After we had eaten, Mr Philip lifted his Bible as he had at every meal I could remember. Miss Ma slapped gently at my hand to stop me playing with my hair as Mr Philip began. ‘And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day and the darkness he called Night.’

Mr Philip then paused for the briefest second – just enough time to clear his throat. His lips were poised to open again and complete his sermon when Michael’s voice said, ‘I have been taught that the earth moves around the sun and that it is this movement—’

Miss Ma, agitated, quickly interrupted with, ‘It is rude to speak at the table, Michael.’

‘Oh, Mamma, I am a grown man now – not a boy.’ It was only shock that kept Mr Philip mute in this situation. While Michael carried on with, ‘It is this movement of the sun which causes night and day.’

‘Boy or man, there will be no back-chat at this table. We will have hush,’ Miss Ma said.

Mr Philip glanced from the Bible to his son with the fierceness of all Ten Commandments, then continued. It was mid-reading when Michael interrupted Mr Philip for a second time. God was making man in his own likeness, as he had done on many occasions before. But this time the Lord’s endeavours were cut short when Michael said, ‘Tell me, Papa, what do you think to the notion that men are descended from monkeys?’

Miss Ma was on her feet shouting, ‘Michael, that is enough.’

Mr Philip’s voice broke like overhead thunder: ‘Are you questioning the Lord thy God? Are you presuming to question the teachings of the Almighty, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, thy Maker?’

‘No, Papa,’ Michael said, with a calm that is usually placed before a storm. ‘I am asking you about a subject on which my teachers saw fit to enlighten me. It is, I believe, a popular scientific opinion that man is descended—’

I jumped a full foot in my chair when Mr Philip cried, ‘Enough!’ His chair fell behind him – a terrifying clatter. ‘I will not have blasphemy in this house. I will not have blasphemy at my table.’ Mr Philip prepared to strike Michael, his hand rising in the air ready to fall and crack around Michael’s head, when a loud laugh came from me – not with mirth but the strangeness of the circumstance. Michael stood out of the blow’s way as I felt the full force of Miss Ma’s hand strike against my own ear. Her pleading, ‘Please behave, both of you.’ But Michael, standing tall above his father, looked to all the world as if he was about to lash him. Mr Philip at his table was no longer a mountain only a man, stunted and fat and incapable of instilling fear. Was it the ringing in my ear that made my head throb so? Or the exhilaration of Michael staring on his father’s face, saying, ‘I would like for us to discuss this, Papa.’ And Mr Philip – silent – taking up his Holy Bible and leading Miss Ma from the room.

With love it is small signs you have to look to. When Romeo scaled a wall I have no doubt that Juliet swooned with the certainty of what she then knew. Even Miss Jewel had a suitor who wooed her by sleeping overnight at the base of a tree so as to be near her early the next morning. (Although she misunderstood – thinking him just drunk and incapable of movement.) Declarations of love are for American films or books that are not read by educated people. Michael refused to accompany me to the Shirley Temple film. As I praised the sweetness of her voice and the bounce of her curls, he looked on me deep and steady. ‘Shirley Temple is a little girl and I prefer women, Hortense.’ All the world knows teasing is a sign. And he liked to tease me with his learning, urging me to test him on all the capital cities of the world. Australia, New Zealand, Canada. He knew them all. ‘Ask me something harder. Surely you can ask me something harder than that?’

‘For what is the city of Sheffield famous?’

‘No. Test me on my understanding of geography, not this childishness. Ask me of ox-bow lakes and sedimentary plains or the fishing-grounds of the continental shelf. Come, test me on my knowledge. Ask me of the League of Nations or beg me explain the Irish question.’

He knew I knew nothing of these, but boasting to impress had been used since Adam first looked upon Eve. There was a time when I would have punched him for his conceit and told him little boys are made of moss and snails and puppy dogs’ tails. But when he patted my head all sensible thought was gone. I feared he could hear my heart beating when he came close; on days when I walked by his side in the shade, leaping to take the same length steps as he; or the moment when, looking into clear water, our faces rippled together as one.

But I could not play the game of love all day. Miss Ma insisted I return to my work. ‘But,’ I asked, ‘what will Michael do?’

‘Michael can get along without you,’ she said. ‘You are not children – he is a man not a boy. He will help his father.’ Mr Philip’s face had set like a stone since his son’s return. Carved into an expression of ‘too much to bear’. I had not heard him utter one word that was not the Lord’s since he had yelled, ‘Enough’, at the food table. He looked so pained that I dreamed of taking his hands and making him dance.

‘Could I not assist here at the house, Miss Ma?’ I asked.

‘What, you think you are a white woman now – a lady of leisure?’ she said. There was no choice for me.

But would the morning sun rise if I could not look on Michael’s face? Could it set if I had not heard him call my name? I need not have fretted, for as I stepped on to the veranda that first dark, silent morning Michael was standing at the foot of the stairs; dressed in his finest ready to escort me to the schoolhouse. ‘Michael Roberts,’ I said, ‘I hope you are not neglecting your duties for my sake.’

Despite the absence for his education Michael was as well loved and respected in the town as his father. He knew everyone. Hello, good day, good morning accompanied every step we took. He was even acquainted with Mrs Ryder.

‘Was it not at church that we met, Michael?’ Mrs Ryder said, when I asked of their first encounter.

Michael put both hands in the air and shook his head. I knew he would not remember. So I said, ‘No, you must be mistaken as Michael does not attend the same church as you and Mr Ryder.’

‘Oh, in a grocery store, then,’ Mrs Ryder said hastily. She was embarrassed – her white cheeks flushing.

And that mischievous Michael made it worse by laughing at my employer saying, ‘Was it in a grocery store?’ which made her glow like a lantern.

Mr Ryder shook his head when I enquired if he knew Michael. ‘I don’t believe I have met Mr Roberts’s son since his return. Although I have heard people speak of him.’ But then, without a word, he turned back to stamping books when I remarked that Mrs Ryder thought she had met Michael at church.

‘Oh, Hortense! What does it matter where I first met the woman?’ Michael was vexed when we walked home. ‘It is no concern of yours. Just hush now.’

Michael frequently chaperoned me along the dirt road from town. He always made some feeble excuse to be there with me – on a little business or an errand. Sometimes he held out his gentleman’s elbow for me to slip my arm through and we would catch the stares of people who thought we looked a fine young couple. At other times I would find him hiding – pretending he had not come to see me at all. He would feign surprise when I tapped his shoulder or waved at him from a distance. And I played along by giggling gracefully at the joke.

A hurricane can make cows fly. It can tear trees from the ground, toss them in the air and snap them like twigs. A house can be picked up, its four walls parted, its roof twisted, and everything scattered in a divine game of hide-and-seek. This savage wind could make even the ‘rock of ages’ take to the air and float off as light as a bird’s wing.