Leah put aside her held mending. It was too dark to see the needle passing. She stood and lighted the lamp on the side table and crossed over and lighted the one on the end table next to the sofa. Standing there, near Connie, she said, “You and me both know the bad of men. But there’s good too. There’s Norman.”

“Well, yes, there’s Norman. But I shouldn’t care to share even if you would.” And screwed her face up goggle-eyed at Leah. Idiot face. Both women laughed. Fell silent. The room fluid with lamplight. Tentative flickering warmth. Outside in blue dusk Norman crossed to the purple shadow of the barn. A hanging hook of moon over it in the eastern sky. Leah ran her hands over the hard nut of her belly. Connie wrapped her knitting and set it aside and stood. Leah said, “Time to get supper on.”

“I’ll help Norman with the feed-up.”

“I think,” Leah said, “he can manage all right.”

Connie paused, then said, “What I’d like, is some tea.”

“We got that pine-bark tea your mother sent up.” They moved, not quite side by side, down the short hall to the kitchen. Connie said, “No thank you ma’am. I’ll make that mint tea you like.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m about sick of that herb tonic Marthe Ballou brought over for me. Build my blood, she said. Well, my blood’s built enough this one day. Drinking it makes me jealous over that pine-bark.”

“Maybe that’s what I need. A little build-my-blood.”

Leah looked at her. “Sounds to me your blood’s doing just fine.”

Connie shot her brows. “Being home’s not so bad. Except for the shortage of men.”

“There’ll be a man. Soon as you stop looking, one’ll jump right around the corner and scare you to death.”

“Think?”

Leah filled the kettle under the spring-fed line. Connie had the flue and firebox open, pokering the stilled fire back to life. Leah set the kettle on the stove and said, “It happened to me. Happened to me, could happen to anyone.”

Connie added sticks from the woodbox. Shut the stove door and straightened up to face Leah. “Except for the worry,” she said, “I liked it.”