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with her up north to Indianapolis. Said this was way too close to the line.”
    Rosaleen knew that along this stretch of the Ohio, the river itself was the line between slave and free country. Many whites here were more than willing to turn blacks over to their slaveholders for the bounty.
    “But when Andrew got up the nerve and asked me to stay and jump the broom with him, I couldn’t say no.” Patsey’s face lit and her eyes sparkled with love. “Never been sorry. He’s as purty inside as out,” she said grinning. Handing Rosaleen the crock of floured squirrel, she shot her a curious glance. “Did you love your man?”
    Unprepared for the question, Rosaleen allowed a long moment of silence while she busied herself positioning the sizzling meat in the skillet with extra care. “No.” She felt a pang of guilt at the whispered word.
    The question had been one she’d shied away from for a long time. She glanced at Patsey’s face, still glowing at the mere mention of Andrew.
    Rosaleen thought of the man thirteen years her senior to whom she’d been wed for six short weeks. Although he had been a kind and gentle husband, thoughts of Donovan Archer had never quickened her heart. Since her father’s death, the short time she’d spent with Donovan had been the one brief splash of contentment in her life. But in her heart she knew she’d never felt true love for him.
    “You’re young. You got plenty of time.” The kind, almost pitying tone of Patsey’s voice caused Rosaleen to blink away tears.
    Nodding, Rosaleen felt a stab of envy.
    Patsey’s voice took on a teasing lilt. “I done seen the way Rev’rend Hale looks at you. His eyes goin’ all moon-calf-like. Done seen the way you look at him, too.” She danced around the little kitchen in an exaggerated sashay, holding out the sides of her calico skirt with dusty hands. “Jis a few winks and nods, and you’d have him askin’ you to jump the broom.”
    “Patsey Chapman!” Heat that had nothing to do with the frying pan rushed to Rosaleen’s face. Had she been so transparent about her feelings for Jacob? Could Patsey be right about Jacob? It didn’t matter. Unlike Patsey, she couldn’t stay. “I have no designs on Reverend Hale, and I’m sure he has no interest in me that way either.”
    Patsey gave an indelicate snort and laughed. “Well, you have it your way, but I jis know what I done seen, that’s all.” Then, with a low moan, she waved her hand at the gamy meat and sage-laced steam rising from the skillet. Holding her stomach with one hand, she pressed the other against her mouth. “Lord, help me! I cain’t abide another minute of that smell,” she mumbled through her hand. “I best peel these taters outside.” Snatching a wooden bowl full of potatoes from the table, she retreated toward the kitchen door.
    Gazing through the open door, Rosaleen watched the young woman settle herself on a stool beneath an oak tree to pare the potatoes. She told herself that Patsey’s notion sprang simply from her romantic imagination, yet there was a part of her that hoped it hadn’t.
    ❧
    “Mmm, squirrel.” Jacob inhaled deeply when Rosaleen brought the platter heaped with the golden brown pieces of meat to the supper table. “I’ve been looking forward to this since Andrew told me what luck he’d had hunting.”
    Rosaleen’s heart quickened beneath Jacob’s lingering gaze.
    “Smells like you’ve done a wonderful job with them,” Jacob commented to her.
    “And how do you know Patsey didn’t cook these?” His bright blue eyes fixed on hers drained the strength from her arms, and she hurried to set down the platter.
    “Because Andrew told me he was afraid he might not get any as the smell of meat makes Patsey ill now.”
    “Then I suppose I’m the one to blame if they are not cooked well,” Rosaleen said with a grin. She was finding it increasingly difficult to disavow Patsey’s claim.
    “Squirrel! I haven’t had squirrel