“Go to bed and leave me here.” When he frowned, she added, “I’m all right.” She stood, moved a step and stopped in a listening attitude. “This big house that has seen so much and so many—is now only the domicile of women left behind! It’s true: think about it. There’s no man at Beulah Land; there isn’t even a boy. We’re a bunch of old women snapping and nattering at each other.” He looked at her with tired worry. She smiled. “Having a friendly ear has spoiled me. I’ll walk you to the door.” She blew out her candle. He carried his in its holder to light their way, cupping its flame against the air currents. They went through the hall and the breezeway, on to the back door. There he handed her the holder. She took it and blew the candle out. Its burnt tallow smell hung briefly on the warm, moist air and then dissolved. “I’ll find my way in the dark. I know every board of this house.”

“Sarah?”

She trembled and, dropping the candle holder, did not bother to retrieve it. He saw her hand reach out. He put his arms around her; she put hers on him. They held each other close and wept for what had been, and what had not been, and what would never be. Parting, they spoke in whispers, although there was no one to hear them.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

“As long as you say that, my world survives. You and I are the survivors, Floyd!”

“We’re only the stewards and the slaves of Beulah Land. Good night, Sarah.”

“Tomorrow.”

8

Nell woke abruptly and shouted, “Tippecanoe and Tyler too!”

Penelope, in the rocking chair alongside her, frowned and drew her lips up pursily. Closing her ivory fan with a click, she used it to prod Nell’s fat thigh protruding from the open side of her chair. “Old fool,” she said. “That was a long time ago. Now it’s ‘Do not tread on me!’ Noli me tangere!”

“Oh, I know it; I was dreaming.”

“If you didn’t eat so much, you wouldn’t sleep so much.” Penelope said. “Uncle Joshua used to say: ‘Enough is a plenty.’ You’re not much company. If it wasn’t for your gassiness I wouldn’t know you were alive, sometimes.”

The day was Monday, July 29, and the two old women had sat together since noon dinner, rocking in their chairs, scolding each other. A little way down the porch from them sat Selma and Pauline, working on flannel shirts for the soldiers.

“Am I still dreaming?” Nell said. “Who is that coming? Is it—”