“That’s for Master Thomas. For his stomach.”

I’m surprised she uses her remedies on Thomas. I don’t suppose the Johnsons would be pleased to know she’s giving their son weeds, but I don’t mention it. “Where’d you learn all this?” I say instead.

“Momma showed me. She says the good Lord provides when the other one don’t.” Her hand flies to her mouth and she claps her wide eyes on me, frightened at her carelessness.

“You don’t have to guard your words with me, Sarah. I want to know what you really think.”

She searches my face, saying nothing. I don’t know her looks well enough to know what I see there. Doubt or belief.

Gently, I pull her hand from her mouth. “You can trust me,” I say.

She slips it from my grasp. “I should go.”

“No, please stay,” I say. I want to reach out and smooth the frown lines from between her eyebrows, but I clasp my hands together. No more touching.

“You’re not watching me, you’re watching Sarah,” Thomas shouts from the river. “You’re supposed to be watching me.”

Sarah looks at me and I smile.

“Guilty,” I say. “But, Thomas, you have to admit,” I call out to his bobbing form in the river. “Sarah’s prettier to look at.”

She steps back from me, clutching her basket. “Time to go now, Master Thomas.”

“Sarah,” I say, not knowing what to say next but wanting to keep her talking. Keep her here.

“Come on and swim out of there.”

“I could help you gather when you need more,” I say, laying my fingers on her basket. It’s between us like the plate on the night of the peach cobbler. I’m desperate to get back to that moment. “You could let me know when you’re coming out here.”

“Thank you, Mister Taylor, but I—”

“Please,” I cut her off before she can refuse me, my borrowed surname grating in my ears. “Please.” I don’t rightly know how to finish. There’s so much I want from her. “My name is Henry,” I say. My voice cracks, embarrassing me, but her eyes soften. Then her face relaxes and there is an ease to being there together.

“Henry,” she says.

A splashing of water takes our attention. Thomas climbs on to the riverbank, shaking himself like a hound.

“You see. I didn’t drown,” he says, naked and dripping wet.

He waits for Sarah to help him dress, squirming and making it hard for her. It disturbs me to see her kneeling in front of him, coaxing him into his breeches.

“I guess now I’ve seen everything,” I say.

They both stop and look at me.

“This young man’s old enough to get up on a horse, and old enough to swim in a river, but he still needs help putting on his own clothes.” I shake my head like I’m considering how absurd it is. “I guess you’re not as big as I thought,” I say. “You see, I thought you were six, or at least five, by your actions, but now, well, I guess I was mistaken.”