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heard the slightest thump of a tail at the end.
    â€œWell, if you liked that, here’s one of my favorites because you can play it, sing it, or dance to it.”
    She jumped right into “It rained all night the day I left,” tapping out the beat on her thigh as if she were center stage at a dance. The last kneeeeeeee hadn’t faded from her lips when she heard Drifter breathing closer to the edge of the boat. Heartened, she kept going.
    â€œHere’s one you might have heard before, seeing as you came off the river. Val told me it’s an old sailor’s song. He knows lots of versions, but this here’s my favorite.”
    She started out low.
    Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you,
Away, you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you,
Away, I’m bound away, ’cross the wide Missouri.
    The pure loneliness of the song on the night air set up a longing in the young woman for something she couldn’t name. Loyce sensed that Drifter recognized that longing but that, unlike herself, the little dog could name the person she was missing. Whatever the reason, as the mournful notes faded, she felt Drifter breathing softly on her hand.
    In this manner the blind woman and the dog kept company until nearly daylight, when the roosters began to crow from their perches in trees or inside homemade coops. As with the boat whistles, Loyce knew their individual voices, which ranged from the rusty croak of an old gentleman whose sunrises were numbered to the competitive trumpeting of young cockerels.
    There was a whole chorus of young cocks across the island that spring. Every morning she listened to them compete. It was as if they knew that only one would be kept as the service rooster. She parsed out each call, knowing ahead of time which one would crow next, getting her bearings for the tail end of the night as it eased into morning.
    Sure enough, at the time she knew to expect it, the clang of the stove door told her Adam was awake and stirring up the fire for coffee. She stood and dusted off the back of her gown.
    â€œWell, Drifter, I don’t know about you, but I’m stiff as a poker from this damp ground. You can stay out here if you want, but I’m going in.”
    Not a sound from under the skiff.
    â€œJust because we shared a song or two doesn’t mean you’re won over, does it? Have it your way then.”
    She listened a second more and then tapped a foot in the direction of the plank walk. One, two, three steps.
    â€œArggguuu,” rumbled from under the skiff.
    She froze, puzzled, thinking it sounded like one of Val’s beehives. Suddenly she was knocked off-balance. Loyce staggered, reaching out with her hands in hope of steadying herself, not knowing where to go. She couldn’t step just any which way because she had lost track of the bayou. How close was the dock? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even remember which way she had turned when the sound startled her.
    â€œArggguuufff!” The sound was Drifter! Growling like a wild animal.
    It had never occurred to her that the mysterious dog might attack. She had nothing for defense, not even that useless cane she’d brought home from school.
    This was just the sort of thing that would make Fate fuss at her later on. She could already hear him saying a blind girl wasn’t supposed to go walking around at night. But what difference did day or night make to her? It was just like Fate to break into her concentration when she was trying to flap her hands at the dog, grab the air for balance, and run away at the same time. She fumed, knowing that all of those efforts together were doing her as much good as trying to fly.
    Suddenly the growling was interspersed with slapping and thumping on the plank walk. What was that? The violent sounds told Loyce she should jump but didn’t give her a clue about the direction. When things couldn’t get any worse, they did. The plank walk started