Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(31)
Katherine gives me a wide-eyed look, but I don’t feel any of the excitement I see on her face. The penny under my blouse has gone cold.
Miss Preston continues. “This is an excellent opportunity to present yourself to the finest ladies in all of Maryland. Miss Anderson and Mr. Redfern here will be taking you to be fitted for Attendants’ wear. At Mayor Carr’s expense, of course. Miss Anderson will also be accompanying you to dinner as your chaperone to ensure that you represent the school with dignity and honor.”
My penny is a snowball at the hollow of my neck, and I ain’t at all encouraged by Miss Preston glossing over the fact that multiple Baltimore Attendants have been killed, presumably within the city limits. All my anger at whatever Miss Anderson and the mayor have done with Lily and the Spencers disappears, replaced by fear.
I’m shaky and out of sorts as I take a deep breath and let it out. “Miss Preston, I’m honored by the invitation, but I’m afraid I must decline.” My words come out too fast, my tongue tripping over syllables. I see my end in this fine invitation, and I ain’t a hog to go happily to the slaughter, no matter how pretty the ax.
Miss Preston opens her mouth to speak and I continue, in an attempt to cover my lack of grace and decorum. “What I mean is, it would be terrible of us to accept such a generous offer without including Miss Duncan. She was instrumental in putting down the restless dead, and I just don’t feel right taking advantage of such an invitation without her.”
“I’m sure our honorable mayor would be happy to include your teacher as well.” Mr. Redfern’s voice is a low rumble, and I barely manage to keep myself from jumping in surprise. I’d forgotten he was even standing there in the corner, as intent as I was on not ending up at the mayor’s dinner.
Miss Preston smiles. “Well, it’s settled then. You girls will be excused from classes tomorrow for your fitting, and next week you will attend dinner at the mayor’s residence.” Miss Preston levels a withering look at me. “Try to conduct yourselves in a matter befitting a Miss Preston’s girl. After all, a contract with a good family is the difference between a future and, well . . .” She trails off, giving us knowing smiles.
“Thank you, Miss Preston! We are doubly blessed, and we will not let you down,” Katherine chirps in answer, all but bouncing as we take our leave.
Behind us, Miss Preston asks Mr. Redfern in a low voice, “Have you or the mayor heard anything further on the Edgars’ disappearance?”
I whirl around, perhaps too quickly considering that I ain’t supposed to know anything about missing families, but I meet Miss Anderson’s eyes. Her smug expression convinces me to keep on walking out of the room and unleashes a barrage of worry that unsettles my stomach.
She’s got the look of a cat that just caught a mouse. No wonder I feel like squeaking.
Momma, I do hope you’ll share news of Rose Hill in your next letter. How is everyone? Did the cabbages and okra do well this year?
Do you still love me?
Do you still regret having me?
Do you miss me half as much as I miss you?
Chapter 11
In Which I Remember Rose Hill and My Momma’s Sworn Enemy
That night, exhausted and preoccupied with the mayor’s untimely invitation, I do the same thing I always do when I’m fretful: I dream of Rose Hill, and of Rachel, the only person I ever knew to hate my momma.
My momma is an unusual woman. She didn’t much like the whole concept of slavery no matter how honorable it was, and there were rumors that she was sore disappointed with her husband, the major, when he left her to fight for the Confederacy. But the strangest thing about Momma, the thing that made some of the neighbors smile tightly and alienated all the rest, is Momma’s rumored penchant for field hands—the stronger, the darker, the better. They said she took them to bed like some kind of plantation Delilah, stealing their strength in order to keep herself young and strong.
It wasn’t true, but that didn’t stop tongues from wagging. I discovered later that, even before I was born, Momma had a reputation for going out and buying the worst of the worst at the auctions: the runaways; the dullards; the cheapest, lousiest Negroes you could find. It was how she spent her time, buying up as many folks as she could, and rumor was she damn near bankrupted her and the major doing it. If there was a mother and her children on the block, she would buy the whole lot, cutting a deal with the auctioneers before the family ever went up for bidding. Neighbors would joke, “I’m gonna sell you my girl Bella, she ain’t worth a lick,” and the next thing you know Bella would be in the kitchen baking bread. Momma never let the slave patrols on the property, even when they were chasing down a neighbor’s runaway, and the one time the fellas did trespass she had the kennel master set the dogs on them. It was an all-around curious way of doing business, but Momma was rich enough that the neighbors didn’t say much.
Not long after I was born, everyone in the county pretty much suspected Momma had birthed me, the height of scandal in a place like Haller County, Kentucky. During the beginning of the Years of Discord, Momma made it her business to always help a neighbor in need, especially as Rose Hill flourished, so most folks found Momma’s peccadilloes less important than her willingness to ride out with a team and help clear a field of dead.
And if folks could overlook the rumors of a white woman birthing a Negro, well, they could forgive just about anything, couldn’t they?