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He took up a snifter of whisky and dumped some in his coffee as Joetta set eggs and grits in front of them. Ennis closed the Almanac and tossed it aside.

"Pa, let's eat in peace."

Mr. McBride waved his fork in the air and mumbled, distinctly aggravated. 

"Peace. Best get used to not having it. Ain't gonna be much peace around here, not if them bastards get their way."

Ennis stopped eating and stared at his father intently. 

"How does any of this affect you, or us?"

Mr. McBride's mouth dropped open and a bit of egg fell out.

"What? You can't mean that! Of course it does! Where the hell you been?"

Ennis calmly responded, "I care nothing about what's going on. Neither should you."

"Good God. You teach these boys such, and they'll grow up ignorant!"

Henry and Robert watched this exchange with great interest, while Joetta banged a spoon around in the kettle of grits, her annoyance growing by the minute. It was utterly ridiculous the things he said. They did not need anyone to tell them what to do, or how to do it. They were on their land, minding their own business. Let the ones who wanted go and fight. The McBrides would be having no part of it. Ennis pointed at his sons with his fork.

"As long as they know how to keep a family and livestock fed, that's all they need to worry about."

Joetta scooped grits onto Henry's plate and paused, spoon hovering in the air, astounded by the look of derision he aimed at his father. This was something new. She glared at him, and noticing her irritation, he ducked his head to eat. Ennis did not see this exchange, but Mr. McBride had. His smug look was condescending, and she was all too aware her opinions were valued by him no more than what Lincoln himself thought, even in her own home. Whether he liked it or not, she would speak her mind. She dropped a blob of grits on his plate.

"It is ignorant and a waste of time to argue over things that do not matter."

She continued to move around the table, serving the food. Mr. McBride shoved his chair back and wagged a finger at her and Ennis.

"Watch and see don't them boys grow up middlin'. Like somebody else I know."

His gaze swept over Ennis as he snatched up his plate, and stomped out the back door, heading for his cabin. Although his father had insulted him in front of his children, Ennis kept eating. The tension in the air diminished, and Joetta sat down.

"Looks as if we will have peace after all."

With Mr. McBride out of the house, her mood eased. It would be fine. Ennis would handle his father, the sooner, the better. She tasted the eggs. Not bad. Food always tasted better without the company of Mr. McBride.

Ennis went to Whitakers around midmorning and took his father with him. Joetta appreciated this gesture knowing full well it was done to give her a bit of peace. She sat on a squat stool in the kitchen doorway, sorting through the vegetables she had brought in from the garden, then dropping them into a pail of water. The boys walked back and forth in a distant field, creating a checkrow of hills to hold corn seed with the variety their father preferred, gourd seed. After she'd cleaned the vegetables, she moved on to the wash, and with her mind free, she enjoyed the peacefulness of the farm. Other than the rhythmic scrubbing sounds she made, and an occasional bird chirping in a nearby tree, it was a quiet spring day.

Joetta paused in her scrubbing and inspected the order of her domain, the swept yard, the bright spot of color from the crocuses and daffodils pushing up out of the ground while breathing in the familiar heady, sweet scent of jessamine. Her gaze moved on to the new barn built last year with the help of the Caldwells and the Browns. Nearby, the smokehouse was filled with ham, sausage, and bacon from the fall slaughter. There were her chickens pecking about the yard, including her two Pilgrim Fowl, Josephine and Agnes, gifts from Ennis a couple of weeks earlier for her thirty-fourth birthday. There was the shed filled with wood and finally, the orderly fields where they planted everything they needed. How could anyone be critical? Frankly, what they had done in sixteen years of marriage filled her with pride and immense satisfaction.

She gathered the material of Ennis's overalls and scrubbed, the suds making them move easier against her washboard. With the warm sun on her back, she began to hum a little tune. In these found moments of serenity, she recognized there were a few troubles here and there, but overall she was happy, contented. After her morning's work, she set about preparing the noon dinner expecting the return of the men. The squeaking of wagon wheels announced they were back, and she pulled the pot of beans and ham hock from the stove. She went through the house and stood at the front door watching as Ennis halted the wagon. As he climbed down he threw her a telltale look before he went to the back to unload flour and cornmeal. In from the field, the boys in their dusty clothes and faces red, hair damp with sweat, began to help their father. Mr. McBride carefully lowered himself down from the wagon's seat, relying heavily on his cane and rubbing his bad knee. He wasted no time sharing what he had

learned in town.