“It’s been my home longer,” he reminded her.

“And that’s why you came back, the time you left.”

He thought about it a minute. “You could say so.”

“I know you came back on Lovey’s account, and Ezra’s, but are you suggesting there was another reason? I was so glad to see you I never thought about it.”

“I came back,” he said with deliberation, “for the same reason I left.”

“That sounds like a conundrum.”

“No, it’s only the truth.”

She paused, considering what he had said. “Will you tell me?”

He took a swallow of wine that nearly emptied his glass. When he spoke, the words came slowly. It was important to him to use the right ones. “I left here because I found out—Mama guessed, by the way, though we only talked about it a little that one time. I had found out that I cared about you in a way I must not.” She continued to look at him steadily. “I came back because I kept on feeling that way.” He nodded. “I was right to. Living here, working on the land together, seeing you live your life and living my own, the feeling I’d had changed. Or no; it grew in a different way. I said while ago I think of you as the young girl arriving in the carriage that first day. Well, I do, but I see you other ways too. I’ve heard you curse, and I’ve seen you with sweat running down your face and your hair all every way and your hands chapped and dirty. You just won’t remember you’re a lady!” She hid one hand in her lap as the other went to find her hair. “I’ve seen you with tears running down your face and your face like a grieving stone angel’s in the cemetery. You’re the mistress of Beulah Land. You’re the widow of my friend. But if everything had been different, I’d have tried to have you for my own. As the thing works out, I’ll never leave Beulah Land. Because of you, and Leon, and me. It’s all come to be one thing.”

“Do you think we might have another glass of wine?” she asked after a moment.

“Why not?” he said. “Aren’t you the mistress of this plantation?”

“Of course I am!” Laughing, she rose and, mocking the movements of a sashaying belle, fetched the decanter and poured wine into their glasses, slopping a little over the side of his glass. “I’m sorry.”

He licked his wet fingers. “It’s only generosity.”