action and the expense of such an endeavor. He indicated the size of the land they owned with gestures that seemed to encompass the earth itself. He pointed out boundaries that no eye but his own could see, and he expounded on their good fortune, by the grace of God, at being able to acquire such a large and promising parcel.
Despite his eloquence, the three newcomers, even Eliza, shared a look of forlorn suspicion as they took in what lay before them. The soddy stood, in the light of day, like an earthen ogre, with the door as its gaping mouth and the dingy window as its one remaining eye. The roof hung low and tired, a bushy mass of hair no different from the fields of grass around them, except dead where the fields were living. Solomon spoke as if the barn existed already, as if there were stables full of thoroughbreds and rows of planted corn, but the three saw none of this. The barn lived only in the manâs mind, the stables even more so, and the areas of turned earth were feeble and lifeless in comparison with the untouched expanses around them.
Behind the house and set some thirty yards away was a fenced-in area of mud and filth, at the center of which stood a mid-sized sow. She watched the family approach with a curious gaze, although she didnât let it stop her from her business, which appeared to be nosing around in the mud with her snout. Solomon called her a guarantee against the weather or locusts, a sure profit and a fail-safe so that no one calamity could destroy them. The pig stared back through all of this with a skeptical look that said she was not as impressed with them as they were with her. She grunted, raised her snout in the air, then turned her back to them and moved off toward the far end of the pen.
âI wish I could be showing you the whole place up and running,â Solomon said, âbut last year was tough, harder than I thought. For everyone, but harder even for the coloreds.â
âHere and elsewhere,â Eliza said. âThatâs how it always is.â
âTrue. True. Thatâs how it always is.â Solomon nodded at the sad reality of this. âThey gave me some trouble about the land, it being such a good piece, but we own it free and clear all the same. Out here, a man ainât so much fighting against white folks as he is fighting against the land. White folks still cause you trouble, but the land . . . Apart from everything else, there were the locusts, a plague of them. Figured you read about it in the papers.â Eliza nodded that she had. âThey tore through this country, ate everything in sight. Some things I wouldnât have thought you could eat, too. Air was so thick with them you feared to breathe them in. It was a hell of a thing.â He looked down at his feet and scuffed the soil with his toe. âBut they wonât come back this year.â
âHow do you know?â Ben asked.
âI donât
know
, but thatâs what I expect. Folks say they never do come back two years consecutive, least not that many. I donât mean to tell the Lord his business, but I figure itâs about time for him to smile on us.â
Gabriel stood silently for a few moments, apparently meditating on providence and Godâs role in bestowing it. But when he spoke, his mind showed a different focus. âThought you said we already had a barn.â
âWell . . .â Solomon shrugged like a man caught at some childish prank, embarrassed but smiling. âYou wouldâve already had a barn if youâd come out in midsummer. Yâall gotta remember you come out earlier than I expected. Itâs still in the planning stages right now.â
Gabriel acknowledged no humor in the situation. âYou didnât write about no planning stage. You wrote a whole lot of things I donât see no sign of.â
The manâs lips pursed before he spoke, but his voice was calm. âWell, Iâm not that good a letter