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it?”
    Lawrence shook his head. “Don’t need nuthin’.” “Nuthin’ you can buy.” He tapped his pipe against the table, looking suddenly thoughtful. “Way I figgur, black man got no r’spect in this life. So I was thinkin’ when I die, they put this angel here on my grave. Somebody walks by, even white folks, see that fine angel. ‘Looks like real Italian marble,’ they say. ‘Mighty fine. Mus’ be someone real important has that kinda monument. Mus’ be a rich man or a military officer,’ and theygo on like that.” Lawrence’s eyes reflected red from the smoldering pipe, but seemed to glow beneath their own power. “Black man don’ get much r’spect in this life.”
    David looked at Lawrence and nodded slowly as the night’s silence filled the humble shack.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Presumption
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    â€œMaryAnne came into the office today. I was surprised to see her, as it was her Sabbath. I was much too forward and I fear I have frightened her. I am clumsy with romance.”
    David Parkin’s Diary. May 13, 1908
    David disliked suits and never wore them on Sunday when he came in to the office to work alone. He was intent over a stack of papers on his desk when MaryAnne’s presence startled him.
    â€œMiss Chandler. What brings you here?”
    â€œI did not finish my letters.”
    David stood. “Monday is soon enough.”
    â€œI did not want to fall behind. You have been so very busy.”
    David smiled, pleased for her concern.
    â€œI think I would be worried if you could keep up.” He walked over to her. “Thank you, Miss Chandler, but go on home and rest. We have a full week ahead.”
    She put her hands in her coat pockets.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Just then, a Westminster chime denoted a quarter of one. Both looked at the clock.
    â€œI have not had supper, Miss Chandler. Would you care to join me? Perhaps at the Alta Club?”
    MaryAnne smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Parkin, but if I am not needed, I should be off to church.”
    David nodded. “Yes. Of course. I suppose that I should go on home as well. Catherine is expecting me.”
    MaryAnne looked at him as if she had just been informed of some terrible news. She knew of no women in David’s life. She tried to dismiss the thought and turned to leave, then paused at the doorway.
    â€œMay I ask you something, Mr. Parkin?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWho is Catherine?”
    â€œCatherine is my housekeeper.”
    MaryAnne appeared relieved and turned to go, but David stopped her.
    â€œAny other inquiries, Miss Chandler?”
    She smiled playfully. “Now that you ask, I have wondered what makes a man collect clocks? And so many of them at that.”
    David studied her face, then leaned forward as if to reveal some great secret.
    â€œIt is because I need more time.”
    MaryAnne met his eyes and, for the first time in David’s presence, laughed. It was a beautiful, warm laugh and Davidfound it nourishing and laughed in turn.
    â€œYou have a wonderful laugh, Miss Chandler.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œThe truth is, I have wondered the same.” He walked over to a cuckoo clock and lifted a brass pine-cone-shaped weight. “I am sure there are those who think me mad. As a boy, I had a penchant for collecting things. When I turned twenty-one, I received the first clock of my collection. It was my father’s pocket watch.” He suddenly stopped. “May I get you some tea? Peppermint?”
    â€œYes. Thank you.” She started to rise. “I shall get it.”
    â€œMiss Chandler, please, sit down. I can manage.” He brought the tea service over to his desk, poured two cups of tea, handed one to MaryAnne, then sat down on the arm of a nearby chair.
    â€œI only drink peppermint tea. It’s theone habit I borrowed from the English.”
    â€œPeppermint tea is an