The Time Heiress by Georgina Young- Ellis Page B

who took it, grinning widely. Cassandra received the offered shake next, but Evie noticed her hand was trembling.
    From what Evie knew of Benedict Johnston, his daughter did not resemble him. The woman was tall, thin, and angular, with a prominent nose and large teeth. Her hair was a faded brown and her eyes were wide and vivid blue, unlike how Cassandra had described Benedict’s: a penetrating bluish green. She did not know what her ancestor’s smile had been like, but perhaps his daughter had inherited it, because it was warm and welcoming, and Evie liked her right away.
    “What brings you to All Angels?” Cassandra Johnston asked. “Would you like a tour? It is a very historical place. Peter Stuyvesant, the first governor of New York, is buried here. Did you see his monument over in the East Yard?”
    “Oh, yes!” replied Evie.
    “And that is his image there in that window,” she continued. She indicated a stern figure depicted in stained glass.
    “Actually,” Evie blurted out, “we are interested in the work you do here.”
    “Our work?” Miss Johnston asked.
    “In the cause of abolition,” said Evie.
    By this time, the other lady who had been working in the sanctuary had made her way down the aisle. She was African-American, also tall and slim, with dark-brown skin, high cheekbones, a broad, pleasant mouth, keen black eyes, and hair braided close to her head.
    “Are you abolitionists?” Miss Johnston asked.
    “Yes!” replied Evie. She saw Cassandra throw a furrowed glance her way.
    “Oh, my goodness, then welcome! This is Miss Lillian Ketchum.”
    “Very nice to meet you,” Miss Ketchum said. “Where do you hail from?” she inquired in a low, refined Southern drawl.
    “We are from Boston,” said Cassandra.
    “Oh, the movement is making great strides there, is it not?” observed Miss Ketchum brightly. “Do you work with a society?”
    “Not really,” replied Evie. “We have not been as involved as we would like to have been. But we are going to be in New York for a while, and we heard about what you do here, so we thought we could be useful while we are here.”
    “I shall have to ask grandfather about that,” Miss Johnston said, looking from one woman to the other.
    Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but Evie cut her off. “Yes, your grandfather, Jeremiah Williams! We have heard so much about him.”
    “His reputation does precede him,” Miss Johnston remarked to Miss Ketchum with a grin. “But come. While you are here, let us show you around. We can always use a break, can we not?”
    “True,” the other woman replied. “Shall we start with the upstairs?”
    Evie’s heart was beating so hard with anticipation of finding the painting, she was afraid the others might hear it. Miss Ketchum took them through a vesting area in the back of the sanctuary up a flight of solid wooden stairs. A door at the top led them out onto the balcony. It too was fitted up with pews, and in an alcove at the back, which was the front wall of the church building, a round window set with stained glass allowed a soft, pink light to filter into the space.
    Cassandra had hung back, examining the space. “Oh, the rose window is lovely!”
    “Isn’t it?” replied Miss Johnston. “The builders of this church positioned the structure so that at noon on the winter solstice, the light coming into that window beams exactly onto the center of the sanctuary floor. Rather pagan, no?” She had a glimmer in her eye.
    “Now, Cass,” Miss Ketchum said with a giggle.
    The party continued to appreciate the view from the balcony as they were led toward the front of the sanctuary.
    Miss Johnston made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “This upper level was designated for slaves until about forty years ago when Grandfather was appointed rector of this church. That was well before the abolition of slavery in New York, but Grandfather forbade such segregation. He petitioned all slave-owning members of the church to