One afternoon, Prim and Ora were at work, picking strawberries.

  Prim wiped her hands off on her apron. She turned to Ora. “It’s time for a little rest. Would you take the strawberries we’ve picked to the house and fetch some water for us to drink?” Ora nodded. “Meet me at the beech tree in the carrot field.” Ora picked up their two buckets and took off running toward the house.

  Daks, Sandy, and Alf were hard at work in the carrot field. They were singing a song that went “my granny’s apple tree makes the biggest apples for all to see-sees, it brings about all the bee-bees and makes jealous the tree-trees…” Alf had a rich voice that was higher than the others, while Sandy’s was very low, and Daks’ singing was tone-deaf. Prim smiled and quietly sang along.

  Sitting against the base of the beech tree, she pulled her sketchbook and one of her charcoals out. She started to draw the bare bones of the men’s’ figures in the field and the nearby cart nearly full of purple carrots. Simple black silhouettes on the page.

  Daks’ beard was a bit overgrown as shaving wasn’t his priority during the harvest, but he was still handsome under his wide-brimmed hat. His rolled-up shirt sleeves highlighted his well-earned muscles. He wiped sweat off his brow.

  “Prim, Prim, I got the water and emptied the buckets!”

  Prim averted her gaze from Daks to Ora who was running up with the empty strawberry buckets and another bucket full of water.

  “You can have the first drink, milysh,” Prim said.

  Ora pulled out the ladle and practically threw the water into her mouth with water rushing all over her face. She gulped heavily.

  “Ora, don’t hurt yourself! Drink slowly.”

  Ora sighed. She took another scoop of water and drank from it much more slowly. She looked up at Prim.

  Prim nodded. “Very good. Now go give some to your daidi and the boys.”

  Ora rushed off with the water bucket. They each took a couple scoops of water.

  Eventually, the harvest was over, and they all helped Daks prep to take what they were going to sell of it to town. Then once again, Ora and Daks left for Cyndrillen.

  That night at dinner, Alf spoke up. “Prim?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you enjoy Daks’ company?”

  Prim chuckled. “Yes? Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

  “Are you fond of him?” Sandy asked.

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Well,” Alf said, “Daks had told us when you first started staying here, that you’d be here through the winter. And now, you’ve been staying with him for nearly a year.”

  “You think I’ve overstayed my welcome?”

  “No, no!” Alf said. “That’s just it—you all seem like you’re getting on very well. Daks is happy, Ora is happy, you seem happy. We wondered…if you’re planning to stay?”

  “Do you think you’ll marry?”

  Alf elbowed Sandy.

  Prim choked on the stew. It took a moment for her to recover. “Marry? Did Daks say that?”

  Alf said, “No. We were afraid to ask him. But you all get along so well, so we’d just been wondering. You sleep in his bed…”

  “Oh! I sleep alone. You know he always sleeps on the sofa. He doesn’t like going in that room.”

  “Because of Quin, yes. I just mean he feels comfortable enough with you to allow you to stay in there. He must trust you.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose. But he’s never said anything about marriage. I assumed he thinks of me as a younger sister.”

  Sandy snickered and Alf elbowed him again.

  “Does he think of me differently than that?” Prim hadn’t considered that Daks would think of her for a possible wife. Besides, he was obviously still grieving his wife. But she had had the passing thought that if she were to ever have children, he would be a wonderful father. He was a welcome presence—strong but sweet.

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  “He hasn’t said anything to us, but we see how he looks at you sometimes. He is always saying good things about you. We haven’t wanted to say anything to him since we don’t know if he’d be upset given Quin…It’s a delicate situation, atcha?”

  Prim nodded.

  “But are you interested in…marriage?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Alf and Sandy both looked down, dejected.

  “I think he is wonderful, and I very much enjoy his company…And I love Ora, too. She’s my heart. It’s just I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to…if I can…marry? Or if he’d want me? It’s complicated.”

  “I see,” Alf said.

  It didn’t come up again.

  Prim sat before the fireplace later that evening after the boys had gone to the barn. She was drawing the front of house from memory. The bricks, the chimney, the path to the front door. She drew a little chicken out front.

  Dread suddenly filled her stomach. Marriage. She shook her head. She needed that thought out of her head. Daks tolerated her for sure and even seemed to enjoy her company. He appreciated her help with Ora and the farm. But surely, he had no romantic intentions towards her, especially marriage. That couldn’t be.

  She didn’t deserve that kind of happiness. Not after what she had done.

  The guilt flooded back in full. She felt like she’d drown. She slid to the floor and dropped her head into her arms. Closing her eyes, she once again saw Pepin running up towards her with that questioning look in his eyes.

  When Daks and Ora returned, the boys returned to the Shogg farm with their portion of the harvest to retrieve their family for the First Harvest celebration in a couple days.

  Daks had brought back several things for Prim—a box of thumbtacks (“for you to hang your drawings if you’d like”), a new pair of brown laced-up boots, some sweet munchings, a chemise, a bodice made from purple flower-patterned fabric, and even a green glass bottle of sweet perfume. Though she’d never had any siblings, it seemed far-fetched to think a brother would give some of these gifts to his sister…

  But neither Prim nor Daks said a word about the nature of these gifts. They had to prepare for the First Harvest. The entire Shogg family would arrive soon—Daks’ aunt, uncle, and all six of his cousins.

  The Shogg family arrived in two carts like a happy disaster. The three girls and the aunt were all singing about the First Harvest—the lyrics were impossible to make out in the cacophony. Meanwhile, the boys were all cackling and shouting nonsense. Nearly all the children had their mother’s round nose, freckles, and auburn hair but for Alf who favored his father. Most of them had their father’s slim build, but for the youngest girl—Brenne—who had not yet begun her ascent into womanhood.

  Daks introduced Prim to the rest of the family who greeted her warmly, and they all went inside.

  The Shoggs stayed at the farm for several days to celebrate First Harvest. There was eating and dancing and merriment. Everyone was kind to Prim, and she tried to get to know them all. She discovered Alf was just like his father in his responsible and practical demeanor. Prim even befriended Daks’ Aunt Edmey and the oldest girl, Ofellie. It was such a foreign experience: seeing a real family and its different dynamics. So many personalities with their similarities and differences but working together euphoniously. And Daks and Ora fit into that euphony seamlessly. This family even treated Prim like she belonged.

  Prim kept pushing down the feeling that she didn’t belong. This was such a good, wholesome group of people. They didn’t know what kind of person she really was. She couldn’t believe Daks would have told them about what she had done because they wouldn’t be here if he had.

  One afternoon, the day before the Shoggs were to return home, Prim came downstairs to help Aunt Edmey and Ofellie prepare lunch. The two of them were standing before the stove, Ofellie stirring a pot.

  Prim was about to announce her presence when Ofellie said, “Do you think they have a plan? Why is she still here if he has no intentions to marry her? Why did she come here in the first place? Has Daidi talked to him about it?”

  “I’m not sure what is going on with them,” Edmey said with a sigh. “It’s a conundrum. No, Daidi hasn’t talked with Daks about it. I don’t think he will unless she’s still here next year in the same situation. Alf said Daks said that they found her in the chicken cype one morning, and she’s just been here ever since. But there’s no word on any possible wedding. Daks isn’t offering up any details, as usual.”

  “So they don’t know where she came from or anything?” Ofellie sipped a little off the wooden spoon before dipping it back in the pot to continue stirring. “It seems unwise to keep her here with Rae-Rae.”

  “That it does.”

  “She seems nice, but this strange arrangement makes me uneasy.”

  “Wakeman knows.”

  Ofellie echoed her mother: “Wakeman knows.”

  The darkness started to break through cracks in Prim’s mind. It threatened to burst out and flood her. She swiftly and silently went back up to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She sat on the bed. She was breathing too much. Slow down, slow down. She rocked back and forth. Stop it. Stop it.

  They would find out. They would find out, and they would hate her. And they’d take her to town, and she would be hanged on that damn Dead Tree. She imagined Ora and Daks staring up at her in horror as the rope tightened around her neck, and the world went black.

  “Prim?” Ofellie’s voice.

  Prim forced the word to form: “Yes?”

  “Lunch is ready.”

  “I’m…feeling ill…don’t think I’ll be down.”

  “I can bring some up for you.”

  How were all Daks’ relatives so damn kind? “No, thank you. I think I’m just going to rest.”

  “Mayhaps you should open a window. The fresh air always helps when I feel nauseous.”

  “Thank you, Ofellie.”

  “Feel better, Prim.”

  “Thank you.”

  That night, Prim switched her time between a curled-up position on the bed, contemplating every horrible thing she could think of, and drawing until her hand hurt. She drew eyes—so many eyes—and chickens and the cype and horses and cows; she drew Aiglentine standing in the kitchen, her back to Prim; she drew Pepin’s unblemished little face, full of freckles; she drew Ora’s little fair face; she drew Daks’ bearded face with his kind eyes; she drew the kitchen knife from the night she killed Aiglentine; she drew the spice cake Mildred used to make for her. She drew Scur’s thin and weathered face with a faint smile.