“Well, Fletch and Clover was married a good six weeks ago. Mama was sorry you two couldn’t be here for the wedding.” Whit cast a nod at the solid stone farmhouse, sited on the ridge overlooking the wooded valley of the rocky river. The newlyweds’ addition of two rooms off the near end, still in progress when Dag had last seen it, seemed entirely complete, with glass windows, a wood-shingle roof, and even some early-autumn flowers planted around the foundation, softening the fresh scars in the soil. “Clover’s all moved in, now. Ha! It didn’t take her long to shift the twins. They lit out about twenty miles west to break land with a friend of theirs, only last week. You just missed ’em.”

Dag couldn’t help reflecting that of all his Bluefield in-laws, the inimical twins Reed and Rush were probably the ones he’d miss the least; judging from the sudden smile on Fawn’s face, she shared the sentiment. He said affably, “I know they’d been talking about it for a long time.”

“Yeah, Papa and Mama wasn’t too pleased that they picked just before harvest to finally take themselves off, but everyone was so glad of it they didn’t hardly complain. Fletch came in on Clover’s side whenever they clashed, naturally, which was pretty much every day, and they didn’t take any better to him telling them what to do than to her. So it’s a lot more peaceable in the house, now.” He added after a reflective moment, “Dull, really.”

Whit continued an amiable account of the small doings of various cousins, uncles, and aunts as they unsaddled the horses and turned them into the box stalls in the cool old barn. With a glance at Dag’s stick, Whit actually helped them put up their gear without being asked and hoisted Dag’s saddlebags over his shoulder. Feeling that such an apologetic impulse should be encouraged, Dag let him take them. As they made their way back out to climb the hill to the house, Fawn refused to give up her own bags to Dag, telling him to mind himself, and thumped along under the weight with her usual air of determination.