I step on to the door and it wobbles under my feet, so I sit, clutching on to the sides. Henry pushes me on out and wades alongside me, until we get into the middle where he starts to swimming a spell, all the while keeping one hand on the door, and then he’s wading again and we’re at the other side.

He climbs out of the water dripping wet and holds out his hand for me like his soggy clothes clinging on him don’t bother him one bit, and I take his hand like I ain’t even noticed. He sloshes along the woods in his bare feet, making wet slapping sounds with every step, until we get to a clearing. I catch my breath and squeeze his hand, because the whole clearing is covered in wildflowers, and flitting around from flower to flower are at least a hundred butterflies. I ain’t never seen nothing so beautiful.

We walk in among them real slow, so they don’t get to worrying we’re gonna bother them. Then we stand in the middle. They’re just flying around us, like maybe we’re some new kind of flower.

Two bright yellow ones come right up and land on Henry.

“Could be they’re thirsty,” he says, and we both laugh, scaring them away.

“How’d you know about his place?” I ask him.

“I like to walk,” he says. “Especially when I’m frustrated.” He steps in closer and brushes aside my hair that’s fallen into my face again. “Lately I’ve been walking a fair amount.” He pulls back his hand. Tucks it in his pocket. “Anyway, when I found it, the first thing I thought of was showing you.”

We sit ourselves down in the middle of the field and watch those butterflies fly. Between the flowers and the butterflies, seems like there’s every color there that God created. They ain’t even a little bit scared of us, and they’re especially sweet on Henry. Before I know it, I got my head on his shoulder and he got his arm around mine.

The afternoon dips into the early evening, and though I hate to go, I’ve got to get back. When I tell him, he leans over and kisses me.

“I know,” he says. He plucks a pink coneflower and threads it into my hair. Then he gets up and pulls me to my feet.

He tucks his arm around my waist and I slip mine around his like we been doing it all our lives, and back we go, hugging each other close. At the river bank he slips in, getting his dried-out clothes wet all over again. I climb up on the wooden door and he eases me across the river. He pulls on his shoes, while I collect my basket, and taking my hand he guides us through the woods toward the plantation. On the narrow path, before we leave the cover of the trees, I stop him.

“Thank you for showing me,” I say.