Free Always and Forever by Beverly Jenkins Page B

closed the door.

Chapter 3
    T rue to his word, he arrived the next morning at exactly six-thirty. Grace greeted him at the door dressed and ready to go. She stepped back to let him enter and said coolly, “As you can see, I already have on my hat.”
    Figuring he’d earned that crack, Jackson stepped inside. While she closed the door, he studied the olive green hat on her head, the full green skirt and matching jacket, and the black high-heeled boots. “I thought we were going to look over some horses.”
    “We are.”
    “You look like you’re going to tea.”
    Out west, women wore hats to protect them from the sun or to church; here, women wore confections. “How would you describe that?” he asked, holding her faintly hostile eyes.

    “My hat?”
    “Yes, your hat.”
    “It’s olive colored and made of fine Milan straw. It’s medium high and has a round top. The material draped around the brim and crown is made of crêpe, and the ribbons and bow on the front are faced with black velvet and gimp.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    Grace didn’t care for his sarcasm. “Mr. Blake, I don’t care if you dislike my hat. You asked that I not make you wait, and I haven’t. I didn’t ask you to accompany me in the first place, if you remember correctly.”
    Realizing she was right on the edge of shouting, Grace lowered her voice so as not to awaken the still sleeping aunts. “Shall we go now, or do I need to describe my walking suit and boots, too?”
    “No,” he replied.
    Neither of them noticed Dahlia standing on the stairs until she forcefully cleared her throat. “Good morning,” she announced.
    Grace dragged her still angry eyes from Blake and saw that her aunt, dressed in a morning gown and with her hair still in curlers, looked quite perturbed. “Good morning, Aunt Dahl. I hope we didn’t wake you.”
    “No apologies needed. I love being awakened by young people arguing over hats.”
    That said, she descended the stairs and walked off toward the kitchen.
    “I hope you’re happy,” Grace whispered at him harshly.
    “I wasn’t the one shouting.”
    “No, you were simply the one who started this.”
    Dahlia came back through the front room carrying a cup of coffee poured from the pot Grace had left on the stove. She’d obviously heard them starting up again because she said sternly, “My sister is still sleeping. Don’t you two have someplace to be?”
    “Sorry, Aunt Dahl,” Grace offered, while shooting daggers at Blake. “We’re leaving right now.”
    “Good,” she said, climbing the stairs. “Because if you wake up Tulip, I’ll have both your hides.”
    Grace grabbed up her cloak and handbag and stalked to the door with him close behind.
    He politely handed her into the covered buggy he’d borrowed from Sunshine. After taking his seat he picked up the reins. “Where to?”
    She told him, then withdrew into a testy silence.
    The trip took them outside the city. Grace had lived in large cities all her life, and even though she enjoyed the excitement and the hustle and bustle, she always found the open countryside a joy, and she could feel some of her testiness draining away. The pastoral surroundings also reminded her of the horseback rides she’d taken with her parents when she was younger. She’d learned to sit a mount almost as soon as she could walk, and loved riding to this day. Back then, riding fed both her wild spirit and her imagination. Sometimes she pretended to be a member of one of the Civil War’s Black cavalry units and she and her mounted companions would be riding hard to Richmond to free it from the Rebs. At other times she would be on a spy raid with Harriet Tubman and they would be racing back to Union lines with vital information needed by General Montgomery.
    “Did you hear what I said?”
    His question brought her back to the present. “I’m sorry. No.”
    “I said, I apologize for taking digs at your hat back there. I didn’t get much sleep last night