Then Albion Freeman returned.

He walked the eight miles from Kingdom Come, above Henryclay, where he lived. He had just moved up from Knott County to preach at a Hardshell Baptist church and to farm a piece of land near the head of the creek that didn’t seem to belong to anyone.

“What was you doing in Knott County?” Ben asked.

“I was preaching there, too. Only some of them didnt like the word I was bringing. I felt a call to come up this way anyhow. They aint no place I was ever happier than here in Paine County. I wanted to see yall again.”

They invited him to spend the night and we sat around the table after supper. I let the others ask the questions. I was a little frightened of him. He had been a slender, sharp-faced boy. He was still lanky but he had grown tall, over six feet, with a black stubble of beard, wiry hair that trailed over the collar of his shirt, and a long nose. His fingers were large and so gnarled they looked like he dug a corn patch with his bare hands. He kept looking at me, quickly, shyly. I studied my coffee cup.

“You’re awful quiet, Carrie,” Ben said once, and I wanted to smack him.

“I’m listening,” I said.

Albion went on with his story. His daddy had taken the consumption and a warm climate seemed to ease him, so they wandered out of the mountains into the foothills of Georgia. They share-cropped a farm near Marietta. His daddy died in 1913 and Albion took off into the mountains again.

“The Lord has lead me hither and yon,” he said, “but seems like He has allays aimed to bring me back here.”

“How come you aint never married?” Flora asked.

“Aint settled in one spot long enough.” He looked at me again. “You aint never married neither.”

Rebellion made my voice sharp. “No, I aint. I dont never intend to git married.”

“Remember how we used to talk about marrying each other when we grew up?”

“We was just silly younguns,” I said. Aunt Becka kicked me beneath the table.

Flora put the children to bed and Ben took Albion to the parlor while Aunt Becka and I did the dishes.

“Why’d you kick me?” I asked.

“Cause you was being mean to that poor boy. Shame on you!”

“Well, he seemed to me like he was presuming some things. I dont like presuming.”

“He werent presuming nothing. He was trying to be nice. And ifn you would be sweet to him, he might take an interest. A preacher would make a good husband.”

I rattled the dishes in the washtub. “I dont think so. I think preachers is dull. Besides, why are you so anxious to find me a man all of a sudden? You done without by your own choice.”

“Because you aint happy, that’s why. Way things are, time you git my age, you’ll be bitter.”