“Sure I could. There’s nothing so important to do.”

“Draw up a chair, Adam, and sit down.”

When he was seated she stretched her right hand toward him, and he took it in both of his. “So good and kind,” she repeated. “Adam, you keep promises, don’t you?”

“I try to. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m alone and I’m afraid,” she cried. “I’m afraid.”

“Can’t I help you?”

“I don’t think anyone can help me.”

“Tell me and let me try.”

“That’s the worst part. I can’t even tell you.”

“Why not? If it’s a secret I won’t tell it.”

“It’s not my secret, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t.”

Her fingers gripped his hand tightly. “Adam, I didn’t ever lose my memory.”

“Then why did you say—”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Did you love your father, Adam?”

“I guess I revered him more than loved him.”

“Well, if someone you revered were in trouble, wouldn’t you do anything to save him from destruction?”

“Well, sure. I guess I would.”

“Well, that’s how it is with me.”

“But how did you get hurt?”

“That’s part of it. That’s why I can’t tell.”

“Was it your father?”

“Oh, no. But it’s all tied up together.”

“You mean, if you tell me who hurt you, then your father will be in trouble?”

She sighed. He would make up the story himself. “Adam, will you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“It’s an awful thing to ask.”

“No, it isn’t, not if you’re protecting your father.”

“You understand, it’s not my secret. If it were I’d tell you in a minute.”

“Of course I understand. I’d do the same thing myself.”

“Oh, you understand so much.” Tears welled up in her eyes. He leaned down toward her, and she kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t you worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

She lay back against the pillow. “I don’t think you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your brother doesn’t like me. He wants me to get out of here.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Oh, no. I can just feel it. He hasn’t your understanding.”

“He has a good heart.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t have your kindness. And when I have to go—the sheriff is going to begin asking questions and I’ll be all alone.”

He stared into space. “My brother can’t make you go. I own half of this farm. I have my own money.”

“If he wanted me to go I would have to. I can’t spoil your life.”

Adam stood up and strode out of the room. He went to the back door and looked out on the afternoon. Far off in the field his brother was lifting stones from a sled and piling them on the stone wall. Adam looked up at the sky. A blanket of herring clouds was rolling in from the east. He sighed deeply and his breath made a tickling, exciting feeling in his chest. His ears seemed suddenly clear, so that he heard the chickens cackling and the east wind blowing over the ground. He heard horses’ hoofs plodding on the road and far-off pounding on wood where a neighbor was shingling a barn. And all these sounds related into a kind of music. His eyes were clear too. Fences and walls and sheds stood staunchly out in the yellow afternoon, and they were related too. There was change in everything. A flight of sparrows dropped into the dust and scrabbled for bits of food and then flew off like a gray scarf twisting in the light. Adam looked back at his brother. He had lost track of time and he did not know how long he had been standing in the doorway.