Webb was first at the washbasin. Drying himself on a square of homespun cotton cloth, he smiled. “You’ve not been away from home enough, lad. You need to work on the social graces.”

“You have them, but they never got you married.”

Webb’s smile faded. “The ladies I fancied always seemed to fancy someone else.”

Rusty had long suspected Mother Dora was one. It could be that Clemmie Monahan was another.

Webb emptied the wash pan so Rusty could pour fresh water into it. “Besides, I’ve been on the journey too much to have any normal life at home. My circuit, and the times I’ve ridden away with the volunteers . . . I could not ask a good woman to sit in a lonely cabin and wait for me.”

“I’ll bet there’s some would’ve been willin’.”

“Perhaps, but it would’ve been unfair to ask it of them.”

“Haven’t you wanted to?”

“Once or twice. I always managed to think better of it. I hope you never have to look at yourself in a mirror and face a decision between your needs and your duty.”

“I don’t expect I’ll ever be a preacher.”

“There are other duties that demand all one has to give. If you should ever hear the call, you’ll understand.”

The family was large and the table long, with benches on either side, chairs at each end for Lon Monahan and his wife. Clemmie was on her feet much of the time, bringing food to the table, pouring coffee. Geneva sat opposite Rusty, where he could steal glances at her. Two younger sisters and the youngest brother, Billy, sat beside her. On the bench with Rusty and Webb were the oldest brother, James, and Clemmie Monahan’s father, a small, thin man named Vince Purdy. He squinted as if he had a hard time seeing. Rusty suspected his sight was slowly failing. His knuckles were knotted with arthritis.

Lon Monahan asked, “Been much talk down you-all’s way about this secession foolishness?”

More than just talk, Rusty thought darkly, but he let Preacher Webb answer.

“There has. There are bitter feelin’s on both sides.”

“Same here, I’m sorry to say. Serious enough that I’m afraid it could lead to bloodlettin’.”

Clemmie protested, “Lon, don’t be scarin’ the children.”

“It’s the truth. I ain’t seen folks get so worked up since the war against Mexico. This may be worse, because it has neighbor buttin’ heads with neighbor. Damndest notion I ever heard of, wantin’ to pull out of the union! Don’t you agree, Preacher?”

Webb looked about the table before he answered. “Every argument sounds good while you listen to it. Then you hear an answer from the other side, and it sounds good, too. As a minister I think I’d best stay out of it.”