Again Marthe put her hands on the belly, covered now. As if explaining she ran her hands again. “She spread around you. Out wide like this. Boy-child be bunched up, high, cutting off you wind. Men start like that, makes it hard to blame them, them not knowing how to stop.”

“A girl.” A whisper. “A little girl.”

Marthe leaned back in her chair, her eyes now bold on Leah. “Most likely. She start coming you send that Norman up after me. Don’ let him get that Hurdle man in here. That man no good at all. Kill a woman bringing out a child. Don’ let that Norman give you no guff. You gon’ have this baby just fine.”

Norman on his knees with one forearm slid into the ewe; a set of gelatinous feet lie along his wrist. Connie kneels at the front, cradling the lowered head with both arms, light comfort coming from her lips, holding the sheep still and upright. The ewe wants to lie down. Her bleats have broken to rasps, her breathing harsh in the cold night. A lantern hangs from a rafter overhead and a hinged two-sided gate leans against the drystone wall. At the other end of the sheepshed is a boulder half the height of a man, broad at the base and flattened at the top: too great to remove when the foundation hole was dug. Leah leans against it, over wrapped in one of Norman’s greatcoats. The lambs born the week before are awake with the lantern light and play king-of-the-mountain on the boulder, butting heads and flying on and off the rock, missing Leah neatly and avoiding the end of the shed where Norman and Connie work. Norman seems absolutely still but Leah can see the muscles of his bared arm flex as he works his hand inside, moving in fractions of inches. He’s silent, letting Connie croon to the ewe. Then, there, the ewe groans and the lamb slides out, Norman’s hand coming with it, under it. His arm thick with blood and mucus lays the lamb on the bedding and clears its mouth and nose of membrane and raises its head and the mouth sucks open and draws air. Norman wipes the lamb dry with burlap sacking and while drying brings it to its feet. The ewe has twisted her head to watch. Connie still holds her. Norman gets the lamb upright against the ewe’s side where it butts against her until striking the soft udder it finds the teat. The bit of tail works. The ewe groans again and a second lamb slides out just as Norman was raising his arm to go back in. He clears this one also and when it’s up and feeding he cleans his arms with the sacking and stands. “Sometimes, with twins, the first one pops the cork.” Leah steps forward to take the lantern while Norman and Connie pen the ewe and lambs with the folding gate against the corner wall. They all three stand side by side a moment and watch the lambs nursing. Norman takes the lantern and checks the other ewes still to lamb. They then go out into the hanging night, the moon great in the sky like the burnished skull of a long gone beast. The snowfields and hills with etched trees and farmstead buildings all softened, fantastic, substantial. Leah pauses a moment behind the brother and sister, watching the world. She loves this as much as a June day. Sometimes wishes at full moon she might sleep through the day and spend nights walking. Walking out in a world the opposite of the one she lives in, a world in reverse. A place where her spirit might be freed, truly freed at last. Freed from the burden of herself. A world that doesn’t exist. She goes on. No lamps are lit in the house, just the faint glow of the lantern where they wait for her at the entryway.