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The water tin belonged to the Han household’s kitchen shelf.
It was narrow enough for Cindy to carry by its wire handle without striking her knee and large enough to hold more than either girl would need on an ordinary walk. Eun-jung washed it the night before, rinsed the stopper twice and left it upside down on a folded cloth until morning. By the time Cindy came downstairs, the metal had dried cool and clean, catching a white strip of sunlight from the window.
Beside it sat the food.
Nothing had been arranged to look abundant. Two hard-boiled eggs lay wrapped together in waxed paper. A small piece of salt pork had been sliced thin and tucked between pieces of bread so the fat wouldn’t soak through everything else. There were several rice cakes left from the previous day, firmer now but still good, and a handful of radishes with their tops removed. Eun-jung had added a little paper twist of salt and another containing roasted grain.
“Keep the salt closed,” she said while Cindy checked the folds. “It’ll be no use if it spills through the bag.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And the eggs stay above the tin.”
“The tin isn’t going in the food bag.”
Her mother looked at the arrangement. “Good.”
Cindy filled the water tin at the pump and carried it back inside. She set it on the table without letting the wet bottom touch the food papers.
Min-jae came through from the front room fastening one cuff. He looked from the tin to the packed meal and then at Cindy’s shoes.
“Those soles are sound?”
Cindy lifted one foot enough for him to see. “Papa checked them last week.”
“I checked the stitching. That’s not the road.”
“They don’t slip.”
“They may after dust gets into the heel.”
Cindy set her foot down.
Her father crouched and pressed both thumbs along the edge of the sole, testing where leather met the upper. He found no weakness and straightened.
“How far?”
“Past the low woods and back by the south road.”
“That isn’t a distance.”
Cindy looked toward her mother.
Eun-jung folded another square of paper over the radishes. “They’ll turn at the old creamery road if the heat rises.”
Min-jae nodded. “No farther than that.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And if one dog begins dragging, you come back.”
Cindy glanced toward the door as if Bart might already be waiting outside. “He doesn’t drag when he’s tired.”
“He will if he finds something.”
“Yes.”
Her father’s eyes settled on the water tin. “You carry that?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let it strike your leg all day. Change hands.”
“I know.”
Min-jae looked at the food once more. “Who carries the dogs?”
“We’ll change.”
“Change before your hands are sore.”
Cindy accepted every condition without impatience. The walk was long because both households had considered it possible, not because the girls had somehow escaped notice. She knew better than to make permission seem foolish by treating the preparations lightly.
Eun-jung drew the mouth of the small cloth bag closed and tied it with a flat knot. The bag had once held rice. Its printed lettering had faded through washing, but the fabric remained strong. She tested the bottom seam and placed it beside the tin.
“Jennifer’s family is adding food too?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t assume there’s enough for the dogs.”
“We’re carrying their portion.”
“From ours?”
Cindy nodded.
Her mother looked at the eggs, bread and rice cakes. She opened the paper around the salt pork, removed one thin slice and wrapped it separately.
“That’s too salty for them all at once,” she said. “Small pieces only.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The water comes home empty or not. The tin comes home.”
“Yes.”
“The papers too.”
“Yes.”
Eun-jung looked at her daughter’s face. “And you come through the door before supper.”
Cindy put on her light summer cardigan despite the morning warmth. “We will.”
The gate clicked outside.
Bart’s collar tag struck the lower rail.
Cindy took the cloth bag in one hand and the water tin in the other.
Jennifer waited on the pavement with both dogs.
She wore a pale blouse with the sleeves rolled neatly below her elbows and a plain brown skirt that reached well below her knees. Her hat had a narrow brim and a faded ribbon, useful rather than decorative. The guitar had remained home. A folded square of cloth was tucked beneath one arm, and another small parcel hung from her left hand.
Bart pressed against the gate as soon as Cindy appeared.
Nicola stood several feet behind Jennifer, already turned toward the patch of shade cast by the Han hedge.
Cindy stepped into the yard.
Eun-jung came as far as the porch.
Jennifer lowered her head slightly. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.”
Jennifer lifted the parcel in her hand. “Mama packed bread, two apples and some cheese.”
Eun-jung’s eyes moved to the size of the bundle. “You have food for the dogs?”
“Cindy has some, and Mama put aside a little cheese if they need it.”
“Not too much.”
“No, ma’am.”
Cindy opened the gate.
Bart tried to enter.
Jennifer shortened his lead. “Stay out.”
His front paws remained beyond the line, though his nose stretched toward the cloth bag.
Cindy stepped through and closed the gate behind her.
“Before supper,” Eun-jung said.
“Yes, Mama.”
Jennifer nodded. “I’ll bring her to the gate.”
Eun-jung looked at the road, then at the bright sky. “Rest before either dog asks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer said.
Cindy shifted the water tin from her right hand to her left. “We will.”
They set out.
For the first several streets, the walk felt no different from any other summer afternoon. Bart investigated gateposts, dry grass and the cool shadows beneath parked carts. Nicola travelled near Jennifer’s far side, conserving movement even before the town had fallen behind them. The cloth food bag rested against Jennifer’s hip. Cindy’s water tin made a small hollow sound whenever the stopper touched the inner neck.
Bart heard it almost immediately.
His head turned.
Cindy lifted the tin. “Not yet.”
He came nearer, nose working toward the metal.
“There’s only water.”
Bart followed for several steps.
Jennifer looked down at him. “That’s enough.”
He returned reluctantly to the verge.
The girls passed the church and the back of the grocer’s yard, where empty crates had been stacked beneath a lean-to. A deliveryman recognized Cindy and raised one hand. She answered without stopping. Beyond the last row of houses, the road widened and the dust became lighter beneath their shoes.
The country lay open ahead.
Fields reached outward in uneven squares, divided by fence lines, hedges and low drainage channels. Corn stood high enough to move in broad green waves when the wind passed over it. Another field had been cut, leaving short pale rows and the dry smell of hay warming under the sun. Farther off, a stand of low woods formed a dark line against the clear sky.
Bart pulled toward everything.
He followed the scent along one ditch, crossed behind Cindy when a bird rose from the opposite side and stopped so suddenly at a crushed patch of weeds that Jennifer nearly walked into him.
Cindy brought him onward. “You can’t examine the whole county.”
His tail moved.
Jennifer shifted the food bag higher on her shoulder. “He may try.”
Nicola moved toward the shade of a fence whenever one appeared. She didn’t pull, but her path curved naturally beneath every leaning tree and beside each hedge. Jennifer allowed it when the shade didn’t take them too far from the firm centre of the road.
Cindy noticed.
“She knows where the cool places are.”
“She always does.”
“Bart doesn’t.”
“He knows where smells are.”
Bart plunged his nose into a clump of roadside clover and sneezed.
The sun had been mild when they left town. By the time the church roof disappeared behind a rise, the heat had begun settling over the road.
It wasn’t yet oppressive. A small breeze moved across the fields, and the sky remained clear enough that no humidity trapped the warmth near the ground. Still, the dust rose dry beneath the dogs’ paws and clung faintly to the hems of the girls’ skirts.
Cindy changed the water tin to her other hand.
Jennifer looked at her. “Is it heavy?”
“No.”
“It sounds heavy.”
“It sounds because the water moves.”
Bart heard the tin again and came near.
Cindy kept walking. “You aren’t thirsty.”
His mouth had opened from exertion, though his tongue wasn’t yet hanging far.
Jennifer looked at him. “He may be.”
“He’s only interested because it makes noise.”
“That can still remind him.”
They stopped beside a fence.
Cindy set the tin on the grass and held Bart’s lead while Jennifer unfolded the square of cloth. It had been cut from an old towel and hemmed along two edges. Jennifer shaped it into a shallow fold and poured in a little water.
Bart pushed forward.
“Wait,” Cindy said.
Nicola approached first, though without urgency. She lowered her head and drank several measured laps. Bart tried to reach past her. Cindy kept him back until Nicola raised her muzzle and stepped away.
Then Bart drank.
He struck the water hard enough with his tongue to send droplets over the cloth and grass. Half of what Cindy had poured seemed to leave the fold without entering him.
“That’s enough,” Jennifer said.
Bart continued.
Cindy lifted his collar slightly. “You’re wasting it.”
He took two final laps before allowing himself to be drawn away.
Jennifer poured the remaining water back onto the grass rather than risk contaminating the tin. She shook the cloth, folded the wet side inward and tucked it beneath the food bag strap.
Cindy resealed the tin.
Bart stared at it.
“You had some.”
He continued staring.
They resumed.
The road curved past a farmhouse where neither girl was known. A woman stood beside the front fence replacing a broken rail. Her sleeves had been rolled high, and a hammer hung loosely from one hand. A child sat in the shade of the porch with a jar of nails between his feet.
The woman looked up as the girls approached.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” Jennifer said.
Cindy nodded.
Bart turned toward the hammer.
The woman moved it behind her leg before he came close. “He friendly?”
“Yes,” Jennifer said. “Too friendly sometimes.”
Cindy shortened the lead. “He won’t bother you.”
The woman looked over both dogs. “Hot day for them.”
“We’re carrying water,” Cindy said.
“Good.”
She returned to the rail.
The girls continued past.
Cindy looked back once. The woman held the board in place with one knee and drove a nail with short, accurate strikes.
“She’s doing that alone,” Jennifer said.
“The boy’s holding the nails.”
“He’s not holding the board.”
“He may have before we came.”
Jennifer considered it. “Maybe.”
“The end nearest the post is rotten.”
“You saw it?”
“The wood changed colour.”
“She may have to replace more than the rail.”
“She knows.”
Jennifer looked at the woman’s bent back as the road curved away. “She may only have that piece.”
Cindy adjusted Bart’s lead. “Then she’s making it last.”
Neither treated the observation as a lesson requiring further explanation. The fence remained behind them, partly mended and partly rotten, with the woman continuing her work beneath the sun.
The first low woods began where the land dipped.
Trees crowded near the road but didn’t form a deep forest. Their shade fell across the dust in broad irregular bands. Ferns grew near the drainage channels, and the air beneath the branches felt cooler by several degrees. Nicola moved into it at once. Her pace slowed as she reached the deepest shade, though her breathing remained even.
Bart entered at a run.
He followed a scent toward a fallen branch, circled a rotting stump and tried to pull Cindy down the shallow bank beside the road.
“No.”
Cindy brought him back.
He turned immediately toward a patch of leaves on the other side.
She held him close. “Walk first.”
The shade restored him to the energy of morning. He moved ahead with his nose low, tail raised and body ready to change direction at every sound.
Jennifer adjusted the food bag.
“Do you want me to take him?”
“I have him.”
“You’ve had him since town.”
“I’ll change after the woods.”
Jennifer didn’t press.
The road climbed gradually within the trees. The higher ground had dried after recent rain, but loose stones showed through the thin soil. Bart’s claws clicked against them. Nicola chose the softer edge where leaves had gathered.
Cindy looked down at Bart’s paws.
His pads appeared sound, though dust had worked into the fur between them.
“We should check them when we stop.”
Jennifer nodded.
The trees opened again.
Sunlight struck the road with a brightness that made Cindy blink behind her glasses. The fields beyond were broader than those near Geneva, and the nearest house stood far back behind an unpainted fence. A barn roof showed above a rise, its boards weathered nearly silver.
A second building stood farther away near the edge of another field.
Only one corner of its roof remained straight. The windows appeared dark from the road, and weeds had grown high around the lower walls.
Jennifer looked toward it. “That’s empty.”
Cindy followed her gaze. “Maybe.”
“The roof is falling.”
“On one side.”
“No smoke.”
“It’s summer.”
“There’s no washing.”
“Not everybody washes on Saturday.”
Jennifer looked at the road leading toward the building. Grass grew through the wheel tracks, though the centre remained faintly worn.
“The path’s nearly gone.”
“Somebody still uses it.”
“For what?”
Cindy examined the distant yard. “There’s a gate open.”
“It may have fallen.”
“It’s standing against the fence.”
Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “I can’t see that.”
Cindy pushed her glasses more firmly into place. “There.”
The gate did seem to rest open rather than broken. One post stood crooked, but the horizontal boards remained together.
“A person may keep tools there,” Cindy said.
“Then it’s neglected.”
“Not abandoned.”
“What’s the difference if nobody lives in it?”
“Someone comes back.”
Jennifer looked at the dark windows.
“That doesn’t make it less empty.”
“No.”
They walked on without settling the question.
The road became hotter after the woods. Dust gathered over Cindy’s shoes and along the toes of Jennifer’s. Bart’s pace remained quick, though his tongue now hung farther from his mouth. He no longer stopped at every smell. Some passed beneath his nose without pulling him aside.
Jennifer didn’t notice at once.
She had begun telling Cindy about a book Brandon had found through a lending shelf, a collection of travel writing by a woman who had crossed several states alone before the war. The book’s cover had come loose and several pages were marked in pencil by earlier readers. Jennifer disliked the author’s habit of describing every unfamiliar town as though its people belonged to the scenery, but she liked the sections about distances, weather and finding places to sleep without much money.
“She writes about Ohio?” Cindy asked.
“Only one page.”
“What does she say?”
“That it’s flat.”
“This road isn’t.”
“She didn’t take this road.”
Bart stopped.
Cindy’s arm moved before she realized he had done so.
He stood in the open sun with his head lowered, not toward a smell but toward the shade cast by a thin roadside post. The shadow barely covered one shoulder.
“Come,” Cindy said.
Bart took two steps and stopped again.
Jennifer continued another pace before turning.
Cindy looked at the dog’s flanks. His breathing had become faster. Mud or dirt hadn’t troubled his coat, but dust dulled the fur along his lower legs and chest.
“He’s tired.”
Jennifer looked at him. “He was running in the woods.”
“That was a while ago.”
“We can reach the next trees.”
Cindy looked ahead.
The next visible shade stood several hundred yards away where a broad tree grew near a fork in the road. The distance wasn’t great for two girls, but Bart’s eagerness had begun failing before either of them expected.
“We stop now,” Cindy said.
“There’s no shade.”
“Then we make it to that fence and stop.”
Jennifer looked at Bart again.
He took another step, slower than before.
“All right.”
They crossed to the side where the fence posts cast the longest narrow shadows. The shade there remained too small for both dogs, but the grass at the base had grown cool beneath the rails. Nicola went down at once, folding her legs beneath herself with no wasted movement.
Bart stood.
His tongue hung low.
Cindy set down the water tin.
Jennifer unfastened the folded cloth.
“You saw before I did,” she said.
“He stopped looking.”
“At what?”
“Everything.”
Jennifer looked at Bart’s face. The dog’s attention remained on the tin rather than the field or road.
Cindy held his collar loosely while Jennifer poured water into the cloth.
Bart drank hard.
Cindy drew him back after several laps. “Slow.”
He pushed forward again.
Jennifer lifted the cloth long enough for him to swallow. Then she lowered it.
This time he drank more evenly.
Nicola waited until he had finished. She took less, though the heat had reached her too. Her breathing remained quieter because she had refused to spend herself on every scent and movement.
Cindy resealed the tin. “We should rest longer at the tree.”
Jennifer looked toward the fork. “We may as well eat there.”
“It’s early.”
“It’ll be hotter later.”
Cindy accepted that.
They gave Bart several minutes in the fence shade before moving again. Cindy kept him close enough that he couldn’t waste energy crossing the road. He followed the water tin whenever it sounded, ears moving toward the small metallic knock within it.
At the broad tree, the ground opened into a patch of grass beside the road.
Its roots rose visibly near the trunk, broad enough to form natural seats. The leaves made a deep circle of shade, and the grass beneath had remained green while the verge beyond dried pale.
Jennifer looked toward the nearest house before leaving the road.
No fence enclosed the tree, and no crop grew close enough to be damaged.
“We can sit here,” she said.
Cindy brought Bart beneath the branches.
He went down heavily beside one root, front legs extended and body angled toward the water tin. Nicola chose a place on the opposite side where the shade lay thickest. She turned twice, lowered herself and rested her chin on her paws.
The girls sat between them.
Jennifer placed the cloth food bag on the ground and opened it carefully. Cindy set the water tin upright near her shoe, away from Bart’s reach.
Nothing had been crushed.
The bread remained firm around the salt pork. The boiled eggs had held inside their waxed paper. Jennifer’s apples bore only small marks from pressing against the cheese. The rice cakes had stuck lightly together but separated without tearing.
Cindy laid each packet on the folded outer cloth.
“We should feed the dogs first,” Jennifer said.
“They’ve had water.”
“They may settle if they eat.”
“Bart won’t settle because there’s food.”
He raised his head at his name.
Cindy took the separately wrapped slice of salt pork and cut it into narrow pieces with her small pocketknife. She added several crumbs of cheese from Jennifer’s parcel and divided the food into two portions.
“Nicola’s is smaller,” Jennifer said.
“She’s smaller through the chest.”
“She didn’t work as hard.”
“That too.”
Bart watched every movement.
Cindy held his portion in her palm. “Wait.”
He leaned forward.
She raised her hand. “Wait.”
Jennifer placed one hand lightly against his chest.
Bart’s eyes remained fixed on the food.
Cindy lowered the first piece only when he stopped pushing.
He took it carefully enough not to touch her fingers.
The second came faster.
“Slow.”
She made him wait between each piece. The salt pork had been cut small enough that he couldn’t swallow a large strip at once, though he appeared willing to try.
Jennifer fed Nicola.
The grey dog accepted each bite with measured care, chewing before looking for the next. She took the cheese but paused over the pork, smelling it before deciding to eat.
“That’s enough,” Cindy said when both portions were gone.
Bart smelled her empty palm.
She turned it over.
“Nothing.”
He moved toward the larger food packets.
Jennifer put one arm across them. “No.”
Bart sat.
His eyes shifted from the eggs to the bread.
Cindy wiped her knife on a clean corner of paper before folding it closed.
“No food gets traded because he looks at us,” she said.
Jennifer nodded.
They divided their own meal.
Each girl took one boiled egg. The salt-pork sandwiches were cut in half so neither household’s food remained entirely separate. Jennifer gave Cindy one apple and kept the other. The rice cakes were shared. The radishes stayed near Cindy, who ate them with a little salt from the paper twist.
Jennifer tasted one and looked at the pale centre.
“It’s stronger than the ones Mama buys.”
“They came from a neighbour’s garden.”
She handed Jennifer another.
Bart shifted closer.
Jennifer moved the food cloth farther from him without speaking.
The meal was plain, enough to satisfy hunger without making the walk home heavy. They ate slowly because the shade had made time feel broader. Wind moved through the leaves above them. Insects worked in the grass beyond the roots. A wagon appeared at the distant fork, turned away and disappeared along another road without approaching.
Cindy looked toward the building they had argued over earlier.
From beneath the tree, part of it remained visible between field edges.
“I can see a board across one window,” Jennifer said.
“That may keep weather out.”
“It isn’t working.”
“The roof is worse than the window.”
Jennifer ate the last of her egg. “That supports abandoned.”
“Somebody may mean to fix it.”
“Meaning to fix something isn’t the same as using it.”
Cindy folded the eggshells into their waxed paper. “The gate still moves.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s in a different place.”
Jennifer looked.
The gate that had rested against the fence now seemed partly closed.
“Wind,” she said.
“There isn’t enough wind near the ground.”
“There may be there.”
“Or somebody moved it.”
Jennifer continued studying the distant property.
A dark shape crossed briefly near the rear wall. It might have been a person, an animal or a shadow passing through high weeds.
Cindy saw it too.
“Not abandoned,” she said.
Jennifer waited for the shape to return.
It didn’t.
“Merely neglected,” she allowed.
Cindy ate another radish.
The school discussion came after the building.
Jennifer asked whether Cindy’s composition had been returned. Cindy said it had, with one comment written at the bottom concerning the final sentence.
“What did she say?”
“That it went beyond the assigned facts.”
“Was that bad?”
“She didn’t mark it wrong.”
“What did she mark?”
Cindy drew the folded composition from the bottom of the cloth bag. She had brought it without intending to show Jennifer, but it lay beneath the meal papers because Eun-jung had told her not to leave schoolwork loose at home.
Jennifer read the teacher’s comment.
Thoughtful, though broader than required.
“She liked it,” Jennifer said.
“She thought I did too much.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“She wrote broader.”
Jennifer handed the page back. “You were writing about more than factories.”
“The assignment was factories.”
“Then why did she say thoughtful?”
Cindy folded the paper along its existing crease. “Because teachers prefer not to say a thing is unnecessary when it’s correct.”
Jennifer looked toward the road. “Would you take the sentence out?”
“No.”
“Then it was worth writing.”
Cindy placed the composition safely beneath the bag again.
They spoke of Jennifer’s books next.
The travel writer had reached Pennsylvania in the chapter Jennifer was reading and had described a mining town using language Jennifer distrusted. Cindy asked what the woman had said. Jennifer repeated only the idea, not the author’s exact words: that the people seemed made by the coal and would likely remain there until the town emptied itself.
“That makes no sense,” Cindy said.
“She meant the work shaped them.”
“The work doesn’t make a whole person.”
“No.”
“Did she speak to them?”
“She wrote about one family.”
“For how long?”
“An evening.”
Cindy looked at Jennifer. “That isn’t enough.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep reading it?”
“Because some parts are good.”
Cindy considered this while rubbing salt from one fingertip. “You can dislike part of a book.”
“Yes.”
“Teachers don’t always act that way.”
“What do they do?”
“They ask whether it’s good or bad.”
“Books aren’t dogs.”
Cindy looked toward Bart.
He lay near her shoe with his head down but his eyes open, waiting for a food packet to move.
“No,” she said. “Dogs can be both more easily.”
Jennifer looked at Bart too. “He’s mostly good.”
“He steals.”
“He returns some things.”
“After trades.”
“He walks home.”
“Usually because we hold him.”
Jennifer’s mouth softened.
The girls ate the last rice cake between them.
Then Jennifer checked the dogs’ paws.
She began with Nicola, lifting one foot at a time and running her thumb carefully around the pads. Dust had gathered between them, but no thorn or sharp grit remained. One small pebble pressed into the fur near a rear pad. Jennifer worked it free and placed it on the root beside her.
Nicola waited patiently.
Bart resisted more.
The moment Jennifer touched his first paw, he twisted toward her hand as though she had hidden food in it.
“Hold his collar,” she told Cindy.
Cindy did.
Jennifer examined the pad.
A narrow red place showed near one edge, not broken skin but enough rubbing to require attention. She wiped away the dust with a damp corner of the dog cloth and checked the other feet.
“There’s no cut.”
“He’s worn there,” Cindy said.
“He ran too much.”
“He always runs too much.”
Jennifer looked toward the road home. “We take the short way.”
“That was already the plan.”
“We might rest again before town.”
“Yes.”
Cindy poured a small amount of water onto the cloth and let the dogs drink once more. This time Bart needed less. His breathing had slowed beneath the shade, and the fur along his chest no longer moved so rapidly.
The girls drank from the tin after the dogs had finished, using the stopper cup rather than touching the cloth. Cindy measured the water by sight before each pour. Enough remained for the return journey, though not enough to waste.
They packed every scrap.
Eggshells went into one piece of waxed paper. Apple cores were wrapped in another rather than thrown into the grass. The salt papers were folded until no loose grain escaped. Jennifer shook crumbs from the cloth onto her own palm, offered none to the dogs and ate them.
Cindy looked at her. “Those were small enough not to matter.”
“They still came from food.”
“The ants would’ve had them.”
“The ants have the whole field.”
She folded the cloth.
The bag remained lighter now, though its contents looked less tidy. Jennifer tied the mouth with April’s compact knot and slung it over her shoulder.
They rested several minutes more before standing.
Bart rose slowly.
Cindy noticed but didn’t comment until they reached the road. He still pulled toward the water tin whenever it sounded, though his pace no longer carried him far ahead.
Nicola resumed her efficient walk without needing encouragement.
The shorter road turned toward town after the fork, passing fewer fields and more scattered houses. Shade came less often, but the afternoon had begun moving past its hottest point. A thin bank of clouds gathered far to the west, dimming the sun occasionally without threatening rain.
Jennifer took Bart.
Cindy carried the water.
The food bag’s knot loosened after several yards, not enough to open but enough that the papers inside shifted against one another.
Jennifer stopped.
“I need both hands.”
Cindy held out Nicola’s lead.
Jennifer passed it over.
Nicola accepted the change without concern. She moved beside Cindy and immediately chose the outer shade cast by a hedge. Bart remained with Jennifer, his attention turning toward the water tin when it gave a small knock.
Cindy walked ahead while Jennifer retied the bag.
Bart followed her.
His lead drew Jennifer forward.
“Bart.”
He looked back but continued toward Cindy.
Jennifer shortened him. “Wait.”
Cindy stopped.
The water moved inside the tin.
Bart’s ears lifted.
“He knows what it is now,” Cindy said.
“He knew before.”
“He knows it isn’t food.”
“That may not matter.”
Jennifer set the bag on one knee and tightened the knot. She tucked the loose end beneath the crossing, then stood.
Cindy kept Nicola.
The grey dog walked easily at her side. Her lead remained nearly slack even when a cart passed. Cindy felt the difference immediately. Nicola didn’t change sides, stop without warning or follow every smell into the verge. She chose her path and kept it.
“You make this too easy,” Cindy told her.
Nicola looked up once.
Bart pulled toward the water tin again.
Jennifer held him. “Leave it.”
The road passed another property where a man repaired a roof with two older boys. None of them knew the girls. One looked down from the ladder as they passed and nodded. Jennifer answered. Cindy did the same.
The lack of recognition altered the walk more than either had expected.
Near town, nearly every porch, shopfront or passing wagon carried a face that knew at least one family. Out here they were simply two girls with dogs, dusty shoes and a cloth bag. Nobody asked after April, Eun-jung, school, sewing, errands or why Jennifer learned at home. The road didn’t become friendlier for that reason, only wider and less concerned with them.
Cindy looked at a white farmhouse set far back from the road.
“Would you want to live this far out?”
Jennifer considered it. “Maybe.”
“You couldn’t walk to the library.”
“No.”
“Or the shops.”
“I’d have the dogs.”
“That doesn’t replace books.”
“No.”
Jennifer looked across the field. “There’d be room to play the guitar outside.”
“You play outside now.”
“Bart bothers the screen.”
“He’d bother the porch here too.”
Jennifer looked at the dog. “Yes.”
Cindy shifted the water tin. “I wouldn’t.”
“Live here?”
“Not with no school near.”
“You could be taught at home.”
Cindy glanced toward her.
Jennifer’s expression remained open, not defensive.
“My parents have work,” Cindy said.
“So do mine.”
“Your lessons are part of the house.”
“Yes.”
Cindy looked along the road. “Mine aren’t.”
Jennifer accepted that.
They reached another patch of trees and stopped without waiting for Bart to ask.
This rest was shorter. The dogs received water. The girls stood in shade rather than sitting, reluctant to let their legs stiffen. Cindy examined Bart’s worn paw again and found no worsening. Jennifer brushed dust from Nicola’s lower coat with the dog cloth.
When they resumed, Cindy kept Nicola and Jennifer took Bart.
The town appeared gradually.
First came the distant church steeple above the trees. Then the roof of a mill building and the faint smoke from clustered chimneys. The road became more travelled, the wheel ruts deeper and the verges marked by footprints.
Bart recognized familiar smells.
Some of his morning energy returned. He tried to follow a track toward a side lane, but Jennifer kept him on the direct route.
“No more long way.”
He looked toward the lane until it passed behind them.
Cindy changed the water tin to her left hand.
Nicola moved closer to her leg when the first automobile appeared. Cindy shortened the lead and placed herself between the dog and the road, copying Jennifer’s usual practice.
Jennifer noticed.
“She’s all right.”
“I know.”
The automobile passed slowly enough to throw little dust.
Nicola remained close for several more steps before returning to the edge.
The food bag needed another adjustment near the church. Jennifer held Bart’s lead between her knees while tightening the cloth strap. Cindy took it before he could pull free.
For a few minutes she held both dogs.
Bart followed the tin. Nicola followed Cindy.
The leads crossed once, but neither tightened. Cindy separated them by moving Bart to the outside and Nicola nearer her right leg.
“You could walk them together,” Jennifer said.
“For a little while.”
“Bart’s easier now.”
“He’s tired.”
“That still counts.”
Jennifer took the food bag again.
They passed the grocer’s delivery yard.
No sacks stood outside at that hour, but Bart remembered the place. He turned toward the awning, nose raised.
Cindy held him back with one hand while keeping Nicola close with the other.
“No.”
He looked at the closed shop door.
“There’s nothing there.”
Bart smelled the pavement where something had once spilled.
Cindy waited several breaths, then moved him on.
At the Han street, the girls’ pace slowed.
Dust coated their shoes almost to the laces. Fine marks showed along the hems of both skirts. Jennifer’s hat had shifted slightly, and pale hair clung damply near her temples. Cindy’s glasses had slid low on her nose often enough that a small red mark remained along the bridge.
Bart’s coat looked dull from road dust. Nicola had fared better, though dry grass clung to the fur beneath one shoulder.
The water tin was nearly empty.
Its sound had changed from a dull movement to a lighter metallic knock. Bart followed it all the way to the gate.
Cindy stopped outside.
Eun-jung opened the front door before they entered.
She looked first at her daughter’s face, then at the dogs, Jennifer and the bag.
“You came before supper.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“How far?”
“To the creamery road, then back by the south way.”
“You rested?”
“Twice before eating and once after.”
Jennifer corrected gently, “Once before eating. We stopped for water earlier.”
Eun-jung looked at Cindy.
“We stopped for water, then rested before the tree,” Cindy said. “The tree was the first long rest.”
Her mother accepted the distinction.
“Any trouble?”
“Bart tired early.”
Eun-jung’s eyes moved to him.
The dog stood beside Cindy’s water tin, panting lightly but no longer exhausted.
“We came back by the short road,” Cindy said.
“His feet?”
“One rubbed place, no cut.”
Jennifer set down the food bag. “I checked twice.”
Eun-jung stepped into the yard.
Bart approached her. She put one hand against his head and turned his face briefly from side to side, though the worn place was on his paw rather than his muzzle. Then she looked down at Cindy’s shoes.
“Lift.”
Cindy raised one foot.
Dust had worked into the stitching, but the sole remained firm. Eun-jung checked the heel with her thumb and then the other shoe.
“You changed hands with the tin?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Cindy held up both palms. A faint red line crossed each where the wire handle had rested, neither deep enough to blister.
Eun-jung looked toward Jennifer’s hands.
Jennifer showed them too. The food bag had marked one shoulder more than her palms.
“All the papers?” Eun-jung asked.
Cindy opened the cloth bag.
Inside were every piece they had carried: waxed paper from the eggs, the folded salt twists, apple cores wrapped together, the cloth used for food and the damp dog cloth separated from the clean remainder.
“Good.”
Eun-jung looked at the dogs’ feet and the pale dust around the gate.
“Neither comes near the step like that.”
Cindy had already reached for the outdoor cloths.
Her mother took two from a hook near the rear entry and handed one to each girl.
“Paws first.”
Jennifer crouched beside Bart.
Cindy kept Nicola.
The grey dog lifted each paw with patient resignation while Cindy wiped dust from the pads and picked away two grass seeds. Bart tried to turn the cleaning into another game. He pulled his first paw away, lowered his nose toward the cloth and attempted to seize its corner.
Jennifer held it beyond him. “You’re too tired for that.”
Bart tried again.
Cindy looked over. “Not too tired.”
Jennifer caught his collar with one hand and wiped his paw with the other. The rubbed place remained pink but closed.
Eun-jung stood nearby until all eight paws had been cleaned.
Only then did she move aside from the path.
“You come in for water,” she told Jennifer.
Jennifer looked toward the road home.
“I should bring the dogs back.”
“You will after you drink.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The girls entered by the rear door, leaving both dogs in the sheltered yard with their leads fixed securely near the bench. Bart lay down at once beside the empty water tin. Nicola settled near him, close enough that their sides nearly touched.
Inside, Eun-jung poured cool water into two cups.
Cindy drank slowly.
Jennifer held hers in both hands and finished half before setting it down. Dust marked the edge of her cuff. Her face had reddened from sun despite the hat.
Eun-jung placed a third cup near the sink. “For the road.”
“I can drink here.”
“For the dogs.”
Jennifer nodded.
She poured the water into the stopper cup from Cindy’s tin, then returned it carefully so she could carry the amount without spilling.
Cindy looked toward the clock.
“You don’t have to walk me farther,” Jennifer said.
“I know.”
“You’re home.”
Cindy rested both hands on the table. “I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
Neither sounded disappointed.
They had crossed enough road for one day.
At the rear door, Jennifer lifted the food bag and took both leads. Bart stood when he saw the water. Nicola rose more slowly, stretching before coming to her side.
Cindy followed them to the gate.
The cloth bag looked smaller now, holding only wrappers, apple cores and the folded dog cloth. Jennifer carried it securely despite the lack of weight.
Bart smelled the stopper cup in her hand.
“You’ll have it at home,” Jennifer told him.
He watched it.
Cindy opened the gate.
Nicola moved through first. Bart followed the water.
Jennifer stopped outside and looked back.
Cindy stood within the yard, dusty from the road and holding the empty tin by its wire handle. Her skirt hem carried a pale line from the long walk. Her glasses had slipped again, though she didn’t push them up.
“That building wasn’t abandoned,” she said.
Jennifer shifted the food bag. “It was neglected.”
“Yes.”
“Somebody moved the gate.”
“Yes.”
Jennifer looked toward the road. “The woman repairing the fence may need another rail.”
“She knew that.”
“Yes.”
Bart pulled lightly toward the cup.
Jennifer shortened him.
“I’ll see you Thursday,” Cindy said.
“Not for that long.”
“No.”
Jennifer lowered her head toward Eun-jung, who remained near the porch. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You did well to turn back early.”
Cindy looked at Jennifer.
Jennifer understood the correction belonged partly to her. “Cindy saw him tiring.”
Eun-jung’s gaze rested on her daughter for a moment.
Then she nodded.
Jennifer turned for home.
Bart walked close because of the water she carried. Nicola kept to the shade beside the fences. The leads remained loose.
Cindy stood at the gate until the three of them reached the end of the street. Then she carried the empty tin inside, its light metallic sound following her across the swept yard.