The fence separating the field from the road was old, loosely fitted barbed wire stretched between rotten posts of wood. Courtney hoisted one foot onto the top wire, careful to maintain her balance, and pressed down. It gave with a dull sproing, and she was able to step over the remaining wires.

The dirt gave beneath her feet, much softer than she’d expected. In her memory, Courtney saw Zach standing in front of the picture window, gazing out at the rise in the field. She worked through the loose soil, stumbling with one arm out for balance the other holding her belly. Waves of pain radiated, contractions, she knew, she should be back at the house, calling the hospital, someone, but she continued to stagger to the middle of the field.

When she made the mound, Courtney dropped to the dirt, scooped a handful, and let the small crumbles and clods trickle through her fingers. It was damp, not wet, but damp, and tickled as it fell to the ground. A pungent earthiness, a wholesome smell — not decay or rot, but a rich, dark odor surrounded her. She looked up and noticed a hole, a pit in the earth that had been freshly dug.

“It’s good soil, Court. Good land.”

She tossed the remaining dirt into the hole, and turned. Zach was walking toward her. “Zach?” Her abdomen tightened.

“It’s hungry land.” Zach held out his hand, helping Courtney to her feet. She doubled again, grimacing with another sharp stab of pain. “I’m staying here, Court. In Broughton’s Hollow. Mr. Olson and Mr. Weedeman helped me understand.” He smiled. “I want to be with you…I want you to stay, too.”