“I dunno.” She sounded suddenly remorseful, and Jesse gave her shoulders a squeeze. The tenderness in his gesture moved Anna. She had the feeling Jesse looked out for this little girl who didn’t seem to have the self-control to look out for herself.

Anna decided to shift the conversation with what she hoped was a neutral question. “How long has this land been in your family?” she asked, which set Mrs. Williams and Aunt Jewel off on a long story of the family’s history. For the most part, Mr. Williams stayed out of it, continuing his quiet observation of the goings-on, even though it was his lineage being discussed. Anna learned that Mr. Williams’s grandfather had been promised land when he was freed from slavery, but that land had been taken away from him, and he and his family had had to work as sharecroppers for many years before they could afford to buy a small parcel of land for themselves. They faced all kinds of hardships—some of them the same sort that white farmers would face, like drought, but they also faced hatred and prejudice that made it hard for them to hang on to the farm. Now, though, Mr. Williams and his whole extended family—sisters and brothers and cousins and the list of relatives went on and on—all owned bits and pieces of the fields surrounding the house. Jesse pointed this way and that as they described land belonging to their many cousins. It sounded like holding on to the land was an ongoing battle for all of them. Anna got the feeling that while Jesse’s family was not poor, they had to work very hard to hang on to everything they had.

“I’m sorry it’s been such a rough road for your families,” she said.

“Oh, we fine now,” Jesse’s mother said. She looked at Anna and drew in a long breath that signaled a serious change of topic. “Jesse tol’ us you was a old lady,” she said. “He say we don’t have nothin’ to worry about, him workin’ with you, but you ain’t no ol’ lady.”

Mr. Williams tilted his head in his wife’s direction at the change of topic, but still said nothing, and Anna tried to set her mind at ease. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “Jesse is very talented and I want to help him grow to be a good artist. But I’m concerned—”

“Don’t matter what your intent or his intent be,” his mother said. “People see things where there ain’t nothin’ to see.”

Maybe Mrs. Williams had seen Mr. Wayman’s letter, after all. Anna understood her worry. Miss Myrtle told her colored men—and boys—had been beaten and even lynched for getting a bit too close to white women. “That’s all in the past, though,” Miss Myrtle had said. “That hardly ever happens at all anymore, and certainly not in Edenton.”