ntrol of herself. Willow resorted to a stream of postcards--maple
trees in October, scenes of the Ashokan Reservoir, and one of the tiny
Old Catholic Church peeping out of the trees. "Father Francis built it
himself with the help of his boys, I mean, acolytes," she wrote. "A
kindly old fraud who presides over his two acres with tottering good
humor, dispensing advice and tea to wanderers. Amber and I went to a
wedding there last week. Lots of flowers. Lousy cake. It's halfway up a
mountain called, 'Overlook.' Love, Willow."

"What would you do?" Amber asked.

"I don't know. I don't think I'm waitress material. I mean, God, I wish
I were. I like food, but I'm too dreamy. I mean, I want to do something
well."

"You don't want to work at night, anyway," Amber said.

"No." When it got dark, Willow would just as soon go to bed with a
book. She was an early riser.

"Go with the flow," Amber said. "Something will turn up."

"I guess." Willow collected the dishes, washed them, and went out to
the porch, to her comfortable bed, a warm safe cave. She undressed and
snuggled into her pillows. Darwin, she thought. She imagined Patrick
aboard H.M.S. Beagle. "Your muffin, Sir." She presented him with a
gorgeous cinnamon apple muffin on a tin plate. "Aye, aye," someone said
as she fell asleep.

In the morning, she went for a walk, gathered wildflowers for the
kitchen table, and mixed a batch of bread, placing it to rise in the
sun, covered with a dishcloth. She made coffee and ate a bagel. Amber
appeared, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She poured herself a cup of
coffee, and they discussed the day's possibilities. Art wanted Amber to
help him prepare a barnwarming party; he had just bought a barn that he
planned to make into a house. Willow was invited. Art was considerate
and rather handsome, Willow conceded. But she thought she'd stay home.
"How are you going to meet people that way?" Amber asked.

"I'm already meeting people," she said. "I'm bored with people."

Amber shook her head. "Do you think I ought to let my hair get longer?
This coffee is so good."

"Long hair is a pain," Willow said dismissively, although she was proud
of hers and brushed it thoroughly every day. "With your body, who needs
distraction?"

"I don't know. I look so--conventional." This was dangerous territory.
Amber was, in fact, conventional. She was a little wild, maybe, but she
was on the pill and she didn't get attached for long; she kept her