Leon was very much of a solitary that day. No one needed him, there was nothing for him to do. His mind was in a state of thorough confusion. Bonard was and had always been his friend. (Long ago he had forgot their fight at the Fourth of July barbecue over the green marble.) He and Selma had never been close to each other. Neither knew why, but both accepted the fact of it. And yet he felt now suddenly unfriended, unbrothered, even in some way unmanned, for he and Selma were kin, however little value they had put on kinship, were of the same flesh and blood. So he was bound to feel the offense of what had happened even though not wanting to blame his old friend. Late in the morning, after Bonard had ridden away, having had his interview with Deborah and Felix without asking for Leon, Leon went outdoors, hoping to find occupation in observing the work of others. It was a warm day, as perfect as it had promised to be when Floyd and Ezra had first stepped out the door of their cabin that morning.

Leon meandered without his attention’s being engaged through the yards of the barns. It was too hot, even this early, to walk or ride into the fields, so he strolled down the front drive into the fruit orchard. Pausing beneath a pear tree to mop his forehead with the kerchief he carried loose in his hands, he suddenly heard laughter over his head, laughter quickly smothered. Startled and annoyed, feeling that he was spied upon, he looked upward and there discovered, perched in the crotch made by two branches, the strange child of Clovis and Roscoe they had called Roman.

Not theirs. His. His child.

Roman was embarrassed at being so discovered, and after remaining still for a minute on his perch while the young master stared at him, he dropped down to the ground and scampered away through the trees. “Boy!” Leon cried. “Come back, boy!” But the child was gone.

Doctor Porterfield came and made his examination of Selma, then frowned and talked gravely to Deborah, and to Lovey, who insisted on being present. He prescribed quiet and rest, a light diet, and laudanum if the patient happened to become agitated. There was, he assured them, nothing seriously wrong with her, certainly nothing that time would not heal.