Lovey fidgeted, one foot tapping the stone step that led to the kitchen. She had been gathering eggs, a morning occupation that put her in good humor because, although some hens laid their eggs properly in nests that had been built for them, others dropped them in odd corners of yard and barn, indeed, wherever spirit and flesh moved them, thereby making the finding of them something of a game. Her apron, caught tightly in one hand, held seventeen hen’s eggs, white and brown and speckled, and four guinea eggs, which she decided she would keep for brooding.

“Come here this minute, both of you!”

They appeared, by magic it seemed, and stood staring up at her. “You hongry?” she asked, nodding her head affirmatively, although it was only an hour since they had eaten. She went into the kitchen, holding the aproned eggs carefully, and they followed her. “Posie! Untie me!” Posie left her butter churn and with one deft yank untied Levey’s apron and caught the eggs in a basket that sat empty on the meat-chopping table.

Frowning, Lovey went to the stove and opened the oven door. Half a dozen biscuits left over from breakfast lay hardening in a flat baking pan. She took two of them, poked a finger in their sides and filled the holes she made with syrup. Each boy grabbed a biscuit and ran out the doorway. But once around the corner of the house they whistled to old Belle, queen of the hounds, who waddled toward them, teats sagging and swaying, tail lifted in expectation. Leon flipped his biscuit in the air, and she caught and swallowed it without knowing what had gone down her throat. Floyd flipped his, and the old dog held it in her mouth briefly before swallowing. Her tail quivered in gratitude, as they laughed and ran away.

5

One of the several qualities that fitted Arnold Kendrick for his role in life was a genuine interest and pleasure in watching other people work, his absorption the keener when he understood and respected the skill of the work being done. This quality drew him often to Ezra’s blacksmith shop. On the same small, hot fire of his foundry Ezra might be stewing an experimental brew of herbs and heating a bar of iron to bend into horseshoe or pot handle or wall hook. Moving unhurriedly and speaking no greeting, Arnold sidled into the open-sided shed and slouched peacefully, like a waiting horse, as he watched Ezra work. The two might be together an hour without acknowledging the presence of each other. Sometimes Arnold, after watching his fill, sidled out again, having spoken no word, his departure as unacknowledged by Ezra as his attendance had been.

However, sometimes they spoke, as when: