Page 37 of A Delicate Deception
“What?”
“Go ahead, read it.” When she only blinked at him, he pitched his voice even lower. “Trust me.” Amelia shivered.
“I’ve never wanted to read a book more,” said Amelia, trying to keep her tone light. “‘Will send you right out of polite society’ ought to be on the cover.” She cleared her throat. “‘Rosie’s New Shoes,’” she began, reading aloud. “‘Once there was a girl of ten years named Rosie. In her pocket she had sixpence which she was meant to use to get her shoes mended, but what she really wanted to do was buy the pretty purple vase she saw in a shop window. Rosie’s mother warned her that she would have no more money until next month, but that if she chose to spend her money on the vase that was her choice.’”
She looked up, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve read this,” said Amelia. “It’s a terrible story. Rosie buys the vase and when she gets home she discovers it isn’t purple at all but rather filled with dirty water. And her mother won’t give her a bowl to put the dirty water in.”
“I know that story,” Sydney added. “The father was worse. He made Rosie stay at home because she looked slovenly with her worn-out shoes. But you haven’t read this version of the story.”
Amelia skimmed ahead, flipping forward to the next page. “‘Rosie’s mother, being a wise and kind woman, showed her a place where the dirty water could be safely disposed of. Then Rosie’s father took Rosie and the empty vase back to the shopkeeper and demanded that he either take back the vase and return Rosie’s sixpence, or refund part of the price as compensation for his dishonesty. The pretty vase was, of course, worldly nonsense, but everyone, especially children, likes a bit of nonsense in moderation, and Rosie’s parents knew that. That night Rosie’s mother apologized to Rosie for making a child of her tender years choose between shoes and a pretty thing, because there are many children who have neither shoes nor pretty things, and it made a mockery of their suffering to force Rosie to go shoeless as well.’”
The next story was entitled “The Calendar,” and turned out not to be a story at all, but several informative pages about menstruation.
“She got in trouble for that bit,” Sydney said. His cheeks were slightly pink. “My mother never met a fight she didn’t want to hurl herself bodily into. I miss her.”
“Oh. Is she—”
“She’s alive and well. She’s in America,” he said. “I haven’t seen her in three years.”
“What is she doing in America?” Amelia asked.
“She’s in and out of prison,” he said fondly.
“What?” she exclaimed, taken aback. Leontine stirred at the sudden noise.
“She went over because there’s been some division between American Friends and those of us in Britain. She couldn’t resist leaping directly into the fray,” he said, smiling. “And then she started hiding enslaved people when they tried to cross into free states. That’s how she wound up imprisoned.”
“That’s very noble of her,” Amelia said, meaning it, but also more than a little stunned that this stern, upright man had a mother who had been to jail.
“Oh, never tell her that. She’ll tell you that helping people who are fleeing bondage is the bare minimum a person can do. She has my father there to bring her good food and clean clothes, so she’s not in danger. She’s not a peaceable woman, my mother. She wrote that book because she didn’t think the world needed another generation of peaceable women, or complacent adults of any gender. I do wish she could see Leontine.”
Amelia swallowed, not certain if she were going to disrupt the fragile peace between them. “Sydney, I know this is a personal question but—”
“You can ask me anything,” he answered, his voice husky.
“Is Leontine your daughter?”
“No,” he said, “she’s my niece. My brother’s child. I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t want to ask because I know too well that these questions are usually unwanted.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “It wouldn’t have bothered you to know I had a natural child?”
“It would bother me to know you had any child who you didn’t take care of. You plainly care a good deal for her.”
Leontine rolled over and murmured something unintelligible, and they fell silent until her breathing resumed the steadiness of sleep. Then Amelia began to rise to her feet, but was checked by Sydney’s hand on her arm.
“Stay, Amelia. We’re having a conversation indoors, for once.” He swallowed, and she watched his throat work. “And I missed you.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she missed him too, that she was beginning to suspect that she’d spend months and years missing him after this summer had passed. But no words came out.
“You can read the rest of my mother’s book, if you like,” he went on. “I too have a book to read.” He took a book from the bedside table, and she was mortified to seeThe Wolf and the Huntress. That startled a laugh out of her.
“If you think I can sit here calmly while you read my book—”
“Oh, I’ve already read your book. I’m rereading my favorite passages now.”
“Nooo,” she moaned. But she was smiling, and he smiled back.
