But the rain has stopped now—at least, temporarily—leaving only the clouds, and I revel in their soft, gray light, in the rich scents of wet earth and grass. Shadow runs ahead as I walk through the north pasture with my moccasin boots and wool skirt shaking rainwater off the grass, and the pasture is vividly green, powdered with pink clover blossoms, humming with bees. At this time of day, just after midday meal, all the women are busy in the kitchen, except for Esther. She’s at the firepit in the open shed behind the house tending the kettle of fat she’s rendering for soap. The fitful wind occasionally brings the stink of it to me. I expected to help with the soap making, as I usually do, but I was told I wasn’t needed. Miriam made that pronouncement, of course. I wonder if she thinks I believe she was concerned for my advanced years. She’s simply trying to isolate me from the family. Since Stephen’s whipping, she’s done nothing to rock the familial boat, no doubt recognizing that our Elder is still too much my ally.
