim body with full breasts, though she’d bound them tightly in. It seemed a joke, because every day she went to great trouble to hide her looks so she could attend to life with the seriousness it deserved.
    â€œIs this the new governess?”
    Grace looked at the child who had to be Mary Louise, the ten-year-old. She was the image of her mother. “Hello,” she said, with a friendly smile.
    Mary Louise folded her arms. “That’s an ugly dress.”
    Grace stared.
    â€œHush up,” Hannah said.
    Mary Louise smiled. “But it is. I’m making a pillowcase. The stitches are all wrong. Come and fix it.”
    Grace was still stunned. “Excuse me?”
    â€œIt’s your job,” Mary Louise said haughtily, “to help me.”
    â€œMiss O’Rourke starts tomorrow, Mary Louise,” Hannah began.
    â€œHush up, you dumb nigrah,” Mary Louise said. “Don’t you have things to do? Why, if mama knew you were standing here idle instead of working she’d send you packing. And if it was a few years ago she’d whip you good for you telling me what to do! Maybe you’ll get whipped anyways—by the night riders!”
    Hannah clenched her jaw, but fear flared in her eyes.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Grace cried, grabbing Mary Louise by her wrist. “You apologize this instant—first to me, and then to Hannah.”
    Mary Louise stared at her, her blue eyes filled with shock. “What?”
    â€œI expect an apology and so does Miss Hannah.”
    â€œFirst of all,” Mary Louise said, in a strangled voice, “I’d sooner die than apologize to a no-good lazy darkie.”
    Grace stepped back. What did she expect? This was the Deep South, not New York. Mary Louise took the opportunity to dart out of the room.
    â€œIt’s all right, Miz O’Rourke,” Hannah said. “You come on down and get somethin’ to eat when you’re ready. John will bring your bags up.” Hannah left.
    Grace had never seen such atrocious manners in her life. She wondered if she would be allowed to discipline the children. Heavens, if she wasn’t, how was she ever going to handle this one? She was relieved when footsteps sounded in the hall and John entered with her two small bags. Behind him, a small boy of about six was carrying her valise. “Oh, John, thank you, but that case is too heavy for that little boy.”
    â€œI done carried it all the way up here myself.” The boy beamed,