After five long days I’m bone tired, but I got a lightness to my step too. It’s being alone on the road that does it. Walking half the afternoon without a soul to answer to. The spring’s finally knocked the chill out of the air and the critters seem just about as eager as me to be out and about. I seen squirrels and field mice and even a snake. A rabbit darts in front of me and disappears under a huckleberry bush. I strain, looking for its burrow and watching to see if it’ll come out again. And I stay as long as I like waiting on it.

When I’m good and ready, I make my way on, batting away a cluster of midge flies hovering just above the road. I breathe in deep, letting the sweet air slide down my throat and fill my lungs. I swing my arms and tip my head back, eyes closed, listening to the leaves rubbing against each other and the tall grass swishing beside me.

The wind picks up as the clouds push in. An April storm’s on its way, rolling in quick and coming on strong. But I don’t hurry. No telling when I’ll be out like this again. A little snatch of no one watching me is a precious thing.

Two horses pulling a wagon come clip-clopping up behind me. I step off the road into the long grass and the scrub that scratches my shins. You never know who’s going to drive round you and who’s going to run at you for sport. A dark-haired white man sits up top his cart, clicking his tongue at his horses to keep them moving. One of them is nervous, ears twitching every which way. The man nods to me as they pass, and I drop my eyes and pull back further into the short brush.

Back on the road, I’ve only gone a few steps when the rain breaks loose, sudden and coming down in sheets. I run toward an oak tree up ahead for shelter, but when I’m almost there, the man pulls off the road and hurries his horses back round to the tree, getting there first.

I hold back in the rain, looking for another tree, but there’s only skinny, scrawny nothings nearby. No good for sheltering. The next decent tree is an elm a long way off.

“Don’t you want to come out of the rain?” There’s a tune to his way of speaking that don’t sound like Virginia. He climbs down from his trap and strokes his skittish gray horse.

My dress clings to me and I wrap my arms round my chest. I expect his eyes to dip down to the curves of my hips under the thin, wet cloth. Instead, he looks square at my face.

“There’s plenty of room,” he says. He steps back a stretch making space for me.

I glance over to the elm in the distance.

The wind picks up and the air cools. I’m nearly soaked through. Shivering, I step in under the branches.