him.) The yard of the house, she noted approvingly, was swept clean. Not one piece of stickweed sprouted in the pasture, even along the branch; no morning glories clung to the fence posts. Nothing about the place suggested tragedy or despair or even strangeness. The only remotely odd thing was that in days and days of watching she never once caught sight of Mr. Tall. She might have become worried about him, except that from her hiding place she could tell that in the hours she wasnât watching somebody was milking the cow and slopping the hog and strewing corn to the chickens. One day the orchard rows were empty and the next day bushel baskets were stacked at intervals all the way to the top of the terraces; one day the two bean rows in the garden were thick with beans, and the next the staked-up vines had been stripped. Plutina became exasperated with Mr. Tall, as if he had made a series of appointments with her but failed to keep any of them. She began to doubt she would ever catch a glimpse of him, but did not want to stop her spying just in case he appeared. She memorized every detail of his farm and found that at suppertime she did not want to return to her own, which had started to seem small and scruffy and unprosperous by comparison. (Charlie, too, had started to seem small and scruffy and unprosperous by comparison. She imagined him standing only as high as Mr. Tallâs waist.) She began curling up on the sun-warmed dirt at the edge of the field and allowing herself to doze. When the air stirred the corn leaves whispered secrets she could almost make out. Every so often she opened her eyes and sat up and gazed across the pasture and said, âMr. Tall?â but he was never there.
On the third Monday of her vigil Plutina rose from her hiding place at the edge of the field and in a crouch hurried along the fence toward the mountain. To her left Mr. Tallâs house was visible only intermittently between the outbuildings. When she reached the corner of the pasture she looked down the fence row and gauged the distance to the barn, which was maybe fifty yards away. She drew a deep breath, whispered âGO!â and sprinted toward it. The cow raised its head and looked at her as she ran. The mule honked in alarm and trotted halfway across the pasture, its ears and tail erect, shitting as it went. When she reached the barn she tagged it and turned around and raced back to where she had started. She dropped to her knees and watched the house intently. Nothing happened. She couldnât remember ever feeling happier than she did right then. She hadnât felt nearly so exhilarated when she said âI do.â
The next day she stopped at the barn with her back pressed to the wall. She stole a look around the corner, then pulled her skirt up over her calves and dashed down through the farmyard from building to building to building toward Mr. Tallâs house. The chickens flapped up in a ruckus. The mule brayed and galloped away, this time toward the cornfield. When she reached the smokehouse and stopped, she knew she couldnât be more than thirty or forty yards away from the house. She whispered, âIâm going to tag your house, Mr. Tall,â but she couldnât make her legs move. She counted to ten several times but remained rooted in place. Eventually a cold point of courage flared in her chest and rose into her throat, where it popped out of her mouth with a grunt. Then she was off, her right hand extended toward Mr. Tallâs house. She had taken no more than five steps when a stocky brown dog with a white face and pale eyes and an immense square head shot from under the back porch and made straight for her, running so hard its belly almost dragged the ground. In a panic she turned and sprinted back the way she had come, but hadnât even cleared the smokehouse when she realized she had no chance of getting away. The dog was almost on her already. She pushed up the latch of the
On the third Monday of her vigil Plutina rose from her hiding place at the edge of the field and in a crouch hurried along the fence toward the mountain. To her left Mr. Tallâs house was visible only intermittently between the outbuildings. When she reached the corner of the pasture she looked down the fence row and gauged the distance to the barn, which was maybe fifty yards away. She drew a deep breath, whispered âGO!â and sprinted toward it. The cow raised its head and looked at her as she ran. The mule honked in alarm and trotted halfway across the pasture, its ears and tail erect, shitting as it went. When she reached the barn she tagged it and turned around and raced back to where she had started. She dropped to her knees and watched the house intently. Nothing happened. She couldnât remember ever feeling happier than she did right then. She hadnât felt nearly so exhilarated when she said âI do.â
The next day she stopped at the barn with her back pressed to the wall. She stole a look around the corner, then pulled her skirt up over her calves and dashed down through the farmyard from building to building to building toward Mr. Tallâs house. The chickens flapped up in a ruckus. The mule brayed and galloped away, this time toward the cornfield. When she reached the smokehouse and stopped, she knew she couldnât be more than thirty or forty yards away from the house. She whispered, âIâm going to tag your house, Mr. Tall,â but she couldnât make her legs move. She counted to ten several times but remained rooted in place. Eventually a cold point of courage flared in her chest and rose into her throat, where it popped out of her mouth with a grunt. Then she was off, her right hand extended toward Mr. Tallâs house. She had taken no more than five steps when a stocky brown dog with a white face and pale eyes and an immense square head shot from under the back porch and made straight for her, running so hard its belly almost dragged the ground. In a panic she turned and sprinted back the way she had come, but hadnât even cleared the smokehouse when she realized she had no chance of getting away. The dog was almost on her already. She pushed up the latch of the
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