A child starved for approval would have looked up to see whether any of the adults had noticed his good deed; it is a natural thing, almost universal, the quick glance to check whether the kindness landed where it might do him some good.

Silas did not glance.

He helped the little girl and returned to his book as though helping were simply what one did, requiring no witness and earning no points, and I understood that I was looking at a goodness that had grown somewhere no one had been watering it.

I had been watching the whole thing without meaning to.

“Who is that?” I asked Gail, nodding toward the window.

She followed my gaze, and I watched something shift in her face the moment she understood who I meant — a flicker of something protective, almost wary.