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Plutarch ran through her mind: "Boys throw stones at
frogs in sport, but the frogs die in earnest." Perhaps children
could kill so lightheartedly because they had no idea they would ever
die themselves. Perhaps it was unnatural for them to feel their
mortality, and if something happened to force it on them... well,
then they became morbid, like Esther. She thought of the girl rocking
back and forth on the ledge. Had she been trying to imagine what
death was like in order to rid it of its fearsome mystery? and on the
stairway landing when she had described Helen's dying, had she been
speaking the name of death in order to exorcise its terror? But
instead of driving them out, she seemed to have renewed their hold
upon her.
    "Aunt Sophie?"
    So intently was she
thinking of the girl, she at first thought she'd imagined her voice,
but when she turned, she saw it really was Esther. She was coming
through the dust pumping furiously on a bicycle. Because of the bar
running from beneath the seat to the handlebar post, she had her
skirts tucked up, but her hair streamed out behind. Running madly
after her was Sally, her loud voice echoing in the evening air,
"C'mon Esther! Wait up! Lemme have a chance, Esther!"
    They passed Sophie, and at
the end of the block Esther braked sharply and jumped off the
bicycle. She waited for Sally, then helped the younger girl get on.
She was gentle with her, steadying the bicycle to keep her from
falling over, but there was an awkward quality to her movements, as
though each was planned, each the result of a very conscious
decision.
    "Is your bicycle new?"
Sophie asked as she drew near. She thought it must be, because it was
the very latest kind, with the wheels the same size.
    "Brand new. We had an
ordinary before, but with the big front wheel, it was impossible in
skirts, and Sally couldn't even begin to get on it."
    Sophie was astounded at how
normal the girl's response seemed. If it hadn't been for their
earlier encounter, would be have remarked Esther's selfconscious
stiffness at all? "Who rode it then?" she asked.
    "Nobody. But that
wasn't my father's fault."
    Sophie hadn't been thinking
of James, so the girl's answer surprised her.
    "What happened was, he
was at the Cheyenne Club one night, and he and some other men decided
to send for ordinaries. For a bicycle club. They were going to start
a bicycle club, except then my father never had the time. So Sally
and I tried to out, and when he saw it wouldn't work for us, he sent
for this one." She looked at Sophie, a defensive pride shining
in her eyes. "He got us the first one in town, and there's not
another like it yet!" With that, she reclaimed the bicycle from
Sally and got on it, rolling and tucking her skirt. "He's still
trying to get us a lady's model, one without this stupid bar."
Then she was hurtling up the street, Sally pounding furiously along
in her dusty wake: "Ah, c'mon, Esther, just one more turn. Just
gimme one more chance."
    Ignoring her sister, Esther
made a sharp turn near the end of the block, reversing her direction.
As she passed Sophie, she spoke, "Your dress is very pretty."
    Her words were quick and
shy, and so it took Sophie a minute to comprehend what she had said.
"So is yours," she called out. "At least the part that
shows!"
    The girl looked back,
smiling, and Sophie waved, glad Esther seemed happy for a moment, but
still unsettled by her.
    Sophie was almost to the
edge of town now--the Bellavance house was the last one on Ferguson
Street. And as she looked over the expanse of prairie, the setting
sun fell to just such a place in the sky that its rays suffused the
landscape with color: orange and gold and rose all at once, until the
sagebrush seemed to catch fire and the prairie to burn. The sky was
yellow and gold and pink and lavender, and set against it were the
clouds, dark purple now, edged with crimson red. Yes, Sophie thought,
yes. This is what I've needed. This immense space. This glorious sky.
She put everything