"Watch the doorway, now," Davey warned as he headed out. One of the undercooks held the door open for him.

"Oh, I'm watching!" Frederick assured the head cook. "Obliged," he added to the undercook as he eased by. He tried to imagine what would happen if he stumbled just then. His mind shied away from the notion-and why wouldn't it? He'd give the white women something new to talk about!

He was similarly careful easing into the dining room. He had no actual door to worry about there, but the doorway was just wide enough for him and the tray both. All the ladies broke off their talk and stared at him as he came in. "That's a fine-looking nigger," one said to her friend. The other woman nodded. Frederick felt proud, even though he knew she might have said the same kind of thing about an impressive horse or greyhound.

He went around to the head of the table so he could serve Mistress Clotilde first. He stood a couple of steps behind her for a moment. Did he want the assembled white ladies of the neighborhood to notice him, even to admire him? He supposed he did. He never would have admitted it out loud, though, not unless he wanted to hear about it from Helen for the next twenty years.

Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall. Frederick often read the Bible. He knew that was the proper line, though even preachers often clipped it. He'd always thought the Good Book was full of good sense. Now he found out how very full it was, but in a way that made him wish he'd stayed ignorant forever.

After posing for the ladies-most of whom, sadly, paid him no more attention than the furniture-Frederick slid forward so he could start serving. And, as he slid, the toe of his left shoe unexpectedly came up against the end of that loose floorboard.

Had he stumbled in the course of his ordinary duties, that would have been bad enough. It would have humiliated him and infuriated his mistress-she would have lost face in front of all her neighbors. She would have found some way to make him pay for his clumsiness. She had her good points, but she'd never been one to suffer in silence. Henry Barford could testify to that.