He scrubbed absent-mindedly at the pans and reflected on how things had turned out. That afternoon when they had pulled up in front of the broken-down ranch house, his hopes had been high. Already some of the pain had gone from Amelia's death. Not all of it. There would still be plenty of moments of regret and sadness and guilty relief. But they were starting a new life. And they had almost everything they needed: land, a house, two whiteface bulls, three horses.

The land wasn't all Wilson had expected of it. Six hundred and forty acres, the old man back in St. Louis had said; good grass, good water. Well, the grass was there, though in some places the ground was too steep for a cow to get to it. The water was there, so much of it that it spread all through the dead orchard. And there was a house; livable perhaps, but badly in need of repairs.

In the last analysis, though, Wilson had little cause to complain. The place had been cheap -- just the little he had left after Amelia's burial -- and it would serve its purpose. There was only one place where Jake Carwood's description had gone badly awry: the peace and quiet. It hadn't started out that way. And he had a feeling -- thanks to the girl -- that things would get worse before they got better.

They had the house cleaned up by noon, and Wilson sent the boy out to the meadow to bring in the horses. He stood on the porch and watched him struggling with the heavy harness, and finally went over to help him. Kathy was already in the wagon. They were going to town, and they were both excited.