“Fine. She’s drinking a lot of milk. Every time I look at her she’s got a white lip. That’s why we got the goat. But the milk tastes funny. As a matter of fact, it tastes bad. But Lotta likes it. We had the goat tied up for a couple of days. We’d bring her cabbage leaves and leftover rice. I thought she knew enough to stay around. Goats are very clever, you know. And she did just poke around when I first untied her. I went in for some tea and the next thing I knew there was this guy leaning in our front door, gawking around, saying, ‘Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you.’ He was very red around the ears, embarrassed. But was it our goat in his spring wheat? There’s another guy down the road who keeps bringing Angelina home in his pickup and telling me how she chases his cows. And we bought four chickens at a place up the road that sells eggs. They laid two eggs between them the morning after we got them, but now there’s been nothing since. Two weeks without a single egg. We’ve got a whole family of pastoral delinquents.”

“Is there a rooster?”

“No. These are laying hens. Fat white ones.”

“I think you have to have a rooster to get eggs.”

“Is that right? I never thought of that. Carlotta wanted to kill them for dinner. She said there was no use feeding them if they weren’t good for anything.”

We walked down a dirt and gravel drive. Sam led Kate on the rope. A hump of tough grass ran down the middle. It twisted through dark trees, over a muddy creek, past a silent house. It ended at the door to Sam’s kitchen. The door was open and the room beyond it was dark. Carlotta sat on the sill. The top button of her blue jeans was open. A head of cabbage lay beside her in the doorway. She chewed serenely at a leaf. The grocery bags rustled in my arms.

Carlotta held out a cabbage leaf and Kate stepped up to take it.

“You know what ‘mosey’ means?” she asked. “That’s what this goat does. Mosey.”

“She wasn’t moseying a while ago.” Sam led Kate out to tie her to a tree. I dumped the bags on the counter. One finally ripped and oranges rolled out and into the sink, fell on dirty plates and spoons.

“Did Aram tell you he quit school?”

“No.”

“Yes. Then they wrote a letter to his parents. We’re expecting a nasty letter any time. And he got a job.”

“Sam?”

“Yes. Aram.” She smiled.

“Doing what?”

“Mending pipes for that big tobacco store on Broadway. It’s part-time. Did you bring onions? I feel like onions.”