When he returned, Caleb set a hot cup of tea and a bowl of fresh bread on the table. "Is that why you never have cross words with Mary? You agree with her until she becomes placid?"

"Mary has yet to oppose me." Uriah took a chair at the table and set John in his lap. "If only she would. Instead, she shows no emotion . . . not hate, not defiance and particularly not love."

"She's plenty to say when you are away."

"Does she? Like what?"

"Well," Caleb began, pulling a chair up to the other side of the table and sitting down. "She does not enjoy your absence."

"She told you that?"

"Well no, not precisely. But brother, I am convinced you are wrong. Mary does love you."

"Not likely. When I am home she is distant. She is friendly, yes, but she exhibits no affection. It is as though we are best friends rather than husband and wife."

"Why not just ask her?"

Uriah broke off a crust of bread and handed it to his son, "I could not bear the pain if she rejected me."

Caleb smiled, "Perhaps her heart will soften in America."

"America? You have decided then? What are we to do in America?"

"What are we to do anywhere? We dare not go to Spain for they hate the British and the French love our society even less. Germany is the House of Hanover, Ireland is too near and India is too hot. Where else but America? Besides, with people regularly sailing to the Colonies, we would hardly be noticed."