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Terminus, 23 December 1871
“I think the queen is trying to kill me.” Henry stuck a finger in his collar and attempted to give his windpipe a bit more air. Not that there was much to be had in the center of the sweltering room.
“Kill you or cook you?” Chadwick Radcliffe fiddled with his gloves, and Henry suspected his friend might eventually be called upon in his capacity as physician when someone fainted. That would make for an interesting turn of events considering that while half the guests had been ministered to by n***o slaves since childhood, they may object to an educated half-n***o’s attempt to function as a professional. While freedmen artisans and workers weren’t unheard of in the former Confederate states, they had rarely mixed as equals with those who owned their kin.
“Ma
