Normally, he wouldn’t touch her, but he didn’t dare leave her stranded in the yard either. As he had lifted her in his arms, she’d smelled like honeysuckle and stolen sweets. Feeling her soft little arms around his neck made him feel strong, like a man. But a greater, deeper fear gripped him inside. Instead of loving Isla, loving holding the frail little creature that clung to him too tightly, he couldn’t wait to deliver his misbegotten goods to someone else. He had called out to the house as he approached, “Mister Stokes, Mister Stokes, sir!”

Isla had protested angrily, saying he was walking too fast, but he’d ignored the feeling of her frilly clothes crushed under his hands and her girlish voice. He’d held her like she was a snake, a dangerous snake—like one of those black snakes that chased you with all their might until you began chasing them back. In this case, that didn’t seem like a good idea. He had done right in calling out, Stokes had said, but he must never again touch any of the women in the house. Not even if she fell down a well. Stokes had called him stupid, but Hooney had understood. Muncie hadn’t told anyone else, not even Calpurnia.

Muncie relinquished his silver tray at the waiting station and dabbed his forehead and neck with a towel. His breakfast was long gone, and he heard his stomach rumbling. But he shuffled after Stokes in his clunky shoes, ready to serve the men in the study. Mostly, he was supposed to watch and learn, but he had to be ready to help out if called on. So far, nothing exciting had happened. Mr. Cottonwood and Captain Garrett talked loudly about traffic along the Mobile River while the Cottonwoods’ neighbors, Mr. Semmes and Mr. Beauchamp, exchanged jokes that Muncie didn’t understand and then slapped one another on the back. Captain Garrett laughed too loudly, and it seemed he liked pouring Mr. Cottonwood his whiskey.

A light tap on the door surprised Muncie, and he hustled through the opening to see who was beckoning to him. Moving as fast as lightning and waving to him was Isla. “Muncie!”

A jolt of worry hit his stomach, and this time he knew it wasn’t a rumble of hunger. His brain yelled “Danger!” but he worried that something was wrong with Calpurnia. Against his better judgment, he slipped into the Blue Room, next to the men’s parlor, behind her. It was dark except for a single candelabrum that shone like a faraway beacon near the window.

Before he knew what was happening, Isla melted her body against his and planted her lips on his dry mouth.

Her kiss was delicious and tasted like lemonade. She made a little groan against him, shaking him back to reality, and he pushed her, holding her at arm’s length away from him. He didn’t know what to say except, “Please…” In a second, her inviting lips curled tightly in a rueful scowl, and her body stiffened. She suddenly seemed tall and imposing, not soft and pliable as she had been seconds before.