“Are you sure you don’t mean Mark Hodgkins?” she asked with dying hope.

From the side of the house a man appeared, hand extended toward Frances as he climbed the steps; she gripped her skirt and did not shake his hand. The stranger’s face swelled into a smile. “Hallo! I’m new here, but of course you know that. I came to Munson just yesterday to practice medicine, and practice I will, if you-all will have me, that is. And I hope you will.”

“We already have a doctor in this town!” Frances yelled wildly.

Mark Carol stepped closer.

He was an attractive man with a large, tanned, healthful face and a big chin-dimple. Although the regularity of his features worked to calm Frances slightly, the man’s ears were extraordinarily large and somewhat cone-shaped, almost, she noticed, like miniature hats. She found his handsomeness enjoyable, though, and with this, she writhed uncomfortably. Martin French crossed her mind, as did other men who had visited Munson.

Mark Carol’s eyes glinted with a smile. “Ah. Don’t worry; sometimes when folks say they don’t want a new doctor, it’s often the case that they actually do need one!” He laughed.

Ray picked up the bucket gently, swaying it.

“I’ll be frank,” Carol told them. “California was not for me, so I left. My great-aunt lives here in town—Heidi.”

“Ah, Heidi,” Frances and Ray said at once, softly. The aunt was a weak, older woman who lived atop a butte.

“We still don’t need another doctor!” Frances exploded, and Mark Carol gave a quiet chuckle, glancing at Ray. “That’s an honest reaction, Frances, and I appreciate it thoroughly!”

Frances noticed a peculiar fog stealing across the nighttime yard. It was a fog of dull color, not characterized by a whitish contrast to darkness, but instead by a similarity to it—a brown, obscuring fog. Without hesitation, it rose around the house and porch and touched her; she backed away, watching the two men. The fog was granular like sand. Frances reached quickly as if to hold something, for example, a type of metal handle. The night seemed to change, and the bitter-tasting fog was everywhere.

Ray waded into the recesses of the lawn, a small sea in which he was a purple shadow. She ran to him. “What do you mean by introducing me to this man?” she rasped.

“It wasn’t my idea!” he whispered. “Frances . . . everyone in town wants you to begin your life in earnest; we both know it’s true! Oh, Frances,” he said with uncharacteristic emotion, “I just can’t compete!” He receded quickly to the rear yard with its shed, swinging the bucket behind him.

Mark Carol gently tapped her from behind. “By the way, I met your mother tonight, and boy, is she a pip!”

She felt herself turn red. “You met my mother? Where?”

“At the bakery,” the man said easily. “They kept the place open late tonight, because a muskrat got in. In all the commotion, she and I stepped outside with warm mugs of coffee and had a long chat.” He laughed, patting his thigh.