22 March 1691, Tuesday
I drove Silas back to the Village. He appeared too lethargic to move his arms, but when we broke our fast this morn he insisted that he needed to return to his farm. Lizzie and I tried to persuade him to stay with us, but he was determined. Before I left him at his house, I told him again that he could live in the Town and Father will make certain that he has everything he needs. But Silas stood firm.
“I’m not comfortable in the Town. I don’t belong there.”
“You belong with your family, and we are in the Town. I know Lizzie would like very much for you to stay with us.”
“Thank you, but nay.”
He hesitated near the wagon, perhaps wondering at the emptiness inside. He nodded at me, then shuffled away. He stopped, reaching his hand toward the blood-ochre door brigh
