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longing for a child of his own. They both knew it: It was only a question of time.

CHAPTER 6
    Because she had been brought up by her mother, that fiend of etiquette, Jane Louise was highly attuned to social nuance. So, for example, the meal she served to Peter and Beth must not be too fancy but it must not be unfancy. A meal too fancy might be something of an affront—the city person showing off—while a dowdy meal might be an affront as well, the expectation being that if you came up from the city you ought to bring a few nice things to amuse your country friends. Jane Louise grilled a steak and made a chocolate soufflé.
    At dinner they talked about Peter’s younger sister, Marjorie. Everyone, it turned out, was concerned about her. She had finished college and then had gone off to study something called animal body work.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Teddy said.
    â€œWell,” Beth said, “it started with horses. The theory is that if you massage an animal it performs better. Marjorie says it’s a big thing at racetracks. Then it spread to cows. The idea is that massaged cows give more milk.”
    â€œKobe beef,” said Jane Louise.
    â€œWhat’s that?” said Peter.
    â€œJapanese beef cattle,” Jane Louise said. “They massage them and feed them on corn and beer. They say it’s the best beef in the world, and it costs about a million dollars a pound.”
    â€œOh, dear,” Beth said. “I hope Marjorie never hears about that. It would break her heart. These people are vegetarians. ”
    â€œHow about cabbage massage, Pete?” Teddy said. “Don’t you notice your cabbages do better with a little healing touch?”
    â€œI sing to them,” Peter said.
    â€œI haven’t told you the other part,” Beth said. “Marjorie confided this to me. They do dictation.”
    â€œDictation?” Jane Louise said.
    â€œThey feel they understand what the animals say,” Beth said. “Marjorie said that they sort of commune with them and write down what they reveal.”
    â€œIt’s just like Dr. Dolittle,” Jane Louise said. “What do they reveal?”
    Beth cleared her throat. In the candlelight she looked serious and matronly. She wore a sweater she had knitted herself and a necklace made of shells—a piece of jewelry made by one of her daughters. “They say things like: ‘The good grass’ and ‘How fortunate we are to live near such good grass.’”
    â€œThat’s what Steve Bowser used to say when he had his little marijuana plantation over on Three Farms Road,” said Teddy.
    â€œHow fortunate we are to live near such good grass,” said Jane Louise dreamily. “I feel that way all the time, don’t you, Teddy?”
    â€œI think Marjorie should come and sing to your little cabbages,” said Teddy.
    â€œI think she should get married and have a baby,” said Beth.
    â€œI think I’ll go and get the dessert,” said Jane Louise.
    On the town green was a stone marker with a brass plaque listing everyone in Marshallsville who had been in the war. Almost every male from three years younger to three years older than Teddy was listed: Charlie Weil; Teddy; Peter; Ralph Barrados, who ran the family lumber business; George Rozens of Marshallsville Gas and Oil; Melvyn Herman of Herman’s Plumbing. These were Teddy’s childhood friends, and they were still his friends. Even though he had gone to study in Ehgland, and had come back to live in New York, and had married Jane Louise, who was dark and Jewish and, as far as they knew, a city girl, he was their own.
    But not one of these men, not even Teddy or Peter, who were as close as brothers, mentioned being in the war. Every now and again Jane Louise heard them speak of what they referred to as “the military” with a kind of grim cheerfulness, but never at the end of a dinner party did they ever