Storm Clouds Rolling In Read Free Page A

many secrets about horses—and people, too. Not today, though.
    “I ain’t never lost a baby for yo’ daddy yet, Miss Carrie.”
    Carrie smiled at the pride in his voice and leaned down just long enough to whisper confidingly to Miles. “Someday I’m going to ride like a man. This silly sidesaddle business is for the birds. No one is meant to ride a horse like this.”
    Miles nodded. “I believe you, Miss Carrie. You done always wanted to do things a better way. You be a round peg.”
    “A round peg?” Curiosity kept Carrie from dashing off. “What do you mean, a round peg?”
    “People been making you square holes all yo’ life. Can’t put a round peg in a square hole, Miss Carrie. You still be tryin’ to find where you fit.”
    Carrie stared into his open face for a long moment. How had he gotten inside her head? Then, straightening, she waved gaily and headed Granite for the open gate.
     
     
    F rom her place by the bedroom window, Rose watched Carrie go. She shook her head with amusement and then turned to straighten the dressing table. She paused to gaze at her appearance in the ornate mirror gracing the cream-colored wall and examined her face critically. People told her she was beautiful. She didn’t know if she was or not. Not that it made any difference. She was just a slave. Perfect caramel-colored skin set off with exquisite features did her no good because she was never going to fall in love and get married. Marriage meant nothing but pain. She had seen too many couples separated—one sold—while the other stayed. Her own father had been sold right after she was born. It was hard to watch her mother’s pain all those years.
    A noise down the hall startled Rose from her reverie. She couldn’t be found staring into Carrie’s mirror when there was so much work to be done. She didn’t know who was coming to dinner tonight but it must be somebody important. Mistress Cromwell had called all the house slaves together that morning and instructed them to have the place shining before nightfall. Company was common around the Cromwell Plantation, as it was on all Virginia plantations, but not all of it warranted special instructions. Who could be coming? Rose shook her head at her questioning. There would be no answers until the carriage arrived at the door. Usually Carrie filled her in on what was going on. This time even she didn’t know. Rose didn’t know if it was because it was a big secret or because Carrie just didn’t care and thus hadn’t taken the time to find out. She suspected it was the latter.
    Rose’s first job was Carrie’s room. She had already made the spacious four-poster canopy bed with its exquisite rose-bordered, white coverlet. The bed had been a gift from Carrie’s doting father after his last trip to London for business. Moving easily about the room, which was familiar as her own, she straightened the floor-length, rose-colored drapes and readjusted the bows on the tiebacks. She grabbed the broom and made quick work of the gleaming hardwood floor, rearranging the white and rose rugs scattered about. Finally, she reached into the closet and pulled out the dress Carrie would wear that evening. Rose always selected Carrie’s clothes. She had a natural eye for what would look best on her young mistress and what would be most appropriate for any occasion. Carrie simply didn’t care. Her young mistress didn’t consider herself beautiful, but those who saw her when she was excited about something couldn’t take their eyes from her. She exuded a light that drew people to her—strangers and friends alike.
    Rose allowed her hand to travel longingly down the gleaming , yellow satin gown. Then she shook her head firmly and snatched her hand back. Dreams were useless. She would never wear anything like this. Dreaming would only make her unhappy. She grabbed the water pitcher and washbowl and headed for the kitchen. She had work to do.
     

                 
    Carrie