so slightly
altered. The ants had one less hazard, the birds one less predator, the worms
one more meal. The foxes and coyotes could now go about their business without
Tomasine Humble in mind. The fish â carp, bass, minnows and catfish, mostly â would have been very unlikely to feel anything at all, save that, in spring and
summer, it had been Tomasineâs secret pleasure to put her feet in the Thames from time to time, to feel the
cold water run gently over them. No more of that hazard for the fish.
     But in the end, Tomasineâs death was most significant for a series of events it triggered.
     George Bigland, the sheep farmer, was Tomasineâs second cousin twice removed. Like most in Barrow, he had always found her a
sour and unpleasant person. Still, blood is blood, and he would have attended
her funeral had he known when it was. Instead, he found out about his cousinâs funeral days after Tomasine was dead and buried. He was indignant. Perhaps
because he was already having a bad day, this indignation over a slight stayed
with him and, at ten in the morning, he decided heâd do no more work for the day. Instead, he spent hours at the Blackhawk Tavern,
luxuriating in resentment, drinking a fermented cider called Bad Apple.
     Now, because Bigland did not get home until afternoon, he could not correct a
problem created by his son: a gate left open. The sheep, Clun Forest ewes, most
of them, though unused to gates being left open, were not impressed. They stood
around, nibbling distractedly on the grass in the pen. Four of them, however,
drawn by the haunting smell of the woods, the trees, the earth in spring,
wandered from the pen, going out in search of grass or clover or other things
low to the ground. After a while, three of the escapees, having discovered they
were not where they thought they were and missing their sisters, began to
bleat. Hours later, these three were returned to the pen by Biglandâs son. The fourth, however, went off into the woods.
     âEighteen,â the daring sheep, was a striking ewe: thick whitish coat dark with dirt and
redolent of lanolin, black-faced, black ears that pointed straight up and
twitched at the slightest sound. Her tail was docked and her lower feet and
hooves were black. By the time Eighteen discovered she was alone and that there
was not much to eat in the undergrowth, she was lost in the woods. She began to
bleat, ears twitching, and wandered farther still until she came to the edge of
the woods, which was the side of the road. Then, spooked by a sound in the
woods behind her, Eighteen ran to the middle of the road where she was struck
and killed by a car. Her body flew up, smacked the carâs windshield and was thrown to the side of the road.
     As it happened, the car was driven by Jane Richardson. Beside her, Robbie Myers
had not put on his seat belt. He flew forward, his head smacking hard against
the windshield. He hurt his neck, shoulder and back. He had a concussion and
muscle strain, and he was in shock. But there was blood everywhere, so his
injuries looked even worse than they were. Without a second thought, Jane, who
had not been hurt, drove to the hospital in Barrow.
     Itâs exaggerating very little to say that everyone in Barrow who knew Jane
Richardson or Robbie Myers learned of the accident within minutes of it
happening. âEveryoneâ naturally included Anne Young, who was disheartened by the news, and Elizabeth
Denny, who now knew for certain that there was an unclear connection between
her fiancé and Jane Richardson.
     In this way, Tomasine Humble, Eighteen and Elizabeth Denny were obscurely
united across a number of divides.
For Anne Young, the question was how to start a conversation neither she nor her
niece wanted to
altered. The ants had one less hazard, the birds one less predator, the worms
one more meal. The foxes and coyotes could now go about their business without
Tomasine Humble in mind. The fish â carp, bass, minnows and catfish, mostly â would have been very unlikely to feel anything at all, save that, in spring and
summer, it had been Tomasineâs secret pleasure to put her feet in the Thames from time to time, to feel the
cold water run gently over them. No more of that hazard for the fish.
     But in the end, Tomasineâs death was most significant for a series of events it triggered.
     George Bigland, the sheep farmer, was Tomasineâs second cousin twice removed. Like most in Barrow, he had always found her a
sour and unpleasant person. Still, blood is blood, and he would have attended
her funeral had he known when it was. Instead, he found out about his cousinâs funeral days after Tomasine was dead and buried. He was indignant. Perhaps
because he was already having a bad day, this indignation over a slight stayed
with him and, at ten in the morning, he decided heâd do no more work for the day. Instead, he spent hours at the Blackhawk Tavern,
luxuriating in resentment, drinking a fermented cider called Bad Apple.
     Now, because Bigland did not get home until afternoon, he could not correct a
problem created by his son: a gate left open. The sheep, Clun Forest ewes, most
of them, though unused to gates being left open, were not impressed. They stood
around, nibbling distractedly on the grass in the pen. Four of them, however,
drawn by the haunting smell of the woods, the trees, the earth in spring,
wandered from the pen, going out in search of grass or clover or other things
low to the ground. After a while, three of the escapees, having discovered they
were not where they thought they were and missing their sisters, began to
bleat. Hours later, these three were returned to the pen by Biglandâs son. The fourth, however, went off into the woods.
     âEighteen,â the daring sheep, was a striking ewe: thick whitish coat dark with dirt and
redolent of lanolin, black-faced, black ears that pointed straight up and
twitched at the slightest sound. Her tail was docked and her lower feet and
hooves were black. By the time Eighteen discovered she was alone and that there
was not much to eat in the undergrowth, she was lost in the woods. She began to
bleat, ears twitching, and wandered farther still until she came to the edge of
the woods, which was the side of the road. Then, spooked by a sound in the
woods behind her, Eighteen ran to the middle of the road where she was struck
and killed by a car. Her body flew up, smacked the carâs windshield and was thrown to the side of the road.
     As it happened, the car was driven by Jane Richardson. Beside her, Robbie Myers
had not put on his seat belt. He flew forward, his head smacking hard against
the windshield. He hurt his neck, shoulder and back. He had a concussion and
muscle strain, and he was in shock. But there was blood everywhere, so his
injuries looked even worse than they were. Without a second thought, Jane, who
had not been hurt, drove to the hospital in Barrow.
     Itâs exaggerating very little to say that everyone in Barrow who knew Jane
Richardson or Robbie Myers learned of the accident within minutes of it
happening. âEveryoneâ naturally included Anne Young, who was disheartened by the news, and Elizabeth
Denny, who now knew for certain that there was an unclear connection between
her fiancé and Jane Richardson.
     In this way, Tomasine Humble, Eighteen and Elizabeth Denny were obscurely
united across a number of divides.
For Anne Young, the question was how to start a conversation neither she nor her
niece wanted to
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