Promise of Time by Moore S. Dionne

Author:Moore, S. Dionne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2013-11-04T05:00:00+00:00

seventeen

Rose said little as Ellie slid the plate onto the tray in front of her friend. Really, Rose had said little for the hour she’d been working on doing laundry and sprucing up her room.

And it suited Ellie fine. The last thing she wanted or needed was to be forced to carry on a conversation she didn’t have a heart for. She moved about in a comfortable haze of spent emotional exhaustion, doing the few tasks she knew needed to be done for Rose and baby Colin, in a rush to get back to her place for the evening.

Martha came by in the late afternoon to check on Rose.

When she came back down to the silent kitchen, Ellie made the statement they used as code. “Do you have to go out of town tonight?”

Martha didn’t smile, her sharp eyes acknowledging the secret message. “Got to work spreading my garden after sunset. No babies to deliver tonight.”

Ellie nodded and walked with Martha to the door, her tension over the slave transfer ebbed at the black woman’s reassuring message. “How is Rose, Martha?”

“She fine if she’ll stay put. Most want to get up and jump around right away, but you tell her to stay put.” Martha placed her hand on the garden gate and paused. “Any news from Dr. Selingrove?”

Ellie knew how much Rose’s husband meant to the black woman. “Not yet.”

If Martha felt disappointment, her expression did not show it. She merely gave a stiff nod and headed down the pathway.

Ellie headed inside to check on Rose one last time before leaving for the evening. Though she couldn’t see through Rose’s kitchen window if Uncle Ross’s horse was in the stable, she could see that the pasture was empty, and she hoped it meant he still had not returned. She opened the back door and cocked her head to listen for sounds that he had returned. Nothing.

In her kitchen, she checked the roasting chicken for doneness. Juices from the bird’s breast ran clear, and she returned it to the still-warm oven. Maybe she would have an appetite later but not now. Not even the jar of her favorite tomato chutney coaxed her appetite.

She snugged the dishcloth tighter around the bread and, with the mundane tasks finished, sat down at the table, only then letting her mind wander. She conjured the image of Martin at the table laughing over some inanity, but when she tried to bring his face into focus, it wouldn’t come and a new wave of sadness washed over her.

With leaden feet, she dragged herself up the stairs to the sanctity of their room. Her room. As it had been for the past seven months. Scooping up the stack of letters she had left on the bed earlier, she unfolded the three sheets and read again Martin’s last words to her. It would be so easy to discount Theo. She wanted to reject it, the idea of Martin being murdered. . .and by her uncle. So repelling. But what

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