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Democrats, who had fought for secession and who now saw their entire way of life disintegrating before their eyes. Just after the War, under the Andrew Johnson administration, they had enacted the harsh Black Codes, which, in effect, kept the newly emancipated Negroes in economic and political slavery.
    Then the Republican Congress had taken it upon itself to reorganize the South, beginning with the three Reconstruction Acts in 1867.
    These acts put the South under military supervision. All the rebels were immediately disenfranchised, and the newstate governments were required to ratify the Fourteenth Amendment, which gave the freed Negro basic civil rights, including the right to vote. With Negro suffrage, the Republicans assumed control of the Southern state governments, although in many localities the Democrats were strong enough to control local and county governments, or at least exert various degrees of influence upon them. According to Allen, this was the case in Natchez, where the Democrats held several municipal positions, such as the sheriff’s office, although not all.
    He had written her at least weekly but most of his letters had lauded the progress of his pupils, all freed Negro children, or described the beauty of the Mississippi countryside. Grace sensed an omission, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.
    â€œLet me tell you about Melrose,” Allen said. “The Barclays were one of the great Natchez planter families. Melrose was a huge plantation at the time of the War. Of course, its foundation was cotton. But like the other great Natchez planters, the Barclays eventually diversified, buying into Northern industrial interests. The plantation is actually across the Mississippi in Louisiana, though Louisa Barclay prefers her home in Natchez and resides here most of the time. Louisa was only sixteen when she married Philip Barclay—he was already middle-aged. She was widowed shortly after the War when Philip died in his sleep at a ripe old age.”
    â€œSo they didn’t lose Melrose because of the War?”
    â€œNo. Philip was too well off. Rumor has it they had no trouble with the taxes. Melrose is thriving, from what I gather.” And he grimaced.
    â€œAllen, what is it?”
    â€œNothing,” he said, attempting a smile. “I just hope this is the right thing for you, Grace.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” she said firmly.
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    After a hot, dusty drive, they finally arrived at Melrose. The house was a red brick Greek Revival mansion withmassive white columns and a white pediment. Grace’s stomach began to twist into knots as they approached along the paved, curving drive, the scent of magnolia hanging thick and heady all around them. “Allen, you don’t think they’ll find out about what happened in New York, do you?”
    â€œNot if you can stick strictly to teaching,” Allen said gently, with a touch of reprimand. Grace resolved not to agitate for her sisters or any other oppressed classes—at least, not publicly. And then she knew instantly that she was fooling herself; she could never give up the causes she believed in. Somehow, she would have to be very discreet.
    At the impressive front door Allen left her with a young Negro girl who was about fifteen. Her name was Clarissa and she was one of his students. He then promised to pick Grace up for church on Sunday and dinner afterward.
    Minutes later, Grace found herself standing in a large high-ceilinged hall, rich with wood paneling. “You just wait heah a bit, ma’am,” Clarissa instructed her, smiling brightly. Grace instantly liked the young woman. But wait she did—a good half an hour. By the time Louisa Barclay appeared, Grace was simmering with annoyance, and trying not to show it.
    Louisa was very close to her own age, raven-haired, blue-eyed, and beautiful—a perfect Southern belle. Once they were ensconced in an elegant parlor, she