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ways.”
    Martha bit her lip, clutching the papers to her plump breast.
    Grace drove on. “Why is it that only we women suffer to endure? When a child attains a certain age, his subjection to his parents’ authority is dissolved. Why is it a wife’s subjection is eternal? Did you know that in some countries widows are burned on the funeral pyre with their dead husbands?”
    Martha’s eyes widened.
    â€œWhy is it,” Grace said, her voice rising, causing heads to turn, “that women are doomed to servitude for their entire lives?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Martha whispered weakly.
    Grace gripped her arm. “Martha, I will be forming a local women’s organization in Natchez, if one isn’t in existence already. Please, come and hear us. Just hear us. I want to help you.” She removed her spectacles, which were slipping off of her nose from her excitement, to stare intently into Martha’s eyes.
    â€œI couldn’t,” Martha managed. “Charles…”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to know,” Grace said vehemently.
    Martha blinked, weakened. “I don’t know…”
    â€œI’ll let you know when our first meeting will be,” Grace said, squeezing her hand. “We’re all in this together, Martha. All of us.”

Chapter 2
    Allen was waiting for her at the railroad depot in Natchez.
    At the sight of his familiar form, Grace felt a surge of affection. She turned to the Grimeses, clasping Martha’s palms. “Do take care, and I’m looking forward so much to seeing you again.”
    Martha glanced guiltily at Charles, then squeezed Grace’s hands back.
    Grace turned to wave to Allen. He was a solid, nearly portly man in his late thirties, with graying sideburns and warm brown eyes. “Grace! Grace!” His excitement was etched all over his face.
    She beamed and descended to meet him.
    â€œIt’s so wonderful to see you,” Allen declared, holding her hands tightly.
    â€œHow are you?” Grace asked.
    â€œJust fine,” Allen said, but not before she saw shadows flitting across his eyes. “At least, now I am.”
    Grace frowned, wondering what he meant.
    Allen paid a Negro porter to take her bags to a waiting cheviotte. He climbed in after Grace, raising the reins. Grace twisted to take in the sprawling city. White clapboard houses with picket fences and carefully tended gardens graced this section of town, although the smokestacks of a factory could be seen on a distant ridge, billowing gray clouds into the horizon. “Where’s the Mississippi River?”
    Allen pointed. “On the other side of town.” He touched the tip of her nose. “What are those?”
    Grace smiled. “Spectacles, Allen. Surely you can see that.”
    He chuckled. “Dare I inquire as to why you’re wearing glasses? Has your vision taken a turn for the worse?”
    She laughed, a rich, vibrant sound. “No, Allen, my eyesight is fine. Actually, this is part of my proper governess disguise.”
    He smiled wryly, then took one of her gloved hands. “I missed you, Miss O’Rourke.”
    She didn’t hesitate—Allen was her dearest friend. “I missed you too, Allen Kennedy.”
    â€œHow was your trip?”
    â€œDusty. Allen, how is everything? You’ve told me so much about the school in your letters that I can’t wait to see it.”
    Allen hesitated. “Just fine.”
    Grace stared at him speculatively.
    She knew, mostly from reading the newspapers, that teaching public school in the South was no easy profession. The new educational system had been instituted by the Republican Congress just after the War. There was tremendous local opposition to the schools, as well as to much of the “radical” Republican Congress’s legislation.
    The lines in the South were, for the most part, concisely drawn. Most Southerners were conservative