That is where Sarah now led them. Ezra, who had taken it on himself to attend the body, stood when they entered the room and escorted them to the coffin, where they looked down on the mortal remains of the woman who for thirty-five years had been mistress of Beulah Land. Looking at her, the declaration of the burial service went through Penelope’s mind: We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The words seemed singularly impertinent ones to apply to Deborah.

Looking at her, Penelope was suddenly informed with a sense of her own mortality. Deborah had been so much and done so much, had been so definite and solid a person, had so long commanded and been obeyed. Yet there she was, what was left of her, brought low at last, and not a tear in a single eye.

Her gaze shifting then to her niece, Penelope remembered that she had had little time or inclination during their journey from Savannah to Highboro to ask Leon about his visit with Lauretta. They would all hear it told later, no doubt. But just now the subject of Lauretta seemed a remote if not trivial one to intrude upon the attention of the new mistress of Beulah Land.

7

The Reverend Curtis Lamont was in the house a good deal from the time of Deborah’s death until she was buried beside Arnold in the family plot in Highboro. He came and went with the arrogant authority of one who knows himself the bridge from this world to the next. Sarah was courteous and thoughtful of his comfort. Nell favored him with a description of her unassuageable mourning. Emboldened by what he assumed to be their grateful deference, he sought to enter Selma’s room to offer consolation, but was met by Pauline at the door; and when her firmness failed to persuade him that his help was not needed there, Selma rose from her chair, where she had sat writing, and went to the man.

“I cannot see you. Please go away.”

The reverend, who had managed to insinuate himself inside the doorway, smiled painfully and decided to interpret her curtness as grief. “We must accept and bow to God’s will.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Do not presume to speak for me, I beg you. I decline and veto the inclusive ‘we.’”

Such license in behavior should be admonished, he decided, and not pardoned as mere eccentricity. “Do not forget, madam, that it was I who gave you religious instruction in your childhood, who united you in the sight of God and man to the husband you chose then to abandon.”

“I do not forget. That was a day’s work for which you deserve hanging. Good day, sir.”

“Sir?” She put a hand on the door, but he stood fast. “You dare to be impudent to God?”