She was deeply absorbed in the troubles of Mrs. Greenhow when the door opened and Jay entered.
"History buffs," he announced, with a contemptuous wave of the hand in the general direction of the lower regions, whence, one was to assume, the tourists had departed. "How are you doing? Need any help?"
He might have meant the offer for all of them, but he came straight to Pat and prepared to join her on the floor.
"I'm going to stand up," she told him. "My joints are stiffening. I should have known better than to sit cross-legged, at my age."
Jay took her hand and hoisted her up with such energy that her feet missed the floor altogether. He put one long arm around her waist and kept her from falling.
"There you go," he said genially. "What are you reading? Oh, Mrs. Greenhow. You shouldn't sit on that dirty floor. Take the book home if you want."
"But I thought books weren't supposed to go-"
"Oh, hell, rules don't apply to my friends." Jay gave her a friendly squeeze.
"Found something?" a voice inquired. Josef had come up behind them, unheard until then. Jay removed his arm, looking faintly embarrassed, and Josef scowled at him.
"We really must go," Pat said. "We don't want Jay to work overtime, not at his salary."
Jay hastened to assure them that he was willing to stick around. Josef insisted that they wouldn't hear of troubling him. After a further exchange of courtesies they took their departure. As they went along the brick walk, Josef's hand possessive on her arm, Pat glanced back. A pensive figure leaned against the door, staring after them.
"I should have asked him over for a drink," Pat said.
Josef muttered something, in which Pat thought she caught the word "hairy," affixed to a pejorative noun. She did not ask him to repeat the comment.
They were using Josef's car, a dark-blue Mercedes which managed to look ostentatious in spite of its modest lines and subdued color. Mark put his hand on the hood, as gently as if he touched living flesh.
"Nice car," he said.
"Want to drive?"
"You mean it?" Mark gaped at him.
"Go one mile over the speed limit and I'll break both your legs," Josef said, handing him the keys.
He helped Pat into the back seat and got in beside her, letting the younger generation take the front. Pat was absurdly touched by the gesture. She knew how much it meant, to the giver and to the recipient of the favor. Men were so odd about their cars, especially cars like this one. Josef had taken her words to heart after all. He was really trying.
So was Mark; he drove as if his cargo included loose eggs and fragile old ladies. His fascination with the car kept him silent during the short drive back to the house. Josef, tense as a bowstring and trying not to show it as he watched Mark's every move, was in no mood for idle conversation either.
The weather was the sort Washingtonians brag about but seldom see: dry and clear, a perfect 74 degrees, with big white clouds moving lazily across an inverted azure bowl of sky. The plant-eating insects such as the Japanese beetles had not yet appeared, so the shining green leaves of the roses and azaleas were shapely and unmarred.
"Let's sit on the patio," Pat suggested. "It's too nice to go inside."
She had to repeat the remark before Mark heard her. He ran his hands lovingly over the steering wheel in a final caress, and tore himself away.
The redwood patio furniture needed a coat of paint, and the vinyl pads, bright yellow and orange plaid, weren't too clean, but none of them cared. Mark dragged a table close to hand and threw down a heap of notebook paper.
"I'll go first," he announced. "It won't take long; I got a big fat zip. Kathy?"
Kathy's once-fresh print dress was crumpled and dusty. Gray smudges added piquancy to an otherwise almost too perfect face.
"Well," she began, modestly fingering her notes, "I didn't find much. I only got up to 1860. The editor of the paper was a Southern sympathizer, no question about that. His editorials on John Brown and the Harpers Ferry raid were-well, the way he gloated over Brown's execution was really awful."
"That raid hit Marylanders hard," Mark said. "Remember how close it was. Harpers Ferry is right up there in the corner where Maryland and Virginia meet what is now West Virginia. It was still part of Virginia then."
"But I didn't realize how many people in Maryland really believed in slavery," Kathy said. "Do you know how many voted for Lincoln? Less than three thousand! He got fewer votes than any other candidate. Brecken-ridge, a Southern Democrat, got more than forty-two thousand votes."
"The western part of the state was more sympathetic to the Union than the Tidewater area, with its big plantations," Josef said. "But I don't think there is much doubt that Maryland would have seceded if she had been given free choice. The Union could not allow that. All the rail lines and roads, even the waterways connecting the capital with the North passed through the state."
"What about the Turnbulls and the Bateses?" Pat demanded. "Were there any stories about them?"
"The Turnbulls were mentioned often," Kathy answered. "They must have been social leaders, or something. They kept having parties. Peter's sixteenth birthday was a big event, it rated a whole column in the paper-dancing in the garden by moonlight, magnolias in bloom, and all that. There were about fifty guests."
"Including the Bateses?" Pat persisted. She was beginning to take a proprietary interest in them.
"They were what you might call conspicuous by their absence. Can you imagine not inviting close kin living right next door? The war didn't actually start till 1861, when Fort Sumter was attacked. But South Carolina seceded in December of 1860, and I guess things were pretty tense even before that. Mr. Bates-"
"If nothing else comes out of this, you'll be well grounded in one period of American history," Josef said, smiling at his daughter. She looked unusually pretty in spite of her dishevelment. Her blue eyes shone like the best aquamarines.
"It's more interesting when you know the people," Kathy said naively. "Anyhow, Mr. Bates was really unpopular. There was a nasty editorial about him in 1859. It didn't mention him by name, but it hinted pretty strongly. All about abolitionists in our midst, undermining the law by stealing other peoples' property… Property! They were talking about slaves-human beings. How could anybody-"
"Slavery has only been illegal in this country for a little over a century," Josef said. "We were one of the last of the so-called civilized nations to outlaw it, but it had been accepted all over the world for thousands of years."
"That's right," Mark said. "The Greeks had slaves, didn't they? And medieval serfdom was essentially the same thing; a serf could be bought and sold, like an animal."
"So maybe we are making some progress, after all," Josef said.
"Not fast enough," Mark said. But he smiled as he spoke, and for a moment Pat saw a spark of understanding pass between the two men, a look that augured well for the future.
"I'd like to read more of the newspapers." Kathy said. "It was interesting."
"Interesting, but probably a waste of time," Josef said. "You haven't told us anything we hadn't already learned or surmised, Kathy."
"How about you, Mr. Friedrichs?" Mark asked.
"Very little. I got the impression that Turnbull was living beyond his means. All those parties… He sold land six times between 1850 and 1860. I don't know how much he started out with, but he couldn't have had much property left by the time he marched gallantly out to war, leaving his wife to manage as best she could while he was fighting for the Cause. He did leave her fifty slaves-one of the largest numbers recorded for the county."
"What about the Bateses?" Pat asked.
"They owned no slaves," Josef answered. "The census reports for 1860 show a household of two men, two women, and twelve household servants of the colored race-freedmen all."