Leon drew away from her, in control of himself again. “I know,” he murmured.

“I have slept all afternoon,” she said gaily. “And you are home—I am so glad. I am only now going downstairs to see how things have been today. Supper will surely be ready very soon. Freshen yourself if you like, and then join me. I think we might have a glass of wine to toast the new child, don’t you?”

Leon nodded. “Very well. But remember, Sarah, I tried to tell you—I am sorry for what I have done and been.”

“You are home. What else matters?” She hugged him briefly and in a continuing motion picked up her candle and went out.

Glancing about her on her way downstairs and through the house, she saw that all was in order, as she had expected it to be. Trust Lovey. On Doomsday Lovey would see to it that the yards were swept. In the kitchen she found her with Myrtis and Sallou, the other kitchen helper. She bade them all a good evening and said, “Mister Leon is home. How near is supper? What are we having to eat?”

“Scraps,” Myrtis said glumly. “That doctor et everything wasn’t moving. Chicken pie and sweet potatoes. Turnip greens and pot dodgers. I had the time, so I made some peach tarts.”

“Nobody will starve,” Lovey said.

“No,” Sarah agreed, and then hesitated before turning to Myrtis again. “You’ll need to find another helper for the kitchen work. Take whoever you want. Juanita asked if she could be the baby’s nurse, and I said she could.”

Sallou, who Sarah had thought before to be perhaps a little simple, began a high-pitched giggle, and Lovey said to Myrtis, “I told you,” and Myrtis ordered Sallou to hush her fuss if she didn’t want her sassy face slapped. Sarah smiled uncertainly at them all and said, “Well,” which could mean anything or nothing. Sensing that she had been somehow inadequate if not downright unsatisfactory, so far as Myrtis was concerned, she went to the big stove, sniffing, and when she saw the platter of peach tarts keeping warm on the back of the stove, she asked Myrtis, “May I have one now? I shouldn’t, but I am starving.”

Her dignity and authority restored, Myrtis took a fork and deftly served one of the tarts to her mistress on a fresh napkin which a chastened Sallou whisked before her.

“Oh, I thank you!” Sarah crooned appreciatively, picking up the tart in her fingers and beginning to eat it.

“Don’t burn yourself!” Myrtis scolded her.