He wants to get outside, thought Bill, in case he's sick.
'It is quite a feature,' said Mrs. Baker.
Bill had not noticed the shed. It had been half hidden beside a newer outbuilding made of corrugated iron.
It was a log cabin.
As they approached, a cloud of crickets jumped up from the grass. The cloud swirled, thickened, thinned again, with cries like windup birds. Bill was pelted by them. They flew into him, their wings throbbing against his chest.
'Hello, Mary Ann,' Jonathan whispered to them. 'Hello, Ellery.'
Mrs. Baker affected not to notice. 'This is our storm cellar,' she said. There was a doorway into the ground. It was made of wood, framed with limestone, and along the frame was a line of old stoneware jugs. Jonathan was running his fingers through the leaves of a tree. 'What kind of tree is this?' he asked.
'That's a hackberry bush,' said Mrs. Baker. 'You can't do anything with the fruit, but the birds love them.'
'What kind of birds?'
'Chickadees,' said Mrs. Baker, and she and Jonathan shared a smile.
They walked on, toward the shed. It was tiny, square. A thick limestone chimney rose up one side of it, supporting a vine. The frame of the front doorway was jammed up hard against the frame of a window. There were thick beams holding the whole structure off the ground.
'We have a lot of people asking to see this,' said Mrs. Baker. 'This is an original pioneer dwelling.'
She and Jonathan walked around to the side.
'They were embarrassed,' said Jonathan. Bill came around to join them. From under the apex of the roof, flat planks of wood covered part of the log walls.
'See? They didn't want anyone to know they still lived in a log cabin, so they covered it with clapboards,' said Jonathan.
There was another door on this side of the cabin. 'Why two doors?' Bill asked.
Jonathan touched an outline in the ground with his foot. 'There was an extension on this side,' he said. 'I bet it was a summer kitchen.'
'I bet it was too,' chuckled Mrs. Baker. 'It would get awfully hot without one.'
Farther up the hill, there was a 1940s car. Jonathan walked on toward it, more crickets jumping out at him. The car had a long sleek hood, a short rounded trunk. Its paint had faded and rusted.
'That's my grandson, Paige,' explained Mrs, Baker. 'He collects old machines. Tractors mostly. Some of them you have to crank up to start. He even has one that runs on butane. They're in the other building, if you would like to see them.'
Jonathan looked at the car in silence.
'Paige wants to be a farmer. We know there's no future in it. But we just have to hope he sees that for himself. Do you know, they are bulldozing some of the old farmhouses?'
Jonathan's smile was fixed, his eyes unfocused.
There was a rumbling of a tractor up the road. 'Well,' said Mrs. Baker. 'Here comes my husband. I'll just go down and check the oven, if you want to come along presently.'
'Thank you very much, Mrs. Baker,' said Bill. Jonathan did not move. Mrs. Baker walked back down the hill toward the wind chimes.
Jonathan was holding his breath.
'Breathe, Jonathan, slowly and deeply.'
'It's green and red, isn't it, Bill?' he said, without breath.
'What is?'
'The car!' Jonathan was smiling in wonder. 'It's green and red, very pastel in patches, like someone had airbrushed it. Very light, very metallic?'
'I'd say that's a pretty good description.'
Jonathan turned toward him, still smiling. 'I'm seeing green and red,' he said, and clenched Bill's arm. 'I'm not supposed to be able to. I'm supposed to be color-blind.
'And the trees,' he added. 'And the crickets, in a flash.'
Bill looked at his watch: quarter past one.
Jonathan leaned over and lost all the water he had just drunk. Bill stroked his back.
In the driveway, Mr. Baker was patting the Dalmatian's head. Mr. Baker wore dungarees. He was a big man, but faded, with watery blue eyes and blue veins in pale skin. He held a clean new straw hat in one hand. His wife came out of the house.
'Vance,' she said. 'These two gentlemen came to ask me about Sunflower School.' She introduced Bill and Jonathan. Vance shook their hands and smiled with perfect false teeth.
Jonathan showed him the photograph.
'Well, I'll be,' said Mr. Baker. 'That's my sister!' He pointed to a little girl in checked gingham.
