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Bray’s study, where Tommie dutifully reports that the land is available for two dollars an acre but he may be able to get it cheaper if he waits. Mr. Bray asks if he’s going to church with them, and Tommie tells him that, no, he’s off to Tappahannock in the morning and wanted to see Nola before he left. He goes out to wait for her in the garden. Presently she comes, wearing an overcoat. She has put on some weight in the last few years, giving her a less severe appearance. “You’re really very lovely,” he says to her.
    “Thank you, Tommie. Isn’t it a little chilly for a garden stroll?” She closes her eyes an extra beat as she addresses him—the habit has always slightly unnerved him, as though she half-expected to see somebody more interesting when she opened her eyes.
    “Yes, but it’s our favorite place, and I wanted to see if there were any blooms yet besides the redbud.”
    “You’re a romantic, Tommie.” She lets him take her hand. “Was there some reason you wanted to talk with me this morning?” Since the death of her mother in December she has seemed less critical of Tommie, but also less patient, less willing to laugh at frivolities. He told her recently that this spring he expected to find himself in a promising financial situation and that he had his eye on a house in Little Plymouth. What he hadn’t said was that he hoped to be disentangled from a rather pressing problem.
    Again last night he could not sleep well. Now he hears bells. He knows the sound is only in his head, but they ring clear like cathedral bells in some old European capital, or like all the church bells in Richmond clanging at once. How precious life is, he thinks. What a miraculous gift. “The sun feels good,” he says.
    “Yes, but it’s going to rain today, which we need. Did you just want to walk?”
    “Yes, I think so,” he says, gripping her hand tighter and thankful she is not as perceptive as his brother, as attentive to his moods. Once upon a time he hardly dared to think of himself as her suitor—she seemed so much more sophisticated and better positioned. But when he became a law student with a future, coupled with his aunt’s connections and money, he was somebody. She also found him handsome, and he could make her laugh about the books and music she had studied so devotedly. He was a breath of fresh air to her, and if she was a little prudish for his tastes she was nonetheless the older of two daughters and hence the heiress to one of the few intact estates left in the county.
    “I got a letter from Lillie,” Nola says.
    “When did she write?” He pretends to be interested in some dogwood buds, but his head is throbbing.
    “Only a few days ago. She told me she was going to Old Point Comfort to help take care of a friend’s sick aunt. She’s awfully sweet to come all the way across the state on an errand of mercy like that, don’t you think?”
    “Yes,” he says, noncommittally. “What else did she say?”
    “Well, I don’t remember …”
    Think, Nola. Did she mention me? Tommie feels himself going slack in the neck and the legs, as if the blood is leaving his body and draining into the ground.
    “Oh, she said her teaching was going fine, but that it was very cold and they had lots of snow up in the mountains. She has a new coat and asked me to send some material for her to work a hatband. It must be so beautiful there and she has a wonderful way of making friends. I’d like to go out and visit, though I don’t want to intrude. What do you think? It’s thanks to you that we became such good friends, you know. Tommie? Tommie, are you listening?”
    “Yes, I—yes, of course I am. You wanted to know about visiting. I don’t know. Only if you want to.”
    “Yes, but she hasn’t specifically invited me, you see. And Daddy depends on me now—I’d hate to leave him for very long.”
    There must not have been any more to the letter than that, he thinks. “I have to go now, Nola,” he