She stepped outside to make the trip to the outhouse. She sat for a while on the rough boards. She smoked a cigarette. Baptiste was not around. She felt a small pressure on her chest, a small ache of loneliness, as if he, too, did not want her. She left the outhouse and began to walk back to the house. She could smell smoke. The field was crusted black, cracked in places where red embers still held fire. A small wind could carry the fire to her. She could feel the heat on her bare arms. She stood for a moment and that was when she saw him. He stood at the edge of the blackened grass. He was watching her. She felt the chill of Baptiste Yellow Knife. She could hear his voice but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. She walked a little faster toward the house. When she got to the porch she heard him calling her. His voice was rough and husky, scorched. She stopped and turned toward him.

She could feel the heat from the fields. She could see the outline of Baptiste in the murky light. He was stretching his arms behind his head. She knew he was smiling. Suddenly she wanted to go back inside. Pull the smoky blankets over her head and close her eyes. She felt the edge of her teeth clicking. She wondered what he would say to her. She feared his sudden mean nature.

Louise unbuttoned the top of her nightdress and pulled it over her head. She would play with Baptiste. She would gain the power. A wind blew. Flames cowered beneath the black soil. She was naked. She could feel the gooseflesh rise on her back and up her arms. She could feel gooseflesh on her buttocks. She was cold and hot at the same time. She could feel the heat of the field as she walked closer to Baptiste. She could smell him over the rich smoke. And he smelled like oil on still river water and she liked the smell more than she wanted to. There was a film on his skin that shined in the sweet night. She could see he was looking at her in the odd, smudgelit darkness. She stepped up close enough to him so she could see his eyes, so he could see clearly that she was naked. She watched him watching her. He looked at her nakedness. He looked at her breasts for a long time. She watched his gaze as he tagged the swell of her hips, the thumb press of her belly button. He looked at the dark hair between her legs and for a moment she thought he would reach for her but he did not. He looked at her and then looked out over the reddened fields.