“I’m not married.”
“You got to find a man with character enough to take pride in an educated wife,” Althea said. “That’s what Mama always told me.” She looked at her mother and grinned. “And that’s what I did.”
“Althea taught school before her boys come along,” Mrs. Reason told Sophie.
The baby began to fuss and Mary sat up against the pillows and gestured for her.
“You have a beautiful daughter,” Sophie said. And to Mrs. Reason: “I need to think about getting back to the ferry.”
“Come look at my garden first,” she said. “The weather is just too beautiful to stay inside all day. While we’re doing that I’ll ask Mr. Reason to bring the carriage around.”
? ? ?
“THERE’S NOT MUCH to see yet.” Mrs. Reason opened the gate into a large kitchen garden and then closed it behind them. “But I wanted a few minutes alone with you.”
Sophie said, “I so much appreciate your hospitality and warm welcome.” She spoke the truth, but the words sounded overly formal to her own ear. Mrs. Reason seemed not to notice, her attention turned inward. Sophie wondered if she had something more serious and personal to ask and began to compose her face into the expression that was meant to tell a woman that she was listening closely, and hearing.
“Have you ever thought about leaving Manhattan?”
Before Sophie could even begin to answer, she went on. “I realize it’s been your home since the war and you have a practice there, but just imagine. Imagine what you could do for Weeksville. And I can promise you this, nobody will ever begrudge you your title or the respect you’re owed.”
In her surprise Sophie startled. “How did you know that?” And then, more quietly, “Of course you know.”
Mrs. Reason was a woman of color who had lived in the north since before the War between the States. She had been here during the draft riots, and that was likely not the worst she had seen.
She said, “Is that why you and Mr. Reason settled here? To be among your own people?”
“That was a good part of it,” Mrs. Reason said. “Weeksville is a little bit like home, like New Orleans. We are left mostly to ourselves and there’s not much need to trade with white folk. We’ve got pretty much everything we need: lawyers, music teachers, tailors, a cobbler, carpenters and masons, nurses and midwives, too. It’s our place. It could be your place.”
She stood abruptly at the sound of a carriage. “I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. Will you do that?”
Sophie thought of home, of Aunt Quinlan’s sweet face and of Anna’s, curious and laughing and fierce by turns. She thought of the garden there and of Cap, the summer day he had caught her up against the pergola trellis, heavy with sweet jasmine, sugar in the air itself, and kissed her. The surprise of it. The soft touch of his mouth and the rough prickle of his cheek, the tripling pulse at the base of his throat, and how right and good it had been.
“I love my family,” she told Mrs. Reason. “That’s where I belong. For the time being, at least.”
? ? ?
THE JOURNEY BACK to the ferry was far too short for Sophie to hesitate about what she had to say, and so she told Mr. Reason about Comstock’s determination to prosecute female physicians associated with Dr. Garrison.
“By extension this is a threat to you,” she said. “Because I recommended your services to Dr. Garrison. He is not above entrapment and spying to lay his hands on a target. You must be alert.”
When he glanced at her Mr. Reason’s expression was calm, without even a hint of surprise.
“It’s good of you to come so far to tell me about this. But do you really think there’s a threat?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry to say, I think there’s a threat. He has ruined businessmen for the challenge of it, and sent good doctors to prison. He takes satisfaction in such things. I had to come tell you in person because he monitors the mails.”
After a moment he said, “There’s no way you would know this, but I retired shortly after we met, the day of my accident. My eldest grandson took over the business. You didn’t meet Sam today; he spent this last week in Savannah. Should be home tomorrow.”
“Well,” Sophie said, oddly deflated. “Could you possibly tell him about all this?”
“Or you could come out to dinner next Sunday, tell him yourself.”
She grinned at him. “I can try to do that. But in the meantime—”
“Of course,” Mr. Reason said. “And let me promise you one more thing. If you need help of any kind, send word. You can send a message to the law offices of Levi Jackson; he’ll see it gets to me. There’s a whole world of help over here in Weeksville. Will you remember that?”
Sophie wondered how such a thing could be forgotten.