It was time to fetch the pan of molten beeswax so Father could paint the grafts to keep the water out. Miki turned off the gas knob and picked up the pan, making sure she didn’t spill any wax while she carried it to her father. As she walked, the wax swirled in the pan, making pretty patterns. She held the handle with both hands and tried to stay steady as Father dipped his brush in. He dipped and painted, dipped and painted, making neat white collars around the grafts. Miki struggled to be strong, but the pan grew heavy and her hands began to tremble. She asked God for help because Mother always said he helped those who were weak and in need. In her mind Miki was yelling, God, make me strong.

Then Kurt yodelled to let them know he was near. She didn’t mean to be distracted, but her head jerked up when she heard his call. At the same time she dropped the pan, spraying hot wax onto Father just as he had his knife out and was about to make a new cut. She heard his raw cry and saw a ruby spurt of blood pumping from his hand like a fountain. One of his fingers was dangling. Another was on the ground, a stumpy white thing, and the blood kept coming from his hand. She watched him fumbling at his loose finger, trying to put it back on as if forcing it in place would make it regrow. The blood was shooting in an arc. She saw Father’s grimace, heard his yowl, the rough grunt of his breathing superimposed over the airy patter of her own puffy breaths.

The world became woozy and the grass was rippling. She looked again at the finger on the ground, nestled in a bed of grass. It was weird and white and lonely. Wrong. Meaty. A dark blanket spread over her, and time swelled and became no time at all.

What she saw next were the gangly branches of dormant apple trees reaching into the sky. She was in Kurt’s arms, the rough wool of his jumper rubbing her cheek. He held her tight against his chest as he strode along the row of trees. She felt tired, but if she closed her eyes Father’s detached finger was there—she couldn’t shut it out—so she kept her eyes open and watched the branches jolting by.