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“Heat some water, will you?”
    â€œThe shakes,” repeated Jennifer softly as she went to do Lucy’s bidding. For the rest of the day, she continued to do whatever Lucy instructed. But mostly, she watched as her neighbor administered to Walter bitter quinine and ginger tea doped with extra vinegar, smeared his chest with plaster of turpentine and lard, bathed his feet in a hot bath, and kept him generally wrapped up to his neck in a blanket. When Nancy Camp arrived, dropped off by Todd Baker, she took over the assisting, and so Jennifer watched from farther off.
    â€œIs Poppa dying?” asked Peter, standing near her.
    The thought clutched Jennifer, but she said, “No, of course not. Come on, let’s all go out for a while.” And she took Peter and Emma outside.
    It was now late afternoon, and the sun was low in the clear blue dome. Emma sat herself on some trampled grass before the dugout with a miniature setting of chairs, table and tea service. She bid Peter to join her and Melissa, her ceramic-faced doll.
    Peter, however, didn’t want to. He stayed by the dugout door and slumped to the ground, absent-mindedly poking at his shoes with a long grass stem.
    Jennifer stood by the door as well, clasping her elbows close to her. But she didn’t want her children to see how upset she was getting, so she started to wander off, circling to the rear of the dugout, which meant climbing up the rise. When she reached the top, standing now a few feet from the projecting stove pipe she saw, stretched before her, high ground upon which grew shorter grasses. The tips didn’t even reach her knees. Jennifer gazed out across this expanse, dotted here and there by the occasional yellow daisy, and she listened to the somber wind.
    She stepped forward, scaring into flight a large grasshopper, which resettled on a stem farther off. Jennifer sighed. Could this really be happening to her? Was she really here? It all seemed like such madness. Only desperate people would come to a place like Kansas. Was it really so bad back home?She continued to walk, the short grasses sweeping her skirt. A mourning dove suddenly broke from cover and flew off aways to drop back down out of sight. Jennifer began to formulate a letter she would send her father. She would describe everything about Kansas. He would then certainly insist she come home. And, if not that, then he would at least be sorry he let his son-in-law take his daughter away. Jennifer would derive some satisfaction in that.
    She walked on. She now noticed, a dozen paces ahead, an owl standing on a dirt mound. It was a funny little bird with relatively long legs that no doubt allowed it to see over the grass. The owl looked straight back at Jennifer with amazed, slightly annoyed orange eyes. The two stared at each other for several moments. Jennifer stepped closer, and the owl began bobbing up and down. Jennifer paused, enjoying the comical display. She then resumed walking towards the bird, which, seemingly exasperated, dropped down a hole in the mound. Jennifer stopped. What a strange way for a bird to flee! She considered investigating the hole, but remembered her ailing husband and decided to go back.
    When she turned, however, a panic rose in her, for she saw no sign of her homestead. Only open grassland. The pipe had vanished.
    Jennifer stood there, scanning the distance, unsure which way to go. Each direction looked the same. Surely, though, if a silly owl could find its hole in all this grass, she could find hers. “Now think,” she whispered. “The sun was in front of you when you walked away from the stove pipe, so now I must keep it behind me.” Jennifer began to walk, keeping the sun to her back or, rather, her elongated shadow before her.
    But she proceeded farther than she thought she had come, and the panic returned. She was tempted to call out for help, but what a fool her neighbors would think her then.
    Still, let them think