She watched the floor, aware of how thin her ankles were, the calves of her legs. She knew she was not alone in the house. Her grandmother had told her the rattlers in Dirty Swallow’s house even nested in the newspaper insulation and climbed the walls waist-high. Louise had opened the kitchen drawer carefully at Dirty Swallow’s, tapped the inside of the cupboards with the water ladle before reaching inside.

She slapped the floor with Baptiste’s belt. She paced her steps, keen to any unexpected shadow, any hidden snake. As she walked past the kitchen, she saw again the nest of tiny rattlers curled together behind the woodstove. She remembered how Dirty Swallow had seemed unaware of their presence as if the snakes were harmless sticks. Louise pressed her back to the wall as she passed them. When she finally stepped outside she took a deep breath. She realized she had left her coat inside but she had no desire to retrieve it.

She wanted to believe that Baptiste was just outside, close by, feeding his horses, tending the field. But the sleepy horses stood in the corral and the sun was shifting toward her. She believed Baptiste would come for her, that he would leave his mother and make a home for them. She held this thought. He would come for her and yet she wondered where Baptiste had gone. She guessed he could be at Hemaucus Three Dresses’ house, not because he cared for Hemaucus over her, but because Baptiste liked to catch Louise up in her insecurities to bolster himself. Louise had just begun to understand this about Baptiste. It was his nature to roam, but she had chosen to believe he had always roamed in search of her. She had wanted to leave him, not be left behind.

The day held an edge of coolness. The wind blew so hard she had to hold her dress down when a car passed. It was a long walk home to her grandmother’s but she welcomed it. She shifted her gaze to the blond fields, the shadows of clouds moving over the distant hills. Now and then she would turn to see if Baptiste was following her even though she knew he wasn’t.

“You were smart to leave him,” her grandmother said to her when Louise entered the house. She could smell sweet woodsmoke, the juice of chokecherries. Louise did not wait to hear what her grandmother had to say about Baptiste. She tried to make sense of her feelings for Baptiste as she walked to Malick’s store. She knew her grandmother would say that Baptiste was not out of her system yet, but Louise wouldn’t let herself accept his significance. She didn’t want to admit to her grandmother that Baptiste had gotten to her.