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In the morning, Helen came in before Lorna did. Still dressed in her wrapper, she looked fresh and pretty. I noticed that she had a way of arching her neck and turning the curve of her jaw that was utterly charming, a way of always smiling before she spoke, as if she could say only delightful things. She sat on my bed and took my hand in hers. She said, "Now, Louisa. You must know how I feel about you. I won’t say a word about anything else, but you must know that."

"I know we’ve become friends and that I am very fond of you, Helen."

"Now, sometimes, Louisa, I just am dying of curiosity about who you are and where you came here from, but you’ve noticed that except for that one question, I never asked you about it?"

"I noticed that, my dear."

"There, you see. Mama always used to say that I worried things like a little terrier dog but that it was much more respectful to be patient and allow those you love—you see, there I’ve said it—to open themselves by themselves, so I’ve been very patient; and you know, that’s been hard for me, but I’ve made myself do it, because I see you are of a delicate sensibility and clearly some tragedy weighs upon your spirits that you don’t wish to talk about—"

"I told you that my husband was killed—"

"But I know there’s something more! Oh, my dear Louisa, you sang that song the other day about hard times, and I saw right into your immortal soul, and I said to Papa that you had been sent to us for a reason, and he took my meaning instantly!" She grasped my hands in hers. "However, I will say no more! Papa says I must be patient one more day, and so I will be. Oh, my dear!" And she threw her arms around me and embraced me ardently, and I thought how I had never heard such a group for declaring that Providence was sending them this person and that person for this reason and that reason. But I returned her embrace, for indeed, how could I not? I had never met anyone as artless and pretty and well disposed as Helen. She was, as my sisters would have said at once, spoiled to death, and yet kindness ruled her nature.

I said, "We’ll see what happens," which was a kind of promise, and she went away happy and confident, saying, "Now, you stay up here; no need to see us off. You just dress at your leisure, and when we come in tonight, I’ll tell you all about it. I am sure it will be such an amusing day, and my goodness, do we need something, with all this fighting!"

And so that was our farewell. An hour later, I waved Helen and Papa off as they got into the carriage and Malachi got up on the box. Papa’s favorite "charger" was tethered to the back of the carriage, so I saw that there was going to be drilling that afternoon. Moments later, the whole equipage trotted off, and moments after that, I heard Lorna’s foot on the stairs, and then my door opened and she slid into the room. She said, "I done tol’ Delia dat you is keepin’ to you room today because you got you a bad head. She down in de cellar fo’ de hundred millionth time. She jes’ went down deah. So you tek you bag and you go out de front doah and run down to de stable deah and go round to de side away from de house, and I will come."

Her manner, calm enough on the surface, all at once communicated to me the enormity of what we were doing, so that I took fright and stared at her. She stared back at me, but only for a moment. Then she went over and got my bag from under my bed and thrust it into my hands, saying, "Ain’ got time to git sceahed. You git!" She held the door for me, and I tiptoed out and looked down into the hallway. No one. She whispered, "Git!" and I ran down the stairs and out the door. Then there was the cushiony lawn under my feet, then the brick wall of the stable, then I was around on the other side, where Ike was standing, not looking at me. Ike wasn’t very old, maybe sixteen, and he worked away from the house. I knew that he was trusted, along with Malachi, to ride off from the farm carrying messages and doing errands. I thought maybe he was Malachi’s son, in fact, but I didn’t know; there was no