Leon nodded. “Clarence borrowed from me, he borrowed from everyone who would lend to him. But when it’s all sorted, it won’t surprise me to find that it’s Roscoe who holds the signed notes—I certainly don’t, and I doubt that his other friends do—and that it’s Roscoe who has the strongest claim on whatever there is to claim.”

“What of Bessie and Emily? Surely they—?”

“There’s no ‘surely’ nor even ‘maybe.’ The farm and the hands were Clarence’s. They had no part of it. Clarence’s letter begs me to settle his affairs the best I can. I’ll go over there right away to see who’s in charge and what I can do. Then I’ll go to town and do whatever’s next. Before the day’s out I want Uncle Felix and me to ride to Kitesville to see this lawyer Guthrie, Clarence says see in his letter.”

“Let me go with you. To offer help to Bessie and Emily?”

“Let me offer for you and send word. You stay here. I’d like to know you are here. They both have husbands, you know.”

“Yes. Very well.”

Leon went upstairs to choose a coat of sober appearance. Sarah went to the window and looked out. Selma was just crossing the yard, accompanied by Pauline. They might be going anywhere—simply to walk about the yards, or to the fruit orchard or fields or woods, wherever their fancies led them.

Selma wore black, which she had done ever since Bonard and Lauretta went away together nearly a year and a half ago. Told what had occurred, she had said calmly, “Then I am a widow. I shall wear weeds.” And so she had done. Making one of her rare trips into town she had ordered black in all weights and styles of cloth to suit her and to accommodate the seasons. Laura-Lou made the black dresses, and Selma wore them every day. At first people—the few who saw her spread the word—were merely astonished. Then they laughed and whispered. Then they settled into a nervous acceptance of this newest mark of Selma’s eccentricity.

—She was crazy, of course. Look at the way she left her husband on the very wedding night. Look at how she had hidden ever since with nobody knowing what went on between her and that uppity darky Pauline. If Selma was a man, they’d know beyond question what to think, and raise a row, their business or not. But she was a female, and she was a Kendrick, so whatever she did was allowed her.—