He had felt the same sort of aloneness once again when Maria told him to leave; the sharpness of her dismissal was still as fresh as it had been the day he left Manhattan. He was deeply hurt, and it was this emotion that had made him stay away, but it also caused him to walk past the house on Maiden Lane, even though he had no intention of stopping. Samuel had too much pride to go where he wasn’t wanted, and yet he was drawn there like a dog. He waited to see if there was a glimmer of life, perhaps a lantern when dusk fell, or smoke from the brick oven’s chimney. When he saw none of these things, he went closer, pulled forward despite his will. Spring in New York meant horseshit in the streets, and sewers running into the footpaths, and crowds of newcomers. The city was so alive Samuel Dias felt his aloneness all the more here than he did at sea. He went through the gate in the falling dusk, for he was a fool, he admitted that to himself, and his hurt drove him on. The garden was filled with weeds and the Tree of Heaven was in need of water. He went to the well and filled a pail, then watered the tree, but he could already tell it would do no good. This genus belonged in the tropics, and was never meant to be here.

He went to try the door and found it locked. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. All the while he’d been gone he had imagined Maria in this house, but now it appeared he’d been wrong, for the place was clearly abandoned, though he owned it still.

“You’re to be off the property.”

It was a man’s voice he heard, English by the sound of it. Dias turned to see a fellow with a horsewhip in his hand, then glanced around and spied a spade he could use if he needed a weapon. “Am I?”

“Sorry, brother, but this is private property.”

“I know. It’s mine.”

The other fellow laughed out loud. A Cornishman, that’s what he was. Samuel had known many who’d taken to sea, though they all seemed to long for their homeland, and when they’d had enough to drink they cried, desperate to return to a place they couldn’t wait to leave behind when they were young.

“Since I’m well acquainted with the owner,” the fellow told Samuel, “I can tell you that you’re wrong.”

Samuel fished around in his bag and brought out his key to the door.

“If it fits the lock, I may have to believe you,” the Cornishman, who said he was called Finney, now allowed.