A couple of months pass, and he goes to his mother’s house in Philadelphia, still not entirely recovered. He visits Asia, who sees a cautiousness in the way he moves that tells her he’s still in pain. He’s lost weight and is less energetic than usual. But he’s gratifyingly delighted with Dolly. She’s crawling now. The knees of her clothes are always gray with dust and betray the fact that Asia’s not stayed on top of the housekeeper.

Dolly is at an enchanting age, with round cheeks, four teeth, and a smile like a jack-o’-lantern. She laughs hysterically when John pops up from behind his hands, sobs when Becky comes to take her away. John dines that evening with Asia and Sleeper, then Sleeper leaves to go perform. John’s feelings towards Sleeper have not changed. He’s barely civil.

He’s expected back at Mother’s. Instead, much like that wintry evening many months ago, they take up positions on the sofa. This time, he’s the one stretched out; she’s the one with his feet in her lap, the smell of his socks faint in her nostrils. She’s stirred the fire into a blaze and it cracks and snaps and sighs. She has a dull, underwater feeling. The wind outside tosses the tree branches. Their shadows wave like seaweed on the walls.

He tells her a little about the end of his tour. While he was still bedridden, the company moved on to Montgomery, Alabama, where slaves are building a new theater for Canning and his players. John caught up two weeks later, on his feet, but not at his best.

His arrival happened to coincide with a rally for Stephen Douglas, one of four men currently running for the presidency. Douglas’ candidacy is bitterly opposed by William Lowndes Yancey, who controls the Democratic Party in Alabama. Locals call Yancey the prince of the Fire-Eaters. “We want Negroes cheap and we want a sufficiency of them,” he says.

Politics in Montgomery are at a rolling boil—book burnings, bonfires, and effigies, militias arming and training. Yancey is demanding war. It took considerable courage for Douglas to come. He’s pelted with garbage on his way to the venue, and lucky the missiles weren’t something worse.

At this time, John’s still loyal to the Union, his fury split, though not equally, between the abolitionists and the secessionists. Neither, he believes, has the right to threaten the nation, and one night, at a popular bar, he says so. The bar is crowded and smells of hops and ale, tobacco and sweat. John has to speak loudly to be heard. His words occasion a brief silence, then the hubbub of a dozen conversations resumes.