Sanne had given Adelia instructions to let Magnus sleep as long as he wanted and to see that he had whatever he required as soon as he stirred. When he finally did awaken, she went immediately to see to him. Being unaccustomed to service, he could not even think what a person might need brought to him first thing in the morning other than another parcel of sleep. “No,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “but I might like a spot of breakfast if that’s no trouble.”

When he went downstairs, she directed him to the dining room where the family ate, not knowing what his position in the house was and deciding to err on the side of generosity, as Sanne had always told her to do with their guests.

When he sat down she asked what he would like, and he responded that he wouldn’t mind some milk and biscuits. She then brought out to the table a breakfast of eggs and bacon, as well as what he had asked her for. He ate everything and seemed satisfied, but when still more biscuits and milk were put before him he ate the biscuits in a flurry of surprisingly tidy activity, then drained his glass of milk with one turn up to his mouth. The girl asked whether he would like more and he said yes. She filled his glass again and watched as the milk disappeared, and another glass after it, until he had drained nearly an entire pailful.

When it was reported to Sanne later how he had consumed an entire cow’s morning offering, she said that the girl should find out whether he required any special preparation for it, or if it was fine as brought to the table. Magnus told her any way he could get it was fine with him, and proceeded that first week to consume milk at a more prodigious rate than anyone would have thought possible.

Merian entered the dining room, just as Ware — as he would always insist on calling him — was finishing his breakfast, and asked after his sleep.

“It was very good, sir,” Ware answered, but did not tell him either on that occasion or any other that he preferred to be called Magnus and, in fact, did not remember ever being called Ware to begin with. None of this mattered to Merian, who had given him the name in the first place.

“Is it great yet, though?” Merian asked. “I want you to let me know when it gets to be great.”

Magnus looked at him but did not know what he meant. “I’m sorry?”

“I want to know when your sleep start to feel different. After you wake before first light and realize you can sleep all the day and won’t nobody say nothing. Then again when you realize you still got to get up around first light if you want anything from the day. The first time you sleep a night knowing the day before you and every one after that is yours. I want you to tell me when it starts to feel great to you.”

Magnus smiled ruefully, unable to imagine that such a moment might ever come or that such an idea was anything but an old man’s fanciful remembering of his own past. “Well, they might still come after me.”

“No, they won’t,” Merian said. “Nobody is after you. And if they were they surely won’t look this far from where you started.”

“I don’t put it past them,” Magnus said. “Sorel hate to see anything get out from his control. That’s why he wouldn’t let my mama buy us out in the first place, on account of that would be one more thing in the world, besides the sun and what-all, that he didn’t have say-so over.”

Merian nodded and said nothing, not wanting to interrupt the other once he had started talking — for fear he might never tell what it was he had to say. He did allow himself a question, though. “How is your mama?”

Magnus looked at Merian, and it was hard to tell just then whether there was not hatred in his eyes for the man who had given him life and was providing him shelter. Whatever it was passed quickly, and his face sloped toward sadness when he replied, “She passed on.”

Merian was sadder than he had thought he would be when he first suspected it to be the case, and sadder than anyone would have ever been able to tell him he would be to hear the tragedy of a woman he had known so long ago. He withheld his emotion from Magnus, for it was something he found he did not understand entirely, and that was not a pleasant sensation or knowledge for a man his age to discover about his own inner life: that his heart it was still very cunning.

He was pleased, though, at the way Ware had put it, thinking that is exactly what Ruth would have done, as if she planned it out long ago.

“When?” he asked.

“This November past.”

“I see. How did she go?”

“Her blood. It turned sweet.”

Merian knew this to mean she had sugar in the blood, which was common in older people, so that they could never satisfy the craving for sweets but were pitched into distemper immediately upon having them. He also knew it was said to be caused by a love that had been thwarted or never satisfied in youth. But he was happy to know she had died in old age, for she would have been nearly fifty years old, which he reckoned was as much time as was allotted most. His own days he had grown greedy and less sensible about, counting them as his getting-back time. When he first found freedom he had not been that way, but he was not always a stranger and foe to bitterness in his later years. He figured if he could get back another twenty or so, he would be just even.

“She go peaceful?”

“Peaceful enough.”

“You know, your mother, she was something else,” Merian said, for he had not marked her death and wished to remember her now that she was present before his memory’s eye.

“I know what she was like,” Magnus said sharply, with the same flash of intensity about the mouth and eyes that had appeared there before.

“I remember when I first laid eyes on her,” Merian continued. “Both her and her mother came home with Hannah Sorel’s father one day, and he installed the mother as cook. Ruth was just a little girl who didn’t even speak English yet — no more than hello, and besides that nothing but pure Congo, or whatever it was in the port she was first from. You could tell she was quick, though, because she picked up better English than most people born to it by the end of her first year. That’s just what it seemed. It was even more striking because her mother never learned it at all, beyond the few words she needed to do her job. Then the old man come to find out she spoke schoolmaster’s Dutch on top of that.

“The original house there was called Colonus and was fairly small, so the two of them shared a room just across the hall from me, and I would see both of them all the time. At first Ruth was so little that didn’t nobody pay her any mind aside from, Well, she sure is one fast study with English speaking.

“I had never given her any more mind than anybody else anyway, but one day, after I came in from working, she was in the hall playing with a puppet she had found to amuse herself with, and she looked up at me as I was going into my room and asked, ‘Where Jasper mama?’

“That was the first thing she said to me, and the first time I even knew she knew my name. I just smiled at her — she couldn’t have been no more than eight or nine — and went on to my room. But I was aware of her from then on and, like I said, she was something far out of the usual.”

The two men were silent then, thinking about Ruth. Magnus also thought of Merian as real flesh and bone for the first time since arriving, after nothing but having heard of him for so long. Merian’s open affection for his mother made the younger man more trusting as well.

For Merian it was the first time he had talked about Ruth since the last time he saw her, and it did him good to speak about her. He would have taken Magnus into his home even if he wasn’t his son but only as Ruth’s boy, which, in truth, is how he saw him.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No more than you do something out of a dream,” Magnus admitted, then worried he might have sounded too hard, “In my mind, yes, but I know or think I know it’s just something I been told. The same way you and Mama say they used to call me Ware.”