Only the Darson brothers, Eli and George, withheld from the toasting, for they had disgraced themselves and knew better than show their faces. Caleum and Libbie danced, though, full of lightheartedness.

No matter how contented he was with the morning, Caleum knew he must eventually speak full on to his father, but he put it off as long as possible, first filling himself on punch — which was a near calamity as he was not used to its strength — then dancing yet another round.

At the tables Purchase sat with Magnus, Adelia, Mr. and Mrs. Darson, and his own father, Jasper, who did not drink or dine. Their feelings at seeing Purchase again all ran a range, but none of them were as complicated as Caleum’s, even though Magnus knew perhaps better than the others what must be going through his thoughts at that moment.

“It might take a while for him to want to speak to you,” Magnus said to his brother, at one point during the conversation. “His feelings are probably powerful mixed.”

“So they must be,” Purchase agreed. “What about your own?”

“Will you stay on?” he asked. “Are you back at Stonehouses now?”

“I’m back as long as I am here,” Purchase said testily.

“Well, we are happy for that,” Magnus told him. “All of us.”

Purchase thanked Magnus, then turned to seek out his father’s attention. Merian placed his hand on Purchase’s arm and rubbed it very tenderly. “Stay,” he said, the word very slow to form and exit his mouth.

Purchase clasped his fingers. “In my heart I am always here,” he answered, “but we cannot, all of us, always be where our heart is.”

“But where we should,” Merian said, and he was very clear and lucid then.

Purchase loved his father and owed him honor so did not want to argue with him, but he was full grown a long time already and his life was as much his own as any man’s could be said to be — he needed neither father nor brother nor even offspring to define that — and he was learned enough in his life to know what its purpose was: His was the fate of the lover. He argued neither with men nor with God that it should be different.

His time there was a holiday for him from the tribulations of that life, and he wanted to treat it as such, so when the music began again, he was among the first to the dance, going first with Libbie, then Mrs. Darson. To Mrs. Darson he seemed imposing and unreadable, like no man she had known before. When Libbie danced with him, though, she felt a soothing comfort that, while she had never yet felt it in such a way, she knew immediately to be profoundly masculine. There was sadness in it, but while she danced with him she feared nothing and wanted nothing else.

“Will you be a good wife for my son?” he asked her.

“I will do my utmost best,” she answered, and he knew that she would.

“He is a very lucky man in that case, and I could wish nothing more for him,” Purchase told his daughter-in-law.

Just as he knew the boy would be safe when he sent him to live at Stonehouses, he sensed he would be well off with Libbie, especially as — and this he could divine by looking at him — his son’s life would be full of its own trials.

As their dance ended Libbie could scarcely believe the rumors they said about her father-in-law and his wife. What woman, she wondered, would deny such a husband? She hoped, as she went back to her new groom, he might become such a man as his father one day. And it pleased her to think what this future version of Caleum might be like.

Caleum himself was still engaged with distractions and did not muster the resolve to confront his father until it was near eventide. Purchase amused himself in the meantime by watching Julius and Cato gamble at cards. No longer having the desire for that particular vice himself, he watched only in the manner of one who is advanced at chess watching precocious children play at checkers: with interest in the players and how each approached the board and formed his strategy, but little care for the game itself, being able to see the result far in advance.

When his son finally came to him, he knew there were but few possibilities on the board, and what each move was most likely to produce for an endgame.

“How did you know about the wedding?” Caleum asked first, staring at Purchase in the amber light of a setting sun that seemed to burnish everything around them. “Or was it only happenstance that you arrived today?”

“It was published,” Purchase answered him. “When I read it, I knew I must attend.”

“And my mother?” the young man pressed.

“It was her I was looking for when I read the announcement,” Purchase answered him without elaboration.

All Caleum knew of his father was what he had been told by his relatives, or else the gossip of those who were not necessarily friends. Some saw his state as a sickness that could not be purged. To others he was renowned for his boldness and courage. His son tried to divine between these poles. Standing before him he still could not tell, and it took all of his courage to look his father in the eye and ask, “Is it true what they say of you?”

Purchase looked on Caleum with sympathy. “I cannot tell you that because I do not know either who they are or the words from their lips. What men believe is according to each his own needs, but what are facts are well known and I would never deny them to you.”

“Did you come here to mock me with riddles?” Caleum asked.

“The opposite of mocking. I came to celebrate you and your bride and your love for each other,” Purchase said. “I will answer whatever you ask of me, but for what is in other men’s minds I do not know and do not concern myself with. Nor should you so much.”

“The schooling years have passed for me already.”

“May they never.”

“Teach me this then, Father,” Caleum said, looking him steady in the eye. “Where is my mother?”

“I have not seen her for a year,” Purchase answered. “If she knew of your wedding, I am certain she would be happy for you, as I am.”

“If you cannot answer that, what about this?” Caleum looked away at his guests, enjoying themselves on the lawn, and tried to find voice for what was truly on his mind, as it caused him more pain than the fear of his father’s wrath. It was fear of rejection being replayed, but he stoppered that and asked anyway, “Why did you disown me?”

Purchase followed the boy’s gaze out toward the celebration and, beyond that, to the precipice where the Darson property fell off and the rough valleys of that country resumed. “They are disowned — fatherless, motherless — who arrive here every day. Is that what I did?” Purchase asked. “Or did I give you a parenting other than my own? Perhaps it was so you did not have my failures or ambitions to cloud your judgment, or pin your failures upon, and could be your own man. Or do you fear that?”

“All my fears were consumed by the ocean when I traveled upon it as a boy. I have had no fear since then,” Caleum said, drawing up proudly.

“You will be afraid again yet,” Purchase reproached him, “unless you will be a fool. But just as fathers cannot always fathom the minds of their sons, sons do not always know the hearts of their fathers. Cannot feel empathy for their fates. You were only differently fathered, Caleum, such as happens every day and has happened at Stonehouses since my father first cultivated it.”

“Aye, and which one will stay?” Caleum asked, feeling an onrush of emotion for his old father, whom he could admire in many ways but did not understand, any better than when he was only a memory carried from boyhood.

“I don’t know how long I will stay,” Purchase said. “My only home is with your mother, and I hear she is on the other lip of the ocean.”

What maze the two of them had traveled no one outside that relationship could know, but that it had been a complex dance of love and heartbreak and strange devotion was plain for anyone to see. Caleum looked at his sire and was afraid — not that his own marriage might turn out so but that they were part of a scheme larger than themselves he had yet to grasp, and that such quantum weight might be given him to bear. For his mother, he did not know whether she loved his father or not — or what she thought of her son, for that matter — but he felt sadness for both his parents.