When the Colonel Came to the Estate

Charles did not answer immediately.

He looked toward the garden. Rain dotted the glass, blurring the rows of hedges and white roses outside.

“Her letters changed,” he said. “At first she was happy. Poor, but happy. She and Daniel were married in a courthouse near Savannah. She painted street portraits. He worked at a marina. She wrote that they had very little money but more peace than she had ever known in this house.”

His voice broke on the word peace.

I looked down at June, at her small fingers opening and closing against the fabric of the wrap, and imagined a young woman writing letters to the brother who had helped her escape. A young woman believing blood might still mean sanctuary.

“Then?” Wesley asked.

Charles reached into his jacket pocket, fingers trembling.

From inside, he withdrew a small brass key on a worn ring.

Margaret stared at it.