“First to the shore-line is the victor!” Josephine crowed, giving her bay an urgent touch of her heeled boots. Ronin shot forward, gaining speed on Jules and his black mare, Mercy. Surprised, Jules reacted with a twitch of his reins, and Mercy, eager to match her companion, sprang into pursuit. As Mercy’s longer strides drew her abreast of Josephine and Ronin, Jules grinned at his sister.
“Ah, but victor of what, dear Jojo?” he cried breathlessly, dimple showing as he waited for the grimace that his use of his twin sister’s childhood nickname always produced. As expected, Jo’s grimace was immediate.
“How about first dance with your new bride?” she shot back, and Jules’ mischievous grin evaporated into a scowl. Josephine crowed with laughter, then spurred on Ronin, as the palms loomed in front of them. Arriving at the brush-lined trail that overlooked the rocky shoreline, she wheeled Ronin around to gloat, only to find Jules and Mercy had slowed to a trot and were catching up at their leisure.
“Oh come now, Jules,” Jo admonished him, noting with mild interest how like her her brother looked when he frowned. “You know I meant it in jest!” Nevertheless, Jules maintained his leisurely pace, slowing Mercy to a walk as he crested the hill and looked pensively down at the surf. “Jules?” Josephine said again, quietly.
Jules was quiet a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was so low that his sister had to lean over in her saddle to hear him over the ocean breeze that rustled the palms above them. “I cannot stand it, Jo,” he murmured. “What will become of me? What will become of Samuel? I cannot ask him to stay, and watch me make false vows to some British church-bell. What will he do? Mind my children for me while I parade her around to balls like a fine dandy? I cannot stand it. I will not stand for it.”
Josephine sat, helpless to comfort her twin. She had known about Samuel for at least a year now, though she’d had an inkling for several. Her father’s African manservant had joined their house as a child, only a year younger than the twins, with his mother, Rose, who worked for the family as a cook. Their father, Amos Parsons, a wealthy shipbuilder in George Town, was secretly a Quaker, and had freed the pair of slaves upon their purchase, giving them the option to either stay and work as servants in the household for a modest income or be smuggled in one of his ships over to Honduras, where they had recently abolished the hated institution shortly after they declared their independence from Spain. Rose had decided to stay and work for her benefactor taking care of the house and Amos’ two children who had been motherless since Amos’ wife, Charlotte, had died when they were three. Samuel had joined the children as a playmate and friend. Jules and Samuel had been particularly close, often spending their leisure hours exploring the island together as boys were wont to do. But as they grew older their bond only grew stronger, and Josephine had not been nearly so shocked as she perhaps should have been last year when she had walked around the corner of the house on her way to the stable to find Jules pressing a fervent kiss to Samuel’s open lips. They hadn’t seen her, nor did they note when she backtracked and ducked back onto the porch, which was well as it gave her time to think about the situation and formulate a better response than a blunt “Whatever are you doing?!” She had confronted Jules the next day, concern written across her face.
Their father was a good man, and he believed in the godliness of all beings even-- and often-- at risk to himself and his own rights and safety in the largely Protestant population of Grand Cayman (they had heard stories of what happened to Quakers in the Americas, or back in Britain). But even Amos Parsons couldn’t be expected to abide by his son committing sodomy with another man. Jules could be imprisoned, were they ever found out. And worse lay in store for a “slave” like Samuel.
Yet despite his sister’s imparted wisdom, Jules insisted that he loved Samuel, and one glance at his stubborn face, the features so much like her own, convinced Josephine that it was true. If she was honest with herself, she was in fact a little jealous of her brothers’ passion. She herself had been “out” in George Town since she was seventeen, and while she enjoyed a ball as much as the next girl, she had never yet met a young man who put that twinkle in her eye like her brother had for Samuel. Most of the eligible young bachelors of George Town were nothing more than peacocks, strutting around showing off their “plumage” in the form of bragging about their father’s businesses. Despite not having a mother, Josephine was a perceptive girl and had seen the lives led by the upper class women on the island as she visited her friends for tea or accompanied Rose in her errands. Indolence and submission were their sole domain, and Josephine herself bristled at the idea of becoming a man’s property, howsoever dearly bought. Her friends laughed at her braggadocio, but Josephine nevertheless insisted her resolve to become a confirmed old maid rather than sell her maidenhood to the wealthiest bidder, as she saw it.
“I can’t do it, Jojo,” Jules said again, a sob nearly breaking from his throat, and this time, Josephine barely noticed the nickname. She lay a hand on her brother’s shoulder, feeling his pain in that visceral way that was-- so far as they knew-- unique to them and their peculiar bond.
“I wish I could take this from you,” Josephine said gently. The wind stirred their twin sandy curls for a moment and they watched a wave crest against the large rocks offshore.
“Would you if I asked?” Jules replied finally, turning to look at his sister.
Josephine gave him a bewildered look.
“Take it, I mean?”
Josephine scrambled mentally to understand what her brother was asking. She didn’t even understand the question. “Of course I would, Jules, if I could. You know that. I’d do anything for your happiness.”
“As I would for yours,” Jules answered, giving a sad smile.
“But how can I, Jules? Miss Leighton and her family will be here within the month. What can I possibly do to stop it? It seems inevitable.” Josephine sighed, but her brother had that look forming in his eye that he so often got, the one that signified the forming of a “magnificent idea,” of the kind that had gotten them both into trouble so frequently as children. “Jules…?” she said, hesitant to ask what was occurring behind his deep brown eyes.
“You said you would take it from me, Jo, if you could. Well… why can’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It will be just like when we were children, Jojo. Rosie couldn’t tell us apart. I bet she still couldn’t! We wear about the same size after all. Maybe with a beard…”
Jules idea dawned on her at last, and Josephine laughed out loud at her brother’s foolishness. “Jules, you can’t be serious. You want me to switch places with you? Marry your bride? Come, we’ve far outgrown such childrens’ fancies. Be serious.”
Jules took his sister’s hands and was suddenly the picture of sobriety. “Dear sister, I am serious. If I marry Miss Leighton, Samuel will die of heartbreak, as will I. You’ve told me yourself you’ve no intention of ever marrying a man. So why not? This arrangement will, after all, make you a man, in effect-- in charge of your own destiny! Think of it! I can run off with Samuel at the first opportunity after the wedding, and you… father will leave the business to you when he dies, you know. You will be a free man. Free to stay or leave, at your pleasure. And what change does this plan require of you but a little wardrobe adjustment, and perhaps a year or two of dissemination with Miss Leighton?”
“But… my reputation…” Josephine hedged.
“Blast your reputation!” Jules cried passionately. “You yourself have railed more than once on the nothingness that is a person’s reputation. Leave then, after the wedding is over and Samuel and I are gone. Leave this whole blasted island behind and good riddance. Come join us, even. I can write to you.”
“But where would you go, Jules?” Josephine pleaded, feeling his madness catching hold of her.
“Why Honduras, of course. Where Samuel and I can live together, free bachelors running a farm or business without any questions. And you could come be with us, Jo. We could ride everyday. I’ll even let you win!”
Josephine laughed and gave her brother a playful shove. “You cad, I’m by far the better horseman and you know it.”
“You certainly will be with a few adjustments,” Jules teased her, and Josephine felt herself blush. It was an exciting idea, after all. And more plausible than she liked to admit. She and Jules had always borne a strong resemblance to one another. And, as her brother said, with masculinity comes freedom. Josephine imagined all the new freedoms she would have as a man. Why she could join the British navy, sail away on her father’s vessels to the Americas or the Orient, go where she wanted, when she wanted, with no escort. It was an exhilarating idea. Yet terrifying, too. What if she were caught? Worse yet, what if Jules was caught. Women dressing as men was frowned upon, but a man dressing as a woman… nay, conducting a relationship with another man as well. This was no light undertaking.
Josephine had always been the thinker of the two. Indeed as children their schemes had often only succeeded after Josephine had added her two cents to the equation. So it was with a sigh and a sober look that she replied to her brother, “Let me think on it.”
Jules nodded his assent. Abruptly, Jo pulled Ronin around and spurred him to a gallop along the beachhead trail. “Let’s just see who the better horseman is, no matter which of us wears the dress!” The wind caught up her words and carried them out over the waves, but her brother-- as if of one mind-- took off after her.

It was silent. It always was silent when Evelyn was concentrated on her art. The sole sounds she produced were of the rough bristle of Bright Hog-Bristled brush against the rugged surface of the canvas in front of her. Her strokes were confident, solid, curved, swift and unashamed. Her tongue protruded from between her lips as it usually did when she painted. She wore her loose cotton stained tunic and her long dark hair was braided in a long braid reaching to the middle of her back. She was thrilled. She had never made such a painting before. This image though, it came to her in her dreams. She couldn’t cast it from her thoughts. Soon, it will be finished. She would need to hide it. If anyone saw this – She dared not think of the consequences.

Some days later came a friend of her fathers to purchase some of her paintings. It was when Evelyn searched for that blasphemous painting she named as
she had realized it was not among the paintings where she hid it. Worried, she hurried to her father.
“Papa.. where does Mr. Hampton lives? I believe he had taken a thing that was not sold to him, by accident of course.”
“What was it he took, dearest Lynnie? He lives quite far away, I hardly think it would be worth the travel"
That was when all the blood in her body rushed to her cheeks, causing her to blush intensely. “N-nothing of significance. Cast it from thought papa.”

The following week was the most dreadful of all she had experienced. She knew once this painting was discovered, it would bring doom on her and on her family. She couldn’t do that to her father. It was clear that all accusations and fault would be taken up with him, and she simply could not bring him such sorrow. One evening, when her haunting dreams came to an epic disturbance, she came up with a plan. She should find a husband and be married quickly – so when the accusations would come, it would no longer be her father to endure them, but her husband. She would do whatever it was she needed to do, to maintain her father’s name free of tainting.
The very next day her father began finding suitors for her. She granted him freedom of choice, which was so very unlike her. But she decided it was a fair price to pay for her sins.

A month later she and her father was on their way to West Bay. During that month more and more paintings of similar nature came out of her fingers. It was as if she had lost all self-control, at least when she was drawing. In everything else, she was as reserved and kept as she ever was, even more so. She barely conversed with anyone and kept to herself. Even eye contact was more than she managed to maintain.

She destroyed each painting she made since that day. It did not make her stop drawing them though.

Jo stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, adjusting her clothing uncomfortably. She was unused to the lightness of the men's clothing against her skin. Nevertheless, she had to admit that Jules' trousers and loose flowing shirt fit her well, were flattering, even. "But what's to be done about my hair?" Jo asked. Jules, lounging on her four-poster bed with the family cat, sat up.
"We'll cut it, obviously," he said.
Cut it? Jo hadn't considered this part of the plan. Her long mahogany hair had always been her one vanity, and she had enjoyed styling it into intricate buns and braids, hidden as they were underneath her modest bonnet.
"Well what about you, though? How will you hide your short hair?" Jo asked, knowing the answer.
"A bonnet, naturally!" Jules laughed, and plucked hers from the bed, donning it and rising to stand next to her at the mirror. They examined one another, side-by-side. The resemblance was uncanny. Jules had slightly broader shoulders, and Jo a softer face, but the differences were noticeable only when studied, and when they were next to each other. Their nearly identical appearance had served them well in childhood mischief, and, it seemed, would continue to do so even now.
Jo swallowed, wincing. "Very well," she said. It was a small price to pay, she supposed, her lovely hair for freedom to live her life as she chose, and allow her dear brother to do the same. Certainly it was a price she was willing to pay.