By Dana Cameron
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Additional info for A Fugitive Truth
It wasn’t that I felt any differently about him—I knew I loved him as much as ever—but lately it seemed as if we were spending all of our energy on everything but us. The work on the house was important, but I didn’t like feeling as if it owned us, was driving us, instead of the other way around. Maybe if I had this time to spend on my own research, with no students, no house, no husband to make demands on me, I would be able to get my head into a clearer space to see how better to handle the things that were piling up on top of us.
I don’t make these rules, I just go along with them when it…suits me. My walk also gave me a moment to enjoy the scenery and to make my plans for the day. I was afraid that at least a part of the morning would be taken up with introductions to the staff and to the library protocols. With any luck, I’d be able to look at the journal before lunchtime. I resolved to be patient until then, even though I was dying to see it; the only reason I’d found myself able to leave so late was that I knew the library wasn’t open on the weekend.
Margaret Chase’s family was rich, but not aristocratic—I had learned from her husband Matthew’s documents that her father was a merchant. And it wasn’t yet fashionable in Europe for even wellborn women to be so educated. And the tone of the epigram was so strongly religious, that told me a lot about her as well. This was going to be a trip. I could tell it would be an adventure to learn about this woman’s life. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer to Saint Helena, the patron saint of archaeologists, before I looked at the first entry: May 29/This morning took into service Nora, a little blacke Wenche… That slowed me down a second.