She drew up, surprised. “Are you suggesting that the jail sentence was appropriate because Dr. Newlight is white?”
“I’m just reminding you that black men are sent to jail or worse, every day, for far less reason.” He met her gaze unapologetically.
Sophie’s training had deprived her of the ability to be embarrassed, but she understood when her intelligence and morals had been insulted. She felt her temper slip out of her grasp.
“You don’t need to educate me about what it means to be black,” she told Sam Reason. “I spent my first ten years in New Orleans. As soon as I learned how to write my name I also learned that I could never sign anything without identifying myself as a free woman of color. It’s not required in New York, but I still pause sometimes and feel a moment of panic because I forgot to write FWC after my signature.
“My father and my grandmother—neither of them white—were doctors who looked after the poor. As I do. I see dozens of patients every week, and almost all of them are some shade of brown or black or yellow, and poor. So yes, I am aware. In some ways more aware than you will ever be. I doubt you have ever had to treat a woman who has had a baby beaten out of her by a drunk husband. That happens far too often, to women of every color and age.”
She saw little reaction in his expression beyond a steady and unwavering regard. He asked, “Why do you defend this Dr. Newlight?”
“I was not defending him. The story was meant to make clear to you how dangerous this business really is. What is bothering you? That I am sympathetic to a colleague who happens to be white, or that I have white relations?”
He said, “You want me to understand that this Comstock will do just about anything to send somebody to jail, and the truth don’t much matter, one way or the other, as long as he gets his few minutes of glory.”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “Exactly. He has no respect for freedom of speech or freedom of the press or even basic civil liberties.”
“And you’re thinking maybe I won’t want your business anymore because of that.”
“I wanted you to have a full understanding of the dangers before you made any kind of commitment,” she said.
“You want to absolve yourself of responsibility before the fact.”
Sophie stood suddenly, pushing her chair back so abruptly that it tipped over and fell. Sam stood too, more slowly.
“I believe you’ve answered my question,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “I will find another printer. Thank you for your time, and please give your grandmother and family my condolences and best wishes.”
She walked to the door and opened it, standing back to let him pass. But he stayed where he was, turning his hat in his hands.
“I apologize,” he said, his accent softening and taking on more of a southern rhythm. “I was rude and unfair. Can we start again?”
Sophie closed the door and returned to the chair he had straightened for her, but she had to fold her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling.
“I accept your apology.” Sophie forced herself to meet his gaze. “But I don’t think I can work with someone who holds me in such low regard.”
“I don’t hold you in low regard. Just the opposite.”
“Then I’m at a loss to understand your animosity. Have I offended you somehow?” And suddenly, she understood. “You saw the announcement about my engagement in the paper today.”
She saw the answer in the way his jaw tightened, very slightly. He nodded. “I did see that. Please accept my best wishes.”
Sophie couldn’t help herself; she let out a soft laugh. “Very convincing, Sam.”
He turned his head away for a moment. “To start over at the beginning, I understand the dangers and I’d like to continue the business relationship.”
Sophie studied the material of her dress, following the dark blue scrollwork pattern she had worn because she would leave here to go to a party in celebration of her engagement. She thought of the Reason family and the hour she had spent sitting with them at their table, the kindness and open affection they showed each other. Somehow she believed—she wanted to believe—that Delilah Reason and her daughters would not be so condemning as the man who sat opposite her.
She wanted to end the meeting and get away, but she reminded herself that her feelings were secondary to the business that needed to be conducted.
“If you have the time I’d like to send you back home with a new order.”
“Yes,” he said. “I have the time.”
For a half hour they talked about paper and binding and printing costs, and during that whole time Sophie had the strong impression that Sam Reason was forbidding himself to look at her, for fear that doing so would turn him to a pillar of salt.