Patricia Potter Read Free

patience, and Quinn sighed at the hint of impertinence.
    “I should have left you on the block in New Orleans.”
    “Yes suh, Capt’n, suh,” Cam replied, thinking that particular day had been the luckiest in a life filled with unlucky ones.
    Their eyes met, remembering the scene, and then their faces again became impassive as they had both learned to do so very well. Cam turned without another word, limping slightly as he walked out, and closed the door behind him.
    Meredith watched as the new maid carefully unpacked her clothing. The girl constantly looked back at her mistress for approval and Meredith nodded reassuringly.
    But Meredith couldn’t rid herself of her own haunting depression.
    It had been another wasted trip as far as Lissa was concerned. Her whereabouts continued to elude Meredith’s best efforts. But she had found Daphne, and Daphne probably needed her as much as Lissa.
    Her new maid was like a frightened rabbit. She had been at the slave jail, awaiting auction. Meredith, after her private detective told her a young mulatto girl was there, had visited the jail looking for Lissa, using the excuse that she’d needed a new maid.
    Meredith had been searching for her half sister for the last three years, ever since she had enough freedom to do so. But she kept running against stone walls. No one knew of a Lissa, a light-skinned Negro slave.
    Meredith had mourned her childhood friend since the day Lissa was sold, and vowed to find her and somehow free her. As she had helped free others. As she planned to help free more.
    But the mulatto in New Orleans turned out to be Daphne, not Lissa. Meredith had taken one look at the girl’s terrified face and purchased her. She hadn’t wanted to ask about the girl’s past. Daphne’s face told her more than she wanted to know.
    Her companion had not approved, but then she approved of very little. But Meredith was twenty-four, and had her own funds, and “just loved visiting.” The best her brother could do was send his wife’s aunt with her, and hope his sister would not disgrace him and the family.
    Robert’s most fervent wish, Meredith knew, was to see her married. Preferably to another plantation owner, preferably to Gilbert MacIntosh whose plantation adjoined their own.
    To escape, Meredith simply went visiting frequently, claiming she was looking over likely husbands. It was as good a reason as any, and one Robert accepted easily enough in his eagerness to rid himself of her and her giggles and often odd behavior. And her painting. Her “damned monstrosities,” as Meredith had once heard him say to his wife. They were a terrible embarrassment, especially the way she pushed them off on friends and even acquaintances.
    Robert had, Meredith knew, attributed her eccentricities to the fall she had had as a child. She’d been unconscious for two days and when she awoke she had never been the same. She had turned reclusive and silent, a quiet shadow who sat for hours with books and had little to say to anyone. Meredith had then been sent to a convent school in New Orleans where she had stayed for ten years. She had come home only twice during that time: for a disastrous visit over the Christmas holidays, and for her father’s funeral.
    When she returned home at the age of eighteen, there were still secrets in the dark brown eyes, but to her family she was gayer, even fanciful. She giggled and chattered aimlessly, and if the smile never quite reached her eyes no one seemed to notice. And if she disappeared at times, no one noticed because no one really cared.
    When Meredith was twenty-one, she became an heiress in her own right. She discovered then that her grandfather, long dead, had established a trust in her name at the time of her birth. But her funds were administered by the Devereux Bank in New Orleans. She was able to draw on it in reasonable amounts, but it was structured to keep the bulk of the money from any fortune hunter. Large withdrawals had to be