Amos watched as he muffled a covenant with despair. But the sound, not as mellow as birdsong, nor as thunderous as a midday storm, could be heard, resting somewhere between the two, and made Amos long for the old place—Virginia. The longing was misplaced. That wasn’t home and neither was this: not these shores, certainly, but which ones, exactly, he knew he would never know, and that was where the pain was.
