I move Randy to the square table beside my bed so if I wake up in the night I can reach out to touch him. The lamp's switch is black plastic and turns like a key. I used to have one like it. The sheets are cold and white and the wool blanket smells like mothballs.
Under the blankets I try to sleep. The moon shines through the window and the shadows breathe. I can hear animals scratching somewhere but I cannot see them. Crickets outside are also breathing together. I can almost not believe how lucky we are and at the same time we do not feel like us at all. The face of my watch glows round but I cannot see the hands right. Has an hour passed? Two hours? I open the covers with a slap and set my bare feet on the ridges of the rug. I step across it and across the cold linoleum of the bathroom, into the darker hall. I open the door and step through into Father's room where the air is clearer to see.
"Is it all right?" I say, caught between the door and the bed.
"Oh, girl," Father says, just holding up the sheet and blanket so I can slide underneath. "I was going to come in there," he says, his mouth close to my ear. "We can't do every single thing the way they want us to. That's how we are."
"We're smarter than they are," I say.
"Yes," he says, "but we have to be smart enough so they don't know that."
"So they can think they're smarter?"
"Exactly," he says.
My breath slows now. Father's hairy legs are soft against mine under the covers. Through all the new smells he still smells like himself and lying still like this we feel like ourselves again. When he shifts the blankets his bracelets clink together and I am happy to hear the sound.
"I couldn't sleep either," he says. "I couldn't hardly sleep at all, these last five days. I'm sorry." He kisses my forehead. "I'm so sorry, Caroline. It's all my fault," he says. "We stayed in the last camp too long, but it was such a good one, I thought."
I don't say anything but I think of my shirt in the tree's branches, that I took off to look at my body and that the runner saw so that our house was found and we were caught.
Father isn't in bed when I wake up. He is looking out the window looking at the sky. He is not standing in front of the window but next to it so someone outside wouldn't see him there.
"What is it?" I say.
"Nothing," he says. "Good morning, Caroline. Aren't you curious what's been provided for our breakfast?"
We have not only real milk but real orange juice at breakfast. Cold cereal named Cheerios and Chex.
"Can you believe all this is ours?" I say. "This whole house."
"To keep bright the devil's doorknobs and scour his tubs," Father says. "Better not to keep a house."
"What?" I say, and then there's a knocking. It's Mr. Walters.
"Good morning," he says, opening the door. "Don't mean to interrupt your breakfast."
"Not at all." Father stands and walks to the doorway.
"I know from reading about you in the paper that you have your particular ways," Mr. Walters says, "and I don't want to cause any discomfort."
"We're just finishing," Father says. "What do you have planned for us today?"
"I was hoping you could take the tractor down to the south pasture," Mr. Walters says, "and drag some brush out from around the water tank. I'll show you where I'm talking about."
"I'd rather work with the horses," Father says. "Down in the stables."
"Yes, but I'd rather you not work down there. Mostly it's the ladies who come to see their horses and to ride. They're used to things being a certain way. They're wealthy ladies, mostly."
"I won't even talk to them," Father says. "I won't look at them. I'd just rather not drive the tractors or trucks."
"What are you," Mr. Walters says, "some kind of Mennonite? Or do you not know how?"
"No, I'm not," Father says, "and I do know how."
"Remember," Mr. Walters says, "I'm doing you a favor here. Things could go a really different way if you don't want to cooperate."
It's quiet for a little while. I can see blue sky around Father's head where he stands in the open doorway. A cloud disappears behind his shoulders. I cannot see Mr. Walters at all.
"Okay," Father says. "I don't forget how you're putting yourself out for us. Tractors, trucks, snowplows, whatever. I can drive them all."
From that first day Mr. Walters is trying to separate us, saying I don't have to be so close to Father while he works, that I'll get in the way, that it's dangerous. Still I stay close. I play in the long grass. I climb trees and watch Father work and it is not dangerous and I do not get in the way. I help him. We move manure. We fix window screens. We rub saddles and bridles with saddle soap until they shine and my fingers are sticky for days. We stretch the barbed-wire fences tighter and mend where the wire is broken. My arms are lined with scabs and my jeans are snagged from the barbs.