She relaxed in her chair, crossed her legs comfortably and swung her free foot. “It’s good to talk. Just talk, I mean. Not about what we need and can’t afford, nor about all the others’ complaints. You’re the only one I talk to, except Edna. Even your mama complains about ‘the way it used to be, the way it’s supposed to be.’” He nodded. “The others I don’t talk to; I try to soothe and placate, when what I feel like doing is shaking them.” She turned her head, and looking directly at him, showed surprise. “Why, you’re getting old, Floyd!” She shook her head. “I don’t mean it. Only, we don’t look at each other, we’re so used to seeing each other. And I just looked at you and remembered you’re not young any longer.”

“I’m fifty-five,” he said drily.

“I always think of you as the young man who, the first day I came to Beulah Land—Leon was driving the carriage that brought us out from town—do you remember?”

He nodded.

“And there you came to ride alongside; and then you broke out laughing and rode ahead of us through the orchard shouting, ‘Company’s coming!’”

“Oh, I remember.” He smiled.

“Those were good days,” she said.

“A lot of them have been.”

“Yes,” she agreed. They were quiet for a minute, sipping wine. Suddenly, she laughed at herself. “I said you’re no longer young and look at me. Last week some time, I forget when, I was busy thinking about something else when I stopped and said to myself: ‘Who is that haggard old woman?’ Of course, it was me. I was looking in the mirror in the upstairs hall without knowing where I was or who I was.”

After smiling with her he said, “I always think of you as that pretty young girl in the carriage the day you came. I remember how we all wanted you to stay.”

“Well, I did—and that’s nice to hear, Floyd.” She stood and went to the sideboard. “I want another glass, and this one I’ll drink slower or I’ll get the hiccups. Will you have another?” He nodded. She filled both glasses from the decanter, and when she came back and sat down, she said, “I complain, whereas I should go about with a patient, sweet face the way they say we’re supposed to do. But I am not that kind of a woman.”

“Thank God,” he said. “My work’s hard enough as it is.”

She had not heard him; she was occupied with another thought. “The only thing though that ever frightens me is when I wake sometimes at night and think: What if Floyd leaves?”

“Have no fear of that kind,” he said.

She studied his face. “Beulah Land means as much to you as it does to me.”