rofessor Rowe was not the same after his return.
Miriam let him sleep all morning and early afternoon on the chaise in the breakfast room. She woke him to bathe and shave and change into clean clothes (still neatly hung and folded in the upstairs closets) before dinner.
He performed these rituals in near silence, going through the familiar motions with the awkwardness of a child learning each for the first time.
He devoured his roast beef and new potatoes hungrily and silently.
After his plate was emptied, he retired upstairs and was not seen again until tea time the next day.
As he came slowly down the stairs, Charlotte was consuming warm jelly doughnuts, and Miriam was picking at dry toast.
“Charles,” said Miriam, as he stood in the doorway, staring at them. “How are you feeling?” She rose from the table and went to him.
Almost simultaneously, Charles moved towards the table. He sat on a chair and looked down at the variety of breads and sweets. He set his hands on the table and took a moment to stare at them.
“May I get you some tea, darling?” Miriam asked.
“No,” said Charles in a voice that came from far away.
He stared down at his hands on the table some more, and then raised his eye to stare at the two females. Miriam was gazing at him eagerly. Charlotte glanced at him as she took a bite of doughnut. Warm raspberry jam dribbled down her chin.
“We are going to travel across the country,” he said. “We will travel on a train to California and settle in a country that God has designated, where it is warm and the sun shines. I will resume my work there.”
“Yes,” said Miriam. “I see.”
It’s strange how the truly momentous occasions in your life seem unimportant at the time. My clearest, most coherent memory of that day is the sugary-sweet flavor of raspberry.
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