After changing out of her church clothes and helping cook noon dinner, after the table was cleared and the dishes washed and put away, Sabra went to the high pasture above the parkway to watch the cars pass. She had done it as long as she could remember. In past years her brother, Jeffrey, tagged along. They would choose any state except North Carolina and wait to see which car tag went by first. Jeffrey always picked Tennessee or Florida, so he most always won. Jeffrey had tired of the game years ago, so now Sabra went alone. A girl near sixteen is too old for such nonsense, her mother had said in June, but Sabra kept coming. Sunday afternoon was her only free time and she’d spend it however she liked.
She heard the truck’s engine and looked down at the farmhouse. Her parents and Jeffrey were headed to Boone for an ice cream and then on to Valle Crucis to visit Aunt Corrie for news about Sabra’s first cousin Jim, who was in Vietnam. They’d be back around six, but before then Sabra would need to start supper. Dust billowed behind the pickup until the county road dead-ended at a gray wooden sign that said BLUE RIDGE PARKWAY. The truck turned left, passed the pull-off and its picnic table, and disappeared. Sabra sat down and pulled her knees to her chest. Cars went by in a steady procession, which was no surprise, since it was two days before the Fourth.
One tag blurred into the next, but Sabra always knew the state. A few were tricky, especially North Carolina and Tennessee, which were white with black letters and numbers, but even then she could tell them apart. But Sabra hardly paid those any mind. It was the far places like New Mexico or California or Alaska, whose tags had blues and golds and reds in them, that she looked for.
Each time one passed she imagined what it would be like to live there instead of a gloomy farm where days dripped by slow as molasses and she did the same thing all week beginning at daylight milking a cow and ending at night putting up the supper dishes. Even Sundays, the best day, since her father didn’t make her and Jeffrey do farm work, mornings were spent hearing about the world’s wickedness, how everything from drive-in theaters to rock music was the devil’s doing.
Once September came and school started back up, things wouldn’t be much better. Sheila Blankenship, Sabra’s best friend since third grade, had quit school in May to get married. There would still be afternoon and weekend chores, including, come fall, harvesting the tobacco, the hardest and nastiest job there was. Resin not even Lava soap got off would stain her hands and gum her hair, have to be cut out with scissors. Sabra had seen thirty-seven states when the minibus lurched into view. Flowers of different sizes and colors had been painted on the sides and top. On the back window, in large purple letters, were the words THE MAGIC BUS. The minibus made it to the pull-off and sputtered to a halt.
Two women got out. The taller one opened the hood and both women disappeared as steam billowed out. When the haze cleared, they and the minibus were still there. The radiator would need water, Sabra knew. She hesitated only a few moments before she stood and dusted off her blue jeans, walked down to the house, and took a milk pail from the porch.
As she came down the slope onto parkway land, Sabra saw that it wasn’t two women but a woman and a man, both with long hair. The woman, who didn’t look much older than Sabra, wore a loose-fitting brown dress made of soft leather. She wore no bra or makeup, but her neck was adorned with strands of beads. The man was older. He wore a red bandanna, ragged blue jeans, and a green army shirt with cutoff sleeves. A button pinned on the shirt’s lapel said “Feed Your Head.” He’d not used a razor for a while. Hippies, that’s what they were called, though her father used worse names when he saw them on TV. Sabra stopped at the edge of the pull-off.
They were both barefoot but this hadn’t stopped the woman from wandering into a blackberry patch, her fingers stained by berries she dropped in a paper cup. The woman hummed to herself as she moved to another bush. The man stood beside the minibus.
“You ain’t supposed to pick them,” Sabra said. The woman turned and smiled.
“Why not?” she asked softly.
“The park ranger says because it’s federal land.”
“That’s all the more reason we should be able to pick them,” the man said, looking at her now. “This land belongs to the people.”
Like the woman’s voice, his voice had a flatness about it, like the newsmen on TV. Sabra shifted the milk pail to her other hand.
“I’m just saying it so you’ll know,” she said. “That ranger comes by most every hour.”
A station wagon passing the picnic area sign flicked on its turn signal, slowed, then sped up. Children’s faces crowded the backseat’s passenger window, their eyes wide.
“Better than seeing a bear, scarier too, at least for Mom and Pop,” the man said, watching the station wagon disappear around a curve.
The woman came out of the blackberry patch and offered the cup to Sabra.
“Have some,” she said.
“You can come closer, we’re harmless,” the man said, and walked over to stand beside the woman. “Like the song says, we’re just groovin’ on a Sunday afternoon.”
“Okay,” Sabra said, and stepped nearer.
The woman shook five berries into Sabra’s free hand, did the same for the man. The berries were full ripe and their juice sweetened Sabra’s mouth.
“My name is Wendy,” the woman said when they’d eaten the berries, “and this is Thomas.”
“I’m Sabra, Sabra Norris. I live across the ridge.”
“Sabra, what a beautiful name,” Wendy said.
“Very exotic sounding,” the man said.
“Anyway,” Sabra said. “I figured you to need this pail. There’s a creek yonder side of the parkway.”
“Where?” Thomas asked, taking the pail. Sabra pointed to a stand of birch trees.
“That’s kind of you,” Wendy said. “The best thing about being on the road is meeting so much love and goodness.”
Thomas crossed the parkway and went into the woods. Wendy sat on the pull-off’s curb, motioned for Sabra to join her.
“My cousin Jim is in the army,” Sabra said. “Was Thomas?”
Wendy looked puzzled.
“Oh, you mean his shirt?”
“Yes,” Sabra said.
“No, Thomas is into peace, not war.”
“He must have got a high lottery number,” Sabra said. “Jim’s was thirty-two.”
“Thomas is thirty years old,” Wendy said, “so he was before the lottery. They still had a draft but he didn’t get picked. Is your cousin in Vietnam?”
“Yes,” Sabra said.
“Why wasn’t he a conscientious objector?” Wendy asked.
“What’s that?”
“It means you don’t believe in hurting other people, especially in a war we shouldn’t be in.”
“I guess Jim figured it his duty,” Sabra said, “same as when Uncle Jesse went to World War Two and my daddy went to Korea.”
“Well, I hope we get out of Vietnam soon,” Wendy said. “That way your cousin and all the rest can come home.”
A car hauling a silver trailer went by, a line of cars behind it. Several drivers stared as they passed. Probably figure I’m with Wendy and the bus, Sabra thought. The notion pleased her, and she wished that she wasn’t wearing a checked two-pocket cowgirl shirt.
“He must miss being away from this place,” Wendy said. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“It’s not always so pretty,” Sabra answered. “Lots of times there’s fog so thick it feels like you’re being smothered, and the rain can last for days. Summer’s the only time you get days like this.”
“San Francisco’s like that too,” Wendy said, “but I love those gray days. It’s like the world wraps a soft blanket around the city. It makes you feel cozy, safe and snug. On mornings like that Thomas and I will stay in bed half the day.”
Sabra glanced at Wendy’s left hand.
“Have you known Thomas a long time?”
“A year come this September,” Wendy said.
“How did you meet?”
“My first semester of college I took a long walk one Sunday, just to see the city. It was obvious I didn’t know my way around. Thomas came up to me and volunteered to be my guide.”
“So you didn’t grow up there?”
“Missouri.”
“Do you still go to college?” Sabra asked.
“No,” Wendy said. “I’m learning a lot more from being with Thomas.”
“Like what?”
“How people need to do things instead of just talking about doing them. Like this trip. One day Thomas said we should do it and two hours later we were on the road.”
Thomas came out of the woods, the pail in his right hand. As he crossed, water sloshed over the rim, darkened the parkway’s gray asphalt.
“You need help, babe?” Wendy asked, shifting her hands to rise from the curb, but Thomas shook his head.
“I’ve never gone anywhere,” Sabra said. “The only time I’ve even been out of North Carolina was a school trip to Knoxville.”
“Your family never goes on vacations?” Wendy asked.
“Me and my brother, Jeffrey, have been begging to go to Florida long as I can remember,” Sabra said, “but my parents say we don’t have the money.”
“You don’t need money, not much at least,” Wendy said. “Thomas and I had fifty dollars when we left San Francisco six weeks ago.”
“But how do you eat, or buy gas?”
“You share things,” Wendy said, and touched the beads on her neck. “I make some of these every day. People give me money for them, or food, even gas. Thomas, he has things to share too.”
Sabra looked west toward Grandfather Mountain. The sun had settled on the summit where, like a fishing bobber, it waited to be tugged under. Her parents and Jeffrey had probably already left Aunt Corrie’s. Time to head back across the pasture, but Sabra didn’t want to. She wished the bus had come earlier, right after her family left.
Thomas slammed the hood shut and walked over to the curb but did not sit down. He held the pail out to Sabra and she rose from the curb to take it. Wendy got up too and Thomas wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her on the brow.
“We’re good to go, baby,” he said.
“But it’s so nice here,” Wendy said. “Let’s stay for the night.”
“A nice place it is,” Thomas answered, “but what about food, my lady?”
“We have enough bread and peanut butter left for a sandwich.”
Thomas groaned.
“We’ve got eighteen dollars. I was thinking we could stop in Boone and get a real meal.”
“I can get you a real meal,” Sabra said, “and it won’t cost you anything.”
“What a kind thing for you to offer,” Wendy said.
“What about your parents?” Thomas asked. “They might not like your doing that for strangers, especially ones who look like us.”
“I won’t let them know,” Sabra said. “They go to bed soon as it gets dark. You can have chicken, green beans, and corn bread, and I’ll make some potato salad. I can bring you fresh milk too.”
“That’s worth waiting a few hours for,” Thomas said.
“But you’d have to bring it all here,” Wendy said, “and in the dark.”
“You could meet me in the barn,” Sabra said. “I can show you where it is. Once it starts to get near dark, you can come there.”
“How will we get back here?” Thomas said. “We don’t have a flashlight.”
“I’ll get one you can use, or you can spend the night in the barn. Come morning, I’m the one that does the milking.”
“We like being outside and seeing the stars,” Thomas said, “but the food part, that sounds good.”
“Are you sure it will be okay?” Wendy asked.
“I really want to,” Sabra answered. “Like you said, it’s good to share what you have.”
Smiling, Wendy reached out and touched Sabra’s cheek, let the hand stay a few moments. Sabra felt the warmth in the hand.
“You would love San Francisco, Sabra,” Wendy said, “and it would love you.”
There was only time to make the potato salad before Sabra’s family returned. Jeffrey rushed in, grabbed his ball glove, and ran back outside as her parents entered the house.
“You go visiting and that boy gets like a coiled spring,” Sabra’s mother said.
“That’s how a twelve-year-old boy should act,” her father said. “I’d not want a son who acted different.”
They could hear the ball thumping against the woodshed now.
“Dammit, that reminds me,” her father said. “I need to fill the spray tanks for tomorrow.”
He went back out the door. The ball stopped thumping for a few moments, then resumed. Her mother came into the kitchen and put on an apron.
“You look to have been dawdling, girl.”
“I decided to make potato salad,” Sabra said. “It took longer than I thought.”
“Well, nothing to fret over,” her mother said. “That ice cream will keep your daddy and brother from getting cranky.”
While her mother floured and fried the chicken, Sabra put the beans on, mixed the corn bread, and placed it in the oven.
“How’s Aunt Corrie?” Sabra asked.
“Fine except she’s got this notion that Jim won’t come home alive.”
“Why does she think that?”
“Because of that second boy from Valle Crucis getting killed over there,” her mother said. “Death always comes in threes, that’s what she told your daddy and me.”
Sabra grimaced.
“What is that look for?” her mother asked.
“It just seems everyone around here always expects the worst,” Sabra said.
“I don’t know that to be true,” her mother said. “Anybody would have worries if their child was over there.”
“Jim doesn’t have to be there,” Sabra said softly. “He could tell the army he’s not wanting to fight anymore. He could be a conscientious objector.”
Her mother stopped forking the fried chicken onto paper towels.
“Lord, girl, don’t let your daddy hear you talk like that. You know how he gets just hearing about such things on the news. No need for his own daughter to rile him up more, especially when he’s been extra sweet to you today.”
“How?” Sabra asked.
“Your birthday present,” her mother said. “I’m letting the cat out of the bag, but it’s only five more days so I’ll tell you. We went by Kmart and bought that record player you’ve been wanting.”
“But you said it was too expensive,” Sabra said.
“Your daddy argued we should figure in a couple of dollars for all the ice cream you’ve missed this summer. Anyway, it looks to be a good year for us. All that June rain will get us through this dry spell. We’ll have that barn filled with hay and curing tobacco come fall.”
Sabra’s mother poured the last of the grease into an old coffee can, turned, and smiled.
“See, that’s not expecting the worst, is it?”
“No, I guess not,” Sabra said.
“Then put a smile on your face and call your daddy and brother in to eat, and don’t let on you know about that record player. He wanted it to be a surprise.”
Once all the farmhouse lights were out, Sabra took the flashlight from under her pillow. She took off her bra and put on an orange T-shirt with TENNESSEE on the front, quietly made her way to the kitchen, and filled a grocery bag. How she’d explain the missing food tomorrow, Sabra did not know. Probably won’t need to explain it, she told herself, but I’m at least going to go see.
Sabra eased out the front door and headed to the barn, the porch’s bare bulb, and habit, guiding her. She was almost to the barn mouth when she saw the small orange glow, thought it a lightning bug until she turned on the flashlight. Thomas sat on the barn floor, his back against a stable door. Wendy sat a few feet away. A bright-yellow backpack lay between them.
“Daddy don’t allow lit cigarettes in the barn,” Sabra said.
Thomas smiled.
“Well, it’s not a cigarette, at least the kind he’s thinking about.”
The orange tip glowed as Thomas inhaled. After a few moments, he pursed his lips and let the smoke whisper out of his mouth. He passed what was in his hand to Wendy, who did the same thing.
“You ever smoked a joint?” Thomas asked.
Sabra shook her head and looked back toward the farmhouse. If the marijuana’s odor lingered long enough, her father would smell it. It won’t, Sabra told herself. You’re just thinking the worst.
“You don’t look like you much approve of it,” Thomas said.
“I’ve heard what it does to you.”
“Good things or bad?” Thomas asked, and took the joint from Wendy.
“Bad,” Sabra said.
Thomas exhaled again, let the smoke haze the air between them.
“And who told you that?”
“My health teacher,” Sabra said.
Thomas raised the joint and made a slow swirling motion as if writing something in the air.
“You think he’s ever gotten stoned?”
Sabra tried to imagine gray-haired Mr. Borders, who was a church deacon and didn’t even smoke cigarettes, inhaling and holding the marijuana smoke in his lungs, letting it out slow like Thomas and Wendy did.
“No,” Sabra said.
“Then he doesn’t know, does he?” Thomas said.
“I guess not,” Sabra said, freeing a horse blanket from a nail.
The joint was just a stub now, hardly enough left to hold. Thomas brought it to his mouth a last time and laid what was left on his pants leg, rubbed it into the cloth with his palm.
“All gone,” he said, raising the hand.
Sabra set down the grocery bag on the horse blanket, positioned the flashlight to cast the light before them. She took out two forks and two paper plates, then the Tupperware bowl and quart jar of milk.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t heat it up for you,” Sabra said, “and I didn’t bring cups.”
Thomas placed corn bread and chicken on his plate, forked out some potato salad. He took a big bite out of the chicken.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said, and pointed his fork at Wendy. “You had better dig in now or there will be nothing left.”
“What about you, Sabra?” Wendy asked.
“I ate plenty at supper,” Sabra said. “I didn’t have room for cups, but I figured you’d not mind about that.”
Though some milk remained in the jar, the Tupperware bowl was soon empty except for a few bones.
“The radiator boiling over was the best thing that could have happened,” he said.
“It was,” Wendy agreed. “We’d have passed right by and never known a new friend was just over the hill.”
“Maybe it was meant to be,” Thomas said, meeting Sabra’s eyes. “Things happen for a reason. What’s that quote you like so much, Wendy, the one about destiny?”
“We don’t find our destiny, it finds us,” Wendy answered.
“I believe that,” Thomas said, still looking at Sabra. “Don’t you?”
“I guess so,” Sabra said.
Thomas settled his head against the stall door, his eyes half closed. Wendy opened the backpack and brought out a strand of beads like the ones she wore and gave it to Sabra.
“I made these for you while we waited.”
“They’re as pretty as anything I’ve ever seen, even a rainbow,” Sabra said. “Thank you so much.”
She held the beads in both hands, slowly stretched the elastic, and let them tighten around her neck.
“Do they look good on me?” Sabra asked.
“They look divine, but two strands would look even better,” Wendy said. “You want to make one yourself? It’s easy.”
“Okay.”
Sabra moved closer, crossed her legs the same way Wendy did. Wendy set a spool of elastic and a plastic bag of beads between them. Sabra picked up a piece of string, watched Wendy tie a double-knot an inch from one end and did the same. She began sifting beads from the plastic bag, trying to find one of each color.
“You can do it that way,” Wendy said, “but it’s better if you let the colors surprise you, like this.”
Wendy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single green bead. She placed it on the string and, again without looking, brought up an orange one. Sabra did the same thing.
“They do look prettier this way,” Sabra said when she’d finished. “I guess people do this all the time in San Francisco, make things I mean.”
Wendy smiled.
“They do.”
“What else do they do there?” Sabra asked.
“Sing and dance, look after each other, love each other.”
“Get stoned,” Thomas said, his eyes fully open now. He laid a hand on Wendy’s thigh, caressed it a moment, and removed his hand. “Make love, not war.”
“And everybody’s young,” Wendy said. “You have to go there to believe it.”
“I want to go there someday,” Sabra said.
“Then one day you will,” Wendy said, “and once you get there, you will never want to leave.”
“Well, when I do,” Sabra said, “the first people I’ll look for are you all.”
“Of course,” Wendy said. “You can stay with us until you find a pad of your own, can’t she, Thomas?”
“Sure,” Thomas said, “but why wait when you can hitch a ride on the magic bus.”
At first Sabra thought Thomas was joking, but he wasn’t grinning or even cracking a smile. Wendy wasn’t grinning either. Sabra thought about what it would be like once Thomas and Wendy left. She’d see no one near her age until Sunday. But even then it would be the same people and they’d be talking about the same things and in the same way.
“You mean go with you?” Sabra asked. “Tomorrow, I mean?”
“Tomorrow or even tonight,” Thomas said.
“I would like to go with you,” Sabra said softly, wanting to pretend a bit longer that she actually might.
“You would be welcome,” Wendy said, “but it might be better if you waited awhile. I mean, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
Thomas looked at Wendy.
“Hell, you were just a year older when I found you. A lot of girls out there are as young or younger. This is what it’s all about, babe, being free while you’re young enough to realize what freedom is.”
“I guess so,” Wendy said.
Thomas nodded at the strand of beads coiled in Sabra’s palm.
“Why don’t you try them on,” he said.
Sabra slipped the beads over her head, tugged at them so they settled next to the other strand. She thought about what her father would say if he saw them on her. Or her mother, she’d not like them either. Thomas sifted more marijuana onto the smoking papers, twisted the ends.
“What’s it really like then?” Sabra asked. “The marijuana, I mean?”
“Like dreaming, except you’re awake,” Thomas said.
“But only good dreams,” Wendy added, “the kind you want to have.”
“But it doesn’t hurt you?” Sabra asked, looking at Wendy.
“No,” Wendy said. “It helps heal you, makes the bad things go away.”
Thomas lit the joint and held it out to Sabra.
“You can try it if you like, or I’ve got some serious mind candy.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an aspirin bottle, the label half torn away. Inside were round pink tablets mixed with blue and red capsules the shape of .22 shorts. Sabra took the joint.
“Breathe in and hold it in your lungs as long as you can,” Thomas said.
“Not too long at first,” Wendy cautioned, “because it will make you cough.”
Sabra did what they said, stifled a cough, and handed the joint back to Thomas, who took two quick draws, exhaled.
They’d passed the joint around twice more before Thomas reached out his free hand, twined a portion of Wendy’s hair around a finger. He pulled his finger back slowly, hair tugging the scalp a moment before he let the hair slip free.
“Come here, baby.”
Thomas inhaled and Wendy moved closer, let the smoke funnel into her mouth.
“Now you,” Thomas said.
When Sabra didn’t move, he slid over to her.
“Open your mouth,” Thomas said.
She shut her eyes, did what he asked, felt his warm smoky breath in her throat and lungs. As Thomas’s breath expired, his lips brushed hers. Thomas pushed himself back against the stall door, took a long final draw, and rubbed the residue into his jeans. Wendy covered her face with both hands. She giggled, then lifted her hands to reveal a wide grin.
“I am soo stoned.”
“I told you it was good shit,” Thomas said.
“It is good,” Sabra agreed, though she felt no difference except a dryness in the throat.
“If we had brought the transistor we could dance,” Wendy said.
“I doubt they play much Quicksilver or Dead around here, baby,” Thomas said. “Motown either.”
Sabra thought of the record player, but even if she’d had some 45s there’d be no place to plug it in.
Wendy’s face brightened.
“I can hum songs, though. That will be almost as good. I’ll be like a jukebox and play anything we want.”
Wendy moved the flashlight so that it shone toward the barn’s center. She stood and placed a hand around Thomas’s upper arm.
“Come on,” she said.
Thomas got up and Wendy pressed her head against his chest.
“What song do you want, babe?”
“‘White Rabbit,’” Thomas said.
Wendy began to hum and she and Thomas swayed side to side, their feet barely moving. Sabra wished she had some water for her parched throat. She was reaching for the milk when it happened. Thomas and Wendy, the barn, the night itself slid back a ways and then returned, except everything felt off plumb. For a few moments all Sabra felt was panic.
She closed her eyes and tried to block out everything except Wendy’s humming. Soon the humming seemed as much inside of her as outside. Sabra felt it even in her fingertips, a pleasant tingling. When she opened her eyes, it did feel like a dream, a warm good dream. She watched Thomas and Wendy dance, holding each other so close together. They were in love and not afraid to show it. Never had anything so beautiful, so wondrous, ever happened on this farm. Never. Wendy stopped humming but still pressed her head against Thomas’s chest.
“What song now?” Wendy asked.
“I don’t care,” Thomas said, “but Sabra should get a dance too.”
“Yes,” Wendy agreed.
“I don’t think I can,” Sabra said. “I’m dizzy.”
Thomas went over and helped Sabra to her feet, steadied her a moment, and led her to the barn’s center.
“What song do you want, Sabra?” Wendy asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “You pick one.”
“I’ll do ‘Both Sides Now,’” Wendy said. “It’s a pretty song.”
Wendy sat by the stall door and began to hum. Thomas put his arm around Sabra’s waist and pulled her close. She let her head lie against his chest like Wendy had. A few times she and Sheila had pretended to dance, copying couples on television who glided across ballrooms, but this was easier. You just leaned into each other and moved your feet a little. A part of her seemed to watch from somewhere else as she and Thomas danced, close yet far away at the same time. She could smell Thomas, musky but not so bad. He leaned his face closer to hers.
“Someone as lovely as you has to have a boyfriend.”
“No,” Sabra said, not adding that her parents wouldn’t allow her to date yet.
“I find that hard to believe,” Thomas said, “just as hard to believe that you’re really seventeen. How old are you, really?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sweet sixteen,” Thomas said. “That’s old enough.”
He placed his free hand against her back, brought Sabra even closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. The hand on her waist resettled where spine and hip met, all of her pressed into him now. She could feel him through the denim. Their feet no longer moved and only their hips swayed. Sabra looked over at Wendy, whose eyes were closed as she hummed the last few notes.
“What song do you two want next?” Wendy asked.
Sabra slipped free of Thomas’s embrace. The barn wobbled a few moments and she had to stare at her sneakers, the straw and dirt under them, to keep her balance. When the barn resettled it had shrunk, especially the barn mouth.
“It’s your turn, Wendy,” Sabra said.
Wendy opened her eyes.
“I’ve had him all day, so you get him now.”
Thomas settled a hand on Sabra’s upper arm.
“Wendy doesn’t mind sharing,” he said.
“I’m dizzy,” Sabra said, “too dizzy to dance anymore.”
Thomas nodded, let his hand slide down her inner arm, his fingers brushing over her palm.
“That’s fine,” Thomas said. “The first time you do things, it’s always a bit scary. It was the same for Wendy.”
“So another dance with me, baby?” Wendy asked. “Or is it time to unplug the jukebox?”
“Time to unplug the jukebox,” Thomas said. “Time to get back on the road.”
“I thought you were staying until morning,” Sabra said.
“This bus has no set schedule,” Thomas said. “When it comes by, you either get on board or you’re left behind.”
Wendy put the elastic and beads in the backpack and tightened the straps. She stood up, a bit unsteadily, and walked over to the barn mouth.
“So,” Thomas said, staring at Sabra, “ready to get on the bus?”
“I want to go, it’s just . . .” Sabra paused. “I mean, I was thinking maybe you could give me your address, or a phone number. That way I can find you.”
“But you’re coming,” Thomas said, locking his eyes on hers. “It’s just that you’re not sure you should leave tonight.”
“Yes,” Sabra said. “That’s what I mean.”
“The moon has turned sideways and is making a smiley face,” Wendy said, “really and truly.”
Thomas picked up the flashlight and leaned against a stall. He let the beam shine on the floor between him and Sabra. She could barely make out his face.
“Sometimes if you’re chained,” Thomas said, “other people have to set you free.”
“I’m not chained,” Sabra said.
“If that were true, you’d leave right now,” Thomas said. “I can teach every part of you how to be free, your mind and your body.”
“I’ve got to go,” Sabra said. A match flared. Thomas slowly lowered the match into the stall. His hand came back up empty.
“Like I said, sometimes it takes someone else to set you free.”
“That’s not funny,” Sabra said. “I think you need to leave too.”
“Come see the smiley face,” Wendy said.
Sabra heard the fire first, a crackling inside the stall, but she didn’t believe it until she smelled smoke. Flames began licking through the slats. Sabra snatched the horse blanket from the barn floor, was about to the open the stall door when Thomas’s arm stopped her.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to leave.”
“No,” Sabra shouted, and tore herself free.
She opened the stall door and swatted at the flames, but they had already leaped into the next stall. The blanket caught fire and she couldn’t put it out. The fire climbed into the loft and soon Sabra could barely see through the smoke.
She stumbled out of the barn. Smoke wadded like cotton in her lungs and she coughed all the way to the spring trough. The farmhouse lights were on and her father was running toward the barn, Jeffrey and her mother trailing behind. In the high pasture she saw a beam of light pause where the fence was, then move onto parkway land and disappear.
Sabra didn’t know if she had slept or not, but she was awake when the dark in the east began to lighten. Her mother came into her room a few minutes later and told Sabra that barn or no barn, the cow would need to be milked. Sabra got dressed. When she passed through the front room, her father was asleep on the couch, still in his overalls. Soot grimed his face and hands and he smelled of smoke. The black patch where the barn had been yet smoldered, the milk pail nearby, lying on its side. The cow was drinking at the spring trough and looked up as Sabra walked by. She went on past the charred ground and into the high pasture and slipped through the fence.
The bus wasn’t there, but the flashlight was in the grass by the curb. She switched it off and made her way back up the slope and into the high pasture. Below, the cow had left the spring trough and stood by the barn’s ashes, waiting to be milked, not knowing where else to go.