“I’m not drunk. Only tired, and it’s good to talk.” She closed her eyes, and they sat quietly. Eyes still closed; she began to speak again. “Do you remember? Of course, you don’t; you weren’t here. It was the morning after you left, the day after Thanksgiving. I went out in the back yard and found Uncle Felix there, and he told me you’d gone.”

“He helped me; that’s right.”

“He had just told Lovey and Ezra. I couldn’t believe him. I got very upset. Enough to surprise him. Then we found out my sister Lauretta had run away with Bonard Davis, and everything got mixed together, and I never thought about why I was upset. I missed you, but then you came home. And when I saw you, I knew you were one of the family dearest to me. You and Leon and Rachel and Roman.” She frowned into her glass. “I haven’t heard from Roman since they cut off the mails in April. And won’t, I guess, until this is over. I want him home, but that’s selfish of me. He’s better off where he is. Only it’s hard, not to get his letters.”

Floyd was silent for a time, and then he said, “Did Leon ever say anything about Roscoe’s visit that day?”

She shook her head. “Not a word, and when I asked, he just stared at me. What happened we’ll never know, except that it had something—not all, but something surely—to do with his death.”

“In town they say Roscoe won’t live another month.”

“Have you seen him?”

Floyd shook his head. “He doesn’t leave the house now.”

“Let’s have another glass—to Roscoe’s dying!” She walked steadily to the sideboard for the decanter and poured wine into their glasses. Then raising hers, she said, “To the death of Roscoe Elk!”

They drank. She hiccupped. “I should never swallow when I’m thinking bad things. I’m glad he’s dying, but it’s evil to gloat over anyone’s dying.”

“Hold your breath and count to ten.”

She tried, but presently another hiccup sounded. She shook her head, annoyed with herself, and then reached for her glass. After drinking from it, she belched and waited. A minute later when she was sure, she said, “Gone now. And the little too much has made me sober instead of drunk.”

He finished his glass. “Well, it’s made me a little drunk. If not drunk, quiet enough to sleep.”