The master of the plantation is away, and standards have slipped; most of the overseers are drinking, and though they've still locked everyone here inside, they are less observed. Conversations held above whispers, low singing from the black slave barracks, and Thomas and James are wholly ignored where they are together. (Mister Browder had said, of the pronouncement that James would be returning to regular work, Thank God. I never thought I'd prefer you two mooning over each other all day, but the miserable looks on your faces at dawn and dusk are even worse. He is fond of Thomas.)
"I don't know that I understand," he says quietly. The papers between them, hidden easily from anyone's view, feel uncomfortably heavy. Not for an intangible reason of importance. Burning these will be too conspicuous; if James can't return them to their original housing, they'll have to eat them. It's a stupid thing to thing about. It's what they did in Bethlem, if anyone passed a note. He stares at the letterhead. Abigail Ashe. They have only snippets of the story but-- what other story can it be?
One is a simple, formal inquiry through her lawyer. The other is more personal and pointed, the fiery faux-politeness of someone very educated gritting her teeth against just demanding answers, trying to cajole information out of Oglethorpe about what her father was paying him for. How could the girls in the house know about this? Was there something else they sent James in to look for? Has Oglethorpe been complaining about Abigail where they could hear? --No. He has to have been complaining about Thomas, or they wouldn't have known to tell James.
"Peter's daughter sent him a clock that belonged to Miranda and I." Thomas lays a hand at James's upper arm, near his shoulder, still lightly even though he's made good progress healing. These bunks aren't wide enough for two people, they're cramped and too hot especially in the brutal humidity, but Thomas still hasn't slept better in ten years. "She can't know you're here, can she?"
He feels a little like he's being deliberately obtuse, but for whatever reason, the exact nature of it slotting together eludes him. He can feel it under his nails catching just so without letting him grasp on. Maybe it's simply because he has no experience with Abigail and cannot envision her so valiant. Maybe it's just that the outside world has become such a non-entity that he cannot parse it trying to reach in.
no subject
"I don't know that I understand," he says quietly. The papers between them, hidden easily from anyone's view, feel uncomfortably heavy. Not for an intangible reason of importance. Burning these will be too conspicuous; if James can't return them to their original housing, they'll have to eat them. It's a stupid thing to thing about. It's what they did in Bethlem, if anyone passed a note. He stares at the letterhead. Abigail Ashe. They have only snippets of the story but-- what other story can it be?
One is a simple, formal inquiry through her lawyer. The other is more personal and pointed, the fiery faux-politeness of someone very educated gritting her teeth against just demanding answers, trying to cajole information out of Oglethorpe about what her father was paying him for. How could the girls in the house know about this? Was there something else they sent James in to look for? Has Oglethorpe been complaining about Abigail where they could hear? --No. He has to have been complaining about Thomas, or they wouldn't have known to tell James.
"Peter's daughter sent him a clock that belonged to Miranda and I." Thomas lays a hand at James's upper arm, near his shoulder, still lightly even though he's made good progress healing. These bunks aren't wide enough for two people, they're cramped and too hot especially in the brutal humidity, but Thomas still hasn't slept better in ten years. "She can't know you're here, can she?"
He feels a little like he's being deliberately obtuse, but for whatever reason, the exact nature of it slotting together eludes him. He can feel it under his nails catching just so without letting him grasp on. Maybe it's simply because he has no experience with Abigail and cannot envision her so valiant. Maybe it's just that the outside world has become such a non-entity that he cannot parse it trying to reach in.