I decided to have another talk with Duff, hoping to get his cooperation, but at the same time resolved that we were not going to be on the farm when school started, no matter what he wanted. He was, as usual, reading from the books and newspapers in the upstairs storeroom on the afternoon I went up to see him. He hadn’t been out of the house for several days, as far as I knew.

“You look ill,” I told him when he finally noticed me. He was sitting cross-­legged on the floor reading a book. His face was flushed and he was trembling.

“Maybe I have a little cold,” he said.

I put my hand on his forehead. As I did so, he closed the book and casually put it on a stack of other books an arm’s length away. All the books were old with worn leather bindings.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” I said. “You should be outside, though, on this beautiful day, and not cooped up here in this stuffy room. What was that book you were reading?”

“Just an old history book.”

“It’s in Latin, isn’t it? I didn’t know you could read Latin.” I picked up another book from the floor. “Do you read Greek too? You’ve never studied it in school, have you?”

“No, but I’ve picked up a smattering of both languages on my own.”

He had never mentioned it, and I didn’t remember ever seeing any books in Latin or Greek around the house in Scars-dale.

“I used to be able to read a little Latin,” I said. “We all had to study it for a couple of years at Sacré Coeur Academy. That was before the Church became liberated and threw out the Latin rites.”

“Do you know the Mass in Latin?” he asked.

“I used to.”

“You must say some of the prayers for me sometime. I’m very interested in such things. There’s a beautiful Catholic church in Cainesville, Saint Mary’s. I’ve been there several times. The pastor, Father Fogarty, is a very interesting man.”

“Duff, school is going to be starting soon.”

He took my hand. “Mother,” he said earnestly, “I’d like to go to school here for at least one semester. I really would.”

“Impossible, Duff.”

“Mother, I’d like to write a book about the Caine family. As long as Dad is writing a book, why couldn’t I do it too? There’s so much fascinating material here. Let me show you.” He rummaged in a pile and pulled out a tattered book without a cover. “Here’s a history of Ashland County. The county was created in 1846, but the town of Ashland was laid out much earlier—in 1815. Cainesville was settled even before that. Hosiah Caine went there from Connecticut in 1795, and then a year or two later he moved out here.”

“Duff . . .”