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out.”
    â€œHow do you get around?” she asked.
    â€œThere’s paths on each island,” Val said. “Usually along the banks, sometimes across, depending on how close kin the families are on the other side. And everybody, they got boats for going to another island.”
    Then Fate jumped in on his favorite subject. “We got boats for anything we want to do. Mostly we use push skiffs like you see tied up along the banks. You can stand up and see where you going for one thing, and a man can row a pretty good load by himself pushing on them long oars. Now, for tight places you can’t beat a pirogue—so light it can float on a dew. It’s narrow built and pointed at both ends so you can back up as easy as you can go frontwards. And believe me, sometimes backing up is the best thing you can do.”
    â€œLike that time you talked me into toting that beehive over to Cow Island,” Val said, picking on him now. “I knew better than to put a hive of bees in a pirogue or any other boat, as far as that goes!”
    â€œThat should have worked!” Fate shot back. “The water was level with the bank, and it could’ve saved a lot of time and work to move it that way if we’d done it just right.”
    â€œWell, slamming the pirogue up on the bank so sudden it knocked the hive over missed being just right by a long shot,” Val replied. “You backed up, all right, but you plum forgot about the pirogue, yes. Just jumped out and left me, enh !”
    Adam noticed that Fate didn’t let Val sidetrack his education of Mrs. Barclay, whether she was interested in boats or not.
    â€œThe thing you got to remember about pirogues is they turn over faster than a frog can snatch a fly,” he went on. “You don’t want to try to carry a lot of stuff you care about, like fish or game or family. The push skiffs are wider than a pirogue, and the stern—back end—is flat, not pointed. A kid or two can hop around in that without turning you over. And you can get some traveling done in a hurry standing up pushing on both oars. Yessir, for plain old hunting or fishing or going down to the dock for a card game, give me a push skiff any day.”
    Adam could see Mrs. Barclay’s interest was waning. When Fate started yammering about boats, it was hard to fetch the conversation back in line. The conscientious host was still trying to break into the stream of talk when Loyce took control.
    â€œIs this your first trip south of Natchez?” she inquired.
    Adam settled back in his chair. If anyone could head Fate off, it was Loyce, and boats didn’t rank high with her for conversation.
    Then Adam noticed the question made Mrs. Barclay choke on a bite of biscuit and reach for her handkerchief, fine lawn with a little tatting around the edges. A dollar a dozen if he remembered correctly. He couldn’t let her stumble like that and ruin her meal, so he spoke up for her.
    â€œI do believe Mrs. Barclay told me she lives in New Orleans but just happened to be visiting relatives in Natchez, is that right?”
    â€œThat is so, Mr. Snellgrove,” she nodded from behind her handkerchief. “And I must say I have not had a better meal in the finest establishments of either city. How did you learn to cook?”
    That was as smooth a subject change as anyone could pull off, Adam thought. He acknowledged her skill with a nod. Cooking always made good conversation in his opinion.
    â€œWell, ma’am, after my wife, Josie, died, I didn’t care whether I ate or not, but I had those two young’uns and Mame out there depending on me, so I just kept tasting and trying until things came together. Learning to cook was a necessity, but I didn’t realize it would also be a comfort. Turns out I even enjoy reading cookbooks. Did you ever read that Fannie Farmer book from up north? They eat some different things from us, and I can’t say I’ve