The horse trotted down the quarter-mile avenue toward home, then stopped at a carriage block in front of the picket fence.

As Jenny stepped from the buggy, her cousin Emily Hill pounced.

"What happened to you?" she whispered to Jenny. "We've been here nearly an hour."

Emily composed her face into a set smile as she turned to Charles. Her voice became syrup. "Good afternoon, Mr. King." She patted her pale pink hair. "You simply must forgive me fo' snatchin' Jenny away. But I've already attended to all the little doovers." Nervously she tightened the drawstring of her reticule only to open it again to fish for a handkerchief. "Your aunt is waiting..."

"Yes, ma'am," Charles said, bowing over Jenny's hand, kissing her fingertips.

Casting him a wild-eyed glance, Jenny followed Emily up the center walk flanked by musky boxwoods that cut off escape.

"You're beholden to Mr. Hill for his connections," Emily hissed. "This match will do the family proud. Look at those Corinthian capitals. This house has rare sophistication for a plantation so far from Savannah."

Jenny did not know what Corinthian capitals were, but she knew she did not want to be indebted to Joshua Hill. She supposed she should be thankful. Emily was not obliged to be her matchmaker. But as the wife of a young solicitor, she was in far better position than Jenny's father, with five daughters to dower, to arrange this marriage with a man from the Virginia branch of the clan.

But I don't want to marry now. Especially not this dandy.

"Now I know how you are," Emily continued as she bustled Jenny up the steep steps. "Don't you dare interrupt any of these ladies who are slow to finish a thought."

"But Cousin Emily, I don't want to marry a stranger and sit on a cushion and know in advance what will happen every hour of every day! I want to see the world! I want my life to matter!"

Emily stopped in the middle of the porch and stared at her. "Nonsense! Straighten your collar, take a deep breath, and move slowly and gracefully as a lady should."

Jenny ran a finger under the scratchy white organdy. What should she do with her parasol? But Emily was pushing her through the double doorways into Trevalyan.

Dark, quiet, cool, the hall was filled with the fragrance of roses from massed arrangements set on demi-lune tables on either side. Furnishings were few, uncluttered, creating a spaciousness that made each item special. The floor was bare, shining. On the left, doors opened onto the still dimmer recess of the parlor. There, closed shutters and lace curtains softened the glare of the sun filtering through nine-over-nine windows. Refracted rays cast a restful glow on gleaming woods and polished brass. Porcelains and oriental rugs invited inspection.

Jenny eyed the circle of matrons seated on stiff-backed sofas. Each erect gray head was perfectly coiffured. Each bejeweled hand was properly folded on each silk lap. Each pair of sharp eyes was turned upon Jenny.

I hate being scrutinized like a prized pig. Her wits were slipping away. She remembered that her kid slippers were shamefully grass stained.

"Ladies," Emily Hill said, inclining her head in a deferential nod. She spoke now in a cultured voice. "I want you all to meet Susan Virginia Mobley. Her mother, Johanna Jones Mobley, is my first cousin once removed. Jenny was born in Hillsboro."

She nudged her cousin forward. "Mrs. Giles, this is Jenny."

"How do you do, Susan Virginia?" Charles' aunt, Trevalyan's mistress, nodded formally, looking somewhere above Jenny's shoulder.

Jenny struggled to hide her more offending shoe. She curtsied and murmured a greeting.

She thought Lavinia Giles' mouth looked as permanently pursed as if it had been drawn up like a reticule. She could see that the woman had already decided she would not make Charles a suitable wife. She could not blame her. She knew her face was plain. She considered her hair as uninteresting as brown broom sedge.

He's not what I want anyway. She made her own mouth stubborn.

"Come talk to me, young lady," commanded a humped dowager draped in a musty shawl in spite of the heat. "Didn't your grandfather once live in Goochland County? I believe my Uncle Henry knew him."

"Yes, ma'am." Jenny curtsied more gracefully this time. She smiled, knowing it relieved the plainness of her face, and was rewarded when the old woman responded with delight. "Grandpa emigrated from Ireland. County Down, it was. He fought with General Morgan at Cowpens during the Revolutionary War."

Most probably it's his blood in me that makes me want to fight my brethren for independence. She suppressed a giggle that bordered hysteria.

But she had said the right thing. The old lady claimed her for conversation, and her merry spirits returned.

When at last Jenny fulfilled the demands of etiquette, Emily released her.

She slipped out the nearest door and found herself in the dining room where a long satinwood table was laden with delicacies. A footed crystal dish displayed the layers of an English trifle: cake, jam, custard, fresh peaches, and whipped cream. Jenny's stomach growled. She felt Cousin Emily and the mistress with the drawstring mouth watching her. I can do without food. She hurried through the hall to the front door.

From the high porch, she could discern the pattern of scrolls, circles, and angles in the parterres. Boxwood, trimmed low, edged the labyrinth of flowerbeds. Young ladies, whose beribboned bonnets and ruffled parasols rivaled the blossoms, were exploring the maze of paths. The lovely garden, dappled with sunlight and shadows, beckoned her. Inquisition over, she felt giddy with gaiety and bounced down the steps to introduce herself to the promenaders.

"Hello! I'm Jenny Mobley from Hillsboro."

"I'm Sarah Allen from Madison," responded an older girl. "And this..." she generously included a solemn nine-year-old, "is Rebecca Latimer."

Rebecca followed them, her freckled face lifted to Jenny's. Sarah introduced the others. The group meandered, pausing here and there to sniff the lemon lilies or to wonder at speckled cups of foxglove.

Suddenly the girls' chatter lagged; they peeped beneath their parasols at several young gentlemen alighting from a landau. The obvious leader, a tall man with great shocks of dark hair, strode up the center walk, blustering about encountering an abolitionist spy on a visit to Savannah.

"Who is that?" whispered Jenny.

"You mean that specimen of male beauty?" one of the girls retorted. "That's the infamous Robert Toombs." She shielded her disapproving mouth with a lacy fan. "My dear, he was expelled from Franklin College and..."

"No, no. The slender one in the dark coat."

"Slender? He's the thinnest person I ever saw! Like a skeleton alive and walking."

"He looks like Lord Byron," Jenny murmured. The man was pale, hollow-cheeked. His chestnut hair was thin, combed flat behind protruding ears. Not handsome, and yet ... The look of pathos he bore went straight to Jenny's heart. She wanted to push back that lock of hair and cool that intelligent brow.

Rebecca spoke up in a piping voice that carried across the garden.

"That's who everybody came to hear in the stump speaking. That's 'Little El-lick.'"

The man in the dark coat smiled kindly at the child and looked over her head at Jenny.

Embarrassed that he had caught them discussing him, she nonetheless met his gaze. His hazel eyes blazed with fire. Here is a man who commands attention. I wish I could meet him.

He seemed to read her thoughts. If she spoke to him without being properly introduced, Emily would disown her, but he was heading her way.

Alexander Hamilton Stephens accepted the familiar nickname, Little Alex, with good spirit even though he was not actually that small. He only looked so from the shortness of his body and his disproportionately long arms. He pulled his ninety-four pounds up to his fullest five feet seven and started toward the delightful young lady who had met his eyes.

Then he saw Sarah.

Sarah Allen was wafting her fan with such frenzy that Alex felt momentary panic. Perhaps he had not concealed his passion as well as he thought.

As his footsteps traced the geometric turnings of the parterre, emotion flooded his soul as it had twelve years ago. He had graduated from Franklin College in Athens, Georgia. First in his class, he had ached to continue schooling and study law, but it was out of the question. His patrimony spent, he was in debt. Worse, there were rumors that he had accepted aid from the Presbyterian Board under false pretenses.

The day after graduation, August 2, 1832, he had arrived in Madison to teach at a local academy where he struggled with a hodgepodge of children from baby-fat four-year-olds to long-and-gangling full-grown boys. It had taken all of Alexander's courage to apply the rod to lads much larger than he; but he had done it; and he had commanded respect.

And then the unthinkable had happened. He had fallen in love with a student, Sarah, a girl lovely both in person and character. Penniless, he had been unwilling to address her. With no prospects, he could not ask her to wait for him. Constantly ill, he was afraid he would become an invalid and not be able to make a living for a wife.

A knife had twisted in his stomach. After a few shy attempts to court her, he had known the only honorable thing to do was leave.

Now, at thirty-two, a freshman United States Congressman, already an expert on the Constitution, he was a man with prospects. He traversed the garden and stood before her. He cleared his throat, brushed back lank hair that had fallen over his forehead, knowing now that he could speak his heart. But the renowned orator could find no words. Speechless, Alex bent to kiss Sarah's gloved hand.

Jenny, disappointed, embarrassed, backed away as Alexander Stephens bowed over Sarah's hand.

"Wait, Jenny," said Sarah. "I want you to meet my old friend. Mr. Stephens, this is Jenny Mobley from Hillsboro."

"I'm delighted to meet you," he said, reaching out. "I know your area well."

Charmed by the interest on his face, she responded with too much animation. "It's an honor, Congressman Stephens. I keep hearing all this shouting about the Republic of Texas. I wish that you'd explain to me why such a far away country is so important to us in Georgia."

"Yes, of course," he said, but his eyes strayed to Sarah.

Sensing the restraint between the two, Jenny hurried to add, "But I'm intruding now on your re-acquaintance. Some other time..."

She looked up. Emily was frowning at her from the porch. Joshua Hill towered over her. His bushy auburn hair, standing out wildly, somehow made Jenny afraid of him.

Confused, she glanced back at Alex just as Charles appeared.

"Congressman Stephens, I'm Charles King. May I invite all of you to the table under the elm for some cold lemonade?"

Relieved, they followed Charles only to be joined by the Hills. Introductions were made and the refreshments served.

Jenny noticed Alex watching Sarah as she removed her gloves to take the cup. A muscle twitched in his face. She wore no wedding ring.

The lemonade tasted tangy, and Jenny rolled a piece of ice on her tongue. "I've never had ice in July before."

Jenny!" Emily hissed.

Alex smiled. "I suspect it's a new treat here, isn't it, Mr. King?"

"Yes," Charles replied. "We've only had ice down from the north since the railroad was completed from the coast into Madison."

Joshua Hill spoke up, "As a former South Carolinian, I'll brag a bit. Of course, you know we had America's first regular passenger train. In December of 1830, I actually rode The Best Friend of Charleston."

Alex's eyes twinkled. "Yes, Solicitor Hill, we're used to South Carolinians boasting." His voice conveyed such gentle humor that everyone laughed.

Except for Emily, who whispered to Jenny, "It was the first locomotive to explode!"

"I think, ladies and gentleman," Alex continued, "that we're on the brink of an exciting new era. Tracks only exist from point to point now, but I predict we're about to see a boom in railroad building that will change the face of the nation."

As Charles and Alex continued to discuss railroads, Sarah turned toward a young man who had appeared beside her. Joshua drew Emily aside, leaving Jenny standing alone. Uncomfortable, she did not wish to eavesdrop, but Joshua's voice carried.

"My dear, railroads might change our lives right now. Judge Saffold, one of the men who brought the railroad here, thinks we should leave Jasper County and move to Madison."

"Why? The dirty, noisy trains spoil the atmosphere with their smoke. Oh, no, Mr. Hill, I'd be afraid the sparks would burn down the town."

"But Madison will be important now that it's the railroad terminus. My dear, you know it's not that I seek after 'the glittering bauble,' fame. But with clients in so many towns, it's slow to serve them by stagecoach. From Madison I could travel the circuit the modern way, by rail."

Jenny could tell by his tone that his decision was already made.

Emily replied, "I'll make a home fo' you anywhere you say."

Jenny disliked the pompous man. Feeling sorry for Emily, she moved toward the lemonade.

Shadows lengthened over the garden. The breeze died. Jenny slipped away from the pressing voices into the silent grove. Excitement had ended with the departure of Alexander Stephens. Tired from the strain of the day, she sagged against a lichen-covered oak. Could she live here without succumbing to the power, the luxury? Would these people scoff at the simple faith that meant so much to her?

She laughed at herself; she was worrying needlessly. Charles King had avoided her as surely as she had avoided him. Even if he agreed and the match was made, his family would, no doubt, consider themselves far better than hers.

She took off her bonnet. A finger of breeze dipped down and cooled her damp brown curls. Through misty eyes, she gazed at the western sky streaked with white, with gold, with crimson. A rattle, a clank of carriages made her turn. The small gatekeepers were busy opening and closing the wrought-iron grilles. Beyond them the sky was dark. Ominous clouds scudded across the northern sky. Lightning split the blackness; the thunder was as yet unheard.

Even as she watched the boys swinging on the gates, she saw herself as helpless as they to choose the course her life would take.

"Jenny!"

Emily was calling. It was time to go.