Ram milked the cow, mucked out the animals’ stalls; he fed the chickens at noon; at dusk he left oats for the horse and mules. Still Alejandro did not come back. Adela remained in the Eggenberger house alone. He thought of her touch on his arm those many months ago. The thought of speaking to her again, after his failure in San Francisco, shamed him. But when he saw the dim lamp glowing in the window of the house, he finally walked across the field and knocked on the door.

“I saw the light,” he said, when she answered the door. He was comfortable with simple Spanish now. He could speak well enough to give orders, to describe weather or soil, to tell a short tale, to fall in love. She seemed relieved to see him. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Where did they go?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Rosa asked me to come to measure for new curtains. I have been waiting all day.”

“To the temple in Stockton.”

“There is a holy day?”

“Yes,” he said. He did not want to elaborate on it. Why would she need to know such things?

“They will be away three days. Have you eaten?” he asked again. After these many months he would have liked her company, in particular.

“They left no food. Alejandro said he would be back before dark. I don’t know what has delayed him.”

“Come and eat supper with me. We will see him when he arrives.”

They ate by lamplight on the porch, which offered a clear view of the Eggenberger house. Ram had made chickpeas that Kishen Kaur had grown in her small plot at the back of the house. He put out spoons and forks for Adela’s sake. He didn’t know what she would think of seeing him eat a roti by hand. He was nervous as she tasted the food. He had always been proud of his cooking; Kishen had complimented it. The men in Hambelton used to be glad when it was his week in the rotation. But what did Adela know of Hindustani food?

She could not stop eating. “I did not have dinner,” she explained, after he had finished his meal and was watching her eat more. He thought she would not be able to admit that she liked it, because of the unnamed thing between them, because of the touch that he had rejected near the barrio, because of something they both wanted.

But she surprised him. “It is delicious,” she said simply.

He felt light-headed.

“Why did you not go with them?” she asked.

He could have said, Who would have taken care of the farm? But the words did not come. He merely shook his head. Let her make of that answer what she would.

The hum of cicadas swelled, then faded. An owl hooted in the distance.