Excerpt from A Different Sun
For days she and her husband were like wandering pilgrims who have lost each other in the mist and will only by some fantastic happenstance find each other again. . . . Our work is not so trying as our relations, Emma wrote one evening. A gift given and retracted. These hardships might lead to despair. Where is our remedy? She was afraid to express herself more directly, lest she cover pages of her journal with complaint against Henry. She turned her affections to Wole and Abike. The boy came often wishing to look into her “oracle.” She could not get him to stop calling the writing box by that name, just as she had not yet talked him out of the blue beads around his waist. She had shown him how to hold the prism to his eye, to see a spectrum of light.
“Is it God?” he said.