Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) Read Online Free PDF

his family is from Philadelphia, they don’t keep any slaves.
They say that their cook and maids and everyone else, that they’re all… hired.
Freedmen.”
    “I
don’t particularly care who he has working for him,” Cam said abruptly, though
that wasn’t entirely true. She and both of her sisters were closet
abolitionists, and she couldn’t quite suppress the pang of admiration she felt
when she heard that Brent didn’t have any slaves.
    “Oh.”
Helen said in surprise. “I thought it was quite admirable. I thought maybe that
was why you were talking to him.”
    “Do
you know Mr. Anderson?” Cam asked. Helen appeared to have given a great deal of
thought to their new neighbor. Then again, that wasn’t unusual. Helen liked to
know every detail there was about everybody, so that she could record even the
most insignificant ones in her diary.
    “No.
Well, we were introduced, but I haven’t spoken with him beyond that.”
    “Good,”
Cam said firmly. “Whatever you do, don’t answer any of his questions.” They had
reached the porch of Cypress Hall, and she stared at her sister meaningfully.
    The
smile slid from Helen’s face. “Questions? What questions?”
    “Just
don’t answer them,” Cam said, turning away.
    “Where
are you going?”
    “I’m
going to lie down for a few minutes.”
    “Aunt
Beth won’t be happy.”
    “I
won’t be absent for long. I can’t be. I have to make a satisfactory appearance
at the barbecue, since I have no intention of attending the ball tonight.”
    Cam
slipped indoors and closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to lock it.
She stared at the foyer around her before sighing and climbing the stairs.
Cypress Hall had been completed by Cam’s paternal grandfather Miles Johnson in
1827, just a year before his death. It was built in the Greek revival style,
with tall white plaster columns and a small balcony. The dark marble that had
been used to detail the façade was beautiful and expensive, if a bit cheerless,
and a shortage of windows made the interior darker than Cam would have
preferred. But beyond these slight faults it was a lovely house, and the only
home that Cam had ever known. She knew by heart which floorboards creaked and
which were silent, and when she sat up at night completing charm bags or
writing letters by the light of a single candle, she was familiar with every
shadow. She could identify every sound, from the scrape of branches against the
glass to the sigh of the wind as it rushed across the porch.
    To
the left of Cypress Hall stood the first Johnson homestead, an old brick
building almost seventy years old that had been converted into a kitchen
following the construction of Cypress Hall. The kitchen was the domain of Caro
and Cam’s grandmother, Daphne. Cam was the only one of her sisters who
regularly passed time there. Aunt Beth came out occasionally to supervise, but
she seemed to sense that there was something unusual, perhaps even dangerous,
about the kitchen, and she never stayed long.
    Cam
had just placed her hand on the knob of her bedroom door when there was a low
creaking sound, and her sister Diana emerged from her bedroom. Diana was
twenty-three, and though many Southern belles were thought to be past their
prime at that age, Diana seemed to be getting lovelier every day. It was a
shame that since her affair with Edgar and her resulting ruin she was so rarely
seen, because she was still the most beautiful woman in the county. Her eyes
were the same as Cam’s, but her hair was black and straight, not brown and
curly. There was something darkly ethereal about her, all piercing dark eyes,
black hair and deep red lips.
    “Is
it a pleasant barbecue?” Diana asked, lounging in her doorway. She was still
wearing her dressing gown, and the darkness of her room suggested that her
curtains were closed. Her state of undress was probably some form of protest
against Aunt Beth, who had specifically asked Diana not to attend the