“She still is. Beauty is not what you see on the outside but the spirit you know is within.”

Webb bowed to the woman in a courtly manner so ingrained that Rusty doubted he realized he was doing it. Rusty self-consciously tried to emulate him but knew his was a poor imitation. Webb introduced him. Mrs. Monahan’s expression turned sad for a moment when the minister told her Rusty’s father was dead. He did not state the cause, and she had the good manners not to ask.

“He’ll be missed, your father,” she said. “Well, you-all come on in and rest a spell.” She called to a boy working at the barn. “Billy, take care of the horses. And watch that mule. He’s liable to kick.”

The boy, about fifteen years old, shouted back, “Yes, ma’am.” He led the two horses and Chapultepec into a corral.

Clemmie Monahan said, “I expect you’ll want to wash off some of the road dust. There’s a wash pan on the back gallery. Geneva, see that there’s water in the bucket out there.”

A girl appeared in the doorway. She was almost a duplicate of her mother except for being a generation younger. To call her slender would have been charitable, Rusty thought. Skinny was more like it. But she had a pleasant face, eyes filling with curiosity as she looked at him. In the room’s poor light, he could not tell what color they were.

He blushed as he realized he was staring and that she was staring back.

She said, “I already did, Mama, soon as I saw Preacher Webb comin’. Brought in fresh drinkin’ water from the cistern, too. Figured he’d be thirsty.”

Webb accepted the hospitality with easy grace. “Such a fine welcome from such handsome young ladies reminds an old bachelor what he has missed in his life.” He glanced back at Rusty. “And should be a lesson to a young one.”

The girl smiled. Rusty felt his cheeks warm. He wanted to say something to cover his discomfort, but he conjured up no words that seemed appropriate. He was conscious that his clothes were dusty and trail-worn. He touched a hand to his face and felt several days’ growth of stubble. Mother Dora would have pointed to Mike’s razor and suggested that he use it.

The girl Geneva kept looking at him. “Does he ever talk?”

Webb grinned. “I’ve seem him go for days without savin’ a word except ‘Please pass the corn bread.’”

Defensively Rusty said, “I don’t talk just to hear myself.” Feeling slightly wicked and trusting that Webb would take it with good humor, he added, “I’m not a preacher.”

Clemmie Monahan said, “Leave the gentlemen be, Geneva, so they can wash for dinner. We’ve both got work enough to do in the kitchen.”