“Oh, you have to make sure that they get started strong. Most people plant the seeds in boxes indoors and keep them till they’re fairly big before putting them outside. Then they run around at night covering them with glass jars and plastic bags so they don’t get frosted.”

“Well, they’re worth the trouble, aren’t they? Nothing nicer than a big, juicy tomato.”

Rennel was doing chin-ups on a tree limb. Sam tried, but he was too short and had to jump to reach it. He hung easily; his strained forearms were broad; thick blue veins showed through his white skin. He pulled, but his chin didn’t quite reach. He dropped lightly, bent at the knees.

“There’s a little cabin back in the woods. It’s got a woodstove and a bed. We have the use of it, so if you ever want a place to stay, to go away and be quiet, you’d be welcome.”

Rennel asked, “Can you show it to me?”

They went into the trees and out of sight. I walked back to the house to see Carlotta.

The record was over, the machine spun silently. I heard sizzling from the kitchen. Carlotta stood at the stove frying horsemeat. The rice pot steamed.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“All right.” She turned the meat with a fork. “I made an appointment with a doctor to make sure I’m really pregnant.”

“Have you been sick in the mornings at all?”

“No, but if you take pills, you usually don’t get morning sickness.”

“Is that so?”

“Somebody told me that. This girl.” She leaned her hip on the stove. Her gray eyes twinkled as she smiled at me. There were faint dark spots on her suede dress.

“This is a nice place.”

“Yes. I’ve decided to have my baby here.”

“No traffic to wake it up.”

“I’ll get a doctor to come to the house. I want him to be born on the same mattress he was conceived on.”

“Oh, you mean here?”

“I hate hospitals. They’re sick, deadly machines. Nobody knows you or cares about you. They pop you in the slot and run you through, clanking and stinking. You come out alive or dead and the machine doesn’t care which. The bill has to be paid either way.” She frowned, then snatched at the leather thong tied around her forehead and tore one of her braids open. Her long black waves shone as they were freed.

“And all those women! Can you see it? In the maternity wards, all bragging about how many cars they have and what their husbands do. The filthy gossip.” She picked up a brush from the counter and pulled it through her loose hair. The other braid swung, thick and stiff.