*   *   *

The feel of him reminded her of the warm partridge. She looked at the silver sun and knew he had seen it rise.

Once she knew he was dead, she looked in his bag to make sure the things for Alice Maud were there.

She thought of the curly maple bureau in their bedroom. A carved diamond was painted red in the end that showed. There was no diamond in the end against the wall. His wool suit was in the second drawer. It smelled of violets. She unfolded it in her mind, beside his body in the snow.

His hands were like the pair of cups her sister had given her for a wedding present. Chinese porcelain. More watery and transparent than English china. His hands had the look of blue ice with the top just starting to melt. She went over the seams in the suit in her mind, recalling the parts that would need mending. He had a white shirt. There was one moth-hole under the collar. No one would notice it. Shoes. She could buy underpants and socks. But she would have to borrow the shoes. Borrow... she laughed. The snow she knelt on melted through to her knees.

Her own plans flooded in over the space he was leaving. She would take in more mending and sewing. She had had in her mind for some time now to see if Pope's furniture factory needed upholstery done. She knew how to gather grass for filling couches. She knew how to get a fair price for it as well.

She had her garden, and her few hens and Jenny, the milk goat. She and Alice Maud would not want fresh meat as much as William had. There would be nobody to nay-say any plan she chose.

She sniffed the air again, to smell the snow coming. It was miles out to sea now, with sea-wind blowing it around. Iris knew she would mourn later. But here, in the wind from the water, she smelled power and freedom.

Men would come and carry the body out. She took William's bag, and his two frozen hares, and carried them home.