Caleum was still within calling distance, but even in this state Magnus would have felt foolish to call for help, so suffered his agony alone as Caleum moved farther away and Annabel stormed on under her own guidance. Slowly the pain that moved through his arm began to identify itself to him, and he realized what was wrong. When he did he was glad indeed he had not called out. His arm had frozen not from paralysis or stroke but from age and the same rheumatic condition his father had suffered. As it thawed, and he was able to resume a light hold on the reins with that arm, he cursed his body for betraying him so but was satisfied he had not lost dignity in front of his nephew. Still, he felt frail and small, as he could scarcely remember feeling before, and was swept by a wave of self-sorrow that he could be so exposed. How long, he thought, with a different kind of anguish, before his body did fail him in some serious way he could not prevent or control?

He remembered his father, Jasper, during those long last years of his life — when he had asked himself what went on in the man’s head when his body would no longer obey him, and his weakness was laid bare for any who cared to behold it.

Well, it is as it will be, he thought, but if I am to be made a fool I will not aid in it. He pulled at the reins with his other hand and Annabel slowed her gait, turning to look at him in the saddle. “You sensed something different and wanted to know what it was, didn’t you, girl?” he asked the mare, stroking the gray fur at the base of her neck. If he were another type of man he would claim she had gazed on him with sympathy, but he was not one to attribute to animals what belonged only to humans. Still, he was pleased he had chosen that particular mount to carry him that day.

By the time Magnus made it to the tavern, Caleum had already fastened his horse to a post and was standing in the road waiting. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ride like that,” Caleum said, thinking he had been inconsiderate of Magnus for going at such a pace.

“No,” Magnus answered, “I shouldn’t ride like that, but like a man my own age.”

Caleum saw then that his uncle was in pain, and hastened to take the reins of his horse as he dismounted. Magnus did not object as he normally would have, but accepted this kindness and came out of the last stirrup with a little cringe. When he saw this, Caluem grew afraid. He had never known Magnus to be sick his entire life and grew worried it was more serious than the other man let on.

“I am fine,” Magnus said, seeing Caleum’s face, and trying at first to hide his frailty. “It is only arthritis,” he explained, “such as might plague you one day.” Caleum’s face registered relief as they walked into Content’s together, and Magnus was glad he had told him. Still, it ached like the devil.

Once inside they claimed a table near the window, and John Barnaby, Content’s son-in-law, came and waited on them. “What brings you round today, Magnus Merian?” John asked, surprised to see him there before the summer season, as he usually only came during the productive months.

“It was good weather today, and Caleum here thought we’d do well to breathe a little air.”

“Well, I’m always happy to see you,” John said warmly, for the two families were still familiar with each other, even if they did not see one another so often. Magnus was pleased to have come out and asked John after his business and family, and they traded news until he had to return to work.

Caleum and Magnus then sat silently nursing their drinks, until a man neither of them knew sat at their table, begging excuse as he did so.

“Help yourself,” Caleum said to him, though there were many places free in the rest of the tavern.

“You see I have lost my way,” the man said, in a matter-of-fact tone, after he had sat.

“I beg your pardon?” Magnus asked.

“I used to be a teacher in Great Philadelphia, but I lost my way. Now I support myself with this,” the man explained.

“What is it you do?”

“I’m a pamphleteer,” the man answered, opening a leather folder. “For a shilling I will sell you a pamphlet on any subject you like. How about fertilizers and the care of the soil for my country friends?”

“No.” Caleum cut him off. “Thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” the man answered, not taking offense. “But you should take better care. You see there is a fissure happening, and much will likely be lost.”

“Pardon?”

“It says so right here in one of my pamphlets.”

Caleum smiled. At first he had though the man simple. It dawned on him then, though, that there were certain men, like his own father, who were sentenced — he would not go so far as condemned — to wander the earth. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin, which he slid across the table to the man. The pamphleteer gave him in return a small tract called “On Civil Government,” and reached into his own pocket to make change. He gave Caleum at the end of that transaction two coins of silver mint, both of which had eyes embossed on their nether sides, encompassing the entire surface of the metal. When he saw it, Caleum thought he recognized the design as similar to Purchase’s in style, although it was a different motif than the ones his father had minted. Still, he had spent long hours studying them, and they were very reminiscent.

“It is true silver,” the pamphleteer vouched.

“Indeed,” said Caleum. “I have seen the likes of it before.”

“Have you?”

“Not the pattern, but the style.”

“They were given me by a woman in Philadelphia.”

“Before or after you had lost your way?”

“Surely it was before, though not long.”

“Then you will stay your course,” Caleum said, feeling then as if he belonged to some secret fraternity. It was only silver specie, though, and not some secret union.

“Which side are you on?” the stranger asked him.

“Pardon?”

“The divide.”

“None but our own,” Magnus intervened, not wanting a political argument with the man. He shifted his concern back to Caleum. “I think we must sow in the next three days.”

Seeing himself locked out of the conversation, the stranger got up to leave.

“Deny what you want,” he said as he departed, “but it is surely happening.”

“I will believe it when I see it.”

“There are men who look but never see.”

“Aye. Women as well.”

After the man had left, though, they thought about what he said and the events that were swirling everywhere about them but seemed so ethereal that, for when and where they alighted, there was nothing but speculation. Their attention had been so focused on their own fortunes that they had not yet joined in the general debate about the looming prospect of war, which was more and more all anyone spoke of. Magnus, being cautious and having his own profitability to keep him occupied, hoped there would be no disturbance of the status quo, as he had never been upset in his doings other than the unpleasant business with the tax assessor. In his mind that is what it was by then, “that unpleasant business with the judge’s man.” Other than that he did not look at it in his memory. Of liberty he had what he required and saw no need to change who he paid taxes to, and certainly no need of arguing it with strangers.

Though he had come to know more of its shape, Caleum still tended to be idealistic about the world in general and claimed everyone should be master of his own house, reaping as he planted.

After finishing their drinks they shunted aside political matters and rode back to Stonehouses, satisfied with the evening and the start of the new growing season. If there was a drawback to the day’s adventure it was only this: Magnus had not ridden so far in many months, and the saddle did take its toll on him — so that when he returned home he wished only for his supper and to retire for the evening.