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    Summary

    “I can’t believe y’all lived to be this old,” Charles said by the doorway to the bedroom Arthur and John shared. “Don’t rightly know whether to thank Hosea or Pearson or both.”

    “Pearson,” Arthur conceded. He gently propped up John against the pillows, then took the bowl of warmed-up gruel from the side table. Ignoring John’s mumbled protests, he fed him spoon by spoon, the wooden bowl dwarfed in his large palm. Years fighting off consumption had left Arthur rangier and greyer at the temples, giving a sharp-edged gauntness to his handsome features that were finally starting to fill out again.

    Language:
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