Page 30 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter

“A few weeks ago, I set to work on it. Your words greatly inspired me.” He paused and spoke slowly: “‘One of nature’s sweetest songs comes in the evening, as the golden day fades into the depths of night, when a man lays down his labors and prepares to feast and slumber.’”

My heart leaped to my throat. He’d remembered my words. Remembered them and committed them to heart. Remembered them and channeled them into his own work.

I took his hand. He startled. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

We stood in silence, listening to each other’s heartbeats.

Eight

I’d written article after article—from thoughts on the Code Noir to themarchandesto life in the colonies—and submitted them to the newspaper. I checked the post daily for acceptance, but it never came. I waited for Death to arrive filled with complaints about being unable to read what I’d written and demanding to see the evidence of our bargain. I watched for William and stole moments with him in the gardens and stables, hoping I’d be able to figure out what to do with the guilt over wanting to be with him.

Then on Mardi Gras, in February 1796, news finally arrived.

Sarah slipped into the study while I wrote. “Madame?”

“Yes,” I replied, not looking up, feverishly writing about the decorated wagons that wheeled along the streets as the city prepared to fast for Lent.

“You left something in the garden.”

“I did not—” I swallowed the rest of my sentence, looking up and finding Sarah’s expression, a double meaning in her eyes.

She meant someone... William ... was in the garden. I thanked her and quickly freshened up before slipping out of the house. Jacques was busy as ever, working on a new opportunity that often kept him at his office, but I could never be too careful.

A February chill clung to the garden, but I was already shivering with anticipation. I snaked through the trellises, looking for William’s tall form. I spotted him along the edge.

“Hello,” I whispered, trying to quell my excitement.

His eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “I have news. Good news about Silas.”

My heart hammered. I rushed forward, taking his hands. He squeezed mine. “What is it? Tell me.”

“He’s in town with the family that owns him. They’re here for Mardi Gras.”

The impossibility of his words washed over me. My knees buckled and I slumped forward. William caught me in his arms, holding me in place as the truth of his news settled into me. “Is it truly real?”

He nodded. “I was told by three different people. There is a man who fits his description and goes by that name with the Cormack family.”

Missus Mariah’s kin. It had to be him.

“Will you take me?”

Apprehension filled his eyes.

“Please.”

“What if we are seen? What if—”

I stepped back, his arms falling away from my shoulders and waist. “I can’t miss this chance to find my brother. I’ve come all this way. I haven’t seen him in more than fifteen years. I’ve ...” I bit back tears. “I will go alone if you will not accompany me.”

William shook his head. “You cannot do that.”

“Then I guess you’re coming with me.”

The afternoon and early evening passed as slowly as grains shifting from one side of an hourglass to another. William and I were meeting at half past nine to ensure the celebrations were finished, when Silas would most likely be back from escorting the Cormacks, but it felt like a thousand hours away. When Jacques returned home for dinner, he burst into the study, and I startled, shoving my writing aside.

“Noelle, I have news!” he announced.

“Yes?” I replied, trying to hide my distraction and guilt.