He followed the black-dressed Mrs. Richardson down the long passage. A Negro maid carrying a cloth-covered bowl on a tray came the other way and stood aside to let Mrs. Richardson pass, then grinned cheekily at Starbuck. Some voices laughed in a nearby room, while from another a man’s voice gasped excitedly. Starbuck felt light-headed, almost as if he was going to faint as he followed Mrs. Richardson around a corner and down a short flight of steps. They turned yet another corner, climbed a second short stair and then at last Mrs. Richardson brought out her ring of keys, selected one and pushed it into the door’s lock. She paused, then turned the key to push open the door. “Go in, Mister Starbuck.”

Starbuck went nervously into the room. The door closed behind him, the key turned in the lock, and there was Sally. Alive. Sitting in a chair with a book in her lap and looking even more beautiful than he had remembered her. For weeks he had tried to conjure that face in his dreams, but now, faced with the reality of her beauty again, he realized how inadequate those conjurations had been. He was overwhelmed by her.

They stared at each other. Starbuck did not know what to say. His saber scabbard scraped dully against the door. Sally was wearing a dark blue robe and her hair was gathered in heavy loops on top of her head and tied with pale blue ribbons. There was a fresh scar on her cheek, which did not make her any less beautiful, but oddly made her more fascinating. The scar was a white streak that slashed off her left cheekbone toward her ear. She stared at him, seemingly as surprised as he was nervous, then she closed the small book and put it on the table beside her. “It’s the preacherman!” She sounded pleased to see him.

“Sally?” Starbuck’s voice was uncertain. He was as nervous as a child.

“I’m Victoria now. Like the queen?” Sally laughed. “They gave me a new name, see? So I’m Victoria.” She paused. “But you can call me Sally.”

“They lock you in?”

“That’s just to keep the customers out. Sometimes the men run wild, at least, the soldiers do. But I ain’t a prisoner. I got a key, see?” She pulled a key out of her robe pocket. “And I mustn’t say ain’t. Mrs. Richardson doesn’t like it. She says I mustn’t say ain’t and I mustn’t say nigger neither. It ain’t nice, see? And she’s teaching me to read as well.” She showed her book to Starbuck. It was a McGuffey’s Reading Primer, the very first in the series and a book that Starbuck had disposed of when he was three years old. “I’m getting real good,” Sally said enthusiastically.