Joseph's next youngest brother, John Ashe, had just been married to a girl from the Santee country, Sally McPherson, and had brought her back to the Waccamaw. Colonel William, according to custom, had presented his son with a plantation, Hagley, and the young couple were now in residence.

Theo's health had not permitted her to attend the wedding, and she and Joseph set out on this March afternoon to pay their respects. Theo liked her new sister-in-law at once. Her giggles, curls, and vivacity reminded her of little Katie Brown at home. For an hour or so she forgot her discomfort and laughed with Sally. They whispered and made silly jokes like the eighteen-year-olds they both were.

But by five o'clock Theo was exhausted. Her brief access of spirits vanished. She was within two months of her term, and her physical sufferings were insistent. She loathed her body as it had become—swollen, heavy, even the once trim ankles and tiny delicate hands. She could have endured this and the backaches, giddiness, and laboring heart, which everyone said was quite natural, if it had not been for the frequent clouds of depression. They floated down on her like masses of thick black gauze, stifling her, and flattening life into an endless gray wasteland.

The blackness descended on her now, and she pulled herself clumsily to her feet, murmuring excuses to Sally. She wanted only to crawl home to her own room, to her soft sofa. There she could lie in peace without effort, if possible without thought.

Sally was much concerned and wanted to call Joseph. The two brothers had gone walking over John's plantation to inspect the rice stand in the far fields.

'Oh, no,' protested Theo, trying to smile. 'Please don't call him. Pompey is waiting and can drive me home, then come back for Joseph later.'

Sally reluctantly agreed. She was worried. Theodosia looked badly, so pale, and her features blurred and puffy. It was hard to believe John Ashe's statement that the poor girl had been extremely pretty some months ago. Still, of course in that condition—Sally felt very mature and matronly—one must expect to lose one's looks, and one must be forgiven sudden crotchets like rushing back to the Oaks before the men had finished their visit together.

No one at the Oaks expected Theo back so soon, and the house seemed deserted and very quiet. Even Cuffey, the little errand boy, whose duty it was to open the front door, was nowhere to be seen. Far off, from the quarters, she heard the sound of laughter and singing, the strumming of banjos—African instruments the negroes made themselves. They were all down there, no doubt, as usual rejoicing at any opportunity to escape from work. She sighed wearily.