It was raining outside, bad news for two reasons. The first and least important was her unruly hair. The second was the disappointment her girls would face when they found that their planned picnic would have to be postponed. She pulled her hair back and wrestled a ribbon around it. In the week since her arrival, she had grown to love the sweet Spencer girls. And they had responded to her with all the love in their dear little hearts. A clap of thunder brought another sigh. It looked like a picnic was out of the question. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look overly professional, but she had learned during the past week that she would most likely not see anyone but her charges and the slaves. She still found it hard to believe that Mr. Spencer had a house full of slaves. How could a man own slaves when his own people were fighting a battle for the right to control their futures? She understood his desire to live like his white counterparts, but not all wealthy men had slaves to work in their fields and keep their homes clean.
