Fates and Traitors by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

wages.
    â€œDarling,” Junius said, and she realized at once she had misunderstood his hesitancy. “Without question I’ll have to travel. I’ll be on tour for the entire season.”
    â€œFrom autumn through spring? Oh, no, Junius. You can’t mean it.”
    â€œI promise I’ll return home as often as I can.”
    â€œCan’t you book engagements in Baltimore?”
    â€œSome, yes, but not enough to fill an entire season. This isn’t what I want, but it’s necessary.”
    Of course it was. How else could he earn a living if not on the stage? And the audiences would not come to him.
    â€œJunius,” she said steadily, “I’m not a timid woman, you know that, but I would be afraid to live here all alone in the wilderness with just me and the baby.”
    â€œJoe Hall will be here.”
    â€œNot always, unless you forbid him to visit his wife. Her master will never agree to let her stay here.”
    Junius inhaled deeply. “I’ll think of a solution,” he told her after a long moment. “I won’t have you living in fear.”
    They lay beside each other, silent, unable to sleep with disappointment hanging heavily above them and loneliness not far off.
    â€œPerhaps you could build a theatre in Bel Air,” said Mary Ann.“Something on the scale of Richmond’s Marshall or the Park in New York City.”
    â€œThat would increase the size of the town by half.”
    â€œIt would also be necessary to improve the road from Baltimore. Only the hardiest and most determined traveler would attempt that rough washboard of a thoroughfare, even to see the world’s greatest tragedian perform.”
    He laughed softly, and with their unhappiness deferred, they were able to sleep.
    A few days later, Junius returned from an errand in Bel Air with supplies—and his solution.
    Mary Ann knew someone was approaching the house when she heard the deep, full barking of dogs growing louder, and beneath that, the creaking of wagon wheels and jingling of harnesses. She went outside with June beaming and babbling on her hip, and discovered that the traveler was her own Junius. Three enormous dogs with plush black coats walked about in the wagon bed, tongues hanging out and tails wagging.
    â€œThey’re Newfoundlands,” Junius said, patting the head of one before she raced across the grass to join her companions in chasing one another and sniffing at everything. “Lord Byron reveres the breed.”
    â€œYes, I know.” Mary Ann smiled as the largest of the trio bounded over to her, nuzzled her hand with his massive head, and sniffed curiously at June’s toes, making him squeal in delight. “He called his own ‘in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own.’”
    â€œâ€˜Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,’” Junius finished. “They’ll protect you in my absence.”
    Mary Ann agreed the dogs would make fine protectors and companions. “I might grow so fond of them that I won’t miss you at all,” she teased, inspiring Junius to growl madly and nip at her neck until she shrieked with laughter.
    She named the largest of the pack Boatswain in memory of Byron’s favorite, the bitch Flora, and the smaller male Carlow, and grateful enough she was for their reassuring presence when Junius bade her and June a reluctant farewell in early September and set off on tour. The loyal hounds stayed near the cabin in the daytime, but at nightthey freely roamed the acreage, their deep barks frightening off any trespassers who might seek to bother the little family.
    Joe Hall came to The Farm nearly every day to plow fields, tend livestock, and make repairs to the house and outbuildings as Mary Ann discovered the need. At Joe’s recommendation Junius had hired Joe’s wife, Ann, a slave from a