The rain started again, heavier, large drops that struck with a perceptible impact. It would wet them thoroughly in a moment. The waves lapped almost to the gunwales and rocked the boat. Reed throttled down again.

"I used to have to be better than him at everything," he said, as if to himself. "But not anymore, not really. We've picked our fields of expertise, as it were. He's the better farmer. I'm the better man."

"And I, between you, am disappearing into darkness." Chloe faced forward and folded her hands again on her lap.

They didn't speak for the last fifteen minutes of the trip. Reed ran the boat up on shore and tied off to a tree. Chloe let him carry the trunk. Hames's summer house was a small cottage on stilts, surrounded by a wide veranda. The front door stood wide in welcome, though Hames was at the far end of the field riding his harvester. A single lantern hung from the porch rafters, bathing the entrance with a soft yellow glow. They mounted the stairs and sat in the split-cane chairs to the side of the door. Hames saw them. He stopped the harvester and came to meet them. They waited while he trudged through the muddy field, and the rain came heavier and harder.

Hames stopped at the foot of the stairs and stroked his beard, looking at her. Chloe sat straight and rigid, as she had stood on the landing pad. She had buttoned the top button of her dress. Neither of them spoke. Hames grunted softly, then climbed the stairs. He came to her, stood too close to her, and touched the long braid that hung down until its end lay in her lap.

"How long does it take," he said, "to grow hair like that?"

"Nineteen--I mean, three years."

"It's pretty. Well, this is your home, now. No need to wait here like a guest. I've got to finish the harvesting. Too much more rain and the grain'll split its husks. Reed, you show her the house? Help her settle in?"

"Hames," Reed said. "If it hasn't split yet, it won't be split by tomorrow."

Hames snorted. "I didn't make this place by harvesting tomorrow."

"But..."

"But what?" Hames challenged him.

"But it's your business, not mine."

"Mm." He turned and walked back down the stairs.

Reed sighed. "Well, shall I show you inside?"

"No," she said. "I'd rather sit here awhile. Do you have a drink, here? We call it coffee, back on the Old World. Roasted beans steeped in hot water. Do you have something like that?"

"I don't know. There's cone. It's a tuber we roast and steep. Would you like some?"

"Yes. Yes, please. Just make it up the way you usually do, and bring it to me." She sat in her chair, her hands primly folded, but her eyes pleaded. Reed could not resist desperation. "I'll be right back."

It only took him five minutes to boil the water and steep the ground cone. When he brought out the tray with steaming cups and biscuits, she was not on the porch. Her trunk and handbag were also gone. A square track in the mud showed where she had dragged the trunk back down the path to the waterfront.

Reed put the tray down and trotted after her. He wanted to call out but didn't dare. He had an irrational fear she would try to drive away in his boat and overturn it in the middle of the bay, but when he got there she was sitting on her trunk beside his boat. She had changed clothes. She wore a loose cotton shirt and a pair of shorts. She had hacked off her hair just above her shoulders. She was looking at the braid in her hands, still wrapped in the scarf.

"Chloe?"

"Tell me something, Reed." She looked up at him. "This farm of yours, this less-than-perfect farm: could you use help on it?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I said. Another pair of hands, to help you bring in the harvest before the grain splits, seeing as how you're a day behind already, as it is."

Reed didn't say anything.

Chloe lifted the end of the severed braid and brushed it against her nose. "The way I figure it, Gary died because he didn't know what he was doing and didn't have time to learn. But if I worked with you for a year, I might know what I was doing. I'll marry you, if you want, but maybe you don't want to. You believe in love. We both need help, right now."

"I couldn't do that to my brother," Reed said.

"The hell you couldn't. Please don't indulge your guilt. I'm hungry and tired, and I don't want to sit here until tomorrow. Help me get my trunk in your boat, and let's get going."

Reed didn't move.

"What?" she asked.

"You know me too well."

"Just promise me Famine. We'll look at things again when the light of day returns. Help me, Reed. I want to make one last choice while I still can."

"You're going to make a lot more than that, I think." He took hold of the handle at one side of her trunk.