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I
would wait till David was home again and then go out. I cleared a large area of ground, pulling
out ferns and salal, and roots. You wouldn't believe the roots. That ground had never been dug.
Lucky it was so sandy. Still it was a hard job. It took a couple more days than I thought it would
to get it done, and the main reason I got it done even then was because Willie and Zack each put
in some time before dinner. They pounded those roots and chopped 'em till the whole patch was
a fine mash. The sweat was just 'a flying! They turned it all over for me. By the end of April I
had the garden put to some vegetables plus some dirt spaded up by the front door and around the
cabin for flowers. It was inevitable that working near the path so often I would meet David.
    I'd wondered at him never knocking on my door and introducing himself, as a neighbor
might, or why he didn't just chance by when I was working on the garden. I, well... I don't think
he was any more anxious to meet the real me than I was him. Dreams were a lot easier to deal
with than reality, and too, David thought I was the wife of one of the boys.
    On the first day of May I got up early. Spring was in the air and the morning was warm.
I had a couple of rose bushes I'd bought the week before at the general store in town, red
climbers, and I knew when I got up that this was the day to plant them.
    David went by, at six as usual. I had my morning coffee and then, thinking I had plenty
of time, went to the woodshed for the roses and spade. When I came back around to the front,
David was coming up the path.
    There was nothing to do but to act like it was a normal thing to see him there. To bolt
into the house would have looked foolish. Standing there with the spade in one hand and a
rosebush in the other, I said, "Morning!"
    He stopped, startled. He'd been looking at the tiny yellow flowers by the path and hadn't
seen me.
    At my greeting he looked up, then came straight towards me, that big grin spreading on
his face.
    "Why, good morning to you." His voice was big for a small man, and didn't sound in the
least "unmanly". His hand was outstretched. I leaned my shovel against the cabin and put my
hand into his, as natural as anything.
    Young folks do it now but it wasn't something girls did then. I'd expected artistic hands
with long narrow fingers but the hand in mine was compact, a worker's hand without calluses. It
was a pleasant experience, but I was fearful for a second that he would say, "Come away with
me." He didn't. He proceeded to talk like we were having a normal conversation.
    I was shy being face-to-face with him so suddenly. He was almost a stranger. But he
didn't act like one. He let go of my hand, and just as natural as if he were continuing a
conversation we'd started a while ago, asked, "Planting the roses?"
    I came out of my stupor enough to answer, "Why, yes," while my thoughts ran around
searching for something smart to say. Nothing came.
    "Right here by the door, I hope. That's the best place."
    I nodded dumbly.
    "Well, let's get at it." He lifted that shovel right out of my hand and started digging in
the loosened dirt, covering my shyness with talk.
    "My mother had roses, a whole arbor of them to the side of the house. I used to play out
there under the roses, when I was just a little boy. It was cool there. I love roses, don't you?"
Before I could answer he laughed, "Dumb question. Of course you do."
    My mind was moving again, but I guess I was not in complete control, for I blurted out,
"What are you doing here?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question. I immediately
wished I'd kept my mouth shut but I've always been that way, "Mouth ahead of brain," my daddy
used to say.
    David stopped his digging, and looked directly at me.
    I tried to avoid his eyes.
    "No, look at me."
    I did, but it was uncomfortable even through the pleasure of looking so straight on at
him.
    "We--" he stopped. "What's your name?"
    I stumbled it out.
    "Sophie," he