Chapter 14: The List

Rosalind walked up the center aisle between the folding chairs with her back straight.

Nobody stopped her.

Forty people who had not seen her in twenty-two years turned in their seats to watch her pass.

"Rosalind," Edmund said. "This is not the place."

"It is exactly the place," she said. "You built it."

She stopped at the table and laid her hand flat on the ledger.

"This list has seven names. I wrote none of it. Edmund's own pen put the first one down, and it was mine."

"You were glad of the match," Edmund said.

"I was thirty, and you told me my brother would lose his house."

She turned to face the rows.

"I wrote to every woman after me. Three of them wrote back. I sent them tickets last night."

She looked at the side door.

"Come in."

It opened, and three women came in together.

The first was a cousin I had not seen since I was a child, with a Phoenix sunburn and a rolling suitcase.

The second wore a dark wool coat and a Montreal accent, and held the third woman's arm.

The third I half remembered from a birthday card that had stopped coming when I was twelve.

"Arizona," Rosalind said, and the first woman lifted her chin.

"That's me."

"Montreal."

"Here."

"And the fourth line."

"I'm here," said the third. "I was sold to a man in Hartford who liked to hear himself called sir. Edmund said it was an honor."

Forty people sat with their mouths open, and nobody coughed.

"Two more," Rosalind said. "One died two winters ago in a rented room. The last would not fly. She said she would rather not be looked at."

She turned to the Council table.

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