His mother was an old woman. She was stooped over the oven of the range and she turned to place a beanpot on the table where Connie sat silent. His mother placed her hands flat on the table and looked at Norman as she said his name. Her face was fierce and worn like treebark, her hair pulled back tight as always but dappled gray like a Percheron. Her hands on the table thick with raised veins and spots the color of new rust. She’d grown old in three years.

So he only said, “Beans.”

She demurred. “It’s Saturday you know. They was for supper. But it happened I started them early yesterday. Before milking. So they’re ready. I haven’t steamed the brown bread yet, you’ll have to make do with loaf-bread. There’s pickle.”

“Leah, my mother. Mother, this is Leah.”

Leah said, “Missus Pelham.” And her body swayed beside him as if almost to dip a curtsy. “Pleased to meet you.” Erect now, not moving.

Mrs. Pelham remained behind the table, a guarded patience upon her face as if she’d seen wondrous and terrible things before and was waiting for this one to reveal which it was. She had never seen a black woman. And meeting her for the first time not in the village but here in her own kitchen. Brought by her warrior son. The woman was with him. That much was all she knew. So she inclined her head and responded. “I’m sure. You two set. I’ve got buttermilk and spring water and that’s it. No cider, fresh or hard. I’ve not put any barrels up these past two years. Too much work for just the girl and me, without anyone to drink it. So you’ll make do. But set; you must be famished walking all the way back up here.” Her eyes on Norman as she added, “Other men rode trains at least part of the way.”

Stretching for the beanpot, he said, “I should’ve got back here to help you. I wanted to see the country. Thought I might not get the chance again. And I figured you and sprout here was capable.” And then added, “So we took our time.”

“You took your time.”

“Yes ma’am.” Grinning at her, not yet realizing he couldn’t be both the boy-child miscreant and the unassailable man. He dug the spoon to the bottom of the pot and lifted the seasoning onion up through the beans and divided it half onto his plate and half onto Leah’s, then scooped beans onto his own plate and handed her the spoon.

Connie said, “Could be others might like some of that bean-onion.”

“Could be,” said Norman. “Could be some been eating bean-onions while others ate stale biscuit and bacon in the mud and rain. Sprout, you’ve grown up.” To see if he could make her blush. She did not, but her eyes clouded with hostility.

She said, “I started to the Academy this fall.”

Mrs. Pelham said, “Connie, go bring up some buttermilk.”