THE RAIN STOPPED AS NICK TURNED INTO the road that went up through the orchard. The
fruit had been picked and the fall wind blew through the bare trees. Nick stopped and picked up a
Wagner apple from beside the road, shiny in the brown grass from the rain. He put the apple in the
pocket of his Mackinaw coat.
The road came out of the orchard on to the top of the hill. There was the cottage, the porch bare,
smoke coming from the chimney. In back was the garage, the chicken coop and the second-growth
timber like a hedge against the woods behind. The big trees swayed far over in the wind as he
watched. It was the first of the autumn storms.