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"Government handouts," she whispered.

My back straightened instantly.

"What makes you think that?" I demanded.

"I hear all yer black folks in America is, is all."

"You hear wrong," I said. "I guess there's a lot I'll be able to teach you."

Her eyes seemed to wobble in her head a moment. Mary Margaret held her breath, and then Mrs. Chester let out a loud cackle and pressed her hands against her round stomach.

"Ain't no tellin' what'll come spuin' out of 'er gob. Mr. Boggs got 'is work cut out for 'im, he does. I'm goin' ta enjoy comin' ta work 'ere every day, as long as ya here, that is," she said with a wink. "Okay, dearies, let's get ta work. Set out two extra plates tonight, Mary Margaret. They got guests?'

She laughed to herself and turned back to her dinner preparations. She was making Yorkshire pudding, which she explained was a popoverlike bread served with roast beef, made by baking a batter of eggs, flour, and milk in the drippings of the beef. I had to admit to myself that it did smell delicious. And for what Mary Margaret called the afters, desserts, she had made custard to pour over a Madeira cake, a kind of pound cake.

"Mrs. Chester was born within the sound of Bow bells, but she's been a cook in the finest houses," Mary Margaret said as we prepared the dining room table.

"Bow bells'?"

"That's what a Cockney is. An East Ender," she continued. I shook my head.

"Less jabberin' out there and more work, ya hear?" Mrs. Chester called from the kitchen.

Mary Margaret zipped her mouth shut and worked faster. This is a house of slaves, I thought, slaves who order slaves.

Mama, we didn't have it so bad, after all.

I laughed to myself and folded the linen napkins. Afterward, I had some time to go back to my closet of a room and finish unpacking. I thought I would just lie down for a moment or two and catch my breath, but unfortunately jet lag took hold and I fell into a deep sleep.

A hard thump on the side of my iron bed sent an electric vibration up my legs, into my spine to the back of my head. I woke with a jump and sat up quickly. Boggs was standing there with a broom handle clutched in his hand like a club. He looked like he was about to whack me with it next. For a moment I was so confused, I forgot where I was. I blinked and blinked until my garbled thoughts settled down and cleared the screen of my memory. Then, I got mad.

"What are you doing in my room?" I demanded. It just occurred to me that there was no way to lock the door, but I had closed it. I was sure of that.

"You're late for servin' dinner," he said.

"I fell asleep. I flew here all the way from the United States today. Maybe you people call it a pond, but it's an ocean and there's a big time difference!"

"None of your excuses. I told you to fulfill your duties. That comes first. Now, get yourself to the kitchen. Mrs. Chester is waitin' on you and Mrs. Endfield asked after you," he said undaunted.

"You have no right to come into my room."

"This ain't your room," he said with a cold smile. "You're just sleepin' in it and only because Mr. Endfield is charitable." He walked to the doorway and turned, pointing his long thick forefinger at me. "If you miss another duty, I'll see to it you work on your Sunday."

He left, his footsteps pounding over the rustcolored floorboards. I scrubbed my face with my dry palms and then hurried to the bathroom to wash it with cold water. My hair was messy, but I

remembered I had to have it pinned up anyway, so I did that quickly and then I went to the kitchen.

"Well, look who's gracin' us with 'er presence," Mrs. Chester cried as I came through the rear door. Mary Margaret looked up from the tray she was preparing. She looked frightened for me.

"I fell asleep. Big deal. I happen to have jet lag. There's quite a time difference, you know."

"Is that so? Maybe I'll come in late tomorrow and tell Mr. Endfield I got jet lag, too," she quipped. "Help Mary Margaret serve the Yorkshire puddin'."

I took the other tray and followed her into the dining room. Great-aunt Leonora clapped her hands together as soon as I appeared. There was an elderly looking woman to her right and a very short, plump bald man to her left. My Great-uncle Richard had his back to us, but turned when Great-aunt Leonora cried, "Here she is, Richard."

I looked into the face of a very d

istinguished looking, handsome man with hair as black as mine and almond-shaped green eyes that most women would envy. That certainly went for his long and thick lashes as well. Because of his rich hair color and his ruddy complexion, he looked younger than Great-aunt Leonora. He was a little over six feet tall, and trim and fit looking in his pinstriped suit. Besides his wedding band, he wore a gold pinky ring on his left hand. It had a small diamond in the center. His hands were long, but as graceful as I imagined an artist's might be.