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at the boy’s strength, unexpected in one so slight. Bob watched from across the room, silent with his animal way of knowing.
    â€œThey start on their hands and knees,” Billy said after he lowered her to the ground. “Can you do that?”
    She did as he suggested, letting her belly hang. Instantly, she felt a profound relief. Her aching back muscles released and at last she could fully breathe. She rocked side to side, front and back.
    â€œNow, rise up and put your hands so.” Billy Sun demonstrated and Rose did as instructed. He began to massage her back as he had seen the grandmothers do, starting with the strong muscles beneath her shoulder blades, then moving to her spine, working with his thumbs on each vertebrae, separating one from the other, creating space, then working on the knotted muscles of her lower back, stroking and rubbing until he could feel them loosen.
    The child, freed from its muscular prison, finally began to descend. Within a few minutes, a boy, tiny and blue in color, with the umbilicus wrapped around his neck, lay upon the blanket. Billy picked him up, unwound the bloody cord, and gave the babe a sound slap on the back. The baby gasped and released a small mewling cry, no louder than that of a kitten.
    â€œIs he all right?” Rose said, still on her knees, leaning against the wall for support. “Is he breathing?”
    â€œYes, he is breathing.” Billy wrapped the baby in a fresh blanket. “Here, see for yourself.” He offered the child to Rose, who made no move to take him.
    â€œSomething is happening,” she said, and now everything made sense. Another baby was coming. Rose bore down and the child, a girl, emerged. After a moment of stunned silence, she unleashed an indignant howl. She was bigger by several pounds than her brother and a healthy pink in color. Billy Sun wrapped the babies in soft cotton blankets and laid them on the bed, then turned his attention to their mother.
    Rose had collapsed, hot blood flowing from her, surging with each beat of her heart and spreading over the blanket and onto the floor. Though only semiconscious, she understood something was wrong, that there had been some kind of rupture, and one look at Billy’s face confirmed her fears. One of her body’s life-giving rivers had been breached. Maybe Daniel could have saved her, but she thought not. She had come to the end of herself, and sooner than she expected.
    Rose was no longer in pain, and for this at least she was grateful. She was not afraid but felt a deep disappointment and a profound sadness for the people, Harry and these two tiny infants, should they survive, whom she would leave behind. She would be missed, she knew that. Daniel should marry again—she wanted him to—but only to a good woman who would be kind to her children. If only she had thought to tell him so . . .
    As Billy carried her to the bed she experienced a strange heightening of her senses. She saw each fiber of his red and black plaid shirt, smelled the earthy but pleasant scent of his skin, heard her blood dripping onto the puncheon floor. He put Rose on the bed and placed the swaddled twins beside her, one on each side. Harry, still bound to the table leg like a sailor tied to the mast, was awake now and was calling for her.
    Rose, too weak to speak, looked at Billy who understood she wanted to see her firstborn one last time. He hurried to the front room and freed the squalling boy, but by the time they returned, his mother was gone.

Biwi
    Daniel Dixon returned at sundown with two horses tied to the rear of his wagon. All day he’d been looking forward to showing Rose the fine, matched pair, but his excitement evaporated when he saw Nelson Story’s buggy tied to the rail. The busy cattleman wouldn’t come unannounced unless something was wrong. Dixon waited until Story and his wife came out of the house, holding hands. Dixon could see the news on Story’s