Free Love in Three-Quarter Time by Dina Sleiman Page B

she was doing no good job of proving it. “I’m sorry, Robert. I had resolved to keep my temper. Those memories…those days are not easy to recall.” Even as she said the words, images of Sissy and thoughts of her betrayal flooded Constance’s mind.
    â€œNo, I’m sorry. We let our youthful passions run away with us, but we were never suited. I didn’t take time to realize that until it was too late. But I hope you will believe me that it wasn’t about your fortune.”
    Constance blinked a few times, recalling his grimy image from earlier that evening. “You work your own land?” she asked without preamble. “I thought you owned a plantation, but today you called it a farm.”
    â€œIt’s a long story.” He sighed. “Suffice to say, I’m making some changes. I consider them improvements. Most people wouldn’t agree. I’m sure you wouldn’t agree. My parents certainly didn’t, but at least they’ve given up trying to deter me. Perhaps I should sleep there tomorrow. I hate to inconvenience the workers, but…I’m not sure we should stay in the same house. Then again I have to come for dinner and dance—”
    â€œInconvenience?” The man made no sense.
    â€œMiss Cavendish. Robert.” Mrs. Beaumont called from the side verandah. “Enough of that cavorting in the dark. You’ll be a questionable example for the twins. Hurry and join us for tea.”
    Although the moon shone plenty bright to keep any “cavorting” from going on in the “dark,” Constance let go of Robbie’s arm and hurried up the stairs. She did not for one moment wish to disappoint Mrs. Beaumont.
    Taking a cup, Constance settled into a chair. As the family chatter washed over her, her mind slipped away into the cool, cloudless evening. All these years she’d thought Robbie greedy and callous, but nothing she’d seen here confirmed that. He worked his own land, dirtied his hands. It seemed he even traded his plantation for a farm. What could it all mean?
    Perhaps she had somehow gotten everything wrong.

CHAPTER 7
    Robbie rubbed a crick in his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow. He grew weary of plowing fields, but if they didn’t finish planting this corn soon, he would risk losing the entire plantation…rather, farm. Mr. Jones at the bank hadn’t been at all pleased to hear of his innovative plans. For years Robbie had let things run as usual, and Mr. Jones had been content to know his payments would arrive safely. But by Robbie’s way of thinking, these changes were long overdue.
    He had had every intention of freeing his slaves the moment he turned twenty-one and took over the operations from his mother, but then war had come in 1812 and the economy grew unstable. Then last year came with its freezing temperatures and failed crops throughout New England. Fortunately the States hadn’t been hit as hard as Europe, where many still suffered starvation. But matters such as emancipation must be handled with care. He couldn’t simply send his people out into the cruel world to fend for themselves during difficult times.
    Ever since childhood, Robbie had detested slavery—even risking his father’s wrath as a young boy by claiming he would free them someday. His schooling in the North only further embedded his distaste. But the day he rode to his plantation from White Willow Hall to find his childhood playmate, Jimbo, being beaten in the fields by the overseer had been the day Robbie vowed to make a change. Mr. Beaumont moved Jimbo to White Willow and replaced the cruel overseer, but that had not sufficed.
    Finally, this spring Robbie gave the servants their emancipation papers and offered them all work on his farm. But as he’d always feared, nearly a third left to find family in the North, and another batch took off to join the band of “Black Indians” nearby. He surveyed