Once—only once—I’d ended up in an unfamiliar, deserted farmyard, too exhausted to walk any farther. The cell phone had come in handy on that occasion, but Bill had never let me forget the number of farmyards he’d had to search before he’d found his lost wife and his daughter, a full seven miles from home and sound asleep in the shade of a cow barn.
I blamed my farmyard adventure, in part, on the “all-terrain pram” Bill had bought for me when I’d told him of my new exercise program. The pram was an engineering marvel—convertible, collapsible, lightweight, yet sturdy, and so easy to maneuver that it tempted me to outwalk my stamina. Its three oversized wheels were more than a match for the potholes, rocks, and ruts of Emma’s track, while its clever suspension and harness systems ensured a smooth, safe ride for Bess. Best of all, the bassinet could face either forward or backward. I preferred the backward position because it allowed me to have face-to-face conversations with Bess, who enjoyed using Bill’s pram as much as I did.
I would not, however, allow it to mislead me again.
The moment I lost sight of Bill, I set the alarm on my cell phone to go off in precisely forty minutes. I explained to Bess that we would turn for home at its first beep, then forged ahead, feeling as though I’d saved myself from repeating the error that had given Bill the right to say, “Six farmyards! Six!” to anyone who would listen.
My fitness regimen wasn’t entirely for my own benefit. It seemed to me that a baby born during a blizzard would appreciate the sun’s warmth more keenly than most. After so many weeks indoors, I reasoned, the outdoors would stir her senses. She could hear the skylarks, smell the wild thyme, and see a crayon box of colors in the big world beyond the cottage. She might not remember the details of our first walks together, but I hoped they would kindle in her a lifelong love of nature.
“On the other hand, you could grow up to be a rock star,” I said to her as I pushed the pram carefully over a tangled mass of twisted tree roots that stretched across the track. “Our walks may give you a taste for rocking and rolling.”
Bess’s eyelids fluttered open at the sound of my voice, then closed again as the pram’s bouncing lulled her to sleep. I couldn’t yet tell if she was a placid child or a fearless one, but I looked forward to finding out.
I’d been confined to the cottage for so long that I positively reveled in the challenges the old track presented to me. I skirted ruts that resembled crevasses, ducked beneath low-hanging tree branches, splashed through rivulets, and nudged overgrown bushes aside with the same kind of fierce, joyous energy Will and Rob displayed while riding their ponies cross-country. When the old cart track veered to the left, I veered with it, and when the cell phone’s alarm sounded, I shut it off and kept walking. I was much too happy to turn back.
Grassy banks gradually rose on either side of the track, but the banks were carpeted with such a profusion of wildflowers that I didn’t mind losing the view. Apart from their beauty, the banks also shielded us from a rising breeze that had begun to blow in from the west.
When it came time to change Bess’s diaper, I spread her blanket on a flower-strewn bank and went to work, hoping—in vain—that the pleasant scents would cancel out the not so pleasant ones. A little while later, we paused for a snack. Seated in the soft grass with Bess nestled to my breast, I felt as if I’d found paradise. I decided on the spot to reveal Emma’s splendid discovery to no one.
“Your brothers have their secret places,” I murmured to Bess, “and this place will be ours—yours and mine.” I thought for a moment before adding judiciously, “Though we may allow Emma to visit it with us.”
I’d planned to turn back after snack time, but curiosity got the better of me. I could see the corner of a stone wall in the distance. One segment of the wall ran parallel to the grassy bank on my right, while the other took off at a right angle and disappeared into a stand of trees. The wall was at least eight feet tall, and it seemed to go on for miles. I wondered whose property it was protecting.
“It’s not your grandfather’s,” I told Bess as we approached the formidable barrier. “Grandpa’s walls don’t stretch for more than fifty yards from his gates. This one must belong to his neighbor.”
As I spoke, I realized with a start that I didn’t know who Willis, Sr.’s neighbor was. He’d never mentioned having a neighbor and I’d never imagined him having one. My lack of imagination embarrassed me.
“I hate to break it to you, Bess, but your mother sometimes forgets to use her noggin,” I said. “Everyone has neighbors, even Grandpa William, and I was a fool to think otherwise.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “I wonder why he doesn’t talk about them?”
The sound of voices floated over the wall as we strolled and rolled beside it, the high-pitched squeals of excited children, the chatter of teenagers, and the deeper tones of a grown man who shared their elation.