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needed that coffee first. But if you don’t mind, could you help me up?”
    I went over to the couch. He reached up his free hand, and I took it and pulled gently. With a wince or two, he got himself up to a sitting position, then slowly stood.
    â€œThanks,” he said. “I didn’t realize how bad this shoulder of mine was. But it’s on the mend now.”
    He walked over to the table and sat down.
    â€œYou’ll join me, won’t you?”
    â€œI’ve already eaten,” I said.
    â€œThen just keep me company. Where are the others?”
    â€œHenry and Jeremiah went into town,” I said, getting Micah a plate and a fork and spoon. “They left early this morning.”
    â€œThat’s right. He mentioned they had to pick upsome seed or something,” Micah said, dishing out some eggs and a couple of corncakes. “This looks like a feast!”

    Jeremiah had gone into town early with Henry and had just returned with a wagonload of supplies. He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the barn. He jumped down and headed toward the cabin he and Henry shared to see how Micah Duff was feeling.
    As he approached, however, he slowed his step. He heard unexpected voices coming from inside—Micah’s voice mingled in laughter with another voice, a girl’s voice talking and laughing along with his.
    It was Mayme’s voice.
    Jeremiah hesitated and stopped. He listened just long enough to hear them go on with their conversation, both talking freely and obviously enjoying themselves. Then he turned and walked back up toward the house. What he was feeling he couldn’t exactly tell, but strange sensations were swimming through his brain.
    Why shouldn’t they be visiting and enjoying each other? They were two of the best friends he had ever had in the world. Why did the sound of their voices and their laughter make him feel funny?
    He walked into the kitchen. Emma was at the counter shaping Josepha’s bread dough into loaves.
    â€œHi, Emma,” he said, sitting down at the table.
    â€œYou jes’ git back from town, Jeremiah?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, a couple minutes ago.”
    â€œYou seen Mayme out dere?”
    â€œUh . . . no.”
    â€œShe went ter take dat Micah Duff some breakfas’, but dat wuz an hour ago an’ I ain’t seen her since.”
    Jeremiah sat without replying. Slowly he got up.
    â€œWell, I reckon I ought ter git dat wagon unloaded.”
    â€œYou need some help, Jeremiah? I’s jes’ ’bout done wiff dis bread.”
    â€œUh, yeah . . . sure, Emma—thanks. Won’t be quite da adventure we had wiff dose cows, but I’d sure appreciate da help.”
    â€œI’s be out ter join you in a jiffy.”

A MBITIONS
    6

    S OME FOUR MILES FROM G REENS C ROSSING, IN THE house of a wealthy plantation notable for the absence of any black person anywhere on it, a man of approximately thirty-two years sat in the leather chair of his upstairs office. He was thinking about the excursion he had planned for the following day.
    He was not the master of the place but rather the owner’s son. He had spent his whole life here, and hadn’t minded it. And while he had a certain grudging respect for his father, whose name he shared, the fact was, his father was only fifty-three and was still strong as an ox. His mother had died years before, but his father would be master of the plantation for years to come. His own wife was mistress of the place, but he would just be his father’s son until he had grey hair of his own. If he didn’t make something of his life soon, it would be too late.
    He had realized for some time that there was no future around here sufficient to satisfy his ambitions. He was meant for bigger things.
    He hoped tomorrow’s trip to the state capital would set him on the path to a future with more promise than merely growing wheat and cotton for his father.
    What