Stepping over to the gnarled fig tree by the back door, Rachel made no comment on Lauretta’s hope, but touched a dusty leaf, then a hard branch, her fingers tracing its surface like a blind man’s hand searching another’s face in order to “see” it. Presently, she turned to Lauretta. “The tree has been here such a long time; it seems to give a little of its life to me when I touch it.“

Puzzled, Lauretta tried an understanding simper, with indifferent results. “A pretty fancy, I’m sure.”

“I touch it and make a wish, sometimes.” Rachel began to walk away into the yard, and Lauretta stepped off beside her, as if they had decided to walk together. Finding herself so companioned, Rachel asked politely, as the first thing that came into her head, “Have you ever been told about the tree, ma’am?”

“Why, what is there to tell?”

“Lovey says that when they were babies, Papa and Uncle Floyd both nursed her—together, one on either side, at the same time—”

“Revolting! No one is old enough to dispute her, I suppose.”

“—and when the babies were fed, she swaddled them in pillow cases, and Uncle Ezra hung the cases from a stout branch of the fig tree, so that they swung to and fro when the wind blew.”

“Old servants tell such tales. It is their solace, and one humors them.”

“Oh, I know it was so! Only I find it so very hard to think of Papa and Uncle Floyd as babies!”

“Yes, I suppose you must,” Lauretta agreed amiably enough and took the girl’s arm so that, should Sarah be looking out from any window, she might wonder at the intimate picture they made together.

But Rachel said, “Are you tired, ma’am?”

“Well, I had been walking about a little time before I met you. I am not tired, only disposed to rest a moment here if you will stay with me.” They had come to a seat built around the base of an oak tree. Lauretta sat and gently pulled the girl down beside her. When Rachel had disengaged her hand, firmly but not rudely, Lauretta said, “I declare! It is so very peaceful here. It has done me a world of good to visit with you all after the ordeal of my journey from California. You have been so very kind and hospitable.”

“I am sure that you are welcome, Ma’am.”

“How sweet of you to say so.” That seemed to Lauretta to get them very little further. After a pause she ventured, “I have been here before, of course, but not for many years.”

“So I understand.”

“Indeed—in fact—I was here eighteen years ago when you were born.” Rachel made no reply or comment, and Lauretta, staring at her earnestly, said, “Have you never felt when we were together a—special bond of intimacy?”

“I cannot say I have, ma’am.”