“Yes, I’m afraid I did.” It had been hard to ignore the crashing and banging, the shouted curses and the bawling of the twins. She hadn’t heard Calliope make a sound. That meant she’d had practice.

“Oh, ain’t nothing special with him,” she said quickly. “That’s how men are, I guess.”

“Not all men,” Gray Ellen said. “There’s no excuse.”

Callie looked embarrassed. She was having trouble getting her breath, talking in quick little spasms. “I ain’t complaining. Far’s a good man, mostly.”

“Did he hurt you?”

She touched her eye and smiled faintly. “He done worse before.”

Gray Ellen touched her arm. She couldn’t help it. Part of her was outraged, but part of her understood perfectly. When you had so little, you couldn’t afford to give up anything without something certain and better to take its place.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Callie nodded but didn’t look at her. “Has he calmed down?”

Callie laughed. Gray Ellen caught the bitter note. “He’s gone, honey. First light. Off to a wreck in Goldsboro.”

“At least he’s working.”

“I ain’t talking no train, honey. He got laid off.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“He comes in drunk. Boys are playing with their new jackknives, opening and closing the blades. He like to pitch a fit. What you throwing my hard-earned money away on toys for, woman?’ he says to me. I say, ‘Boy got to have a jackknife. How else he gonna play mumblety-peg with the other boys?’ I bought them knives out of my laundry money. Then he whupped me. Whupped the boys. Start busting up the room.”

“You don’t have to stand for that. No woman—”

Callie’s mouth went crooked as she talked. “Been slipping around. Whenever he goes slipping around, he’s got to make like it’s my fault.” She shrugged. “Same with any man, I guess.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“You better believe it, sweetie. You get off your high horse and look around. They get the itch, men do. Why, your own Sam—”

“What about Sam?”

Callie clasped her hands, looking straight ahead and rocking, though it was not a rocking chair. “Nothing,” she said softly, pasting a white hand over her split lip. “Me and my big mouth.”

Gray Ellen’s cheeks stung. “Maybe you’d better go,” she said, trying to control her voice.

“Maybe I’d better,” Calliope said, laboring to heave herself out of the chair. “I wish I was pretty, but I’m not. I’m just a fat woman with a big mouth and too many babies.” She was sobbing, making no attempt to wipe her eyes. The tears streamed down her face, leaving dirty tracks.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—sit down and finish your tea.” It had been a clean, fine morning. Now, it was ruined. The beautiful light was wasted. She passed Callie a handkerchief. “Here, now, wipe your face.”

“Thank you, dear. I don’t mean to carry on like this.” She mopped her face till the handkerchief was limp and filthy. She sipped from her cup and smacked her lips. “Nothing like a nice cup of tea when you’re feeling low.”