“Last night I tried to think of the words. I guess I thought maybe you could mix them with yours, and make mine prettier.”

“Tell me your words, then.”

“The thing is, it wasn’t any great passion that drew me to other women’s bedsides, but a sort of penance.”

“Penance for what?”

“When I was young, I believed it my duty to God, and the purpose of marriage, to make children, and I let my heart hope for it too, which I thought was sinful, wanting what I couldn’t have. I thought God meant to punish me, but that I could be redeemed in His eyes helping other women have their children. But my husband, my James, he never did blame me. I knew he wanted a child, or maybe just wanted me to have what I wanted. He was kind to me, always, even though I turned away all those nights, year after year. I made my heart cold to him, cold to myself. Sometimes he’d reach for my hand, and I’d pull mine away. And then we just stopped. But the day he died, it was the saddest day of my life. And there’s no reward at all, I see now, when I’ve lost the one man, right here on this earth, who ever loved me.”

Mary nodded, her flat gray eyes now gleaming with tears.

“And I am filled with regret that I didn’t tell him: I wish I’d loved you better.”

A single tear creeked down Mary’s cheek. Mrs. B dabbed it away with a corner of her apron.

“I hope I will see him, Parthenia. Because I’ll tell him for you, exactly that.”

“I know you don’t believe, like I do,” said Mrs. B. “And after these last days, well, there’ve been times I wasn’t sure if I could believe still. If I could forgive Him taking my James—and then you.”

Mary pinched her dry lips together. Mrs. B heaved herself from the bed, wrung out the cloth in cool water, and pressed it to Mary’s lips.

“But what I’ve seen and heard here, in these days with you,” said Mrs. B, “well, none could do all this but God with all his might.”

“Do all this what?” said Mary.

“All this—sad and glorious beautiful.”

Mary W

Before I left the wild North, I had a letter from Imlay, fresh proof of his indifference. He said our fortunes were inseparable, that he cherished tender feelings for me, and would do what was right, but it sounded like a burden. I was weary of traveling but sensed there was no home for me in him, no place to rest. I might as well have tried to lean on a spear.