“I ain’t your cook any longer,” Sally complained, then dodged aside as her father raised his hand. Starbuck closed the Bible and wondered if his betrayal was obvious to Truslow. The girl cooked, and Starbuck gazed into the fire, dreaming.

Next morning Thomas Truslow gave his house and his land and his best leather belt to Robert Decker. He charged the boy only to look after Emily’s grave. “Roper will help you with the land. He knows what grows best and how, and he knows the beasts I’m leaving you. He’s your tenant now, but he’s a good neighbor and he’ll help you, boy, but you help him too. Good neighbors make for a good living.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Roper will be using the saw pit these next days. Let him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the belt’s for Sally. Don’t let her be your master. One taste of pain and she’ll learn her place.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert Decker said again, but without conviction.

“I’m going to war, boy,” Truslow said, “and the Lord alone knows when I’ll be back. Or even if.”

“I ought to be fighting, sir. It ain’t right that I can’t fight.”

“You can’t.” Truslow was brusque. “You’ve a woman and a child to look after. I’ve none. I’ve had my life, so I might as well spend what’s left of it teaching the Yankees to keep their thieving hands to themselves.” He shifted the tobacco wad in his cheek, spat, then looked back at Decker. “Make sure she looks after that ring, boy. It belonged to my Emily, and I ain’t even sure I should have given it to her, except that’s what Emily herself wanted.”

Sally stayed in the cabin. Starbuck wanted her to come out. He wanted to have a few moments with her. He wanted to speak to her, to say that he understood her unhappiness and that he shared it, but Sally stayed hidden and Truslow did not demand to see her. So far as Starbuck could tell Truslow did not even bid farewell to his daughter. Instead he selected a bowie knife, a long rifle and a pistol, and left the rest of his weapons for his son-in-law. Then he saddled a sullen-looking horse, spent a few private moments at the grave of his Emily, and afterward led Starbuck toward the ridge.

The sun was shining, making the leaves seem luminous. Truslow paused at the ridge’s crest, not to gaze back at the home he was leaving, but rather to stare east to where the land lay bright and clean, mile after mile of America, stretching toward the sea and waiting for the butchers to begin its dismembering.

PART TWO

Dust Sifted The Air...