Page 57 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
Savages?My stomach wobbled at the smirk on his face.Who wouldn’t see what coming?
“Are you all right?”
I jumped.
Rohan gazed down at me, concerned.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, fanning myself with the pamphlet. I glanced back, but the Boudreaux boy was already making his way down the hall, friend in tow.
“I wanted to ask—that boy there, who asked the question about Americans and cotton. Do you know him?”
“That’s Benjamin Boudreaux, an American here for schooling. His father, Bartholomew, is working on a deal with my uncle’s trading house. Why?”
“I ... um ... believe I knew some of his family ... once upon a time.”
Rohan brightened. “What a coincidence. Shall we make introductions?”
“No!” I said, my gut queasy. How would I even go about explaining? “I mean—it’s not necessary. He’s halfway out the door, and it is such asmall world, you know. I’m sure I’ll run across him at some point. We should get going before it’s dark out.”
“Let’s be off, then,” Rohan said, extending his arm. I took it, and we headed in the opposite direction, but my mind was still thinking of the blond boy with links to my past.
“What is that?” I asked as he spooned powder into a cup.
“We call it chai, while you may call it tea.” He filled the cup, the steaming liquid swirling, specks of spices throughout, and handed it to me. We were in a quaint Indian tea shop on Brick Lane, not far from where he lived, the atmosphere cozy in a way that I didn’t know I longed for, the patrons of all hues. We blended in, taking a table in the corner. It was a relief not to stick out for once. The feeling reminded me of Freetown and Constantinople.
“So, tell me about yourself.” I leaned back comfortably and blew on the hot cup, the scents of cinnamon, cloves, and honey in the chai rising.
“I daresay there isn’t much to share,” he said. “I work in my uncle’s trading company. I support the East India Association with talks and advocate for new arrivals. My father died when I was young, and his brother took me in, giving me a role in the business.”
I sipped the fragrant, delicious liquid. “It must be a powerful feeling, having a family to support you. I’ve been on my own since I was young.” That bit of truth felt safe to share.
“I am lucky. My uncle’s been a great mentor. He has enough ambition for himself and all of India. He talks of running for Parliament here and also back home. He travels between the two often. I enjoy the work and supporting the cause, so my life is now the business.”
“And what exactly is your business?” Knowing he worked with Jacques’s family piqued my interest. Living as long as I had, I was beginning to understand the threads of my former lives were bound to cross at some point. Could the plan Benjamin referred to havesomething to do with Rohan and his family business? It was too early to ask those sorts of questions.
“Agriculture and some industry. Our main export is cotton, with other crops from Gujarat shipped here for processing.”
“Cotton?” I kept my tone neutral, my mind slipping back to when Miss Wilcox married Master Carter and I transitioned to outside work. I still remembered the bite of the cotton boll, the endless sorting of the white fluff into baskets, and the scratchy hairs and seed coverings that tore at your hands. I wondered if it was any different in India than at home.
When I left the plantation, cotton production had been in its infancy, all pulled by hand. Thanks to Eli Whitney and his cotton gin, cotton production exploded, and I’d seen huge bales coming through the port of New Orleans for processing. Still, the white fiber demanded a heavy price in human lives.
“It’s labor intensive, for sure. Many people in nearby towns work with us as growers. We’re expanding—buying more land and exporting to other markets like America and China, setting up the shipping lanes here—hence the deal with Benjamin’s father.”
I turned to Rohan. “Do you like them? The Boudreaux family?”
He shrugged, the motion fluid. “It is not a matter of like but more of business.”
“Do you trust them then?”
“Trust?” His brows lowered.
“I overheard a conversation perhaps not intended for me. It may be nothing.” I shook my head. “It isn’t my place.”
“No, please, continue.”
I let out a slow breath, working up the courage. “Benjamin mentioned something about a plan to his friend at the lecture. Boasted that it would be easy to trick you. Given what you said about the deal ...”
Rohan sat back, seemingly confused but trying to remain composed. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me,” he said, his voice sincere.
