Chapter Two
A house girl in an apron wove through the crowd with a tray of cakes, trailed by another with a pitcher. The air was thick
with the scent of peonies, roasted pork, the heat of many bodies pressed close—and something else: a charge of expectation,
as if we were holding our collective breath.
I felt a poke in my back and turned.
Mina Greenbow, behind me, was shaking her blond curls, pointing across the room. “Hard to tell,” she whispered. “Are they
one person, or two? A ‘they’ or an ‘it’?”
I followed Mina’s gaze to the refreshments table, where the twins stood next to a crystal bowl of rum punch and an assortment
of cakes on raised stands.
The taller one took the ladle and poured himself a glass.
They were different than I’d expected from newspaper illustrations and engravings. More handsome, for one thing. Their straight
hair, almost black, was neatly trimmed; they had dark, expressive eyes, refined features, and full lips. Their suits were
finely cut, and they wore expensive leather shoes. Though small of stature, they carried themselves with authority.
They seemed unbothered by people’s curiosity, the whispers behind fans.
I watched them in conversation. They rarely addressed each other directly, instead dipping in and out of conversations one was having with another person.
One draped his arm loosely, easily, across his brother’s shoulder; when he turned, the other rotated in the same direction so naturally that they seemed to be of one mind.
As they shifted, I stole a glimpse of the band of flesh that joined them just below the ribs, mostly hidden by their morning coats.
The penny papers had described this “living bridge of cartilage,” as one Boston physician called it, in clinical detail. Having
seen the lurid illustrations, I expected to feel a twinge of revulsion, the way I did when inspecting the two-headed calf
preserved in a jar at Dr. Albright’s office. But I didn’t. In the brothers’ easy rapport, their familiar gestures, there was
nothing grotesque.
The shorter one was scanning the room, eyes narrowed. I followed his gaze, trying to view the familiar scene as he might.
The inn was comfortable, if a little timeworn: faded lavender wallpaper printed with sprigs of violets, scratched pine floors,
sturdy wingback chairs. Doctors and lawyers and businessmen in frock coats and cravats, farmers and shopkeepers in vests and
rumpled shirts, married ladies in modest white caps. The unmarried girls, including Addie and me, wore dresses with scooped
necklines and puffed sleeves and full skirts, our hair parted in the middle and looped over our ears in braids.
How did our fashions compare to those in New York and London? Until now, it hadn’t occurred to me to care.
The twins were speaking quietly, just to each other. One reached over and adjusted the other’s shirt collar; he, in response,
patted his brother on the shoulder. They appeared at ease. And why wouldn’t they be? However much they were scrutinized and
whispered about, they always had each other. They were not, and had never been, alone.
During the ceremony, Papa and Addie and I stood near the makeshift altar. Fanny, as slight and easily startled as a sparrow, smiled timidly at Charles Harris as he slipped a small gold ring on her finger. His ears were pink, his forehead damp. He kissed the bride.
When the fiddle began to play, Addie touched the groom’s sleeve. “Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Harris.”
“Why, thank you.” He smiled, nodding to Addie and then to me. “The Yates sisters. I know you by reputation.” Both of us blanched
a little, but if he was referring to the gossip, he hid it well. “The handsomest ladies in all of North Carolina. Except for
my Fanny, of course.”
The bride smiled her gap-toothed smile and splayed her tiny fingers to show off her wedding band.
“I’m glad you introduced yourselves,” he said. “My friends Chang and Eng would very much like to meet you. Alston has been
singing your praises.”
He raised his hand in the air and waved at the twins across the room. The shorter one caught his eye and nodded.
They came toward us with unsettling elegance. The taller twin, his arm around his brother’s shoulder, matched him step for
step. I had imagined a body at war with itself; instead, they moved as one.
When they reached us, the shorter one extended his hand to my sister. “I’m Chang.” A nod to his twin. “My brother, Eng.”
“Adelaide Yates,” she said, grasping his hand.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Yates.”
“You can call me Miss Adelaide.” She smiled, and then, remembering me beside her, added, “And this is my sister Sarah.”
“Most people call me Sallie,” I said.
“Miss Adelaide. Miss Sallie.” Chang acknowledged each of us. “We’ve anticipated this meeting for some time.”
His brother merely dipped his head.
Their complexions were as smooth as ivory, their skin golden bronze. There was no question of confusing them. Chang, the shorter one, was open-faced and animated, his eyes flashing as he talked. Eng, taller and narrower, was more reserved. Shy or diffident, I couldn’t tell.
Chang regarded my sister with frank appreciation. “Miss Adelaide, you are easily the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in North
Carolina.”
“Why, thank you.” Addie lifted her chin. Chang’s frankness was unusual, but the quality of his attention was not. She was
used to being admired.
“Forgive my brother. He is not one to hold back his opinions,” Eng said. His voice was higher than Chang’s, and slightly nasal.
“It is fact, not opinion,” Chang said.
Eng rolled his eyes. “Shameless.”
“Only honest.” Chang smiled at Addie.
She smiled back.
They spoke perfect, if slightly formal, English. I could see how they had made their way in the world so adroitly; they were
clearly well versed in banter.
“Well, gentlemen,” Addie said, “welcome to our little hamlet. Your fame precedes you.”
“Oh?” Chang asked.
“I’m surprised news of us reaches this far,” Eng said.
“Epps carries all the papers,” I said. “Even the ones from New York and Boston.”
The brothers turned to me. It was unsettling to find both pairs of eyes on me at once. I wasn’t sure how to engage one without
the other.
“So what have you heard?” Chang asked.
I opened my mouth, then faltered. What hadn’t we heard?
“Well,” Addie said, “you are rumored to be”—she paused for effect—“excellent hunters and fishermen.”
Chang gave his brother a smirk. Eng nodded appreciatively at the feint.
At an event in New York City several years earlier, a doctor from Wilkesboro named James Calloway had invited the twins to
hunt pheasant on his property. (Doctors, fascinated by their physiognomy, often attended their shows.)
When they visited North Carolina, a local newspaper quoted them as saying the region reminded them of Siam—the lush valleys
and boggy rivers, the way the heat lingered after sundown, the monsoon-like rain. They felt at home here: the clean air, the
sleepy village nestled along a broad river, the woodlands where they could hunt and fish far from the public eye.
A few months after that hunting trip, The New York Herald had reported that the twins planned to settle in Wilkes County.
“We are, indeed, skilled marksmen,” Chang said. “And what else do you know?”
“That you both play the flute. And—oh, yes—that you can cut and stack a cord of wood in record time.”
“We use a custom axe.” Eng mimed chopping wood, his hands—thin and smooth, with neat fingernails—nothing like the broad, freckled
hands of the boys we grew up with.
“For four hands,” Chang added.
The conversation in the room had tapered off. Taking in the sidelong glances, I became acutely aware of myself, as if I’d
stumbled onto a stage. So this is what it’s like, I thought, to have every gesture observed and judged. I wondered if the
twins had grown so used to being objects of curiosity that they no longer felt the weight of it.
I looked at my sister, who was plainly enjoying the attention.
It was in the presence of strangers that I saw Adelaide most clearly. With family she could be inscrutable, elusive, her expressions hard to read. But standing here with the twins, I noticed the tilt of her chin, the way her fingers played at her throat.
Of all the women at the wedding, it was she who held the twins’ attention.
“I thought you might be alluding to our reputation with the ladies,” Chang said. “There’s only one problem. We tend to like
the same type.”
“And what type is that?” Addie asked.
“Well . . . we are both connoisseurs of beauty.” Chang glanced at his brother. “Wouldn’t you say, Eng?”
Eng gave a cautious smile. “There are many forms of beauty in this world.”
Edging closer to Addie, Chang said, “True as that may be, I’m afraid we might be fighting over you, Miss Adelaide.”
She laughed. “That would put me in quite an impossible position.”
The air seemed to thin; their voices faded. I felt myself slipping into shadow, a slow erasure. It was often this way with
my sister, and it never got easier.
“It is a problem,” Chang was saying. “The reason I do not marry is that I’m tied to him.”
“And I do not marry because I am tied to him,” Eng said. “Isn’t it a pity that neither can marry because one is tied to the
other?”
“Indeed, it is,” Addie said. “Are you quite sure you cannot be separated?”
Eng shook his head. “The doctors say no. The operation would almost certainly mean death for one of us.”
“Or both,” Chang said. “So we have decided we would rather gaze at pretty girls with a lean and hungry look—and continue to
want a wife—than be in our graves.”
Leaning forward, Chang stage-whispered, “We have, both of us, been in love before. Several times. The problem is, if one of us marries and the other doesn’t, the state calls it bigamy.”
Behind us, I heard a familiar throat clear. We all turned.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Papa said.
“Mr. Yates.” Eng held out his hand, and Papa took it. “Charles pointed you out earlier—he said we ought to meet. He speaks
very highly of you.”
Papa nodded. “Nice to see you both on this joyful occasion.”
“Charles could not be happier,” Chang said.
“You’ve met my daughters, I see.”
Chang lifted his arm in an arc. “Both as lovely as wildflowers in a meadow.”
Papa frowned. He disapproved of such puffery. “Well. Adelaide, Sallie—we should be on our way if we want to be home before
dark.”
“But Papa, can’t we—” Addie started.
“I’ll meet you at the carriage,” he told us. With a curt nod to the twins: “Gentlemen.”
When he had gone, Addie said, “Our father is . . . protective.”
“Understandably so,” said Eng.
Just then, a braying sound rose from across the room, followed by scattered laughter. We turned to see the three Mahoney brothers,
with their flat red faces and rough country clothes, standing in a circle. What were they doing? Telling crude jokes, no doubt.
Speculating about the wedding night.
As Addie and I turned to leave, Chang glanced around the room once more and gave my sister a parting smile. “If these are
your prospective suitors, Miss Adelaide, perhaps I do stand a chance with you.”