1862, Philadelphia, USA.
Charlotte Bice, orphaned at age eight, is taken in by one of the city's most prominent families, the Whitcombs, with the promise that she would be raised as a lady. The Whitcombs are certainly not as respectable as they pres...
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"Oh—before I forget," Matthew said, reaching into his haversack and retrieving a worn book, offering it to Charlotte. It took a moment, but she recognized it as the journal she had given Ames back at York. For a moment, she was confused as to why Matthew should have it, but then remembered that the two knew each other from Fredericksburg. "Ames asked me to give this to you—apparently, he was so bored after you left that he wrote a story. He says to say that before you get excited, it is awful."
She giggled, holding the journal in both hands. Many of the pages had been torn out, both by her hand and she supposed Ames'. "I am certain it isn't as bad as all that," she said, knowing Ames had a tendency to be overly critical of himself. "Have you read it?"
Matthew cleared his throat. "I can't read, Charlie," he said softly, and she flushed lightly, sorry that she had embarrassed him. She hadn't thought.
"How is he?" she asked instead, wanting to apologize for her insensitivity but not wishing to draw any more attention and make her brother more self-conscious for his lack of education.
He glanced down at his worn boots. "He is well—his spirits are as high as ever. He has a room in a boardinghouse on Elfreth's Alley," he explained with a shy, strange little smile she didn't have time to wonder about before her little group approached.
"Oh—Miss Sawtell, Miss Whitcomb, Mr. Whitcomb, permit me to introduce my brother, Matthew Bice," she said, relieved for the distraction and also eager for her brother to meet the people who were finally becoming so very important to her.
Martha laughed playfully, stepping forward. "Heavens, Charlotte," she said with a grin, turning to Matthew. "There is no need for such formality with your own brother here. You may call me Martha," she continued, dipping into a quick curtsey.
"And I am Thomas—it is a pleasure to meet one of Charlotte's family," Thomas added, reaching out a hand to shake, which Matthew did, a faint blush of uncertainty on his nervous face. He was a servant, after all, and calling members of such a family by their Christian name—one of the ladies, no less—could not come naturally to him. But she was pleased that her friends were ignoring this status, and not treating him as they might any other groom.
"I suppose I may as well join in on the fun," Olive said cheerfully, laughing softly, dipping as well. "You may call me Olive."
Charlotte watched with pleasure as Matthew shyly fell into conversation with her friends, politely answering Olive's equally polite questions about working in stables and how to train horses, laughing good-naturedly at Martha's peppered dramatic comments about all the ways 'such a beast' could injure a man.
She did not realize William had joined the scene until she heard his sharp whistle piercing the afternoon, and turned to see Petra's behavior immediately transform. The horse came to a stop in the pasture, her head snapping in the direction of the whistle before she ran trotted obediently to William, who was standing at the fence somewhat near Charlotte's group.
