He slowly lifted her chin until he saw her face. Instead of being startled by his touch, it was as if she yielded herself to it, not moving his hand even as they looked at each other. “Lottie, not knowing the outcome means there’s always hope. Always.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. But when she looked at him again, it was sadness he saw there, and it tugged at the corners of her lips.
Gabriel hesitated. Sadness? He hadn’t expected sadness. But it didn’t change what he needed to say. “I love—”
At the sound of the creaking and clattering of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves, they both flinched. Lottie, instead of walking with him, stared at the ground and made a few backward and forward steps, all the while acting as if she had dropped something.
“What are you doing?”
But she didn’t answer him, and he found himself echoing her movements, without any idea of what he was doing.
When the carriage passed them and was a distance off, Lottie straightened, and that’s when Gabriel understood. If the curtains were open, the occupants would have seen only a girl wearing a bonnet and holding a parasol.
He reached out his hand, but she ignored him.
“It’s late. I don’t want my grandparents to worry. I need to be home. We cannot do this, Gabriel, remember?”
“Of course,” he said, as if the past few minutes had not happened.
They walked to Lottie’s house, jostling the awkward silence between them.
Hope, Gabriel reminded himself. You said it. Can you live it?
Chapter Twenty-Three
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“You will be going again next week?”
Lottie recognized Gabriel’s café voice, the one he used when he asked customers what they wanted to order. She knew she was responsible for the shift in him, but she was glad. No, relieved. They could not allow themselves to plunge into that river of emotions. Too deep. Currents. Waves. Creatures. She wouldn’t let it happen.
“Certainly.” She closed the gate after she walked through. She needed him to leave soon, because she didn’t know how much longer she could remain on shore when the river appeared so tempting. “Thank you.”
He nodded, and they both turned home. In different directions.
Agnes was already lighting candles when Lottie found her in the dining room.
“I’d say look what the cat dragged in, but he at least show up during daylight.” Agnes shaved wax from around the wick of one of the tapers in the silver candelabra on the sideboard.
“Are my grandparents home?” Lottie peeked under the napkin draped over the plate set alone on the table. Slices of chicken, wedges of tomatoes, and green beans. She pulled out one of the green beans and ate it before Agnes could shoo her away.
“No need to whisper. They went to the opera.” Agnes stood the candelabra on the table near the place setting. “Jus’ sit down and eat. Don’t know why you stealing food off your own plate.”
Until she started eating, Lottie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Between mouthfuls, she asked Agnes what had happened after she left.
“All I know is when me and Abram get back, you gone and your grandmother playing some kind of somethin’ on that piano. She coulda woke the dead. But she jus’ woke your grandfather, and he none too happy about that.” She moved the platter of tomatoes and green beans within Lottie’s reach on the table and went back to the sideboard.
“Do we have any bread? Lemonade?”
Agnes turned around, and the items Lottie had asked for were already in her hands. “Many years as I been feeding you, I knows what you gonna ask for.”
Lottie pulled out a chair. “Please don’t stand over there while I eat. Come sit down.”
Agnes looked around as she slid into the chair. “Now you know I not suppost to be doing this.”
“It’s just the two of us. Besides, why can’t I have dinner with someone who’s known me almost my entire life?” She tore a piece of bread off the half loaf Agnes had set down. “Who made up these ridiculous rules?” She thought of Jacob and Tom, and heart pangs replaced her hunger pains.
“Miss Lottie, don’t be saying them kind of things. White people can get in trouble for sounding like one them abullishonists.”
She started to ask Agnes where she’d learned that word but then decided—like earlier today—there were some things she just didn’t want answers to. “My grandparents haven’t been to the opera in weeks. I’m glad they decided to attend, but it’s still surprising.”
“Your grandfather didn’t want to go, but your grand-mère said they needed to go because somebody in this family had to be seen in the society, ’specially sence you out gallivanting with Gabriel. And just the day after your party. She worried what people think. Your grandfather weren’t too happy.”