Ballou slid the rifle down to dangle one-handed, the muzzle toward the ground. He slipped his free hand between buttons of his underwear and rubbed his belly. He said, “Come time, she won’t take no pay for nothing she done. But you, you send a brace fine young roasters up with her. Awful lean the venison and pa’tridge come this time of year. So send up a couple fat chickens, hey?”

Marthe appeared around her husband, without touching him causing him to step back inside the door. One hand carried a basket filled with bottles and bundles all wrapped in cloth. In the other she held the smallest pair of bearpaw snowshoes Connie had seen. She wore a plaid mackinaw over thick layered woolen skirts. She came straight to Connie and said, “That baby coming?”

“I guess. I don’t know. She’s bleeding.”

Marthe nodded. “Bleed. What else?”

“Nothing yet I guess. She said not.”

“Bleed heavy or light?”

“Oh Jesus I don’t know. Light she said, I think. But that was a while ago. It could be anything now. Norman went after Doctor Hurdle and Leah bid me come after you.”

Marthe said nothing. Nodded once and handed up the basket for Connie to take. Then sat on the ground to strap the bearpaws to her boots. “Carry that stuff down. Me, I be right along.”

“Get up behind me. We can get there quick. Pete did fine in the dark coming overhill and he don’t lack room for two.”

Marthe stood, shuffled in her snowshoes and buttoned her mackinaw. Grinned. “Not for gin or gold, me. You see you, I run on these. Ever thing crusted fine an I just fly. Me, I go up and over, not all the way round. Could even be I beat you down.”

“She hoped to get you there before Doctor.”

“She just bleeding a liddle that man can’t hurt her much. Sides, I tell you, I beat you to her.” And turned and stepped into the darkness of the woods, a luminous figure against the gray-stained old snow. Walked a step or two more, paused, rocked side to side as testing the snowcrust, walked again and then skipped out into a spread-footed short loping motion. Connie heard the slap and cut of the snowshoes against the snow. Going uphill the old woman seemed to lose nothing of her stride as long as Connie could hear her moving. Then she was gone from earshot. I soured that, Connie thought. Then aloud, “Pete! Let’s get to home.” Wheeled him hard about and clapped her heels to him and loosed the reins. He jolted forward as if released. The dogs began to roar into the night again, Ballou calling after her about chickens.

Her head still ringing from the downhill scramble of the horse she came into the kitchen and found Marthe washing her hands at the sink. The bearpaws thawing crust from their lattice to puddle the floorboards and her mackinaw flung over the tabletop. She set the basket of tonics and herbs beside it. Marthe took up a towel and dried her hands with the precision of peeling an apple and spoke before Connie might.