Free American Dreams by Janet Dailey

dragging, he came slowly back. Phoebe stopped her churning and glanced guiltily at her younger brother. Eliza could almost feel both of them cringe from her. Not visibly, perhaps, but in every other way. Why? They had no reason to be afraid of her.
    "What were the two of you doing outside the school window this morning?"
    "Nothin', ma'am," Phoebe mumbled.
    Shadrach scuffed a bare toe in the dirt, digging a small furrow. "We jus' be listenin'. We din't mean no harm."  
    "Did I see you writing in the dirt with a stick?"  
    "Yes'm."
    "This is not the first time you sat outside the window and listened, is it?" Eliza knew the answer to that, and the knowledge of it was a wondrous, exciting thing.
    "No'm," he admitted reluctantly.
    "Why do you sit out there?"
    He glanced at his sister, then chewed uncertainly at his lower lip and shrugged.
    "You were trying to learn to read and write, weren't you?" Eliza stated, inwardly thrilled. Southern bigots might scoff and say these Negro children were nothing more than monkeys copying what they saw others do. But in her heart, Eliza knew better. Here were two young minds eager to learn. No, they were more than eager, she realized. These two hungered to learn. There was no discovery more exciting, more challenging, or more fulfilling to a teacher than this one.
    "Is you gwine t' tell Master Will?" Phoebe hunched her shoulders forward, drawing her body into a protective ball as if anticipating punishment.
    Eliza hesitated, touched by her earnest plea. "We shall see."
    "We wasn't doin' no harm," Shadrach insisted, striving for defiance although the quiver in his chin made it a pathetic attempt.
    "I know." A daring thought began to form in her mind. But just how she could carry it out, Eliza didn't know.
    Â 
    A wave of coolness washed over Eliza when she entered the plantation house. She paused, appreciating the thickness of its walls that held in the cool of the previous night and blocked the heat of the day.
    The house was silent. No voices came from its rooms. Frowning, she wondered where Temple had gone. She suspected that wherever she found The Blade she would also find Temple. He was too bold for Eliza to believe that young Temple was entirely safe alone with him. She really needed to take Temple in hand and teach her that primitive passions had to be suppressed, otherwise such feelings would hold sway and lead a girl to ruin. Busy hands, brisk walks in the open air, and cold-water baths usually banished those pernicious sensations. If those failed, a camphor compress was a certain remedy.
    A faint soft sound like the whisper of clothing came from the main parlor. Thinking one of the house servants was there cleaning, Eliza went to the archway to inquire after Temple's whereabouts.
    Short of the opening, she came to an abrupt stop, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of Temple and The Blade locked in an embrace that could only be described as passionate, their bodies pressed so tightly together that not even a feather could slip between them. It seemed to Eliza as if The Blade were devouring Temple's lips. She suddenly felt incredibly hot all over, so hot she was almost weak at the knees. When his hand glided up to cover Temple's breast, Eliza turned and fled blindly, too shaken to remain.
    In the dimness of the great hall, she didn't see the large object in front of her until it was too late. She ran right into it. Before the impact could knock her backward, she was caught and held. Dazed, Eliza stared at the collar of a man's shirt before her eyes. When she looked up, she found herself gazing at Will Gordon's face, solidly boned and strong, his brown eyes dark with concern.
    She was suddenly assaulted by a hundred different impressions—the sensation of his large hands digging into the flesh of her arms, the broad band of his chest before her, the heat of his body radiating around her, the warm, heavy smell of him, and the hard planes of his body pressing against