Initial commit of ebook 78102 filesHEADmain

1 files changed, 14512 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/78102-0.txt b/78102-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e39f572
--- /dev/null
+++ b/78102-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14512 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78102 ***
+
+
+
+
+                           THE WHEEL OF EARTH
+
+
+
+
+                           the wheel of earth
+
+
+                                 HELGA
+                                SANDBURG
+
+
+                           McDOWELL OBOLENSKY
+
+
+
+
+                   Copyright © 1958 by Helga Sandburg
+
+        All Rights Reserved under Pan-American and International
+       Copyright Conventions. Published in New York by McDowell,
+   Obolensky Inc., and in the Dominion of Canada by George J. McLeod
+                           Limited, Toronto.
+
+            Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-6506
+
+                            Second Printing
+
+
+
+
+        Manufactured in the United States of America by American
+                  Book-Stratford Press, Inc., New York
+
+                        Designed by Alfred Manso
+
+
+
+
+                            ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
+
+
+Thanks are given to Archibald MacLeish for permission to reprint his
+poem, “What Must,” and to the Folklore Section of the Music Division,
+Library of Congress, for the use of their reference collection and their
+Archive of American Folklore.
+
+Acknowledgments are made to the following for permission to reprint
+lyrics:
+
+K-K-K-KATY by Geoffrey O’Hara. Copyright 1918/Copyright Renewal 1945 LEO
+FEIST INC. Used by Special Permission Copyright Proprietor.
+
+FIVE FOOT TWO, EYES OF BLUE (Has Anybody Seen My Girl?). Lyric by Sam
+Lewis and Joe Young, Music by Ray Henderson. Copyright 1925/Copyright
+Renewal 1953 LEO FEIST INC. Used by Special Permission Copyright
+Proprietor.
+
+THE MUSIC GOES ’ROUND AND ROUND. Reprinted by permission of the
+Copyright Owners, JOY MUSIC INC. 1619 Broadway, New York, N. Y.
+Copyright 1935. All Rights Reserved.
+
+THE TURTLE DOVE. Copyright 1953 Burl Ives and published by Ballantine
+Books, N. Y.
+
+Nine Songs from THE GOLDEN BOOK OF FAVORITE SONGS. Published by Schmitt,
+Hall & McCreary Co., Minneapolis, Minn.
+
+
+
+
+                                   To
+                                A. D. G.
+
+
+
+
+                                contents
+
+
+                            part one      1
+                            part two    117
+                            part three  197
+                            part four   287
+                            part five   363
+
+
+
+
+                           THE WHEEL OF EARTH
+
+
+
+
+                                part one
+
+
+   We lay beneath the alder tree
+   Her breast she leaned upon my hand
+   The alder leaf moved over me
+   The sun moved over on the land
+   Her mouth she pressed upon my mouth
+   I felt the leaf beat in her breast
+   I felt the sun move in her hair
+   But nearer than the leaf the sun
+   I felt the love go deep in me
+   That has no season in the earth
+   That has no time of spring or birth
+   That cannot flower like a tree
+   Or like one die
+                   but only be
+
+
+                                   1
+
+Ellen Gaddy was gathering tart stunted June apples into a peck basket.
+Drifts of cloud were passive in the blue dome above, where hawks were
+wheeling. The late afternoon sun was warm on her tanned neck. The dog
+came up barking, stood close to her, tongue slavering, eager. She patted
+him and he went to curl under a tree. “There, Jack.” He was half
+shepherd, sensible in the ways of the farm. Ellen was his choice among
+the humans so he was restless apart. His limpid eyes were fixed on her
+as she hunted in the tall grass. Her hands were small and coarse, and in
+wiping sweat from her face she had left careless dark streaks. She was
+sixteen, the cups of her breasts hung firm, her belly was small. She
+wore her yellow hair in braids. Her mouth was facile, somewhat
+obstinate, and her forehead was high, its creamy texture darkened by the
+season’s sun. A tiger swallowtail like a falling yellow leaf was
+drifting by. She sighed to it, “Bear me good news.”
+
+The old brook that fed the farm’s pond was near the orchard. Pebbles
+lying in the uneasy clear water were glossed, tangled twigs and leaves
+were forced downstream in complaining whirlpools, marsh grasses along
+the bank strove for footing in the cruel plashing current. Ellen was
+shaking tree branches, the fruit rattling about her. Today Penny was due
+to drop her kid. She had looked it up in the almanac. Gestation Table,
+She-Goat, 151 days. The kid will follow me, making small noises, wanting
+to play.
+
+A question of smoke was rising from the yellow farmhouse over the hill,
+set among black gums, hackberries and locusts. The red barn and outlying
+sheds held the crest of the rise, settling more firmly with each passing
+year. Occasionally Anton Gaddy, Ellen’s father, must shore up a door
+frame or strengthen a sagging rafter, but the buildings would stand long
+after the people. The barn had been hammered together with hand-cut
+nails and wood pegs by Ellen’s grandfather in 1870. Some of the
+outbuildings had been raised in 1846 by his father, a Frenchman who had
+homesteaded this tract in the year of the Irish potato famine. Back of
+the yellow house, crowded about by dayflower weeds, were two beehives
+that would mount tall in summer as the hive supers, one at a time, were
+stacked upon those laden with combs of honey. There too lay rows of
+vegetables that Ellen and her younger sister, Frankie, kept clean. Maria
+Gaddy, their mother, never undertook outdoor chores unless the day were
+pale or clouded, for she had been sun-struck ten years ago, in 1915, “I
+dassn’t go out but for Sunday mass,” Maria would claim; “it makes me
+queer to feel the sun.”
+
+In the valley below the hill was the orchard where Ellen was gleaning
+apples. Back of it stretched the small woods, where gray squirrels were
+hunting wild berries and mushrooms. They did this daily in the span of
+hours from sunrise until mid-morning, and from mid-afternoon until
+sunset. And overhead red-shouldered hawks would circle, sharp eyes
+searching branches and boles. A large male squirrel was aware now of a
+vixen fox crouched in hunger below his tree limb. His black eyes
+glittered and he lifted his paws, prating at her. He forgot his foes in
+the sky for a moment. The long wings of a wheeling hawk folded, like a
+stone it dropped. Ellen raised her gray eyes, watching it rise from the
+woods, prey dangled in its talons. The other hawks were screaming,
+“Kee-yoo. Kee-yoo!”
+
+Ellen’s mind was on her young goat. She had warned her, “Now don’t walk
+under the horses’ heads or for a fact you’ll go eleven months.” Sam
+Offut had told her that. “So they warn a ooman with child hereabouts,
+Ellie. See, it takes a mare that long to have a foal and she’s got a
+power in her when she’s carrying.” Ellen didn’t believe him—Sam told
+many tales. Penny’s time was up and she was seeking a place to drop it.
+This morning Ellen had seen that her tail was sunken so there were
+sockets on either side, and the young sagged low. “There. Maybe she’s
+freshening now.” Ellen snatched the two baskets of June apples, running
+in her long skirt through high grass into a new-turned field, up the
+hill toward the barn. Her bare feet sank into the red soil leaving huge
+tracks. The dog was yapping, caught in the game.
+
+In a corner of the woodshed she had made a stall, nailing bars and
+hanging a gate with a latch that the goat could not open. It blatted as
+she set down her baskets and opened the gate. She knelt beside it in the
+wheat straw to feed it an apple. Her father’s hired girl, Penny
+Dougherty, had given her the brown animal, then but a yearling, before
+going away last summer. Ellen had named it after the girl. It slobbered,
+chewing on the crisp fragrant fruit. Then it snuffed her forehead and
+ear, began to lick her face, making soft stuttering sounds. Ellen ran
+her hand along the curves of the slender horns. It shook its fine-boned
+head. She stroked the beard. “Say, I’d love a little doe, Penny.”
+
+Ever since Penny Dougherty went away Ellen would sit talking to the
+namesake goat. Her father had hired Penny last summer to help his wife
+during a sick spell. Then Penny had left them, married Luke Dougherty,
+gone to the town of Weems Crossroads way off in Illinois. Because she
+sang so much, Anton Gaddy had dubbed Penny “that roaring ooman.” But
+Ellen had grieved over the end to the short friendship. She would sing
+the songs she had picked up from Penny, gay tunes, meaningless, and
+lengthy ballads that told of sudden death and unfulfilled love.
+
+   I dreamed of my true love last night
+   All in my arms I had her
+   Her yellow hair like strands of gold
+   Came rolling down my pillow
+
+Ellen was lonely. Her mother gave her small heed. Her father, as well.
+He had turned from her at birth, waiting for a son. Then when Ellen’s
+sister had been born and Anton learned from his wife that she would be
+barren thereafter, he named the baby Frankie, and fastened himself upon
+it forthwith. His voice was heard now, overriding the gentle tune,
+“Girl, where you at? You got the apples? It’s time to feed.”
+
+“Coming, Pa.” At the corncrib she took an armful of ears and shelling
+them, fed a flock of ducks and geese, the first of her chores each late
+afternoon. They were free to roam the barnyard, making nests and raising
+young at will. One wing was clipped every so often to keep them in the
+safety of the yard. Heads bobbing, the fowl were shoveling the grain
+with flat bills. The white ducks made a nasal chatter, a gray gander
+lowered its head and wove its long neck like a snake, hissed and raised
+its wings at Ellen. “Don’t you squall at me.”
+
+She kept back one ear of corn, went to the plowed field she had raced
+through earlier. There she gave a call and from the pond came an
+answering beat of wings. A Muscovy duck was flying up the hill. It
+circled Ellen, flapping to a halt at her feet, gathering its wings. Its
+red-wattled head was cocked to one side. She scattered the corn. “Why
+don’t you come to the barnyard and be tamed, you wild one?” It was
+watching her with a wary eye, eating the yellow grain greedily.
+
+She looked off at the Kentucky farmland stretched before her. Orange
+clouds were assembling behind the brush line of tiny trees. The square
+fields were hemstitched with stone walls and rail fences. Near the
+barnyard a black gum was rearing gaunt limbs. When a crested redbird’s
+dark silhouette dipped through the fragrant orange air into its ragged
+branches, she was shaken by the sudden beauty. She turned quickly,
+saying to the feeding duck, “I don’t know. Seems I hate every enduring
+thing.”
+
+She fed chickens that congregated in the stony yard. She filled their
+water bucket from the pump, watched the speckled hens dip their beaks
+and up their heads to let the water run down. She collected brown eggs
+in a fold of her dress, from boxes nailed along the cobwebbed wall. A
+hen pecked her wrist as she reached under it for heated eggs. The bird’s
+breast was hot, bare where it had plucked feathers to line its nest.
+“You’re broody. Sam’ll put you under the pump to break you up.”
+
+She went up the stairs to the farm kitchen and counted the eggs into a
+basket. “The hens are laying good, Ma. I’m just one short of four dozen.
+I’ll trade them tomorrow at Love’s store.”
+
+Maria Gaddy was turning from the stove. “I allow you can get me a length
+of lace too, Ellie. I need a new collar for mass. My old one’s sleazy.”
+
+Ellen’s mother wore her gray-streaked hair in a tight knot. Her body was
+warped and thin and stiff. It had turned from what it might have been.
+Her breasts were flattened and she had swathed herself in a
+long-sleeved, high-necked print dress that came to her ankles. Her
+stockings were wrinkled above run-down button shoes. Maria lived in
+continual retreat. She had been given to her husband with the awesome
+dowry of fifteen hundred dollars. With it Anton had bought his rights to
+this farm from his only living brother, Garland. Maria spoke now, “Go
+get some new water, girl.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen emptied the blue-enameled pail into the sink. The kitchen was
+roomy. There was a kerosene stove for summer use and a huge range for
+winter heat and cooking. A black-painted iron sink stood at the side
+away from the windows. There was no running water but a drainpipe took
+away the waste. Fresh water was supplied by a well a hundred feet from
+the house, to which Ellen went. She drank from the dipper before
+returning. The family was proud that the water from this well was always
+sweet and cold. At the windowed end of the kitchen was a long table of
+red oak that had been dressed with ax and adz long ago by Anton’s
+father, Jules. The surface was whitened from lye-scrubbing, uneven from
+the years’ wear. On it was a blue dish of poplar honey, a bowl of salt,
+a milkglass jar of knives, forks and spoons stacked handles down. A
+pantry was adjacent to the kitchen, where staples were kept—sacks of
+flour and meal, curd cheeses that hung in cloths from the rafters, milk
+that stood in pans and jars to be skimmed, and cream that ripened in a
+churn. More supplies were stored in the cellar. There dusty shelves were
+holding jars of jelly, jam, ketchup, honey, red and yellow tomatoes,
+chard and collard greens, peaches, fried chicken and beef. On the lower
+shelves were tins of lard. From the ceiling dangled strings of dried
+apples and quinces. On the dirt floor of a bin, potatoes left from fall
+softened and rotted in the musty darkness. Root crops of salsify and
+parsnips lay neglected.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the parlor came the familiar sound of Frankie practicing the piano,
+scales and exercises rippling. Ellen carried a can of kerosene from the
+porch where Sam had placed it to the parlor to replenish the lamps. Over
+the fireplace a velvet cloth was framed, on it depicted the Golgotha
+crucifixion in brilliant primary colors. An overstuffed sofa, Maria’s
+knitting basket at the end, was along one wall. The chairs included a
+doweled high-backed rocker. A round table bore on its lace-covered
+surface statuettes of the Virgin Mary and Joseph, a worn Bible, a lamp
+with painted forget-me-nots trimming the bowl, besides dog-eared farm
+journals, the 1925 _Farmer’s Comprehensive Almanac_, and a silver-banded
+reading glass. Braided rugs were scattered over the oak floor, once
+smoothed with broadax. On a wall was a tinted daguerreotype of a stunted
+wiry man with heavy chin and thick lips, Jules Gaddy. Beside him posed
+his red-haired wife Nell, whose long face, high forehead and determined
+mouth resembled her granddaughter Ellen’s. While Jules had been rearing
+this house, the couple had lived in an outbuilding that now served for a
+pigstall. Back of the piano hung a representation of the bleeding Sacret
+Heart. Nell Gaddy had placed it in that spot long years ago, saying to
+Jules, “Now there, little feist, it’ll stay.”
+
+Frankie was lifting her hands from the keys, watching Ellen pour the
+coal oil. She swung her pointed boots as she sat at the bench, pursing
+her lips. “I’m making believe folks are swooning, Ellie. Because that
+piece I played was so good.” Frankie was fifteen. Her red hair fell
+silken on her shoulders, her blue eyes were mild.
+
+“I declare, Frankie, you’re biggity. Go get washed. Pa’ll be in.”
+
+The family were sitting to supper then, making the sign of the cross.
+Anton pronounced grace. When his daughters had been little, Anton had
+instructed them on the mealtime prayer. Once he said to Frankie,
+“Tonight you make the grace, Poppet.” But Frankie had lisped a rhyme she
+picked up in the parochial school.
+
+   Beans, beans, the musical fruit
+   The more you eat the more you toot
+
+Anton roared and the family had to get to their knees on the kitchen
+floor to ask the Lord God’s pardon for the blasphemy. Frankie had thrown
+up her supper later while Anton was talking to her. “You be a sinner,
+child. And the evil way and the froward mouth do I hate. So it’s said in
+the Bible.”
+
+“Oh yes, Pa,” she had mewed like a kitten.
+
+On their plates now they were piling garden greens cooked with fatback
+and then mixed with scrambled eggs. And chunks of beef from a platter,
+and green onions and radishes. They spread pot cheese on beaten
+biscuits, drank buttermilk kept cold in the old dry well beside the
+porch and pulled up at the last minute to set on the table. All the milk
+from their herd of cows went to the dairy for a monthly check, except a
+three-gallon can put aside daily for Maria’s needs. She set it out in
+pans for cream and made cheeses from the skimmed milk. The hogs got the
+whey mixed with scraps and middlings and dishwater. Anton would hold his
+fork in his left hand, pushing the food with a knife. But the two
+sisters copied their mother, forks held in the right. So Maria’s mam had
+told her the woman should eat.
+
+“You make the butter up tonight, Ellie,” Maria was saying, “and take it
+along with the eggs tomorrow. I’ll give you some cheeses to trade, too.
+My last batch turned out proud.”
+
+“I will, Ma.”
+
+After supper, Ellen carried the churn of soured cream onto the steps.
+She turned the crank until butter came together in a lump. She poured
+the buttermilk into a stone jar and walked out to the well, the churn on
+one arm, the wood bowl and paddle on the other. The sun was beginning to
+set in a wash of red sky. She paused while it slipped distorted behind
+the trees. The sky was fading. A subdued light prevailed of twilight.
+Ellen sighed, torn by a vague melancholy. She was saying to the dog,
+“Seems I ne’er been so contented. And did you see that sign in the west?
+Good crop weather.” She pumped water into the churn, turned the dasher
+until the water that drained off appeared fresh drawn. Then she worked
+the butter with the paddle, folding and pressing. She spoke as if
+disputing with someone, “I love butter that’s made up proper.” One at a
+time bats that were peering restless from the loft of the barn across
+the way launched out and downward after night insects, then swerved into
+the treetops. Soon the air was busy with their bodies darting and
+zig-zagging and their squeaking high-pitched like mice. A cow lowed in
+the barnyard as it was kneeling, the alarm cry of a cock sounded as it
+was crowded off its roost, a gander hissed at a female barn rat that
+slunk along the wall.
+
+Ellen returned to the kitchen, to press chunks of butter into a daisy
+mold and wrap the half-pound forms in sheets of brown paper. She carried
+them to the dry well and pulling up the bucket, packed them in and
+lowered it down to the cold region. Whenever she came out of doors, Jack
+would rise and follow her. When she returned to the house, he curled in
+the cool under the bushes.
+
+She went into the parlor. A lamp was lit, the family sat in their
+accustomed places. Maria was knitting rapidly; the wood needles made
+dull clicks. She moved her lips occasionally, her eyes glancing
+sidewise. Anton’s squat figure dominated the room. He was smoking his
+nightly pipe, a farm journal unopened on his lap. Frankie brought him a
+terrarium she had made. In a glass bowl, a collection of bits of mosses
+and stones and a broken piece of mirror formed a minute scene. “Mandy
+York made one for her pa,” Frankie was telling him. “I noticed how it
+was done.”
+
+The man’s heart beat strongly. “I’ll think a heap of it, Poppet. I’ll
+set it in the window of the bedroom where it’s shady.”
+
+Ellen was leafing through the Bible. “Proverbs says here there are three
+things stately in their march, the lion and the greyhound and the
+he-goat. Hear that, Pa? It says the he-goat also.” No one looked her
+way. There were only the whispers of Anton drawing his pipe and Frankie
+polishing the glass bowl and Maria’s busy needles. Ellen dropped the
+book on the table abruptly. “Reckon I’ll go take a bath.”
+
+In the half-dark kitchen she filled a kettle. She lit the kerosene
+burner and went to stand on the porch while it was heating. The meadows
+were flecked with fireflies, and along the stone foundations of the old
+house soft shadows sulked. Ellen was leaning against the porch rail. The
+summer dusk seeped through her nostrils, warming her blood unreasonably,
+almost to sadness. She took the tin wood-bottomed tub from its nail,
+went to the pump for more water. She threw her clothes aside, washed
+quickly, using the jellied homemade lye soap from the crock. She dried
+with a white towel from the porch clothesline. Dumping the water into
+the bushes and returning the tub to its hook, she ran naked up the dark
+stairs.
+
+She shared the room at the head with her sister. The beds would stand in
+the center of the floor in winter, away from drafty corners. In summer
+they were moved to opposite ends, each under a small gable window. A
+trunk held schoolbooks, Catholic missals, rosaries and childhood
+miscellany. They folded their clothes into a low chest and hung their
+dresses from a pole under the slanted ceiling. She closed the door
+swiftly, breathing as though pursued. She knelt on the bed, arms on the
+open window sill. The moon was emerging as though pushed from the womb
+of a laboring earth. When Ellen put a hand up she felt tears on her
+cheeks, wondered at them. “Reckon I can’t bear for there to be such a
+fine sight.”
+
+She was turning and groping in the chest for a nightgown. “Seems Pa
+always favors Frankie o’er me. Some way.” Soon she was sleeping. The
+moon without became canescent and utterly fair. Its colorless light
+coming through the window made sharp corners soft. It was like a pale
+rug on the girl.
+
+She awoke from a dreamless sleep. “I nearly slept through.” She was
+putting on a dress, in haste. Jack, snuffling and leaping, met her at
+the door. She lit a lantern that hung from a bent nail, and ran barefoot
+toward the barnyard. A blank disk of moon was squatting above twisted
+trees. She stumbled over dry roots in the path and the lantern handle
+clanged, the sound harping on the night. In the woodshed she held the
+light high. The goat was in the corner by the wall, down in travail. She
+bleated to Ellen, who hooked the lantern on a rafter peg and opened the
+gate. The animal was straining again. The dog whined. Ellen turned on
+him. “Be still and lie down, Jack.”
+
+The water bag appeared and burst. The doe staggered to her feet,
+trembling, head down, beard drooping. Uttering quick noises she was
+licking Ellen’s hand. Then she pawed the ground, urgent, folded her
+forelegs and went down again as the contractions came on. The nose of
+the kid appeared, a row of lower teeth visible through a filmy sack. It
+retreated, then appeared again. A foot came in sight beside the head.
+The doe bawled. “Holy Virgin,” Ellen was whispering, “help my dear.”
+
+Penny arched her back, threw herself on her side with a guttural sound.
+Ellen grasped the forefoot, pulling until the leg and bulge of head
+emerged. Then of a sudden, the kid was slipping out in a pool, mouth
+gasping. With straw Ellen wiped the clinging mucus from its nostrils,
+gathered up the struggling limp body and placed it by Penny’s head. The
+dam began to clean it. Ellen looked under a caul-wet leg. “There. It’s
+what I wanted, a doe.” A thin wail stabbed the air as the kid protested
+Penny’s thorough cleansing. “I’ll run get your mash now.”
+
+Ellen took the lantern and sped down the pathway spraying the darkness
+with yellow light. The dog ran after her. “Now I have three of my own,
+counting you, Jack.” She mixed wheat bran with hot water and molasses.
+When she returned with it, she was brought to a halt at the pen door.
+Another kid had been born, a white buckling. The brown first-born doe
+was already staggering on its legs. Tiny cries were crisscrossing and
+cutting the night. Penny was standing over the kids, chewing on a mass
+of discarded placenta, her pattern fulfilled for the moment. When the
+pan of mash was held out, she scooped it with her jaws, burying her nose
+in the sweetened food. And Ellen, rubbing the newborn twins with dry
+straw, was eased in a measure of her longings.
+
+
+                                   2
+
+Mist was steaming up from the land before the hot ball of sun would drag
+through. Ellen was carrying the fluffy brown kid to the kitchen to show
+the family. “This is the least one. Penny doesn’t know I robbed her of
+it. She’s busy eating.” Ellen stood the kid on the floor. It looked
+about, gave a sidewise spring into the air, cocking its head, waggish.
+It leaped again, pattering on stiff hoofs to Maria who pulled at her
+apron and drew back with a low noise. “Oh look, Ma. She’s so pretty. If
+I hadn’t been there last night she might have died.”
+
+“Haw. That’s what you claim,” Anton said. “They get born all the same.”
+
+Frankie had relaxed, seeing her father was in favorable mood. She let
+the yeanling suck on her finger, stooping over it. “Say.”
+
+“Don’t you want to hold her, Ma?” Ellen insisted. She knew it worried
+Maria if an animal was in the house; on cold nights she would slip
+downstairs to take Jack up to bed, creeping down again to let him out
+early. But this wasn’t the same as a dog for its breath was gently
+perfumed and it cried like a bird. “Come on, Ma.”
+
+“Fetch the little thing away, Ellie. I don’t want hit to touch me. I
+can’t abide the fur against me.”
+
+Anton supported her. “Your ma’s right. Hit belongs at the barn with the
+nanny. Your chores redded up, girl?”
+
+“I did them real early.” Ellen was cradling the kid in her arms; she
+carried it to its dam at the woodshed. As she was going back to the
+house, she saw her father ahead on the path, striding from the barn. He
+shouted over his shoulder to Sam and continued his way to where Frankie
+was waiting on the steps. He was cutting the end from a twist of dark
+red tobacco leaves with his knife. He was clad in everyday garb, faded
+blue overalls and black sateen shirt.
+
+Anton Gaddy was still winter-fat; by fall he would be lean. He was a
+short thick-set man. His flewed lips hung loose, his chin was long and
+heavy-jawed. When young his head had been heavily red-thatched, now at
+forty-eight was balding. His face was freckled and the sun already had
+burned his skin, despite the protection of a straw hat, toward the high
+bronze he would wear all summer. He was one of three brothers born and
+raised on this farm. He possessed it fiercely as he did all he made his
+own. In a similar fashion his mother had once ruled, driving her husband
+and denying her two youngest sons that the eldest might prosper. She had
+sent this favorite, Marc, to college to fulfill her plans for him. But
+he had run away, disappeared. Then she was notified he had died, and she
+had brought back the body. This son’s failure had broken Nell Gaddy.
+When Anton would think about his mother he sometimes confused her with
+the Virgin Mary. After her lingering death his passivity had evolved
+into violence, his brooding silence into action. He had taken over the
+farm and bought out his living brother’s share. His father, stringy,
+worn from a life of toil, had dropped dead behind the team one fall, his
+passing scarce noted.
+
+“Want to ride the mare out to the rye field, Frankie?” Anton was folding
+his knife. “You can let the foal run alongside. You can play with it in
+the daisies and feverfews while I’m mowing.”
+
+Sam was bringing up the horses, the bay mare Moll, and Blueberry, the
+buckskin gelding. A six-week colt trotted alongside, shy at the noise of
+harness on its dam.
+
+“All right, Pa.” Frankie nodded and went toward the team. Her slight
+form in the shapeless green dress was moving listless.
+
+“Pa,” Ellen said. “I’m going to Love’s now. I’d be glad to get you
+somewhat.”
+
+“You can pick up two-three plugs for me. Get Brown Mule.”
+
+“I will, Pa.” At the well she rinsed her face and hands in the rushing
+stream, ran dripping to the house. She dried with the porch towel and
+sped upstairs to change her dress.
+
+   The crow is black, my love you know
+   It will surely turn to white
+   If e’er I do forsake you
+   Bright day will turn to night
+
+She was taking from its hanger a dress patterned with huge white dots.
+“It was a sad day for us Gaddys when peddler came to the door with this
+polka-dot goods that took Ma’s eye. And it purely wears like iron.” She
+pulled on stockings, laced her shoes, slipped into the long-waisted
+dress. She unbraided her hair and combed it. She tied it with a string,
+careless, as she was stepping down to the kitchen.
+
+Maria had packed butter and cheese with the eggs in a big basket. She
+was calling in her reedy voice from the cellar, “There’s a list on top
+of the eggs, girl. Trade careful, mind. Watch Grady doesn’t cheat me,
+for he’ll try.”
+
+Ellen put the list in her pocket.
+
+   thred, white and black, elastik, small sack salt and coffee. if
+   enough money, sack sugar small, also tatted lace for sunday collar.
+   cinnamon and clove sticks, pepper and spice for pikles. save back
+   for Mr. Gaddy wants apple baccy. dont you forget. and ask Stacey
+   Love if she has some east. Mine is worn out.
+
+She petted Jack, told him to stay. He sat back on his haunches to watch
+her swing down the dusty road. Grady Love’s store, on the outskirts of
+Millville, was two miles away.
+
+   Have you seen the green grass
+   Trampled under foot
+   Arise and grow again
+   Oh love it is a killing thing
+   Did you e’er feel the pain
+
+The sky was blue banners and white. Young breezes were soughing in the
+trees’ leaves. Her trading basket was light. A mocker-bird was quavering
+in a cottonwood and ahead a baby rabbit was loping down the side of the
+clay road. A buggy passed, whirling red dust into eddies. She crossed
+the plank bridge that spanned the Sweetincreek. Some of the heavy boards
+were loose and shifted as she walked across, her footsteps hollow. She
+inspected a group of lanky red flowers on the bank across the ditch. “I
+don’t even know your name. You got one, you know.” As she started on her
+way again, she half paused, as though she were losing something
+precious, quitting a thing but partly experienced. She wandered along,
+her face dreamy, the basket swinging idle. As if she were seeking
+something. “Everything, be it bird or flower or star, has a name of its
+own. No matter how small it be.”
+
+She was nearing a faded frame store, set before a stubbled field of
+goldenrod and chicory. Out in front were benches where customers whiled
+away time or waited to hitch a ride on the milk truck going to New Hope
+or Bethel or away down to Seven Mile Run. Ellen pulled open the screen
+door and squinted at the dim interior. She entered and rested her basket
+on the counter. A few flies were snoring lazily in the air. There were
+open barrels and grimy shelves, and meal, rice, bran, seed, had sifted
+into the knotholes and poorly joined planks of the puncheon floor. Grady
+Love, spare-framed, Jay-voiced, bartered with her. “How’s this lace for
+your ma, Ellen? Seven and a half cents.” Grady had known Ellen all her
+life. He pitied the poor Gaddy brat and would favor the trade on her
+side.
+
+“It’s kind of ratty, Mester Love. Haven’t you got a stouter grade?”
+
+She was stowing the spices, lace, tobacco and kitchen goods in her
+basket. She consulted her list. “Does your wife have some starter yeast
+to spare? Ma’s bread isn’t rising so good.”
+
+When Grady returned from his quarters in the rear with a cloth-wrapped
+jar, Ellen was gazing at dusty bolts of yard goods stacked on a shelf.
+He offered to lift some down. Her wistful fingers lingered over a filmy
+white cotton with tiny woven points of blue. “I’d love a length of this.
+What do you name it?”
+
+“That’s dotted Swiss, Ellen.”
+
+“If Pa’ll let me trade some strawberries, would you hold a piece back
+for me? We’ll be picking soon.”
+
+“Sure, Ellen. You just send word.”
+
+“Bye now, Mester Love.” She took her basket from the counter and pushed
+open the door. A fluff of cotton was pinned to the wire mesh to keep off
+flies, but they swarmed in the blaze of sunlight as she went out. Half
+blinded, she bumped into the hurrying figure of a young man. She was
+thrown back with such force that she dropped her basket, the contents
+spilling.
+
+“I’m sorry. Are you hurt, ma’am?” He was grasping her bare arms.
+
+Ellen pushed him from her, confused. “You plaguing bastard.”
+
+She was kneeling, but he was swifter, retrieving the thread spools
+before her hands could reach them, setting straight the sack of coffee
+beans, the yeast jar, laughing.
+
+“I never saw you, ma’am, in the sunlight.”
+
+He was fair-complected with ash-blond hair. His eyes were the color of
+the miniature blue flowers the country folk call innocence. “You’re
+foreign,” she stammered. “I don’t know your face.”
+
+“I’m the new hand at Brinker’s farm on Sweetincreek Road. I’m Christian
+Ay. You know of Carl Brinker?”
+
+Dutchman Brinker was a Lutheran and a heathen. When Frankie was in the
+first grade of the public school, Pa had got in a brush with Brinker
+over the prayer the youngens recited before class. Pa withdrew Frankie
+and put her in a parochial school, though it meant the family had to
+scrimp more.
+
+Ellen was brushing dust from her dress. “Pleased to meet your
+acquaintance, Mester. Reckon I’ll get on my way.” Her shoes were gritty
+with dirt; she was pushing the unkempt hair from her hot cheeks.
+
+“Wait a second. Where do you live? I’m going back down the road.” He was
+persuasive. “Be glad to give you a lift in the pickup, ma’am.”
+
+“Well.” She accepted and stepped lightly into the high seat of the
+battered truck. Leaning against the sun-hot leather, she waited while he
+did his errands. Idly she noted manure clods on the floor and baby shoes
+dangling by a pair of soiled laces from the dashboard. Musty farm smells
+permeated the cab.
+
+Then he was back, sliding into the seat and pressing the starter. The
+motor refused to turn over. “Be just a minute. She likes to be coaxed.”
+He took a crank from under his feet and jumped down.
+
+“Now, Pa sure would have raised sand,” she whispered to herself.
+
+The motor had caught. He was climbing back while the engine puttered and
+gasped and the cab shook. He spit on his hand where a fresh cut bled.
+“Every time that crank slips I slice myself. Can’t get the hang of it
+somehow. My old man never had a car.” His cheekbones were broad and
+high, his mouth wide. His laughter was showing even white teeth. These
+with his tow hair made his face appear darker by contrast than it was.
+His legs were rather shorter than average, his torso powerful.
+
+“Daddy owns a store in Louisville. It’s like Love’s place only lots
+bigger.” He made a grimace. “And it’s in the stinking city.”
+
+“I ne’er been to a city yet.”
+
+“Well, they stink. I hate the store. My sister does too.”
+
+“Oh?”
+
+“That Rose. She’s wild to leave, only Daddy won’t let her. They need me
+too, but I send money every week so they can pay a boy. What a gyp.” The
+truck was rattling over the bridge. Christian blew his horn at a hound
+trotting in the center of the road, “Oooo-ga!” It slunk into the weeds
+of the ditch, nose low. “Once the revenuers came in our place looking
+for Jake. If you drink too much it’ll kill you. We never sold hooch like
+some did in back.”
+
+“Pa says Mester Bilberry hired two men who drained the rotted ferment
+from the bottom of his silo. Till he found out. To get drunk of a
+Saturday night.” Her voice trailed away.
+
+“Well me, I always wanted to work on a farm. It’s the life.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I’m strong as a bull. Just by luck I got this job. Mr. Brinker’s last
+man quit and he happened to come by our store. So I wrote him, not
+thinking I’d get hired.”
+
+“Oh?” Ellen was awkward in her loss of words.
+
+“My sister carried on when I went. She thought she’d get to leave home
+first. My old man told her he’d tie her up before he’d turn her loose in
+that sin-ridden city. That’s the way he talks. So I’ve been with Mr.
+Brinker a month now. Some day I’ll have a farm like his of my own.”
+
+A bump in the road made her clutch the basket on her lap. The little
+shoes bounced.
+
+“Aren’t they silly? Brinker’s crazy for his kids. Always got the
+littlest one riding on his shoulders.”
+
+“I’ve got a goat,” Ellen was blurting, “named Penny. She dropped me a
+pair of kids last night.”
+
+“A nanny? Gosh, Brinkers don’t have a goat. Maybe he’d buy one of yours.
+His boys could drive it to a wagon. Want me to ask?”
+
+“No, I’d ne’er sell one. See, they’re mine.” She wondered whether this
+stranger could understand the value in which she held the sloe-eyed
+beasts.
+
+At the yellow farmhouse Christian halted the truck. Dust was floating
+disturbed in the air above the beaten roadway. The pattern of the midday
+sun was weaving and shimmering in the shade of the cottonwoods. “See
+you, ma’am.” He laughed like he couldn’t help it, like a great joke had
+come to his mind. “Ellie, that is.”
+
+She made no reply, watched the truck grow small, rumbling toward
+Brinker’s farm, three miles down the road. She moved to the house. Jack
+was thrusting his head into her fingers and she stroked it. She smiled
+as though she understood. “See you, Mester.” She took the cuts of
+tobacco from among the goods in the basket, slipping them into the
+pocket of her dress. Maria stood vigilant just within the doorway.
+“Here’s your basket, Ma.”
+
+“Your dish be setting in the pantry, girl. Soon as you eat, there’s
+ironing. Hit’s dampened down in yonder basket.” The woman had hung the
+wash at dawn-dusk, gathered it quickly at mid-morning, wearing an
+outsize sunbonnet. “This trading sure looks poor, Ellie. Hit pleasures
+Grady to short me, knowing I can’t go trade myself.”
+
+Ellen went upstairs, came down barefoot. She took her plate from the
+pantry, ate the fried piece of duck, the boiled potato, curd cheese,
+biscuits and honey. She was dipping from the blue pail. “I declare this
+water’s sweet, Ma.”
+
+Maria was sorting the contents of the basket in the pantry. “You ne’er
+got the pickling spices.”
+
+“There wasn’t enough to trade.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“I want to stir up a cake this evening, Ma. Can I have white sugar for
+it?” When their taste for sweets became strong, Ellen and Frankie would
+ask for store-bought sugar to cook with, although they could get along
+with sorghum or honey. Flour and meal ground from the farm grain was
+ready for their use, plentiful as a rule, and drippings and lard, eggs
+and milk. “I’ll bake that white cake Pa likes.”
+
+“Say,” Maria was frowning. “You remember Mester Gaddy’s tobacco?”
+
+“Yes. I’ll run down to look at my new goats. If Pa’s in the barnyard
+I’ll give it to him.”
+
+“There’s ironing, girl,” warned Maria. She was holding the new lace in
+her thin hands.
+
+“I’ll hurry.” Ellen brought an armful of last year’s brown hay and an
+ear of corn to her goat. “This is all he’ll let me have, Penny. But I’ll
+gather purple vetch this evening, and before long your yeanlings will be
+grown enough so you-all can run with the cows.” The doe dug into the
+corn, using her lower row of teeth against the pad of upper jaw to tear
+the kernels loose. Her amber pupils stared distant. She seemed oblivious
+to her young repeatedly butting the new-swelled udder and sucking the
+moist teats.
+
+“His name’s Christian Ay. Reckon he calls some girl his may? Reckon a
+man’ll e’er be partial to me, Penny?” She dropped the cob and went to
+the barnyard. “I don’t see Pa, Jack. And I’ve got to iron.”
+
+In the kitchen she was placing the sadirons on the stove to heat. She
+brought out the ironing board, patched with bleached feed sacking, and
+laid it crosswise on the end of the table. She spit on the irons to test
+them, went about her work with familiar hands. The floor was cool to her
+dusty feet. Her mind roved to one of the songs she had learned from
+Penny Dougherty.
+
+   All on one summer evening
+   When the fevers were dawning
+   I heard a fair maid make a mourn
+   She was weeping for her father
+   And grieving for her mother
+   And thinking all on her true love John
+
+Without the square-paned windows, the musky earth lay under the hand of
+summer’s sun. Garden rows were in view, rabbits and woodchucks fenced
+out by a wall of stones that mounted each year as more were turned from
+the ground. Blooming flowers were crowding outside the barrier,
+begonias, love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranesbills and
+honesty. Later sweet peas and corn poppies would flower, and nasturtiums
+and youth-and-old-age. Beyond were nestled the beehives, pale
+apple-blossom and maple honey already stored in the bottom super. In
+fall the hives would tower high and the men would rob them, carrying a
+pan of smoke. The topmost honey would be red-black, taken by the bees
+from buckwheat blooms. Anton would relish the high flavor, but Ellen
+would find it turning her stomach, like milk when the cows had eaten
+wild garlic.
+
+Maria entered the kitchen, set about mixing bread, kneading and thumping
+the mass of dough on the long table, flour drifting to the floor. “That
+was good yeast Stacey gave me. It’s raring.”
+
+“Grady said it was new.” Ellen carried starched dresses and folded
+clothes up to the attic room. She put them away, then combed her hair in
+front of the oblong mirror that hung on the door. She made her mouth
+soft. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”
+
+She looked down. Her feet were bare, her brown ankles grimy, the dress
+with the big polka dots was crumpled and her hands were rough. “There.
+You are an ugly brat.” She flung the door ajar to hide the glass,
+braided her hair swiftly, binding the ends. Slowly she went down the
+stairs.
+
+“Come here, girl. Slop those sows. The two that’s due to farrow. Mester
+Gaddy said to feed them up.”
+
+Ellen took the pail, crossing the lane to the hog lot. “Soooooeee,” she
+shouted, “pig-pig-pig-pig!” Grunting and sniffing, the two laden red
+beasts approached, eying her under horny lids. Shoulders pushing, they
+vied for the whey, potato peelings, crumbs of dough and flour. Ellen
+watched them root around for scraps and, still squealing and shoving,
+move off. She rinsed the bucket, filling it afresh to carry with her.
+The drowsy odor of green grape blossoms drifted languid from the vines.
+In the garden she stooped and moved, her toes grasping the earth, her
+nimble fingers pulling among sprouts, making small piles of weedlings.
+She transplanted sorrel and mustard, poured water on them, made beds of
+onion sets, black radishes, corn and squash to stagger the summer yield
+for the table.
+
+Later on in the afternoon Frankie came to the stone wall. “Pa thinks I’m
+practicing. I vow it’s hot.” Her sunbonnet was shading her face, her
+forehead was moist. “Sam’s at the barn drenching Maisie with coal oil.
+She took sick. Sam says it’s the clover. Hit’s too rich for the cows.”
+
+Ellen stretched her arms and left her work. She washed at the pump,
+splashing her feet, face and arms, wetting her dress.
+
+“Hurry,” Frankie urged, “you’ll ne’er get a cake baked before evening
+chores, Ellie.”
+
+“If you’ll keep your eye on the stove, we’ll make hit. How’s Pa?”
+
+“He’s plagued about Maisie getting the bloat. But the rye’s cut and
+drying good.” She was plaintive. “Wish Pa’d let me go with you sometime
+to trade at Love’s. Why won’t he, Ellie?”
+
+Ellen was touching the packets of tobacco in her pocket; she would use
+them to bribe an approving glance from her father. “Hit’s his way.” She
+sensed the familiar stab of rejection.
+
+They stood idle a moment before Frankie started. “Ellie, we’ll ne’er
+make it.”
+
+They sped to the house light-footed in the dust and heat. “Oh yes, we
+will. I’ll use Tinie Bilberry’s rule for a white one. You beg Ma for
+more sugar to frost it.”
+
+They laughed breathless. The younger girl swung her sunbonnet in her
+hand. “Show me how that one’s stirred up, Ellie.”
+
+The kitchen was cool, the shades half drawn. Ellen lit the burners under
+the oven. Frankie went to wheedle sugar from Maria, who was in the
+bedroom making a new shirt for her husband from a bolt of stiff black
+sateen. The woman was hunched over, concentrating on perfect stitches in
+the light from the small windows. In this room two babies had been born
+and one miscarried. Over the gray-painted iron bedstead hung a heavy
+crucifix. At the farther wall loomed a commodious wardrobe closet,
+smelling of camphor and holding Maria’s Sunday dresses and Anton’s black
+suit. “I’ll spare a teacup, Frankie. I’d rather you’d use sorghum. You
+girls are wasteful.”
+
+Frankie measured the sugar and was sweeping the kitchen. Ellen was
+leaning back in her father’s chair, the long apron draped over her
+stretched-out legs as she turned the batter. “Did you heed what went in,
+Frankie?” The enthusiasm of her young years lifted her so the breath
+nearly knotted in her throat.
+
+   My true love
+   Is a blue eyed daisy
+   She won’t work
+   And I’m too lazy
+
+The batter had been poured into the pans and they were set in the hot
+oven when into the kitchen their father’s voice rapped, “Feeding time.
+Where’s that girl?”
+
+“Keep your eye on the oven, Frankie. Don’t forget.” Ellen was running
+out the door and down the steps after Anton who strode toward the barn.
+“Here’s your tobacco, Pa.”
+
+He stopped to take it from her. “Now can’t you e’er get to your chores,
+girl, without me hunting you out?”
+
+Inside the house, Frankie was turning quietly to the parlor. Soon scale
+notes rang precise against the ancient paper-covered walls. Maria put
+her sewing aside, went to the kitchen, pinning a sack apron about her.
+She kneaded down the bowl of warm raised dough, forming loaves and
+biscuits, greasing them with soft butter. She put them near the heat of
+the oven to rise.
+
+In the hills about the farmland the sun-drenched late afternoon air
+filled with Sam Offut’s voice pleading full and deep, “Sooo-cow. Sooook,
+sooook, sooo-cow.” Winding up the lane came the line of milkers, chewing
+cuds, dispassionate, hip-bones swaying, udders distended. Jack tailed
+them, head down. When one halted to crop a clump of grass, his sharp
+bark sang and he nipped the bony fetlocks. The old duck flapped its
+wings, splashed the pond water so crawfish and turtles dove to the
+muddied bottom. It was lifting its heavy body from the pond, and then
+circling Ellen on the hillside.
+
+
+                                   3
+
+A few days passed. Lily Garrett, who lived on the other side of
+Millville, stopped by to make lavender sticks with Ellen and Frankie.
+Lily brought a pale fresh honeycomb, for the Garrett family robbed their
+hives all summer long, not waiting for a fall harvest like the Gaddys.
+“Mama says she’ll send a plate of basswood honey in July, Mrs. Gaddy,
+when the bee trees are busy.”
+
+Lily was fat, and soft as custard; she would rearrange her blond curls
+constantly, her thick white arms uplifted. She was nimble-minded,
+giggling often, her chins trembling under her small red mouth. She was
+as abandoned as a puppy untied from a cord and it may have been because
+of this that Lily’s father bade her lie across her bed each Saturday
+night while with a locust limb he whipped her well, saying, “The one who
+loves his daughter chastens her.”
+
+Lily arrived in a clear forenoon before the high heat of the day. The
+lavender was in full blow as the girls walked beside the bed, plucking
+them long-stemmed. “Say, Frankie.” Lily was stripping the leaves away
+and drawing the blooms into a tight bunch. “I remember Ellie and me were
+in the second grade when I first braided lavendery wands with you-all.
+Your papa had just put you to the nuns.”
+
+“I know.” Frankie was tying the flowers into a ball with soft cotton
+yarn, winding and braiding it among the wilted stems. When the flowers
+were cured they would fasten on ribbons, keep back a few for scenting
+their clothes chests, and trade the rest at Love’s store. “What’ll
+become of us all,” Frankie cried, “in the time to come?”
+
+“You’ll be a famous pianist, Frankie,” said Lily, “you’ll see. And Ellie
+and me’ll visit you up north.”
+
+“Ellie will marry a rich farmer,” Frankie said, “and have a flock of
+youngens.”
+
+“Not me,” said Ellen. “I won’t be called Mama. And I’d ne’er do a man’s
+bidding.” But she was thinking of Christian, dwelling on him like a
+lovely secret.
+
+“Well,” Lily giggled, bold, “if a man liked me, I’d have him. I wouldn’t
+be biggity.”
+
+“Lily.”
+
+“Say, I sent off for a thing,” Lily whispered, “to catch a man.”
+
+“What?” Frankie pressed.
+
+“A bust developer. That’s how the farm journal named it.”
+
+“Why do you want that? You’re big, Lily.”
+
+“It said men like you that way. I’m going to try it.”
+
+“Your pa’ll find out.”
+
+“I don’t give a care. It comes in a plain brown wrapper, they claim. He
+might not see.”
+
+“You’re brazen,” Ellen said.
+
+“If I do catch a man I’ll ne’er have a log cabin chinked with clay like
+ours. Nor cheesecloth curtains neither. And I’ll have no squalling
+babies to whip.” Lily sweated in the sun, raising her pillars of arms to
+her hair. The shy scent of lavender enveloped the three of them.
+
+“Reckon we’ll e’er disremember making these lavendery wands?” asked
+Ellen.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Saturday she went to appraise the strawberry bed bordering the fence
+line of Sweetincreek Road. Through the mulch of old straw the creeping
+plants were flourishing. “The berries are swelling good. Give them a
+week,” Ellen said to the dog beside her. “I’m going to brave Pa to let
+me trade a basket when they’re ripe.”
+
+“Hey, Ellie Gaddy, how’s your nanny goat?” Christian Ay, in blue shirt
+and overalls, was leaning on the other side of the rail fence amid
+scraggling hollyhocks and high ditch grass and mullein on the road bank.
+“I brought you something.” He was leaping the rails, his teeth flashing
+in his broad tanned face. There was a bundle under his arm. Jack
+growled, running toward him. He patted the dog and it trotted after.
+
+“Hey.” She waited, the red gathering in her cheeks.
+
+“Brinker gave me the evening off. So I walked down the road. Is this
+your dog? Here, it’s for you.” He was setting the feed sack he carried
+on the ground and opening it. A rabbit wriggled its nose and slowly
+blinked dark eyes upward, grain dustings sifted in its blue-gray fur.
+
+“My.”
+
+“I guessed you’d like it.”
+
+She took it from the sack, holding it in the crook of her arm. She
+brushed the dust from it and stroked the wiry ears. “It’s trembling.”
+
+“It’s tame. It’s not afraid. Rabbits always do that.”
+
+She sat in the grass, bearing it carefully. “I ne’er had one.”
+
+“Don’t pick it up by the tail. Its eyes’ll drop out.” He grinned,
+looking down on her and putting his hands in his pockets. “You always
+lived here, Ellie?”
+
+She nodded, bending over the pet beast, disturbed by the looming
+stranger, charmed.
+
+“I figured you weren’t tenants.”
+
+“Pa owns this farm outright,” she whispered.
+
+He kicked at the grass turf, idly flexed his arm muscles, feeling them
+with his broad hands, one and then the other. “You know what Mr. Brinker
+does, Ellie? He pens his pigs under the horse barn where it’s raised off
+the ground. And he puts chickens in batteries up in the loft by the hay.
+Beats me. I never saw the like.” Christian was plucking a grass stalk to
+chew. “Made his boys a windmill. A little one. Grinds real corn for
+their banties and rabbits.” The young man was excited by the girl. There
+had been her coarse words thrust at him in spite when he jostled her as
+they first met. And now her ease, snuggled in the grass by the
+strawberry bed, her face slightly flushed. “It beats me, that way Mr.
+Brinker does.”
+
+In the silence that drew down, the hum of bees working the young weed
+blooms vibrated. The dog scented an animal trace and darted away in
+pursuit. The careless voice of a male thrush was dropping like liquid
+pebbles in the sweetened air, then it ceased. Ellen was holding clover
+leaves for the rabbit to chew; she was content.
+
+“I thought you’d like a rabbit, Ellie. It wasn’t much bother getting it
+for you,” he bragged. Christian had inquired of Brinkers about her
+family, heard they were unfriendly, cut themselves off from most of
+their neighbors. Mr. Gaddy kept a close hand on his two daughters. That
+was what Mr. Brinker had claimed. I’ll bet she’s never been kissed.
+
+Ellen was lifting her eyes, gray, gold-flecked. “I’m beholden for it.”
+
+He spoke as though he had practiced what he said, deliberate. “I’m kind
+of sweet on you, honey.” He tossed aside the grass blade quickly,
+leaning down, his tan face darkened. He was laying a hand on her soft
+cheek, putting his mouth taut and firm against hers.
+
+Surprised, wide of eye, she looked at his closed lids. The strangeness
+was repellent but for a moment curiosity snared her. Then she remembered
+Maria’s veiled hints and Anton’s heavy predictions. She spilled the
+rabbit from her and shoved the young man so he stumbled back. “Now get
+away.”
+
+“Come on, Ellie,” he was crying, “bet you’ve never been kissed.”
+
+“Yes, I have,” she lied.
+
+“You got a boy friend?”
+
+“No.” She was getting up. “And rabbit’s lost. Jack’ll get him.”
+
+“Let him go. I heard your daddy won’t let you out. Is that so?”
+
+“I’m going to find rabbit.” She hunted in the brush, coming on the tame
+creature nibbling timothy by the grapevine posts. She lifted and
+caressed it, stony-featured.
+
+“Goodbye now,” he was calling.
+
+She breathed, motionless, “My pa would so let me out.” She turned to see
+him walking to the fence, watched while he laid his hand on it. She
+called suddenly. “Here he is. I found him.”
+
+Christian leaped the fence and laughed, shouting, “Should I come next
+Saturday?”
+
+“I don’t care.” He waved as he was disappearing, and she shrugged. “Who
+cares?”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The week moved forward. She asked Anton, “Could I trade some of the
+strawberries to Grady Love for a dress-goods piece? I’d like a new one.
+Of dotted Swiss.”
+
+He frowned. “What foolishness, girl.”
+
+“I’d make Frankie one, too. With ruffles. For mass.”
+
+Anton was caught and reconsidered. “I suppose you could. Crops are doing
+well without hit don’t get dry. When you pick, hold back five-six
+baskets.”
+
+The next Saturday a thunderstorm held sway. Ellen was pacing restive
+about the house, at last ran through the storm to curl up drenched by
+her three goats. “I don’t care if he doesn’t come. What’s he to me? And
+we need this gully-washer for the fields.” Rain thrashed afresh on the
+woodshed roof. “Reckon he might walk down next week, Penny? If he’s not
+forgot by then.”
+
+The storm cleared in the early evening. As she was hurrying through the
+delayed feeding a rainbow emerged, spanning the hills. She stopped in
+her chores, forgetting all but the opalescent arch in the setting of
+summer green. “There. That’s a sight. I set my bow in the cloud for a
+token between Me and the earth. Everlasting, He said.”
+
+In the moist heat that followed the downpour, the strawberries began to
+ripen quickly. Ellen bartered with Grady Love and showed Frankie the
+ribbons the storekeeper had thrown in to match the two lengths of cloth.
+“That’s a dollar forty cents worth if you had the cash.” Ellen cut and
+stitched, Frankie set up the ironing board to press.
+
+That night Anton nodded as the younger girl was standing before him in a
+yellow-dotted dress, a deep ruffle flaring around the boot tops, a
+yellow ribbon plaited into the round neckline. Anton pulled her to his
+lap. “This redheaded poppet’s so fair. Makes me wish I was her beau come
+courting.”
+
+And Ellen, holding the image of Christian, felt a lesser pain as she
+watched them frolic. The next day though, she was wearing her drab
+gingham. “He won’t come. It’s been two weeks. He’ll ne’er think to
+come.” She walked out to the berry patch. “I’ll just see if they’re
+still plentiful.”
+
+Christian was astride the rail fence. He waved, “Got rained out last
+week.”
+
+“I came but to look at the berries.” She was approaching the fence.
+
+He had a red-painted can that held a plant, the heart-shaped leaves
+mottled white along the veins, the flowers purple. “Here.” He was
+offering it. “Old lady Brinker grows them. She called it a primrose. Her
+kitchen’s full of flowers and vines. Too many for me. She even had her
+old man and me to nail up boxes outside the windows and fill them with
+rotted manure. And us with hay to cut. And corn to work.”
+
+Ellen was undone by the gift. “It can live in my loft window.”
+
+“I never saw such folks for decorations.”
+
+“It calls to mind the shooting-stars that grow in swamp spots. You know
+them?” The flush lay upon her.
+
+He jumped down from the fence, began to tell stories he’d gleaned over
+the past days. While he was speaking he looked away and took her hand in
+his. She kept her hold on the red can. They leaned back against the wood
+rails. He was telling about the studhorse Brinker had just purchased.
+“It’s a red roan Belgian. Stands near eighteen hands. I never saw a
+stallion to beat him for class. And light on his feet like a little
+filly.”
+
+“There. I’d love to see him,” Ellen whispered. She let her hand lie soft
+in his.
+
+As if it were a usual thing he put his arm on her tanned neck, under the
+yellow hair. She stirred restless, the plant in one arm. “Tell me about
+your folks, Ellie. Where they come from?”
+
+“My great grandsir was from o’er the waters. My Uncle Garland tells how
+he traveled across the east Kentucky mountains. He killed elk that lived
+in the forests there in olden days. He saw giant eagles too, and poison
+scorpions.”
+
+“What’s your old man like?” He withdrew his arm, threw himself on the
+grass, his head against the lowest rail. He was frowning.
+
+“Oh I don’t know. Say, I near forgot. I made my sister and me each a new
+dress this past week.” She looked down at him. “They turned out proud.”
+
+“Why didn’t you wear yours?”
+
+“I didn’t want to. Pa might see. I’ll wear it to mass though, tomorrow.”
+
+“What’s your old man like, Ellie? Does he still spank you?” He slid down
+in the grass, staring skyward. “I’d just like to meet him. Sometimes
+those crabby old fellows make me sick.”
+
+She saw his eyes that were gazing at the clouds angrily, his fair hair
+and new-shaved face. She sighed.
+
+“I could have killed my father,” he was saying, “trying to chain me to
+his store. Before I’d run that place for him, I tell you I’d go to
+jail.”
+
+There was his stubborn wide mouth.
+
+“There’s a circus coming to New Hope next week, Ellie. I heard it’s got
+an elephant. Want to go? Mr. Brinker’ll give me the pickup to use.” He
+stood up from the grass. “Let’s go ask your daddy now. I’m set on
+going,” he warned.
+
+“We’ll ask Ma,” she said quickly. “Pa’ll likely be in the field at this
+hour.”
+
+“Wait a minute.” He was reaching for her hand again. “Look, what’s the
+matter with one kiss?”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“You’re afraid. It’s true. You never have been kissed.”
+
+“Yes, I have too.” So she let his rigid wide lips bear upon hers. His
+nose was in the way, and her arm that hugged the primrose. He pressed
+against her. She was staring at his eyelids, cold. I don’t see as that’s
+such a great thing. To write songs about and to whisper on.
+
+“Now you like me, Ellie. Don’t you?” He was triumphant.
+
+“Oh my, yes.” But she felt cheated. He thinks it’s a great thing.
+
+They were crossing the field to the farm lane, walking up to the house.
+Maria was inside the screen door, peering at them. “I thought it was
+peddler. He’s past due,” she muttered and turned to go.
+
+“Wait, Ma. This is Christian Ay. He asked me to go along with him and
+the Brinkers to a circus at New Hope next Saturday. Can I go, Ma?”
+
+“As far as I care you can.” Maria was disappearing into the house
+recesses.
+
+Christian looked at Ellen, demanding in a low tone, “Why’d you say
+Brinkers were going, Ellie? I’m taking you.”
+
+“I’ve got to own I was afraid she’d say no.” Her eyes glowed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Frankie learned Ellen was going on an outing, she waited until they
+were undressing for bed. She spoke in the fluttering candlelight, her
+voice a child’s, “You got a beau?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Yes you have, Ellie.”
+
+“I’m just going along with the Brinkers.”
+
+“Pa ne’er liked Brinker.”
+
+“I know.” It was a spear of pain.
+
+“What’s that boy like?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“What does he do?”
+
+“He talks to me.”
+
+“I hate there being boys and girls and e’er a thing jumbled. Why can’t
+it be smooth and all the same?”
+
+“I don’t know. It’s the way of it. Like the priest says, God made it
+so.” They sat on their beds rebellious, disturbed. “I don’t like it
+either.” But Ellen was looking over at the new plant in her window.
+
+In her heart a small edge of terror would reign throughout the week. But
+Anton paid her no heed; he ignored her proposed trip in his concern with
+the successful cutting and hauling in of the first hay, with the sows
+that each farrowed a basket of tiny piglets. When Christian drove the
+pickup into the yard, her father was at the barn. Ellen sped down the
+porch steps, Jack barking wildly. Christian wore a red shirt,
+store-creased, and black pants held up with worn green suspenders. His
+hair was slicked damp, the strong artificial odor of violet pomade
+pervading the cab. His face was haughty and alien. He seemed somehow
+shorter and broader. She sat back with a satisfied sigh, smoothing the
+fullness of the new blue-speckled dress. Her shoes were buffed and had
+new laces. She had on her best white stockings. Her hair hung down loose
+and in her handkerchief, scented with sweet fern and balsam needles, was
+a small comb. They spoke little. Christian kept his arm on the window
+ledge. He said, “That your new dress?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You sew good there.” He wheeled the truck into a great dusty lot. They
+drove under a pasteboard sign, CURCIS PARKING HERE. Christian paid an
+old man a nickel. They hurried toward the huge colorful entrance arch.
+“Let’s go, Ellie.” He strode to the ticket booth, she followed, and they
+went in.
+
+Through the noisy carnival air, hand in hand, they were wandering.
+Christian was devouring peanuts, sack after sack. Ellen licked a mound
+of pink spun sugar in a paper cone. “It’s like eating a cloud. It melts
+to nothing.”
+
+He was laughing at her, glad he was with Ellen after all. They went to
+see the tent show, sitting on hard benches in the close-packed crowd,
+the dust soft under their feet. He held her hand in his lap. In the ring
+horses thundered by, rifles cracked, the King of the Cowboys on a
+graceful white horse, waved his flapping hat. A baby elephant followed
+by a tall one with a torn ear and an odorous camel, ambled around the
+ring and out again, their progress accompanied by spasmodic
+hand-clapping. A cage with a sleeping lion was trundled by a pair of
+brown oxen. The ringmaster bawled through a megaphone. In smoldering
+heat aerialists soared and swung as band music softened and swayed the
+crowd’s amazement. Ellen leaned forward.
+
+They roamed the grounds later, eating grilled hot dogs, drinking mugs of
+high-foamed root beer drawn from an orange barrel. They stood before the
+limp-maned lion’s cage. “Sure looks mangy, doesn’t he, Ellie? He’s
+twenty years if a day.”
+
+A group of boys came up to throw stones and poke through the metal bars
+with striped circus canes, after a while meandering noisily away. “Poor
+soul,” said Ellen, “those youngens shouldn’t ill at him that way.”
+
+“Now there’s the midway, Ellie. Come on.” He was pulling her with him to
+the wide grassy passage bordered with peep shows and circus sights. A
+sinuous middle-aged woman was wriggling on a platform beneath a glaring
+sign, EVENING IN PARIS. A barker coaxed, “Ten cents. One dime! See the
+girlies. Imported from Pah-ree. Ten cents to see them revealed in their
+natural beauty. Hurry. Hurry! One dime. They take it off. The Parisian
+beauties.”
+
+“Let’s see the strip tease. I dare you.”
+
+But Ellen was shaking her head. “Double dare you to see the two-headed
+baby instead.”
+
+“Double dares go first. All right.”
+
+They viewed an albino raccoon, a six-legged sheep, the tallest dwarf, a
+mass of twining poisonous snakes. They stopped before the India-rubber
+man and the fat lady. “Oh Christian, my teacher, Talithie Gentry, was
+bigger than her. Easy.”
+
+Christian paid the armless man a penny to write their names on a card in
+elaborate script, holding the pen in supple toes. Christian was
+pocketing the card. “This’ll remind me, Ellie, after you’ve gone.” He
+hitched his suspenders cockily.
+
+Then they were in the high-seated cab of the truck again, the narrow
+tires jouncing in the hot dust. Christian was whistling above the racket
+of the motor. He was warbling, partly off pitch:
+
+   When the m-m-m-moon shines
+   On the c-c-c-cow shed
+   I’ll be waiting for you by the k-k-k-kitchen door
+
+His spirits were high.
+
+   I’ve got a cute little husband
+   Who’s just twenty-three
+   He’s just three years older than me
+   He goes out every night
+   And gets on a tight
+   And leaves the dear baby with me
+
+He was pulling her to his side, driving with his arm about her. He was
+caressing her hair and moving a hard palm from her throat to her
+breasts, yielding and white under the stiff cloth. She was leaning into
+the comfort of his body in the heat as they droned over neglected clay
+roads. Clumps of black-eyed susans lined the ditches, and butterfly
+weeds bearing ragged clusters of orange flowers. No birds sang in the
+hot afternoon sun. Her thoughts began to drift. Without fear she
+considered, Pa’ll beat me, it’s away past time for chores. “Is it late,
+Christian? Penny must be watching for me.”
+
+“Is that your sister?” He spoke, absent, his hand pressing upon her
+breast.
+
+Ellen shook her head. “It’s hot.” She drew away from his hold, moving to
+lean out the window.
+
+After a pause he said, “You tired, Ellie? Want me to stop in the shade
+along the roadside?” It came thickly. He reached for her hand, slowing
+the truck. In back of them a horn sounded and a red automobile with an
+open top swerved around them to disappear in swirls of dust.
+
+“You better take me home. My chores are waiting.” Her face was a soft
+oval, her hand lay snared in his, feeling the rough calluses.
+
+“All right, then. I only asked on account of Brinker milks late. Said he
+wouldn’t look for me back till after six.” There was silence. Then he
+said, “Naturally you do what you please.” He laughed, dropping her hand.
+“Sure do like Mr. Brinker. Not a whit like my daddy. The other day I
+hollered down from the top of the silo, how much feed do I give them and
+he says, fork her down till you get tired twice.” He spoke animated,
+striking the window ledge.
+
+“Why don’t you like your pa?” Ellen asked.
+
+“He’s a skinflint. You bet we had a fight when I said I was going to
+work for Brinker. Had to promise him half my pay.” He snorted. “Me, a
+man grown. Over twenty and turning a part of my pay to him. That
+sonofabitch.” He lapsed into thought. “Say, I didn’t mean to swear
+before a girl.”
+
+“That’s all right.”
+
+The truck was stopping before the yellow farmhouse. Ellen opened the
+door. “I’m obliged, Christian. I won’t forget the strange beasts and the
+people on the high swings. And everything.” She sensed the finality of
+the afternoon.
+
+He had her hand all at once. “Look, I’ll walk down to see you Saturday,
+Ellie.” He was tender again suddenly, as if the magic of the day moving
+already toward nostalgia smote him.
+
+She went to the house, that final gesture lingering. The spotted thrush
+winged to the grapevines where it hid its nest. Jack came bounding up,
+tail wagging, neck arched in pride over the wild rabbit in his mouth. “I
+see you caught your supper,” she whispered.
+
+The town teacher’s buggy was in the lane, his mare hitched to the post
+by the well. Every Saturday he came to give Frankie a piano lesson.
+Anton had gone to his rooming house two years ago, waited in the hall, a
+round black hat atop his balding head. “I be Anton Gaddy,” he had
+mumbled. “I’ve heard there are ladies that make a name for themselves
+playing before crowds that come to her. I’ve heard tell those kind are
+honored and not deemed lightly in the eyes of rich folk. My daughter is
+to play a piano I bought her in such a wise. Can you give lessons? I got
+the money.” The town teacher had found his task difficult. The girl was
+contrary in a sly way and had but small talent. She simply obeyed her
+father’s will.
+
+Ellen was listening to the piano as she mounted the steps. From the
+kitchen wafted the acrid odor of pot greens Maria was canning. Ellen
+stepped within the screen. Anton’s figure towered from out of the
+fawning shadows. “To your room, girl. Hum.”
+
+“Am I late, Pa?”
+
+She was ascending the stairs, flagging, slow. The man’s footsteps coming
+after were soft as the sweep of an owl’s wing, gentle in pursuit.
+“You’re late.”
+
+She stalled halfway. “Pa?” The pain was there, starting, in her throat.
+
+“Thou shalt beat them with a rod. I’ve said it. Mind, girl.”
+
+“You knew I was going.”
+
+She went up. He was closing the door. He gripped a belt, the wide
+leather strip dangling by a brass home-fashioned buckle. He would wear
+this belt on Sundays with his black suit. “There. Town teacher met the
+Brinkers trading in Bethel.”
+
+She waited then, mute, and the hurt was high in her throat. She had
+trained herself to silence since she was a small child, pitting herself
+against his spirit, persuading herself he did it for love. He wants me
+to be good.
+
+“So they weren’t at that gauded circus. It’s e’er so. You be a liar.” He
+was striking her, whispering harsh, gray eyes narrow, “Be you whoring so
+soon, girl? Here’s a generation not washed of their filthiness. I’ll set
+the priest at you. Hear?”
+
+The door shut sharply. He had gone. Ellen was standing anchored as her
+throat ached. His violence directed against her, aside from the cut of
+the strap, would make her sicken and she was ruling it down until she
+would be at peace with herself. She waited, finally moving to hang her
+crumpled dress on the ridgepole and put aside her dust-grimed shoes. Her
+stockings like white moss, were in a heap on the floor and she caught
+sight of the pale pillar of her body moving in the mirror that was
+fastened to the door.
+
+She was hurrying to the barn then to linger over the pair of suckling
+kids and tend the round of her chores. Clouds were lowering in the moist
+ether that rumbled before an advancing evening storm. She remembered
+lines from a song Christian Ay had said people sang in Louisville.
+
+   When I go toot-toot-tooting
+   Down the street
+   In my little Ford automobile
+
+All that night rain fell on the receiving earth. The morning was humid
+and portentous. In the earth’s vitals, seeds were bursting in slow
+presage and primeval animal movement was rife. Above ground, bees were
+snoring, working their hoards, minute midges piped thinly, bottle-flies
+glutted at dung heaps or in company with spotted orange butterflies
+savored rotten things. In the pond the duck had struck and killed a
+fragile peeper frog, while from the woods edge a red dog fox looked on
+at her, his button eyes bright with greed.
+
+In the kitchen while dawn faded, Ellen was slicing bacon with a long
+knife whetted to a narrow blade. She had brought the molded slab in from
+the smokehouse. Peeled potatoes were boiling in a pot, a pan of biscuits
+rose and browned in the oven. She started bacon frying in a spider and
+measured coffee out of a jar unscrewed from the grinder on the wall. She
+spooned it into water bubbling in a chipped tall pot. Frankie laid out
+plates, plum preserves, buttermilk, ketchup, a stone jar of butter. Both
+girls wore sleeveless petticoats, white stockings and church shoes.
+Later they would get into the new dresses. “Ellie, did you notice if
+that camel swallowed like a horse or chewed a cud?”
+
+“There, I forgot to look.” Ellen went to the well for water. She met
+Anton coming from the barn with Maria’s pail of milk. She held her hand
+over the dark welt on her upper arm though his eyes weren’t on her. She
+followed him to the kitchen, lifting out the bacon, breaking eggs into
+the iron spider. She crumpled an eggshell in the coffee to settle the
+grounds and dumped the hot potatoes into a brown bowl. The Gaddys and
+Sam Offut grouped themselves at the stout table. They poured ketchup on
+the potatoes and eggs, drank steaming cups of coffee, ate heavily, for
+the workdays were arduous. They would arise by candlelight, seldom were
+done by nightfall with the wheel of chores.
+
+Then Sam brought the buckwagon around, Blueberry and Moll hitched to it.
+“Hurry up, ooman,” Anton was saying to Maria, “we’ll be late to mass.”
+
+His wife climbed up to the narrow seat edged with an iron rail, and sat
+beside him. The girls were hiking themselves on the end of the wagon
+bed, sitting on a rug, backs to their parents, feet dangling. As they
+swung out onto Sweetincreek Road Anton spoke over his shoulder, “Your
+nannies can go to the meadow and graze with the cows, girl. Those
+yeanlings are old enough now.”
+
+“I’ll take them down tomorrow, Pa.” Joy surged within her at his words,
+and the hotness of the season swung in to ripen grain in the favored
+fields and bring flowers to bud and bloom as the fragrant undulating
+grace of the farm lands moved toward harvest.
+
+
+                                   4
+
+The sun beat down like a scourge. Men moved listlessly, driving
+themselves and their draft beasts. Fowl with panting beaks crouched in
+dusty bowls they fashioned in yard corners with their fanning wings. By
+flickering lantern light before the sun rose, the milking was completed.
+Ellen and Frankie were called upon to help at stripping the udders of
+the overabundant animals. The first streams on the pail bottom would
+whine high, the tone lowering as the pail filled, becoming deep and
+sonorous until foam ran down the pail sides. Then it was time to pour
+the milk through squares of flannel into ten-gallon cans that would be
+placed in the hewn-log water trough to cool, awaiting pickup by the
+dairy truck. In the half-dark the cows shuffled to pasture, Jack nipping
+their heels. Ellen would follow and close the gate. The sides of the
+bovines were oily, their breath fragrant, eyes moist. By early morning
+their stomachs would be distended with lush summer grass. Then
+throughout the sweltering day they would lie in the shade of the woods,
+chewing their cuds.
+
+Anton and Sam would down a heavy breakfast, eat plates of eggs, Ellen
+cracking a dozen in the skillet for them. They reached for more coffee
+cake and bread and slabs of cold meat. After they ate they walked stolid
+to the fields, working corn rows with cultivator and team, mowing and
+raking and hauling in towering wagonloads of timothy and soybean and
+clover hay. They mended fence lines, repeatedly repaired harness and
+machine, sharpened saw, adz and ax, scythe, knife and cutting blades.
+They would throw from the fields the larger stones that cropped up under
+the bite of the share. Some fields had a rock outgrowth too large to be
+removed and it must stand bared and alone, machines and men circling it.
+At mid-morning and afternoon Frankie would search until she found the
+men in a field. She brought them a stone pitcher of water spiced with
+vinegar or a ginger stick. They mopped their rough-bristled faces with
+red kerchiefs, and drank. Sam was shirtless, his overall straps cutting
+his scrawny sunburned shoulders. Anton, powerful upper body covered to
+protect his freckled skin, had soaked his black sateen shirt with
+perspiration. His large arms shone red and glistening. The odor of sweat
+and earth rose strong about the men.
+
+“Before God, Sam. Can’t figure how a little fart like you can put in a
+day’s work alongside me. Haw.”
+
+“E’er watch a banty cock, Mester Gaddy? It’ll outlast your Barred Rock
+rooster any day of the week. Not so much of me to get wore out.”
+
+The Gaddy women were laboring too, bringing in grapes and berries, beans
+and tomatoes by the pail and bushel. They canned and dried and sugared
+down the procession of largess that moved through the kitchen. There was
+more milk than the dairy would buy and Maria would skim the surplus for
+cream, send Ellen to trade the butter she churned. It was dirt cheap in
+this season. The remaining thin milk was thrown to squealing young pigs
+in wood troughs, foul-smelling in the reek of heat. Milk would sour
+swiftly, spots of yellow-green milkstone forming on the sides of pails.
+Ellen was directed to scrape it clean with a knife. Cheeses were made,
+some to cure amber and hard, hanging in the smokehouse, others to be
+stirred daily in stone crocks until the white curd turned yellow, the
+strong odor left, and it became bland. There was an abundance of cottage
+cheese with clabber cream and chopped green onions stirred in, or a
+seasoning of herbs that grew by the houseside. Maria had a lavish hand
+when it came to seasoning.
+
+“I reckon I got such a heavy hand because my mam always was put to it to
+get enough for us to eat. She’d dig chicory roots for coffee and gather
+wild thyme and herbs. Pap cut lumber to sell to the railroad and worked
+tobacco. He saved e’er a penny he was paid and gave her none.” Maria
+sighed, “Mam found out I ate stones once. Seemed there was a
+satisfaction when the food was gone, to a white pebble, smooth like a
+bit of lard. I just recollect.”
+
+Christian would come on Saturdays at dusk. Ellen met him covertly at the
+usual place and they ate a few lingering strawberries from the
+burned-out plants, then went to lie in the shade. He was boasting about
+the gigantic machine that Brinker had rented to harvest his wheat. “That
+combine’s some invention. Finished the whole field in a day. The bags
+are stacked in the crib. By heck, Brinker grows good wheat. We counted
+twenty grains on some ears. That’s forty bushel to the acre.” He was
+browned, his white teeth were flashing and he swaggered. “In the
+afternoon old lady Brinker drove the pickup out to the field with a
+freezer can of ice cream and three new-made cakes. Tell you, that
+woman’s my ideal of a wife. Spread a white cloth and brought silver and
+plates and a tin can of lemonade. We sure polished it off.” He
+reflected. “In the lemonade she had a chunk of ice floating.”
+
+“Wish I had a piece of ice big as my head. Purely I do.” Ellen looked
+away, sighing in the stifled air scarce cooled by the setting of the
+sun. “It seems like all that’s to be garnered is trying to ruin before
+we can get hold of it to store it against the winter.”
+
+Christian would stay with her only a short while because he was roused
+now while it was yet dark to begin the long day. Ellen spoke softly with
+him but when he laid his hand in the hollow below her throat or upon the
+dress over her thighs as he had done in the truck, she was afraid and
+made him laugh with her foolishness and coaxed him from his wont.
+
+Sam Offut had failed to appear for milking one morning. Sam lived with
+his wife a short way down the road in a shack he owned; he would take
+his first two meals with the Gaddys and supper at his own table. Anton
+was hard put this morning, even with the help of the girls, to finish
+the chores on time, and sat down late to breakfast. As he was arising,
+the hired man appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed, with an air of not
+having washed or slept. Sam was saying evenly as he took the chair
+across from Anton, “Ran my old ooman off last night. Those two were
+laying there still when I came home. On my bed. That whorish Eadie. I
+ne’er saw that particular peddler before. I could have killed them but I
+only ran them off.” He speared a slice of ham with the sharp knife.
+“I’ve doubted many a year now, since my youngens are grown and gone, if
+I be the daddy to more of the six than the first-born.”
+
+Anton said shortly, “If you’ve got a mind after this, Sam, you can take
+supper here. Come on to the barn when you’re done.”
+
+“I’m beholden.” Sam was eating like one famished.
+
+During that day Ellen marveled at little Sam Offut, middle-aged,
+leathery-skinned, smoldering as he went through the days at his wife
+Eadie, bedding with other men. She wondered at how it took the white
+heat of August to kindle him into action.
+
+When Jack was driving the cows in from the pasture one night, the white
+kid was missing. Penny and her young would always be in the lead in
+their anxiety to reach Ellen, who would have an evening tidbit set out
+for them in the woodshed—apple peels or bread crusts or carrots. Penny
+and the brown kid were standing in wait at the woodshed door. As pangs
+smote her, Ellen bolted down the lane to the field. The dog barked,
+running ahead. She searched the fence lines, from afar spied the bit of
+white, the buckling strangled in the fence where he had tried to slip
+through. He had hung himself. Ellen, extricating the stiffened body, met
+death for the first time intimately. She fought over her loss in the
+solitary field. “Oh you were my dear droll poppet that followed me.”
+
+Ever in coming weeks when she thought of the clownish yeanling, tears
+came and her throat caught in anguish so complex it was nearly joy. She
+never forgot the death of the white kid. Its impact made a mark on her
+like scars she could point to on her body. “Here the sickle cut into my
+leg when I cleaned the path one day. And here that spotty hound bit my
+wrist when he had that fight with Jack.”
+
+In her new-found anxiety for her two remaining goats, she kept them from
+the field, penning them in the barnyard and bringing them kitchen scraps
+and meadow grass. In their cleverness, though, they slipped through the
+fence to nibble in the garden and wander at will. Anton discovered them
+girdling bark from a stripling peach tree with their sharp teeth. He
+threatened, “To pasture with those tormented creatures where they
+belong. And if they be the cause of further botherment, girl, I’ll knock
+their heads in gladly and butcher them. Mind now.”
+
+So Ellen went down the lane, Penny solemn at her heels, the doeling
+trotting last. Laughing at their comical air, the girl began to run.
+They snorted and sprang after her abandoned, striking their little hoofs
+sharply on the dry ground, unconscious of dignity or the heat of August.
+She left them blatting disconsolate at the meadow gate. In days to
+follow she would go to the barnyard fence, straining her eyes for a
+glimpse of the two small does amid the drove of cows.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came the hour when Christian and Anton met. Though Ellen would
+slip out to see Christian when he walked down the road on his afternoon
+off, she had not mustered the boldness to bring him to the house. Anton
+never spoke of the young man though he knew Ellen met with him. One time
+he had watched them for a while from behind the oak by the berry patch.
+He saw his daughter talking while she switched flies with a branch of
+leaves, and the young man, brooding, leaned upon the fence. Anton could
+see nothing amiss and pulling on his pipe, went to listen to his
+favorite practicing at the piano.
+
+Ellen had joined Christian in the orchard near the brook. Her goats
+finished browsing and lay back to back in the grass chewing their cuds
+in their rapid dainty way. Ellen was sitting on a fallen log. She wore
+an old dress that fitted her budding form too tightly. She laid in her
+hair white meadow rue and yellow oxeye daisies. She bowed her head to
+one side over the field flowers in her hands and knew, dreaming, how
+fair she was.
+
+Christian lay on his stomach in the grass by her, catching her mood,
+knowing he’d never seen the girl so fetching. The lines of her long face
+were soft in a frame of flaxen hair. He spoke suddenly, “I got another
+letter from Mama.”
+
+“Oh?”
+
+“She mad again. My sister had a chance to get married and she turned it
+down. Mama says Rose wants bigger fish.”
+
+“Fish?”
+
+“Mr. Johnson’s only got a house and money. That’s not enough for my
+sister. He’d have to be a millionaire.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“And she says Daddy gets pains nowadays. Has to lie down. He won’t see a
+doctor.”
+
+“He’ll be all right, don’t you reckon?”
+
+“He hates to pay a doctor bill.” He reached over to cover her bare foot
+with his palm. “You’re so sweet, Ellie.”
+
+“Sweet as Miss Sabatha Withers, boy?” Anton was standing before them in
+the long grass. His overalls were ragged, the sleeves to his black shirt
+had been cut below the shoulders so his heavy biceps showed. His chin
+was thrust out, his body pulled erect in the habit of short men. A straw
+hat was settled upon his sparse hair. He was chewing a quid of tobacco.
+
+Christian jumped to his feet. The two of them were the same height.
+“Hello, Mr. Gaddy. How do you do? I’m Christian Ay.”
+
+“So hit seems.” The man spat, looked about as though searching for
+someone. “Hum. You didn’t bring your lady friend with you?”
+
+“What’s that?”
+
+Anton tilted his head. “And how be Dutchman Brinker these days? Haw. He
+still got the notion to stall his beasts on all the storeys of his
+barns? I heard he penned some shoats to fatten in his loft and they grew
+so grand and big they broke clean through the planking. Is that a fact?”
+
+“I never heard of it, sir,” Christian was cold. “Mr. Brinker’s a fine
+farmer, I can tell you. But you got a nice place here, sir.” He was
+nodding, appeasing, as he flung his hand in a rude movement.
+
+“This place was here, boy, being worked by my sir when Dutchman’s pa was
+setting on his ass in the old country.”
+
+Ellen dropped her head, repeating over and again the Nicene Creed for
+her lover snared in Anton’s rough hand. Like an enchantress she evoked
+the only charm she knew. From whence He shall come to judge the living
+and the dead.
+
+Anton squirted the brown juice again and was moving away. “Feeding is in
+an hour, girl,” he threw over his shoulder.
+
+“All right, Pa.” She closed her eyes. Holy Virgin it had worked.
+
+Christian eyed her, rebellious, scorn in his young face. “What a dirty
+crabby guy even if he is your old man. I’d just like to push that
+bristly smart-aleck face of his in. I can’t stand a bossy fellow like
+that.”
+
+“Hush.” Ellen got up with sudden despair. “Now what’s he talking of
+Sabatha Withers for? Who’s she?”
+
+“A girl I happen to know in Bethel. I’ll go see her or anyone I want.”
+He shouted it, striking at her father. And at himself for his
+intimidation. “And any time I want.”
+
+A quarrel had uncoiled before they were aware. Ellen leaned back on the
+log, whispering, gray eyes slitted, “I don’t give a neinse. Run to that
+poor-trash thing.”
+
+His short legs spread, his high cheekbones pale, he was storming, “And
+if I never see you or your stupid old man again, it’ll be too soon. I’m
+going to see someone who appreciates me.” He threw back his head and
+stalked away, cutting across to the road.
+
+Ellen stayed awhile in the tall grass. As she wept the fury shed itself.
+Bereft, she went up the hill through the field where the boar was now
+penned. Her goats and Jack were trailing after. The old red boar
+regarded her from a little distance, his distrust palpable. “There’s a
+mean hog, Jack,” she whispered.
+
+She neared the barnyard and heard Anton, “Hitch Blue and get him out
+here, Sam.” A spotted heifer was stretched neat a group of slender
+walnuts, bawling intermittently. Anton was bent over her. She had been
+due to bear her calf any day, was a daughter of his best milker, a pride
+to him. While Ellen watched, her hand resting on the yard gate, Sam was
+running from the barn, leading Blueberry. The harness jingled as the
+buckskin came at a trot. “Whaw,” Sam cried roughly.
+
+The two conferred. The horse waited on them, head down, hipshot, a hind
+leg at rest on the tip of the hoof. They hitched the tugs to a rope
+looped about the head of the unborn calf just within the dam. Anton
+drove the horse forward slowly, dragging the cow. Then he halted, took
+off his straw hat, scratching his head. “Hell, hit’s drying out. I vow,
+Sam, the first one’s always too tight. It’s like the wine corks in the
+kegs. Once get them started and they come out easy. Let’s try those
+trees o’er there, now. Gee-whup.” Again the traces tightened and the
+tired young cow was hauled through stones and red dust in the broil of
+heat. They untied the lines, rehitched them through a gap between two
+walnut trunks. “Haw-there,” ordered Anton and while the beast bellowed,
+wedged upon the tree boles, her calf was torn from her womb, limp and
+wet.
+
+Slipping through the gate, Ellen skirted the barnyard and hurried to the
+house. She changed her dress and spoke quietly to Maria, “Spotty had her
+calf. Pa had to take it from her. It’s a pretty one.” She returned, saw
+the heifer was on her feet, placenta hanging. Delicate head down,
+tossing her well-formed tiny horns, she guarded the calf she licked
+nervously.
+
+That night the heat lifted slightly. Ellen was wakeful within her
+loft-room. She slipped downstairs into the sultry dark. Barefoot, she
+walked with Jack to the woodshed, freeing Penny and Rhodie. They
+wandered across the fields, through gates to the orchard. She sat on the
+log again. In the night sky the blue whiskers of cloud were backing off.
+And the moon in absolute radiance was speeding forth. There was not a
+sound anywhere.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+As the year moved on, the heat abated and winds started out of nowhere,
+rushing. Christian stayed away from Ellen over two long Saturdays. Then
+one evening she was standing beyond the low garden wall watching the
+bees work the hives. He appeared, jaunty in a blue shirt freshly pressed
+by Brinker’s wife, his blond hair damp, comb-marked. “Hey, Ellie. A
+penny for your thoughts.”
+
+“Not wasting them on you, I’ll say.” Her temper shifted in her and she
+colored. “I’m thinking Sam will be robbing the poor bees soon.”
+
+“Come on, take a walk with me, Ellie. Down to the woods. Say, you’re
+blushing.” He grinned.
+
+“Go to your true love in Bethel.”
+
+“No.” His blue eyes were bold. “I broke off with that one.” They were
+starting down the hill. When out of sight of the house, he took her
+hand.
+
+She pulled away, unwilling. “I don’t care for you.” But in time he won
+her from her anger and it was with Ellen as though the quarrel had never
+been.
+
+They were hand in hand in the dry reeds by the pond where the lone duck
+was paddling in circles. He was vowing strongly, “I’ve left Sabatha
+Withers for good, Ellie.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“She’s cheap.” He laughed angry, for the young fires lay hot in him
+still. “You never have seen Brinker’s place, Ellie.”
+
+“No. I’ve heard tell he’s got fancy barns.”
+
+“You’d get a kick out of them. Want to go there next week? I could show
+you Baker, that Belgian stud. He’s a sight. Like I said, he beats
+anything I ever saw.”
+
+“I’ll come, then.”
+
+“Kiss me, Ellie.”
+
+“Listen at that sound, Christian.” The faint cry of geese was audible,
+“Kwonk, honk, honk, kwonk.” Far above the earth the long-necked wild
+birds were heading for northern nest grounds, their massive bodies two
+wavering lines of dots making the letter V. The call of the leaders
+sounded shrill, and as they moved overhead there came the deep responses
+of the rear guards. It seemed to Ellen that she had no desire for the
+way of the roused child-man beside her. Ahead stretched the long
+filament of her life; she was pierced by the pain of the earthbound that
+is made up of longings. She was voiced vicarious from the throats of the
+wild birds. She turned to Christian, dissatisfied. Their eyes were
+almost on a level; she was crying, intense, “Don’t you wish you were
+that leader?”
+
+“Say, I’d rather be me than some bird.” He laughed at her, pressed her
+hand. “Come. Kiss me.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the last week of September Ellen slipped down Sweetincreek Road to
+where Christian had brought the truck around. The Brinker family were in
+Bethel doing their weekly buying, and Christian acutely felt his
+proprietorship. He drove up his employer’s graveled drive and into the
+huge garage. He led her to the farm buildings, proud. “Take a look.”
+
+The great white barn was trimmed in red, a gigantic portrait of a
+black-and-white Holstein bull had been painted across the expanse of one
+side. There was an iron bull weather vane centered on the roof; it
+wheeled with the breeze. “I ne’er saw such furbelowing, Christian.”
+
+“This isn’t the half of it.”
+
+In the shed just off the chicken house he was showing her round-bellied
+puppies. She fondled them while the gentle bitch watched alert-eyed from
+a straw bed. “Nothing smells as soft as a little whelp, Christian.”
+
+He was pointing to a miniature windmill, and to bantam chickens and
+white and gray rabbits in screened hutches. Out in the pasture were
+shining Belgian mares. Ellen was stroking their sleek faces. Christian
+caught a cobby black filly by the halter and led her to the girl. “This
+one’s Doll. She’s pedigreed. She’s to be bred to Baker as soon as she
+comes in heat. Mr. Brinker’s ordered it. We’ve been watching out for
+her.”
+
+“Look at those dark eyes, Christian. Here, Doll.” Ellen was offering a
+handful of oats. But the mare threw up her head, nickering toward the
+farm buildings. There was a responding whinny from the distance. The
+mare swished her tail, holding it high.
+
+Christian’s eyes kindled. “You know, Ellie, I think she’s in season.
+Let’s try her. See if she’ll take him.”
+
+“You’d best wait for Mester Brinker.”
+
+“You’re scared.”
+
+“I’m not. Only I’d wait. If she’s a thoroughbred, he’d lay the blame to
+you should it go amiss.”
+
+The mare was shaking her head so the halter rings jangled; she cried
+again, shrilly. Christian was opening the gate. “Come on, Ellie. Look,
+you want to ride her down the lane? I’ll lift you to her back.”
+
+“You dassn’t ride her. Sam told me,” she said, dallying, “that a mare in
+the heat mustn’t be ridden till she’s been bred.”
+
+“All right. But come on,” he urged. He led the prancing Doll through the
+gate and down the lane toward the stallion’s paddock. Ellen was
+following, reluctant. “You hold her while I lock up Baker,” he called.
+
+She came to take the mare’s headstall from him. “Well.”
+
+At the yard the huge seed-horse was observing them, restive, aware of
+their business. He squealed, striking at the fence bars with his huge
+hoofs. Christian laughed, catching Ellen’s eye. “What you scared of,
+honey? I can handle him easy.”
+
+“So what?” she whispered to the mare, who was tossing her mane, jerking.
+
+Christian had skillfully snared the halter of the red roan beast and
+secured him in his stall. “Turn her in the lot now, Ellie,” he was
+shouting.
+
+But she tarried and cried, “I’ll wait for you in the truck.”
+
+“Come on, turn her in. It’s only Baker.” He was flushed and he laughed
+at her from the half door of the stable.
+
+Ellen loosed the black mare in the paddock where she curved her neck and
+cantered like a gust of wind. The stallion could be heard clamoring
+angrily, rearing and knocking the walls. Christian turned the handle of
+the stall door to release him, and then vaulted the fence. He came to
+stand with Ellen. “Why did you want to go to the truck?”
+
+The magnificent horse was trotting out, neighing. He minced past the
+filly who was dwarfed by his size. He lifted his shaggy fetlocks high
+without effort and his tawny mane streaked. He wheeled, snuffed noisily
+at her neck, bit it softly and pawed it in a dynamic graceful gesture.
+Then he leaped the mare, falling on his side with powerful elegance. He
+recovered, mounted her again. His beauty was like a thunderous battle,
+his piercing voice rose and fell on the stilled air, waking the valleys
+of the farm, rushing through tree boughs.
+
+Christian was turning, urgent, “Ellie?”
+
+“Let’s go to the truck, Christian. I’m going to wait there.” She turned.
+
+He grasped her arm. “Come on, Ellie.”
+
+“No, Christian.”
+
+He was shoving her under the lean-to by the stable where summer wheat
+straw was stacked for the stallion’s bedding. He was struggling with his
+clothing, bruising her. The coolness dwelled in the shadows there, it
+was quiet and made itself separate from the noise in the dust of the lot
+outside. His youth was adamant and awkward, his knee entreated silent
+between her virgin thighs.
+
+Surprised, she was fighting. “Liar,” she gritted.
+
+He held her in the straw. “You’ve led me on, Ellie. I won’t wait.” His
+arms were muscled from a hard summer, his blood thrusting purposed.
+
+She had read of Absalom, how none was so much praised as he for his
+perfection. From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was
+no blemish in him. So the Bible said, and so she had dreamed of
+Christian moving in a lawful pattern she laid. She was unprepared for
+the painful shattering of it, betrayed. “No,” she was weeping. “Liar.”
+It whistled in the coolness against the pant of him.
+
+“I have to, honey. Take it easy. I’ll be careful. I can’t wait.” His
+voice was blurred and hot, stabbing, overridden by the tramping hoofs
+and shrill neighs like a storm without.
+
+Ellen closed her eyes. They ran tears because of the hurt there was, the
+receding terror.
+
+He spoke softly then, “Don’t cry.”
+
+“Go away.”
+
+He stood up and went into the sun. He led Doll back to the pasture,
+threw a forkful of hay to Baker who was docile now, obedient. After a
+while he came back and looked at Ellen. “Don’t be mad.”
+
+She wouldn’t hear him.
+
+“Come on, Ellie. We’ve got to get back.”
+
+She was rising, brushing back her hair. He leaned toward her, tender,
+and pulled a straw caught in the yellow strands. She struck, savage, at
+his fingers. In the truck seat she remained unspeaking until he reached
+for her hand. Then she unleashed at him, injured, “You think I’m that
+Sabatha Withers. I ne’er want to see you again. Hear?”
+
+Christian was resting his elbow on the window; he looked down the road.
+He gunned the truck so dust eddies rose like a whirlwind in the wake. He
+slammed the brakes on the road just above the Gaddy entrance. “Come on,
+Ellie. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Please.”
+
+But she hurled the cab door shut. Her head was high. For her world that
+had had a sort of ingenuous beauty had disappeared. And it was never the
+same again.
+
+
+                                   5
+
+October came to pass in fog and tones of droning rain. Muffled trees
+stood in wet leaves along farm paths. Ellen, a gray shape in the mist,
+was moving from clinking house lights to the obscurity of the woodshed
+and barns. Christian had not come for three weeks. At first she had
+waited in profound anger, eager to renounce him. But in the autumn sun
+of following days, while the two ringing notes of the partridge called
+back and forth, loneliness tempered her wrath and she loved him
+indulgently as the source of her pain and its witness.
+
+Today she was going again to the rail fence along the road where
+joe-pye-weeds drooped coarse-toothed leaves. She was wearing a red
+stocking cap, her long coat had pendulous lapels and a wide belt that
+fastened on her hips with two heavy buttons. As she passed the
+grapevines where leaves hung chilled, a flock of crows arose, making
+nasal resentful barks. She waited an hour. Unending rain was falling and
+small gusts wove about. Finally she went to the work Anton had set,
+sorting and shucking corn. Later she absently stroked the alert ears and
+silken hair of the kid Rhodie, nearly as large as its dam now. “Reckon
+he’s with Sabatha Withers. Pleasuring as he did with me.” She clothed
+her wrath, embellished it. “Happen she’ll drag him to a priest. All his
+days he’ll dwell on me and what he forfeited.”
+
+Her mind turned to when she was nine or ten and, living in fantasy and
+wishes, would try new ways to walk through the sun-washed fields where
+grass stood high. It would seem that crowds of people lined both sides
+of the way she took. They came to see how grand she held her head and to
+talk among themselves of the noble way of Lady Ellen. “I aim to hold me
+high and wed a rich man.” She spoke aloud in the stable. But she didn’t
+believe it and the anger burned. She went to the house where lamps
+flickered in the gloom, and Anton stacked a fire in the parlor, filled
+the woodbin and split lighter-wood with a deft hand.
+
+Ten days passed. On a splendid windy morning in November, Ellen was
+clearing garden debris and gathering cabbages and root crops in heaps
+for winter storage. She faced her dilemma, rebellious. “If it be so,
+I’ll drown myself or it in the pond when it’s born. And if he’s run off,
+I’ll seek him out. I’ll knife him, I will.” She piled cabbage heads in a
+bushel basket and dumped them in the cellar storage bin. Her secret
+dwelled within her like a hidden wound. “I say, Jack, what will I do?”
+
+That afternoon Amanda York came up the porch steps and knocked. “Hickory
+mast is laying thick in Bailey’s Woods, Mrs. Gaddy. Can Ellie and
+Frankie come nutting?”
+
+The three girls walked a mile down the road to the woods, carrying empty
+baskets. Amanda had black eyes and black shining hair. She was rosy and
+lively. “Ask your pa if you can go once to the husking bee. This
+Saturday.”
+
+“He ne’er would brook it, Mandy.” Frankie was shaking her head.
+
+“There’ll be a sight of folks. From Bethel way and down from Seven Mile
+Run.”
+
+“Because Pa don’t favor us socializing,” Frankie added.
+
+Amanda tossed her braid. “And a fiddler and a spread of eats.”
+
+“You know Sabatha Withers?” Ellen flushed in the asking.
+
+“I’ll say I do. She’s wild. Boys flock after her like dogs on a rabbit.”
+
+“What?” cried Frankie.
+
+“She sleeps around. Things like that.”
+
+“My.”
+
+“What’s she look like?” asked Ellen.
+
+“Oh, light-set, and got yellow hair like yours, Ellie.”
+
+“Why doesn’t she have a baby,” Frankie asked, “if she sleeps around?”
+
+“Don’t ask me.”
+
+“It’s a mystery,” Frankie sighed.
+
+“Did that Lily Garrett tell you what she did?” Amanda asked.
+
+“You mean sending for that stuff to make her breasts grow?”
+
+“Yes. And what happened.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Well, she wanted it,” Amanda whispered, “for she’s boy-crazy, Lily is.
+She’s terrible.”
+
+“I know. She told us.” Frankie giggled. “Men like you big, she said.”
+
+“Well, she waited all summer to hear. We couldn’t figure why it ne’er
+came. I studied that her pa had got hold of the package some way.”
+
+“Say. Did he?”
+
+“No, last week it came. Just an old envelope. And there was a picture on
+a card of a man’s hand. It said underneath, Try This. Lily got scared.”
+
+“She should ne’er have sent off, Mandy,” Frankie cried.
+
+“Say, has that Withers girl got a boy friend?” Ellen was asking.
+
+“She’s got plenty, Ellie. There’s always one to take her to doings.”
+
+“Now what if Lily’s papa’d seen it,” Frankie said. “That picture and
+those words.”
+
+“Wish I could go to that husking bee,” said Ellen. “I’ve got a deal of a
+desire to go. I might cross my pa and slip out this once.”
+
+“Oh Ellie.” Frankie’s voice was the cheep of a frightened bird. “Don’t
+say that.”
+
+“Obey thy father and mother.” Amanda spoke cheerfully as they were
+entering the woods. “Now maybe he’ll say yes this time, Ellie.” They
+began to gather hickory mast that carpeted the ground. When the baskets
+were full they walked to Amanda’s home, a saddlebag log house set in an
+apple orchard. They left two baskets in the passageway between the
+cabins and climbed to an upstairs room. They shucked Amanda’s nuts,
+spreading them with brown-stained hands on a carpet of straw. From the
+rafters hung strings of small ear corn with white pointed kernels that
+would pop over a fire. And there was a drop cord overhead with a carbon
+bulb, for the Yorks had electricity.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sisters took their leave and walked home with the laden baskets. The
+evening whippoorwills were starting their spasmodic carping. Ellen said,
+“I’ll make a way to go to that husking bee.”
+
+But at the end of the week Anton brought news so she forgot all about
+it. He had hauled grain and surplus root crops, Hubbard squashes and
+pumpkins to Bethel, returning in late afternoon with ground flour, meal,
+and kitchen and farm supplies. “Saw the new smithy, Troy Hatfield, and
+got the welding done. That share will hold now. And he gave me outright
+a great piece of hide for leather stripping, just for that heap of
+pumpkins Frankie planted. Shaw.” The man was growing genial, his journey
+a success. He pushed back his chair and strode to the door, spit his
+quid into the bushes. He wiped his face with a powerful arm, came back
+to sup coffee noisily and consume chunks of Ellen’s brown dripping-cake.
+He was turning to her. “Troy gave me news for your ears, girl. You mind
+that froward young fellow hired to Dutchman Brinker? The one that sassed
+me? Well, he took off in a sudden. Dutchman had a time finding a new
+hand. This one’s brought a wife with him, so he’ll not be traipsing
+about with young maids. Hum.”
+
+“Did smithy have an idea where he went, Pa?”
+
+“You pining after that poor trash Brinker hires?”
+
+“I’ve got a right to ask.”
+
+“You trifling with me?”
+
+“No, Pa.”
+
+“You have to put in your two cents. The fellow’s pa died. Troy says
+Dutchman was right plagued at having to pay wages out on a Sabbath.
+That’ll put a good Lutheran in hell, I allow. Haw.”
+
+“He ne’er liked his pa nor that kind of city work.” Ellen was by the
+door, lingering.
+
+“You got any more on your mind? Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen went to take from its pen the gray rabbit Christian had brought
+her. She carried it to the edge of the field and put it down. “Go fend
+for yourself like I’ve got to. Look out for the hungry foxes and
+weasels.” She watched it hop away, then went to her upstairs room. She
+hunted in the wood trunk for paper and an envelope.
+
+   Dear Christian,
+
+   Smithy told Pa you left these parts. The sky is heavy and gray.
+   Maybe it will come on a snow. I call to mind the hours we spent by
+   the strawberry bed. Now I think winter is come. I would that you
+   wrote me how you are getting on.
+
+                                                           Ellen Gaddy
+
+She sealed the envelope, addressing it to Mr. Christian Ay, Carl Brinker
+Homestead, Route 4, Bethel, Ky., send to new address.
+
+Down in the woods the air was still and weighted. Pinched clouds were
+banking above the swollen land. The red dog fox crept to his post
+overlooking the shadowed water. His eyes tensed as he spied the old
+Muscovy duck napping, head under wing, amid brown rush stalks. He struck
+noiseless. Thrashing wings lashed in a frenzied struggle but the needle
+teeth found the jugular and blood was spattered on the rushes. Later
+Ellen called again and again and there was no answering rush of wings.
+“You’d ne’er come to the safe yard. Reckon some varmint caught you.” She
+tossed the ear of corn to the tame fowl in the chicken yard.
+
+Her letter was returned by the mail carrier. She hid it under her apron.
+On its face was scrawled: return to sender, no address known. C.
+Brinker. She took it up to the attic and laid it unopened in the small
+trunk. She stood looking out the gable window as drifting snow made the
+world grow small and old familiar shapes became strange and new.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Down Sweetincreek Road in mid-December Anton was driving the wagon to
+mass in Millville. The lightweight buckboard was unsuited for these
+winter days and the women rode in the wagon bed shrouded with rugs. A
+crowd of frightened birds moved and swooped across the sky like a giant
+amoeba. The pale sun was melting the snowfall into slush. The horses
+snorted, exhaling a vapor, tramped in the ruts of the road, hurling red
+mud in clods from their iron shoes. Anton was complaining, “Wish hit
+could have waited till Monday to thaw. This is a rough piece of road.”
+He clucked to the team. “Reckon we’ll be late again to mass, Frankie?
+Here it is Advent time once more.”
+
+“Christmas is but two weeks off, Pa.”
+
+Ellen was praying silently, “Holy Queen, keep him from remembering to
+send us to confession this week. I’ll not tell it to a priest. I’ll go
+to hell and burn first. I’m in a sorry strait, now.”
+
+Anton was fastening the team and preceding his family into the square
+clapboard building half filled with people and heated by a huge black
+stove at one side. He took one of the rear pews. The heavy clothing
+rustled, the plank floor creaked. Anton tugged his bulky fur cap off,
+thrust it behind him on the seat. The women were kneeling at the low
+bench in their long coats, their caps and boots. They crossed
+themselves. The priest was murmuring at the altar, his server on his
+knees. Intimidated by habit and example, Ellen inclined her head. She
+heard the sonorous chant, “O Thou that leadest Joseph like a sheep,
+alleluia. Stir up, O Lord, Thy might and come to save us. Who art Thou?
+I am the voice of one crying in the desert.” She made the sign with her
+hand, desolate. The priest began to tell off the canon of the mass. He
+washed his fingers, incense drifted, the signal bell tinkled. Folk
+shifted and whispered; singly and in groups they left their winter
+covering on the benches, came with bowed heads to the altar, hands in
+ancient attitude of prayer, to receive from paten and cup the Body and
+Blood. Say to the faint-hearted, fear not. It chafed within Ellen,
+uncomforted. She arose with the rest when it was over. And in the
+beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
+And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness grasped it not.
+The holy man was striding away, the people began to depart in a
+disturbance of noise and bodies. Ellen touched the water in the granite
+basin as she walked after her mother and sister.
+
+Anton dipped his head, curt, to those he knew, stopped without the door
+to speak with N. J. Bilberry. The women waited, Maria whispering to Mrs.
+Bilberry, fleshy-faced and cheerful. At Anton’s nod they climbed back
+into the wagon and he took the reins. They jolted down the road. The
+earth lay dank-sweated, old furrows exposed. Black cottonwood trees were
+guarding the ditches. “N. J.’s wheat froze out,” the man commented
+briefly.
+
+“Tinie says there’s chills and fever going about,” Maria told him. “And
+Ioway Ashby has married a man from the south. He’s thirty-one years old.
+Ioway was but twelve last June.”
+
+“I heard,” Frankie cried, “he sent off for a poppet doll for her,
+dressed in a bride veil.”
+
+“Ioway Ashby’s not inclined to give up her dolls yet,” Maria said.
+
+“Now dogwood roots are near as good as quinine for chills and fever,”
+Anton was saying.
+
+“Ioway’s ma told Tinie they’d begged at her since summer to let them
+marry. So she figured they just as well. I say, that’s a sight young for
+robbing the cradle.”
+
+Under cover of the wagon’s rumbling, Ellen whispered, reciting, “Mother
+of Mercy, our life our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor
+banished children of Eve.”
+
+Frankie pulled the rug about her boots. “It’s powerful cold. What you
+doing, Ellie?”
+
+“I’m thinking. Sam says if you have a blade of five-finger grass to
+carry about no one can deny you what you ask. I don’t believe him.
+Wonder if there’s some in the fields now?” Ellen turned her eyes
+uncertainly to the future, where somehow she must form a plan.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Anton received a letter the next day. “Hit’s from your Uncle Garland.
+Says he’s coming in a week’s time for Christmas this year. Hum. We’ll
+see what he thinks of your piano-playing now, Frankie. And how you’ve
+grown so fair.”
+
+“Oh Pa.”
+
+The man straightened his back, looked out the window. “Bear in mind, one
+more Christmas and you’ll be going up to that city with him. That’s
+Anton Gaddy’s youngen, folks’ll say.”
+
+“Chicago sounds so far off, Pa. Will Uncle be glad for me to come?”
+Frankie smoothed the brightened hair that hung about her narrow
+shoulders.
+
+“We’ll butcher tomorrow. Hear, ooman?” Anton said to Maria.
+
+“Yes,” she assented, “and it’s just come on the dark of the moon. It’s
+right to butcher.”
+
+“You know I don’t hold by that. But my brother dotes on your blood
+pudding and peppered headcheese. Sam and I’ll fix to prepare right
+away.” He marched out.
+
+“If you butcher in the light of the moon,” Maria told her daughters,
+“it’ll all drindle away while it’s frying. Just cracklings’ll be left.
+The grease’ll go rancid till you’ve got to make it up in soap.”
+
+“I know,” tittered Frankie, “and that soap will turn the clothes
+yellow.”
+
+“That’s a fact,” said Maria. “Don’t you laugh. My pap and mam e’er went
+by the moon. It’s natural.”
+
+“Will Uncle Garland say I’m fair, Ellie?” Frankie appealed to her.
+
+“I reckon.”
+
+“Are you cross, Ellie?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Well you sure act sick then. Doesn’t she, Ma?”
+
+Ellen, who found tears started easily now, who was wary of her sudden
+sieges of self-pity, was running from the room. Again she dipped the
+pen.
+
+   Mr. Christian Ay,
+
+   There is a need for me to speak with you. I wish you were still
+   hired to Brinker. I fear you have forgot me and this is but a
+   striving after wind. Could you make a way to write or send word?
+
+                                                           Ellen Gaddy
+                                                     Millville, Ktcky.
+
+This she addressed, Mr. Christian Ay, Care of Ay’s Store, Louisville,
+Ktcky.
+
+She mused, near suffocating in the loneliness. Had she led him on as
+Christian had declared? Had she sinned? Her brows contracted and she
+searched again the halls of memory for meanings. Surely she had known to
+fear that which befell. Here in the countryside tales were constantly
+bruited and old songs sung of fallen virgins and light young men. The
+Bible related dire warnings and horrid punishments meted out to defiled
+maids. She had led him to their sin then. But that wasn’t so. I didn’t
+knowing lead him on. I wasn’t a wanton. There came to her mind the
+woodchucks Anton trapped. A shotgun often didn’t penetrate the small
+thick skulls so steel traps were set in their underground paths. If a
+creature blundered and felt the sudden grip, it would strive with its
+greatest strength. And if it could not tear free, it backed into its
+den, pulling the trap after. There it gnawed its own leg above the metal
+jaws. It destroyed a part of its flesh, knowing it was a way.
+
+When the next morning was just made, two scalded hog carcasses were
+hanging from the sourwood scaffold. The blood had been caught in a bowl
+and taken to the kitchen for boiling and seasoning. The great white
+wrinkled heads were on the porch in a red-daubed washtub. “If there was
+a ooman with child about,” Sam grunted as they were hoisting the scraped
+bodies by gambrel sticks thrust through the hamstrings, “we’d have to
+take care to cover this mess. Butchering blood on the earth marks a
+child.”
+
+“I don’t have those worries any more.” Anton tossed the liver and
+kidneys and sweetbreads in the pan Ellen brought out to them.
+
+The fire was dying under the iron cauldron. Soon hams were piled in a
+heap along with the sagging shoulders and sides on a lye-scrubbed plank.
+The sausage-making began. Sam was scraping the inverted intestines
+preliminary to stuffing them. He stopped to hone his knife on a
+whetstone he carried in his pocket, spat on it for lubrication. “My old
+ooman came back last night. First thing Eadie did was boil up hot
+mustard water and set her feet in it. She chewed up a sourwood twig to
+make her a snuff brush. Give me a dipping, Samuel, she says, I’m
+tuckered.” He sat back thoughtful. “For Gawd, my house was a lonely
+place against that old hen’s return.”
+
+Anton sliced chunks of meat savagely, the razor-sharp knife whipping
+close to his finger tips. He held his silence, fed the pork into the
+grinder.
+
+In the kitchen the women were preparing in their fashion for the
+celebration ahead. Anton had given Ellen coins with which to buy sugar
+when she did her trading, and for spices and raisins to put in the
+holiday cakes. In this season when his brother came for the annual
+visit, Anton would have no stinting. “Girl,” he said to her, “my ma used
+to make a pale holytide cake. There were whites of eggs beat in bowls
+and it was thick with nuts and sugared fruits. Not black like those
+strong sorghum ones you-all make. Hum.” He nodded, complacent.
+
+Ellen was assenting, eager. “I’ll ask Mrs. Love. Could be she’s learned
+the rule of such a cake, Pa.”
+
+“And when you’re trading, go down of an evening when priest is holding
+hours for confession. Your uncle be due on Saturday, and I’ll have you
+all at the communion rail when he’s here, proper pious.”
+
+Before walking the muddy road to Millville in the cloudy darkened late
+afternoon, Ellen went to her room. She was binding her waist tight with
+a length of cloth. “I can’t see nothing yet, but Stacey Love might.”
+
+In the confessional box, she whispered to the young priest. “Bless me,
+Father Tompert. I confess to God and you that I’ve sinned. My last
+confession was Easter.” She despaired. It’s all made up of falseness.
+I’ve no right to be here.
+
+“Confess your sins since then, child.”
+
+“I took God’s name in vain. One time I did truly hate my pa.”
+
+“Have you had any impure thoughts, my child?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“If you have any of these kind of thoughts you must do your best to
+banish them. Are you truly sorry for your sins?”
+
+“I am, Father.”
+
+She went to kneel in a pew, forbearing to recite the penance prayers the
+priest had assigned to her. Instead she asked the Virgin to have pity,
+to understand why she was mute to Father Tompert for the sake of Anton’s
+pride. She was thus driven, with a measure of courage, to rejecting the
+rituals bestowed on her since a cross was hung about her throat as a
+baby, since she first held the beads and lisped the Credo. And praying
+to Mary, Ellen emerged with her as a personal god. She grasped the
+blue-gowned symbol in her need as if it were flesh and blood and could
+wield an influence on her fate. She denied the immense father figure of
+God without debating it.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In coming days she would meet the mail carrier in his Model T, take back
+her second letter and place it with the other in the trunk. She at last
+put aside the hope of finding Christian Ay.
+
+By Friday, cakes and tarts, breads, cheeses and dried fruit pies were
+overflowing from the pantry shelves. Hams and sidemeat were curing in
+the smokehouse, sausages strung lavish from the shed eaves. There were
+crocks of fried meat packed in white fat, as well as headcheese,
+liverwurst, and tins of fresh lard. In the hot kitchen, Maria was baking
+breads and biscuits in the newly-blacked range, vaguely wakened in the
+prospect of a visitor. She spoke to Ellen, “Get wax candles when you go
+by Love’s next time, girl. The tallow ones ain’t suited for Mester
+Garland Gaddy.”
+
+Frankie was at the long table, a basket of butternuts and walnuts on the
+floor by her. She was cracking them on a sadiron with a blow of an old
+hammer head. She looked up, “You’re right peaked, Ellie. Are you
+ailing?”
+
+“I’ll hunt out some of that bloodroot tonic,” Maria said, “if you got
+the complaint. It’ll make new blood.”
+
+“I’d as lief you’d sing again,” Frankie was saying. “And you used to cut
+up so. Seems you’ve given it up.”
+
+Ellen, startled, burned her hand on the iron pan she was taking from the
+oven. She shook her wrist to ease the seep of pain.
+
+“Go smear yellow soap on it,” her mother said, “it’ll draw out the
+heat.”
+
+Ellen rubbed on the soap, blinking her eyes. She sang to hide the tears
+and to hold her tongue from blurting her trouble.
+
+   If I had known before I courted
+   That love had been so hard to win
+   I’d have locked my heart with the keys of golden
+   And pinned it down with a silver pin
+
+“That’s too lamenting, Ellie. Sing that one Penny used to. About that
+Minnie.”
+
+   Hush little Minnie and don’t say a word
+   Papa’s going to buy me a mocking bird
+   It can whistle and it can sing
+   It can do most anything
+
+They were making ready for the guest coming. Calico was hung across one
+end of the downstairs bedroom to form a separate chamber in which
+Garland would sleep. A chair was placed by the bed and a stone-topped
+table. In its base was a chamber pot, and on top a crockery pitcher with
+pink roses glazed on its surface set in a matching basin. A cake of
+store soap lay in a dish, a towel folded beside it. They ripped the bed
+tick open, removed the old stuffing, and filled it with soft wheat
+straw. The one feather pallet was aired and placed on the mattress, and
+over all they spread muslin sheets and their best quilts.
+
+That night Ellen was in a chair in the warm parlor, her back aching from
+the long hours, a piece of mending in her hand. Dark had come on, the
+lamp was throwing feeble quivering shadows. Anton was holding the Bible
+and his lips moved. He raised his eyes, studied the image of Joseph
+alone on the table. He spoke, abrupt, “Where’s the Virgin Mary that
+stood there with Joseph? She be broke, I vow.”
+
+Ellen looked up in alarm. “I took her to the loft-room, Pa. What with
+holytide, I thought it would please you if I prayed to her, pious-like.”
+
+“Well, I allow you can keep her for a spell. But she’ll not be broke,
+girl.”
+
+“No, Pa. I’ll take care.” She arose. “Reckon I’ll go to bed. Coming,
+Frankie?”
+
+He stopped them. “I’ll say the prayer to Michael once for this family.
+Get down, you-all.”
+
+On their knees the women were waiting, their shadows cast like gentle
+giants on the wall. The man knelt by the lamp and his specter engulfed
+theirs. “Holy Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our
+safeguard against the snares of the devil. Thou, Prince of the heavenly
+host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits
+that wander through the world seeking the ruination of souls.”
+
+The temperature dropped in the night. As they were beginning the morning
+chores, whitefrost covered the land. The remote stars were cold and
+challenging. Ellen shivered, feeling her frailty. “What does it matter?
+One soul like me. I’m but a grain in a field of wheat. Who’s to heed if
+I be lone or have a sin to burn me?”
+
+She was closing the woodshed door. Her two goats got up in the
+half-light by the stone wall. Their beards twitched as they chewed in
+unison, their hair stood out woolly. “Why did I e’er take up with the
+careless love of Christian Ay?”
+
+She was putting bread crusts and salt and soybeans from her pocket in
+the wood trough. She laid her hands on the animals’ soft necks. “Here’s
+some linseed meal for richness. You feel the storm coming?”
+
+She went to get a bucket of tepid water that had stood by the kitchen
+range all night, carried it to the barnyard fowl. They were huddling
+together, feathers ruffled, on the pole roosts. She threw cracked corn
+on the dirt floor of their shed, and the birds hopped down one by one to
+eat, singing and crooning over the food. “Tonight I’ll mix a sprinkle of
+red pepper in your wet mash to warm your craws while you sleep.” Tending
+the creatures of the farm, Ellen took comfort and so forgot herself.
+
+
+                                   6
+
+Garland Gaddy, in a new green Ford, was returning to the home of his
+youth. As he drove up the lane, Anton was in the barn on his knees while
+the old cow Bramble, delivered him twin heifers. But Garland’s nieces
+bade him welcome. They showed him the feather bed and he was well
+pleased. He took Ellen in his arms. “You’re a handsome wench, hon. Last
+Christmas you were a child and here you’re nearly a woman. What does
+Anton say when the young men come sparking?” He pinched her thigh,
+smiling warm.
+
+“You’re plaguing me, Uncle. But he’s a sight for sore eyes, isn’t he,
+Frankie?”
+
+“Oh he is.”
+
+At night when the festive meal was over they sat in the parlor. The wind
+growled, and above the alders at the pond the moon bobbed like a ball on
+a chain while water-shadows trembled. Anton kept a fire roaring,
+carrying armfuls of oak logs from the kitchen and piling them on the
+hearth. Garland brought out a fifth of contraband whisky, setting the
+bottle on the round table. The two men tasted from the heavy kitchen
+glasses. “This be good moon, Gar.”
+
+“Well, it beats needle beer. Place I get it has all their hooch analyzed
+and tested by a registered chemist. Ought to be good. Cost fifteen
+dollars a bottle.”
+
+“Christ.” Anton was impressed. “Smithy sold me some Jackass Peach Brandy
+from Virginia. Fifty cents a pint jar.”
+
+“Better watch out for that junk. Break you down inside. Internal
+bleeding. I wouldn’t drink a thing made down here in the Bible belt.”
+
+Ellen was sent to the cellar for a bottle of pale sweet wine that Anton
+made yearly from his scuppernong grapes, the vine of which had been
+planted five decades ago by Jules Gaddy, the father of the brothers.
+Ellen had put a scarf at her neck and it became her. She poured the
+wine, and came behind her uncle in his chair. When she put her head
+against his while he was talking, her hair fell on his shoulders. And
+she loved him.
+
+Garland Gaddy was the middle one of three brothers, a bachelor. He was a
+head taller than Anton, overweight, not yet fat. His small eyes were
+light blue, his once-blond hair had turned gray, he trimmed a neat
+mustache. His jaw was square, his lips full. He wore hand-cut dark
+suits, vivid ties. As a child he had shared with Anton their mother’s
+neglect, had run away from home at nineteen to prowl the states from
+coast to coast, brawling and scattering his seed. Then when he was
+twenty-nine, Anton offered him the sum of fifteen hundred dollars in
+cash, Maria’s dowry, for his half the farm. Garland had accepted,
+hitchhiking to Chicago with the bills sewn into his belt. He soon was
+co-owner of a thriving burlesque house. Now, over twenty years later,
+from his office on State Street he handled a set of neighborhood
+theatres where vaudeville and the silver screen vied for public
+approval.
+
+Anton was affected by the abundance of festive food, the polished house,
+and the women’s raiment. Maria even, had laid aside the sack apron she
+usually pinned on and was wearing her churchgoing black dress and an
+ecru crocheted collar. Anton nearly begrudged the honor they paid
+Garland, although his pride assured him that the tribute was to himself.
+“Say, Gar, I call to mind when we were youngens, and Ma was honing for
+that black driving rig. You recollect? Our sir had but two gold dollars.
+So he went to Trader Bocock. Said, Bocock, you can have this gold and
+all the rocks you can haul out of that rye field if you’ll trade that
+rig to me.”
+
+“She get the buggy, Pa?” asked Frankie.
+
+“Bet she did, hon,” Garland said.
+
+“What did the trader want of rocks?”
+
+“I don’t know. But Bocock had the field cleaned before spring plowing,”
+said Anton.
+
+“Ma managed to get what she wanted pretty near every time,” Garland
+said.
+
+“Hum.” Anton packed his pipe, pushing with his thick thumb. “Had her
+hands full. Say, Frankie, play for us, and sing the prayer you learned.”
+
+Frankie obeyed.
+
+   Angel of God, my Guardian dear
+   To whom his love commits me here
+   E’er this day be at my side
+   To light and guard, to rule and guide
+
+“That’s a special prayer, you know, Garland. Priest says it’s worth a
+hundred days’ indulgence. Sing it once more, Poppet.”
+
+“I better learn that one.” Garland kept time with his hand. He got up to
+stand by the upright piano, tapping his foot. “You know the old
+one—Captain Jinks?”
+
+“I don’t think so, Uncle.”
+
+“Goes like this.” Garland made several false tries before he sang in
+off-key:
+
+   I’m Captain Jinks of the horse marines
+   I feed my horse on corn and beans
+   And court the ladies in their teens
+   For that’s the style in the army
+
+“That’s a new one, Uncle,” Ellen said.
+
+Garland was pulling her hand, drawing her beside him. “You sing with
+me.”
+
+When they had finished, Ellen offered, “Want to hear one of Penny’s
+tales?”
+
+“That roaring ooman,” growled Anton. “Tell you, Gar, she couldn’t cut an
+onion or hold a scrub brush without she was screeching some foldilay.”
+
+“Let’s hear it, puss.” Garland sat back in his chair. Ellen stood behind
+him to sing while Frankie played. Anton bit his pipe in his yellowed
+teeth and the smoke wreathed. Maria knitted, her lips moving
+occasionally with an inner thought.
+
+   I courted pretty Pol the livelong night
+   Then left her next morn before it was light
+
+The song told of how Pol went riding off with the man and then,
+
+   They went a bit further and what did they spy
+   But a new-dug grave and a spade lying by,
+   Willie, O Willie, I’m afraid of your way
+   I’m afraid you will lead my poor body astray
+   Pretty Pol, pretty Pol, you’re thinking just right
+   I dug on your grave the best part of last night
+
+And Willie stabbed the girl and put her in the grave.
+
+   He threw a bit of dirt o’er her and started for home
+   Leaving no one behind but the wild doves to mourn
+
+“Now, if that ain’t a dumb fool story,” Anton snorted.
+
+Ellen looked down at Garland and he patted her hands, placing them on
+his shoulders. “I liked it.”
+
+“You e’er hear,” she asked quickly because of the tears that were
+trapped by her father’s scorn, “it will strengthen a man’s eyes to have
+a mustache?”
+
+“Well,” he laughed, “I’ll keep it then.”
+
+Uncle’s so kind. It came on her as he was stroking her wrists.
+
+Anton lifted his head. “My sir said his grandsir in France owned a
+sporting hog one time. You mind that story, Gar?”
+
+“He called her Slut,” Garland said. “He was a gamekeeper in one of the
+king’s forests. Bred his own dogs, taught them to stand and back game.
+They say he was watching the men and saw the pups weren’t responding.
+Little black shoat went by, not a wild hog, she was the kind that ran
+loose in the forest those days. Made a wager with the men, he could
+train and break the shoat faster than they could the dogs. He penned
+her, taught her to come to her name. She pointed small game and
+partridge. After awhile she’d retrieve rabbit and pheasant, careful,
+too, she didn’t harm them—all sorts of game. Did better than his dogs.
+And backed them when she saw them point. That hog’s nose was so true
+she’d point a bird fifty yards away. In a straight line. That’s the
+story anyway.”
+
+“He win the bet?” Frankie asked.
+
+“Oh sure, hon.”
+
+“Came when he hollered,” said Ellen. “Wish I could have seen that.”
+
+“Did she run good or was she too fat?” asked Frankie.
+
+“She was trim. She’d come at full gallop. Excited like the dogs when she
+saw a gun.”
+
+Maria said, “They must have set store by that beast.”
+
+“You bet,” Garland turned to her, “and you know, Maria, when Slut was
+ten years old she weighed half a ton and they still hunted with her.”
+
+“Ain’t that a tale, Frankie?” Anton demanded. “Those were the olden
+days. Then there came the time of Napoleon the Bonyparty. Pa’s grandsir
+had to soldier under him. He’d watch o’er the old country and if some
+land like Germany was trying to conquer a scroungy sort of a country,
+why Napoleon the Bonyparty, he’d say no. He’d get in front of his army
+and go lick Germany or whate’er land it happened to be. He stayed in
+France between wars and our great grandsir belonged to his company.”
+Anton shrugged with pride. “That fellow wasn’t the king, he worked for
+himself. He made his living that way, watching o’er the old country.”
+
+“Say, my great great grandsir,” claimed Frankie, “knew Napoleon the
+Bonyparty.”
+
+“Well,” Garland was laughing, “tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Let’s hit the
+hay.”
+
+Ellen stayed awake far into the night. The wind was tugging at her
+window and the lonely dark pressed down. Her lips were dry and her mouth
+became as cotton. I’ll tell Uncle tomorrow for sure. At length she
+lapsed into a fitful sleep while in the parlor below the fire died to
+coals and field mice came from the walls to nibble crumbs and nut meats
+fallen on the rugs.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+At breakfast Maria was stirring a pancake batter while the girls fried
+sausages and potatoes, set out slices of blood pudding, crocks of jam
+and sorghum. “I favor lacing griddle-cakes with hot sausage fat,” Anton
+said. “Sweetening takes the taste out.”
+
+Garland, clad in a red shirt, new hunting pants and shining engineers
+boots, beamed. “Good old country sorghum for me. Well, pusses, what’s
+new? Anyone dream about a pointing pig? Or poor Pol? Or Napoleon?”
+
+“I ne’er,” giggled Frankie, “but tell another story.”
+
+“Well, you know that same great-great-grandfather of yours that trained
+Slut, went to Russia with Napoleon’s army. There was a bad winter and
+Napoleon beat it back to France. He let most of the troops die in the
+snow without food.”
+
+“I don’t take much stock in that,” said Anton. “I doubt Bonyparty did
+that.”
+
+“Now, Anton, you know Pa used to talk about it. How they conscripted all
+the men of the village, twenty-three of them. And only his grandfather
+came back.”
+
+“He must have been strong. They say he was a good-looker, too,” said
+Anton. “Finest in the village, a proud one.”
+
+“Doesn’t look like you or me inherited much from him,” laughed Garland.
+
+“Reckon Marc took after him,” Anton said, “for he was the dandy of us
+three boys.”
+
+“Well,” Garland asked, “what you pusses got to report this morning?”
+
+“One of the barn cats brought in a little mole yesterday,” said Frankie.
+
+“You didn’t know I lost my white kid last summer, Uncle,” Ellen said.
+“He was but two months old.” Lines still edged her eyes when she spoke
+of it. “You ne’er got to see him.”
+
+“I was telling about the mole, Ellie.”
+
+Garland listened to them, then said suddenly, “Now An, here’s something
+I’ve been meaning to bring up. Been thinking a lot about Frankie here.
+About her coming up to the city next year. You see, I want everything to
+go right. She needs to make a good impression from the start. Now you
+folks don’t realize it, but you practically talk like first settlers
+with that old-fashioned country dialect. Think Frankie could take
+lessons in grammar or speech this coming year to correct some of that?”
+
+Anton had been spearing sausages and pancakes with a fork. He paused.
+The blood was leaping to his cheekbones, his freckles stood out in vivid
+specks. He made a guttural sound and scraped his chair back. He spat the
+food from his pendulous lips on to the table before him, hurled the
+sausage and fork to the floor. “Hit do be my sir’s tongue and my ma’s
+and before God, hit’ll be that girl’s. She’ll go forth with hit and no
+more farting teaching mesters will I suck upon.” He flung himself from
+the house.
+
+Ellen began to weep. Maria was taking up a cloth to clean the table and
+the floor. Frankie looked at her uncle and her eyes were wary, her voice
+small, “You’re not afraid?”
+
+“Jesus Wept, no, puss. Have another flapjack and I’ll talk to him when
+he cools off. That squirt always had a hot temper.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen snared the largest of the geese by a stout pink leg. She bore it
+to the stump, placed its head between the spikes and cleaved the neck
+just below the jaw. She threw the beheaded bird from her to flail its
+wings and flop about. She handed the head to Jack, eager and knowing. “I
+see you licking your chops.” She tore the down from the breast, stuffing
+it into a sack. She brought a pail of boiling water, scalded the carcass
+and finished the plucking. She gave the entrails to the chickens to
+pick, washed the heavy bird under the pump, hung it near the sausages
+dangling from the eaves in the shed.
+
+In the kitchen, Anton was tipping his chair back. He took from his
+pocket a twist of tobacco leaves and sliced the end with his jackknife.
+He thrust his short legs in front of him, balancing. “Hell, Gar, might
+be it’s as you say and Frankie’s speech is queer to city folk. But what
+matters her way of speech if she’s to make music? If you say so, why
+I’ll get her a grammar mester. But hark at me, Gar,” and his eyes were
+glinting, “don’t ne’er speak again such as you did there before them
+oomen-folk. Like what I say ain’t gospel.”
+
+“Chrissake, get off your high horse. They know you’re boss.” Garland
+ground his cigarette butt in a plate and laughed. He ran his little
+finger across his mustache, touching his sensuous lips. “I was always
+big enough to lick you if it came to that, now wasn’t I?”
+
+“You’ve tried hit.”
+
+“I always give you good advice. Now here’s another bone I want to pick.
+Indoor plumbing.” He hit his fist on the table. “You think you’ve
+progressed because you dug a new privy ten years ago. Maria and those
+young girls haul water from the well like pioneers. This is December
+nineteen twenty-five. The century of progress.” Again the fist.
+
+“They got a sink and a clear drain that our ma ne’er had,” Anton
+drawled, tobacco juice staining the corners of his mouth, “and she ne’er
+had a deep hole like our shithouse but just a board and a shed. Nor that
+sweet-water well that Witch Lufty found. I see you’ve gone soft in the
+city.” The farmer was pleased, for now the ground was familiar. He
+backed down only when there was jeopardy to his younger daughter’s
+future.
+
+“Yes, guess I was going soft, Anton, when I got you that loan back in
+the war when times were bad. So you could buy good milkers and get shed
+of that worthless herd you were supporting. Guess it’s soft to buy a
+good breed of chickens or thoroughbred hogs.”
+
+“Hell, those are beasts where we make our living. Hit’s not the same.”
+Anton stumped to the stove and lifting the round iron lid with the
+poker, spat on the coals. They sizzled. “And I paid that loan back, Gar.
+Hard cash from crops and milk.” He replaced the lid with a violent
+noise.
+
+“I give up. Chrissake, you’re stubborn.” Garland arose. “I suppose you’d
+declare you’ll never run in a line and wire the farm for electricity?”
+
+“I was born by lamplight and I’ll see that I die by it.”
+
+“Well, I’ve got two or three Christmas packages in the Ford.” Garland
+was going to the door. “Good a time as any to bring them in. Frankie,”
+he shouted, “call off that practicing and come with me. Jesus Wept, this
+is a holiday.”
+
+Anton was sawing his fist in the air, exhorting, “Remove not the ancient
+landmark which thy fathers have set, says the Word. Mind, Gar.”
+
+That evening an austere meal of bread and cabbage soup was consumed. By
+custom the family semi-fasted before communion. They would wait to eat
+of the festive food when they returned from midnight mass. After supper
+the girls popped corn and cracked nuts to put on the table. Ellen boiled
+up a pan of taffy at Garland’s suggestion. She buttered her hands and
+pulled it with him until it cooled into long pale sticks. But all his
+jokes and laughter did not rouse her from her lassitude.
+
+At mass she moistened her tongue to swallow the dry communion disk. It
+seemed to her that now truly the door was closed on her childhood. As
+she returned to the pew she grieved, weighing what she had read in her
+Bible. If thou hast done foolishly in lifting thyself, or if thou hast
+thought evil, lay thine hand upon thy mouth. For as the churning of milk
+bringeth forth butter and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood,
+so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife. I’ll have to find a way
+to leave my home, a place to go and drop this wayside colt.
+
+Garland drove the green car back down the road to the farm. He was
+talkative and his mood had passed to his brother. “Tell you,” Anton was
+yawning, “I’ll ne’er forget that Christmas I passed shivering and
+repenting while sleeping up against the cows, and thinking of you and
+Marc warm in the quilts. I’d been whipped on my knees for leaving the
+cow gate open. You remember it? That was one.”
+
+The car lights beamed down the corduroy road. The night was parted like
+great doors swinging open on hinges. I haven’t told Uncle yet. A light
+fall of snow was starting and the wind hushed.
+
+The store-wrapped gifts that Garland had laid on the table in the parlor
+were opened Christmas morning. Anton was puffing at a hand-rolled cigar.
+“If you be setting and your hands be idle, hit’s a good enough
+pleasure,” he said, stinting. “I even heard they’re rolling cigars now
+with a machine.”
+
+Ellen opened her package, took out a hat of crushed blue satin, a silk
+rose on its soft brim. “My, that’s fair.” Her voice was tremulous
+because of his care for her.
+
+“Put it on, hon,” he was saying. “Ordered it special from the milliner.
+You know, satin’s the thing this year. Say, when she wears that to mass,
+Anton, you’ll have to keep the beaus back with a shotgun.”
+
+Maria smoothed her fingers over a black crepe de Chine dress. Frankie
+ran to try on one of pink wool, to fling herself upon Garland while her
+father smoked in his chair, tracing her movements with a jealous eye.
+“E’er see the glass bowl-garden Frankie made me last summer, Gar?” he
+asked. “Hit’s setting in the bedroom window.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen was drying the breakfast dishes when Garland came into the room.
+He had on a bright striped jacket and brown corded jodhpurs. His gray
+hair was neat, his square jaw shaven. “Don’t you ever get tired of all
+this work, puss? You never get a change, hidden out on the farm here by
+yourself.”
+
+“It’s my home, Uncle. And I love the earth and its doings. Sometimes in
+the summer it comes on such an hour like when the Lord God walked in the
+garden of Eden. Sometimes a wind passes o’er the earth that’s fair and
+all its bounty is spread before.” The wetness stood in her eyes as she
+was blurting it.
+
+“I know, but you’ve got your future to think about. You should meet
+people. Get around. Your father dotes on Frankie too much, never gives a
+thought to you. It’s not right, you know.”
+
+“It’s his way.”
+
+“You got a boy friend?”
+
+“No.” Water filled her eyes again.
+
+Garland tapped the table. “It’s your father. Keeps you kids cloistered
+like a pair of nuns.”
+
+Ellen was stacking the dried silver in the milkglass jar. She turned to
+him, desperation fringing her tones. “I would as lief go from the farm
+awhile, to see the world outside.”
+
+“Course you would, sweet.” He was hearty. “That’s only normal. Now what
+chore comes next?”
+
+“Tending my goats.” She was taking her coat from its hook. “Want to
+come?”
+
+With the dog trailing after, they took the path over which Ellen had
+sped light in the summer past. She fed her does and was standing at the
+gate while they ate, her eyes absorbed. Garland smoked his cigarette,
+observing her a while. “How would you like to visit me in Chicago,
+sweet? Work’ll be light here till spring. They can get along without
+you.”
+
+She breathed soft, “Pa’d not have it.”
+
+“He doesn’t need you. Got your sister to keep him company.”
+
+“He does so need me.”
+
+“Well then, he can let you have a vacation.” He smiled. “Does he ever
+strap you now you’re a grown girl?”
+
+“No, but I call to mind when I was a child and once Ma said I picked at
+a rhubarb pie from the pantry shelf. I ne’er knew of it being there. Pa
+cut a hickory, length of his arm, and beat me. Made me kneel. Said I
+lied. I won’t squall and that gets his back up.” She rubbed with her
+finger the area between the black stub horns of Rhodie, veiling her
+eyes. “Reckon I’d love to visit at your house.”
+
+“Well, it’s high time. I’ll throw a party when you come. I’ll talk to
+Anton this afternoon. Tell him it’s only logical for you to be first
+since you’re the oldest. He’ll let you. You’ll see.” He was putting his
+arm around Ellen. She leaned against him with a sigh. “You’re a sweet
+girl, hon.” He kissed her, lingering on the young mouth.
+
+Ellen decided not to say more to him now. I’ll wait till I’m at his
+house to tell him he must help me.
+
+Anton wasn’t averse to Ellen’s journey. Garland had emphasized how he
+was making ready for Frankie’s arrival the next year, and he spoke of
+the money he planned to spend on her.
+
+Maria said suddenly, “Who’ll do the trading if Ellie goes off?”
+
+“Enough jawing on this,” cried Anton. “I’ll send Sam, ooman. Ellie’ll
+not be gone two-three weeks.”
+
+Garland laughed, “Her turn comes first. You don’t mind, do you,
+Frankie?”
+
+“Oh no, I want her to go. Maybe I could do the trading, Pa? Just while
+Ellie’s gone?”
+
+“No, Poppet. Say, is she riding back with you in the auto?” Anton
+inquired.
+
+“I guess not. No, I’ll be going by way of St. Louis. I’ve got some
+business to look after. Then I’ll drive on up and get the house in
+order. I’ve never gotten ready for one of these young ladies before.”
+
+“She’s taking a train then?” Anton was persistent.
+
+“This is my treat. I’m giving Ellen the ticket money. It’s an extra
+Christmas present.”
+
+“Well. If you want,” Anton said, relieved.
+
+Ellen stood by them pale, her eyes fastened to her uncle. He nodded,
+“Come the middle of January, puss. Leave here on the fifteenth. I know
+the train. There’s only one out of New Hope that goes to Chicago.”
+
+“Yes, Uncle.”
+
+“It’s foolishness.” Anton walked out.
+
+Before Garland left, he came on Ellen alone, slipping her an envelope of
+money. “No need to mention this to your father. What he doesn’t know
+won’t hurt him. Just tell him I gave you enough for your ticket.”
+
+“All right, Uncle.” She held the extra money tightly in her apron
+pocket.
+
+On the morning after New Year’s Day, Garland was jaunty in his yellow
+driving cap and raccoon coat. The girls were helping him carry his bags
+out to the Ford. Then he unfolded the hood, examined the interior.
+“That’ll do.” He fastened the hood down, removed the figured radiator
+cap and dipped a finger. “Water.”
+
+Frankie brought a pail from the pump. “Can I do it?”
+
+“No, this is fine.” He poured until it flowed over, replaced the cap,
+and opened the car door. “Here goes one more year.”
+
+“Wish you’d stay on a while,” said Frankie.
+
+“There,” Maria said, “I love that dress. I ne’er had a silk one before.”
+
+“That’s crepe de Chine, Maria,” Garland laughed, “it’s the style.”
+
+“It’s not silk, ooman,” Anton said, “that stuff’s too dear.”
+
+“Yes, is it,” Garland said. “It’s one kind of silk. Well, here I go.”
+His gloved hand was waving from the window. The exhaust rose in a fog,
+dogging the car in the chill air.
+
+The days sped. It was time for Ellen to leave. She had bought a length
+of dark heavy cloth with some of the money Garland had given her. She
+made it into a dress, cutting so it hung in loose folds on her hips. “I
+can feel where it lays hard in me. Soon the cleverest stitching won’t
+hide it.”
+
+She had given Frankie the primrose bulb from Brinkers’ kitchen. “Hope it
+fares well. Keep in mind to feed it cold tea. And do tend my goats,
+Frankie.”
+
+“You’re only going for a week or so, Ellie.”
+
+“Uncle said I might stay a little longer.”
+
+Ellen was bringing salt to her two does. They licked her hands, leaning
+affectionate against her. She knew the places they liked best to be
+rubbed, along the withers and between the horns, on the silken spots
+behind their small pricked ears, on their throats below the beards.
+“Frankie’s promised to care for you.”
+
+Maria said, “Bye now. When you reckon Mester Gaddy’ll be back from
+taking you to Millville? I’m out of coffee.”
+
+Frankie was kissing Ellen fondly. “It’ll be right lonely with you off
+there. I’ll miss your singing, too.” Frankie’s qualms for her own
+leavetaking a year hence were exposed when she viewed Ellen’s breakaway.
+“There. I’m that eager to go to Uncle’s myself.” But she whispered,
+plaintive, “Wish I was little again. What if it’s not fun like you think
+it’ll be, Ellie?”
+
+“I ain’t afraid,” Ellen spoke stoutly as she stepped down to where the
+team waited; her tan coat was covering her new dress, she wore the blue
+satin hat. Jack was flattening his ears and going to sit amid the weeds
+on the bank to await her return.
+
+Anton drove the buckwagon, Ellen on the railed seat beside him. At
+Love’s she would wait to catch a ride on the milk truck to New Hope.
+“You be a credit to me, girl. I don’t favor your idling about in that
+Zion. And you’ll not lust after young men, mind.” He was nodding. “So I
+told my brother.” He reined in the team outside the store. Ellen went in
+for Maria’s coffee. She handed it up to him. “I’ll see you in two weeks’
+time. You can write and I’ll make a way to get you home.”
+
+“Yes, Pa. Goodbye.” Ellen watched the buckboard until she could barely
+make out her father’s round hat.
+
+In Love’s store, she was peering through the wide window. Stacey Love
+rocked, vigorous, by the stove. “Hit’s a far piece where you’re going.”
+Grady was chopping wood and the report of his ax was heard. “I always
+thought a heap of Mester Gaddy’s brother.” She placed a pinch of snuff
+between her lower lip and teeth. “Though I ne’er had no truck with
+another Yankee.”
+
+Ellen kept silence, sickened with excitement and fear.
+
+“You’re sure looking seedy, Ellen. I was telling Grady you seemed kind
+of pinched this winter.” Stacey swayed back and forth.
+
+There was a noise at the door and Lily Garrett was pushing in, her curls
+springing about her soft face. “Well, hey you-all.”
+
+“Wish I had a rich uncle,” Stacey went on quietly.
+
+“Why, Ellie Gaddy,” the fat girl cried, “where you going all smartened
+up? And you got a new hat. Look at that rose.”
+
+Ellen kept her back to them. She continued looking up the road, the
+pulse in her throat throbbing.
+
+“Ellen’s leaving us poor folks, Lily. Going to the big city.”
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Love,” whispered Ellen.
+
+“My goodness,” cried Lily, “you ne’er told me.”
+
+“Wish I could go visiting,” Stacey said, “lie around in bed of a
+morning.”
+
+“You-all heard,” Lily called to Ellen, “Buck Lemmon and Sophie Goode
+wedded? Kept it a secret. It was at the husking bee they met up. How
+come you didn’t go to the bee, Ellie? Mandy declared you were going.”
+
+Ellen looked around. “My pa wouldn’t suffer neither me or Frankie to go,
+Lily. That’s all.”
+
+“I calculate Buck Lemmon seen Sophie a sight before that husking bee,”
+Stacey said flatly.
+
+“Whate’er you mean?” Lily was giggling.
+
+“I ain’t saying,” Stacey smiled. “But you e’er see such a funny-looking
+girl as Sophie? I marvel at her catching a fine fellow like Buck. I can
+see she’s wearing stays and binding herself so it won’t show. Guess she
+allows she’ll fool somebody that way. Buck told me himself she’s been to
+see Doc Trumbo. Lazy old sow.”
+
+“There’s the milk truck.” Ellen turned to flee. Lily was kissing her
+extravagantly at the door while Stacey waved a hand and renewed her wad
+of snuff. Ellen hailed the truck. “Can I hitch a ride to New Hope,
+Mester Durley?”
+
+“Sure thing, Miss Gaddy.” Those were his last words until they reached
+the New Hope station.
+
+“I’m beholden, Mester Durley,” she said as she was taking her bag.
+
+“Sure thing.”
+
+In her valise was the plaster of Paris image of the Virgin Mary, and
+Ellen was somewhat fortified by its presence.
+
+
+                                   7
+
+The whistle was shrieking as the train coursed into the suburbs late in
+the night. The cars slunk past small sharp-angled houses, massive
+factories belching fire, streets of lighted stores and cafes,
+slow-moving people and streetcars, trucks, wagons and horses or mules,
+buggies, automobiles. The coach cars were strung with yellow window
+links that curved on the track ahead into a tunnel. Ellen saw muffled
+groups of people under bright station lamps. Her journey was done. She
+reached the cold cement of a pillared runway, stood impotent,
+bewildered, jostled by passengers on their separate ways. She was
+clutching her bag in one hand, the other in her coat pocket held her
+handkerchief in which the money was knotted. A familiar voice spoke in
+her ear, “Well, here’s the little country wench.”
+
+It was Garland, suave in a tight-fitting suit and spotted tie, a derby
+on his head. He carried a fur coat, his face seemed old and yellowed in
+the glare of the platform. He kissed her mouth and she felt the
+mustache, clung to him. “I thought I got lost, Uncle.”
+
+“Porter.” Yellow taxicabs were waiting in a line. They got in one and
+drove a long time. She was asleep, her head limp against the hard
+leather. Garland was waking her. “This is it, sweet.”
+
+She stumbled after him up granite stairs. He stooped over to unlock a
+door, pushed it open and they went into an unlighted hall where a
+staircase reared. “How about something to eat? Some hot milk?” He
+flashed on a light overhead.
+
+“I reckon I’d better just sleep, Uncle. I’m beat.”
+
+“Your room’s up here.” He was climbing ahead on the broad uncarpeted
+steps, carrying her valise. A musty odor lingered about them.
+
+“My, you’ve got a big house, Uncle.” Her voice was loud in the echoing
+vestibule.
+
+“It’s big all right.” He preceded her down the hall and opened a door,
+stepped in and snapped the button of a wall lamp. An orange bulb glowed
+faintly. “If you want more light, there’s one by the bed.” It was a
+high-ceilinged room with a dark red rug. The wide ornate bed was covered
+with a heavy magenta spread and on the wall was a round mirror in a
+gold-scrolled frame. Through the mesh curtains hanging in front of the
+windows Ellen saw lamps in the street underneath and tree branches
+twining still and soundless. The doorbell grated below. “Goodnight, hon.
+Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He was gone.
+
+Ellen attempted to draw the heavy drapes that hung at the sides of the
+windows, but discovered they were fastened there. She was fumbling at
+window shades, drawing them down. She heard voices raised below,
+stiffened to listen. Through the floor boards came a woman’s faint thin
+laughter. Then all was still. She pulled the chain of the bulb over the
+bed; in the sudden whiteness dust balls in the corners were exposed, and
+stained paper on the walls. She put the light out. Below all remained
+quiet. She folded her dress on an armchair. Cautious, she left the room,
+found the bathroom around an angle in the hallway. When she turned the
+spigot, water spurted and roared. Shy of disturbing the household, she
+washed meagerly, then hurried back and turned off the orange wall light.
+She crept into the cold foreign sheets. And when she slept it was as if
+her fears backed off. In dreaming Christian Ay was taking her hand in
+his. In his way he was laughing as if there was an old joke between the
+two of them.
+
+When she came downstairs in the morning, her footsteps resounded in the
+vestibule, at the end of which was a door. It opened into a large
+green-carpeted room. Somber-colored chairs and sofas were flanked by
+trivial tables bearing bric-a-brac and crystal and cloisonné ash trays.
+On a corner table, in a ponderous silver frame, was a daguerreotype of
+Nell Gaddy, garbed in a ruffled shirtwaist and a wide straw hat tipped
+with an egret’s wing. Beyond she could see the dining room and her uncle
+at an oval table, his breakfast and a newspaper spread before him. He
+waved his hand, called out. He was shaking a little silver bell. She
+crossed the expanse of the green carpet to sit at the table by him. She
+sensed the odd odor of his house. It was the strangeness of another
+lair.
+
+“Mrs. Quimby.” Garland was speaking to an aproned bulky woman at the
+swinging door. “This is my niece, Ellen. She’ll be visiting here.”
+
+“Pleased, be sure,” said Ellen.
+
+The woman turned away, grim, reappeared with a plate of bacon and eggs
+and a cup. Gray-black hair wisped about her face, a formless dress was
+belted on her full hips and buttoned down the front under the apron. Her
+eyes were colorless. She set the food before Ellen and withdrew.
+
+“Don’t let her ways bother you, puss. You’ll get used to her. She’s a
+gem. Been with me years.” He was pouring her coffee. While Ellen ate he
+spoke rapidly, “Sleep well? You do what pleases you. The house is yours.
+I’ll tell Mrs. Quimby you’re mistress. Like that?” He was tapping the
+chair arm with his finger. “Want to go for a walk? That’s Redding Street
+out front. Pretty district here. Old. Want me to invite some friends for
+a party?” He drank the last of his coffee in haste, jingled the bell
+again. The housekeeper instantly opened the door, her mouth a penciled
+line. “Make my niece at home, Mrs. Quimby. Fix her a good lunch. Don’t
+know what time I’ll be back.” He hurried to the vestibule, returning in
+a raccoon coat and black spats. He was holding a cane and a black felt
+derby together in one hand. He looked down at her. “Not much to say,
+puss. You like my house?”
+
+“I do, Uncle.” Ellen couched her words with care, “Be my speech queer
+like you told Pa my sister’s was?”
+
+“Well, of course you talk the same as her, hon. But I don’t want you to
+change. Frankie’ll be living here in Chicago. So that’s different, see?”
+
+“I’d fain live in Millville all my days.”
+
+He kissed her and she smelled the perfumed lotion. He eyed her
+quizzically. “Such a little innocent. Don’t ever change, sweet.” The
+outer door was slamming after him.
+
+The hours passed, the first ever spent away from home, away from the
+ritual of farm work. Ellen saw how mealtimes were varied to suit the
+whim of Mrs. Quimby, how Garland was blind to the management of his
+house. He was gone for many hours in a day, often returning after she
+was in bed. He had little time for her. She would wander through the
+house to sit in the sun-bright bay window in the dining room, to tune in
+the cumbersome radio set on the marble table in the other large shaded
+room. Her plight and its urgent solution lay untamed, twisting in the
+back of her mind. She went upstairs, past the closed doors of the
+hallway to the blue-and-white statuette she had placed on the highboy
+beside the bed. “Deliver me,” she prayed.
+
+On her third day in the house she came to the kitchen, seeking
+companionship, and pushed the door. Sarah Quimby stared from where she
+sat reading a paper booklet. In her hands was a steaming mug that she
+set on the galvanized table top with a sharp click. Behind the
+dour-faced woman was a double-doored wood icebox trimmed in bronze, and
+above it swung three or four canary cages. The pale yellow birds were
+silent, heads cocked, alert. On the sink was a disarray of food and
+newspapers and opened cans. The hard-wood floor was littered with crumbs
+and dust. “There’s many a fine secret Sarah Quimby knows, miss.” The
+housekeeper’s voice was high-pitched and her finger wagged. Ellen let
+the door swing shut. “I know goings-on,” the woman was shrilling behind
+it.
+
+Confused, Ellen went to sit in the bay window. “Old witch,” she
+murmured, laying her hand on her cheek. Frown lines were drawing across
+her forehead.
+
+   Don’t place your affections
+   On the green sycamore tree
+   For the leaves they will welter
+   And the balls they will fall
+   If you can’t love arightly
+   Don’t love none at all
+
+In the round mirror in her room, Ellen was deliberately examining her
+figure clad in a flannel chemise. It was evening, the wall lamp burned.
+She placed the strip of cloth about her waist, making it firm. Then she
+put on the dark dress she had made for this visit. To the figure in the
+glass she breathed, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mester Ay.” The
+hurt eyes looked back from the white oval face. The breasts even now
+were swelling so in five months’ time they would grow hard and full, the
+pink nipples brown. She touched her girdled waist, bitter. “I’ll bind it
+tighter and maybe it’ll strangle.”
+
+There was a knock and Garland appeared in the doorway, remote in a
+severe black suit and bow tie. “You put me in mind of my mother there.”
+He looked at her heavily and turned, drawing the door shut with a dull
+sound. She stood a moment, then moved to the windows, pulling up a shade
+exposing the windy lean night. Yellow street lamps bloomed stark and
+shorn tree boughs swayed. She was weeping after a while, darkly.
+
+Later she glided down the long staircase where the echoes lived, and
+into the big room. A score of people were milling in the blue mist of
+tobacco smoke and the vague sensuous odors of perfume. In their hands
+were stemmed glasses and morsels of food. The air stayed hot and unreal,
+the voices an undulating drone above the clicking and chinking of
+dishes. Garland came across the room, ruddy-faced, waving a glass at
+her, his breath strong. “This is my niece. The one I told you about. The
+little goat-girl from the Kentucky hills of home.” He took her arm. He
+was like somebody else; fine wrinkles were etched about his soft-skinned
+jaw and across his brow. He spoke loudly to a white-haired tall man.
+“This is Ellen.”
+
+“Mester,” she whispered, and she said, “Lady,” when it was a woman as he
+took her around the room. Her head throbbed, she wished the night done.
+Garland left her and she stood apart, waiting. Then he found her again,
+urging her to sing. “This niece of mine can do the old-time songs up so
+prettily. Go ahead, puss. Any tune.”
+
+Her voice was high and steady while the women’s gems glistened and the
+men turned murmuring to each other, puffing long black cigars.
+
+   E’er a night when the sun goes in
+   I hang down my head and mournful cry
+   True love, don’t weep nor mourn for me
+   I’m going away to Marble Town
+
+“Say, that’s good. You know any faster ones like ‘Bam, Bam, Bamy Shore,’
+Miss Gaddy?” cried a modish blond young woman. “We could dance to that.”
+
+“No.” Ellen’s voice was small. “Reckon not, lady.”
+
+“Well, how about ‘Alabamy Bound’?” called another female voice. “That’s
+from the South.”
+
+“I don’t know it,” Ellen said.
+
+“It’s got rhythm.” The blond girl tapped her feet. “Come on, Nadine,
+let’s dance.”
+
+“Vo-do-dee-o! Whoopee!” They raised their hands as though to pat-a-cake,
+swayed and juggled their feet, short skirts exposing slim legs.
+
+   Five feet two, eyes of blue
+   Can she hug
+   And can she woo
+
+Garland was setting his glass down. He began to wail too. He shuffled,
+linked arm in arm with one of the bejeweled women.
+
+   She says that
+   She’s my little baby
+   My little jazztime baby
+
+There was dancing, noise, laughter, squeals. Ellen, afraid of the
+strange faces, the clever women, conscious of her unfashionable attire,
+had retreated to a chair in a dim-lit corner. Mrs. Quimby opened the
+dining room door. The woman was austere in a white starched apron, a
+ruffled cap askew on her hair. “The dinner is served, sir.”
+
+When the last guest had gone, Ellen turned to the broad staircase and
+put her hand on the balustrade. Her skin was transparent, a blue vein
+beat in the temple. She was holding herself tense. Garland looked at her
+a moment, his little eyes flickering. “I should have made you rest,
+hon.”
+
+“No.” She shook her head.
+
+“You sang so pretty.”
+
+“No, Uncle. It’s no song for city folk.” She flushed, near tears. “It
+sounded queer, for a fact.”
+
+He glanced, curious, at her. “Where did you pick up those songs?”
+
+“Well, Talithie Gentry of the grammar school used to sing to us. But I
+learned the most from Penny Dougherty. Pa hired her two summers back
+when Ma took sick.” She sighed, aware of her plainness.
+
+Garland was laughing, “Did you like the party?”
+
+“Pa still calls Penny that roaring woman. He couldn’t abide her. Thought
+I’d die when she first went. It was so lonely.” And she added, “I
+remember ary tale Penny sung.”
+
+“Not homesick are you?”
+
+She went up a stair, avoiding his sharp look. “No. It’s the late hour
+makes me gossipy. Home we’re ne’er up this late.”
+
+“Oh yes, want to ask you about church tomorrow. Guess you’d say I’m a
+pretty bad Catholic. Manage to make Christmas mass and send a big check
+to the cathedral and that’s about it.” He wagged his head, looking up at
+her. “But I know Anton brought you girls up strict. Bet he used a switch
+like our folks taught us.”
+
+“He did.”
+
+“Want to go to mass?”
+
+“I’d liefer not.” She rubbed her forehead, reflecting. “If you think
+it’s not wrong to cross his will?”
+
+“You mean Anton’s will? Chrissake, I’m all for it. I wouldn’t tell him.
+Now, sleep in the morning. Get a good rest. I’ve got some business so
+I’ll likely be gone.”
+
+“I ne’er knew you to be such a rich man, Uncle. When you came to the
+farm.”
+
+“Good night.”
+
+As she entered her room, she heard the rasp of the doorbell and a
+woman’s voice that cut off when the door shut between the vestibule and
+the living room.
+
+The next day large flakes were floating soundless beyond the cold bay
+window. Ellen heard a crash in the kitchen, knew another dish had
+slipped. Over the trill of the canaries came a loud grumbling. The
+swinging door was opening. “I can tell you a secret, miss.”
+
+“I’ve ne’er a wish to hear it.” Ellen stood up from her chair.
+
+“Don’t put on airs, miss. Your family’s not much account.”
+
+“I reckon I don’t know what you mean.”
+
+“Mr. Gaddy’s the one amounted to something in your family. You’re a poor
+relation.” Mrs. Quimby smiled slyly. “You know Mr. Gaddy keeps a woman?
+A bad woman. On the east side. You know what they are, miss? He keeps
+her for his pleasure.”
+
+“You’re a liar.”
+
+“Ain’t you the fool. Where you think he goes nights, looking like
+Douglas Fairbanks? Think that’s on business?”
+
+“Hit’s proper to have a lady friend.”
+
+“And not make her his missus? Keep rooms for her. Pay her to wait for
+him. Give her gold. All these years he’s kept one. Different ones. I
+tell you he’s lucky to find a respectable woman like me to run his
+house.”
+
+“I won’t listen. I won’t listen,” Ellen was repeating to herself,
+running through the house, over the green carpet, away from the voice.
+She turned the key in her door, threw herself on the magenta coverlet,
+her hands over her ears. “He doesn’t want me or need me any more than
+Pa. I’m like some contrary varmint that no one’ll have any truck with.”
+Her self-pity was like wind to a fire. She got up, sat in one of the
+stiff-backed chairs, trembling in wrath.
+
+“I put a curse on Christian Ay who did this to me. Forever, take away
+his joy, Mary Virgin. For what’s been wreaked on me. Make him suffer.”
+
+Suddenly she was rising. She had seen it in an instant. “It just came
+o’er me. I’ll go there.” She was lifting down the traveling bag, opening
+it on the bed. She packed her few possessions. “I lay a curse on him.
+Virgin my witness.” She counted her money, folded it in the
+handkerchief. The feverish tenor of the past days was sliding away and
+she was cooled again. She rested, and in the night as she was going out,
+she stood a letter on the highboy.
+
+   Uncle, I’m beholden for all your kindness. I am going to St. Louis
+   to see someone. If Pa asks after me will you tell him I will try to
+   be home in summer. Please don’t try to find me.
+
+                                                           niece Ellen
+
+At the station she purchased a ticket, sat for a few tired hours on a
+bench, her shoes and satin hat wet from the falling snow. Hail Mary full
+of grace, the Lord is with thee. Her hand rested on the valise. She
+boarded the train and found a seat. Through the window she watched the
+red coal of sun lift itself. The landscape was evolving into farm lands,
+far-stretched, and sleeping villages. The snow began to melt as they
+rumbled southward into Illinois.
+
+She was dozing. Out of memory sprang an incident involving Anton. It
+stirred no warring of anger in her, only the same wonderment she had
+experienced at the time. The way of women had come on Frankie, catching
+her unaware one night when she was eleven, frightening her, so she
+whimpered to Ellen, “I’m dying. Ellie, don’t let me die.” Maria had kept
+a pristine silence on all matters pertaining to the body, as her own mam
+had done with her. It was a secret, never articulated. Ellen had
+whispered to Frankie and they planned. All the while in their whispers
+lay a thrill of dread, for it was a field of unknowns. The morning was
+Sunday and the girls were dressing for mass. Anton opened the loft door
+upon them. “What’s going on here? We’ll be late again. Now move, you
+two.” Frankie was nude and gazed, naive, at him. Ellen plucked a garment
+from the bed and laid it before her sister. The man ripped it from
+Frankie’s hands, threw it at her feet. He turned on Ellen, “Not so
+froward, girl,” and stalked out while the two stared. They had dressed
+swiftly, mute. But nightly, for many years, Frankie would have an urgent
+compulsion to look under her bed before she went to sleep. And Ellen
+developed a fear of something skulking and concealed when she was sent
+to the cellar on an errand.
+
+She was unburying this, mulling it, half asleep. By noon she became
+wakeful and light-headed, bought a sandwich from a vendor who came
+shouting through the stuffy car. The train was halting before a gray
+clapboard station house bearing the flecked inscription WEEMS
+CROSSROADS. Bag in hand she walked the deserted streets. The air was
+less chill, the sky a high blue. She was questioning a storekeeper, then
+turning down a muddy road leading into the country. She passed farms and
+came to woods where black trees dripped. Brash crows were cawing
+somewhere out of sight and neglected clouds floated in fresh winds. By a
+fenced-in burial ground, melting snow outlined gravestones. A Mason jar
+full of sticks tipped on its side and a withered wreath lay on a plot
+enclosed with a black iron paling. Gray granite markers were graven with
+dead names and dates. A cow leaned over the cemetery fence in the
+distance to crop grass inside; it was bearing heavily with its soft neck
+on the sagging wire.
+
+Ellen came to a dilapidated mailbox set on a stake under a bare-branched
+catalpa. She read, Luke Dougherty. She went up the mire of the lane. A
+flock of speckled guineas were trotting in the wet meadow. She knocked
+at the door to a narrow weather-washed house set beside a shed where
+bearded goats were lolling. A hen began to cry in the way they have when
+they have just laid an egg, and somewhere back of Ellen the guineas
+screamed. A small pretty-featured woman with clear eyes was there in the
+doorway.
+
+“I came to you, Penny. Will you have me in?”
+
+
+                                   8
+
+In a few minutes Ellen was seated in a wood armchair, a blanket about
+her, a heated soapstone under her feet. A pot of beans on the range was
+giving off a warm strong odor. There were two rooms in the tiny house.
+Into this one were crowded the cookstove, a table, a woodbox, two
+scratched chairs, a stool, a cupboard, a low cabinet. Washing of dishes,
+clothes, and baby was done in a dark-blue enameled basin, the water
+thrown out the door. From under the table a child was peering; in his
+teeth he gripped a piece of bacon rind, in his hand was a metal
+mixing-spoon which he beat on the floor.
+
+“This is Clate,” said Penny. “He’s a real noisy one.” As Penny bent to
+take the rind from him and lift him, Ellen saw she was great with
+another child. The little boy squealed, laughing as he was swung high,
+and his mother held him for Ellen to see how well formed he was and how
+red his cheeks were.
+
+“He’s fair, Penny,” Ellen said quietly, “but I’m afraid I’m too young
+for bearing one. I had to help my goat with hers.”
+
+“Ellie, you hush. It’s a long ways off. I’ll be here. Birthing’s
+nothing. It’s too short to remember. And look what you’ve got.”
+
+“I hate it. I hate what’s in me. I ne’er want to see it.”
+
+“I’ll make coffee. Luke’ll be home. He’ll be glad you came, Ellie. He
+knows how I’m one for company. There, I’ll have a new baby in March.”
+
+“You know, Penny, I studied all this time. On a sudden I said, why
+there’s one.” Ellen was made helpless by her gratitude. “You’re so
+good.”
+
+“We got ten acres here,” Penny laughed. “Luke’s pa signed this place
+o’er to us last fall. The soil’s right clayey but it’s rich enough.
+We’re getting by. I look for spring to come. I’m going to eat boiled
+greens every day.” She planned, “There’s an attic where you can sleep. I
+aim to put Clate up there when he grows a bit. It’s hot in summer.”
+
+“I missed you at home, Penny. When you went.”
+
+“We had times, didn’t we? How about when we gathered those sponge
+mushrooms in the woods and spread them to dry on your pa’s hog barn
+roof?”
+
+“You were singing ‘Charlie’s Sweet’ and we ne’er saw Pa there.”
+
+“We had the times though, Ellie.”
+
+“All on a sudden it came to me there in the city.” Ellen was earnest.
+
+Penny was holding Clate while he drank milk from a mug. She wiped what
+he spilled and sat him in the training chair, handing him a piece of
+corn pone. “He’s waiting till I lift him out. Then he’ll go pee on the
+rug. Such a small man.”
+
+They drank coffee adulterated with chicory. Penny got up to mix
+cornbread, stirring in a handful of crumbly cracklings. Ellen felt how
+the woman listened and waited while she talked, gathering herself. At
+last dusk assembled and a bird began to call. A step was heard outside
+and he came. “Look here, Luke. Ellie Gaddy. She’s come to bide a while
+with us.”
+
+And love lay in the corners of the house. Penny, her apron high over her
+unborn child, moved more gracefully than before. Her face softened and
+all the while she hummed and sang. “Now Luke, you visit with Ellie and
+I’ll catch the milking.” She threw on a shawl, ran out light-footed, a
+lard pail in her hand.
+
+“Be glad to see this thaw come,” the man said. “I’m that eager to lay
+out our garden.” Luke was mindful of Penny’s signal with her finger on
+her lips and so he made as though Ellen had been somewhat expected. He
+put logs in the stove, and lit candles, telling of the farm where he was
+employed. “They name it Webster’s Stock Farm. He’s got a dozen of us
+hands to help all winter. He’s a rich man, got a big white house. He
+owns these shorthorn cattle. And he’s got little old Jersey cows that he
+shows at all the state fairs. He brings home ribbons and silver cups and
+sets them in a fancied-up room. Sometime I aim to go along to one of
+those fairs.” Tall, black-haired, round-faced, his virility charged the
+room. He sat in his mild way on the stool, holding his son, who played
+with the shiny suspender clasps on the overalls and then made water on
+his father’s leg.
+
+Then they were eating cornbread and beans and thick chunks of fatback
+and soft onion. Penny would feed Clate from her plate. The smell of
+tallow candles burning was sweetly pungent and they made a ruddy glow
+over the faces. Afterwards Penny held a light while Luke went up to the
+attic by the ladder in the bedroom. He was carrying gunny-sacks of hay,
+stooped over for the roof was low. Penny handed quilts up to him. Then
+Ellen took her clothes from the valise and hung them on pegs in the
+beams. She put her statue of the Virgin beside the pallet and slept
+well.
+
+Below in the bedroom, Penny lay in Luke’s arms. “I’m proud she came to
+us, Luke.”
+
+“So good you are, and then my bright-eyed little wife,” he murmured,
+drowsing.
+
+But Penny was wide awake. “All the world and she thought of us.”
+
+By mid-February they were making a garden. They cut potato eyes,
+planting them in deep rows, mulching them with litter and leaves against
+frost. Luke strode up whistling, bearing onion sets and seeds in brown
+paper bags marked in pencil with the name of the plant that would come
+up. They spaded, put in lettuce and onion beds, rows of radishes,
+turnips, parsnips, peas and Swiss chard. Penny came to Luke where he
+knelt. “This one’s new. Tendergreen Mustard. How come you got it?”
+
+“I saw it was a new kind, only forty-five days to mature. I knew how
+fixed you were on an early garden.” They gazed at the grains of seed.
+
+“I sure am honing for greens,” the woman sighed.
+
+The next week thunder was rolling, thumping, across the gray sky. They
+waited for the downpour. “In a month it’ll come on twister weather,”
+said Penny. “There was one here last fall. Lady down the road had just
+boiled up water for her tea. The wind pulled off the roof and sucked the
+kettle up. Her and the least youngen got scalded.”
+
+“Friend of mine,” Luke said, “was in the barn. Tore the door off and him
+holding on, flying through the air.”
+
+“Was he hurt?” asked Ellen.
+
+“Not as I know. He lived.”
+
+A thunderbolt pealed directly over the house. Ellen said, “Thunder in
+February prophesies frost in May. That’s what I’ve heard Ma say.”
+
+“I’m afraid,” said Luke, “we’ll lose our garden. This one’s a
+gully-drencher.”
+
+Rain was falling day on day. The sprouting seeds washed up, water
+collected undrained on the clay of the garden bed. Pairs of rubber boots
+were always standing muddy at the door, for the privy was set far back
+from the house. The dirt-floored cellar, reached by a trap door in the
+kitchen, was flooded. The jars of preserves that stood on slat shelves
+were immersed. Their lids rusted and the labels soaked off. “If I hold
+it up to the light I can see some what it is,” Penny said cheerfully,
+“but you’re liable to get blueberry jelly, Luke, when you ask for
+blackcap.”
+
+In time the clouds spent themselves. The water seeped away, the sun was
+brilliant and refreshed, the earth warmed. The people went out to make a
+new garden.
+
+Luke was walking up the lane one night leading a gray donkey by a rope.
+“Mester Webster gave it to me. It was for his daughter, Star. She tired
+of it and so she’s got a pony instead.”
+
+“How come he let you have it?” Penny was pleased.
+
+“You mind that cow I told you of a while back that had milk fever? Well,
+I nursed her. He claims it was my hands that pulled her udder around.
+This morning he says, you can have this beast if you’ve a mind. Thought
+I might rig a plowshare and maybe work him.”
+
+“That would be a sight,” said Ellen.
+
+Luke tied the beast in the shed to a ring in the wall. Ellen was petting
+one of Penny’s seven goats. “Hey there, Tiny.” She wondered how her does
+Rhodie and Penny were making out, if Frankie was good to them, or
+whether they blatted in the woodshed pen. Frankie was ever apt to be
+careless.
+
+In the stable, fastened apart from the does, was a shaggy buck goat with
+a long beard. His rank odor dominated the air. He baaed affectionately
+at Luke who was scratching his back with a stick. “Good old Brownie.”
+The animal turned to lick the urine he excreted in the habit of the
+rutting male goat.
+
+“I’ll be glad when it gets nice so Brownie can live outside again,”
+Penny said. “I’m always afraid that smell will make the milk taste.”
+
+“That smell’s healthy,” cried Luke.
+
+“Penny, how come your goats are muley?” Ellen was asking. “My two have
+got horns.”
+
+“Well, most of them were born that way. But Luke knows how to stop the
+buds if they start to push through.”
+
+“You rub a stick of this strong acid stuff on, Ellie. I learned it at
+Webster’s. It hurts them a bit.”
+
+“You have to do it careful,” Penny said.
+
+“Seems like the horns are so pretty though,” Ellen sighed, remembering.
+
+Days were going by. Ellen felt her waistbands tighten. She found it hard
+to grasp that a living child would come from her, believed it would die.
+One day she was in the shed where a dozen hens ran loose, their nests
+known, a few porcelain doorknobs kept in them to lure them back. “Poor
+things. Giving them a mock egg.” Ellen pitied the innocent fowl and she
+would turn rocks over for them in the yard so they gathered to peck the
+crawling life beneath. When she was bending to collect the eggs from a
+nest under a hay manger she felt the child kick. She arose, leaning
+against the side of the stall, frightened. She knelt again to take the
+eggs, walked to the house slowly. In the evening she said, “I felt it
+move.”
+
+“That’s nothing.” Penny was turning to Luke. “Why don’t you see if you
+can get a good rooster from Mester Webster for me? I could raise a flock
+this summer off those old hens.”
+
+“He’s got White Rocks,” Luke said.
+
+“That what I’d like, a blooded rooster of a heavy breed. Then I could
+trade eggs, too.”
+
+“I was in the shed,” Ellen said, “when it happened.”
+
+“Just wait, Ellie,” Penny was jogging Clate on her lap, serene, “till it
+starts getting knobby and takes to rolling o’er all the while. Wait till
+it gets a little bigger.”
+
+“I’ll wait.” Ellen was bitter.
+
+At breakfast Penny asked Luke to buy chicory and soda at the store. “And
+get me a piece from that bolt of blue-check flannel, Luke, for Clate’s
+outgrown his nightdress.”
+
+“I don’t get paid till the fifteenth.” Luke put on his straw hat. “Now I
+doubt the store will credit us any more.”
+
+Ellen got up hastily. “Wait, Luke.” She climbed the ladder to the attic,
+came back to put nearly twenty dollars on the table. “My uncle gave me
+this.” She was eager. “You’ll know how to use it. It’s yours.”
+
+Penny picked up the bills and turned them over, her eyes downcast, her
+lower lip in her teeth. She laughed, “Get shed of that store bill first,
+Luke. Then buy that length of cloth for Farmer Clate. And if you see
+some, get pink muslin too. The new one could be a girl.”
+
+“I’ll look if there’s a little share at the store to make a
+turning-plow,” said Luke, “like I wanted to get for that little ass to
+pull.”
+
+So they thanked her. For the first time Ellen sang when she milked
+Penny’s goats.
+
+Mist was rolling heavy in the hollows between hills one morning. March
+gusts had blown in the night, seeking cracks, but Luke had banked the
+foundation well with straw and manure so the family was snug within.
+Ellen came carefully down the ladder. She smelled hidden odors, saw
+Penny asleep in the bed, and from the crook of her arm came a mewling
+sound. There was a black-haired child wrapped in flannel, born while
+Ellen slept. She turned quickly to the kitchen where she heard Luke
+talking to Clate who babbled in reply. Luke looked over at Ellen as she
+came in. “That bugger’s going to feel awful silly in pink muslin,
+Ellie.”
+
+“It’s a boy then?” She was fearful.
+
+“Sure is. Clate’s pleased with his little brother.” Luke gave the boy a
+drink of water from a tin cup and then handed him a piece of corn pone.
+Clate crumbled the food in a moist hand and threw it on the floor,
+shouting. Luke was sheepish. “Can you take him, Ellie? I’ve got to get
+to work.” He hurried from the house, his whistling ebbing.
+
+Ellen wiped Clate’s hands. “Wish things would hold still while I study
+to understand.”
+
+Little by little, she was taking upon herself the care of Clate. She
+would bring him to the shed and sit him in a pile of hay while she
+milked. “Swap ends, Tiny,” she turned the goat about, “let’s give some
+supper down for Farmer Clate.” The child crowed in glee, kissed her with
+his wet soft mouth, pulling at her braids. In the house he crawled from
+under the table to trail her. She had to tread carefully, watching out
+for him.
+
+But Anse, the newborn one, she avoided. Penny would lay the naked red
+body on the bed to change and dress it while it clamored thinly in an
+indifferent way, fists clutching in protest. “Why doesn’t he hush, that
+ugly brat?” she whispered to herself.
+
+Clate she took to see the garden coming up, sang to, confided in. “When
+I tell the song, I see the picture of what happens. Like ‘Red River
+Valley,’ that’s where the river’s muddy with red clay and always there’s
+summertide.” Clate was gripping Ellen’s apron; he staggered beside her.
+“Hold on to me, now. You should have seen me once in Chicago, when all
+the fine gentlemen and ladies listened to me sing.”
+
+She came to feel her safety here, gradually putting aside the old
+terror. She packed the figure of the Virgin into her valise when she
+made order once in the attic. Waiting the months out, she left it there.
+
+She witnessed the ways of birth around her. When Anse was born, Luke
+brought home a White Rock rooster as a present from Mr. Webster. It
+strutted like a lord before the flock of hens, scratched after fake food
+to bring them scurrying. Its sickle-shaped tail feathers were silken and
+the crimson comb trembled and folded over with its weight. Ellen picked
+him up to stroke the long wattles that dangled below his handsome head;
+he breathed coarsely through open beak. When she put him down he made
+staccato noises and scuttled after a hen, fanning his wing until it
+squatted and submitted to the embrace.
+
+In the crab apple tree a pair of robins had fashioned a nest. Each day
+she held Clate up while he peered in at the four miniature blue-green
+eggs. The time came when he shouted to see bare nestlings just hatched,
+all gaping beaks. “Don’t touch them, or the mother’ll smell you and not
+come back to feed them.”
+
+In the barn the does dropped their kids. Ellen ministered, impersonal,
+put them to the teats to nurse the first thick yellow milk. It would
+alter in a few days to become the familiar white fluid. Then she would
+milk a share out for the family.
+
+The white cat ran from her one day and she saw a strange tom in a tree
+branch nearby. That night she heard them shrieking in the yard. The next
+morning the white cat lay sly in the haymow, licked a scratch on her
+paw, cleaned herself and purred.
+
+She witnessed the ways of procreation and birth, the willing and
+unwilling, the casual and violent. “It’s ugly. All those ways are ugly.”
+
+At night she lay unwieldly, turning restless to find an easy way to lie
+now that her body was so increased. The child rolled within and she
+sighed, “I’d as lief you came before your course and perished. I’m too
+weary to fret about it any more.”
+
+Penny was asking her to watch Anse while he slept. “I want to put in a
+row of those flat white bean seeds, Ellie. They say Good Friday’s the
+day to put in beans and it’s way past.” When Penny returned, the baby
+was wailing in his basket hoarsely, small face wet with sweat and
+crying. Ellen was at the kitchen table, her head on her arms, Clate
+playing at her feet. Penny comforted the infant, cleaned him and laid
+him against her shoulder where he moistly hiccuped. She came in the
+kitchen to sit in a chair and put him to her breast. She asked mildly,
+“What’s wrong, Ellie?”
+
+“I can’t seem to touch him, Penny. I looked and it seemed I wanted him
+to cry.”
+
+The woman said sharply, “You’re not the first girl with a trouble,
+Ellie. Nor the last. You’ve got to take hold and plan. You’re not a
+child any more and you’ve got to act past your years, and study on the
+ways of your turning.”
+
+From her quilt that night, Ellen was listening to Luke and Penny. “Shh,
+is Ellie asleep?” The sharp notes of love fell in the room below. When
+Anse whimpered they brought him to their bed. Their gentle voices came
+and went. “Poor thing. And it all ahead, Luke. That father, strict and
+always preaching the Old Testament. I got no use for him. He’ll like to
+kill her if she goes home.” Luke’s voice rasped faintly and Penny said,
+“No. Her mother that should be standing by is like a child herself. No
+marvel Ellie got taken in by some straying man.” Their voices made Ellen
+weep.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In June they were whitewashing the narrow house. Penny was climbing the
+ladder, Clate upset a bucket on himself, and Ellen, moving heavily,
+misshapen, was painting low spots. Anse was asleep in a blanket under
+the crab apple tree. When he cried, Penny would put him to a hard-filled
+breast while from the other, milk wet her dress as it flowed. “Let it
+go. There’s plenty more I reckon.”
+
+Luke came home for supper and shouted out, “Say, look at that there rich
+man’s house. Who’s the master of this house?”
+
+A pink June rose was crawling heavy-blossomed over the door where it had
+been trained. Bright flowers were flocking by the path, and the yard
+grass was green. The scene was framed and they stood about to admire it.
+
+Then a shower was washing the whiteness into gray streaks and soon the
+house boards were drab as before. But Penny was satisfied. “It was a
+sight if only for a week. I’ll remember it clear till next spring,
+Luke.”
+
+In the first of July, Luke was saying, “Webster’s in a hustle to get the
+buckwheat in. Says Fourth of July, wet or dry.”
+
+“Why doesn’t he wait till the light of the moon when it starts waning?”
+Penny was dressed in her best, the babies were clean, their pinafores
+starched. One of Luke’s fellow employees was driving by in his car to
+take the little family to the stock farm near Hidden Creek. Penny looked
+forward to the outing. “Hey, Farmer Clate, come set on your potty before
+we go.” She turned to Ellen, anxious, “You going to be all right? How do
+you feel?”
+
+“I don’t feel a thing. I might pick some berries for supper if I can
+haul myself down the lane.”
+
+“Well, don’t tire yourself, hear?” Penny paused. “Maybe I oughtn’t to
+go, Luke. Ellie might get taken.”
+
+The two turned in protest. “Now, you know yourself it doesn’t happen
+that quick. Ellie wants you to go. And Clate and me too. Even Anse is
+saying, Mama show me those little Jerseys that give all cream.” So the
+woman was persuaded and the party left, waving from the car window,
+disappearing down the dusty road.
+
+Ellen sighed in the fresh morning that moved on toward the hot noon sun.
+Partridge repetitively whistled in the woods down the road, “Bob-white.
+Ah. Bob-white!” A small warm wind stirred and settled, puffs of cloud
+drifted very slowly, and the sky was vivid blue. Like a fall aster. Wish
+it was over. She was going down the warm dirt of the lane in the late
+morning for blackberries. She dropped the first heated ones into the tin
+pail; they made whining thumps until they covered the bottom. Juice was
+staining her fingers. When the pail was filled she toiled back up the
+path. At the pump she washed the dust from the berries and hung them in
+the well to cool. She threw water on her flushed face and arms, pumping
+more over her bare feet. Refreshed, she was seated in the open doorway,
+leaning her head against the frame. The child under the blue apron
+turned itself. She drew shallow labored breaths, closed her eyes. “I’m
+nigh to smother. Will I e’er take a full breath again?”
+
+At noon she was restless about the kitchen. She brought fresh water in
+from the well, ate a square of corn pone, listless, while a bluebottle
+fly churned at the glass of the window. She walked to the field,
+carrying a bucket of water to the goats and donkey staked there. The
+goats drank slowly, raised mournful yellow eyes while their beards
+dripped. The little ass sucked noisily, slobbering, jerking his
+overlarge head. He took a button of her dress gently in his teeth. The
+girl laid her hand on his woolly shoulder and looked away to the
+languishing farmlands where hot air shimmered.
+
+The flock of guineas had not come in to feed the night before. Ellen
+knew some of the pairs had been hiding out, setting their clutches of
+small strong-shelled eggs. “Some of the chicks could have hatched,” she
+told the donkey, “and are keeping the hens and cocks from feeding. A
+skunk or snake might get them.” So she took grain in her apron pocket
+and went past the orchard, seeking in the farthest places, calling,
+“Wee-wee-wee-wee. Come, wee-wee-weeeee.”
+
+It was by a lone scraggled locust tree in an open field that a great
+pain smote her. She leaned upon the tree while it was subsiding. She
+attempted to reach the orchard and stumbling, fell. The onrush of spasms
+was far past her imaginings. In the intervals of withdrawal she crawled,
+pulled her racked body through the field. “I will not lie out here.”
+
+A pair of guineas, followed by a stream of peeping spotted keets,
+flushed from a covert as she neared the orchard. She but dimly gave them
+heed. She was grunting, face fired red, wet from the sharp throes that
+came in the scorched air, in the sweet crushed grass and the
+round-shaped white clover blooms. She cried out hoarsely, biting her
+lips, detached from her sore body where the child sought its way out of
+darkness. Her mind was apart in a red torment where she strove
+unbelieving to endure. When a seizure would lapse she lay a moment
+supine, freed, while above in the sultry blue, a cluster of twittering
+goldfinches were bobbing in the Seckel pear branches.
+
+The hand was laid remorseless again upon her. Muffled at first, it was
+graduating into cruel wrenching. Then she evoked the holy Virgin, swore
+in agony many bonds, until distracted she knew not of her body as it was
+arching itself. In time, from her laden womb the child had its way and
+was brought out upon the meadow grass. Thin wails fell on the stifled
+afternoon air. And overhead the finches chirruped brightly.
+
+After long, Ellen heard the faint piping and lifted herself to see the
+limp warm child. She wrapped it in her blue apron and laid it at the
+base of the old tree. Resting weary on the grass, she waited. When the
+evening star showed itself hovering above the horizon as the sun began
+to set, her joy caught in her throat. “I came through. I’m unfettered
+once more.”
+
+The Doughertys found her as the evening birds were beginning their
+songs. Ellen’s pallet was brought from the attic to a corner of the room
+below. She ate milk and berries and bread. In the early part of the
+night Penny put the child by her. “You got to nurse him, Ellie. He’s
+hungry.”
+
+Ellen suffered the feeble seeking mouth. “Say, another setting hatched
+off, Penny. I saw them in the field back of the orchard. You want to go
+get them in?”
+
+“Now I think you care more for those chicks than your own newborn son.”
+
+In a short while Ellen was about the house again. Penny had Luke bring
+home a few yards of pink-and-white striped material and Ellen was
+holding her needle light. “Oh, but I’m a slim one. Look at me,” she
+demanded.
+
+She told them she must go, trying to say the other thing that was in her
+mind. “I’ve been studying. I can’t come home dragging it. Pa’d turn me
+off. Could you-all find it in you to take it for your own? I’d send
+money for its needs.”
+
+“It’s true what Ellie says, for I know Mester Gaddy.” Penny looked up at
+her husband.
+
+“It’d be a twin to Anse,” he said.
+
+“We’ll love your baby, Ellie. But you mark me, he’s not our blood. The
+day’ll come you’ll rue you didn’t make a way to keep your first-born.
+You can have him then.”
+
+But Ellen was turning away. “Not me. Though I’m beholden.”
+
+She would walk in the morning down to the Weems Crossroads station.
+While they had breakfast, Clate sat on her lap, kissing her endearingly
+with his small mouth. “Luke, I reckon it’s the hardest for Ellie to
+leave our Clate.”
+
+“Oh I love him that much,” Ellen sighed to the brown-haired child.
+
+“We named your boy last night, Ellie,” Luke said. “Simon.”
+
+“And we’ll call him Simon Gaddy,” said Penny. “We’ll tell him you’re his
+ma. So we decided in the night.”
+
+“I love him that much,” Ellen was saying to the child she held.
+
+   Jaybird up an acorn tree
+   Shaking acorns down
+   Little Clate in a sugar tree
+   Shaking sugar down
+
+
+
+
+                                part two
+
+
+   Take it up in your arms I said
+   Let it lie where it must
+   At your side on your breast
+   Let it rest
+   Love has life not of love
+   But of us I said
+   Let it lie where it must
+
+
+                                   9
+
+A flicker was piping a thread of shrill notes as it flashed in flight
+before her. She looked back to where Penny waved from the lane end, a
+child on her arm. Then Ellen turned and strode down the road, carrying
+the valise. The heat of the July day was still far off, the morning was
+new-made. The stiff skirt of the striped dress brushed her legs. She had
+combed her hair from her high forehead in the old way, tying it loosely
+with a ribbon. A hot morning wind rippled along the dust of the road,
+interrupting for a stitch the stilled cool air. Wild morning-glories
+were twining on ditch banks, and in a distant field a boy drove a
+diminutive span of black horses through verdant corn rows. It came over
+Ellen how comely she was and she made her feet light. “I’m thankful for
+this day and for all that lie ahead.” Her life ran out before her
+harmonious, like a shining thread. All about there was a singing and a
+beating of wings and the sun glowed whitely. She was young and there was
+no ending ever. “Clear through the whole enduring ages, I’ll be.”
+
+   My true love up on the mountain
+   Bowing up and down
+   If I had my broadax here
+   I’d hew that mountain down
+   O get around, Jenny, get around
+   All on the summer’s day
+
+On the train, she saw the countryside flowing past the window. The milk
+from her breasts was dampening her dress and in her discomfort she
+thought of the child once more. She turned her mind from him easily. She
+got off at New Hope and hitched a ride with a farmer from Seven Mile
+Run.
+
+“Those are fine mules, Mester,” she offered.
+
+“Um. They’re Norman mules. They’ll ne’er balk without cause. I got a
+brother can start a balky mule. One time him and me came on two niggers
+with a load of straw and a cold-shouldered mule. Well, they were plumb
+desperate. Built a fire under it, but it only moved up the road a piece.
+Far enough so’s the wagon began to burn. They had to unhitch the mule
+and back the wagon off to put the fire out. They were setting there when
+we came on them. Brother went up to the mule, took hold of its ear and
+whispered in it. Well, that mule walked right off. The niggers hitched
+up and went down the road. Told everyone Brother talked witchcraft. Um.”
+
+“Wonder how he did start it?”
+
+“Um. Said he twisted its ear and blew in it. Said that dazzles a beast.
+Brother can do it just so.” He lapsed into silence, his head drooped in
+the heat of the afternoon. The mules switched their tails and shimmied
+their skin to fight flies. Unguided, they were following the road.
+
+When they reached Love’s store, Ellen thanked the farmer, climbed down
+from the wagon seat to the pike where the clay baked in the molten sun.
+Stacey was in the screened doorway. “Ellen? I thought you’d left these
+parts. Grady,” she called. “Looky here. How be you, now? Sam Offut’s
+taken o’er the trading for your ma. They had a time when first you ne’er
+came home. Where you been?”
+
+Ellen was smiling and nodding. Grady came around the corner of the frame
+house; she sought his kindly tight-skinned face. “Hey, Mester Love.”
+
+“Hey there, Ellen. I swear. Come have a glass of my ginger beer. The
+yeast’s working good now. Two bottles exploded all o’er the place
+yesterday.”
+
+She followed him, and Stacey came after. Ellen was eager. “I visited my
+uncle for a spell. Said howdy to you both.”
+
+“That so?” Stacey asked. “He kept you long.”
+
+“Then I went to stay with Mrs. Dougherty while she had a baby.”
+
+“Thought she had hers last year.”
+
+“You remember Penny Dougherty?” Ellen urged. “This is her second. It’s a
+boy too. A likely one.” Ellen felt Stacey’s eyes searching her for the
+truth. “I came home to help Pa with the summer work.”
+
+“He’ll be glad to see you,” Grady said.
+
+“Penny wanted to be remembered to you both, Mrs. Love.”
+
+“That’s kindly of her,” Grady said.
+
+“Well,” said Stacey. “You’re looking right pert again, Ellen.” She was
+fanning herself with Grady’s hat.
+
+Ellen sipped the ginger beer while the woman talked. “Mester Gaddy and
+that Sam ne’er would say where you were.” Ellen was afraid of Stacey’s
+tongue, conscious of the milk dried on her dress, and she wondered if
+Stacey could tell it was there. “I reckoned,” said Stacey, “you met up
+with a rich Yankee man who made you his wife.”
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Love.”
+
+“Now Stacey,” Grady cried, “stop greening Ellen.”
+
+“I’m beholden for the drink.” Ellen went to the door. “I was parched.”
+
+“Your daddy know you’re home?” asked Stacey.
+
+“Oh yes.” She was hurrying out and down Sweetincreek Road, unconscious
+of the weight of her bag. Then her gait slowed. A small verging of
+anxiety had begun and she pushed it back with her will. She changed
+hands with the valise, passed over the wood bridge where the
+Sweetincreek flowed, and on the other side, in the swampy earth, was
+plucking a green-white flower. “I know this one. It’s the lily of the
+valleys.” She breathed the perfume, studying the stony well-worn road.
+“Reckon he’ll beat me?”
+
+She turned into the familiar lane, which seemed shrunken now. She heard
+farm noises. A cow mooing softly in a far place, pigs grunting just off
+the path, a duck squawking somewhere in sudden protest. The house seemed
+smaller and the yellow paint was peeled; it was ugly. Hesitant, she went
+up the sagged steps. The towels on the porch line were muddied, the tin
+tub was turned carelessly over, the egg basket was torn. She was opening
+the screen door. There was no one, no sound there in the kitchen. Beyond
+in the bedroom she saw her mother in a chair under one of the little
+windows, bent over some work. Ellen looked at her a moment as though she
+were a stranger. From the parlor came Frankie’s stripling voice in
+singsong, “I do, I did, I have done. I draw, I drew, I have drawn. I
+eat, I ate.” The small voice sighed audibly as Ellen entered.
+
+“Sounds right brave, Frankie.”
+
+“Ellie! You just came. I missed you. Was it fun in Chicago?” As they
+were embracing Ellen saw Frankie’s eyes were dark-shadowed, but her skin
+was smooth and her hair glistened. She was asking about Garland. “Is he
+kind, Ellie, in his own house?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“I heard Pa say you ran off and left Uncle. Did you, Ellie? I wanted to
+brave Pa to ask. But he gets riled when we name you. Reckon he doubted
+you were coming home.”
+
+“I was visiting someone.”
+
+“Where? Where’d you stay?”
+
+“Is he on the outs with me?”
+
+“Pa? I reckon. You went to St. Louis, didn’t you, Ellie? I heard him say
+it to Ma.”
+
+“You learning grammar again, Frankie?”
+
+“Tell you true, I hate it. Whate’er I speak, teacher stops me and
+changes it.” She shrugged, resentful. “He’s daft.”
+
+“You let Pa know it?”
+
+“No, I’m in thick enough with Pa now. He’s e’er raising sand. I got to
+practice all morning now and I’m only to help with housework. Not to
+milk or hoe the garden.” She looked away. “Wish I was little again.”
+
+Ellen frowned. “You’ve got to study ahead. And watch the ways of
+turning. That’s a thing I learned.”
+
+The two were silent. Looking back to the freedom of childhood, they
+chafed at the fretful boundaries, the responsibility that seemed to mark
+maturity. They went forward because there was no other way. Frankie was
+looking up, doleful, “Missed your songs, Ellie.”
+
+“Say, how’re the goats?”
+
+“The old one dropped two kids. Reckon it was in April. Sam found them in
+the morning; one died, the other was a buck, a black one. Pa had Sam cut
+it. Said they’d butcher it in fall.”
+
+“What about the little doe, Rhodie? She drop one too?”
+
+“I don’t know. I can’t keep it in my head. I think Sam said he took her
+to a billy. You ask him. Tell you true, Sam’s been doing for them.”
+
+“Oh, Frankie. And me pining for them all this tormented time.”
+
+“I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m a poor thing,” Frankie laughed, pleading.
+
+“It’s hot. I’ll go unpack.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the attic room, Ellen made her bed up for the night, put away her
+clothes. All the while a thing was waxing heavy in her, leaden, as she
+thought on her father. “One thing, I’ll ne’er cry. Wish I could make out
+not to fear him.” She took the statuette of the Virgin to its old place
+on the round table in the parlor. She could hear Maria and Frankie in
+the kitchen preparing supper. Loneliness swept Ellen like an empty cloud
+as she stood, uneasy. Anton came upon her there. Looking at his face she
+recalled when Blueberry had balked starting a wagon and Anton lashed him
+coldly about the head with leather lines. Ellen had watched secretly
+from a barn window, heart pumping, waiting until the rearing horse
+lunged and moved the load. She was going up the stairs without a word.
+He climbed gently after, his breathing becoming strident on the way.
+
+He held the belt. His voice shuddered hoarse. His lips were trembling
+with their weight. “You e’er were froward, girl.” He was hitting her
+again, holding the strap with a relentless hand, feeling the easing of
+his own sharp flesh. “I’ll teach you yet. Get on your knees. You were
+walking and mincing in that seat of whoredom, weren’t you? Did you know
+my brother Marc died rutting there in St. Louis? And that’s what killed
+my ma?”
+
+She was enduring the hot bite of the striking leather. She fought within
+herself as since a child, to hold silence, pinning her will on it.
+
+“How do you reckon Sam favored doing your trading? How do you reckon
+your chores were done up these months, you plagued dummy?” His voice was
+a heavy cold whisper and his gray eyes were half closed. “And you stole
+the Virgin image.”
+
+Ellen was breathless in the sting of tears. It’s his way. It’s for love
+he does it. He’s trying to teach me what’s right. He must.
+
+“Now, you’ll not go off this farm again,” he was warning in the doorway,
+“lest I marry you to someone proper.” He paused. “I allow I’ll kill you
+before you’ll stand against my will.” He was rolling the belt up around
+the home-forged brass buckle as he went out.
+
+Ellen followed down to the evening meal. She went to Maria eagerly,
+kissing her, forgetting, in her need, her mother’s preoccupied ways.
+“How’ve you been, Ma?”
+
+“Tormented, Ellie. He knows.” Maria looked upward with vague eyes.
+
+“I’ll be here to do for you now, Ma. You glad I’m back?” she pleaded
+swiftly.
+
+“I took count,” Maria said. “Hit’s been six months July fifteen. Mester
+Gaddy’s been fretted.”
+
+“Quit jawing, ooman,” Anton said. “Set and eat.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After the meal, though the air was close, Anton directed the family to
+go to the parlor, bade Ellen, “Fetch my Bible.” He took the book from
+her, leafed the pages. He looked at Frankie, sitting by Maria on the
+sofa. “Even as these oomen fared, so will hit be with you, Poppet, if
+you don’t pay me heed.” They watched him take the silver-banded reading
+glass, peering through it at the page.
+
+“Down on your knees,” he told Ellen, and she obeyed. “Because the
+daughters of Zion are haughty and walk with stretched forth necks and
+wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with
+their feet, therefore the Lord will smite them. And the Lord will
+discover their secret parts.”
+
+Ellen was tired. She was kneeling by the doweled rocker, her head on the
+arm of the chair. She closed her eyes and thought about the man who
+could start balky mules by blowing in their long ears, twisting them so
+they forgot their orneriness.
+
+“In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling
+ornaments about their feet, and their cauls and their round tires like
+the moon, the chains, and the bracelets,” Anton cherished the syllables,
+“and the hoods and the veils. And it shall come to pass that instead of
+a sweet smell there shall be a stink and instead of a girdle a rent, and
+instead of well-set hair, baldness, and instead of a stomacher, a
+girding of sackcloth.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Under the attic window she was lying sleepless, the uncertain moonlight
+washing over her bed. The cockerels in the chicken shed were crowing
+intermittently, confused by the unseemly moon’s glare. Her body ached
+from the beat of the strap. Her breasts were swollen because she had
+tolerated the child to nurse her over the past days and the milk had not
+as yet subsided. She would wait and in a week the discomfort would be
+gone, then she would be done with him. Her mind circled on Penny and
+Clate, on the Dougherty beasts, the donkey and Brownie and the doe Tiny.
+She was overcome by devotion to them all. She went further back to the
+autumn of despair, and to the summer preceding that was fading now as
+the separate incidents blurred and blended. The night stretched
+brilliant as she rose and leaned at the window sill. The quavering of
+the young cocks’ chorus was heard again.
+
+She slipped into her dress and went down. Jack met her at the door,
+hurling himself upon her. She sat on the steps to pluck burrs that were
+tangled in his hair. She was listening to the sounds the wind made that
+sometimes has a business in the high branches, spurning the ground. In
+the warty-barked hackberry there was a rustle as the leaves resisted the
+wind, and in the spruce by the road fence an indistinct whisper came and
+went as many tiny needles rasped gently one on another. The wind sounds
+were all different in the varied trees. In the black willows by the
+Sweetincreek there would be a swishing and a swaying, and in the stiff
+leaves of the catalpa nearly no noise at all. The mockernut was so tall
+and straight that the soughing was disguised and far away. I might know
+the particular tree just from the voice of the wind through it. The
+cockerels were piping again in the moonlight, foretelling the dawn just
+coming.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the early morning she hurried out to find none of her goats at the
+woodshed, nor any trace they had been stabled recently there. A setting
+goose was peering from under the cobwebbed manger; it hissed a warning,
+hovering over warmed eggs in musty straw. For a moment Ellen stood in
+the doorway, then she went to the barnyard. Sam was pouring foaming milk
+into tall cans. “Your nannies are at the field.” Sam looked her over
+quietly. “Your pa says leave them there.”
+
+“I’m taking them up to the woodshed right now. There’s a silly old goose
+setting in there.”
+
+“Better ask your pa if you can, Ellie.”
+
+“Well, I’ll help you-all milk first.”
+
+In the barn she drew the first streams onto the ground to clean the
+udder. Then she was milking steadily, her hands efficient. She pressed
+her head into the joint of the young cow’s back leg.
+
+“That Sal’s a real kicker,” offered Sam.
+
+“Watch you don’t lose her milk,” Anton said, coming in.
+
+“Ho, suckey.” Ellen would know if the nervous heifer were about to
+strike out. She stripped the front teats and began to milk the tight
+back ones. “Ho, Sal.”
+
+Anton gave her leave to take her goats in from the field when she
+brought the cows. “And you help with the milking hereafter, girl.”
+
+Ellen discovered Penny was thin and her udder flabby, for she ran loose
+with a black yeanling. Rhodie was slick-haired, rounded with a kid Sam
+said she would drop next month. They were skittish and Ellen coaxed them
+to her. She sat in the grass with corn in her apron until they could not
+hold their greed and curiosity. Penny licked her ear, bleated softly on
+her neck, remembering her all at once. The black wether was timid and
+handsome but he came under her hand too. She resented his castration
+though she knew it was necessary. They were munching the corn grains,
+pushing against her.
+
+   Go through my window
+   My sugar lump
+   And buy molasses candy
+   Blue bird, blue bird, go through my window
+   And buy molasses candy
+
+
+                                   10
+
+The fiery sun of August labored in the sky across the languid procession
+of days. In the evenings, by the light of kerosene lamps, the women
+still were finishing canning of peaches, tomatoes, berries. They clamped
+glass lids on by wire bails and stood filled jars on a rack of laths in
+the wash boiler. Pits and peelings were heaped in pails in the yard
+where flies gathered, and gnats and yellowjackets. They put up
+salt-and-sugar beans, selecting green-tinted jars to protect the color.
+They dried peppers and sweet corn. They made brine for gherkins and
+green tomatoes, packed a ten-gallon crock in the pantry with cucumbers
+and branches of dill. Ellen added horseradish roots to the salty brew,
+and mustard seeds. On top she placed grape and cherry leaves. “To get a
+good brine you got to add salt just right,” she said, “till it gets the
+power in it to hoist a fresh egg from the bottom of the crock and float
+hit.”
+
+Ellen was making jelly. She strained the cooked fruit through flannel
+bags and then added sugar or sorghum and boiled the juice. She tested
+the hot purple syrup. “It doesn’t want to sheet off and tear proper,”
+she told Amanda York who came to keep her company. “I’ll just wait on
+it.” She wiped her forehead with a perspiring hand.
+
+Sometimes Lily Garrett, in a shapeless flowered dress, walked up the
+road to sit in the kitchen heat and visit awhile. “You make such pretty
+jam,” Lily said. “Why don’t you take some to the county fair at Seven
+Mile Run? Mama does. She got a prize last year and hers was clouded.”
+
+Ellen held the jar to the sunlight; the jelly glowed. “I do favor redcap
+jelly.”
+
+“Well, you should go, Ellie.”
+
+“What color’s the first prize?”
+
+“Blue.”
+
+“You going to, Ellie?” asked Frankie.
+
+“There’s no harm talking.”
+
+“Get it out of your head, girl,” Maria was speaking. “I begged Mester
+Gaddy ten years ago. He said it was foolishness.”
+
+“I know.”
+
+Lily was showing Frankie how to make a special kind of cherry preserve.
+“The receipt named this Barrier Cherries, Frankie. Takes apple vinegar
+and strained honey.”
+
+Maria’s face was sweated and reddened in the heat of the stove fire. She
+reached back into the dimness of her memory, to when she had run in
+crying to a grayed old woman, “Mam, there’s a booger scratching my eye.”
+The woman had licked the eye with her soft tongue to remove the foreign
+substance, then set Maria on a three-legged stool outside the door to
+work the dasher of the churn up and down. “Stone churn ain’t good enough
+for you, girl,” she said to Ellen, suddenly.
+
+“What did you say, Ma?” Ellen was startled.
+
+“Old-timey days we had a stone churn. And when Pap was home sometimes
+he’d bring us a runty possum, or maybe a coon. Summers now, we ate
+good.”
+
+“Did you store up like we do against winter?” asked Frankie.
+
+“I like to lay up when there’s plenty,” Maria admitted. “But the most
+Mam did was to dry corn and herbs. Folks didn’t figure to eat then like
+now. Once or twice a day was all we sat to table.” She reflected a
+moment. “I allow I didn’t miss hit. And my folks thought a heap of me
+till Mester Gaddy came along.”
+
+“Tell, Ma. Did you pine for love of him when you saw Pa?” Frankie cried.
+
+“Mester Gaddy gave me a fine snuffbox. It was mother-pearl. And a deal
+fair to hold in the sun.”
+
+“I ne’er saw that box, Ma,” said Ellen.
+
+“Show us.” Frankie was eager.
+
+“No. Mester Gaddy was forced to sell hit once when he was short cash. I
+always regretted that.”
+
+“When did you start honing after Pa?” persisted Frankie, slim and frail
+beside Lily, stirring the kettle at the stove. “For love.”
+
+“He rode a big gray mare and there was nothing so tall as he. See, I was
+a tedious plain girl and my folks were old already when I was born. They
+hadn’t looked for me. So they fretted on what was to come. Mester Gaddy
+rode o’er to Seven Mile Run and talked to Pap.”
+
+“And then Mester Gaddy courted you?” Lily inquired.
+
+“Go on,” Frankie pressed.
+
+“Pap had scrimped for a dowry that was to come with me. Pap was bound to
+care for me proper. You’d ne’er have thought it the way we lived so
+poor-like while he was putting by.”
+
+“I ne’er thought about Pa being young once,” said Ellen. “Was he
+different from now?”
+
+“No. Except his hair was red and thick. I came with him to this farm.
+Here I been since. He hitched that gray mare to a two-wheel cart and I
+set up beside him and figured I was a lady.” Her dull eyes sparked.
+“E’er do as Mester Gaddy says, girls.”
+
+“There was Pa on a horse,” Frankie said. “I’d just as lief have seen
+that.”
+
+“Oh, all the folks rode horses those days,” said Ellen.
+
+“That’s right,” Lily assented.
+
+“Don’t go talking to Mester Gaddy about those days,” Maria was warning.
+“He’s disremembered them. Watch your cherries don’t burn there, girls.”
+
+“They’re doing right, Mrs. Gaddy,” Lily said. “You were gone a powerful
+time in spring, weren’t you, Ellie?” Curious, Lily was sniffing after
+gossip to brighten her wishful youth.
+
+Ellen took up the basket, leaving the table where she had been stoning
+cherries. “I’m getting in some corn for supper,” she called as she was
+going down the porch steps.
+
+“Ellie’s so contrary.” Lily watched Ellen stride down the field. “She
+won’t talk with me proper-like.”
+
+“That’s her for you,” Frankie said.
+
+“I reckon she doesn’t like me.”
+
+“Oh she does, Lily.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Ellie’s just bossy that way.” The two girls embraced abruptly. The pot
+boiled. The sugary odor was filling the kitchen, seeking darkened
+rafters where smoke from years long past dwelled.
+
+“Would you be best friends with me, Frankie?” The big girl was effusive.
+
+“I will. Ellie doesn’t tell things to me ever.” They clung, whispering,
+comforted, sharing their trepidations. They returned to their stirring
+of the Barrier Cherries.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen had made the land to her since she returned, and the creatures and
+birds spawned upon it. In hot night she would hear hoot owls ululating
+in the oaks, and sometimes a mocker-bird would hang on the stones of the
+garden fence, quavering through marbled moonlight. I came through. The
+fear is past and I’m home. She stood by while Rhodie was yeaning a kid.
+The doe stamped her little hoofs nervously, pawed the straw and
+crouched, straining. With a worried blat, she expelled a spotted kid.
+Ellen was tearing the caul lining to free it in a flood of water. She
+cleaned the mucus from its gasping mouth, gazed on the odd-looking
+animal with ears like a hound. “Where’d you find the buck?” she asked
+Sam.
+
+“Well, I says to myself in March when she commenced to wag her tail,
+Ellie’d want her caught. So I took her over to a pied billy the other
+side of Millville.”
+
+“I ne’er saw a skewbald goat, Sam. And those drooping ears.” Penny’s
+maternal instincts were aroused at the sight and smell of a newborn one;
+she vied with Rhodie in cleaning it. Rhodie was stretching her head and
+yawning as animals will do in discomfort. The kid staggered up to nurse
+the tiny nipples. “I’ll call it Pie,” Ellie decided. “There, Pie.”
+
+In the mornings when she left her goats at the pasture, she took the
+path around the farm pond. Tiny green frogs were camouflaged in the
+reeds and grasses, and blacksnakes lived among haw and alder roots along
+the marshy bank. One would slip into the shadowed water, head crooked
+like a twig held upright as it moved across the unbroken glass. When the
+speckled thrush was buzzing and flapping by the path, she ran to find a
+snake twined around a sapling cottonwood. Its head was in the nest and
+the mother bird was darting at it, crying shrill. A single fledgling
+remained, beak gaped for food. Ellen seized a stick, striking the
+reptile until it twisted dying from the tree. She crushed its head, slit
+the body with her pocketknife to see if there was life in the swallowed
+birds. They were limp and she dropped them in an open field while the
+bird continued the alarm clatter. “You’d as well feed the one you got
+left if you can find your way to go back to that serpent-smelling nest.”
+
+Afterwards buzzards wheeled. Ellen knew they were scenting the dried
+rotted nestlings. One huge bird descended and sat hunchbacked on a rail,
+glassy eyes fixed on her. “Stinking brat.” Jack stalked it until it made
+grunting low sounds and flapped away.
+
+Only once since that day in late July when she had come home did a sharp
+edge touch the smooth progression of Ellen’s hours. She awoke in the
+night to hear Anton speaking to Maria in the hall below. “What’s amiss
+with your daughter? There’s no young men coming to the door.” Maria
+whispered to him and they were gone. Ellen lay awake a long time. But in
+the morning when it came to her mind, she thrust it from her. “It’s not
+my fault if they don’t come.”
+
+Anton stepped aside on Sunday to speak with Craig Hedrick and his
+widowed mother about a boar he wanted to buy. On the way home he looked
+over his shoulder at Ellen. “That Hedrick boy’s got a motorcar.” He was
+shouting above the cart’s rumble, “And he’s done proud with that farm
+since his old man was killed. He says, Ellie’s a comely thing.”
+
+She felt all her being grow still, watching the dusty road glide from
+under the wagon. Craig had been one of the bigger boys in the grammar
+school, a few years older than she. His father, Moses Hedrick, had had a
+cleft palate and though the boy had no actual reason for a speech
+impediment, he would talk in nearly the same tongue-tied manner that had
+characterized his father. Craig had been good-natured, his dog followed
+him to school, he was big enough to force the smaller boys from their
+torturing of turtles and frogs and insects that fell into their hands.
+But while Ellen’s pity made her kind, her nature had been revolted by
+the boy’s way of speech, his dirt-ingrained fingernails and pocked face,
+the sour odor that arose from his unwashed winter clothing. She did not
+reply to Anton now. The blood rose hot in her face and her pulse beat
+heavily when he said, “You’re seventeen, Ellie. Where’s all those young
+men?”
+
+“You’d best take hold.” Maria wagged her head while the wagon jolted.
+“Lest you be caught an old maid. Get your man while you’re still
+blooming, for you’ll be a rag soon enough.”
+
+“Young Hedrick’s a Catholic, as well,” said Anton.
+
+Their words rang with finality. She closed her ears to them. Her hands
+were folded in her lap on last summer’s dress of blue-dotted Swiss. She
+clenched them tightly. The steel-rimmed wheels turned in rhythm, hate
+and hate. Wish I was dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfork
+tucked between my shoulder blades.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came, early on a sultry afternoon, the yellow-billed cuckoo’s
+moan, “Kow, kow, kow.” Ellen lifted her head from her churning, spoke to
+Frankie going by with a pail of hog slop. “Raincrows. Hear them cry?
+Reckon it’ll come on a storm?”
+
+“I ain’t scared.” Frankie laughed high. “Teacher Peyton’s coming and I
+got my lesson ready.”
+
+An hour later the sky began to darkle. Ellen walked down the lane to
+look toward the pasture. She could see her goats, hoofs upon the gate
+bars. The cows lay in their usual spot, chewed their cuds, complacent.
+Almost imperceptibly the air was taking on a greenish cast. A
+fresh-smelling wind yawed and swept the field of rye grass. Green beyond
+green under the sky mass, the grass was weaving, bending to it. Over all
+heaved the blooming sunglow, golden and omnipresent. A rumble was
+sounding faint, a flash of light flicked in the west. The wind was
+subsiding, the heat smoldered oppressive and in the gloom of the sky the
+sun withdrew. Darkness ruled. Sam appeared at the lane head, waving like
+a tiny distracted spider, his face grimaced. “Afore Gawd, get the cows,
+Ellie. Could rile up a twister.”
+
+She was running to the field. The dog rounded up the cattle, drove them
+in at a lope, milk-sacks swinging about their skinny legs so the white
+fluid spurted. Ellen took Pie in her arms. The others bounded after as
+she ran to the woodshed. Rhodie snorted and jumped sidewise
+stiff-legged, her bearded chin tucked in. The girl laughed, “You daft
+one.” She shut them in the pen. Lightning streaked, a thunderclap
+crashed upon the ground. “If you were out in a storm, you’d be safe
+beneath a cedar or a white birch. So Sam says. Beware the ash and the
+oak for it’s their nature to tempt lightning.” She was wending up the
+path to the house, searching cloud drifts for a down-sucked tail that
+could betoken the birth of a tornado. Thunder drummed, light cracked the
+horizon. The sweeping wind had ridden off the burdening heat.
+
+The topmost branches of the hackberry lurched and swayed and she felt
+her heart catch. “It’s so fair. So enduring fair a storm be.” Tears drew
+into her eyes from the gladness. The wind reeled upon her so the flimsy
+gingham clung flattened along her young hips and the hard nipples of her
+breasts. She sensed her strength quicken, fathoming for an instant how
+she, eternal, would through the ages walk the long green soul of man.
+
+Standing there, she heard Frankie’s scream. She turned to the porch
+steps. “It can’t storm. I got my grammar lesson.” The voice was
+protesting, “I’m afraid, Pa.”
+
+Anton mocked her, soothing. “Haw, Frankie. Now you ne’er seen a
+twister.”
+
+“I’m afraid. Afraid.”
+
+The wind shrieked, the loft door slammed. In the kitchen a pot of
+scented geraniums on the window sill was spun across the floor. The
+noise crackled. Anton, from the parlor door, was roaring at Ellen and
+Maria. “Get the windows shut, you oomen. And draw those shades. Open
+windows are what sucks the bolts.” He was lighting a lamp in the parlor,
+pulling the shades. He looked at Frankie in the subdued light, drawn up
+rigid and white in her chair. “Hit’s just an old-timey commotion out
+there now.”
+
+There came the splintering noise of a falling tree. In the instant
+Frankie sprang up, shook her fists helplessly, shut her eyes and
+clenched her teeth. “Everyone’s against me. Hit’s coming to get me.”
+Under the storm’s tension, her inhibitions mounted to the surface. She
+was sobbing in her reedy voice, “I’m going to die. Really I hate you,
+Pa. I hate you. I don’t want to go off to Chicago.” Maria and Ellen had
+come in. Frankie turned her tear-drenched face to them. “Everything’s
+Pa’s fault. What’ll I do, Ellie?”
+
+“All I can say,” Ellen told her, “is I’d as lief it would rain and get
+it o’er. This thunder’s souring all the milk.”
+
+Lightning sizzled, then cracked, a flare skirting the window shades.
+Behind came the bolt, reverberating through the hollows of the house.
+The young girl lamented in desperation, her breath spasmodic, “I don’t
+want to get those lessons. You’re hateful, Pa. You’re fore’er pushing
+me.” The voice was a pale shriek. “I’m afraid!”
+
+“Here, girl. Hold your sass. Those are baneful words.” Anton’s eyes were
+slits. “Want I should set you on your knees and whip you? I’ll do it.”
+
+“No.”
+
+He turned to a chair, taking up a journal. “I mind,” he drawled and
+settled into the low seat, “when there was a storm like this two-three
+years ago. Twister came flailing through Bethel killing four.”
+
+Ellen stayed by the door. Not for long had she seen him so wrought up.
+Maria had taken up her sewing, pursed her mouth over it in the lamplit
+room. Anton was directing his words to his younger child who cried now
+in abject penitence. The convulsive sound came sadly into the still of
+the room as the noisy gale tottered and staggered upon the vegetation of
+the earth.
+
+“Three old Chester brothers were batching with their ninety-year-old ma.
+Folks say it was because they were terrified of the storm but all three
+went off their heads and murdered one another. The old lady too.” Anton
+smoothed his palm over his balding hair. Dry tobacco juice marked the
+edges of his mouth, his long jaw thrust upward. “The plumber man came to
+fix the pump next day. Found them lying about in a mess of blood. Old
+ooman’s throat ripped with a razor. One batch was gored, the other two
+were filled with shotgun holes.”
+
+Heavy drops slammed on the windowpane and Ellen spoke in timid relief,
+“There’s the rain, Pa.”
+
+“Still fixing to die, Frankie?” prodded the man.
+
+“Hit was the dread, Pa,” she pleaded and in time was drawn to sit
+shrived on his knee.
+
+“Now tell, would her pa let harm come to her that’s my pretty poppet?”
+
+The rain was beating strongly, steadily, washing down banks along the
+road, mingling with dust and traveling through stones and suckling earth
+until it gained the water pan far below. Over the pond a silver sheet
+was draping until the water rose over the sides to flood the meadows.
+The swaggering wind was in full strength. Moisture softened the earth
+about the roots of a giant basswood that had matured before the father
+of Jules Gaddy built his lean-to and set up a rail fence for his mules
+and hogs. A sudden blast slammed into the aged trunk; it fell sluggish,
+reluctant, upon its side with a wounded noise, gashed roots exposed.
+Tree branches grappled and fought the gale and were broken, some borne
+by the wind and slung against the house roof, making staccato sounds.
+
+“When you were just a mite, Frankie, I told you thunder was a potato
+wagon going across a bridge. Wasn’t any fear in you then.”
+
+“Will Mester Peyton come at all, Pa?”
+
+“Roads are so bad he’ll likely be hindered. Do what I tell you, Frankie,
+for that’s what’s right.”
+
+The orgasm of the tempest was done. In the clearing sky, white fluffs
+were drifting in remote wind tides. The man went to survey the
+destruction left in the wake. His daughters were sent with hatchets and
+string to gather fallen branches for kindling and to fagot the twigs.
+
+“My sir used to recount,” Anton said, before he walked out, “how in the
+forests of the old country they were given leave to break off all the
+boughs to the height a standing man could reach. For firewood. There
+wasn’t any rotted trash like in this new country. And it was soft as
+carpeting underfoot.” He took his ax and wedges and went to join Sam,
+who was bringing the team up the lane, hitched to a whiffletree. Sam was
+balancing on his shoulder a bucksaw and a two-man crosscut. They headed
+toward a yellow locust spraddled across the road past the farm entrance.
+
+“Locust does right smart for fence posts, Mester Gaddy.”
+
+“I’m glad that tree came down. I was minded to cut it anyway, Sam.”
+
+By the pond frogs were shrilling, in the field near the orchard a
+buzzard sat hunched on a stump, the black dampened wings held
+motionless, outspread to dry, the naked head tucked into the wrinkles of
+its bare neck. “I ne’er meant what I said,” Frankie was telling Ellen.
+“For I love my pa and he’s good.”
+
+“You carried on like you were taken with a fit,” admitted Ellen. “Makes
+me puke to see you that way.”
+
+“Thinking of me always, he is.” Frankie tied a bundle of twigs and threw
+it to a pile they were making at the field’s edge. “Poor Pa.”
+
+Ellen heaved a rock at the buzzard and watched it soar effortless. “The
+wind’s flattened that cornfield. There’s a mort of damage been done.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The leaves had been touched by the first frost and nearly overnight
+strident colors were emerging on the countryside. Ellen and Frankie were
+cleaning the musty litter from nest boxes, stuffing in fresh oat straw.
+“Wonder how come we ne’er tried a doorknob in the nests, Frankie? A
+porcelain one might coax them to lay. I’ve heard of it.” She harked back
+to little Clate hanging to her dress hem.
+
+The cows were restless, feeling the new season, the sluggish summer
+shaken off. On dark mornings Ellen would wear her rough brown sweater,
+torn in the sleeve, against the chill. The cows heaved themselves to
+their knees, then to all fours. She put her bare feet in the warmed
+straw where they had lain. A heifer plopped her hoof in the fresh foam
+and held it there, stubborn head low, flanks whitened with the splash.
+The lantern light blinked and Sam was shuffling in. He gazed at the
+white-spattered wall, belched gently. Ellen caught the whisky scent.
+“Don’t ill at her, Ellie,” he advised, “or she’ll fore’er mistrust you.”
+
+“Who’s illing?” She carried the pail to the pump to clean it.
+
+He was following, garrulous. “My old-old-old man always said, don’t ill
+at a creature which does your work,” he nodded, sanctimonious, “and
+fills your belly.”
+
+“There’s the milking to do, Sam. You’re late. Pa’s waiting on you.”
+
+“Old-old-old’s sort of a byword with us Offuts. When Pa was getting on
+in years, I sassed him once. He’d started in to say I shouldn’t talk
+back at my old man. He commenced to say old and he couldn’t stop.” Sam
+cleared his throat, spit phlegm into the cold bushes. “I told it on him
+after that. Old-old-old, we Offuts always say.”
+
+Ellen sighed. Sam’s milking would wait on his tongue.
+
+
+                                   11
+
+The car was puttering up the lane, a trailer hitched behind. It was a
+day in early October. Ellen drew back from sight, hearing Craig
+Hedrick’s high-pitched halloa. Anton was coming from the barnyard where,
+with Sam, he had been forking manure onto the wagon for broadcasting
+over the fields. Ellen fled along the fence line, down to the pond and
+the tranquil woods beyond. “I aim to get a mess of shaggy-manes to stew
+for supper,” she was promising herself. Most of the afternoon she stayed
+in the woods, finding few of the big mushrooms she hunted although there
+were some overripe ones. These she kicked to see the sootlike powder
+billow as they split. Jack ran a rabbit and barked at squirrels and
+woodchucks. Ellen was leaning idly on a fence rail, looking over the
+tawny sedge grass of a neighboring field. A red-shouldered hawk circled
+in flight, uttered its squeal like escaping steam. She mocked him,
+“Kee-yoo! Get you a passle of crawdads, you old hen-thief.”
+
+She put her chin in her hands. A mass of midges vibrated in the
+sunshine, minute wings whirring swifter than eye could follow. You take
+a flower now. When it goes to raise out of its leaves, it stirs
+everlasting slow, unfolding. It’s a case of time, it would seem, and
+man’s caught between. How quick we must appear to the trees, and how
+draggy to the midges.
+
+Back she walked in the late day up the fallow hill field, new-plowed for
+autumn wheat. “Wish I was an earthclod, nary a care.” She stubbed her
+shoes against turned furrows.
+
+In the wagon bed that was rumbling in from the field her father swayed,
+standing spraddle-legged. His face was shadowed with a beard, his sateen
+shirt was open, baring his chest. The dun horse shook its mane and the
+mare nickered to its yearling colt trotting in the pasture beside the
+lane. “Whaw,” Anton was shouting. The chomping of bits and movement of
+harness on the sweating animals made tinny bright noises. “You’re a
+great one for roaming, girl. Where you been?”
+
+“I took a notion to gather shaggy-manes for supper, Pa. I hunted but
+there weren’t any.”
+
+“Hit’s a sight too dry for mushrooms. I could have told you.” He looked
+down from his vantage on the wagon. The muscles swelled on his freckled
+forearms and he was holding the reins careless. “You just missed young
+Hedrick. He came to visit and trade off our old boar for a thoroughbred
+one I wanted. It’s more than twice the size of the old one.”
+
+“I’ll take a look at it, Pa,” she told him.
+
+“He asked after you. That young man.” He shrugged with satisfaction.
+“Whup.” The wagon was rolling by her.
+
+She replaced the pole barriers. “There. That hammer-tongue Craig.”
+
+The next afternoon she was gathering herbs and seed pods for drying. It
+was warm while she worked, for the garish sun heated the withering
+earth. Craig Hedrick’s Model T was turning into the yard. He came up,
+throwing himself forward as though there were many miles to go before
+the end of the day. His sandy hair curled woolly and his small nose
+turned up, his upper lip protruded slightly, which gave him a hounded
+expression. “Hey, Ellen.” He stood ungainly as she nodded. He was
+hitching the belt to his blue serge slacks, adjusting the knot of his
+purple rayon tie.
+
+“Good-looking hog you traded to Pa, Craig. What do you call those spotty
+ones?”
+
+“He’s a Poland China,” he said in his tongue-twisted way. “They’re bred
+for lard. Not what you call a bacon pig.”
+
+She laid aside her seed harvest and came to sit on the porch steps with
+him. Anton walked out. “Hey, Hedrick.”
+
+His presence eased the younger man. “Bought me a manure spreader, Mester
+Gaddy. You own one? Chops straw and dung up and sifts it like my old
+lady straining wheat flour on her bread board.”
+
+“Hum.”
+
+There was a long pause. All three watched the progress of a flicker
+hammering up one side of the hackberry trunk. Craig was lifting his arms
+slowly as though he held a gun. He sighted the woodpecker on the red
+band across the back of its head. “Pow.”
+
+Anton grunted, appreciative. He lit his pipe with a match he struck on
+his overall pants, drew the smoke into his lungs and exhaled. “There. I
+allow you got that high-hole.”
+
+Craig was adjusting his position on the step, uncomfortable. “Well.”
+
+Anton asked, “Heard the comical one about the hen that laid the
+oversized egg?”
+
+“How’s it go?”
+
+“It wasn’t comical to the hen.”
+
+The young people were still, uncommunicative. “Come on, see my Ford,
+Ellen.” Craig was going in his springy stride to the black two-passenger
+automobile. He held his gait down to match Ellen’s. She was conscious of
+the smell of the man, could scarce speak for her contempt. Yet there
+were the pleading eyes and the wounded way of a beast about him. “You
+know where I live, Ellen? Just a piece from Tomkin’s Ditch.” He fought
+with his flaw of speech. There was a rich section, he was confiding,
+adjoining his, that he hoped to buy and add to his own. He had many
+plans.
+
+Ellen knew it was because of the way he looked upon her that he was
+pushing out his chest and leaning awkward against his polished
+automobile. He was tall in his shining shoes and Sunday wear. Her dress
+was torn. All the while though, she felt he was the pitiful one. She
+stood apart from her own body and watched this Ellen Gaddy, her
+forbearance, her dignity. She was gentle. “I got chores to do now.”
+
+“Well then.” He started the motor, drove hastily off.
+
+In days to follow Craig would stop to talk with her. Ellen, aloof, would
+listen as he rambled. Her mind would stray on whether Pa would remember
+to get the sorghum syrup or whether Sam had mended the split butter
+paddle as he promised.
+
+The fields were being prepared for winter wheat, the horses and plow
+working over the land. The disking and harrowing were now in progress
+and the blended figures of man and team moved over the horizon to
+disappear and return again. Ellen could see them from the potato patch.
+She was digging in the rows with a fork, and she stuffed the tubers into
+towsacks. The dust rose; her nostrils were clogged with it. A bluebird,
+lingering before it flew south, was beading its sad autumn cry,
+“Far-away, far-away!”
+
+It was then that the days of a summer came upon her and she thought of
+the man on whom she had laid a curse. She wondered if she could remember
+his looks and ways, if meeting him she would know him. It’s past and
+done. He can’t ever hurt me more. Down the row slowly she worked. It’s
+past. She was testing it. But then it was as if Christian Ay emerged
+from the shadows and stood by her in the row. She ceased digging, there
+in the ragged dress, her hair bound by a bit of twine, her feet dirty,
+black outlining the toenails. The north wind of late October was blowing
+and the shadow fell across her. It seemed he was broad and strong, he
+laughed greatly and she loved him in a way that her being ached. She was
+trembling, water flowing down her face. She stood a while in her
+surprise, frightened by the issuance from what she had thought a safe
+memory. Its pain stirred her.
+
+In that night the wind was changing. She heard it, felt its veering. And
+the whippoorwills came up, calling in the cool caves of morning.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day Craig hunted until he found her in the orchard where her
+goats were grazing on crisp fallen leaves. She was leaning against an
+apple tree, listless. “Hey, Ellen. Hit’s Indian summer.”
+
+She made no reply. He stood restive before her. A yellow insect hovered
+whining about his tight-curled hair. “There’s a news-bee, Ellen.” He
+reached out to catch it and it flew off. “Wonder what it came to tell,
+Ellen?” The fragrance of the girl’s blown hair as she leaned on the
+armor of the old tree, brought him yet again to speech, his face on
+fire. “I’d get two-three nanny goats if you’d a mind for them. You could
+have honeybees too, and by the doorside I’d set out petunia flowers.”
+
+She turned to him, absent, her face wan, her gray eyes sorrowful. “Think
+I’d have a poor rake such as you?” After a time she looked up from where
+she bent her head to see he still was standing there. He wore a bruised
+look and his underlip sucked in. “I ne’er meant to say that. It’s
+because I’ve no notion for marrying, Craig. It’s nothing against you.”
+
+“E’er seen my farm, Ellen? Out by Tomkin’s Ditch? You’d only to see hit
+to change your mind. I was fixing to paint the house, too.”
+
+His dreams left her unmoved. She was watching two winging birds come to
+settle in a tree. “There’s a pair of doves.”
+
+“I might even build on a porch and put up screening.”
+
+“If one dies, it’s mate’ll mourn till it dies too. E’er find a dove
+lying dead, no mark on it?”
+
+“I’d set out young shade trees, Ellen, to put a chair under.”
+
+“I came on a dove in the path one time. It ne’er had a sign nor wound on
+its body and was still warm.”
+
+They returned to the house. Anton was under the hackberry, pulling on
+his pipe. “Set to dinner along with us, Hedrick.” He was poking the
+young man with his elbow. “Ellie made a wild-plum pie this morning.
+She’s one for kitchen chores.”
+
+After their first hunger was spent, Anton was talkative. “A sight of my
+corn ruined in that summer storm. Might have to buy a load come spring.
+You lose any crops?”
+
+“I reckon I’ll make out. I’ve got a herd of steers. I’m going to take
+them to the auctions in Louisville.”
+
+“You fattening steers? Well.” Anton pushed his food with a knife onto
+the fork he held in his left hand. “I call to mind my sir gave me two
+matched bull calves when I was a youngen. I set store by them, made them
+a little yoke and learned them to drag a stone-boat and mind hawp and
+gee. My sir waited till they were two-year-olds to cut their balls. That
+was to allow them to get a good crest.”
+
+“What did you name them, Pa?” asked Frankie.
+
+“I mind the off one was Brown. I disremember the near one’s name. I was
+proud of them for a shirt-tail brat.”
+
+“What happened, Pa?”
+
+“My ma sold them under me. She needed cash for my brother Marc, who was
+getting his learning. I hunted the barns and meadows, came in squalling
+someone stole them. What do you mean, your ox-team, Ma says, cash is
+cash.” Anton pursed his thick lips. “Now, they were so slick you could
+hunt for a loose hair. I used to file the horns and grease them.”
+
+“Your maw give you a cut on what they sold for, Mester Gaddy?”
+
+“I ne’er seen hit.” He asked Craig, “Have you worked oxen?”
+
+“You couldn’t law them on me. I’m one for mules. Steady, and easy
+keepers. But to tell you true what I mostly hanker for is a tractor. I
+aim to get one some day.”
+
+“And where’ll your manure come from then?” Anton gloated.
+
+They were pushing back their chairs. The two men went out on the steps
+while the women cleared. Frankie was drying plates and laying them
+upside down, ready for the evening meal. Ellen took the butter and milk
+jars out to the dry well near the porch. “Go to mass in my auto
+tomorrow, Ellen?” Craig asked when she passed on the step.
+
+Anton answered, “She’ll go. Be pleasured to.”
+
+Ellen would give them no glance though Craig murmured, “Ellen?” as she
+was going by up the stairs and into the kitchen. She heard them. “I aim
+to take a drive later, Mester Gaddy, if it makes no nevermind to you.
+Ellen’s not seen my farm and my maw’d be proud to meet her.”
+
+“That suits.”
+
+“How’s that seed-boar I traded you?”
+
+“He’s a crapping mean sonofabitch, Hedrick. Set on rutting up his fence
+all the time.”
+
+“I noticed he liked to do that. Always breaking through. But I wouldn’t
+say he was mean. That’s hog nature.”
+
+“Maybe so. I call him Luther.”
+
+“That’s a foreign name. Spot would fit him more.”
+
+“After Martin Luther. A crapping bastard Dutchman Brinker worships.
+Heathen.”
+
+“Say. Bet that’s the first hog e’er to go by that name in this county.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Ellie, how come Craig’s pa got killed?” Frankie was asking as they lay
+in their beds in the muddled dark of their room.
+
+“Oh, it was in hay time. Craig and him were working with a watch-eye
+hand. Craig and that man were in the loft stacking hay back. His pa was
+down on the wagon. Well, that watch-eye man was fixing to jump down and
+pitched his fork ahead of him. It stabbed Moses Hedrick in the back
+between his shoulders. There he was, holding to the hay frame and the
+handle sticking out of his back. They said the prongs came out in front.
+Said he died standing there before he fell down.”
+
+“Oh my, I’d think a one-eye man would guard against such a
+happenstance.”
+
+“I reckon he couldn’t gauge distances so good.” They lay awhile in
+silence. Then Ellen was speaking in the dark, “Craig took on the farm
+then. You can say that for him. And he was still going to the grammar
+school.”
+
+Ellen wore the blue crushed-satin hat that Garland had brought her last
+Christmas. In Craig’s Model T, she was heading for the Catholic church.
+She kept her eyes straight ahead on the little ivory crucifix fastened
+on the dashboard. Under her feet the carpeting was torn; the car smelled
+of dust. The young man was voiceless, his tension exhibited in his
+handling of the machine. His collar was starched; the ill-fitted suit
+constricted him. “Here it is.”
+
+They were walking in stiffly. When his arm touched her, she moved away.
+At mass when the bell rang, Ellen knelt by him. But while heads around
+her bowed in the incensed air, she was staring about. Anton was with
+Maria and Frankie in a back pew. Pa’s trying to trap me with Craig. She
+held her head rebellious among the bent ones. What’s all the begging and
+praying about? I don’t care for this way of loving Him. I’ll get my
+peace out on the fatness of the earth that is His footstool. And the dew
+and the smell of the fields.
+
+“Stand up, Ellen,” whispered Craig.
+
+Father Tompert was reading out to the people in the clapboard church the
+beginning of the gospel of John. Ellen listened, brooding. They can’t
+make me marry him. “Thanks be to God,” said the priest and the people
+moved to go.
+
+Craig was driving a mile or two along a cart-rutted road on the other
+side of Millville, unfamiliar to Ellen. “There’s Tomkin’s Ditch,” he
+nodded to a joint post office and general store by the deserted
+roadside. “And here’s that section of land I’m fixing to buy. I aim to
+rent it the first two years to make the payments.” He halted the car,
+gazed upon an overgrown field. “Hit’s all virgin. A virgin piece. Ne’er
+a plowshare been put to it. Corn’ll grow ten feet tall with not a
+handful of fertilizer.” He moved the hand throttle and the car was
+lurching forward. He steered down a winding approach to a weather-beaten
+red house set barren of trees before a barn of the same color. “Let me
+point out the sights. Then you can meet Maw.”
+
+Ellen left her blue hat on the car seat. She came to where Craig leaned
+on the lot fence. Steers, deep in muddy manure, idled around troughs of
+corn. A yellow hound wagged up to her, sniffed her dress. She patted its
+smooth head; it wriggled, threw itself with a grunt on its side in the
+rutted road, waving its feet, ingratiating.
+
+“That’s Sooner.”
+
+“Hey, Sooner.” She was stroking it.
+
+“Sooner stay as come.” An elm grew by the fence. Craig cut a twig from
+it and offered it to Ellen. She shook her head. “Hit’s a slippery elm.”
+He was picking his teeth with the little stick. “Keeps off throat
+trouble.”
+
+He hung his coat on the fence, rolling his sleeves, uncovering blond
+hair that grew long on his arms. He walked with caution around the mire
+of the lot and climbed into the shed loft. The steers licked at the dry
+stalks he was forking down; they gazed at Ellen with deep-lidded eyes.
+Craig shouted, “Nothing to do but eat, hey, Ellen?” He was strutting
+over to her. “Rather watch them eat than feed my own face. You know?”
+
+“Well.”
+
+He spat out the twig. “I took on a man’s ways when I was yet a
+stripling. I dragged this farm up from a poor bit, starting the day Paw
+was killed. It’ll make some folks set up.”
+
+“Your ma take to it out here?”
+
+“Don’t you study on her, Ellen. Maw says the day I bring home a wife to
+do my cooking she’ll go to live with my sister up Indiana way.”
+
+“Craig,” Ellen warned, “I’m not marrying. I told you. If you will talk
+so, you can take me home.”
+
+“But I figured on it, Ellen.”
+
+“I’m not beholden to your figuring.” A thrill of fright ran through her,
+seeing he had raised up tall and pulled in his lip. He was looking upon
+her as though she were changed. He leaned over, gripping her upper arm,
+swathed in the winter coat. “I told you no, Craig.”
+
+“I heard a girl was taught to say no to lead her sweetie on hotter. You
+playing games?” His hand was tightening.
+
+“Craig, Pa’d kill you if he saw how you’re acting.”
+
+“Mester Gaddy’s thirsting to foist you off on me.”
+
+“But I got ne’er a liking for you, Craig. You have to give me time.” If
+she could but stave him off until she was safe at home. Home was distant
+and dear.
+
+“Don’t you e’er get hot, Ellen?” He was thrusting his hand within her
+coat, roughly hunting her breast.
+
+She pulled from him. “Maybe I would if you were good and waited.” She
+tried to soothe him. “Let’s go meet your ma now.”
+
+He was dragging her to his pock-marred face with an arm that was a band
+of steel. “You virgin, Ellen?” The scent was there, an odd mingling of
+moth balls and urine and hair oil. His lips were striving upon hers
+while she struggled. His hand was pressing her back, holding her against
+his body that was a rock. She felt the hard prod of him and a streak of
+flame ran through her, overlaid with disgust. I mustn’t go wild, it’s
+like with a mean boar, like Luther. You have to deal easy with him. She
+forced her body to slacken and felt him relax. She drew her mouth
+stiffly aside. “Give me a chance to breathe.” She smiled, forcing it.
+
+“There, Ellen. You do like me. See?”
+
+She twisted like a snake, darting free. Upon her heels she heard him,
+his breath an angry roar. The five-tined pitchfork was leaning against
+the fence bars where he had placed it after throwing hay to the cattle.
+She grasped it, flailing with the prongs turned backward. It smote him
+across the face, leaving white streaks. He stumbled, gasping amazed. She
+swung again.
+
+“Bitch,” he hissed, “I’ll prick you yet.” He grappled for the tool.
+
+She tore it loose, driving at him strongly. He was staggering backward,
+tripping in a road rut, falling. He threw up a protecting arm, blood
+oozing from a tine-mark on his forehead. Mud covered his Sunday vest and
+pants and striped shirt. She turned, speeding across the stubble field
+toward woods beyond. The hound, Sooner, was pattering alongside. She
+clawed her way through underbrush, aware after a time of a hurt in her
+throat where the breath was sobbing. She looked about. The hound had
+disappeared. She took the direction that seemed true, cutting across
+country, skirting the few houses. She climbed a rail fence and her dress
+caught, ripping. She shook her head, “I’ll have to mend that.”
+
+The afternoon was wearing on. A chill breeze was born. A faintness
+enveloped her. She startled when a twig cracked. She stopped to
+consider, speaking into the stillness. “It’s the fright makes me
+light-headed. I must have got my bearings turned. I should have come on
+the pike by now.” She was going at a slower gait; she remembered, “Now
+my hat’s in his car.”
+
+She was following a stony path bordered by thimbleberry bushes. It led
+onto the Millville Road which she recognized at once. A mud hen ran
+stammering before her, “Butbutbutbutbut!” It vanished in a field. The
+rail-birds were seldom seen; Sam Offut claimed that in winter they
+changed into frogs and hid in the marshes until spring. Ellen walked
+swiftly, head down, as automobiles and later a buggy came from behind
+and passed. Then she was at the house steps and slowing her pace.
+
+Anton was in the kitchen with Frankie who sprang from a chair. “Hey,
+Ellie. Is your beau with you?”
+
+“I’ve got no beau,” Ellen said stonily. She stood a moment plucking
+beggar’s-lice from her coat while her fingers shook. She turned to her
+father. “That was a whoreman you set on me, Pa.” She began to weep
+freely as anger overcame her.
+
+“You greening me? Speak up.”
+
+“You were bound and determined to sic that Hedrick on me, weren’t you?”
+Ellen whimpered.
+
+“Speak up,” shouted Anton.
+
+“He wanted to show me his farm. Then he came after me. I said let’s go
+meet your ma, but he wouldn’t.”
+
+“Tell what he did,” Anton threatened, fear glowing in the gray pupils of
+his eyes.
+
+“I grabbed a dung-fork and hit him. Then I ran.”
+
+“You seem to be safe enough, girl. The Lord God takes care of you.”
+
+Anger caught her up again. “It’s not that. With you it’s always root hog
+or die for me, and you know it.” The words fell biting as her tears
+washed. “It’s not because of God’s help I be home again.” She was
+running to her room.
+
+Later she appeared, pale and sullen, to do her chores and help with
+supper. When Anton came to the kitchen, she whispered, cold, “I ne’er
+meant those words, Pa. I was unsettled, I reckon, by all that walking.”
+
+“Were you out walking then, Ellie?” asked Maria. “I thought you were
+with that young man.”
+
+“I don’t take trifling from a youngen,” said Anton, contemptuous. “Got
+worries enough hanging from my neck without you laying more on.”
+
+“I ask you to overlook it.” She strove against the alienation.
+
+“Root hog or die, such talk after all that’s done for you. And taking
+God’s name. Whoso curses his father, it’s said, his lamp shall be put
+out.”
+
+“I ne’er cursed,” she breathed.
+
+“I saw you holding your head haughty in church this morning at the canon
+of the mass when all good souls were waiting on God. Now bend your head
+proper, girl. And don’t disgrace me. Mind.”
+
+Before they blew the candles in the bedroom that evening, the sisters
+were sitting in their shifts on the beds. Ellen looked out the window
+where the curved horn of the waning moon bobbed in scuds, and the wind
+coursed high upon it. “It’s wild out there tonight. The Indian summer’s
+on the decline.”
+
+“Ellie, what did Craig do to you?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“I’d ne’er let a man touch me. I’d hide like Ma in the wardrobe closet
+first.”
+
+“I’ll see that come the time.”
+
+“Well tell, did he kiss you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Tell about girls, Ellie. Why are there girls and then men?”
+
+“Go to sleep. Why can’t you let it be? You’re always going on.”
+
+“I want to know if a man’s secrets are more like a ram or a stallion.
+Wish I knew.”
+
+“You say more and I’m going to tell Pa you’re asking such stuff. He’ll
+whip those notions from you all at once.”
+
+Frankie lay restless, drawing the quilts up to her chin. She sighed. The
+candles by the bedside flickered, and upon the slanted roof beams
+shadows were wavering like wings of pinned moths.
+
+Ellen slept. She was dreaming of Christian Ay. And in the dream he had
+knowledge of her. It seemed this time she was willing. She came awake
+wondering at the vividness, sheltering its guilt. Maybe it all befell in
+another world as Miss Gentry the school teacher had claimed. Once Ellen
+had related a childish nightmare to her and she had replied, “Some say
+the soul is freed while you’re asleep, Ellen. And that’s when evil’s got
+its chance. And there’s some can prophesy from a dream. Now others go
+against those old ways, holding modern notions such as dreams showing up
+your real wishes, and you having a hidden mind with its own thoughts. I
+don’t hold by any of that. I maintain those fancy notions are much the
+same as prophesying.”
+
+It was another strangeness to dwell on. Then she recalled the child she
+had borne in the Dougherty orchard. She put the memory away with
+distaste, separating its being from the love she had held for Christian
+Ay as if there were no connection. She closed her eyes again, weary from
+the long day.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spotted boar that Anton had obtained from Craig Hedrick rooted up
+his fence in the night, wandering into the lot where the cows were
+penned for the winter months. He weighed over half a ton, had an
+untrusty temper, an insatiable appetite. Anton and Sam would view him in
+his pen when he fed. “Haw. Luther. Old bastard stinks, doesn’t he, Sam?
+Luther.”
+
+“He’s ugly, Mester Gaddy. I want to see the pigs he sires to fatten for
+market. Say.”
+
+The brute’s jowls below his dish face were touching the ground. His ears
+flapped over tiny vacant eyes. His back was arched high and powerful,
+his larded sides shook when he trod on his small cleft hoofs. His screw
+tail was twitching with excitement. He roamed, investigating the new
+territory, growling. He nibbled at the corn he rooted from cow
+droppings, at hay fallen under the racks. But he was seeking a tastier
+morsel. The heavy milker, Maisie, had been due to drop a calf, the men
+examining her judiciously every evening for signs because Anton wanted
+to raise it. Now she was down in straw at the corner of the shed,
+groaning, pushing forth a heifer calf. As Luther rounded the shed side
+he smelled it, half born. He fed his hunger, ripping at the moist
+caul-swathed fetus, his eyes glittering.
+
+In the morning Anton had to shoot his mutilated cow. The men strung it
+up to skin it and dress out what meat could be salvaged. Anton was
+scooping the foul-smelling entrails into a washtub. “When we finish
+trimming this carcass, before God, Sam, we’re going to drive locust
+posts four feet deep. Build that murdering bastard a barricade that’ll
+hold him.”
+
+
+                                   12
+
+Near the last of November there was a circle around the moon foretelling
+the wet weather. The downpour held for ten days, the pregnant sky
+slate-colored, the deluge continuous. Muck and soggy manure were deep
+now in stables and yards and paths. When Ellen went out to her chores
+she would wear Anton’s discarded rubber boots. Maria and Frankie had
+sickened when the rain first began. They were lying together in the big
+bed in the downstairs room, Anton sleeping nights in the guest bed.
+Though the fever of the invalids was abating, their harsh coughs were
+hanging on. Anton soaked inner bark of black cherry and elm, boiling it
+down to a thick brown brew for them to sip when the seizures came on.
+Ellen’s eyes were on him as he was moving about the kitchen, preparing
+the medicine. His loose lips drooped in concentration. “Feed a cold and
+starve a fever. Hear, girl?”
+
+“Maybe we ought to get a doctor, Pa?” She whispered it, confiding.
+
+“Nary a satchel doctor has set foot in this house, even when your ma
+bore you youngens.” His voice surged, “I don’t work with charms and tie
+papers on the sick. The way heathen folk do. I use herbs and healing
+trees. Like my folks before me and theirs before that.”
+
+“A doctor might know of something new.” She was persistent.
+
+“Now what do you reckon a doctor be? He uses the same herbs as me. He
+puts them in fancy bottles and gives them new names. The Word tells,
+remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set. That goes
+for all old-timey ways.”
+
+“I know, Pa.” The sharp-scented steam was filling the kitchen. Ellen
+took a bowl of spongy warm dough, overturning it into a bed of soft
+flour on the bread board.
+
+Anton set the jar of warm liquid on the table by her. “Hum. Now, that’s
+ready for those two.” He pulled on his heavy jacket and fur cap,
+departing into the drizzle.
+
+Ellen worked the dough down and covered it with a towel. She would
+prepare flannel bags of heated earth when the chills came on Maria and
+Frankie, heaping blankets high. Then their fever would be reborn and
+take possession again. “Mam,” Maria whispered hoarsely to Ellen once,
+“tell Pap he better make up another sweater tea if the back of this
+fever don’t break soon.” Red-faced, Maria threw back the covers. Pity
+moved in Ellen. When she came from the barn, she would leave her muddy
+boots on the porch and wash herself. She wore a fresh apron into the
+bedroom. She would bring the invalids a bowl of pudding and a plate of
+toasted fresh bread, walking softly.
+
+“There’s a bit for you to try and eat, Frankie. You got to have food, Pa
+says, now the fever’s waning.”
+
+“Wish I had ice,” complained the girl. “Go get the chamber pot for me,
+Ellie.”
+
+No action, no word or roughness disturbed the tranquil edge of Ellen’s
+spirit. She was gentle-spoken. “It’ll be clearing off soon. The red cock
+crowed on the fence this morning. First time he’s flown off the ground.”
+
+Frankie was sighing. “Christmas is less than a month away. And I’m
+missing all my lessons. I might ne’er get to go with Uncle Garland to
+the city.”
+
+“Sure you will, now.” Ellen took them warm water to bathe their faces.
+She scrubbed bed linen in a tub on the kitchen floor, wrung the clothes
+out, pinned them on the lines she strung through parlor and kitchen. All
+the while she bore herself proudly and carefully, feeling her necessity
+and how they were all leaning on her. Surely her father saw she was
+keeping his house alone now, cooking for Sam and the sick ones, besides
+her work out of doors.
+
+At length a fragment of moon reappeared in the daytime sky, and the sun
+was there too, embryonic, feeble. Maria came out of the bedroom to grind
+beans for breakfast coffee, a long maroon sweater draped over her
+flannel nightdress. Anton wrapped Frankie in a quilt and sat her in a
+chair at the table. He was filling her plate. “Now you got to eat.”
+
+The slender girl laughed, her skin pallid, her red hair seeming to
+prosper unnaturally under the illness, lying abundant. “Do tell at her,”
+said Maria, “and my hair’s falling out. When I was a youngen I lost hit
+all in the epidemic. Pure bald. Had to wear a string-knit cap for nigh
+on a year. He knows.” Her lips continued to move.
+
+“I was thinking, Pa,” said Ellen, striving to keep her newly won role,
+“I’ll start cleaning the candlesticks outside after this to get away
+from that mess in the sink.”
+
+“This little old thing.” Anton touched Frankie’s hair, beaming. “Just
+look at her, you-all.”
+
+The tears stood in Ellen’s eyes. And days that she had made full became
+empty once more. She felt her pride and her beauty fall away.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was cutting down a few of the hard cheeses from the rafters in the
+smokehouse. Grady Love would take them in trade for the staples they
+needed. There was little to carry in the basket these days. In the
+unseasonable weather the hens had nearly stopped laying. She used
+water-glass eggs to cook with, put down in a crock during the summer.
+There was no cream or butter, the dairy taking all the milk that was
+produced. It was late in the day before she got started. She put on her
+heavy coat and boots. “I’ll be back in time to fix supper, Ma. So don’t
+fret if it gets dark. Days are so short now.”
+
+“Can’t you wait till tomorrow?” Frankie was asking. “Don’t go.”
+
+“Tomorrow’s Sunday, Frankie. I’m strapped for salt and soda. Pa’s out of
+tobacco. You try to nap.”
+
+When she finished her trading and was on the way home, Ellen took the
+short cut by Bailey’s Woods to visit Amanda York and to warm herself.
+She knocked at the door of the double cabin. Amanda was wearing a bright
+red dress, her hair made into a gleaming braid down her back. She drew
+Ellen to the fire that hissed and sparked. “You know I got a beau,
+Ellie?”
+
+“No. Who is he?”
+
+“Jerome Hatfield. Smithy Hatfield’s son. He’ll be coming by soon. Stay
+to meet him, Ellie. He’s real nice.”
+
+“You going to marry him?”
+
+“He’s asked me.”
+
+A car was heard approaching. Then doors were slamming outside, and male
+voices shouting. “Mandy?”
+
+“Ask your maw can we come in?”
+
+“We got a present for you-all.”
+
+“That’ll be Jerome,” laughed Amanda. “They’ve been drinking, this being
+Saturday night.”
+
+“This one’s a heavy basket,” called a twisted voice that Ellen knew.
+“Rome Beauties are right solid apples.”
+
+Three young men came in. Craig Hedrick was carrying one handle of a
+basket. He hesitated, seeing Ellen, his face frozen. They set the basket
+down. She saw a dark scar across his forehead lit by the dancing fire.
+
+“Oh, you boys been tasting bootleg,” cried Mrs. York. “Come have some
+soft cider to cool you off.”
+
+Amanda was running to fetch glasses. Ellen followed, whispering, “I’ve
+got to go, Mandy. Ma and Frankie are sick in bed and it’s dark by now.”
+
+“Oh, Ellie, I wish you could stay. Craig,” she was crying, “take Ellie
+Gaddy home in your auto.”
+
+“No,” Ellen breathed.
+
+Amanda whispered, “I’ll make a match for you, Ellie. He’s a nice fellow.
+Got an eighty-acre farm all his own. But he’s afraid of girls.”
+
+“Hurry up with the glasses, Mandy,” called Jerome. Ellen saw him pushing
+Craig’s ribs with an elbow. “Take her home, Craig.”
+
+Amanda brought the tray and Ellen hung behind her. “Ellie, you know
+Craig here? And Jacob Haas and Jerome Hatfield.” She was pointing them
+out with a nod. “The last is the meanest.”
+
+“Pleased to meet you.” The silence was awkward. The three men leaned on
+their legs abashed, their faces heated by the fire and the liquor they
+had drunk.
+
+“Ah, here we are.” Mrs. York was pouring the cider. Ellen shook her
+head, turning away.
+
+“Well, Craig,” persisted Amanda. “Cat got your tongue? Thought you told
+me you knew Ellie and went to school with her?”
+
+“Craig took her for a drive once. I heard about that,” crowed young
+Haas.
+
+“Did you, Craig?” cried Amanda. “When?”
+
+“Come on, let’s hear. When?”
+
+“I’ll walk,” whispered Ellen. “I’d rather.” The young men were shuffling
+near the fire; someone spilled cider on the stone hearth and Amanda was
+bringing a mop. Ellen found her basket and boots by the doorway. Outside
+in the dog-trot the adjoining cabin was dark, unused in winter. She was
+buttoning her coat. The night was chill.
+
+As she reached Sweetincreek Road the wind gathered itself and whirled
+strongly about her, up the sleeves of her coat. There was just light
+enough to follow the road. She drew her coat to her, fought the wind.
+The way was endless, the few dried leaves still cringing in the trees
+rattled and the wind had its way with them. In a darkened corn field an
+animal was slipping along rows of shocks. She heard a distant car
+engine. It became louder, lights were shining faintly behind her. She
+was turning into the ditch at the roadside, stumbling down the incline
+to crouch there. Headlights beamed close at hand. The car stopped by the
+ditch, a voice was calling thickly, “Ellen? I’ll drive you home.”
+
+“I want no help from you, Craig. I’ll walk.” She climbed out and started
+up the road.
+
+The car was following. “Get in, Ellen. I’m not going to hurt you.” He
+swung the door open. She stepped up and into the seat. There was the
+tart whisky trace. With a jerk the car started. He drove fast down the
+road, the thin tires bumping over hardened ruts. “Thought you were a new
+field of daisies, you whore,” Craig was saying. “You’re nothing but a
+brush field where a plowshare drove through. I found that out.”
+
+She held a frightened silence.
+
+“E’er a man in the county has slept in that field. So I hear.”
+
+He’s blind drunk. She stared ahead where the road crouched dark before
+the car lights.
+
+“Why won’t you sleep with me too, Ellen? Why did you hit me with that
+dung-fork?” He began to sniffle.
+
+“You’re stark crazy.” She put her fingers on the door latch.
+
+“You ran off with a rich fellow, I heard. And got knocked up. Had a brat
+off some’eres.” He was making gruff crying noises.
+
+“You’re just simple crazy.”
+
+He was swerving the Ford into the lane of her home. He braked so that
+she threw her hands against the dashboard, bruised her fingers on the
+tiny crucifix screwed there. Her basket slid across the floor carpet
+making a rough sound. “I’m just drunk. Worthless drunk. I’m sorry for
+what I said, Ellen.” He was leaning to her and she remembered his hairy
+arms.
+
+“Get away from me.” The handle turned. She ran to the house, the basket
+swinging wildly. His car remained where it was; she glanced back from
+the porch. She was pushing the door open, the kitchen was warm and
+smelled of security. She went to the bedroom door, taking off her coat.
+
+“You were gone so long, Ellie,” Frankie whined.
+
+“I had to put the potatoes on,” Maria said.
+
+Ellen tugged at her boots. “I tarried a while at Mandy’s.” She was
+busying herself with supper, making a clatter with the dishes. She
+hummed and when she sliced the ham she closed her eyes, blinking tears.
+He called me a whore.
+
+“I thought I heard a car drive up,” Maria said.
+
+“Someone out on the road, I reckon.” She heard the motor start then.
+Craig would drive back to the York cabin. He and the others would sit
+around the fire, eating apples and popping corn in an iron basket. They
+would laugh about that queer Ellen Gaddy.
+
+Anton came in, his long-jawed face ruddy from the harsh wind. “I brought
+your twists of tobacco, Pa. I set them on the shelf o’er there.” I hate
+them all. Men are a pack of tormented hogs.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Christmas 1926 was approaching. Preparations were under way for
+Garland’s annual visit. Frankie told Ellen with enthusiasm, “I’m just
+going to sit and study grammar. So don’t look for help in the kitchen
+from me.”
+
+“Oh Frankie, stop worrying about it.”
+
+In the evening the younger girl was arranging dried everlasting in the
+parlor vase, the thistle-like blooms shaking palely in her hands. She
+turned to Ellen, blithe. “I’m that eager to see Chicago, you know. Pa
+says I can get dresses from the catalog. You help me.”
+
+Ellen brought it out and they selected. “You’re like a wild one,
+Frankie. Setting such store on the times you’ll have. Just do as Uncle
+says and it’ll come out well.”
+
+Frankie had suppressed her misgivings. By her lively chatter and
+protestations she covered the small voice of panic beneath.
+
+Anton came in to where they sat. “Order stout, hear? Not cheap. I
+declare this is the day. Get her new boots too, girl.”
+
+“She’ll more need pretty slippers, Pa.”
+
+“And get chills-and-fever? She can be warm and comely too, I say. Just
+spend it. I got it,” he said recklessly, and went to paint the black
+sink in the kitchen in honor of Garland’s coming.
+
+Ellen enjoyed the readying for the holidays. “Where are the straws I
+pulled from the new broom you got, Ma? I’m bent I’ll find them to judge
+if my cakes are done right. Frankie,” she cried, “stop studying. Come
+beat this icing for me.”
+
+“I don’t know, Ellie.” Frankie entered the room, reluctant. “How do I
+sound when I talk?”
+
+“Why, you sound like a lady. Whip this up, will you?”
+
+“All right.” Frankie poised the spoon, reciting, “The deluge drowned,
+the earth around.”
+
+“That’s real clear, Frankie.” Ellen took pride in her cakes, liked to
+start the batter with her hands, feeling the fresh lard blend to the
+sugar. “I despise to waste making a cake with fat-drippings. They should
+be delicate and light.” She was washing her hands, beating the eggs to a
+froth with her mother’s wire whisk. Her health and good will surged
+strong from some inner store.
+
+After mass on Sunday, Anton left his women-folk to speak with Joe
+Burwell who pressed him, “Borrow my new fence stretcher, Gaddy. Hit
+beats a crowbar and pliers to a fare-thee-well.”
+
+“I’ll try it one time. All my fences are rotting on me. Hell, I’d rather
+set up rails any day than stretch wire.”
+
+Joe Burwell’s son Dyke was approaching the sisters and Maria on the
+church porch. “Hey.”
+
+“Hey, Dyke,” Frankie cried.
+
+The boy was nineteen or twenty, fleshy and large. He was smiling weakly
+at the girls, in anguish. Frankie blushed, Ellen looked down, scowling.
+Anton was calling them to the waiting wagon.
+
+“He’s cute,” Frankie whispered and looked back.
+
+“You can have him. I heard he does dishes and washes and scrubs for his
+ma.”
+
+“I wouldn’t mind. He’s tall. But how come he does her housework?”
+
+“She’s a one-leg. She hitched a horse up without the blinders and it
+scared off and ran the spring-wagon o’er her. They had to cut her leg
+clean off above the knee.”
+
+“Say.”
+
+“She wore out three wood legs till she took to pushing a chair before
+her. Had a baby too,” Ellen concluded luridly, “couple of years after.”
+
+“Well, all the same he’s tall. I’m not so particular.”
+
+In the cold clear weather the cows would seek sunny spots in the
+barnyard, at night crowding into steaming groups. The goats found a
+plank leaning against the chicken house. Ellen came on the younger ones
+bounding madly on the corrugated tin roof, their hoofs rattling. The
+daring skewbald Pie snorted and leaped skittishly from the high slanted
+roof to the ground. She was galloping back to the plank, short tail
+erect, up on the roof again, sure-footed. They seemed like wild animals
+Ellen had come on in the woods, unable to contain their spirits. Penny,
+who was heavier and not inclined to frolic, stood on the ground, ears
+flattened in worry. Ellen patted her and she tossed her beard, fretful.
+
+The girls were gathering walnuts and butternuts. They shucked them and
+threw the hulls in the kitchen stove. Dyke Burwell drove up in a buggy
+with his father. Ellen saw them through the window. Dyke sat helpless,
+holding the reins, while the men met and walked to the barns. Joe
+Burwell turned his head, bellowing, “Hitch Blacky to the post, you dang
+fool, and get in where it’s warm. You got a corncob for a head?”
+
+At the kitchen door Dyke was rapping, timid. Ellen opened it, her hands
+stained with walnut juice. She was blocking the entrance. “Well?” He
+cast his eyes to his hobnail shoes. She saw the two men disappear in the
+distance. “We’re busy baking.” Cruelly, she closed the door on him.
+
+“Ellie Gaddy!” Frankie was running quick-footed after the stout ungainly
+boy. She led him to the parlor where she gave him black and white beans
+to string clumsily for decoration. Ellen heard her vivacious voice and
+later the piano tinkling and Frankie’s falsetto.
+
+   When I was a lady, a lady, a lady
+   When I was a lady, a lady was I
+   And this way and that way and this way
+   And that way
+   And when I was a lady, a lady was I
+
+“That makes two geese in there,” Ellen told Maria briefly.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the evening Garland was to arrive, the Gaddys were waiting in vain.
+Anton took out the letter that had come from Chicago, studied it again,
+squinting through his reading glass. “Hit’s today for sure. That’s what
+it says here. Lay down that red carpet on the twenty-second. That’s his
+way of saying it.”
+
+“You know, Mester Gaddy,” Maria said, “today the sun entered
+Capricornus. First day of winter.”
+
+Anton reflected and went for the almanac. “Hit says unsettled here. I’ve
+noticed these folks will often hit it right. Could be he’s run up
+against a storm.”
+
+The roast was kept on the back of the stove, reheated until the juices
+dried. The chores were finished. The family had dressed for company.
+Late dusk set in and Anton grumbled, “Put it out and we’ll eat. I’ll say
+grace.” They picked at the food by lamplight. The man spoke suddenly,
+“This meat’s not fit for hogs.” He pushed his plate and got up, began to
+pack his pipe.
+
+Frankie made sniffing sounds. “He’s not coming, that’s what. I can’t
+bear waiting and not knowing.” She ran up the stairs, her footsteps
+fading; the loft door slammed mildly from afar.
+
+The next forenoon Garland was wheeling a yellow Reo into the lane; he
+pressed the horn, “Ah-roooooo-ga!” Frankie flew out to greet him. Ellen
+was hesitating at the door, her hand shielding her eyes from the winter
+sun. She saw the familiar derby and Garland’s arm about Frankie as Anton
+came from the barnyard. “Broke down at Minetta, An. Had to stay
+overnight. Why the hell don’t you have a telephone installed like
+everyone else?” Garland was waving at his car. “How do you like it?
+Brand-new touring style. The latest.” He clapped his brother on the
+shoulder. “Had her up to forty miles on route sixty-six.”
+
+Anton preceded them into the kitchen. Garland was looking at Ellen as he
+came to the steps. “Well, puss?” He pinched her thigh, his small blue
+eyes gay. “How’s the wandering little wench?” He wagged his finger.
+
+“Reckon I was a poor niece to you last winter after your kindness.” She
+gazed at him, candid. “I ne’er meant it so.”
+
+“Put on weight, haven’t you, hon? You look good. Pretty.” The color rose
+in her face, relieved that he would let the past rest. “Got a boy friend
+yet?”
+
+“No,” she was smiling. He met her eyes. At the sight of the clipped
+mustache in the squared smooth face, a part of her loneliness had drawn
+away. They walked into the house, his arm on her shoulder.
+
+Maria was in the bedroom doorway, twisting a towsack towel in her hands.
+“Who be you?”
+
+“Ooman,” roared Anton, “it’s my brother then.”
+
+“Not peddler.”
+
+“Ooman. You’re plaguing me.”
+
+“Shut up, An. She hasn’t seen me for a year. Hello, Maria, I brought you
+a present, too. It’s in my car. A pressure cooker to save you work.”
+
+“Now I forgot it was you coming today.” Maria was suddenly complacent.
+“Tinie Bilberry’s got a bread-mixing outfit. Hit’s made to save work
+too. The handle turns like a churn and the dough comes out ready for the
+pans.”
+
+“Does hit shape the loaves too?” asked Anton grimly. “I allow men are
+turning from the Lord God’s ways with these contraptions.”
+
+“Next year I’m going to bring you a sewing machine, Maria. I saw a
+treadle one you could use, seeing as your husband won’t put in
+electricity till doomsday. You got to look to the future, Anton. Rural
+electrification. Let machines do it.”
+
+“Next you’ll say get a newfangled automobile,” Anton predicted.
+
+Ellen and Maria laid out the noon dinner. Ellen was warmed in her
+uncle’s love. In the evening she sat by him on the sofa. Or if he was
+standing, she linked her arm in his. When he laughed and said Frankie’s
+way of speech wasn’t a whit altered from last year and that Anton had
+got a reaming on the grammar teacher, her jealousy was assuaged.
+
+But Anton angered, “That fellow’s been coming for a year. And there was
+one we had before him that quit on me.”
+
+“Hold on,” Garland was crying easily. “Chrissake, Frankie’ll be all
+right. You did what you could.” He nodded kindly to the girl’s stricken
+face. “Let’s hear you play something, sweet.”
+
+The next morning Ellen was in late from her barn work. She stopped in
+the hall at the parlor door, hearing Garland’s emphatic voice within,
+“She’s not well, I tell you, An. You’re so used to her you don’t notice.
+But she acts downright queer.”
+
+“Shaw.”
+
+“She needs psychiatric care. Mental aid. Look, I’m worried about her.
+Your attitude doesn’t help, God knows. You’re as enlightened as a
+bushman.”
+
+Anton laughed, “You modern city folk. Such know-alls.”
+
+“I’m not sure if I should have brought that pressure cooker, either.”
+
+“Well, that’s a fact. I wouldn’t have any truck with it. What’s it got
+o’er a good fire for cooking? You tell me.”
+
+Ellen wandered into the kitchen to look at Maria with new eyes. She saw
+the two men going to the barn, her uncle clad in one of the country
+costumes he affected, jodhpurs and boots, a dark red turtle-neck
+sweater. And Anton wearing stiff new overalls and a fresh-made black
+shirt.
+
+When the time had arrived for midnight mass, Ellen was taking her place
+at the communion rail with the others. She waited while the priest
+stopped at Garland and then Anton and Maria. Then Father Tompert spoke
+in Latin above her and in the cold church all became quiet. The fleeting
+fear washed over Ellen. Am I lost? Pa thinks I’m a pure maid. But his
+God knows I’m not. When she was going back to the bench, she fortified
+herself. They that stumbled are girded with strength. She had read it
+when she searched in her father’s worn Bible. I’ve done no wrong. I have
+my God. And she rebuilt her peace.
+
+They were driving back to the farm in the Reo. The girls tucked their
+feet in the narrow floor space, sniffed the new interior. They savored
+the luxury of the shallow seat. Frankie was giggling, “We’re like soft
+city ladies.” Ellen laughed into the dark.
+
+Anton was pulling at his pipe, the fragrant smoke mingling with the
+fresh biting wind that whipped from the open windows into the back seat.
+Garland inquired, “Where’s your fancy blue hat, hon? With the rose on
+it, that I brought you last year? I see you’re still wearing that old
+cap.”
+
+“It’s cold tonight,” Ellen was evasive, “so I wore this warm wool one.”
+
+At home, they ate from the laden table. Then the women came into the
+parlor, leaving the kitchen in disarray. They sat by the fire that was
+cracking as the dry wood caught. “I’m going to help you girls do those
+dishes in the morning,” Garland cried. “You’ve got to keep me company. I
+used to be in demand as a dishwasher in the old days at some of the best
+hotels. Now I insist.”
+
+“Such foolishness,” Anton mocked, lighting one of the fresh cigars and
+settling in a chair.
+
+Ellen brought a bowl of wrinkled sweet winter apples. “Have a russet,
+Uncle?”
+
+“Ellie, I’ll play if you’ll sing.” Frankie was at the upright piano.
+
+“Go ahead, pusses.” Garland had produced a bottle of bootleg rum; he
+poured two glasses. He waved his hand until they finished the tune.
+
+   I don’t want no more of your weevily wheat
+   I don’t want none of your barley
+   But I want some more of your pretty white flour
+   To bake a cake for Charlie
+
+“I vote for Christmas!” Garland’s face heated. Ellen was remembering the
+party in Chicago where he had seemed a stranger. Here he was his old
+self once again. When he came yearly to the farm, the tenor of the home
+would be transformed, and Ellen esteemed by him above her sister. She
+wondered if Anton ever noticed. I’m strong like their mother, that Nell
+they talk of. And Frankie’s not.
+
+Anton finished his glass, set it down. “If you-all want to hear about
+it, we saw a crowd of doves once so thick they blacked the sky.”
+
+“Turtledoves?” Frankie asked.
+
+“Passenger pigeons,” said Garland. “I remember them, too. Extinct now.
+That was when we were boys.”
+
+“They sounded like a twister when a flock came o’er,” said Anton. “Our
+sir took us three youngens to see them. That was in eighteen-eighty.”
+
+“Not that far back.” Garland was yawning.
+
+“Yes it was. For Ma named it time and again. Eighteen-eighty.” Anton was
+animated by the memory.
+
+“Well, if you say.”
+
+“You and me were still wearing shirt-tails, Gar. Marc was in pants. He’d
+have been about ten. It was down where Maria’s folks lived.” He nodded.
+“At Seven Mile Run. They shot them down and left the squabs to die. They
+shipped them in barrels till the market was so glutted they had to feed
+them out to the hogs.”
+
+“How many you reckon were in that skyful of doves, Pa?” Ellen was
+asking.
+
+“Well, when they settled, the flock stretched forty miles long and ten
+deep. Then one day they all flew off at once. We went to look at the
+giant trees stripped and ruined.”
+
+“I’d fain have seen them,” Ellen said, “darkening the sky.”
+
+“I notice they caught some rumrunners,” Garland said, “sneaking it in
+from Canada in a carload of hog carcasses.” He mourned, “No more booze.”
+
+“Prohibition’s nothing to me,” said Anton, “I make what wine I need.
+I’ll give you some to take back if you want. Dandelion’s the best, I’d
+say.”
+
+“I’ll take you up on that. So they don’t catch me, I’ll label it perfume
+for the ladies.”
+
+Frankie was tittering, Garland stretching, and the family found their
+beds.
+
+Ellen remained awake. Life, it seemed, was a long quest for love. The
+wind was whistling low around a corner of the house. Her mind went on
+what Garland had said about Maria being ill. The wind sound was bringing
+to memory a fall evening when Ellen was a child and a whippoorwill began
+to call near the porch steps, first in low-pitched chucks, then
+shredding the night with its cry. Maria had shrieked, “Get him off the
+porch, girl.” Ellen ran to open the door, the song ceased as the bird
+winged away. But Maria had wept, “When the whippoorwill sings on your
+doorstep, it brings bad luck. Hit sung on the night I lost my betimes
+baby. It was a little boy.” Ellen had vowed then, it’ll not be so with
+me. Life won’t break me whatever comes. The wind was growling, hunting.
+She remembered that in Illinois there was a small child of hers. She had
+a vague wish to see what he was like. And then, nostalgia like a memory
+of the dead drove through her, constricting her throat, for what dwelled
+between Luke Dougherty and his wife.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Christmas, Anton was baffled to find his brother had given him a
+battery radio. “Hit’s a contraption, all right.” He was tuning the
+stations. Static clattered in, a rasping voice and a sudden blare of
+music. Anton was hunching himself over the instrument on the table.
+“Don’t help me, Gar. Leave me run hit myself.”
+
+The girls opened black velvet boxes. Ellen was turning a gold chain over
+in her hand; she laid it cold about her throat. There were matched
+pearls for Frankie who wore her new yellow dress and flitted between
+Anton and Garland. “Now, gather ye rosebuds,” Garland was quoting,
+“while ye may. Old Time’s still a-flying. The same flower that blooms
+today tomorrow’ll be dying.” He thumped the round table with his palm.
+
+“Tell more about Chicago, Uncle. What’ll it be like for me?”
+
+“Oh, Anton thinks you’ve got such a talent,” he was chucking Frankie’s
+chin, “he can’t cheat the world of it. You’ll like it, sweet. I’ll let
+you take it slow. Afraid I gave your sister too big a dose.” He looked
+at Ellen, who gravely returned his gaze. “Remember how busy I was, hon?
+Now that’s what I like about Christmas down here. Takes my mind off my
+problems.”
+
+“Give me that old-timey religion,” the radio pealed.
+
+“Listen at that,” Anton shouted. “No telling where those barbarians are
+singing from.”
+
+The holiday week wore on. Frankie in high excitement, was easily given
+to laughter, as easily wept. On the second of January, it was planned,
+she would drive in the Reo to Chicago. The sisters were washing milk
+buckets in the kitchen when Ellen said, “Be good for you to part from Pa
+for a spell.”
+
+“Oh, you just want him for yourself,” Frankie wailed. “He’ll ne’er romp
+with you like me.”
+
+Ellen tightened her lips, threw back her head, marched to her goats in
+the woodshed. “Scroungy brat,” she sniffed. “That’s not so.”
+
+They were all seated before the fire in the parlor at night. A knock
+came at the kitchen door and Ellen went to answer it. “Why, Lily
+Garrett. I don’t know when we saw you last. Want to come in?”
+
+The fat girl was encased in a bulky coat, the figure of a youth rearing
+behind her. “We want you to come with us, Ellie. Frankie too. We got a
+wagon of hay and there’s a moon to see by. Come on, Ellie, ask if you
+can.”
+
+“No. Pa wouldn’t let us. Who-all is there?” She leaned forward from the
+security of the house.
+
+“A whole wagonload of us. Papa let me go. Said I’d be whipped anyway so
+I’d as well. It’s a deal of fun.” Lily was bouncing with energy. “This
+is Jacob Haas.”
+
+“Hello,” he said.
+
+“Reckon we can’t go, but I sure thank you for asking. And Mester Haas,
+too.” She nodded to the dark figure.
+
+She came back into the parlor and Garland said, “That was your fellow,
+wasn’t it, sweet?” His blue eyes were admiring her.
+
+She stepped lightly across the oak floor, containing her gestures. “Oh,
+it was only Lily, Uncle.”
+
+“She’s my best friend,” Frankie said. “She told me when Sophie had those
+twins.”
+
+“Yes, and those brats came five months after the girl married Buck
+Lemmon,” Anton said. “A loose crowd.”
+
+“They’re young, Anton,” cried Garland.
+
+“Rakes and loose girls. Defiling the unwedded has no excuse. I’ll keep
+these two chaste.”
+
+On New Year’s Eve, Ellen was putting peas to soak in the iron kettle.
+Garland came looking for her. “What are you doing, puss?”
+
+“Don’t you know it’s good luck to eat black-eye peas and sowbelly the
+first day of the year?”
+
+“What really happened last spring in St. Louis, hon? It was a man,
+wasn’t it? I knew something was going on with you.”
+
+She looked to her work, her fingers trembling. She felt mature,
+controlled. “Nothing. I ne’er reached St. Louis.”
+
+“What I can’t figure out is how you managed to get away so quietly. I
+searched the stations in the morning for you. Kept it from Anton as long
+as I could.”
+
+“Wish I was like you, Uncle. You got all you want.” She said it
+unexpectedly. “Purely I’d admire to be you.”
+
+“Seems you could have told me your problems. You’re growing up so fast.
+Maybe I could have helped. Why did you run away like that?”
+
+“I wouldn’t be Pa. But I’d be you, if I were a man.” She said it
+passionately, won to him by his approval of her, by his broad opinions,
+awed with his worldliness.
+
+“There’s no one like you, Ellen,” he was smiling, shaking his head.
+
+Anton called from the parlor door, “Go out and take a look at that
+Gladys heifer, girl.”
+
+“I’ll go with her,” Garland shouted back. He took Ellen’s coat from the
+hook and held it for her. He was lighting the lantern awkwardly. He wore
+a fur-trimmed jacket and was pulling on kid gloves. His esteem seeped
+over Ellen, making her movements supple, her youth a fine thing.
+
+The path to the barn was a river of canescent moonlight drowning the
+lantern glow. They walked silent until Garland said, “You know how much
+like my mother you are?” He reflected. “There was a way she had though,
+that came out sometimes. Like she really hated me.” He was speaking
+softer. “I’d try to make her notice the way I could work quicker and do
+things better than Marc. He was older. She always doted so on him.”
+Ellen’s quiescence encouraged him in the cover of the night. “I remember
+her sitting with her head up stiff in the seat of her little rig,
+driving her pony. Beg her to let me harness it for her, or curry it.” He
+murmured, “You know, you’re just the spit of her sometimes, puss. Except
+for your hair. Hers was more the color of Frankie’s.” He took her arm.
+
+Ellen felt him shivering. It’s me, causing him to do that. “Venus and
+Mars and Jupiter are the evening stars now,” she told him. “Jupiter’s
+still up, he doesn’t set till about eight these days.”
+
+In the barn, by fragile lantern light, the pregnant young cow seemed
+quiet. They were turning to go. Ellen noticed Sam had stuffed a burlap
+sack in the broken window to keep the wind out. Garland spoke again,
+“You know I’ve always had a thought about Marc that I never told
+anyone.” Ellen was listening in the near dark, amid the pungent animal
+odors. “He had brown straight hair and his face was different somehow.
+Handsome. He wasn’t like any of us.” He lit a cigarette, leisurely. “You
+in any hurry, sweet?” He put his arm about her and she waited to hear
+the secret about her dead uncle, Marc. “I don’t think he was Pa’s son at
+all. I think my mother married Jules Gaddy because she got caught and
+needed a father for her child.”
+
+“Reckon your sir knew of it?” whispered Ellen.
+
+“No telling. He thought the world of my mother, that I’m sure of. She
+got her way on everything.” He was blowing the smoke, stamping the
+cigarette into the musty bedding. He breathed broken, “Oh darling.” And
+his dry mouth was on hers, his old mouth, in desire. He was pulling at
+her skirt, fumbling on her thigh with his soft fingers. She tore her
+mouth swiftly away, turning her head.
+
+“And Lot went up out of Zoar,” he whispered, holding her to him. “He
+dwelt in the mountains and his daughters with him. Didn’t know I could
+quote from the Bible, did you, hon? The first-born went in and lay with
+her father. Book of Genesis.” Hotly he held her but gently withal.
+
+She was pushing him from her with violent hands. “Come to the house,
+Uncle. Now.”
+
+Wordless he followed her up the path where moonlight bloomed cold. In
+the kitchen she hung her coat on its hook. She went upstairs to lie in
+the chill air, while the dying candle made a puddle of tallow on the
+table top. Ellen’s loneliness was an ache, for his kindness had garbed
+her. He was aged and knowledgeable. Despair had laid her bare. It’s not
+for love of me. He’s got no enduring need of me. His imperfection, his
+weakness, had come to stand between them.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the morning Garland was jovial in a bright yellow shirt piped in red
+and a belt with a European clasp fashioned like a horse and rider. Ellen
+dawdled over her barn chores, came tardily to the breakfast table. She
+didn’t wear a fresh apron, she ate stolid, uncommunicative. Anton was
+rapt in the radio, the nasal twang.
+
+   She’s pure as the rose, like the lamb she is meek
+   And she’s never been known to use paint on her cheek
+
+Ellen went from the room unnoticed. She decided to clean in the parlor
+first. She lifted a heavy chair, viciously dropped it thudding into its
+accustomed place. “Can’t those old fools leave things in order? It’s
+clean and redd up, mop and scrub. And then they mess it all up. Hogs.”
+She was piling rag rugs in her arms and striding to the porch. The door
+slammed after her. She stood on the steps and shook the rugs, snapping
+them with loud whacks. The dirt whirled in the cold air. “Dust and
+more,” she was muttering.
+
+Garland opened the door. He was holding a cigarette, and traced his
+mustache with the small finger of his hand. Behind him she could hear
+Frankie’s high inquiring whines and the radio.
+
+“Well, puss?” She continued her work, her soft mouth set in a line. He
+came over to her. “You know what you mean to me? _Joie de la vie._ Now
+that’s right. I’m past fifty, hon. If I’d have met someone like you
+earlier things might have been different in my life.”
+
+She let a rug drop and in a deliberate movement took up another with a
+sigh. “I got a tormented lot of work to get through today, Uncle.”
+
+“Just wanted you to know that.” He was tossing his cigarette away; he
+lit another and went inside. She heard him in a few minutes.
+
+   It’s beefsteak when I’m hungry
+   Rye whisky when I’m dry
+   Greenbacks when I’m hard up
+   And heaven when I die
+
+The Reo was packed, and it waited to carry Garland and Frankie away the
+next day. Ellen was instructed to wake the travelers early in the
+morning before going to the barn. The household sought their beds not
+long after supper. Frankie was protesting in their room, “The particular
+thing I’m afraid of is meeting folks, Ellie. Wish you were going to be
+there.”
+
+“I’m out of patience with you. You’ve not done a lick all day, flitting
+about like a twitting chick.”
+
+“All the same, talk to me.”
+
+“Hush and leave me be. I’m asleep.”
+
+Before dawn Ellen went into Garland’s partitioned chamber to rouse him.
+The light of the candle wavered across his face. For the instant she was
+confused, thinking it wasn’t her uncle with mouth pulled in withered
+upon the gums. She drew her breath sharply, and he was opening his eyes.
+“Ell’n?” he quavered, reaching for his false teeth in a watercup on the
+stone-topped bed table.
+
+“Are you awake? I have to run.”
+
+When she returned from the barn, Frankie had dressed, her new pearls
+were at her neck, her lips pale, her eyes blue-shadowed. “Must I really
+go, Pa?”
+
+“It’s what we planned. And it’s for you to do. You know it be my nearest
+wish.” He warned her, “Don’t start up.”
+
+“I won’t, Pa.”
+
+He took the girl on his lap. “Look here, Poppet.” The battery set was
+clanging to the beat of a banjo, “Off with your coat and wet your throat
+with that real old mountain dew.”
+
+“Shut it off for Chrissake,” Garland demanded, and the women started.
+“We’re going in a few minutes and then you can listen to your heart’s
+content. By God, An.”
+
+The man switched off the radio and they sat to breakfast.
+
+“Gladys isn’t letting her milk down so good, Pa.” Ellen leaned toward
+him.
+
+“Tell Sam to let her calf bump it some. It can stay with the old one
+awhile. I aim to veal hit anyway.”
+
+“Did you e’er tell Uncle about old Full-pail, Pa?” Frankie was preparing
+to prolong the mealtime. “That Dyke told of?”
+
+“Listen at this, Garland. Joe Burwell went to look at a milk cow. The
+farmer hadn’t but led it out when his old ooman came squalling, don’t
+sell old Full-pail. Pray, don’t sell Full-pail, Mester. Joe’s ears
+pricked up. The old lady kept hollering so first thing Joe knows, he’s
+shelling out thirty dollars cold cash and hauling the cow home. That
+evening he couldn’t milk a teacup. Joe was fit to be tied. Went back and
+the farmer said to him, ne’er said how big the pail was.”
+
+“That’s good,” Garland approved.
+
+Before the sun rose much higher the bags had been put in the car.
+Garland returned to the porch for the pasteboard suitcases of Frankie’s
+things. “Away we go,” he cried.
+
+Frankie was clinging to Ellen. “Reckon I won’t see you-all till next
+Christmas.”
+
+“You’ll be too grand for us then, Frankie,” Ellen said.
+
+Garland was getting behind the wheel. “These Reos are demons. Did I tell
+you I had her right at fifty on route sixty-six?”
+
+“You take care of that girl, Gar. Don’t drive so reckless.”
+
+“Statistics prove a car’s lots safer than a buggy. You know that?” He
+was looking at Ellen, “Goodbye, hon.”
+
+“Goodbye, Uncle.” She waited for them to be gone, for routines to be
+reestablished and the ways of peace to come over the farm. She yearned
+toward spring, sick of winter’s hanging on.
+
+“So long, Maria,” Garland was calling. Maria waved, walking back to the
+house.
+
+“Bye now, Ma.” And the small figure promised, “I’ll write once a week,
+Pa.”
+
+The yellow car was going down the lane and turning onto the road.
+Stillness descended until it rang like wounded thunder. Anton went
+toward the porch where Maria, in her dark red sweater and a discarded
+broad-brimmed hat of his, waited to follow Anton into the house. Ellen
+walked over to the well, putting her coat collar up. She sat on the damp
+covering board and shivered. From her pocket she was taking the
+gold-linked necklace Garland had given her. She dangled it where the sun
+collected to glint and catch the luster. She held it over the well
+before letting it drop.
+
+
+                                   13
+
+Song sparrows were murmuring. Deep in burrows, woodchucks blinked and
+closed their eyes again. Brave white-carved flowers unfolded wearily and
+narrow spires of pokeweed started from the debris of winter. A
+green-striped butterfly emerged misshapen from a chrysalis and pumped
+wet wings. Cows bawled, feeling the season, and rutting male hogs
+screamed. Jack carried traces of skunk musk. On Ash Wednesday Father
+Tompert marked the foreheads of Ellen and her parents with a cross of
+ashes, saying, “Remember man, thou art dust and to dust thou shalt
+return.”
+
+From cover of the woods Ellen was watching a dog fox in a fallow field.
+It was hunting white-footed mice, repeatedly leaped stiff-legged above
+the weeds, brush high. She rested her hands on the thick winter coats of
+the three goats at her side. She put her mind on Frankie, who wrote
+abrupt letters from Chicago. They brought lines to her father’s face
+until Ellen would feel the compassion heating her. She climbed a stile
+in the rail fence and her does were clambering after, the spotted kid
+leaping, shaking its long ears. Her thoughts had turned to Garland, and
+the secret about Marc. Wish I was wise. There were him and Pa both,
+grieving as youngens after the love of that mother of theirs, that Nell
+Gaddy. And her honing all the while for Marc’s true daddy that had left
+her. None of them satisfied. And Pa’d never study out that secret the
+way Uncle did. Pa would never think Nell could get caught with a brat
+the same as me. Her mind touched on the money she had sent last week
+again to the Doughertys. I put the child to a good mother. I never
+wanted him. Poor thing. The goats followed as she went up through the
+budding, winter-bare woods.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+And three years would pass, years of time merged and woven in a pattern
+on an endless loom of chores. The color in Ellen’s life would break in
+snatches on the cloth of the drab days. By summer the radio Garland had
+brought was growing dim. Anton laid his ear to it in the evenings to
+catch the feeble sound. “It’s that far off,” he whispered, intent. Then
+the batteries were exhausted and the instrument was stored away in the
+wagon shed to gather cobwebs and mold. Maria’s pressure cooker would
+blow up, rending a gash on the rafter beams. Maria hid in the clothes
+press, staying there until Ellen had picked up the torn metal parts and
+thrown them out. She wore the same clothes day on day, her light-colored
+dresses hanging unused on the ridgepole in her room. Mud daubers
+constructed a nest over them, soaring in summer with damp balls dangling
+from their legs, in and out the two small windows.
+
+At first Ellen missed her sister, her shrill voice and dependent ways.
+She told Lily Garrett, “Frankie would always be after me to stir up a
+cake or mend for her. She’d lean on me in her way.”
+
+“Hey, my fudge party was the most fun,” Lily was giggling. “Looks like
+you being nineteen now, Ellie, your papa’d let you come. And we shelled
+corn too. Craig Hedrick found a red car. There. He kissed me.”
+
+“Is that all he did?” Ellen was picking through a pile of cornhusks,
+looking for flat strips to splice and braid into mats. “He talk about
+petunia flowers?”
+
+Lily’s carefully arranged curls shook. “I ne’er been kissed so. Reckon I
+could catch him, Ellie? Think of me with a baby and a man calling me
+wife.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Changes would take place within Ellen over these three years. Going to
+church, following her parents in, she came to feel that those whom she
+had seen as pure in the time of her transgression were not so. They hid
+their sins, she dared to think, and dressed themselves a poppet God.
+When Anton stepped into the confession cubicle and she heard him
+mumbling ever too loud as he pled the venial sins, she allowed herself
+to think he made his shrift complacently. When he dipped the holy water
+she pitied his narrow habits and more than before devoted herself to his
+will that he might see she knew her duty.
+
+The God that was hers was not enclosed where the crowd gathered. She set
+her mind on it. Hers stood above when she was on the land and alone. His
+feet were the hills, his hand the wind that quivered, his eyes those of
+the meekest birds. “This one’s my Lord,” she said, solaced.
+
+She was stirred to confide in Anton once. They were standing on the
+porch on a summer’s night while a storm was breeding in the south.
+Lightning flicked and the hot earth panted for the coming water. “You
+can feel the hands of God now. All the unknowing. You feel it, Pa? How
+we’re just naught?” She was leaning toward him.
+
+“If you’d take the time, girl,” he said heavily, “to read His word,
+you’d know that He formed man of the dust of the ground and you’d know
+of the Day of Judgment and the opening of the graves. The sun shall be
+turned to darkness and the moon to blood.” He left her sitting on the
+stair. Large drops began to fall and the wind swept in a deep sweetness.
+
+Sometimes a young man would look on Ellen as she was standing with Maria
+in the churchyard, or when bartering at Love’s. Or one would offer her a
+lift in his wagon and would look at the gold-flecked pupils and the ripe
+figure. Then she cast her eyes down, surly, or stared at him, bold,
+until he turned aside. She was guarding herself against a hurt. Dyke
+Burwell came to call, waited on the divan in the parlor while she
+slipped away to watch the winging bees, honey-dripped and golden,
+working the hives. Anton ferreted after her and bade her keep the young
+man company.
+
+“But I’ve no mind for him, Pa,” she protested.
+
+He roared, “What’s awry with you and you won’t be courted? I’ll not put
+up with your foldilay ways.” He was thrusting his chin, “You do as bid,
+girl.”
+
+So she sat sullen with Dyke. But she baited him slyly and he went away
+and came no more.
+
+At Love’s grocery one time, while she was debating on thread and needles
+and picking out salt and coffee, a thing happened. Carl Brinker’s hired
+man was bartering with Grady. Ellen had seen the new green pickup
+outside. He was a dark fellow with a heavy face and fists. “You see, Ay
+was my boss’s hired hand before me, Mester Love,” the man droned. “Now,
+haven’t you got a bigger clevis pin?”
+
+“What size you want? So his baby died?”
+
+Stacey’s birdlike eyes were on Ellen. “You feeling ill?”
+
+Ellen sensed a danger as she felt the flush rise. She laughed sharply,
+“No. I allow I’ve got all Ma needed. Excepting yeast. You got some fresh
+sponge?”
+
+“I’ll see if mine’s still working good.” Stacey disappeared.
+
+Ellen’s heart thudded, hearing the laborious speech of Brinker’s man.
+“That Ay’s had a tedious run of bad luck. First his daddy passed on,
+then his sister ran off. Rose Ay.”
+
+“So?” said Grady. “Tell your boss I got new bridle rosettes in. White
+and blue.”
+
+“That Ay’s sister was comely. Biggity but comely.”
+
+“Ay wasn’t much.”
+
+“No. I ne’er knew him well. We used his store some. I’ll tell Mester
+Brinker about those gaudies. He’ll buy some for that stallion. You e’er
+seen that horse?” The man was slowly scratching his head. “Now what
+about the Lord taking that little child?”
+
+“He gives and He takes away,” sighed Grady.
+
+“That’s so.”
+
+Ellen put the warm jar of yeast in her basket, hurried past the two men.
+Grady was nodding, “Here’s someone seen an old beau of yours in
+Louisville.”
+
+“I ne’er had a beau.”
+
+“Took you to the circus in New Hope, a bird told me.” Grady’s eyes
+flickered while he grinned.
+
+“Morning, miss.” Brinker’s man touched his cap, doleful. “You know
+Mester Ay?”
+
+“I’ll be getting along now.”
+
+That had happened in the first of the three years. Ellen would ponder on
+it. Christian was gone out of her days for ever and all of eternity. She
+faced it. He had taken some woman to wife, his sweetheart, his may, for
+the rest of their enduring lives. She twisted it and the sharp hurt was
+dead.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In that first year too, Garland and Frankie had driven down for the
+Christmas holiday in a factory-fresh five-passenger Oakland. Ellen saw
+at once that the year in Chicago had altered Frankie. Her old gaiety was
+shed. She wore a modish yellow cloche pulled over her brow, her jacket
+was long, belted at the hips. Her bright hair was bobbed. Anton was
+beside himself, fascinated at Frankie’s apparel and her new manner. “I
+declare she’s a little swell, gar.” He scratched his head. “How do you
+like city life, Poppet?”
+
+“Very well, Pa.”
+
+“How’s your learning coming on? Are folks setting up? I vow. Hum.”
+
+“Very well. I’ll unpack now, if you don’t mind.” She was going coolly up
+the stairs and he watched, silent.
+
+“What happened to that radio I gave you?” Garland asked. “Hell, I’ve got
+six in my house now.”
+
+Ellen had dressed the house with holly and bought red candles for the
+table. She was making her sister’s favorite desserts. “I threw together
+a blackberry cake, Frankie. We haven’t had one since you’ve been gone.”
+
+“I never noticed Ma was so simple, Ellie.”
+
+“Should I top it with boiled white icing or jam?”
+
+“Was Mrs. Quimby at Uncle’s when you were there?”
+
+“How come you ask?”
+
+“I hate that know-all.”
+
+“Does Uncle treat you good, Frankie?”
+
+“He’s different there.”
+
+“I mean, does he make o’er you a lot?”
+
+“No, he’s not much for romping like Pa was, Ellie. He thinks me a little
+child.”
+
+And Ellen was satisfied about Garland. “Reckon I’ll use icing and jam
+both, Frankie.” Ellen was constrained if Garland came upon her alone,
+but in the family group he would seem her familiar uncle. When she
+thought of his incestuous overture of the last winter, she would shove
+the episode into a cupboard of her mind.
+
+Around the fire in the evening, Anton had poured his tales, overweening,
+on the younger girl. “Used to be the only tools a man needed were made
+of wood, Poppet. A plow and a harrow and a wagon. Your grandsir used a
+peg-tooth harrow with a hickory-wood frame. When a tooth broke off, he
+fitted a new one from the woods. Haw. No running to the Bethel Hardware
+for a broken piece of this or that. Just like the old country.”
+
+“Speaking of the old country,” said Garland, “you girls know about
+truffle hunters?”
+
+“What’s a truffle, Uncle?”
+
+“Grows on roots of oaks. There was an old woman hunted them in this
+village in France where your ancestors lived. She’d take a basket and
+spade and a pig on a leash.”
+
+“Slut?”
+
+“No, puss, this wasn’t a trained pig. Truffles have a strong odor that
+any pig can scent. He roots under a tree and then she drives him off and
+digs them up.”
+
+“Such uses for hogs,” Maria was saying, “as you’ve heard of.”
+
+“Sometimes they use dogs, but this woman used a pig. She chained him at
+night or he’d slip out and get the truffles.”
+
+“Christmas makes you remember, doesn’t it, Uncle?” said Frankie
+suddenly. “Why don’t you tell stories at home?”
+
+“This here’s your home,” grumbled Anton.
+
+Garland was filling glasses with the “imported” Scotch he had brought.
+“Now, Frankie,” he cautioned.
+
+“Want to hear more about hogs?” asked Anton.
+
+“All right.”
+
+“When our grandsir came homesteading all he had was a few razorbacks. He
+fattened them on oak and buckmast, said it beat corn any day.”
+
+“I don’t see how a pig could be fatter than that spotted boar you’ve
+got,” said Garland.
+
+“Luther. He’s ornery, spoiled my best milker and her heifer calf.”
+
+“Say, Frankie’s practiced a Christmas song for you, An,” Garland said.
+
+“Play it, Poppet.”
+
+“I don’t feel like singing now.”
+
+“I ask you to,” Anton glowered.
+
+“She’s got a new singing teacher,” Garland was saying as the girl went
+reluctant to the piano. “Makes the third one now.”
+
+“She had two grammar mesters before she went with you,” said Anton. “One
+walked out on me and Peyton tried to quit when I fired him. How come
+they do that?”
+
+The girl played accurately, accompanying herself in a reedy tone.
+
+   I heard the bells on Christmas day
+   Their old familiar carols play
+   And wild and sweet the words repeat
+   Of peace on earth good will to men
+
+Ellen was bringing in a split-oak basket of persimmons. “I ran onto them
+yesterday, Pa. I don’t know why the possums let them be.”
+
+Anton took one of the soft orange fruit. “Used to be they made ’simmon
+beer in this county. It wasn’t sharp like city beer, Gar. We used to
+roast ’simmon seeds too, when coffee was scarce.”
+
+Garland bit into the mellow sweet fruit. “They’re good. The pucker’s
+gone out.”
+
+“The frost seasons them,” Ellen said.
+
+“I know. Used to hunt them when I was a kid.”
+
+“A ’simmon tree’s got a black heartwood in its center,” Anton said,
+“with layers of yellow sapwood outside it. It’s the only tree I know
+like that.”
+
+“Those rings, now,” said Ellen. “You can count the rings to tell the age
+of a tree.”
+
+“Is that black heartwood in the young tree?” asked Frankie.
+
+“And if there’s a drought,” Ellen went on, “the ring’s scarce to be
+read, it’s so narrow.”
+
+“I want to know about that heartwood, Pa.”
+
+“Well, you don’t find hit in a sapling, Poppet. It comes of itself as
+the tree takes on age.”
+
+“I think it’s there in the young tree,” Frankie said.
+
+“How come you to worry on that, Poppet? It’s no consequence.”
+
+“But I want to know.”
+
+“Now there,” said Garland. “It’s getting on bedtime. I can tell
+Frankie’s sleepy.”
+
+“Ellie never sang a song yet,” said Frankie.
+
+“I’ll sing in the morning. We’re wasting coal oil. Come on.”
+
+The girls climbed from the fire-warmed parlor to the loft where winter
+rain reeled on the roof. Under dank blankets they were waiting for the
+warmth of their bodies to overtake them. Anton’s disputing voice came up
+the stairs, “Why’s she act so? Like a highborn one? What are you doing
+to her there in that city?” Garland’s voice was heard in murmur. And
+again Anton’s rude shout, “Be she e’er seeing men?” And in a moment,
+“Well, that don’t mean a thing. N. J. says all his sister e’er did was
+set on a fellow’s lap one winter. Said his pa watched them courting by
+the range and thought no harm. They hardly spoke but only set there
+hugging. Now before God, she came by a child and his pa had to get them
+married.”
+
+In the melancholy dark from her bed, over the sound of the sleet
+whipping the shingles, Ellen whispered, “You like a fellow?”
+
+“No, I’m a poor country girl there. I hear them laugh. I came on my
+singing teacher snickering with Uncle. It was about me.”
+
+“When do you think you’ll start playing in public like Pa wants?”
+
+“I’m the most alone person. It’s because I’m queer, I think. Maybe Pa
+made me so. Or else I get it from Ma. The way I talk and act.”
+
+Anton’s voice was audible through the doorway as they came into the hall
+downstairs, “And then I heard Ma saying, I’d fain have been a lady but I
+married you, little feist. We dragged her down, Gar. We gommed her
+desires.”
+
+“Hell, An, you’re drunk. Forget Ma. Like I did long ago. Let’s get back
+to the subject. As I see it, Frankie’s doing the best she can. She’s not
+got much gumption and she’s plenty like you when she gets stubborn, but
+I think she’s beginning to adjust. This is the first vacation she’s had,
+what with lessons. I hope I can keep her present teacher. Says he’s got
+his hands full. Costs a mint, you know.”
+
+“Hum. If there’s anything I can do for you.”
+
+“You’re my brother.” Garland’s familiar slap on Anton’s back was carried
+up the staircase. “Covers a multitude of sins. We’ve got to stick
+together.”
+
+Ellen thought Frankie was asleep until she heard the voice threading the
+dark. “Seems I got a black heartwood core same as that ’simmon tree.”
+The girl’s voice was sated with self-pity. “People can tell it’s there.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day Garland came to the barn where Ellen was cleaning the
+goats’ stable, heaping the soiled litter outside the shed with a heavy
+fork. An acrid stench hung in the air and the flock of five moved about
+her. “Keep you company awhile, hon?”
+
+“If you like.”
+
+“You have quite a bunch of your own here.”
+
+“I set store by them.” She was forking fresh bedding in the pen and the
+animals crowded in to lie down, nosing and chewing the straw. She
+fastened the gate and leaned to watch them.
+
+“Long time ago,” Garland was saying, “old man Alden used to keep a pair
+of nannies in his shack with him. Wonder if he’s still alive.”
+
+“Ne’er heard of him.”
+
+“Lived a few miles up the road. Us boys would sneak over to peek in his
+windows. Watch him suck the milk from the udders.”
+
+“Is that a fact?”
+
+Garland watched her intently. “You’re wonderful, puss.”
+
+“That’s a silly thing to say.”
+
+“Well, you make me feel like a boy again. I always said it.”
+
+Ellen laughed at him. “Reckon I best get to the kitchen. I’ll race you
+to see if you’re still a boy.”
+
+“Now there’s a cruel wench.” He trailed after her.
+
+At the steps she waited. As they started up they became aware suddenly
+of a commotion within the house, of cries and Anton’s growls. Ellen was
+running up the stairs. “I’m afraid it’s Ma.”
+
+But the shrill cry of Frankie pierced, “I won’t go back. I won’t. I hate
+you. You can’t make me.”
+
+And a sound was heard so that Ellen turned to Garland. “He’s beating
+her. He’ll not be gainsaid. What’ll we do?”
+
+“I’ll show you what. He’s always got to lord it over someone.” Garland
+sharpened his wrath, ran into the hall, flinging open the parlor door.
+
+Anton was red-faced, and Frankie, in a despair of tears, was shaking in
+a corner of the sofa, her knitted skirt pulled above her knees, her
+bobbed hair tangled. She hid her face. “I don’t care about nothing. I
+don’t care.”
+
+Garland caught Anton’s arm and while they shouted, Ellen bade her sister
+come into the kitchen. Frankie laid her head on the table and wept.
+Ellen walked about the room at her work, finally coaxing, “Now these
+fruits have to be cut up for the cake. You always were good at it,
+Frankie. Here’s the knife and bowl.”
+
+Frankie pushed them from her. “Ellie, I do hate Pa.” She fled up the
+stairs.
+
+The angered voices in the parlor rose and fell until the milking hour
+came. Then Anton, black-faced, strode to the barn. Garland watched him
+from the porch stoop and then followed. “There,” said Ellen to Maria who
+came in from the bedroom, “things are in a state. Pa ought to let
+Frankie stay here where she belongs.”
+
+“Don’t beard Mester Gaddy,” Maria advised. “Let him be.”
+
+That night by the fireside it was as if a ghostly thing stood amid them.
+Ellen sighed. Maria, feeling the trouble, gestured to herself. Garland
+smoked one cigarette after another. And Frankie was white, holding her
+head erect. “Reckon I’ll go to bed,” she said at length. “Good night
+all.”
+
+Anton bent his scorn-washed face over a farm journal. “Well, I see here
+it tells about them foreigners in the old country using artificial
+insemination. Now I reckon that’s a sin against a beast. It’s sodomy.”
+He pulled furiously on his dead pipe.
+
+“Chrissake, An.”
+
+But in the morning Ellen caught sight at the stairhead of Frankie and
+Anton. The thin words came, “Forgive my willfulness, Pa.” Frankie’s face
+was hard. She had purchased her peace, before leaving her father again,
+kneeling in the short skirt she now wore.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the second Christmas of these three years, Frankie brought her
+contradictory ways again into focus, so that Anton stalked about in
+dudgeon, lying in wait for her open rebellion. She would turn him
+though, in a new cunning way she had learned, “Beg your pardon, Pa.”
+
+The holiday evenings were drawn short and quiet by the hickory and
+oak-fed fires. After midnight mass, all but Garland ate sparely at the
+table, disheartened. The sliced meats and cheese, the sweet cakes and
+peppered blood pudding, were spread forth. “Have some Barrier Cherries,
+Uncle,” Ellen pressed him. “Frankie and Lily Garrett made them once.”
+Ellen, who knew her father and sister so well, felt the sadness of it.
+She knew the man was like a willful child and here was his only beloved
+set against him.
+
+Frankie went back to Chicago then. Before they drove away in Garland’s
+Oakland sedan with the high-squared top and the yellow leather seats,
+Garland announced, “Frankie’s been engaged for her first recital. March
+the sixteenth, nineteen twenty-nine. Frankie Gaddy enters the lists of
+the immortals.”
+
+“Shut up, Uncle,” Frankie sighed.
+
+“You greening me, Garland?” Anton was suspicious. “You going to play
+before those folks?”
+
+“Yes, I am, Pa.”
+
+“Hell, An, she’s booked,” Garland shouted. “In one of my theatres.”
+
+“I vow.”
+
+“My,” Ellen said, “I ne’er thought Frankie’d be so bold.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+And time moved, weaving a tapestry. On radiant summer nights moonlight
+laved the meadows and frogs dripped shrill tones. Ellen would slip down
+the stairs to wander where flowering honeysuckle presaged the passing of
+time. Longings waxed in her. She lay in the honeyed grass and wept
+easily. The moon shone and she bared her white body, wondered at the
+restlessness clutching her. She dwelled on the summer she had met
+Christian Ay, for at that one time the even cord of her life had risen
+to such a gleaming line that she doubted on it ever after. I’m bound and
+thralled. The pleasure and the sadness are too close together. She went
+back to her attic room to wait for dawn.
+
+Now and then she thought of the child, Simon, developed a curiosity, now
+that she counted the passion buried, to see if this relic bore any
+resemblances. “I have a notion to visit Penny Dougherty,” she was saying
+to Anton. “She’s invited me. Says she’s got guineas and we can have a
+clutch of eggs if we want. I could raise us a flock. Set the yellow hen
+on them.”
+
+“Guineas. And that worthless ooman,” he scoffed.
+
+“Guineas are no work. You turn them loose and they pair off and care for
+the eggs by themselves. When you want a meal you catch them where
+they’re roosting.”
+
+“It’s a far piece to Weems Crossroads but for guinea eggs. And I
+declared you’d not set foot off this place save to be married. So I
+said.”
+
+“I’m twenty. And I’ll be gone o’ernight. I promise, Pa.”
+
+“I don’t like it. You’re a froward one. It costs a mort of money going
+on the train. All to see some poor trash.”
+
+“I’ll make it up to you, Pa.”
+
+“You be back in a day, girl. You got beans to plant, and the cabbages to
+set out now the killing frosts are gone.”
+
+“I’ll do it, Pa. Day after tomorrow. Soon as I get back, I’ll set them
+out.”
+
+So she found herself walking up the lane to the familiar small house.
+Penny greeted her, and her fine features seemed a little thinner. She
+was laughing, “You came for Simon.”
+
+“Oh Penny, let me see that baby girl you wrote about, Blossom.”
+
+“She’s in here, Ellie.”
+
+While they looked at the sleeping child, Ellen whispered, “I can’t take
+Simon. Pa doesn’t know.”
+
+“That’s all right. We love him, Ellie.”
+
+“I brought more money.”
+
+Three little boys were trooping through the doorway, shouting. The baby
+awoke, began to wail. Ellen saw Simon, nearly three now. He was dressed
+in a blue-checked pinafore, and his small bottoms were bare. He was
+smallish and fair with round blue eyes. He looked at her soberly and
+never smiled. Clate had forgot Ellen, and Anse, thin and dark, clung to
+Penny. Simon was leaning on the wall, his fat thumb in his mouth. Luke
+arrived amid the bedlam and the children shouted to see him, “Da’s
+home.” Ellen saw Simon squealed and leaped with the rest.
+
+They took her out to the field to see the goats and the old donkey.
+Clate was prompted to recite, lisping.
+
+   When the elm leaf
+   Be big ath a mouthe’s ear
+   Then to thow barley
+   Ne’er you fear
+
+All the while nearby was Ellen’s son, gazing dumb. His foster mother
+called him to her. “This is your own ma, Simon. Like I told you.”
+
+In the morning Ellen was returning on the train. She had a setting of
+spotted guinea eggs in a box. Her mind was on the beans to be planted;
+she wondered whether Love’s would have flats of young cabbage plants in
+yet.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The country seemed prosperous. But among the farmers were muffled noises
+of protest. Anton Gaddy growled when he got ninety-eight cents for wheat
+that had brought two dollars and thirty-four a bushel after the Great
+War. Corn dropped to seventy-nine cents, though it used to be good for a
+dollar to a dollar-fifty. He spoke to Sam, “Reckon you could get by with
+a little less a week? I’m pure strapped for cash. You could take a hen
+maybe.” He shrugged nervously.
+
+“All right.” Sam scratched his back.
+
+“Pick one of the old ones with a yellow beak and ears.”
+
+“Now Mester Gaddy. I wouldn’t take a good layer.” Sam was squinting up,
+his eyes sharp in his leathery face.
+
+“I hate it, being strapped, Sam.”
+
+While they were talking, restless, the stock market was plunging. The
+depression was on. When Anton heard next week from N. J. Bilberry of the
+crisis, he said, “Now there’s somewhat for those rich folk to fret
+about. It’s no worry to us.”
+
+Anton felt vindicated in his way of life, wondered idly if Garland had
+been affected. And he wished Frankie would write again. Her piano
+recital of last March had been a failure, the few letters she had
+written since ignored the subject. The flame in Anton’s life that burned
+through this daughter dimmed, bewildering him, causing his dream to lag.
+“Hum. Frankie’s going to make that music yet before the crowd. I’ve got
+to send her some money again, come the evening mail.”
+
+Then a letter arrived from Chicago.
+
+   Dear Father,
+
+   It is not necessary to direct any more checks to me. You need money
+   worse. I moved from Uncle’s house a while ago to an apartment. I’m
+   going to get a job. Uncle is sick so we won’t drive down. I will
+   spend Yule in Chicago. Uncle lost his Oakland. The government men
+   took it away. He had a considerable loss in the market. He has real
+   worries. One of his friends jumped out of a window.
+
+   I will come to visit next summer for sure, and maybe bring a friend
+   with me to see the dear farm and meet the old folks at home. Then
+   like the song goes, I’ll tuck me to sleep in my old ’Tucky home!
+
+                                                      daughter Frankie
+
+
+
+
+                               part three
+
+
+   Let it be what it is she said
+   Let it wait as it must
+   It will choose soon or late
+   Let it wait
+   Love has life not of us
+   But of love she said
+   Let it lie where it must
+
+
+                                   14
+
+Ellen was cutting across the field to the York cabin in the late May
+morning. Amanda York had married the smithy’s son, Jerome Hatfield. The
+couple lived in one side of the cabin. Jerome and Mr. York cared for the
+apple orchard surrounding it and worked in the Bethel Stone Foundry.
+During the winter and spring Ellen had watched Amanda grow heavy with
+child, taking vicarious pleasure in the young wife’s joy. “If it’s a
+boy,” Amanda had claimed, “we’re going to call it Junior. Wonder if it
+could be baptized Junior, Ellie? I doubt it’s a Christian name.”
+
+At the cabin door Ellen called, “Hey, Mandy. Anybody home?” She heard
+the hoarse pained cry from within.
+
+Mrs. York was shuffling out of the bedroom. “Ah, hit’s you, Ellen.” Her
+face was yellowed with fear, eyes staring with wakefulness.
+
+“Mandy’s been taken?” Ellen asked.
+
+“Doc Trumbo’s here. It’s not coming right. Ellen, you think somewhat
+could happen to her?”
+
+“Bearing’s not so bad,” said Ellen, uncertain.
+
+“I put the ax under the bed. She ought to have had it by now. She’s been
+at it since noon yesterday. She’s giving out. She’s quit trying.”
+
+Then there was a scream from the room beyond, animal-like in travail.
+Ellen was recalling a spotted heifer that couldn’t bear its calf; Anton
+had hitched the team, and taken it from the womb. The scream circled the
+room and after it, like a splintering of glass, a thin cry echoed. “Ah,
+Doc’s got hit now.” The woman was scurrying away. Ellen followed slowly
+into the blood-odored room. Amanda lay oddly flat on rumpled stained
+sheets, her eyes shut in a white face. On the pillow her dark hair
+flowed. Ellen took her hand.
+
+“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch the bed,” the face whispered strangely.
+
+“It’s o’er now,” Ellen said.
+
+Amanda’s eyes came open with an effort of the heavy lids. “Have we got
+our baby?”
+
+“Yes, Mandy.” Ellen was frightened. “You rest.”
+
+“I want to see it.” The words were barely discernible.
+
+“All right.” Ellen went to the table where the doctor was binding a
+cloth about the infant’s navel. It feebly squirmed its thin-skinned damp
+red body and wrinkled its face. “She wants it, Doc.”
+
+He glanced up at Ellen. “Let’s see, you must be one of those Gaddys.
+Your father hasn’t much use for satchel doctors, either, has he? You
+know these women never called me till an hour ago?”
+
+“Mandy wants to see her baby.”
+
+“They call me in at the last minute. Think they can do it all
+themselves. Like Indian squaws.” He wrapped the child in the warmed
+flannel that he took from Mrs. York and laid it by its mother’s face.
+“Lie still there, girl. I’m going to look at you now.” He spoke softly,
+disappeared into the kitchen to wash his hands.
+
+“She’s fair, Mandy,” Ellen whispered, “your baby.”
+
+“Ah, she is,” said Mrs. York, “with it all.”
+
+Amanda’s breath rattled. She was drawing strangled gasps as if she had
+run a long stretch. Her eyes became fixed on the hewn-log walls, the
+cracked calking. She shuddered, the labored breath struggle faded and
+ceased.
+
+Mrs. York sucked in her words, “My girl.” She put a hand out to touch
+the tired face, screamed, “Ah, Doc.”
+
+Dr. Trumbo stumbled on the threshold in his haste. He was lifting
+Amanda’s wrist, laying it down, speaking sharply to Ellen, “Good Christ,
+where’s this girl’s husband?” He picked the sleeping infant up.
+
+“I’ve got to cover the mirror,” Mrs. York mumbled, hurrying indecisively
+about the room. “So the baby doesn’t die as well. And stop the clock
+hands. Now what else must I do?”
+
+“Jerome works at the stone foundry, Doc. Same as Mr. York. I can call
+them from Love’s store.”
+
+“First take the child here. This old one’ll be no more use.” He turned
+to Amanda’s body again. Ellen laid the baby in the cradle. It was
+sleeping, its face like an inflamed pansy, lost amid ribbons and
+ruffles.
+
+“Ah. You did it, Doc,” Mrs. York keened. “You were busy with yourself
+and your washing and you let it happen. I didn’t want you here. It was
+only because Mandy made me. She’d have come through but for you.”
+
+“Now, Mrs. York,” he began.
+
+The woman appealed to Ellen, “Don’t ne’er have a child, Ellen Gaddy.
+Don’t ne’er get caught with a child.” She grasped her arm, the tears
+squeezing from her old eyes, watering the wrinkles of her face.
+
+“I’ve got to go, Mrs. York.”
+
+Dr. Trumbo continued, “She’d been hemorrhaging. These things will
+happen. I packed her, did everything humanly possible. I came too late.”
+
+The woman was taboring on the discolored sheet. “Ah, now what have I
+got?”
+
+“You’ve got the child.”
+
+“I don’t want hit.”
+
+Ellen stood a moment in the cabin passageway before starting up the road
+toward Millville. “There’s a thing I keep trying to remember.” She spoke
+aloud, dazed. At the store she cranked the iron handle to the wood box
+that hung on the wall. “Central?”
+
+“You’ll have to speak up, Madam.”
+
+“Give me the Bethel Foundry.” When she had told Jerome, and heard the
+click at the other end, she walked out slowly.
+
+Stacey called after, “Tell Maria Gaddy that eggs are down three cents
+again. They’re hardly worth trading.”
+
+Ellen didn’t hear. A light mist of rain had begun and a sweet smell like
+the breath of cows was coming from the red plowed fields. The thing that
+had slipped her mind was back. It was the struggle to bear her own
+child, the way the throes had struck her in an open field and how she’d
+dragged herself to the shelter of the pear tree. The sweet heavy scent
+of crushed grass and blood and the fluttering of goldfinches were
+mingled into the memory.
+
+After a week Jerome Hatfield came to speak to Anton. “Our baby’s ailing.
+Doc says she might hold down goat milk.” His face was haggard, his form
+stooped in exhaustion.
+
+“My daughter’s got the goats.”
+
+“I want to buy one from her.”
+
+Ellen went to the woodshed and tied a rope to Rhodie’s collar. The doe
+had a little female kid at its side. “You keep Rhodie for as long as
+your baby needs the milk, Jerome. And raise the kid for the baby’s own.”
+
+“I’m beholden.” He was lifting the goats into the wagon, fastening them
+there. He drove away, Rhodie baaing plaintively. Ellen watched them go.
+Here’s the land flowing over with milk and honey. The spring grass is
+pushing through the red land until it’s all pink and green. And Mandy’s
+dead. All about was death. The early dark of morning sometimes would be
+interrupted, awakening her, by Jack’s bark, followed by shotgun blasts
+and her father’s gruff tones. Ellen would know he had gone down in his
+mackinaw to kill some varmint in the barnyard. There was no escape from
+death, no way you could forget it was waiting. Ellen was resentful,
+disbelieving that some day her own strength would wither. I’m glad it
+wasn’t me when I bore that child back there. I recall I saw the evening
+star. And when Luke and Penny came, I got up from the orchard floor and
+walked to the house myself while Penny carried him. But then I pushed
+him from me, turned my back on my first-born.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+She spoke up that night after the Gaddy supper had been eaten. The May
+rain was falling weighted, somnambulant, the air was close. “I hid it
+from you, Pa. Before I came home that summer when I’d run off from Uncle
+Garland.”
+
+“You played the harlot.”
+
+“I went to the Doughertys and had him there.”
+
+“You were in St. Louis.”
+
+“No. I went to Weems Crossroads in Illinois. I was afraid of you. The
+boy’s there now. I saw him when I went to get that clutch of guinea eggs
+that turned bad. Now I want to bring him here, Pa.”
+
+Anton was stumping into the hall; he returned with the wide belt that he
+held by its buckle. “Before God your lying tongue is an abomination.
+Name the times I’ve said it.”
+
+Ellen looked at him stony-faced. “Reckon I’m too old to whip, Pa. I’m
+twenty-one and the mother of your grandchild.”
+
+He paused. “The father of a fool has no joy.” His heavy mouth was
+shaking. He drew the strap repeatedly through the palm of his hand, the
+harsh sliding noise rippling into the corners of the room like stones
+tossed in a pond. “My brother Marc, lusted. You be bound to do the same.
+He ran off from the college where my ma sent him. To a whorehouse. At
+St. Louis. And there’s where she went to get him. Dead. Now I’ve always
+claimed you had his blood, girl.”
+
+Ellen’s eyes narrowed and shone. “You know what Marc was to your ma?”
+Her nerves shivered to their ends as her temper swung on her. “I know
+what that Nell did.”
+
+Anton halted at bay. “Don’t say her name. She was a saint, girl. She
+sits at Mary’s right hand even now.”
+
+Ellen was helpless, found she couldn’t strike. She kept silence.
+
+Anton slapped the belt limply against his overall pants. He turned to a
+thin-legged doweled chair that was by the wall. “A harlot,” he said
+softly. “Upon e’er a high hill and under e’er a green tree, thou
+wanderest, playing the harlot. So says Jeremiah.” He let the strap drop,
+lifted the chair by its rungs, crashed it violently, splintering, to the
+floor. “Defiled.” He went from the room.
+
+Ellen was looking at Maria. “You heard, Ma?”
+
+“You got a child, Ellie?”
+
+“A little boy, Ma. Named Simon.”
+
+“I had a boy baby once. But he was a betimes child and had no life. I
+named him after Mester Gaddy for he wanted it. But they took him. He’s
+moldering out some’eres. I ne’er liked rain some way. Seems a boy would
+be unhappy and turn about in a wet place.”
+
+Anton fumed as days passed. “Who’s its pa?”
+
+“I don’t want to say. He’s as good as dead.”
+
+“What’ll they speak of me when it’s told up and down the county?”
+
+“Tell that I married a Yankee, Pa. And he left me.”
+
+“No, the damn fool foreigner was killed. His folks have raised the child
+till now. And you’re fixing to bring it here.” He paused to eye Ellen
+with scorn. “Does it favor the Gaddys?”
+
+“Reckon so, Pa.”
+
+“What’s hit called?”
+
+“Simon Gaddy.”
+
+Then he said, “You’ll tell it to the priest, girl.”
+
+“I’d rather not.”
+
+“You’ll tell it Sunday. Before you can go for the brat.”
+
+“I’ll tell it in the priest’s house, but not in the confessional.” She
+said bravely, “I’ve got a mind to leave the church.”
+
+Impotent in frustration and wrath, Anton turned away. He was heard
+bawling commands to the team as he plowed up and down, making ready for
+the corn-planting.
+
+They were standing before Father Tompert in the parlor of the rectory.
+Ellen, emboldened by her first successful stand against her father,
+spoke candidly to the Jesuit priest. “It’s like the church wants to
+boundary God, Father. And He is thus and so. And if you say at such a
+time such a prayer you’ll get off so much sooner to paradise. This is
+false to me, Father.”
+
+“Hold, girl, you blaspheme,” roared Anton.
+
+Father Tompert said, “I’ll speak with your daughter alone, sir. Wait
+outside this room. If you please.”
+
+Then Ellen told the priest what was in her. And she added, “In the
+gospel of Matthew the Lord himself says, don’t pray where you’re seen of
+men. But enter into thy closet. And when you’ve shut thy door, pray to
+thy Father which is in secret. And use not vain repetitions.”
+
+The priest saw she loved God. He saw her mind was bright and she had
+thought this thing out. The wise Jesuit was not uncommon among those
+consecrated to the cross of his faith. He spoke to Ellen. “It’s not your
+kind that need the mother church, Ellen. We’ll wait till you’re ready to
+come again to us. Till then, the Lord be with thy spirit.”
+
+He was walking to the door. She laid her hand on the sleeve of his
+cassock. “Father, is it wrong to lie to the neighbors and say I had a
+husband?”
+
+He looked at her while a bell tolled somewhere outside over a stitch of
+time. She saw his eyes were an indigo blue and the pupil in the center
+was a dormant coal. “For the sake of the child, perhaps not. In the eyes
+of God it may have been a marriage. I don’t know.” He folded his arms,
+went to the door. His face was smooth, his body moved ageless below the
+black frock. “Don’t worry about your daughter, sir. She’s in no danger
+of damnation. God is with her.”
+
+Ellen put on the faded dotted Swiss dress in the morning. She combed her
+hair, plaiting it tightly in a new way she had. Anton counted money into
+her hand. Maria was concerned about the census taker whom Tinie Bilberry
+had reported was coming and no telling at what hour. “Now, whate’er will
+I say to him? He be the government. I’m that fretted. Do you have to go
+now, girl?”
+
+The train coughed and clanged into the Weems Crossroads station. The
+road to the Doughertys seemed longer than Ellen remembered. She was
+passing the burial ground. A group of black-clad people were ringed at a
+fresh grave, cars and buggies were parked by the roadside. She hurried
+by. Amanda had been laid in the ground like that, for rain to rot and
+worms to suck until she would be as earth herself, her rosy face and
+gleaming braid living on in Jerome Hatfield. And a day might come when
+his daughter would ask, “Now tell, Pa, what was Mammy like?” And Jerome
+would say, “Seems I can’t remember. Appears to have fallen from me some
+way.”
+
+Ellen reached the mailbox, went up the lane and heard a guinea cry. It
+came to her on a sudden that she was terrified, as if she had been sent
+to the dark cellar for supplies again. Something lurked there in the
+shadows. She lifted her skirts and fled toward light and Penny and the
+gray-streaked house with door open and unscreened.
+
+Ellen studied her son that evening. They took the meal out under the
+crab apple tree. Its leaves, not yet green, were coated with soft white
+hairs. Its pink flowers were like the wild rose, their spicy odor
+hovered where the five children gathered to be fed. Penny’s smallest
+child, Melinda, climbed on a stool, reaching her hands to the food.
+Blossom stood by Anse, who was four now and tall for his age, his dark
+head looking down on Simon’s blond one. And Clate was the leader and
+spoke what they all should do. “If it wasn’t for Clate,” Penny said,
+“I’d ne’er get this troop together. And we’ll have another Dougherty
+come Christmas. Seems I be e’er in this strait.”
+
+Standing about the table, the children were eating corn pone and bacon
+and beans. There was milk and a honeycomb. Melinda sucked her sticky
+tiny fingers and crumbled the pone. Penny was cleaning the child’s hands
+with a damp rag, laughing, “I got plenty of pullets now, Ellie. Luke
+built a hen house. I trade eggs just like you Gaddys now. But say, the
+store’s paying low this spring.”
+
+Ellen saw that Simon’s cheekbones and hair were like those of Christian
+Ay. He had Anton’s long chin. But there was the look of Christian about
+his eyes and high cheeks and broad mouth. “I wonder at him, Penny.”
+
+“You’re thinking of his pa, aren’t you?”
+
+“I allowed I’d forgot what he looked like. Time goes so fast. But Simon
+calls him back to mind.”
+
+“Soon you won’t see it. It’ll just be little Simon.”
+
+“I reckon.”
+
+“I see Luke coming. We’ve been lucky. Webster laid off most of the hands
+when times got bad, but he kept Luke on. He’d let them all go before
+Luke.” Penny’s look wound itself about the man moving up the path, her
+love like a warm wind.
+
+“He’ll be short and stout. Strong like a bull.” Ellen was watching
+Simon, who leaned against the table, his cheek on one fat hand while the
+other spooned beans unsteadily into his mouth.
+
+Luke slept in the mow of the shed that night so there would be a place
+for Ellen. The women lay in the narrow bed. The baby girls were in
+cribs, the three boys in the attic room. “If you should have a trouble
+sometime, Penny,” Ellen said, before dozing off, “or there’s a sickness
+or a way I can help.”
+
+“We’ll miss Simon. He’s quiet. He can milk Tiny even. He coaxes me to
+let him. He does real good for four years.”
+
+“Those little hands.”
+
+“And he’s one with the donkey. Why, I missed him once and hunted till I
+found him sleeping under it and it standing like a rock.”
+
+Ellen awoke after midnight; she lay still until it came to her where she
+was. An owl called, deep-toned, “Whoo-whoo-tooo-oo-oo.” She went into
+the yard, walking down the lane in the warm dark. The owl shrieked
+suddenly from the catalpa by the road, in a voice like a woman. On
+noiseless widespread wings it was flapping toward her and passing.
+“There he’ll be, following me about the farm.” She stayed in the night
+until she reached the end of her fears. “Whate’er comes, it’s right to
+bring him home and tell he’s mine.”
+
+In the morning Simon had on bleached canvas pants, well patched. The
+sleeves to his nubby sweater were too short. They were waiting for Luke
+to come in a truck to take them to the station. Simon’s eyes were wide.
+He shrank from Ellen. Penny was washing his face again. “Take your ma’s
+hand, now.” But Simon shook his head, threw himself upon his foster
+mother. “You can have this. It’s Anse’s.” Penny was handing him a yarn
+ball she had made by winding bright colors around a piece of cloth. “If
+you’ll go now with your ma.” So then Simon took Ellen’s hand. She led
+him while he dragged his feet, gazing back to Penny and her brood.
+
+“Where’s Simon going,” asked Clate, “with Anse’s ball?”
+
+“It’s his ball now.”
+
+On the train the boy clutched his toy and looked away. At last Ellen
+took a piece of string and showed him how to play cat’s cradle. He was
+lifting the twine from her hands and biting his lip. He cast his blue
+eyes on her. “I like that.”
+
+“I do too, Simon.” The sun fought through the streaked sooted windows.
+The train rushed through the greening land, coming into the valleys and
+hills of Kentucky.
+
+Anton was there with the buckboard. He ordered them into the high seat.
+He had laid his faded kerchief under his black round hat to catch the
+sweat from his balding head. The corners of the red cloth were draping
+about his florid face. “Whole county can get a look at Gaddy’s youngen
+toting her bastard home.”
+
+The horses trotted down the macadam main street, past store-fronts, out
+onto country roads. Ellen spoke timidly, “This is your granddaddy.”
+
+“Quit jawing.”
+
+As they neared Millville, Ellen spoke again. “Penny said to tell you
+howdy. Her husband told me about a dog that grinds axes and things.” She
+spoke too rapidly, lines drawing on her forehead. “This man’s got a
+treadwheel. He runs a belt from it to his grindstone. The dog runs there
+in the big wheel, grinding sickles and knives too. Luke said the dog
+waits for the man to whistle.” She appealed to Anton.
+
+“Haw.” They had passed Love’s store, turned down Sweetincreek Road for a
+mile.
+
+She broke the silence once more. “Luke heard of a cat too.” And holding
+Simon in her arm, she felt him press close. He laid a chubby arm across
+her lap. “It turned a churn, treading a wheel for the lady of the house.
+Now think, Simon.”
+
+Jack met them barking. The dog’s eyes were nearly on a level with
+Simon’s; the child laid his face in the fur. When Anton drove the team
+to the barn, the boy watched him covertly. Maria was coming on the porch
+in her shapeless Mother Hubbard dress. “Now here’s your granny,” called
+Ellen.
+
+Maria glanced at the boy, felt her bun. “The census taker came, Ellie. I
+had a day. I told him all he asked. I wish he’d come again.”
+
+“I’m glad it’s o’er, Ma. You know if Sam did my chores?”
+
+“I gave him a cup of tea and some of that butter-cake you made. I told
+him all he asked.”
+
+
+                                   15
+
+June dawdled by. Lilacs faded and roses unfolded. Simon went behind
+Ellen, dropping pumpkin seeds in the young corn rows. He wore new
+overalls that she ordered from the catalog, and shirts she made for him.
+He ran barefoot at her heels. In his pocket he kept the colored ball
+that had been Anse’s. He spoke seldom, but Ellen would hear his piping
+voice when he was with the geese or with Jack and he had no fear of the
+heavy work horses.
+
+Frankie had written, “We’ll be down Independence Day. My friend is
+coming with me for two weeks’ vacation. Oh, the dear farm and dear
+Ellie. Why didn’t you tell me I had a nephew, Ellie? I can’t wait to see
+him. You cunning sister.”
+
+When Joe Burwell told his son that Frankie was coming, Dyke drove up the
+Gaddy lane in his Oldsmobile to offer the use of his car to meet the
+train. “It’ll be a pleasure to see Frankie again, Mester Gaddy.”
+
+“Stay for supper with us, Dyke,” Ellen invited him, cordial.
+
+The two men went to the station. Ellen had hung the calico curtain
+across her parents’ bedroom to make the guest chamber. Simon had taken
+over Frankie’s old bed upstairs. She was placing a vase of catalpa
+blooms by the bedside on the marble-topped table. A heady fragrance
+seeped from the spikes of creamy scalloped blossoms specked with purple
+and yellow.
+
+The car was returning. Ellen and Simon were going into the yard. Frankie
+threw her arms about Ellen. There was perfume in her hair, her face was
+accented with eye-shadow and penciled brows, her lips vivid. She was
+kneeling by Simon. “I’m Auntie! See what we brought you.” She took his
+hand and they went to Dyke’s car.
+
+Frankie’s companion was talking with the two men. Her black hair was
+shingled. She was heavy-hipped, her face appearing almost delicate above
+her squat body. She wore no make-up and held her head back to eye the
+men squarely. Anton waved his hand while talking, and she nodded again
+at him. They came toward Ellen. “This here’s Genevieve Wheeler,” Anton
+said. “Did I get that name right? Haw. And from the way Frankie wrote at
+first I thought it was a fellow.”
+
+“Pleased,” Ellen said shortly. The woman’s hand was warm and dry.
+
+“Certainly do admire your father, Ellen. The farmer’s the backbone of
+America.”
+
+“Haw.” Anton was shrugging. “Go on in and get settled, you-all. We’ll be
+back when we finish the chores. Coming, Dyke?”
+
+Frankie opened the screen door for Simon. She called, “Ellie, he’s
+cute.”
+
+Ellen followed the men to the barns. Dyke, in his black suit, was
+feeding the cows. Later Simon came out. He stroked the big shoulder of
+the brown cow that Ellen was milking. “I like Auntie, Mama,” he lisped.
+“She brung me this.” He wore a stiff yellow visor cap. He straightened
+it.
+
+“Let’s go tend the goats, Simon.”
+
+The boy strutted beside her, looking up. “I’ll milk Leona for you,
+Mama.”
+
+“See if you can get it all this time.”
+
+Leona had a high round udder and gave her milk down easily. “How come
+Leona’s white, Mama?”
+
+“Because her daddy was a white one.”
+
+Simon sat on a stool, leaning into the goat’s side and squeezing the
+teats so the milk came in little squirts. The animal turned to sniff the
+new cap and lick Simon’s neck where the tow hair curled. Then it wheezed
+as it brought up its cud.
+
+Ellen meanwhile milked Penny and Pie, set out their hay and grain. She
+stood over Simon. “Want me to finish her?”
+
+He sighed, turning the three-legged stool over to her. “I most got her
+clean, didn’t I, Mama?”
+
+“Just about.”
+
+“That Auntie’s comely, Mama.” He was leaning against her while the white
+liquid purred in her bucket, foaming, hot.
+
+“Ne’er know her for my sister, would you, Simon? Like a peacock sister
+to a hen.” Her gray eyes were level with his blue ones. She was stirred.
+He’s a fair boy.
+
+“You’s a little hen, Mama.”
+
+“You’re my chick, then.”
+
+“Peep. Peep.” He took her hand as she picked up the pail. Nearing the
+house, they heard the piano and voices raised. Genevieve was carrying
+the alto.
+
+   O Robin, Robin Redbreast
+   O Robin, Robin dear
+   O Robin sings so sweetly
+   In the falling of the year
+
+“Mercy.” Ellen set the pail in the kitchen, began to help Maria with the
+meal. Simon stationed himself beside the parlor door to listen to the
+singing. He was discovered and with cries and kisses they drew him to
+them.
+
+After supper Frankie remained in the kitchen with Ellen. Simon went up
+to bed. From the parlor came Anton’s deep voice and an occasional
+question from Genevieve. Maria was knitting and Dyke listened while he
+smoked a cigar. Frankie polished the plate she was holding. “Don’t you
+like Gen, Ellie? Don’t you like her? We’ve got a flat, you know.”
+
+“You wrote you left Uncle.”
+
+“I left last February. The market crash changed him, Ellie. He wouldn’t
+eat and stayed up nights going over papers. He got real crabby. Stingy,
+too. You’d never have recognized him. I stopped all my lessons. I was
+glad.”
+
+“I see.”
+
+“He turned Mrs. Quimby out on the street.” Frankie was smiling, prim.
+
+“Oh?”
+
+“When I left, he closed the house up. He went to a flat he has in East
+Chicago. You know he’s bad, Ellie?”
+
+“How?”
+
+“He keeps a woman,” she whispered. “He’s had that flat for years.”
+
+“For lack of wood the fire goes out, Frankie.” Ellen was stiff.
+
+“That’s a cute saying, Ellie. Where’d you hear it?”
+
+“You’re so scatterbrained, Frankie. And I ne’er had any use for
+whisperers.”
+
+“You like my hair, Ellie? Gen says I look like Janet Gaynor.”
+
+“Who’s that?”
+
+“Ellie. A movie star.”
+
+“When did you first meet this Gen?”
+
+“She’s my best friend.”
+
+Dyke stepped into the kitchen. “Hey.”
+
+“Hello, Dyke. Wouldn’t Gen let you talk?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“She’s like that. She has no use for men. Except for one like Pa there.
+A good farmer.”
+
+“You sure are different, Frankie. You’re plumb pretty.” Dyke stood his
+ground, blushing.
+
+“I always liked you, Dyke,” Frankie was bold. “Remember how we used to
+argue about him, Ellie? I said he was tall and he’d do because I wasn’t
+particular?”
+
+“Frankie,” Ellen cried.
+
+“Come out and look at the stars, Frankie. Please.”
+
+“Go on, you two. I’ll finish up.” Ellen went into the parlor after a few
+minutes. She sat down by Maria.
+
+Genevieve looked up alert. “I thought Frankie was with you, Ellen.”
+
+“She went out with Dyke a spell ago.”
+
+“Oh, dear,” the woman laughed. “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Gaddy. I’ll be
+right back. I want to hear more about what you were saying.” The heavy
+sound of her shoes was heard on the porch.
+
+“Why doesn’t she leave Frankie and Dyke be?” Ellen asked.
+
+Anton was filling his pipe. “She sees the case I’ve got here farming.”
+
+The two came in noisily, hand in hand; Dyke followed. “Here’s your
+little girl, Mr. Gaddy. I’m afraid this young man was hiding her from
+us.”
+
+“What do you think, Genevieve,” Anton was asking, “of my daughter
+becoming a fine musician?”
+
+“Well, in time she could be. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She’s got
+talent. And she’s a beauty. When I get more money saved, I’m going to
+get her the best teacher I can find.”
+
+“I just love you, Pa,” cried Frankie. “And this dear house. And Ma and
+Ellie and everyone.”
+
+“Tsk, tsk, such a little girl,” said Genevieve. She stood by the piano.
+
+   Woodman, spare that tree
+   Touch not a single bough
+   In youth it sheltered me
+   And I’ll protect it now
+
+Ellen was pressed to make fudge and coffee. Dyke was left in the parlor
+with Anton and the visitors came into the kitchen to help. While the two
+cracked nuts, they chattered in steady rapport. Ellen stepped into the
+hall, put her hands on her ears. “That ox.” Obscurely, she resented the
+older woman, missed the old way in which Frankie would turn to her for
+approbation and counsel. She could overhear Anton in the next room.
+
+“Yes sir, boy, this fellow had a dog to run his treadmill. He sat in the
+shade and ground axes and knives for folks on the grindstone that dog
+turned for him.”
+
+“I ne’er heard of that being done before, Mester Gaddy.”
+
+“Hell, I even knew a man that fixed a treadmill for his old ooman’s cat
+to run her churn.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+They gathered at breakfast. Ellen had set potatoes to boil, fried bacon,
+and sent Simon to refill the blue water pail. Frankie and Genevieve were
+coming in sleepy-eyed, clad in gray twill skirts. The girl appeared
+frail and willowy beside her companion whose broad buttocks and ample
+breasts were constrained by her clothing. As they were sitting at the
+laden table, Anton and Sam hurried in. They were late. “The colt’s
+gone,” Anton worried. “Must have jumped the rails where it’s rotting.
+Jesus Wept, they’re all falling apart. We’ve got to string fence wire
+all o’er now.”
+
+“Red horse tired of the meadow,” Simon piped. “He set out for to see the
+other side.” The child looked through the square-paned window, past the
+low wall of the garden, to the day that had cast off the shawl of night.
+
+“I tell you, let’s organize a search party,” Genevieve said. “We’ll go
+get our hats. Don’t you agree, Frankie?”
+
+“All right, Gen.”
+
+“It’s up to you-all to find him. Sam and me can’t help. We got the rails
+to mend and the hay field to cut. Come on, Sam.”
+
+They left Maria cleaning the kitchen, for she refused to stir without
+the door. They searched woods and adjacent fields. There was no sign of
+the missing colt. At noontime the three women met outside the house.
+Genevieve was bramble-scratched, the smell of perspiration thick on her
+as she sat with Frankie on the porch steps. “I think I got poison ivy,”
+said Frankie, “and I tore my stockings.”
+
+“I brought some bug stuff with us. It’s in the bags somewhere. These
+mosquito bites itch.”
+
+Ellen was bringing water from the well in a dishpan and they got up to
+wash. The woman grunted as she dried herself. Frankie was laughing at
+her, wrinkling her nose. Suddenly Ellen said, “Where’s Simon? He was
+with you, Frankie.”
+
+But Frankie denied it. “He got tired. He said he was going home to get a
+drink.”
+
+A hand twisted within Ellen. She was running. She heard the calls behind
+her. “Wait, Ellie!”
+
+And Genevieve, “Let’s be calm.”
+
+But Ellen ran and ran, Jack barking beside her, to fields stretching
+past woods, and past that, to places she had wandered before her son had
+gained this hold on her. All the while she cried, “Simon. Simon.” And
+the dog’s staccato answered.
+
+It was late in the day when she returned. They had all assembled in the
+yard. “We’ve been looking, too, Ellie,” Sam told her.
+
+“Maybe a snake’s bitten him.” An empty place trembled in Ellen. “And
+he’s lying some’ere.”
+
+“Nonsense,” said Genevieve.
+
+“He’s too little.” Ellen’s mind tried doors that were barred. “He
+doesn’t know the country well.” She looked at the ground.
+
+Sam said, “Don’t fret, Ellie. He’s a steady youngen.”
+
+The group was wavering, uncertain. “Appears you could look after your
+own youngen.” Anton bent for his pitchfork. “That hay’s got to be
+turned.”
+
+Genevieve took a deep breath as the men went toward the field. “I’m not
+concerned. He’ll come home. Why, he’s a big boy.”
+
+“Quit jawing,” Ellen said savagely.
+
+Then they heard the men’s shouts, their distant figures were pointing.
+“There! Look there.”
+
+The blood-bay colt was ambling up the lane, the boy on its back, his
+short legs spread, a lock of the mane in his stubby hand. His cap was
+set visor backwards. “I got lost, Mama.”
+
+“Where did you find him?” Ellen ran to take the colt’s headstall.
+
+“Down the road a ways. I got turned about.”
+
+Ellen was leading the horse to the barn. “Well.”
+
+Simon slid to the ground. “I lost Anse’s ball.”
+
+“Should I make you another?”
+
+“No.” He was petting the tall colt’s shoulder. “Mama?”
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+“I’d like a horse to name my own.”
+
+“Maybe someday.”
+
+“Mama?” He stroked the horse, looked up at her, mute. His eyes were
+wide. He smiled slowly, waiting.
+
+“Fancy you finding the red colt, Simon. When none of us could.” They
+turned to walk to the house. He swaggered behind her, pleased with
+himself.
+
+   Little Tom Tinker
+   Got burned with a clinker
+   And he began to cry
+   What a poor fellow am I
+
+Anton nearly shot a dog fox a day or so after. The fences, lined with
+stones and weeds, had furnished ambush for the daring fox. In broad
+daylight even, it would slip to the hen house, kill three or four, and
+escape, slinging its latest victim across its shoulders. Anton would
+smoulder, viewing his dead hens. He told Genevieve, “Years back I had a
+flock of pullets just starting to lay. One morning I found a heap of
+thirty dead under that oak. Next week there was eighteen. I’d hear the
+varmint barking at night. Times he’d screech like a wildcat. I didn’t
+sleep till I got him. Ne’er did find the earth where the whelps were
+hid.”
+
+In the hour he was free before milking, Anton had taken his gun. He set
+out, Jack at heel. He plodded through likely spots, and as he came up
+out of the woods he heard a crow call, signaling. He glimpsed in the
+distance the fox they hunted. Its summer fur was scraggly and
+yellow-red; it was digging at a woodchuck hole on the edge of the field.
+Jack had seen it too; he fell behind the man, who was slipping noiseless
+through the high orchard grass.
+
+Then Anton had stopped short. He had come upon Frankie and her friend,
+sitting with hands about their knees in the grass. The older woman was
+leaning over to kiss Frankie on the lips. Frankie laughed, tossing her
+shining bobbed hair. Anton forgot his quarry. Jack whined and growled as
+the fox clawed at the earth. The man moved in dourly upon the women in
+the afternoon sun. He stood before them with legs set like trees in the
+grass. “What’s going on here?”
+
+Frankie lifted her head. “We’re singing, Pa.”
+
+Her companion was getting up. “We were just enjoying ourselves out here,
+Mr. Gaddy. My, your Frankie’s a pretty thing.”
+
+Anton strode from them. They saw him spit amber juice into the weeds.
+Jack galloped, yapping, for the fox had slunk off. Frankie giggled, “Oh,
+Gen. You shouldn’t have.”
+
+That evening the man was stalking restive between kitchen and parlor.
+Genevieve sought to draw him into a discussion. “I was reading about a
+new commercial fertilizer, Mr. Gaddy.”
+
+“Shit,” he growled and went to stand on the porch. Car lights glared as
+Dyke Burwell’s Oldsmobile arrived in the yard.
+
+Dyke called from the darkened window, “Hey!”
+
+“Come in, boy.”
+
+The lights cut and Dyke walked toward the porch. “Frankie home?”
+
+Anton saw suddenly that Dyke was a man now, bulky and tall, stooped
+somewhat from the weight of his awkward upper body. “Hum. She’s here.”
+
+They stood together, embarrassed by the companionship they felt. They
+were looking off into the half-dusk of the yard. “Getting hot.”
+
+“Hum.”
+
+“Could rain, Mester Gaddy. Ma says if she can feel toes on her missing
+leg, it’s rain for sure.” They were leaning against the porch posts. The
+older man stirred, unhappy. Dyke was talking in a soft monotone,
+relating a joke.
+
+Anton interrupted him, “I’d like to shoot that varmint.”
+
+“Well, like I was saying, Mester Gaddy, a bird came o’er then and muted
+on him. Hell, he says looking up, now you know, Lord, this is just going
+a trifle too far.” Dyke snickered, hopeful, but Anton remained glum. The
+young man scratched his neck. “You say Frankie’s home?”
+
+They went into the house. Anton’s voice was cold, “Dyke, I want you to
+take Frankie here to the movie house in Bethel. That way Miss Wheeler
+and I can talk about the farm.”
+
+“You are sweet, Pa. But I don’t care to.” Frankie yawned, getting up
+from her chair. “Here we are on this old Kentucky home and why go to the
+flickers? We see them all the time in the city. But you’re thoughtful,
+Pa.”
+
+So instead Frankie coaxed Dyke to sing with them. Ellen saw how
+Genevieve’s black eyes glinted when Dyke spoke to Frankie. She saw
+Dyke’s confidence wither as he appeared a poor thing. Genevieve was
+saying, “Frankie told me you keep house for your mother?”
+
+“I help her, Miss Wheeler.”
+
+“I think it’s wonderful you mop and dust like a daughter. That’s an
+accomplishment.”
+
+Ellen walked out of the room and onto the porch. A shadow was drifting
+by the hen house fence. “There’s that fox, Pa.”
+
+Anton grasped the gun that stood by the loft stairs. His body mingled
+with the shadows. His face was vacant-eyed, as he slipped past Ellen,
+like a cat that spies a bird flutter to its nesting bush. After the
+family was in bed and Dyke had driven away, Anton returned. He flung the
+yellow-furred carcass at the base of the porch steps. The dog worried it
+until Sam arrived at dawn and dragged it into a field for buzzards to
+pick.
+
+Simon came in dirt-stained to where the family and Sam Offut sat at the
+noon table. His hair was over his eyes and he brushed it back. He held a
+box-turtle he had found. He was clutching it to his shirt and standing
+within the door. Ellen said, “Go clean up. And put that turtle away,
+Simon. You’re late. Now run.”
+
+But Simon went to stand at Anton’s side. The man continued eating,
+pushing his food with his knife, his head bent in hunger. Simon spoke so
+that Ellen knew he had thought how he would say this all the way to the
+house, ever since he caught the turtle. “Da says they’s seven kinds of
+meat in a turtle. E’er heard that, Granddaddy?”
+
+“Who’s Da?” Anton threw his knife with a clatter.
+
+Simon was staring, open-mouthed.
+
+“Who’s Da, boy?”
+
+“Da,” Simon blurted, cradling the turtle, the spiny legs scratching his
+soft flesh.
+
+“Pa, that’s Mester Dougherty,” cried Ellen. “The youngens called him
+that.”
+
+“Don’t speak his name again. Mind, boy?” Anton picked up his knife.
+Genevieve and Frankie exchanged small knowing smiles.
+
+Ellen pleaded, “This is a land turtle, Simon. The kind you eat’s a water
+turtle. Go wash now.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Later on, the women were clearing the dishes. Anton was puffing his
+pipe. From the direction of the hog pens came a squealing. Through the
+screen, Ellen saw a score of young pigs spreading out toward house and
+barn. After them stumbled Simon, trying with aimless movements to round
+them up. His face was worried, his body blundering. She pushed the door
+to go and help him. Anton spoke behind her. “Stay there, girl.”
+
+Ellen knew what had happened. Simon had been sent out as soon as he had
+eaten, to move the twenty yeanling pigs to new quarters. Anton had
+directed him to move them one at a time. But the child had tried to shoo
+them in a drove, the way he did the geese or cows. The baby pigs were
+fractious and ran out like wheel spokes. Sam was hustling from the barn.
+Ellen watched the two men break sticks, then shouting, gather the pigs
+into their new pen. The little boy’s shoulders were rounded, hands
+dangling helplessly. Sam returned to the barn. Anton called the boy to
+him. He cut a switch from a locust tree. Simon was moving slowly across
+the yard. Ellen came out on the porch. “Get in the house, girl. Lest I
+switch you for your brat to see.”
+
+Ellen went up the stairway to her room. “He’s bound and determined to
+have it out. But it’s because he’s plagued at Frankie.” She sat dry-eyed
+on the bed. Her head was throbbing.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Afterwards she found Simon in the field with the goats. He held his hand
+on the neck of one doe and scratched under its beard. His face was
+streaked and dirty. “I was bad, Mama.”
+
+“You sure could use a bath. Come on, let’s get the tub down.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Sunday the two Gaddy sisters were sitting on the porch. Lily Garrett
+walked up to them in her shapeless Mother Hubbard dress. “I’ve come to
+make lavendery sticks for the last time with you-all.” Lily was sweating
+through her padding of fat.
+
+“What do you mean, last time?” Ellen got up to greet her.
+
+Frankie and Lily kissed. “You haven’t met Gen yet, Lily.”
+
+“I’ve got news for you.” Lily’s face was shaking as she laughed. “Craig
+Hedrick’s making me his wife.”
+
+“Ellie went with Craig once, didn’t you?” Frankie asked. “I remember.”
+
+“Just to mass,” said Ellen.
+
+“I can’t ask you to a wedding.” Lily was raising her large arms to her
+hair. “We’re only going to the priest. The bans have been read and we’ve
+got no time for fancy doings. Craig’s bought the farm next to him. He’ll
+be working o’er a hundred acres this summer.”
+
+“My,” said Ellen.
+
+“We’ll drive straight home from the priest and go to work, he says. He’s
+going to get a tractor with lights so he can work nights. Law, he’s a
+goer.”
+
+“Calling him a goer makes me remember Mandy York,” Frankie was saying.
+“When she was out hoeing with us that time and she said, I’m smart, I’m
+a good duster and a good sweeper and a good hoer. We laughed at how it
+came out.”
+
+“Her baby is doing good on your goat’s milk,” Lily said.
+
+“I still can’t believe Mandy’s dead,” cried Frankie. “But now here’s
+Gen.”
+
+The older woman came down the stairs. “Who’s this?” She was linking arms
+with Frankie.
+
+“This is my friend, Lily Garrett, Gen.”
+
+“You certainly look hot,” Genevieve said. The two walked away to the
+lavender bed.
+
+As they were plucking the flowers, Lily talked softly to Ellen. “Where’s
+Simon?”
+
+“He’s in the field. Sam lets him ride Blueberry. He thinks he’s a man
+sitting up there holding on the hame knobs.”
+
+“He’s a pretty child. Does he take after your husband?”
+
+“A mite.”
+
+“Can’t say he takes after your side.”
+
+In the silence, Ellen was binding the stalks with yarn; the sweet oil
+scented her fingers.
+
+“Craig’s got no use for you, Ellie. Reckon he’ll not let me come down
+this way when I’m Mrs. Hedrick.”
+
+“You think a lot of him, Lily?”
+
+“It’s like this. I’m built so big most fellows laugh at me. Papa’s glad
+to get me settled. He’s going to help us where he can. I allow I’m a
+sight lucky to catch Craig.”
+
+Ellen had never heard the flighty Lily speak so seriously. She seemed
+nearly sad as she came to this turning in her life.
+
+“You’ll make him a good wife.”
+
+“I aim to. I’d like to have a child like yours.” They worked awhile, the
+murmurs of the other two coming from the end of the bed. “I don’t know
+if it’s right to tell such a thing on my promised husband, but I knew
+you long before him.” Lily’s face fired red. “He says you be free with
+men, Ellie. Says he could name the ones you’ve slept with.”
+
+“There’s lots of tales told, Lily.”
+
+“Says you weren’t even married.”
+
+“The grapes are grapes of gall,” Ellen spoke bravely. “I don’t care.”
+
+“You’re twisting my words, Ellie. But I’ll say more.” The hot sun
+drenched them, drew the last moisture from the flower bed. Lily’s curls
+lay straggled on her sun-browned neck and Ellen waited. “I’ll be glad
+when Craig won’t let me come here to visit you-all. I know he wanted you
+for a wife. He tells those tales for the hate he bears you. Being as you
+slighted him.”
+
+“Lily. There was nothing between Craig and me.”
+
+“I’ve seen a little silk rose he keeps. It came off that blue hat you
+wore when you went to Chicago that time. How’d he come by it?”
+
+“Oh Lily.”
+
+“You won’t tell. And knowing I took what you wouldn’t have, I’d as lief
+bide away from you.” Lily’s eyes brimmed as she bent over the handful of
+pale-purple blooms.
+
+Ellen trembled. “If you feel that way.” She was working down the
+perfumed rows, away from her childhood friend. “I don’t care.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The visitors were planning to leave the following weekend. Genevieve
+Wheeler was due at her desk in the Featherbone Works on Monday morning.
+On Wednesday night Anton awoke to the stutter of thunder. He shuffled
+barefoot, to close windows in the kitchen and parlor. As he was
+returning, he stopped a while at the calico curtains of the partitioned
+room where his daughter and Genevieve slept. He overheard their
+whispers. Grinding his teeth, he took the cloth in his violent fist. But
+he released it and went to the bed where Maria was snoring, mouth half
+open. “Hail, Holy Mary,” he whimpered. He prayed, envisioning his mother
+Nell, clad in a blue gown like the Virgin, her bright red hair flowing
+about her shoulders. He wept secretly, fashioning words he would say as
+he banished Frankie forever.
+
+The night’s rain drew upward to the hot sky. The sticky air was clinging
+as the family slowly collected for breakfast. Frankie and Genevieve were
+seated, Maria was placing a dish of fried potatoes on the table before
+joining them. Ellen had brought a hot skillet of eggs from the stove.
+She lifted them onto plates with her iron spatula. “I’ll take two,
+Ellie,” Genevieve cried. “This country air’s given me an appetite.”
+
+“Oh, Gen, you always take two.”
+
+A bumblebee, caught at the glass, was buzzing. Simon ran in. He had
+washed at the pump and water was dripping from his hands. “Morning,
+Simon,” said Frankie. “Why does an old maid go to church so early on
+Sunday? Don’t tell him, Gen.”
+
+“Let’s see, Auntie.” The child studied his egg.
+
+Anton came in. The screen door cracked behind him like a breaking stick.
+The people turned. He spoke softly to his younger daughter. “The Bible
+says, were they ashamed when they committed abomination? Nay, they were
+not. Neither could they blush.” He wiped his face with an arm dusted
+with chaff of hay and hair of cows. Ellen heard the bee mumble at the
+glass and her hand, holding the skillet, was tiring. “You be not welcome
+under my roof now, girl. The Lord God’ll have a reckoning day for you.”
+
+“What’s this all about, Mr. Gaddy?” began Genevieve.
+
+“Shut your jaw. Unnatural ooman.”
+
+Frankie was still, a paleness blanketing her features. She was wearing a
+high-throated shirtwaist, the color of her hair brilliant against its
+whiteness. Her linen skirt fitted her small hips. Her hands rested in
+her lap. Frankie had turned, after months of terror and insecurity in
+Garland’s house, to the gentle dominion of the older female. The grip of
+her father’s hand had gradually fallen away and she had begun to think
+of the home farm as a place in one of the tunes they would sing,
+nostalgic and typical.
+
+   First the farmer sows his seed
+   Then he stands
+   And takes his ease
+
+They were gay in the small Chicago flat. Now the old fear of Anton was
+absent. She was waiting until he would speak again into the sultry
+kitchen.
+
+“You be gone.” His voice was a blade cutting a cord. “When Sam and me
+get back from the wheat this noon. Christ, you be not my daughter any
+more.” He stalked to the door and out.
+
+“What did Granddaddy say, Mama?” The high whisper spilled into the
+silence.
+
+“I don’t know,” sighed Ellen.
+
+“Now he ne’er ate his breakfast,” Maria was complaining, “with his
+fretting. But here comes Sam. He’ll eat good.”
+
+“There’s simply no talking to Pa when he’s set like that, Gen,” Frankie
+laughed. “He gets so sore.”
+
+“Tell, why does the old maid go so early to church, Auntie?” Simon
+asked.
+
+“Well, by golly,” said Genevieve, pushing back her chair. “Let’s get to
+packing.”
+
+Frankie laughed again. “So she can be there when the hymns are given
+out, silly.” She got up, brushing her skirt. “Oh, Ellie, don’t worry.
+You know Pa. And we did have our visit. You’ll see, we’ll be back next
+summer.” Frankie was going to the bedroom.
+
+“Don’t call that much of a riddle,” said Simon. “Don’t get it.”
+
+“You want to go berrying by the lake?” Ellen set the skillet down on the
+stove. Her voice was unsteady. “They’re real thick, Simon. All you have
+to do is shake them in the pail. You take Jack for company. Watch out
+for snakes, mind.”
+
+Sam was coming up the porch as the boy took the lard pail and marched
+off, his hand on the dog’s back. Simon’s hair was white in the summer
+sun. His cap, grimy and wrinkled now, perched on his head. Ellen turned
+to free the imprisoned bee still tumbling at the pane. Maria spoke,
+“Want these cold eggs, Sam?”
+
+
+                                   16
+
+Summer had hurled itself on the quailing countryside. The moisture was
+drawn from the bowels of the land, first from the stony top clay, until
+finally from the reservoir far below. The few humid clouds were carried
+away on winds that lived in the upper troposphere and there was no rain.
+A drought prevailed. As daylight made colors known, an opossum was
+waddling through the oat field, where stunted stems withered before the
+white grains could form. It pounced on a fleeing lizard just before Sam
+Offut shot it cleanly through the skull. He plucked its young, no bigger
+than a thumbnail, from its nipples and left them in the field. At
+breakfast he told the Gaddys, “My old ooman’ll bake it. That’s one thing
+Eadie can do.”
+
+Anton was restless. He walked outdoors, drawing on his cold pipe.
+“Turning the earth’ll just dry it worse, Sam.”
+
+“No weeds are going to come up anyhow. What’ll we do if it doesn’t rain,
+Mester Gaddy?”
+
+Simon was watching them from the screen, his nose against the wire. He
+called, “Granddaddy, which way’s the wind blowing?”
+
+But the men looked at the burning sky. They stood in the yard awhile,
+then went to the tool shed or scattered old hay to the cows in the
+dried-up pasture, puttering time away until it should rain. Simon was on
+the steps talking to the dog. Ellen could hear his singsong. She told
+Maria, “Simon’s at the aping age. He thinks he’s Sam. Or again he thinks
+he’s Pa.”
+
+That sweltering noon Anton beat his wife. It had little to do with the
+drought, although irritation had made his temper short. Anton seldom
+lifted his arm against Maria ever since a few summers past when she had
+taken to bed after he struck her. Anton had felt justified at the time,
+for Maria had been nagging him about the kind of wood for her pap’s
+coffin. He had given her money enough for a pine box, but she demanded
+oak. “Oak’s dear, ooman. No more now.” And when he had beat her she was
+somehow hurt. He had been forced to hire the girl, Penny, to help while
+his wife was recovering.
+
+Maria was alone in the house in the hot morning. A salesman came to the
+door, a thin man, wearing a flat-top hat. His striped suit was frayed
+around the lapels and seams. “Madam, I presume you’re the lady of the
+house. It’s clear you’re a pious one. I myself am a man of God. I carry
+the Word.” He was taking a Bible from his worn satchel. It was handsome,
+gold-embossed, gold-edged. He was showing her how in some sections the
+first letter was immense, with doves or flowers set into scrolled lines.
+
+Maria coveted it. “But I’ve got no money, Mester.”
+
+“This is such a bargain.”
+
+“If I had the money.”
+
+“Sometimes a farmer will hide money in a mattress. It’s his way. Or
+again in the rear part of a drawer that he alone uses.”
+
+She began to shake her head, eying him.
+
+“There’s few would think ill of a wife who knew a fine trade. Look at
+this Good Book.”
+
+She turned the leaves, lingering over the gold letters. “What’s its
+price?”
+
+“Fifty dollars, Madam. To you, ten.”
+
+“Well.” He sat in the parlor while she found the bills laid in the
+ticking. She moved her mouth in an inner argument. She took some of
+them, replaced the roll in the straw. She walked back into the parlor.
+“Hit seems there be but seven. What do you say, Mester?”
+
+“I’ll make you a special.” He was reaching for the money. “I’ll take
+it.”
+
+At noontime, when they finished eating, Maria spoke. “There’s a thing I
+did.” She went to get the Bible, her eyes moist and bright.
+
+The smoke from Anton’s pipe dwelled over the used dishes and his brow
+drew in puzzled lines. “How’s this?” He was taking the book from her.
+“Where’d you get the money?”
+
+“Amid the straw then, under the bed.”
+
+“How’d you think to look, ooman?”
+
+“Peddler said it would be there. So he knows is the way of a farmer. I
+took but seven.”
+
+Then Anton was hitting her on the shoulder from where he sat, because he
+had been shown for a fool. He rose, seizing his black shirt and ripping
+it so buttons fell tinkling. His chest was exposed, matted. He struck
+her again. “Prices are falling so I can’t sell. Rising so I can’t buy.
+There’s a drought on us, and you have to thieve behind my back.” He
+lifted up his fist.
+
+She ran to the bedroom where the wardrobe closet stood, and crouched in
+the camphor-ridden woolens. She whimpered, “Mam.”
+
+Ellen waited until Anton had gone to join Sam in the yard. She picked up
+the Bible and put it on the table before Simon. Most of the Book of John
+was missing, and Kings and Isaiah. Later Anton would hunt in vain for
+Jeremiah, his favorite prophet. But now Ellen was turning to the First
+Book of Samuel. She had accepted Anton’s violence as she did the
+drought, linking them in her mind as manifestations of indisputable
+power. And she would give Maria time to recover, in the same
+unquestioning way in which the farm folk would woo the land back with
+seed and share when the rain came. Ellen was reading to Simon, “The Lord
+seeth not as man seeth. Man looketh on the outward appearance. But the
+Lord looketh on the heart.”
+
+Simon examined the pictures while she made order in the kitchen. “Here’s
+varmints I ne’er knew of, Mama.”
+
+The windows were open. Anton had taken a screen down the day before to
+mend it and Ellen had hung strips of cloth to keep out flies that bred
+constantly in the barnyard. Simon snatched at those buzzing about him.
+When he caught one, he would slide from his chair and let it out the
+door. He returned to his perch and book. “You’re a soft one,” she
+scoffed. “That fly’s coming right back through the window.”
+
+He smiled in his slow way. “I don’t care.” His eyes were as if he had
+drawn aside curtains where he was apt to hide himself.
+
+Ellen was making a pot of coffee. She went to coax her mother from the
+closet. “Come on, Ma.”
+
+Maria stared coldly. “Leave me be.”
+
+“Have some coffee. You were clever, Ma. To get a book like that at such
+a price.”
+
+At length the woman arose, rubbing her bruised shoulder. “Well.”
+
+Simon gave her the book. “Take it, Granny.”
+
+“We have to cut hoofs, Ma. You drink the coffee.” Ellen set the cup by
+Maria.
+
+“Go along, then.” Maria was opening the book. “You can take a look if
+there’s any apples. This is a dreary year for storing up.”
+
+In the pasture, Ellen trimmed the goats’ hoofs with a pocketknife while
+Simon held their leather collars. The little herd had prospered. There
+were six, besides Rhodie who still boarded at the Yorks. Ellen walked
+among her goats and she was the center of the wheel. She knew each and
+the way it differed from the next, how it placed its foot, how it moved
+or crowded to be close to her, butting another with a click of horns.
+Penny was aging and moved slow. Pie, the big skewbald one, had no beard
+and was slick and fat. There were two shaggy brown yeanlings, saucy and
+bold. And Leona, the white doe, had yellow eyes in a long homely face.
+
+Simon and she took the does, when they had finished, over to the
+orchard. “Wonder why goats like to follow after, Mama? And you got to
+drive a cow?”
+
+Ellen was drawing tree boughs down. The animals craved the young shoots
+more than field clover; they were rearing on their hind legs, dancing
+with tongues extended.
+
+“There’s no apples here, Mama.”
+
+“There’ll be a few later. I see some fruiting.”
+
+The goats had their fill and were taken to the pasture again. Then Ellen
+went up the lane, Simon trailing behind. The does stood their slender
+forefeet on the gate bars, calling after them. The heat quivered, the
+land lay gasping, the corn died as clay cracked like a split plate
+around yellowed stalks. The sun dominated the clear dome as well as the
+prostrate land. Even Simon felt the menace and reached for Ellen’s hand.
+
+After supper Anton, his anger exhausted, was reading to the boy from
+Maria’s Bible. He had brought it to the porch. The women in the hot
+kitchen could hear through the open door. “Now this Elisha was going
+about the countryside doing miracles. There came forth children out of a
+city and mocked him. Said, go up thou baldhead. Go up thou baldhead.
+Elisha he looked on them and cursed them in the name of the Lord. There
+came two she-bears then out of the woods. They tore forty and two
+children of them. And then Elisha he went from thence to Mount Carmel.”
+
+Simon’s eyes were large and wary. “They shouldn’t have sassed that man.”
+
+“Take a lesson from it. Heed your manners. Hear, youngen?”
+
+“I will, Granddaddy.”
+
+The women came out with cornhusk fans that Maria once had fashioned.
+Anton turned pages, seeking the words of Jeremiah. “You got a reaming to
+top all here, ooman. Go fetch my own Bible, boy. This one’s not put
+together proper.” Then he read, “Thus saith the Lord. Stand ye in the
+ways and see and ask for the old paths where is the good way. And walk
+therein and ye shall find rest for your souls.”
+
+Ever since Ellen and Anton had visited Father Tompert and she had voiced
+herself to the priest, Ellen had discovered a new freedom. She had found
+herself supported by the church in her dispute with it, in her desire to
+find her own path. It gave her a wholeness and a bravery toward Anton.
+So she would keep Simon at her side on Sundays while her parents rode to
+church. Maria was disturbed. “Hope you don’t burn for this, Ellie.
+Wonder what Jesus would say if he came through Millville today?” Anton
+had grunted, angry, to the team, “Haw-whup.” Unknown to Ellen, he had
+spoken to another priest in Bethel regarding his daughter’s departure
+from the church. This man was old, his face creased in deep lines, and
+he advised Anton to obey his parish priest and to care for his own soul.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+After her sister had gone away with Genevieve Wheeler, Ellen would watch
+Anton going about his work abstractedly. He would stop now and again to
+raise a hand or mumble to himself, then startle as though coming out of
+a dream, and resume his work. He declared no one was to speak Frankie’s
+name. One day Ellen, rummaging for a lost tool in the shed behind the
+hog pens, came on the remains of a glass bowl-garden, the one Frankie
+had made when she was fifteen to please her father. It was smashed and
+Ellen knew Anton had hurled it there in a smoldering rage.
+
+He began to use certain phrases with Simon such as he had used with
+Frankie. “A storm is nothing, Poppet,” he said once when thunder moved
+over the sky, failing to see that Simon had no fear. He baited the boy
+too, told him to watch the butchering of an old milk cow. “This is man’s
+work and you just as well learn it early.” He smote the beast with a
+maul behind the ear. When it staggered to its knees, he used the maul
+again. Sam cut the jugular with a sticking knife and while the lifeblood
+flowed, they fastened chains to its hocks and hoisted the limp body up.
+
+Simon brought a pail of water for washing, took the liver and kidneys in
+a pan to the kitchen. He helped carry meat that the women were frying
+down in fat for the lean winter coming. He stumbled up the steps to the
+kitchen with his load. “Granddaddy killed old Jess. While she was
+looking at him.”
+
+“He needs the money, Simon. She wasn’t good for a milker any more. He’s
+going to take the hide and one side to Bethel.”
+
+“He could have laid his kerchief o’er her eyes.” He took up the
+blood-stained pail. With lagging step he returned to his tasks.
+
+Anton found Simon was apt to be slow and chided him. He was scattering
+handfuls of slaked lime on the hog house floor, sending Simon to refill
+the pails from the sack in the yard. In the ovenlike heat, the white
+dust clung to their sweated clothing and skin. “Think menfolk are always
+going to wait on your lazy ass? Now when I was a youngen I learned on a
+stick. Haw.”
+
+And sometimes Anton turned on him unexpectedly. When the child heard his
+steps and ran to open the porch door, the man would say, “Now get out of
+here.”
+
+“It’s but his way, Simon,” Ellen pleaded when she saw the boy’s eyes
+following the stocky erect figure.
+
+“I know it, Mama.”
+
+The drought broke toward the end of September. Maria was claiming the
+Man of Signs had foretold it. “It be the Autumnal Equinox. The sun’s
+entering Libra now.”
+
+“That’s a fact,” said Sam. “The Scales been balanced toward drought. And
+now they be tilting the way to the rain.”
+
+Thunder belted the heavens, rattling the timbers of the old house. The
+moist air was lightened and smelled of a sweetness unknown since early
+summer rains. Water was pouring from a full sky. In the oat field it hit
+the cracked clay and bounced off. Washes were beginning where stones
+formed little dams. Rivulets were taking the paths contrived and
+becoming foaming streams that roared like rivers and cut gashes that
+deepened into crevices. Much of the topsoil washed into the valleys. But
+the land was filled, the water stores replenished. All vegetation sucked
+and had its fill. And still there was more. “I vow we’ll get wet
+tonight, Sam. Appears to be just commencing.”
+
+“Reckon I might make a little mess of garden truck yet,” Ellen said,
+“before the first frost.”
+
+“Mester Gaddy,” said Sam, “I’d as soon set right out in this while I
+milk. I got a honing to get drenched.”
+
+That night crickets that dwelled in the stone foundations and katydids
+with leaflike wings and long silken feelers and green eyes, were
+scraping their wings in the teeming dark. They had been listless through
+the dry weather, now were voicing themselves in lusty chorus. The red
+cardinal was singing so softly in the hackberry that it sounded as if it
+were away down Sweetincreek Road.
+
+The drought had wreaked a stiff toll. A few loads of hay would be
+brought in but most of the crop was lost. There would be no corn to
+garner, no small grains. One crib remained from the previous year and
+from it Anton would eke out the winter feeding. He decided to ride with
+Dyke Burwell to the auctions in Louisville up on the northern border of
+Kentucky. He selected four sows to hold over the winter with the
+breeding boar; he would sell the others and all the yeanling pigs. They
+were flat-sided, poorly finished. The men hoped that in the city they
+would get a better price than was paid locally. Dyke had loaded his
+father’s excess hogs in the Burwell Chevrolet truck. The two were
+driving off for the seventy-mile trip and would return in a few days.
+
+The Gaddy women and the child watched the load of squealing hogs, bedded
+in straw, lurch down the lane. Ellen laughed, “Let’s have an outing,
+Simon.” The air was brightened as the head of the house was carried
+further and further away. They took biscuits and cheese down to the
+orchard. Jack accompanied them. When they had eaten, they gathered
+fallen apples into a bushel; Simon climbed trees, shook down the few
+that clung to the branches. They went beyond the orchard to a patch of
+sorghum cane. Being near the farm brook, it had survived the dry spell.
+They were breaking stalks, sucking the juice.
+
+“Crows don’t always squall, Mama. They can talk soft too. I heard one
+twittering like a wren, feeding its youngens.” The child wanted to know
+the ways of the beasts and fowl. “Granddaddy says buzzards will kill a
+baby pig and steal off with it. Reckon that’s so?”
+
+“A buzzard’s not biggity enough. They’re good but to clean up what’s
+dead and rotting.”
+
+Returning to the house, they had come on an opossum in the path. The
+heart of the swooned animal beat faintly, its dull-white jaws, withered
+ears and skinny tail bore a semblance to death. Simon was plucking it
+from the dust, cradling it in the bend of his arm. He stroked the coarse
+fur. “I’ll make it a pet.”
+
+Ellen laughed then. But somehow she was lonely, walking up the hill in
+the breeze of the afternoon, bearing the basket of fall apples.
+
+“I always wondered if a mole could swim, Mama. Yesterday I saw one cross
+the branch. Now I know that thing.” She made no reply and he went on,
+“You reckon those goat-sucker birds truly suckle the cows at night? Sam
+says it’s so. He says milk snakes’ll do it too. I’m going to spy one
+time on them.”
+
+Anton and Dyke came back from Louisville. Prices had fallen more than
+anticipated; the buyers’ eyes had been hard. Anton bought a load of
+poor-quality hay that was stacked high on the truck. They had had a flat
+tire on the way home and arrived late at night. Anton was pounding on
+the door. “Open up, ooman.”
+
+They brushed by Maria who stood in a knee-length sweater, her grayish
+hair in braids. “Hey, ma’am,” Dyke muttered. They went in the parlor,
+the stench of manure and sweat about them.
+
+“Paid fifty cents for this lightning.” Anton cradled a Mason jar of
+clear liquid. “Didn’t tell you, boy, in case we got asked if we had any
+moon hid in that hay.” He unscrewed the lid and filled glasses.
+
+Ellen went up to bed; she found Simon on the stairway and sent him
+before her. She heard her father’s shout and Dyke’s growl of agreement
+as she was drifting off to sleep. She awoke, feeling a hard hand on her
+shoulder. “What’s amiss?” she whispered, thinking it was Anton.
+
+“Hey. It’s me, Ellie.” She heard the pleading whisper, smelled the sour
+breath.
+
+“You’re sodden drunk, Dyke. Go downstairs and get to sleep. If you can
+find your way to the sofa in the parlor.” She spoke severely, heard his
+clumsy steps descending the stairs, his curse as he stumbled and bumped
+the wall. In the morning she was serving them breakfast. As soon as the
+hay was unloaded Dyke would drive home. Ellen could see he had no sure
+memory of his visit to her room. She caught his covert glance. He thinks
+it was a fancy he had.
+
+
+                                   17
+
+In that fall Ellen had a dream of Christian Ay. It was her first thought
+of him in many months’ time. His figure was unclear, touched with
+gentleness and warmth; it was apart from her. She fancied he was hurt.
+He was calling, his voice as if through water. When she awoke she could
+hear the echo of her own cry. She was musing at the power of the
+nightmare’s image. “There could be a meaning. Like the Prophet Ezekiel
+seeing the dreadful wheels. A wheel whirling in the middle of a wheel.
+And there was a meaning there that certain men read.”
+
+She went downstairs to sit wakeful while the dream was still fresh, in
+the balmy fall moonlight. Fog steamed in the air, blurring the rims of
+trees and the porch roof. There was a rustle in the drying grass and
+though no wind stirred a fallen leaf seemed to move on itself, and
+presently another, and then the shadow of an embryonic mouse was
+darting, vanishing before the eye could catch the shape. The shrews were
+harvesting for the winter ahead; their tiny gray piglike bodies sped
+soundless; through the movement in their wake one was aware of them.
+“Sam says folks will dream of a body when they’re in danger. Or when
+they’ve died. Wonder if a trouble’s come to Christian Ay?” Dwelling on
+the dream Ellen forgot the curse she had laid once on the man. She
+buried her injury, turning the old love over gently, painfully, alone on
+the step.
+
+Winter was casting her days off, one by one. Spring had arrived. Anton’s
+worrying of Simon had become less pronounced. Ellen heard the child’s
+high voice repeating the tuneless song his grandfather was teaching him.
+
+   It was our William Jennings Bryan
+   Who told them
+   Adam was there first
+   When he fought the battle
+   With those sons of darkness
+   At the trial of John T. Scopes
+
+Anton was lifting the big boy onto his knee. “Shaw. Now, here’s this
+poppet. You know I had a son once. If he’d have lived, I’d been minded
+to give him my name.” Simon sat stiff at the favor granted. Ellen
+watched through the door from where she worked, pleased at this new way
+of Anton’s. “How come you called him Simon, girl?”
+
+“The Doughertys named him, Pa.”
+
+“Anton’s a good name. I don’t favor Simon. There was a Simon in the
+Bible tried to buy Peter.”
+
+“Oh, Pa. There are lots of Simons in the Bible.”
+
+“Well.” He was turning to the boy again. She had never heard her father
+sing, and was glad.
+
+   They said our ancestors
+   Were monkeys
+   Now can’t you see, folks
+   That’s quite absurd?
+
+And then the days were passing, made of long hours. The months were
+lengthening into years. The winter following the drought was the first
+Ellen knew when the table wasn’t amply laid. She had to learn how to
+stint in the cooking and to curb her generous hand. When weevils got in
+the meal she would strain them out and mix the meal with water to make a
+corn pone. In the old days she would have tossed it easily to the hens.
+The market for the milk and produce worsened. Every fall Anton and Dyke
+made two or three trips up to Louisville to the sales. They took pigs
+and steers, chickens, geese and ducks, small grains and root crops.
+Through the years the Gaddys would manage, for they depended on varied
+harvests. The one-crop farmer suffered the most. Many of them were
+driving away from their plots of land, their families and goods piled on
+wagons and trucks, hoping to find jobs in factories and foundries of the
+cities. When Anton saw a loaded vehicle go down Sweetincreek Road, he
+articulated his scorn, “I’d set and eat clay before I’d leave my farm.
+Those fellows are oomen-farmers, farting with a patch of tobacco.
+Putting on fertilizer and then burning it off. Laying cheesecloth strips
+like a ooman.”
+
+“What for, Granddaddy?”
+
+“I vow I don’t know. Then they go to the auction and hit don’t sell for
+nothing. They buy moon from the patent medicine man and come back with
+their pockets empty. So go on,” he shouted at the retreating wagon, “and
+don’t come back.”
+
+“And don’t come back,” cried Simon shrilly.
+
+Anton turned to the boy, his eyes hot. “You stay on this farm, Poppet,
+and some day maybe it’ll all belong to you.”
+
+Anton slowly was transferring the fervor he used to spend on his younger
+daughter, Frankie, to this boy, Simon. He was taking him over. As time
+passed he judged Ellen’s guidance of the child. “You be a fool, girl.
+You’ll spoil him rotten.”
+
+When the boy remembered and did as bid, Anton was pleased; when he
+disobeyed, he whipped him, stolid. “Thou shalt beat him with a rod, so
+it’s said. I’ll take no sass. You do as I say, Simon.”
+
+In his way Simon tried not to make errors that would aggravate his
+grandfather. He had developed a spasmodic pain in his chest that would
+come at odd moments. He told no one of it but sometimes when he thought
+about it, believed he would die. Then he lay vacantly staring upward as
+he had done in the Dougherty shed in the vague days before he came to
+live here. At times he dreamed of Anse Dougherty pinching his arm,
+whispering, “Gaddy brat. Gaddy brat.” He awoke struggling and muttering.
+When Ellen questioned him, he couldn’t remember the details of the
+dream. She would sing, soothing, until he slept.
+
+   Dear mother, I said, come and bind up my head
+   You ne’er shall bind it any more
+   Sweet William he died of the wound that he bore
+   And Fair Ellen, she died also
+
+In 1934 another drought smote the farm. This time the condition was
+prevalent over the Midwest, involving dust storms and soil erosion. Over
+these depression years there were no visits from Garland Gaddy. At
+Christmas he would send a package through the mail. It would be placed
+on the parlor table. Ellen’s parents went straight to bed when they
+returned silent from midnight mass. On Christmas morning the family
+would find cigars for Anton, and for Maria and Ellen mittens or a wool
+scarf. Garland was unsure of Simon’s age. When he was six, Garland sent
+him the book _Ben Hur_, and when eight, a set of ABC building blocks.
+Ellen wrote to thank him, urged him to come at the next holiday. “Some
+time,” she told Simon, “I’ll show you Chicago. And your great-uncle who
+lives there.”
+
+“Don’t I have an aunt there, too?”
+
+“Yes. Some day maybe you’ll meet her. Don’t ne’er say her name to
+Granddaddy.”
+
+“I know. That’s Auntie. She brought me a yellow hat one time.”
+
+Ellen never heard from Frankie, but once Garland put a card in her
+package of fur gloves: “Love from Uncle and Frankie.” So she knew that
+they saw each other and it was a comfort.
+
+The years were sweeping by. In 1935 the Federal dole was stopped and the
+national relief program got under way. Anton was told that for
+twenty-five dollars he could have a WPA privy constructed. Since the old
+one was in ramshackle state, he decided to go ahead. “Christ, Sam, hit
+must be fifteen feet down.” They stepped within the new-painted door,
+looked into the openings. “It’ll take a hundred years to fill that
+hole.”
+
+“More, Mester Gaddy.” Sam paused. “I recollect Pa. He hung the door on
+the last shithouse we Offuts had. Swung it in by mistake. Said it e’er
+plagued him after that, for when he sat out there he liked to have a
+door swing out, so he could watch the neighbors go by along the road.
+He’d call out to them if he had a mind, friendly-like.”
+
+“Well, I’ll take the cow barn any day. For a fact. It’s a sight more
+natural.”
+
+Simon was growing. He was nine, stocky and strong, heavy for his age.
+The bones of his shoulders were knobby so he would appear undernourished
+when shirtless. Ellen laughed at him for his diffident ways. “You’re shy
+as a field-raised calf, Simon.” If the boar broke loose though, or if a
+new heifer kicked because her udder was hot and tender, Simon was
+fearless. He laid his hands on her when she kicked out, vicious, or
+walked up to the great angry seed-hog.
+
+Once Anton thrashed the red horse with the lines. It was harnessed with
+another and when the load began to move, it reared, balking in the
+traces. Anton whipped it. The boy loved the red horse—he hurled himself
+before it so the lines were lashing him. Anton saw the white stripes.
+“What foolishness now?”
+
+“It’s the blinders, Granddaddy.”
+
+And it was true. This horse had always worn the bridle with blinders.
+The wrong bridle had been put on and he saw things in a new way,
+frightening him. Simon was sent for the other bridle and then the horse
+pulled squarely with its mate. “Beasts are plagued fools sometimes,” the
+man said. But the boy’s eyes were gazing straight ahead, as red welts
+rose on his cheek and arm. He grit his teeth against the familiar pain
+searing his breast.
+
+Anton went into Millville to the priest one afternoon and had Simon
+baptized. When they returned, he told Ellen. She protested, “Pa, it
+doesn’t matter. But you could have said you were going.”
+
+“And he’s riding to mass Sundays too, along with us, proper pious. I
+can’t hinder you from being a heathen, but I’ll save my grandson.”
+
+Ellen glanced down at Simon. The man was pressing him, “You want to go
+along with me, don’t you, boy?”
+
+“Yes, Granddaddy.”
+
+“Well, all right, Simon. You know your mind, I reckon.” She watched them
+go, saw Simon running to bring the cows and start the feeding.
+
+Ellen was twenty-six. She was quite handsome but there was a coldness in
+her bearing. Her oval face was sober, gray eyes austere, she wore her
+hair plaited tightly and pinned in a circle around her head. She never
+knelt in the honeyed grass at night as she once had, weeping over the
+lost love and her restive longings. It was as if a scar had formed,
+protective, and a part of herself was sealed off underneath. She moved
+quietly through the days as if waiting. And she seemed satisfied.
+
+Simon spent his hours with the beasts of the farm or trailing his
+grandfather. When he felt the need for Ellen, he sought her out,
+standing near her. They were alike in many ways, shy, spare of words.
+She taught him songs, and read to him from the Bible and the almanac. He
+brought home an average report card and she signed it, “Mrs. Ellen
+Gaddy.” He queried her, “How come I got no daddy?”
+
+“He’s dead, Simon.”
+
+“Tell, what was he like?”
+
+“I can’t rightly remember. Like you, I reckon.”
+
+“If more comes to you about him, will you tell me, Ma?”
+
+“I will.”
+
+“Granddaddy says he be the same as a father to me.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen saw her old friend Lily again one day. She had not visited with
+her since Lily had become Mrs. Craig Hedrick five years earlier. If they
+met, Lily would walk away, turning her head aside. It was late August.
+Ellen and Maria were making apple butter, the spicy fragrance filled the
+kitchen. There was a gentle knock and Ellen put down her wood ladle,
+wiping her hands on the brown-stained apron. “Yes?”
+
+“Don’t you know me, Ellie?”
+
+“Lily.” Ellen opened the door wide. “Come on in.”
+
+“I was just hankering to see you. It’s fierce lonesome at home. I ran
+off.”
+
+“What do you mean?” Ellen was taking the old tone with her at once.
+“Hush your crying.”
+
+“Craig sent me to hoe the truck beans. Hit seemed I couldn’t bear it any
+more. I up and walked away.” Lily’s blond curls that she had always
+taken such care with, were pulled into an untidy knot at the nape of her
+neck. She was stouter. “I’m afraid to go back. Craig was running the
+tractor in the corn and his man was working the mules. He told me I must
+clean the bean patch.” Her small mouth was puckered, unhappy.
+
+“Why are you afraid? He’s your husband.”
+
+The woman heaved a breath. “He’s taken to whipping me like Papa did. So
+I told him I was carrying a child to make him stop.”
+
+“Well, then?”
+
+“I’ve got no child. I can’t seem to get caught. Craig wants one as bad
+as me.”
+
+“Let’s have some coffee.” Ellen was going to the kitchen. “Ma, you know
+Lily. She’s Mrs. Hedrick, remember?”
+
+“Hey, Mrs. Gaddy.” Lily was eager.
+
+“Hey there, Lily. How’s Mester Garrett’s bees?”
+
+“Oh, my husband says Papa’s making a sight of honey this year. He’s got
+o’er twenty hives now. I’ve not been to see him myself these many
+months.” Ellen laid cups on the table while the water came to a boil.
+She put out a dish of hot apple butter, slices of fresh bread. “It’s
+like coming home here, Ellie. We used to have fun, you and me and
+Frankie. I always loved fun.”
+
+“You know,” Maria spoke up from her thoughts, “I had another girl, named
+Frankie. I dassn’t say her name. Mester Gaddy won’t brook it. She’s
+dead.” Maria was wagging her head, knowing.
+
+“Here’s your coffee, Ma,” Ellen said.
+
+“Is Frankie dead?” Lily whispered.
+
+“No, and Ma knows it. It’s a way she has, like a child, sometimes. She
+can’t seem to keep it straight.”
+
+“She can’t?”
+
+“You e’er think of seeing Doc Trumbo, Lily? Maybe he could help you and
+Craig to have a child.”
+
+Lily’s eyes were trailing Maria, breaking bread and spooning the brown
+preserves. “Reckon we could try that, Ellie.”
+
+“I always thought a heap of Craig,” Ellen said, “for taking o’er like he
+did when old Mester Hedrick was killed so sudden.”
+
+“He doesn’t have to beat me.”
+
+“You e’er think about how it was for him, Lily, back then?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Maria broke in, “But there’s a little boy lives here now. Named Simon.
+I’m his granny.”
+
+Lily spoke slowly, “I can’t even go to see my papa and mama any more.
+I’m not allowed to go home.” Grave, she was watching Maria.
+
+“Craig’s a good man.”
+
+“I know, Ellie.”
+
+“You have to stop being a girl some day. And think on the ways of a
+woman.”
+
+The three drank their coffee. Presently Lily was pushing back her chair;
+she spoke deliberately, “Reckon I’ll get back to my house. I have work
+to do. It’s a long walk. Bye, Mrs. Gaddy. Ellie.” Her retreating steps
+were heard on the stones in the yard.
+
+Suddenly Ellen was caught in a burst of tears. She put her hands to her
+face, sobbing hoarsely. She ran up the steep stairway, her bare feet
+noiseless. “I vow at that girl.” Maria took the ladle to stir the
+mixture, thick and hot in the iron kettle.
+
+Upstairs, Ellen was standing in the middle of the room, shaken,
+uncontrolled. She turned abruptly to the trunk along the wall and
+dragged open the heavy lid. She rummaged through the contents until she
+came on the two undelivered letters she had written Christian Ay. She
+ripped them into shreds in a heap on the floor. “I hate Lily and Craig
+and all the ugly ways of folks.”
+
+When she came down, her face appeared smoothed and untouched. But she
+was holding her head in such a way that when Anton saw her going to the
+woodshed, he crossed himself and muttered, “There, I thought it was you,
+Ma.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Simon was in the fourth grade. Every morning found him trudging three
+miles to the school on the Millville Pike. Until the weather turned cold
+he would go barefoot, for catalog shoes cost a dollar thirty-nine. He
+went down the lane in the flat morning sunlight, talking to the dog. He
+carried his lunch in a lard bucket. Holes were punched in its tin lid
+and it contained a bunch of concord grapes and biscuits spread with
+jelly. “Stay, Jack.” The dog’s movements were stiff. He settled on the
+bank amid blue-flowered chicory, head on forepaws, brown eyes fixed on
+the retreating figure. A tufted titmouse whistled in a cottonwood along
+the road. “Peet-O. Peet-O!” It joined the chickadees and nuthatches that
+trooped in the upper branches.
+
+In the afternoon Simon returned late, scarcely recognizable, upper lip
+swollen, dry blood caked on his face. The skin was puffing out around
+one eye, the sleeve of his shirt was torn. Anton caught sight of him
+coming up the lane and ran shouting, “What is it, Poppet?”
+
+Simon halted, scuffling his feet; he began to whine.
+
+“Speak up, son.”
+
+“That fellow mocked me.” Simon was sniffling and as he was led to the
+house, his voice rose to a wail.
+
+Ellen called from the window, “What ails him, Pa?” She came out the
+door, shading her face, hurrying down the steps in the sweet-scented
+fall air.
+
+“He’s not going back to that school.” Anton’s face was hot, his breath
+thick as he passed her, leading the child. “Crapping bastards are about
+to kill him.”
+
+Ellen followed into the kitchen. Anton was lifting Simon to the table.
+“Get a pan of water,” he told Maria. He removed the boy’s shirt,
+examined his lip.
+
+“Pa. You can see he’s been fighting. Let’s find what happened.”
+
+“We’ll send you to the parochial school. Like decent Catholics. Your
+ma’s let you run amuck.”
+
+“Please, Pa.”
+
+“The heathen can kill him before you give a care.”
+
+“Simon.” But the boy had fastened his frightened eyes on his
+grandfather, clinging to the harried look on the man’s face. Ellen
+turned away, inarticulate. Later, she was in the shed, milking her
+goats. Simon shuffled in, stood at the pen gate. The goats nibbled his
+shirt buttons and rubbed against him as he was stroking them.
+
+“I slopped the pigs and watered the team, Ma.” She waited. He was
+speaking again, “Reckon Leona’s least kid will have horns or not?”
+
+“Simon, what happened today at school?”
+
+“Looks to me like she’s a muley one.” He bent over the kid, moving the
+skin on the top of its head with his finger. “If horns were sprouting,
+it wouldn’t move free like that.”
+
+Ellen got up from the stool to strain the milk into a can. She began to
+draw the white streams from another doe.
+
+The boy said suddenly, “Granddaddy takes care of me.”
+
+She looked at him to see his eyes cold upon her. He was fingering his
+enlarged lip. She was startled. He’s turning from me. Pa’s getting hold
+of him. She put her head against the soft warm side of the spotted doe.
+
+“Granddaddy frets about me.”
+
+“Tell how you got in the fight, or I’ll whip you for a fact.”
+
+His eyes were down. “There’s a game at recess. We use a ball belonging
+to that Penn Hamm. He stores it in the drawer of his desk. Time and
+again I asked him could I take it home for one night. But he wouldn’t
+say yes.” Simon looked up. One eye was nearly shut, the bruised skin
+blue.
+
+“So?”
+
+“I studied on it and hankered after it. Yesterday I slipped it from his
+desk and put it in my pocket. After school was out.”
+
+“You could have had a ball if you’d told me.”
+
+“I wanted that ball.”
+
+“What then?”
+
+“Penn said I snitched it, and I said I didn’t. He sat under the tree and
+called me bastard Gaddy brat.”
+
+“You stole his ball, Simon. He was angered. And folks used to call me a
+Gaddy brat. Some still do, and I don’t care.”
+
+“He called me that. He laid for me coming home. I wrestled him for it
+but he got his ball back.”
+
+“Why, Simon?”
+
+“I wanted it.” His eyes were like small empty caves. “And I lost my lard
+pail too.”
+
+The night meal was pregnant with unspoken words. Then as Anton was
+leaving the kitchen he told Ellen, “I’ll take him to the sisters
+tomorrow.” She looked at him from where she was sitting. His short body
+leaned against the door casing. “Why I even got to jump on him to say
+the Lord’s Prayer right.” He cut a slice of apple tobacco with his
+slender knife. “Trespasses, he says, like heathen. The school taught him
+that. The Lord said debtors. Forgive us our debtors.” He walked softly
+into the other room.
+
+Simon was sent to bed. Ellen came into the parlor. “Pa, this isn’t
+right. Simon stole that Hamm youngen’s ball. He’s got to learn. He
+should go back and own up. He’s nine and he knows right from wrong.
+You’re always preaching the Bible and this is the time to stand by what
+it says.”
+
+“Haw. I’ll say a thing here, girl.” He was speaking fast, harsh. “He has
+no daddy, since you begot him in whoredom. Now I let him come here like
+a son. I look on him so. Don’t stand against me.”
+
+“It was the same with Frankie. You pulled her out of school too. You
+know it.”
+
+“You’re mourning because I didn’t take you out.” Anton rolled the quid
+in his mouth, continuing gently, “You know, this boy’s a good bit like
+my brother, Marc. Minds me of him.” He settled into a chair. “Some way
+Ma favored Marc o’er Garland and me.”
+
+“I know why.”
+
+“What do you know?” he drawled.
+
+“He was handsome. Not ugly like you.”
+
+“How come you say that?”
+
+“I know somewhat else.”
+
+“Speak hit.”
+
+“He wasn’t your full brother. Nell Gaddy ne’er wanted you or Uncle.
+That’s a fact.”
+
+“What?” he roared.
+
+“She married your sir because she got caught. Like me with Simon.” Ellen
+moved to stand over him, by his chair. “She ne’er wanted you, I say. She
+loved Marc for his daddy’s sake.”
+
+The man rose like an unleashed bull. He struck her so she reeled against
+the sofa. “I’ll kill you for that lying tongue.”
+
+She slipped from his hands, ran outside, down the path through the hill
+field to the orchard. She stopped running there. Night fog was drifting
+in low spots, the sky was clouded. She leaned against a twisted apple
+tree until she seemed composed. Her face became like the glass of the
+pond where there was no wind and mist was caught above. Later she wended
+up to the house to sit on the damp garden wall, waiting until the
+kitchen and the bedroom candles flicked out.
+
+In the morning, as she was pumping water into the blue pail, Anton went
+by to the house. He looked past her as if she were not there. She had
+told Simon earlier that he must go back to the Millville school, knowing
+Anton would refute her word. But she went through the motions, she
+hunted for a lard pail in the pantry, made up the lunch. She saw her
+fingers were shaking. The boy pushed his chair back and took the lunch
+pail. Anton said, “You and me are going to the Catholic school, boy. Did
+you forget? Let’s go harness Moll and Red.”
+
+Simon looked at him. Ellen knew the child was pleased and yet would hide
+this from her. He said like a question, “Bye now, Ma? I’m going now,
+Ma?”
+
+Sam was already in the field when Anton came back late in the morning.
+He was cutting cornstalks, making tall shocks that would cure until the
+long white ears were garnered. Anton joined him, swinging the heavy
+blade. “Put my boy in a proper school, Sam.”
+
+And Ellen was planning. She scrawled a letter quickly.
+
+   Dear Uncle Garland,
+
+   This is a thing I should have done long ago. I have to leave home.
+   Could you find a farmer who would hire me? My boy is 9 now. Wages as
+   deemed fair. Please answer by return post. And obliged.
+
+                                                                 Ellen
+
+The next few days she moved pallid-faced, watching for the mail car. She
+gathered honey, lulling the bees with smoke. She cut the combs into a
+galvanized washtub. The soft stuff oozed and mingled, yellow, black, and
+amber, in a heavy pool. Some of the comb she let drip free, and laid it
+in a tree fork for the bees to use again. She fastened the lids back on
+the hives. While she was doing these things, it was as if her bones
+might break were her movements too sudden. Then the RFD car was leaving
+a letter.
+
+   Dear Puss,
+
+   This is delightful. You know I have opened my Redding Street house
+   again on the north side. I’m a married man now, you see. Are you
+   surprised? Violet and I would be glad to have you and Simon visit
+   with us until you can get a job. You might learn my wife a few
+   things about housework! I am sending ten dollars herewith. Come
+   soon.
+
+                                                         Uncle Garland
+
+She put the paper in her pocket. O my strength, deliver my soul from the
+sword, my darling from the power of the dog. Save me from the lion’s
+mouth.
+
+Courageous, she went to Anton. “Simon and me are taking the train to
+Chicago to visit Uncle Garland for a spell. He’s got married and he
+wants us to come.”
+
+“You will not.” He ravened. “No.”
+
+“By the law, Simon’s mine.”
+
+The child was coughing; he clutched his chest. But the two who fought
+over him didn’t see. Their eyes narrowed, and the pale gray irises of
+father and daughter were glinting in the same way. Ellen said they would
+leave in the morning. She ordered Simon to his room after the night
+meal. He went, meek.
+
+Anton strode out to the corn field, tearing off his shirt. He dragged
+aside the standing shocks just built. Furious sweat drops were forming
+on the hairs of his chest. He snapped off the soft unseasoned ears,
+hurling them in great piles until dark engulfed the field. Reaching for
+the next stalk, he stumbled, falling. He lay panting a moment before
+getting to his feet, and came to the house to lie emptied and exhausted
+beside his sleeping wife.
+
+Sam and Ellen milked without him in the morning. They breakfasted and
+then Ellen went to the door of the bedroom. She was looking across at
+the unkempt bent figure on the bed under the crucifix, elbows on knees.
+At length she turned away, taking Simon’s hand. He held his other over
+the buttons of his shirt. “You’re not afraid?” he queried, timid.
+
+But Ellen was speaking to Maria. “I’ve got to go, Ma. You see that?”
+
+“Where you off to? Is Mester Gaddy going?”
+
+“No. Just us two.” Ellen kissed her. “It’s all I know to do, Ma.”
+
+Maria went to gaze at her husband. “Why’s he setting there?”
+
+Ellen fled with Simon. They were overtaken down the road by Dr. Trumbo,
+who gave them a lift in his rattletrap Nash to the station at New Hope.
+A north wind blew up, keening in the corners of the unheated station. It
+struck down dry autumn leaves and herded them into desolate piles. They
+boarded the train at noon. Simon mounted the iron stair before her. He
+turned and peered from the windows at the retreating town.
+
+“Don’t put your feet on the clean seats, Simon.” Ellen did not look
+back.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Anton had shaken his head at the noon meal his wife proffered him. He
+stared at the floor. In late evening he arose at last from his position
+on the bed. Maria was in the parlor poring over her gilded Bible. Anton
+took a long thin butcher knife from a kitchen drawer. He went onto the
+half-dark porch, taking down the lantern that hung on a bent nail and
+lighting it. He was making his way then with measured gait to the
+woodshed. Wind coming out of the north chattered in the branches of the
+hackberry. The yellow light was shedding over the pen of goats lying in
+oat straw. They blinked up at him. Rhodie, who was skittish, arose and
+snorted. As the man was fumbling with the gate latch the other beasts
+got to their feet, one at a time, sensing an outsider, Leona’s pair of
+three-week kids turned to her warm side when she stood, seeking her
+udder. Feverish, Anton was seeking a peg, feeling with his fingers. He
+hung the lantern, his breathing quickening.
+
+The first doe he grasped was Penny. When he bent her old neck back by
+the beard and the red ran down into the fur, she died almost gently. The
+clever ones saw his game. Rhodie was rearing upon the furthest stone
+wall; her hoofs made a subdued pattering. Leona’s white throat came
+next, for she was foolish and made no play at running away. Her two kids
+were dispatched too, uttering feeble birdlike sounds. And then Jenny and
+Babs, baaing low, were snared by their shaggy beards. Their taut silken
+throats were bending to the knife. The hot blood spouted on the straw
+and the man’s boots. He was lunging for the spotted Pie, powerful and
+large, catching her by a hind leg. She pulled loose, and bleating,
+kicked out, striking him on the neck, making a dark bruise. “Haw. Come
+here now.” He threw his body at her, encouraged the struggle. He took a
+pleasure in the battle, prolonged its ending, letting her heave, crying
+in alarm beneath his weight. Then he was dragging her along the straw to
+the knife he had dropped. Rhodie was the last. In a silent crazed way
+she was still leaping against the far wall. This doe had always been apt
+to startle since she had been left untended over a winter and spring as
+a yearling when his daughter Ellen had been away in Illinois. Rhodie’s
+small hoofs were beating again and again upon the wall. Anton trapped
+her by the collar. She made no sound, dropping slowly to the bedding.
+
+He breathed loud, threw his hand as if he had spoken and were justifying
+himself to someone. He walked out of the shed leaving the gate ajar, the
+lantern flaming. He strode to the bedroom and knew his wife. In the
+frost of the following morning Sam would come upon the stiffened bodies
+of the animals and bury them in a near field.
+
+
+                                   18
+
+While the wind of late September hurled in dreary gusts about them, the
+two stood in the chill of the next morning before the brownstone front
+of the house on Redding Street. They were walking up wet granite stairs
+strewn with blown leaves. Ellen rang the bell. The woman who opened the
+door was tall and narrow-shouldered. Her eyes were dark, and like a
+dog’s seemed to beg. Her hair was a brown mane, piled sleek. She put her
+hands on her hips. “Hi. You must be Chicken’s niece. I’m Violet. Come
+out of the wet.” She was preceding them into the living room. The old
+green carpet was shoddy. The trivia of ornaments that had burdened the
+mantle and end tables had been taken away. The oval dining room table
+had been moved into this room and the drapes replaced with white ruffled
+curtains that drooped as the starch wore out.
+
+“This room’s bright now,” Ellen said.
+
+“I like ruffles and trimmings. Is this Simon? Chicken told me about you.
+I’m Aunt Vi. Sit down. I’ll get some lunch.” She bustled out.
+
+“I’m tired, Ma.”
+
+“So am I, Simon.”
+
+“Are we e’er going back to Granddaddy’s?”
+
+“Maybe some day.” She was pushing aside the curtains, looking down into
+the street where traffic moved.
+
+“Will we live in this rich house?”
+
+“For a spell, I reckon.”
+
+“How do I call that lady?”
+
+“Aunt Violet, you say. And be mannerly.”
+
+“I’m not hungry, Ma.”
+
+“Take off your shoes. I’ll give you dry socks from the bag.” They waited
+until Garland’s wife returned with a tray of hot milk and coffee, slices
+of poundcake and a plate of bananas.
+
+“You like bananas?” she asked. “I do. I feel like one of the quality
+when I have bananas around.”
+
+“Where’s Uncle Garland?”
+
+“He’s at one of the restaurants. He’s got two, you know. He gets home
+about four-thirty and goes back till late at night. Have a banana,
+Simon. They’ll rot before you can snap your fingers.”
+
+“I don’t want any. Go away.”
+
+“Simon.”
+
+The boy began to weep softly, laying his head on the arm of the chair.
+“I’m hot.”
+
+“He doesn’t look good, Ellen. Let’s put him to bed.”
+
+“Pay no mind to his talk, Aunt Violet.”
+
+“I don’t,” she said cheerfully. “Nerts, I forgot to make up your beds.
+Wonder where I stored the sheets this time?”
+
+Upstairs in a little room, Simon was undressed and put to sleep. He
+drowsed uneasily. The bedstead was of black-enameled iron. There was a
+battered wood bureau and a cane-bottom chair. Simon awoke, whimpering,
+“Ma? Did Anse take back his ball?”
+
+“How do you mean?”
+
+“I don’t know, Ma. What did I say?”
+
+She felt the dry heat of his forehead. Violet came in the doorway. “Hi,
+Simon. Brought you some ice cream.” She offered him the little dish.
+
+He sat up, his blue eyes darkening. “I ne’er meant what I said, lady.”
+
+“I don’t mind, Simon. Eat before it melts.”
+
+“Do you have any tonic in the house?” Ellen whispered.
+
+“I think Chicken would say call the doctor.”
+
+“My pa ne’er had one. Only satchel doctor I knew let a friend of mine
+die.”
+
+“Didn’t you have one when he came?” Violet was nodding at Simon.
+
+“No.”
+
+The boy finished the ice cream, laid the dish on the faded bedspread. He
+stroked the sheet, closing his eyes. “Sing about that William, Ma.”
+
+She waited until Violet had gone.
+
+   It was in the merry merry month of May
+   When the meadows were fresh and gay
+   Sweet William hung his bugles round about his neck
+   And he went riding away
+
+He slept. Ellen went downstairs to help with the housework. Violet knew
+little about it, made simple chores tedious, and in her careless way
+laughed it off. “Chicken says, I’ve got a niece at least that’s a model
+housekeeper.”
+
+“I like things to be in the place they live.”
+
+“You take last night. The soup was ready but I forgot and put the
+potatoes in late. They weren’t done. Nerts. Good thing Chicken brings
+things home from the restaurant.”
+
+While she was talking, Ellen busied herself. She boiled starch for the
+wilted curtains. “How long have you and Uncle been married?”
+
+“I’m what they call a common-law wife. I guess I can tell you, being
+Chicken’s family so to speak. We’ve lived on the east side ever since
+thirty-two. Or was it thirty-three? Last year Chicken gave me a box of
+stationery with Mrs. Garland Gaddy on it. He says, we’ve got a checking
+account, you and me, the National Trust.”
+
+“That sounds like Uncle.” Ellen stopped scouring the bronze-trimmed
+icebox, wiped her hands.
+
+“All the time he’d had it in his head. I’ve never written a check, I
+don’t know how. Let him do that. But there’s my name with that bank.”
+
+“My.”
+
+“He told me your husband died, Ellen.”
+
+“I’ve got to look at Simon.” She was going upstairs. The covers were
+thrown back, the boy’s face reddened. When he opened his eyes, they
+stared at her bloodshot.
+
+“Penn didn’t want that ball,” he breathed.
+
+She was rushing down the long echoing staircase. “Call Uncle’s doctor,
+Vi. Simon’s really sick.”
+
+She went back. The voice met her, wheedling, “I didn’t wet the quilt,
+Da.”
+
+“Don’t talk, Simon.”
+
+“I saw that burying-beetle. He made a grave for the speckled thrush. He
+dug all about the body till it settled in the earth.”
+
+She laid a wet cloth on his forehead. Her hand was pushed away strongly.
+Now God, shall I give up my first-born for my transgression? The doctor
+arrived. The watch began. For nearly three days the fever would possess
+Simon’s body. Garland came and went but Ellen didn’t notice him, that he
+was changed, his hair whitened, his figure grown portly, his mustache
+shaved so his face had lost its sharpness. His blue eyes looked out
+shrived. Ellen saw only Simon. She sat in the cane-bottom chair and
+watched. Simon was laying his hand on his breast, “Now there’s that
+pain. I won’t tell Mama.” His voice rose, “Granddaddy clobbered old
+Jess.”
+
+Ellen asked the doctor, “How come he grabs at his chest? I’ve seen him
+do that before but he said it didn’t hurt.”
+
+“He might be afraid of something, Mrs. Gaddy, that he’s not aware of.
+Some anxiety. It’s possible.”
+
+Late in the night, Ellen was sitting alone in the glare of the small
+overhanging bulb. The doctor had said that only time would reveal the
+extent of the child’s malady and his strength to combat it. Gusts were
+rattling the house eaves, rain drummed insistent on the glass behind the
+stained brown shade. Her eyes sought patterns in the striped wallpaper.
+“Gaddy brat. Bastard Gaddy.” Simon was crying in the way of the young,
+without effort, his tears wetting the pillow.
+
+Violet came in, her brown hair hanging to the waist of her dressing-gown
+and bound with a clasp. “I had a brother,” she said, “was sick like that
+as a child. He came through. The doctor thinks Simon’s getting better.
+He told me when he went out.”
+
+“Don’t cry. Why does he cry, Aunt Violet?”
+
+“I don’t know. Maybe he’s thinking thoughts we can’t know of.”
+
+“Reckon you’re right,” Ellen sighed.
+
+“I know one way to stop it, but you might think it improper.”
+
+“What, Aunt Violet?”
+
+“I doubt the quality ever heard of it. It’s a way people did where I was
+brought up. Even with babies. We lived in the slums, all in one room.
+Mom would stroke my brother’s privates. She was forced to hush him so
+Dad could get his sleep. And it quieted him right off.”
+
+“Well, I don’t know. I’ll just use the wet cloth.”
+
+“How is he?” Garland’s rasp sounded from the door. “Just closed up the
+restaurant. Busy tonight. It’s after midnight.”
+
+Ellen didn’t turn. “He’s better, it seems.”
+
+“He is, Chicken. The first time he’s resting good. I’ll go make your
+tea. You want some too, Ellen?”
+
+“Sure she does, Vi.”
+
+She pattered away down the hall. “Won’t be long.”
+
+Garland was coming in by the bed. “Poor fellow. He’s a fine kid, puss.”
+
+“I know it.” Tears began to flow down her tired face. “You-all been so
+good. Taking us in, Uncle.”
+
+“Chrissake, hon. It’s Anton, isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Was he mistreating the kid?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Hell, then he was lording it over you?”
+
+“Not that, I don’t mind that.” She was whispering, weeping. “Seemed he
+didn’t care for Simon’s good.”
+
+“Hell, that’s An. Wish there was some way to make him see the light.”
+
+“Only to have him do his bidding.”
+
+“What makes that bastard that way? I’m fed up with him. I’m done.”
+
+“To make Simon a part of him like his own son would be.” Ellen was
+looking up. She saw that Garland was old. He had always seemed young,
+vigorous. “When I got your letter, Uncle. Saying we could come here. It
+was like a way opened up.”
+
+“Your letter to me was pretty plain. I thought I knew what the trouble
+was. I suspected Anton then.” His small angry eyes cooled. “You know how
+tickled Vi is with you both?”
+
+“I like her.”
+
+“We’ve been married a long time. Since about thirty-two, I think.”
+
+“Like I wrote,” she looked at Simon who breathed evenly in sleep, “I
+want to get a job right away, though.”
+
+“How old is he anyway?”
+
+“Nine, now.”
+
+“Frankie told me she thought your husband had died.”
+
+“Yes.” The wind rushed, pushing rain sharply against the pane.
+
+“Frankie said what a nice kid Simon was. She’ll be glad to see him, too.
+We’ll have her over.”
+
+“I’m so tired, Uncle.” She looked at him, vacant. “I can’t think so
+good. Does Frankie live near here?”
+
+“Just you take it easy.” He put his hand at Simon’s forehead. “Feels
+cool to me.” The humming of Violet who was mounting the stairs came, and
+then dishes were rattling in an adjoining room. “Let’s go have some hot
+tea and ginger-bread. Do you good, sweet.”
+
+“I’d better stay here.”
+
+“You can come back. In a little while.” He jerked the chain dangling
+from the overhead light. He drew her from the darkened room.
+
+Ellen slept late into the morning like one drugged. Simon dozed. The
+fever had disappeared, with it went the constriction in his chest. When
+he roused, Violet tiptoed up to amuse him, making shadow-pictures on the
+wall with her thin hands. “I used to do this for my brother.”
+
+Garland came home, stood in the doorway. “There’s nobody like my Vi,
+Simon.”
+
+“Do the little goat now,” the boy whispered.
+
+Ellen went down to the kitchen in the evening. Violet was in a rocker by
+the tin-topped table. The radio was blaring.
+
+   The music goes round and round
+   O-o-o-o-o-o
+   And it comes out here
+
+The woman snapped it off. “Hi. How is he, Ellen?”
+
+“Fine. I promised him a kitten. Reckon we could find one?”
+
+“I’ll tell Chicken. He’ll get you one somewhere. Have a cup?” They sat
+in the kitchen room that was littered as in the days of Mrs. Quimby’s
+reign. Years of neglect and Violet’s efforts had done little to improve
+it. The chipped sink was touched up, the cupboards were painted cream
+color, and a square of red-and-white linoleum was on the wood floor. The
+fireplace was still unused, the opening blocked. “If times get better,
+we’ll fix the house up, Ellen. Get an electric icebox and a new stove
+and sink.”
+
+Ellen drank the tea. “Violet, did Uncle look for a job for me yet?”
+
+“He’s watching the want ads. We’d like you to stay here as long as you
+can. Have you ever worked out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I have. Since I was eleven. One place they had a special French toilet
+in their bathroom. When they finished their business on the regular one,
+they switched to it. It washed them off with a spray. Now it was
+outlandish.”
+
+“Those French are tormented clean folks. My great grandsir was one.”
+
+“You don’t say.”
+
+The front door slammed. “Where are you, Vi?”
+
+She bayed, “Here, Chicken.”
+
+Garland was pushing the swinging door. “Home is the sailor, home from
+the sea. And the hunter from the hill.” He kissed Violet’s cheek. “I’ll
+have some of that tea.”
+
+“Ellen wants you to find Simon a kitten. He likes pets.”
+
+“I’ll ask Charlie. He’s got cats. Charlie’s my dishwasher. Say, we’re
+going to have company in a couple of hours. Frankie’s coming.”
+
+“I just remembered supper,” Violet cried. “Nerts, I’ll never get it
+together.”
+
+“Yes, we will,” Ellen gathered the teacups. “How’s Frankie’s
+piano-playing now, Uncle?”
+
+“Oh, hon,” Garland was laughing, “when did you see her last?”
+
+At six-thirty, Frankie arrived, Genevieve Wheeler, stout and amiable,
+just behind her. “How’s the farm, Ellen?”
+
+“It’s fine, Miss Wheeler.”
+
+“Take my coat, Gen, will you?” Frankie’s red hair was long and she wore
+a pearl comb in it. Her fine features had filled out and she had lost
+her frailness, was somewhat plump.
+
+“All righty. I’ll go put these chocolate eclairs in the frig.” Genevieve
+was striding vigorously into the hall.
+
+“Oh sure, Ellie. We’ve been visiting Uncle and Vi ever since Pa tossed
+me out. We live on the east side.” Frankie’s eyes appraised Ellen.
+“You’re different. Older, I guess.” She had her hand on Ellen’s arm, was
+kissing her cheek.
+
+Ellen drew away. “And I am older, so what’s that if I look it?” She
+spoke sharply from the wound.
+
+“Did Pa make you go? We didn’t believe Uncle when he said you were in
+the city. And Simon, too.”
+
+“I told Pa I was leaving.”
+
+“Are you raising Simon Catholic?”
+
+“Well, Pa took him to church, but I don’t go. I got weary of the prayers
+and such.”
+
+“Pa know that?”
+
+“I talked to Father Tompert once and he said I was right. So Pa gave
+in.”
+
+“I always got a kick out of the way you defied him, Ellie. I never
+dared. How is he?”
+
+“The same.” It tasted bitter. “It’s us that have got to change.”
+
+“I’m glad you left. But how are you going to get along? Are you staying
+here?”
+
+“No, I want to find a place on a farm, Frankie. So I can work and Simon
+can help with the stock.”
+
+Genevieve was in the doorway, hearty-voiced, “I know a farmer might be
+able to take you, Ellen.”
+
+“Where, Gen?” Frankie was asking.
+
+“Down in the state somewhere. Wasilewski’s the name. One of their
+cousins works in my office. He was reading a letter yesterday about his
+aunt getting old and wanting to hire a girl. Sounded nice.”
+
+“Let’s write them,” Frankie cried.
+
+“Wonder if they have cows.” The desire caught in Ellen’s throat to lay
+her hands on the silken hair and smell the pungent kine breath.
+
+“Sure,” Genevieve said. “I guess. Cows and pigs and chickens. The works.
+We’ll write them, Ellen.”
+
+“And we’ll call you,” Frankie promised, “as soon as we find out.”
+
+“I don’t get it,” Genevieve said. “Wouldn’t you rather find something
+here in Chicago? My kind of work’s so much more interesting than the
+drudgery of a farm. It’s stimulating.”
+
+“No, Miss Wheeler.”
+
+“You could live with us,” Frankie offered. “You could do steno work like
+me.”
+
+“I’ll bet Garland would be tickled silly if you’d stay with them,”
+Genevieve said.
+
+“Vi’s such a slob,” Frankie giggled.
+
+“She’s not,” said Ellen. “She’s good.”
+
+“I didn’t say she wasn’t good,” Frankie was shrugging. “But she’s a
+slob. She’s perfect for her Chicken.”
+
+“Garland thinks he’s taking care of the downtrodden,” said Genevieve.
+
+“She’s good,” Ellen repeated.
+
+“Why don’t you stay, then?” Genevieve asked.
+
+“They need a housekeeper,” said Frankie.
+
+“I’d rather be on a farm, if I could. Besides, Simon can’t bear to be
+cooped up.” But Ellen knew she wanted to be away from Garland and his
+wife, and Frankie and Genevieve Wheeler. She wanted to leave all ties,
+to start on new ground.
+
+The next day, Frankie called to say they had mailed the letter and when
+the reply came would let Ellen know without delay. Ellen walked through
+the park, Simon beside her. Leaves were dropping, scudding into damp
+niches, mingling with soot particles and bits of paper and debris that
+gathered in gutters. Sleet sheeted from a dull sky. They returned to the
+house. Violet was bringing a bowl of popcorn into the living room.
+Garland urged Ellen, “_Top Hat_’s at the Acme tonight. With Fred Astaire
+and Ginger Rogers. Why don’t you come with us, puss?”
+
+“I don’t care to.”
+
+“Make me some fudge, Ma.”
+
+“All right.” When Garland and Violet had left, they went into the
+kitchen. Simon sat in the rocker while Ellen was hunting through
+cupboards for ingredients.
+
+“When you reckon Uncle will get my kitten, Ma?”
+
+“Soon, he said.”
+
+“Wonder if Leona’s kid sprouted horns?”
+
+“Uncle says the man that washes dishes at the restaurant has a cat that
+littered. But they aren’t weaned yet.” She was stirring the hot mixture
+in the iron pan, the strong odor of chocolate filled the air.
+
+Simon stared at the red-and-white checked linoleum, held the arms of the
+chair to keep it from movement. “Reckon Sam milks the goats out good?”
+
+She poured the thick fudge on a buttered cold plate. Her body was tense
+and unyielding. Her braids lay like marble coils about her head. “Uncle
+says those kits are spotted. Black and white and orange.”
+
+Simon got up and followed her into the living room. He was nibbling at a
+sweet brown square, his eyes looking past the ruffed curtains to the
+steady noise of the street. “I say, Ma, I get to honing for them.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was two weeks before Frankie came for an evening again. “Why in the
+world did you and Uncle move from the old flat, Vi?” She was laughing.
+“It takes us an hour to get over to this side.”
+
+“Did you e’er hear from those people, Frankie?” Ellen asked.
+
+“Who?”
+
+“About that farm.”
+
+“Oh yes. We meant to call you. Gen’s got a letter from them.”
+
+“It’s here somewhere in my bag.” Genevieve searched.
+
+Ellen took it quickly to slit it open.
+
+   Mrs. Gaddy.
+
+   I hear you want to hire out. Winter work is light here. Can you come
+   say latter part of Jan.? If satisfactory would pay 4 & half dollars
+   per week and board. Child to work according to size. My wife raises
+   chickens. Needs help with them and house. Also garden-stuff. That is
+   all I have to say.
+
+                                               Matthew Paul Wasilewski
+                                                    Hidden Creek, Ill.
+                                                                 Rt. 1
+
+“Well?” asked Gen. “Good or bad?”
+
+“They’ll take us. But not till after winter.” She colored. “I know where
+Hidden Creek is. Penny Dougherty lives near there.”
+
+“Well,” said Violet when she heard the news, “I’m glad it’s not till
+January at least.”
+
+“It’s that I hate putting you and Uncle out.”
+
+“Nerts, you don’t. We wish you’d stay.”
+
+“Can I have my own horse there, Ma?”
+
+“We’ll see if you can leastwise have a chicken.”
+
+“Let me have it as soon as it hatches. I’ll give it all its feed and
+raise it for a pet.”
+
+“Never heard of a pet chicken,” Violet said.
+
+“When’s Uncle going to bring me the kitten, Aunt Vi?”
+
+“I’ll get after him again, Simon. He’s always busy.”
+
+“I’d love a spotty kitten.”
+
+Ellen cleaned the house as the weeks flowed. With strong yellow soap she
+scrubbed into corners, taking a pleasure in the dark lather that would
+form in the ancient dust. She pulled down drapes, hauled dingy frayed
+rugs out on the line strung in the yard and set Simon to beating them in
+the cold autumn sunlight. “You got to polish brass with wood ashes mixed
+in oil. Hit’s the only way,” she told Violet. “It mars our hands but the
+brass comes shiny like new.”
+
+Violet, thin arms akimbo, followed, protesting. “Look at you, Ellen. Let
+it be. We don’t mind. Come on and sit.”
+
+“I’d rather finish this off first, Aunt Vi.” She felt a compulsion to
+drive her body as if that would make the days shorter.
+
+
+                                   19
+
+There was a heavy fall of snow in the early afternoon. All city noises
+were dulled. Violet had spread newspapers before her and she was sipping
+hot tea. “Says here they found a frozen man on the el steps, people
+walking around him. You think they figured he was sleeping?” The
+telephone rang and Violet picked it up. “Hello. Yes, we’ll accept it.
+Hold the line, ma’am, she’s right here. It’s Millville, Ellen.”
+
+Ellen grasped the phone. She could scarcely hear the voice of Sam Offut.
+“Ellie? Your Ma’s acting queer. Mester Gaddy’s got to pull her out of
+the wardrobe to get the meals. You best come and do somewhat with her.”
+
+“Oh, Sam.”
+
+“She’s not been the same since you left. I allow I don’t know how we’ll
+make out at butchering.”
+
+“Is Pa all right?”
+
+“For Gawd, Ellie. He thinks she’s being ornery. But I don’t know. Seems
+like she’s off her head to me.”
+
+“Where are you, Sam?”
+
+“At Love’s. I traded a basket of eggs. The hens are doing good for this
+weather. I says to the central, there’s a Garland Gaddy lives at
+Chicago. He’s got my boss’s niece there. Ellie Gaddy. Can you get her to
+this phone? She says, collect? I says, look, I got no money. Can you fix
+it so I don’t have to pay? Lo and behold, I was about to walk out when
+Stacey hollers, it’s for you, Sam. How about this age of miracles?”
+
+“I’m hanging up, Sam. I’ll come some way.” She cut off his voice. “What
+do you reckon that call cost, Aunt Vi?”
+
+“What’s the matter, Ellie?”
+
+“I want to know. I’ll pay it back.”
+
+When Ellen told Frankie, the young woman laughed as if embarrassed, the
+light catching in her blue eyes. “I’m done with all that, Ellie. You can
+go.”
+
+“Haven’t you got any pity for Ma? Uncle says she has to be taken to a
+place the state runs.”
+
+“When she’s there, we’ll go visit her. And Gen and me will give what
+money we can spare.” Frankie’s full face was set, her mouth pouting.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen and Garland were going by train to New Hope, leaving Simon in
+Violet’s care. Garland hired a man to drive them to the Gaddy farm. The
+corduroy country roads were uneven because of the freezing and thawing
+of winter, and they were jostled in the back seat of the worn-out Model
+T. Garland was relaxed as he stared out at the countryside. His jaw had
+dropped, the flesh was folding on his face about the age lines. Shaving
+his mustache had given him a guileless expression, and with Violet not
+present, he had laid aside his forced lusty manner. They were passing
+Bailey’s Woods. Ellen recalled the glowbugs that had lit the path sides
+with fitful orange lights when she played there as a child on summer
+evenings. Now dead twigs of tree branches tangled and meshed like
+spiders’ webs. A winter wren on a lean bough was whistling, “Teakettle,
+teakettle, teakettle!” and with a whirr fading down the road toward the
+sky where gray clouds lived uncared for.
+
+“It’s not your father’s fault about Maria, puss.” Garland was speaking
+suddenly. “Don’t go blaming it on him.”
+
+“Who’s laying it to him?” flashed Ellen.
+
+“You know, Maria had a hard childhood. Her people were queer, you might
+say. Her mother was over forty when Maria was born and her father going
+on sixty. Christ. Must have near starved some winters back in the hills.
+He’d go off and leave the two of them to fend for themselves. Probably
+half crazy.”
+
+“I don’t think so.” Ellen’s mouth was stubborn.
+
+“Anton said he was a hunchback. Had Maria’s dowry stuffed in a gunnysack
+fastened with binder twine. Fifteen hundred dollars in coin and bills.”
+
+“That’s the way he was. I don’t call it so queer.”
+
+The house appeared uninhabited as they approached. Jack came out from
+the hole he had made for warmth in the earth behind the leaf-bare
+bushes. He watched them dull-eyed, uncertain. Garland called at the
+bottom of the porch; there was no answer. He set out for the barns while
+Ellen went up into the house. The porch was littered with mud and
+manure, in the kitchen the floor was tracked and the usual order on
+Maria’s shelves and table was broken. Ellen guessed that Sam had been
+making an effort to clean up and wash the dishes. Her pulse was pounding
+as she glanced at the bedroom. She draped her coat on a hook and drew
+off her winter boots. She went slowly into the room and over to the dark
+standing closet. The heavy crucifix was looming on the wall over the bed
+by the light from the little windows. It was a dream. From another time.
+She was in the cellar of her childhood, her feet fixed and immovable.
+There was someone behind her with a stick, waiting to perform a vague
+frightful act. Her heart was beating like a living stone as she dragged
+open the double doors to the closet.
+
+Maria’s birdlike eyes looked up from where she sat, clad in a long
+maroon sweater and a worn housedress. “I got my little boy here, Mam.
+He’s a bit cold. But he’s not dead by a long sight. That whippoorwill
+was wrong.” She had cradled a pillow in the crook of her arm. Her hair
+was loosely braided, gray wisps straggled over her face.
+
+“Ma,” Ellen whispered.
+
+Maria was frowning. “Shut the doors. I allowed he was out there in the
+ground moldering and turning. But he’s right here. Shut them now.”
+
+“It’s Ellie, Ma.” But the woman bowed her head into her shielding hands,
+waiting until the doors would close.
+
+Ellen went into the kitchen. “She’s stark mad.” She stirred up the fire,
+adding lighter-wood and a log from the bin.
+
+The three men scraped noisily coming up the porch and into the room.
+They stood in their muddied boots, their breath steaming up. Anton
+stamped his boots and coughed, rubbing his fingers together above the
+stove.
+
+“Evening, Ellie,” Sam said.
+
+She nodded, holding herself from them, over at the side by the windows
+where a chill seeped in.
+
+Anton had on his black bear-fur cap, the collar of his tattered mackinaw
+was turned up. He shrugged and said directly to Garland, “So hell, I’d
+get her out mealtimes. She wouldn’t go to mass and the last few days she
+wouldn’t get in bed. Hum.” He inquired softly, “Has she gone loony?”
+
+“Would she cook for you?” Garland asked.
+
+“Fair to middling,” said Sam.
+
+“But always she’d set out for the bedroom,” Anton was saying, “and I’d
+pull her back. Like she aimed to anger me.”
+
+“She needs a doctor, An. And care.”
+
+“What are you fixing to do?”
+
+“I’ll have to make some calls first. Where’s the nearest phone? I think
+the state will take her. We have to see a doctor and you’ll have to sign
+papers. You come with me, An.”
+
+“Go hitch Red,” Anton said. The hired man went as bid.
+
+“Where is she now, hon?” Garland asked Ellen.
+
+“In the closet,” Ellen whispered. “She ne’er knew me.”
+
+“And why should she?” Anton was glaring at her, hurt and reproachful.
+Like old Jess led to the sourwood scaffold in the yard. “Isn’t that
+right, Gar? There’s a great daughter. That one.” The door slammed after
+him in a gust of cold air, and Ellen shrank.
+
+“Your ma’s probably best off right where she is, puss. She isn’t violent
+or anything?”
+
+“No. Just sitting there harmless. She used to do that sometimes when Pa
+had his back up. I thought it was a place for her to get away. Far as I
+can remember she’d do that. But now she’s talking daft and she didn’t
+know me.”
+
+They stood, hands hanging useless. Nothing moved. The silence was
+complete. Then the buckwagon clattered outside. Garland roused, picked
+up his homburg hat. “Be back late. Not much of a Christmas this year,
+hon.” From the window she watched them climb onto the seat. The chestnut
+horse was restive, its winter coat woolly and ungroomed, dry manure
+casing its flanks and legs. It carried its broomlike tail high and pawed
+the ground. It moved off, the two figures hunched against the cold,
+heads drawn down into scarves and collars.
+
+Ellen left the house, going toward the woodshed. She called to the dog
+but he had disappeared. She went seeking her goats. She met Sam, and
+learned of their destruction from him, “You know your pa e’er was a
+strong-willed man, Ellie. And you be cut off the same last. I saw that
+when you were yet a set-along child. You’d ne’er squall when he took a
+stick to you. It wasn’t natural.” Sam was wagging a gnarled hand.
+
+Ellen’s mind had only partly encompassed what he told her. She was
+conscious of the faint liquor scent. “What’ll I do, Sam?”
+
+“You hadn’t ought to torment him so.” Sam was stooped over, holding one
+hand on a hip as if an ache lay underneath. “Being as you’re a ooman
+grown now, you ought to stand behind him. Mrs. Gaddy’s no use any more.”
+
+Ellen wasn’t listening. “Where’d you put them, Sam?”
+
+He went before her to the orchard edge. “I threw them in the wagon and
+toted them down here. For Gawd, took a big hole. Wore me plumb out.”
+
+When he had gone, Ellen looked about at the familiar landscape. Penny
+and Leona and spotted Pie. Rhodie and the shaggy yearlings. Pa gave me
+an eye for an eye, it appears. Burning for burning, stripe for stripe.
+Because I took Simon. It’s my goats for Simon. Life for life. That’s an
+enduring fine trade. At last she was wending back up the hill field.
+Darkness dropped almost instantly as it does in the short days of the
+year. The bark of a dog fox was rising shakily from the woods, the eerie
+sound lingered. Ellen’s hands in her pockets were stiff and cold. She
+blew on them and rubbed them. “I’ll ne’er have truck with my pa again.”
+
+From the house, squares of lamplight were wavering. Ellen entered, heard
+Dr. Trumbo’s murmur. The Gaddy brothers were sitting with him, and
+papers were spread before them. They all wore their overcoats, and their
+headgear was cast near their hands as though, in the half-warmth of the
+kitchen, they were passers-by with a bit of business to perform here.
+Ellen removed her coat. She shook the grate in the stove and laid a
+fresh fire. That’s all we be. Passers-by. Strangers sitting in His home,
+dragging the past on our shoes. If we could but lose that burden, start
+afresh. The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth are
+set on edge. There’s Pa whom I ever loved, thinking of ways to make him
+see me since I was a least youngen, following him with my eyes, running
+to do for him. But I never saw Pa for himself, only for the way I wished
+him, like the songs that seem to happen in another land. From this
+valley they say you are going, we will miss your bright eyes and sweet
+smile. I loved Pa in the land of myself, in a valley of my mind. While
+Ellen was mixing the corn meal, her hand was turning the egg and
+buttermilk into it quickly. Tears started and fell unheeded.
+
+She laid plates before the men and they ate silent by the mellow light.
+Forks and knives chinked. The smell of burning oil pervaded the room.
+Ellen went to where the woman hid herself. “Come get your supper, Ma.”
+Maria laid her head on her knees. Ellen brought her a dish and she
+accepted it. The doctor and Garland were lighting cigarettes, Anton
+puffed his pipe. Ellen finished the dishes and swept the floor. Dr.
+Trumbo arose then, it was time to go. He drew Maria struggling and
+whimpering from her place, and Ellen persuaded her to change from her
+ragged clothes. “Here, Ma. Take off that sweater and those rags. Put
+this on.” She was offering the old crepe de Chine dress. “It’s silk.”
+
+“Well,” Maria felt of the black material. She was putting her pillow
+down. When she had dressed they came into the kitchen where the others
+waited.
+
+“All set?” asked Dr. Trumbo.
+
+Anton was watching his wife from where he still sat at the table. He was
+pushing tobacco angrily with his thumb into the pipe bowl. “There goes
+the last of my oomen-folk. Now who’s to do the cooking, Gar? Sam, you
+think?”
+
+“I’ll get her bag.” Garland went into the shadowed bedroom.
+
+“I’ve been a righteous man. And pious,” Anton carped harshly.
+
+“Here we go, Mrs. Gaddy.” The doctor was taking Maria’s arm; he led the
+way with Ellen to the car, into the black night.
+
+Garland was bringing Maria’s valise. He paused at the open door to the
+porch. Light from the kitchen made a hesitant path reaching to the top
+step. “Goodbye, An.” Car lights had beamed suddenly in the yard,
+revealing the shrouded figures of the women climbing into the back seat.
+Garland cleared his throat. “I’ll remember when I first met Maria.”
+
+Anton did not move. Pipe smoke wreathed and dimmed his lined face, his
+strong shoulders, his powerful arms stretched on the table before him.
+“Man born of ooman is of few days, Gar.”
+
+Garland was running his soft hand nervously through his white hair,
+fingering the place where his mustache had used to be. He hurried down
+the steps. “Let’s go, Doc.”
+
+Ellen sat in back with Maria, dust from the car floor mingled with a
+vague clinical smell. She drew an old alpaca robe about their knees; it
+was damp to her hands, musty.
+
+“I remember winters, Doc,” Garland was saying. “We cut shoes from hides
+my father tanned. They had only one last so both shoes were cut the
+same. Pa’d say, your feet will wear them into shape to fit. Times I
+thought it was the shoes shaping my feet.”
+
+“You think everyone nowadays buys shoes, Mester Gaddy? They come down
+out of the back country or I hunt them out. Ridden with hookworm,
+wearing shoes made like yours were, no right or left.”
+
+“Chrissake, bet you see some things, Doc?”
+
+“Sure. Blacksnake root for the stomach. Butterfly root for female
+trouble.” Dr. Trumbo grunted. “Lady came in yesterday. Said she was near
+starvation. She was down to her last chicken and couldn’t wring its
+neck. Said it was her pet.”
+
+“That’s the lot of a farmer.”
+
+“That’s right, Mester Gaddy. Always dealing with death. The youngens
+play with the calves and lambs and maybe teach them tricks. Then they
+have to watch them slaughtered. Always losing whate’er they get attached
+to.” The feeble lights of the car parted the night. Ellen watched the
+slack shoulders of the men before her. Maria breathed deeply, the pillow
+slipping from her angular fingers.
+
+“Fellow was a grave digger, see?” Garland was telling an old joke. “He
+dug one too deep, this time. So he was shouting up from it, help. Get me
+out of here. I’m freezing. A drunk came staggering along and he looked
+in. Says, Hell, fellow, no wonder. They forgot to cover you up. And he
+began to throw in what was shoveled out.”
+
+“Now, that’s a good one,” Dr. Trumbo was whispering. “I’ll remember it.
+Sure wish I had you to go the rounds with me.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+A day later Ellen and Garland were back in Chicago. Simon met them at
+the front door. “Look here, what Aunt Vi gave me for my Christmas.” A
+sleeping calico kitten was within his shirt, a soft lump.
+
+Ellen laughed at him, “My.”
+
+When Simon touched it with a finger, the kitten stretched a paw and
+yawned. Simon was delighted. “See that?”
+
+“You made him right at home, boy,” Garland cried.
+
+Violet was stepping down the wide staircase, trailing her housecoat, her
+hair undone, her eyes wistful. Garland put his arm about her tall form.
+“Miss me, wife?”
+
+“Sure did, Chicken. I didn’t hear the doorbell, I was sleeping so hard.
+You know Simon was in the school play? He was the shepherd and he
+brought a gift.”
+
+“No, I ne’er,” said the boy. “I just knelt by the sheep, singing ‘Round
+John Virgin.’”
+
+Garland was carving the holiday ham that night. “Next year we’re going
+to have a turkey, Vi. I hear they might vote FDR in for another term.
+We’ll see prosperity again.”
+
+Ellen watched Simon eating, struck by it. He held the fork in his left
+hand, pushing the food with the knife as his grandfather did. She said
+abruptly, “How come you hold your fork so? I ne’er noticed that. It’s
+not proper. Your fork goes in the right hand.”
+
+“Let him eat Christmas dinner like he wants, puss.”
+
+Reckon I’ll always see those ways Pa stamped on him. Simon was reaching
+for the ketchup and pouring it heavily on the potatoes, his head bent
+over his plate. She remembered how he said, “Mind now,” to the kit. She
+was wondering if that too came from Anton.
+
+“Now these quality,” Violet was saying, “had an exercise machine. You
+could hear it clear down in the kitchen. It was bolted to the floor and
+there was a wide belt they put around them. It juggled their stomach or
+wherever there was a fat spot and it just rubbed it away.”
+
+“Say now, that’s what I need.” Garland was patting his stomach.
+
+
+                                   20
+
+Anton and Dyke were loading the Burwell truck for the trip to
+Louisville. It was late January. They had become familiar with the town
+since their first excursion six years ago at the beginning of the
+depression. They had come to know the wholesale section and the
+waterfront district where the Ohio flowed and where auctions were
+conducted in the shadow of tobacco warehouses and mills and the
+newly-operated distilleries, reeking and guarded. Now too, they would
+manage more than one yearly trip. They found it necessary, in fact, to
+go many times.
+
+Sam Offut had moved in with Anton the week after Maria went, bringing
+along his wife Eadie. She was plagued with lumbago and vestiges of
+various diseases contracted when much younger, and she seemed satisfied
+to settle with Sam in Mr. Gaddy’s house for as long as she was required.
+She learned to carry out her duties to his partial satisfaction. She
+cooked three meals and cleaned occasionally. She was cowed, however, by
+the Catholic icons, refusing to dust the crucifix or the statuettes or
+the framed Sacred Heart. “Be careful what you say near the things,
+Samuel,” she warned, “they be Romish. You know Mr. Gaddy’s not a true
+Christian like us.” The Offuts would go to the new Holiness Church that
+had set up a tent on the outskirts of Millville. There folks spoke in
+strange tongues and preachers would handle rattlesnakes and fire and
+encourage public confession. Besides being entertained, the Offuts had
+found an ideal place to express themselves without censure.
+
+This morning Eadie was bringing sandwiches of bread and bacon to the
+truck. Dyke was gunning the motor and a white smoke streamed from the
+exhaust. Six fattened shoats, stowed behind the load of corn, grunted
+and squealed until the machine was set in motion. Then they were lulled,
+grew sleepy-eyed swaying warm-bodied against each other. “I’m going to
+get me a piece of cock tonight, Mester Gaddy,” Dyke sang out.
+
+“Do that, boy,” Anton glowered.
+
+“Hey. I like a ooman built like a brick shithouse.” Dyke’s ruddy face
+shone. Beside the taciturn older man he was feeling debonair and
+knowing. “Big and soft all o’er. And I know where they’ve got them.” He
+blew the horn, “Beep. Beep!” A flock of chickens fled squawking into
+ditches from the carcass of a dog that lay in the frosted road. “Want me
+to show you where, Mester Gaddy?”
+
+“No. Christ.”
+
+“Setting about the room in wrappers. Nothing underneath. For a fact,
+now.”
+
+“You’ll get the claps and come home dragging your tail. Hum. Won’t be so
+horny then, I vow. Best stay away from harlots, boy.”
+
+“Now, there’s one old girl does a trick with a cigarette. You’d ne’er
+think she could do it.”
+
+“Get your pecker down, boy.” Anton looked out on the frozen fields that
+waited fallow for spring. “Give not thy strength unto oomen. Mind.”
+
+“Reckon the corn’ll sell high, Mester Gaddy?”
+
+“Prices always come up in late winter. Seems most folks are so strapped
+for cash in fall, they’ll sell when hit’s cheap.”
+
+The stoutish younger man and the other near sixty were drawn together in
+the close cab, knitted by the future, unforeseen. The return trip would
+be different, then the tie would fall away as tomorrow became a routine
+of familiar chores. Dyke was laughing. “Hey, Mester Gaddy. Saw Butcher
+Faust last night. He’d just got in a cow carcass. Still had the udder on
+it. So he sliced off a front teat and let it hang out his fly. Old lady
+Brenner came in. He took her order, started in to cut her meat for her.
+Well, she jerked up of a sudden. Says, timid-like, look there, Butcher
+Faust. And he looked down, says, Oh that damn thing. And lays it on the
+block, whacks it off with his knife.”
+
+“Haw,” snorted Anton.
+
+“Old lady Brenner near passed out. That Butcher Faust slays me.”
+
+Hog prices had nearly doubled over the fall rate. The men found a buyer
+for the corn and stopped in at a dingy corner bar for a glass of draught
+beer before parting company. Then Anton was making his way down Market
+Street, a bleak wind thrusting at his back, up the sleeves to his
+mackinaw and ill-fitting black suit. He took a left turn for two blocks,
+then a right. He swung in at the second house, his stride unaltered. The
+building was of red brick, one of a series of identical houses. The long
+hall was unheated and dark, a radio lilted faintly from under a doorway.
+
+   I don’t want your sugar sprinkled in my tea
+   Because the gal I’ve got is sweet enough for me
+
+Anton was climbing a staircase, knocking at the door at the head. A
+shapely woman opened it, her jet-black hair heavy about her
+sallow-skinned broad face. Anton spoke thickly, “You alone, Rose?”
+
+“I’ve been looking for you, Daddy.” She was turning in a studied
+careless way. He put a heavy-muscled hand toward the slim curve of her
+back, withdrew it hastily as if caught between guilt and greed. He
+closed the door and followed her to the window where she was looking out
+as if waiting. His hand came upon her insistent, he was pulling her to
+the bed.
+
+She asked him after a while, “Why don’t you ever kiss me? And you with
+those big lips.” She was slipping into her wrapper. He followed her with
+his eyes, made no answer. She took his coat from the chair, explored the
+inner pocket and brought out a flat box. “Why not, Daddy?” She was
+deriding, but gentle, for the kind elderly farmer suited her. She had
+met him a few months ago, knew he was Catholic with a wife committed
+recently to an institution. She opened the gift box holding a red and
+blue silk handkerchief. Louisville, Kentucky. The Biggest Wholesale
+Distributor Of The South. She knotted it softly at her neck, wise that
+the vivid colors set off her hair. She planned that she would marry
+Anton. She was preparing supper on a two-burner hot plate, boiling
+spaghetti, searing ground meat in a frying pan. “Vo-do-do-dee-o-do-o-o!
+Guess I’ll teach you to dance, Daddy. Okay?”
+
+From the bed he was taking in the figure in the bright kimono that
+contrasted so completely with the shadow of Maria. He would leave
+Louisville tomorrow, returning to the farm. But he would be restless and
+irritable, lonely, his sin again unconfessed. “Come o’er here, Poppet.”
+
+She was going to the bed. He took her to his lap. His sateen shirt was
+open and she stroked the red hair of his chest. “You’re a comfortable
+man. You’re strong.”
+
+“Rose, you wait here for me.” He was heated. “Don’t see e’er a man. You
+hear?”
+
+“I don’t know.” But Rose said it as if she would obey.
+
+“This little grandson of mine had hair would turn pale in summer, like
+oat straw. Hum.” Rose went back to where the savory odors were steaming.
+She laid dishes and brought glasses of beer to a low table. Anton drew
+on his pants, fastening his belt; he pulled his heavy frame erect, began
+to pace back and forth. His yellowed winter underwear was exposed above
+the waist. He stopped in his stride as if angry, “Will you do like I
+say, Rose?”
+
+“Okay, Daddy.” But this time she was amused and said it as though she
+would not.
+
+The next morning Rose was frying ham and eggs for breakfast. The stale
+air in the flat was surfeited with the high fat odor. She made her ways
+soft so the pain of parting would lie in Anton like a hot ball. She was
+teasing him so he would never be quite sure away from her and would
+remember her standing by him in the bright-flowered kimono, her hips
+soft and her city face white. She was forking the food onto his plate.
+Anton observed the lift of her arm along her breast; he laid his gnarled
+hand against the pointed shape of it, his mind turning to a morning long
+years ago.
+
+The girl Penny, who married that fool Dougherty, had worn a flowered
+dress patterned like Rose’s kimono. She had come to the hay field to
+bring Anton a drink of water in a stone jar. He was turning the damp
+clover alone. The girl watched him drink, smiling. “It’s a power hot out
+here, Mester.” She was lifting her hands to brush back her hair, seeking
+the breeze. She looked cool from her head to her brown toes that were
+small as a youngen’s. Something stirred in Anton when her breasts stood
+out as she raised her arms. He put his hand forward hardly knowing what
+he did, and cupped one in his palm. “Are you coming in the heat?” he was
+whispering, hoarse. Penny’s eyes had widened. She was bending for the
+jug and slipping away. In days to follow he named her “that roaring
+ooman,” angered with his own calflike ways, despising his moment of
+weakness. And when his older daughter had picked up the foldilay songs,
+ever after they would stir his ire.
+
+He spoke dourly to Rose, removing his hand, “The lips of a strange ooman
+drop honey, says the Book. And her mouth be smoother than oil.”
+
+“Banana oil, Daddy,” said Rose.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Anton met Dyke at the truck parked on Market Street. Hoarfrost had
+glazed the windows, Dyke was scraping at it with his knife while the
+engine warmed. The truck backfired and trundled with an effort through
+early traffic, past the slow gray river, and into the country where
+smoke was seeping from dunghills and fowl scratched the frozen earth.
+Anton was restless in his seat, crabbed. Dyke was driving stolidly. The
+radiator was beginning to boil as they chugged up the Gaddy farm lane.
+Dyke peered through the cloud above the hood. “Just made the well in
+time, Mester Gaddy.” He was shouting over the noise of the engine, and
+cut it. “Hey there, Sam.” He still shouted although the motor had
+stopped. He lowered his voice in the quiet wintry air, “Did your wife
+help you milk, Sam?”
+
+“No, I shift for myself at the barn when Mester Gaddy’s off.” There was
+the hint of home-brew about Sam’s breath. He sighed, “But this here
+lumbago’s getting me down.”
+
+Anton had descended his side of the truck. Shading his eyes, he was
+looking at buzzards that wheeled over one of the fields. “What be dead
+out there, Sam?”
+
+“I don’t know. Could be the dog’s killed him a woodchuck.”
+
+Anton walked to the top of the land, the other two following. “Reckon
+it’s old Jack himself?”
+
+“Now I recollect, Mester Gaddy, Eadie said she ne’er seen him about
+yesterday to get his dinner scraps.”
+
+Anton picked up a shovel, walked down the lane alone. A few sluggish
+bluebottles buzzed up in the sunless air from the dog’s decaying
+worn-out body, matted with burrs and beggar’s-lice, damp from melted
+frost. While the man was digging, clay caught in the cuffs of his shiny
+black pants. From the woods nearby the two notes of the carping bluejays
+echoed like pieces of crockery being knocked together. The birds were
+heralding the spring winds. Anton tipped the carcass into the grave with
+his shovel. A warm stench floated from where maggots quivered. Anton
+neither smelled nor saw. His disciplined arms were performing
+efficiently. His mind dwelled apart, jealous, on the woman in
+Louisville.
+
+
+
+
+                               part four
+
+
+   Lovers who must say farewell
+   When the road has reached the trees
+   Lovers who have all to tell
+   Where the road runs out of sight
+   In the green beyond the leaves
+   The green cove below the light
+   Lovers who must say farewell
+   When the road has reached the trees
+   Touching hand to hand to speak
+   All their love has ever known
+   Find no words to speak and say
+   Love...        O love...
+
+
+                                   21
+
+Ellen had spotted the wagon before Simon, drawn by a strapping team of
+grays. The little farmer had a white beard and mustache. He was touching
+his hat and yelling across the tarred road to where they sat on the
+station house steps, “Hi. You Mrs. Gaddy?”
+
+They took up their bags and ran. Simon was scrambling into the wagon
+bed. “Hey, Mester.”
+
+“I’m Matthew Wasilewski,” the old man said. Ellen climbed to the seat
+beside him. He was clicking to the team and the shod hoofs resounded on
+the patched streets of Hidden Creek. They came upon dirt country roads
+and Ellen observed how there were no stones and they stretched flat and
+straight, not curving and hilly like those about Millville. The horses
+set a fast pace.
+
+Simon shouted, “That’s a spanky team. Can I hold the reins sometime?”
+
+“Hush, Simon. He’s fond of horses.”
+
+“Let him talk. I say, let boys speak out.” The man’s complexion was
+translucent, as happens with the aged. His beard was yellow about the
+mouth from tobacco stains and food. His frail body was engulfed by baggy
+overalls and a fresh-starched blue shirt. He bobbed his head, “Now, Mom
+raises Leghorn hens. She’ll want you to help with them.”
+
+“What’s a Leghorn? How’s it differ?”
+
+“They’ll beat any breed at laying, Mrs. Gaddy. Mom follows the
+Department of Agriculture. She reads the bulletins. And she sees the
+county agent too. He told her to put those runners on her chicken sheds
+and tow them out to pasture.”
+
+“Say, feeding them on grass like a cow.”
+
+“Keeps down disease, the agent claims, and saves feed. You think this
+land’s rich? You should go to the old country some day. Poland. Where I
+came from. Plums as big as my fist. Apples the size of my head. Never a
+drought.”
+
+“We had one where I lived two years ago.”
+
+“Where you from?”
+
+“Kentucky.”
+
+“I heard that drought was widespread. We had it bad; most all the crops
+died right in the field. Our boys took a loan on the mortgage. They
+shouldn’t have done it. Debts are bad. In the end it was the Triple A
+that pulled us through. Roosevelt paid for what we didn’t have to plant.
+Did he pay you folks too?”
+
+“No, but I knew a man got a government check for letting hogs root up
+his tobacco. I ne’er did understand how that worked.”
+
+“Now in Poland, Mrs. Gaddy, they never heard of a drought or a Triple A
+either.”
+
+“Say, Mester,” Simon spoke up, “what are those horses’ names?”
+
+“Off one’s Pearl. The other’s Major, son.”
+
+“That Pearl’s a sight the prettiest.”
+
+“Yes, and that Major’s the smartest. Who do you think’s pulling this
+load?”
+
+Simon fell back abandoned in the straw of the wagon, shouting in glee.
+He lay gazing up at the sky and the bare treetops that came into view.
+
+“That’s it.” The old man pointed. “Ninety acres.”
+
+Two women and a man were coming from the white house into the yard to
+welcome Ellen. Mom was fleshy and large-framed, her eyes shy. She was
+shaking Ellen’s hand. “Guess Pop told you all about the fruit in the old
+country.”
+
+“Why, he did.”
+
+Sudduth was their younger son, thirty-two, scrawny, anxious-eyed. “We
+sure can use your help. We’ve been after Mom a long time to get someone.
+Here’s my wife, Adele.”
+
+“Pleased,” said Ellen.
+
+“Howdy.” The woman held her head on one side like a bird, waiting.
+
+“You-all could call me Ellen.”
+
+“I’ll show you to your room, Ellen.” Adele was going ahead up the
+stairs. Her face was harrowed from the years, but retained the child’s
+shape, round and eager-eyed, looking for encouragement. Two little girls
+with eyes like hers looked from behind a door. “This is Mrs. Gaddy,
+Hannah. Grace. My boy Dennie is in school.” The girls squealed and ran
+to hide. Adele was stopping at the room that would be Ellen’s. Simon was
+to have another for himself.
+
+They came together later for the evening meal, Pop at the head of the
+table, Mom at the foot. They were all shouting noisily. “Let’s see those
+brown-eye peas down here.”
+
+“Save a corner for the blueberry dowdy.”
+
+“Let a child talk up, I say.” Pop maneuvered the food through his
+mustache, his head on a level with the children.
+
+“I got a hundred in Penmanship,” cried Adele’s son, Dennie.
+
+“My, at that child,” said Adele.
+
+“The girls printed for me. I sure could follow it good.” Mom felt the
+sisters were being slighted at times. At her left stood an empty chair.
+
+“That’th Uncle Dan’s plathe,” Hannah was saying shyly to Ellen.
+
+“Dan’s my older brother,” Sudduth explained. “He’s off at the cattle
+sale in Weems Crossroads, trying to buy a Crestmore bull. We already
+have a purebred bull, but he’s the sire to so many of our heifers we
+don’t get the good of him any more.”
+
+“Say, I’ve been to Weems Crossroads,” Ellen said. “I visited some folks
+there.”
+
+“Dan’s going to see if he can bid a bull low,” Sudduth said.
+
+“Nothing but the best for Dan,” said Pop.
+
+“By the name of Dougherty?” Ellen was hopeful.
+
+“Nothing but the best.” Sudduth was sopping the juice from his plate
+with dark home-baked bread.
+
+“Never heard of a Dougherty,” Pop said. “You know, Sudduth, if a
+purebred cow jumps the fence and gets to a grade bull, you can just as
+well sell her? She’ll be no good from then on.”
+
+“That’s ridiculous, Pop.”
+
+“I’ve heard of it,” Ellen said.
+
+“There was a mare bred to a zebra stallion,” Pop told him. “Every foal
+she threw thereafter was striped. Now that’s proof, Sudduth.” He pounded
+his knife.
+
+“There,” Ellen whispered, for she had heard this same thing.
+
+“Pop, that old tale’s been shown up long ago. I’ll get out the article
+for you to read, in the _Breeder’s Journal_. Old superstitions.”
+
+While they were talking the cats were underfoot, three or four of them,
+tiger-striped and black. They wound under the table legs and sometimes
+one of the children slipped them a bite of food. A little later Ellen
+and Simon went up to bed. The talking and shouts from below were seeping
+through the flooring as Ellen dozed off to sleep.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+She heard the cock crowing in her dream, insistent, shrill. She threw
+her arm in a fending gesture, engrossed in the nightmare. She was
+running up the stairway from the cellar, her father racing after. “I’ll
+kill you because you took the boy.” She shouted to stay his hand, “You
+dassn’t kill on the cock’s crow, Pa.” She awoke, her voice straining in
+her throat. She lay listening, oppressed by the dream, letting it
+recede. I won’t hold to any of it. I’ll button it into a far part of me.
+I want to weave a new way here in this land where all the folks are
+foreign. I’ll make a place for Simon and me. I’ll put the past away. I
+vow I will.
+
+It was not yet dawn. Darkness kept the room corners. She threw back the
+covers. The air was chill but there was an earth odor, fresh, redolent
+of spring. She was throwing open the window, looking out at the muddled
+unfamiliar landscape. The eastern sky was gray and hushed. She sat on
+the low sill in the sleeveless garment she wore at night, hugging her
+cold bare arms. Her hair hung clinging and disheveled. It was late
+January but it was warm, the first false spring. There would be cold
+days yet, and the last frost might come as late as mid-April. But
+already in protected southern exposures a few flowers were opening, a
+jonquil or narcissus, releasing suppressed and forgotten perfumes. The
+earth seemed to turn itself like an animal stirring in its lair.
+
+A bull bellowed in the half-light, pawing the floor of its paddock,
+shaking its brawny shoulders. It began to butt the bars with its heavy
+smooth head like a toy set in motion. Tiny pigs wandered to and fro in a
+yard beyond the bull. The gray of clouds that lay in the east
+transformed gradually into mauve. Shifting and changing, lights and
+colors were fanning upward. A man’s figure strode around a corner of the
+house. There was a black-and-white feist at his heels. The man was tall,
+seemed young, his hair thick and black, unruly. The cuffs of his pants
+were tucked into leather boots. He stopped to shake tobacco into his
+left hand, and rolled a cigarette swiftly. The dog jumped repeatedly at
+his arm, yapping sharply in the pink-tinged air. As he was walking off,
+his bass voice came clear.
+
+   The minstrel boy to the war is gone
+   In the ranks of death you’ll find him
+   His father’s sword he hath girded on
+   And his wild harp slung behind him
+
+A warm breeze stirred from the east. Ellen shivered. On the brim of the
+color-draped sky, the first round edge of the red sun was emerging as if
+pulled by a string. The fields were stretching forth under the rosy
+light, spreading wide and tended, damp with dew. The pungent sweetness
+of the earth was arising from its bowels. Time moved quickly. The sun
+came whole over the line of horizon, lay alive in the brilliant stained
+sky. The man’s song had faded.
+
+Voices began to call back and forth in the reaches of the house. Ellen
+turned from the window. The room was furnished with a white wood
+bedstead, a dresser with a tiny mirror, a table and an upright chair.
+There was a striped rag rug on the floor, made by Mom; the curtains and
+bedspread were yellow and threadbare, streaked unevenly by sun rays over
+the years.
+
+She dressed and hurried down the dusky stairs. Simon and Dennie sat
+whispering on the bottom step. “You seen my room, Ma?” They followed
+her. Adele was turning the handle of the coffee grinder, the friendly
+crusty noise filling the kitchen. “Dennie’s got a room too.”
+
+“I always had a room.” Dennie hiked his suspenders.
+
+When breakfast was nearly ready, Sudduth came in with the man Ellen had
+seen earlier. They washed at the sink, then leaned against the wall to
+wait for food to be set out. Ellen had difficulty finding things. “Where
+does the sugar live, Mom?”
+
+“This is my brother Dan,” Sudduth said as she was passing with the bowl
+of sugar. “Mrs. Gaddy. Ellen.”
+
+“How do you do. Mom keeping you busy? You’ve got to watch her.” He was a
+head taller than Sudduth, older than he had looked from the windows,
+with an air of authority. His straight hair hung over his forehead, his
+eyes were greenish-yellow, his ears pointed at the top. His lips were
+thin and flat, his nose angular. His skin was olive and creased. There
+was a birthmark on his left cheek, and when he flushed it darkened.
+“That damn bull’s a beaut, Sudduth. Supposed to be delivered this
+morning. We’ll charge a service fee on him that’ll pay his price a few
+times over.”
+
+“Let’s eat.” Mom was carrying a bowl of fried potatoes in one hand, a
+platter of smoking ham in the other.
+
+When they had finished, Simon got his coat from upstairs, for he would
+set out with Dennie to school. There was over a mile to walk. He stood
+in the doorway and his blue eyes settled on Ellen. “Bye now, Ma.” He
+picked up the yellow cat mewling at his feet.
+
+“You tell the teacher who you are proper, Simon.”
+
+“I will, Ma.”
+
+“Say you’re living at the Wasilewski farm.”
+
+“I know.”
+
+Dan rolled a cigarette, leaning back. “You like horses, boy?”
+
+“Oh yes, Mester.” Simon spilled the cat to the floor. “What can I do?”
+
+“You groom them every night. Will you do that?”
+
+“Mornings too, Mester? You won’t find a loose hair.”
+
+“Call me Dan,” the man was laughing. “We’ll see what else we can find
+for you.”
+
+The boys ran off and Ellen said, “He’s proud to just lay his hands on a
+horse.”
+
+The day had begun. When the beds were made and the kitchen floor
+scrubbed, Ellen scoured the white refrigerator and the electric stove.
+She washed the white-painted wood cabinets that lined the walls. “Pop
+made those,” Adele said, “three years ago. They got the notion one night
+when Mom was reading the _Farm Woman’s Magazine_. Dan and Sudduth put
+the old pantry cupboards in the shed for machine parts.”
+
+The brothers drifted in at noon, hobnail boots clacking on the floors,
+preoccupied in talk of the new bull that had arrived by truck. They ate
+hastily, hurrying out. Mom said the hens were to be deloused. The county
+agent advised it. The women caught each bird by the leg, shook the can
+of powder over it and turned it loose so it escaped to the yard, shaking
+its feathers, clucking indignant. Dust from the litter mingled with the
+powder and hung in the air. The women sneezed. Mom’s face was hot. “The
+roosts have to be scrubbed down next.”
+
+At supper Ellen was tired. When she finished her plate, a cat jumped on
+her lap. She let it remain for she saw it was the custom. It was
+purring, kneading its paws. Simon joined in the clamor and Ellen was
+bending her thoughts to how different these ways were from the house
+where she had been raised.
+
+“Come play for us, Uncle Dan,” Dennie was coaxing.
+
+The girls joined, “Thing ‘Thay, Darling, Thay,’ Uncle Dan.”
+
+“Tomorrow, you pesky kids,” he shouted over the din. “We have to check
+on the bull right now. Coming, Sudduth?” He was charging through the
+door.
+
+The next morning the tractor roared out of the barnyard, Dan perched in
+the driver’s seat. “Land,” Mom was laughing, “he does love that
+machine.”
+
+“It’s a good day to start the spring plowing,” said Ellen. “The land’s
+thawed good.”
+
+“They’re not plowing yet,” Mom said. “They’ll wait till February.”
+
+“I’ve heard folks say it ruins land for seven years to plow in January.
+Pa ne’er held to that notion. He plowed when he had a mind to.”
+
+“Sakes, Ellen.” Mom was amused. “That’s not it. It’s the house. We’ve
+got a busy year laid out here. Adele’s going to have her own home. Her
+and Sudduth.” She was turning to Adele. “He went by already with the
+team and the scoop. Did you see him?”
+
+“Sudduth’s just raring,” said Adele.
+
+“We’ve got to be ready to paint and all in late summer, Ellen. So Adele
+and him and the kids can get moved in the fall.”
+
+“I want everything to be perfect when we leave, Mom.” Adele was earnest.
+
+They told Ellen that lumber was stored at the warehouse in Hidden Creek;
+part had been bought in fall when cash crops had been sold and part was
+still on credit against the early wheat crop. “There’s kegs of nails and
+rolls of tar paper and shingles in the shed. They drew the plans out on
+paper.” Mom was proud. “There’s going to be another big event here in
+the fall.” Mom’s eyes gleamed secret. “Wait and see.”
+
+At mid-morning Ellen was busy. “I declare at this iron, it’s so light.”
+She skimmed over the clothes swiftly, laid them folded and smooth on the
+newspaper-covered table.
+
+“It sure is a help having you here, Ellen.” Mom was mending, a wicker
+basket beside her. “Makes me feel old though, not doing my own work.”
+
+“Only I forget about the cord and keep walking off with the iron.”
+
+The kitchen door slammed. “It’s me,” Dan’s voice shouted. The sound of
+running water came.
+
+“You’ll see, he’s had trouble with the tractor,” Mom said.
+
+“The tractor turned over on me.” His voice was muffled. “Cut myself.”
+
+“That suits you fine, Dan,” Mom called. “He can play now. Nothing suits
+him like when some piece of equipment won’t work and he can get his head
+under it. Rather do that than work.”
+
+“You don’t have to shout. I hear you.” Dan appeared in the doorway,
+rubbing his face with a white turkish towel, a gash on his browned
+forehead. He was shaking his head, cocky. “Ellen, you think my family’s
+crazy?”
+
+When she was washing the supper dishes she heard the tinny sound of the
+piano in the sitting room. Simon was behind her at the kitchen table
+leafing through his new schoolbooks, waiting for her. “Wonder who that
+is playing?” she asked him.
+
+“That’s Dan. I’ve ne’er heard that song, Ma.” Simon smiled, his blue
+eyes curious.
+
+She put the plates away. “It’s right melancholy.”
+
+   A spanish cavalier stood in his retreat
+   And on his guitar played a tune, dear
+   The music so sweet would ofttimes repeat
+   The blessings of my country and you, dear
+
+   O say, darling say, when I’m far away
+   Sometimes you may think of me, dear
+   Bright sunny days will soon fade away
+   Remember what I say and be true, dear
+
+Ellen was hanging up the dishcloth. “Let’s go hear the music.”
+
+“Can we?”
+
+“This is our home,” she said with dignity, “while we’re here.”
+
+From his easy chair, Sudduth was bemoaning, “We’ve got to clean out the
+barns again. Get it on the fields before plowing. Jesus, we’re going to
+be strapped with work this year.”
+
+Dan looked up at Ellen as she came in, his eyes golden in his lined dark
+face. “Wish it would rain liquid manure for a whole week. Save us some
+trouble.” His lean fingers ran over the keys tenderly.
+
+She sat down in the rocker by the windows. On the table beside her was a
+tall glass bell, exhibiting underneath a stuffed red bird with black
+wings and tail, its eyes bright glass. Ellen was looking down at her
+hands in her lap. She had an inflexible manner about her, seldom
+laughing easily even with her son. It was as if she had been bruised
+once and armed herself against a recurrence. And when she would make her
+hair into braids in the morning, winding, and fastening with tortoise
+shell pins, she would pull tightly. There was an unconscious
+satisfaction to the act as though it were easing a guilt. Ellen held
+herself at times almost like one righteous. She was glancing at the
+scarlet tanager under the bell, wondering who had shot it. Vaguely she
+was listening to the words the man sang. They differed from those Penny
+had taught Ellen.
+
+   When your heart was mine, true love
+   And your head lay on my breast
+   You could make me believe
+   By the falling of your arm
+   That the sun rose up in the west
+
+
+                                   22
+
+The weather turned brisk, the temperature fell, the dew had frozen in a
+white sprinkle. Mouths of animals and men steamed. The excavation for
+the cellar of the new house had been completed, a square gash in a rise
+of land at the far end of the farm. “Now let it freeze,” Mom was saying.
+“They can still lay cinder-block.”
+
+“It’s like a dream come true,” said Adele, “them building our house.
+Land.”
+
+The little girls had spread old mail-order catalogs on the kitchen
+floor. They cut and snipped, squabbling. “It’th mine. You shut up,
+booby.”
+
+“You see, Mom?” Adele pleaded. “It’s not right you should have to put up
+with this commotion.”
+
+Ellen was savoring the friendly companionship of the two women. The
+girls she had known—her sister, Lily Garrett, even Amanda York—had been
+younger than she. And they had leaned on her. She could never look up to
+them or turn to them for advice. There was a freshness in her
+relationship with these older women.
+
+“Just wait till Ellen sees my roses, Adele. They’re a sight, all pink
+and white.”
+
+“You know, Ellen, Pop can tell to the exact how many flowers each bush
+has every year,” Adele said.
+
+“Keeps it in his head.”
+
+They worked, their hands busy in the baking, they talked idly, “He’ll
+say, this white rose had only fifty-one buds last year.”
+
+“Every rose, he’ll count.”
+
+The cold air rushed in as the door opened. “There. That cake fell,” said
+Mom. “Land o’ Goshen, I’m peeved.” Dan came in, leading Simon, who was
+tear-stained. “You will slam doors on baking day, Dan.”
+
+“Dammit. Sorry, Mom. He bumped his knee, Ellen. Fell down.”
+
+Simon was pulling his torn pants leg up to reveal a soiled bruise. He
+held his tongue between his lips; phlegm was dripping from his nose.
+“Hit don’t hurt now,” he mourned. Ellen washed the wound. Her mind was
+apart from the accident. Wonder why Dan came in with Simon. He needn’t
+have. Simon’s ten and not a baby. Maybe Dan’s thinking on me. I don’t
+want him. Nor any man. She was wrapping the strip of cloth about the
+knee.
+
+Dan was lighting one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. “Press my suit
+today, Mom, will you? I’m taking Star to the grange dance.”
+
+“All right, Dan.”
+
+As the two went out Mom shouted, “And don’t slam it.”
+
+“Star’s his girl,” Adele was telling Ellen. “She’s lots younger than
+him.”
+
+“Oh I don’t know,” Mom said. “She’s nearly nineteen.”
+
+“And Dan’s over forty.”
+
+“Wish they’d set the date,” said Mom. “Keeps me on edge.”
+
+“You think Star’ll settle down to being a farmer’s wife?” Adele asked.
+“After all, she’s used to a maid doing the work. Why, I bet she can’t
+cook even.”
+
+“She loves him. That’s what counts.”
+
+“She’s an only child. She gets whatever she wants.”
+
+“Star’s so pretty,” Mom told Ellen.
+
+“Her folks have spoiled her,” said Adele. “But Dan’s crazy about her.”
+
+“Marrying will settle her. She’s the nicest looking girl in the
+countryside.” Mom was complacent.
+
+“Dan wants his bull to have the best blood lines. He’s got to have the
+latest machinery, the newest hybrid seed.” Adele sawed the air with a
+flour-streaked hand. “I wouldn’t be his wife.”
+
+“Well, you’ve got Sudduth.”
+
+“Praise the Lord,” Adele was laughing, an edge to her voice.
+
+“When are they getting married?” Ellen asked, quiet in her relief,
+detached.
+
+“Didn’t I tell you there might be a big event this fall? The date’s not
+fixed, but when the house is built, there’ll be nothing to stop them.”
+
+“Sudduth figures that’s why Dan’s in such a stew to get the cellar dug.”
+
+“Now there. I forgot the eggs,” Mom was saying. “They have to be
+gathered at ten, two, and after supper. Maybe you’d better take over
+that job too, Ellen.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every Saturday afternoon Ellen would find an envelope on her dresser, in
+it four and a half dollars. When she laid them in her drawer she felt a
+wealth and a peace. She was moving less uncertainly in the new
+household. She was the hired girl and the value set on her talents gave
+her a self-respect. On Sundays, Pop, Mom, Adele and the three children
+would go to the Presbyterian church in Hidden Creek, Adele driving the
+Dodge car. Sudduth and Dan would work on the new house. Ellen walked out
+with Simon to see the farm, for during the week she was too busy. Simon
+showed her the gray horses he groomed and she patted sleek
+brown-and-white cows, fastened in metal stanchions, munching hay, their
+tongues curling about the wisps. “Aren’t those stalls modern, Ma?” They
+passed the hog lot where white-banded pigs were squealing and snuffling
+at a trough of water in the cement lot. “They’re not dish-faced like
+Granddaddy’s pigs.”
+
+“I see they’re not. They’re a different kind.” The shouts of the men
+were faint on the air, mingled with the low lonesome bawl of the new
+bull. Some day I’ll tell Simon what Pa did. And why we had to leave.
+
+“Wonder how little Rhodie is, Ma?”
+
+“Oh, Simon.”
+
+“And fat old Pie. And Leona. If their hoofs are cut regular.”
+
+“I don’t know. You still honing after them?” Reckon I’ll tell him
+sometime what Pa did to my goats, cutting their throats. “You miss your
+granddaddy?” She was looking off to the bowl of sky. The far calls
+floated and echoed in it.
+
+“Reckon he was e’er good to me.”
+
+“It’s nice here, on this place.”
+
+“And there was old Jack. I set store by him.”
+
+“Dennie’s feist is pretty.”
+
+“He’s a scrappy thing.”
+
+“Well.” They walked back.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dan wore a white shirt on Saturday nights, with a blue detachable
+collar. He knotted on a brash necktie and brushed his shoes, stood at
+the doorway to the sitting room where the family convened. He seemed
+older to Ellen when dressed in the brown suit, his lean body pinched
+into tight cloth, the tough skin of his face emphasized. He was leaning
+against the frame, the birthmark a dull red. He tapped tobacco into thin
+paper, licked the edge, twirled the ends, all in a quick motion. “How’s
+this tie, Ellen? Too loud? Think my girl will take a second look?”
+
+“I reckon.” She was patting the cat, inwardly disturbed.
+
+“Well, if she was smart,” Sudduth mocked, “she’d run the other way fast,
+wouldn’t she Pop?”
+
+The old man cackled. Ellen felt stiff and plain, smiled faintly as Dan
+walked out. I’d never be that Star.
+
+On weekday nights Dan played the piano. His energy was contagious, it
+was as if his day had just begun. In the lamp glow their faces turned to
+where he sat.
+
+   There are many flags in many lands
+   There are flags of every hue
+   But there is no flag however grand
+   Like our own red white and blue
+
+The family were joining in, swept away by his exuberance and health.
+Sometimes Ellen sang with them.
+
+   Then hurrah for the flag, our country’s flag
+   Its stripes and white stars too
+   There is no flag in any land
+   Like our own red white and blue
+
+She was saying, “I know a languishing one, Dan. ‘Lord Lovel.’ You know
+it?”
+
+“I can play the tune if you’ll sing.”
+
+“All right.” He found the keys easily.
+
+They like me here. She dwelled on it. It’s not like home where Pa jeered
+when I sang Penny’s songs and Ma never heard me.
+
+   Lady Nancy she died as it might be today
+   Lord Lovel he died tomorrow
+   Lady Nancy she died out of pure pure grief
+   Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow
+
+It was the first week in March, on a warm windy day, when the bees
+swarmed. Pop had on an old hat decked with a bee veil, he was wearing
+long gloves and had tied strings around the bottoms of his overalls. He
+carried a smoker to still the swarm that hung like a living sack on an
+oak branch. Ellen saw him from the window. He stooped and moved until
+finally the bees were in the new hive, their angry droning muffled,
+subsiding. The old man came in, taking off the veil. “Hee. Only got one
+sting.”
+
+“My sister Frankie and me used to beat pie pans and make a racket when
+our bees wanted to swarm.”
+
+“How come?”
+
+“That’s so the workers can’t hear the queen calling.”
+
+“Did it keep them in the home hive?”
+
+“Two-three times it did. But the queen’s call is strong.”
+
+“Don’t tell the boys. They’d call it a superstition. They go by the book
+too much for me.” His teeth flashed through his beard.
+
+Before going up to bed, Ellen went out into the night. There was a light
+fog. She was curious about the bees, went to listen to the new hive.
+From it came a faint contented purr. She laid her hand on the wood. It’s
+like they’re one creature, like the whole drove’s got but one mind. Her
+hand was feeling the movement within, the insects changing position
+endlessly. While she was standing enclosed in the darkness, she heard
+Dan humming as he came back from the barnyard. His boots rasped on the
+pathway. She was waiting for him to pass but he sensed a presence, and
+stopped. “Who is it?”
+
+“It’s me. Ellen.” She could see the coal of his cigarette. The air was
+balmy, brought up during the day from the south.
+
+“The wind’s laid,” he said. Overhead a twisted sliver of moon was
+freeing itself from dodging clouds. The starlight was dim, pulling at
+the mist gently. “What are you doing?”
+
+“Feeling the bees move. The hive’s like an animal.”
+
+“That’s so. It is.” She heard his body settling against a tree trunk.
+
+“Like it’s bedded down for the night.”
+
+The silence dwelled while she waited on him. “What happened to your
+husband, Ellen?”
+
+“He died.”
+
+“How?”
+
+She was seeking his face, but there was blackness. “He was killed.”
+
+“I see. How?”
+
+After a while she said, “It was in the haying time. He was down on the
+wagon bed.” The words were dragged up from some other part of her. She
+watched that part of her talk on, fumbling, “He had a watch-eye man
+hired to him. That man pitched the fork down and it stuck him between
+the shoulders.” The fog was rising, the moon slid away in clouds. Her
+tongue stumbled along of itself. “When they reached him, they say he was
+dead already.”
+
+“I’m sorry.”
+
+Something welled in her then, born of loneliness. It caught high in her
+throat. “No. I ne’er had a husband.” She wept. But she was eased. She
+was speaking of Christian Ay and how she couldn’t recall if he was tall
+or if his hair was brown. It had happened to her when she went to see a
+horse belonging to the farmer he worked for. Her letters had come back
+unopened. Ellen’s tears stopped then, and her voice. She began to hate
+the man hidden behind the black curtain. A shame was rising in her so
+she felt her face heat.
+
+His voice was flat. “Windy days like this one’s been can bring on a
+cyclone.” He hummed slowly.
+
+   Some call her Lady Nancy Belle
+   Some call her the Lady Nancy, Nancy
+   Some call her the Lady Nancy
+
+A twig broke under his foot, he ceased in the middle of the tune. “A
+cyclone’s a sight to see, Ellen. You should watch my kid brother run
+when one comes. You ever have them in Kentucky?” He paused for an
+answer, and resumed, “Star’s home was right in the path of one last
+year. Her father lost a bull valued at five thousand. He’s a big Jersey
+breeder.”
+
+“I didn’t know.”
+
+“Al Webster’s his name.”
+
+“Webster?” Ellen remembered. “Webster’s Stock Farm?”
+
+“That’s it. You’ve heard of it?”
+
+“You know a Luke Dougherty?”
+
+“Sure. Tall fellow, black-haired. Runs one of the barns.”
+
+“Luke’s wife’s a close friend of mine. They live near Weems Crossroads.”
+All the time the echo of her voice rang in her ears: I ne’er had a
+husband. I ne’er had a husband.
+
+“I’ll drive you over sometime to see her, if you want. It’s only twenty
+miles or so. Come along when I go see my girl some Sunday. I’ll drop you
+off.”
+
+“I hear your girl’s a beauty.” He’ll tell everyone.
+
+“Hell, Star’s got more than beauty. She’s exciting.” His voice was
+heavy.
+
+Ellen thought how it was full of love. When he goes about the farm here,
+Star bides in him. She softens his movements like the way Penny and Luke
+love each other. And when he plants the wheat, his mind’s but a part on
+his work. And when Sudduth and he laid the cement in the cellar, he was
+thinking all the while, each day’s bringing me closer to when Star’s my
+bride. Why did I tell him I wasn’t married?
+
+The yellow flash from a match spurted, making shadows streak over his
+bent face. The smoke filtered through the warm fog. “It’s just the past
+year Star’s mother hasn’t had to sit by her bed when she goes to sleep.”
+He was tender, boastful. “She’s afraid of the dark.”
+
+There came to Ellen’s mind the little donkey Luke had led up the lane.
+They had gathered around it as a wonderful thing and set baby Clate on
+its back. Star Webster’s father had given it to Luke when his daughter
+tired of it.
+
+The red ash glowed. Dan’s harsh voice was there. “Even that’s exciting
+about her.” His voice drifted in the south air, “I’m glad you kept your
+son with you, Ellen. Instead of giving him away like lots of women would
+have done. Shows you’ve got strength.”
+
+“It’s a secret.” It sounded thin and anxious as she said it.
+
+“I won’t let it out.” Then his voice lowered, “Simon’s a good boy. You
+taught him manners, too.”
+
+“Well. Good night.”
+
+“Good night, Ellen.”
+
+She went into the house and to her bedroom. I’m a jawing fool. In the
+morning when Dan came into the kitchen she managed to avoid speaking to
+him. But he shouted down the length of the table, “Can I have the
+butter, Ellen? Let’s see that grape jelly, Ellen.”
+
+She averted her eyes, passing the plates. I don’t like him one bit.
+
+
+                                   23
+
+The storm was already forming. The radio reported a twister passing
+briefly through a small town in Kansas. Throughout the troposphere of
+the Midwest certain conditions prevailed as the ancient pattern of the
+spawning of the tornadoes got under way. In corners of the Southwest,
+winds were gathering and moving across the continent; they drove warm
+wet air before them in a mass hovering close to the earth. In the
+fluctuations of these winds, gigantic columns of air would rise rapidly,
+a mile or so in diameter. At the spreading foot of these tall clouds,
+rain would gather and often local storms occurred under them. To
+complete the scheme, eight kilometers above ground the cold jet stream
+was rushing constantly in from the West at tremendous speed. This was
+the pattern. And when the summit of a rising cloud was hit by the jet
+stream, it began to twist counterclockwise. The movement was transferred
+in a spiral down the length of the column into the ugly widespread base.
+A whirling funnel of great power would lick downward. This was a
+tornado.
+
+It sucked dust and stones, any object not fastened down. Its duration
+was from a few minutes to sixty or more. And no one could predict where
+it would strike. People who lived in these areas had a way of watching
+the sky during certain months. If there was a sudden drop in temperature
+or the sky darkened, if the wind rose, they fastened barn doors and
+herded their families into rooms where shades were pulled, or into
+cellars. It happened so fast that sometimes there wasn’t enough time and
+they were caught in the open. And if a noise was heard suddenly like a
+monstrous machine at high speed, they might pray as they crouched,
+waiting.
+
+A few miles from Hidden Creek, Illinois, a gray-white cloud pillar was
+rising now, churning. Rain clouds at its base were low-spread and
+frowning. Over the land it became so dark that twilight descended though
+it was mid-afternoon. Ellen Gaddy was gathering eggs. “It’s making up a
+storm, biddy,” she said to the hens, “I heard the raincrow just this
+morning.”
+
+Adele was shopping in Hidden Creek. Sudduth was distracted because she
+had taken the girls with her in the Dodge. Hannah had a stye and they
+planned to stop at the doctor’s. “I said, Adele, it’s fixing to storm.
+You ought to stay home,” Sudduth was explaining. “She should do what I
+say. I’m supposed to be wearing the pants.”
+
+“Adele’s smart,” Pop soothed. “She’s all right.”
+
+Pop and Mom and the boys were going down the cellar stairs, Sudduth
+pushing them before him. Ellen followed. Dennie was carrying the feist
+dog and Simon three cats. “Get a move on, Simon,” Sudduth was muttering,
+“Hurry.” Then on the last step he tripped, sprawling on the cement. “God
+damn it.” His voice was shrill, near tears.
+
+“We’d pull the shades and stay in the house because of lightning.” Ellen
+went over to Mom. “But we ne’er would go down to the cellar.”
+
+“Land, we always do.”
+
+Pop and Dennie sat with Simon on a crate in a corner. Sudduth was
+rubbing his back. He leaned on the wall and whined, “Don’t you be sick
+now, Dennie, or I’ll swat your bottoms.” He ran his hand nervously
+across his face.
+
+The boy laid his small head in the fur of the dog. He was pale. Pop
+turned to him, “Say, Dennie. Let’s you and me buy a sofa. Might as well
+set the storms out comfortable.”
+
+Then Ellen remembered. “Where’s Dan?”
+
+“He was working,” Sudduth said, “on the dump rake last I saw. I hollered
+to him to come.” He was rubbing his palm across his face again. “I don’t
+know.”
+
+“I’ll go see.” Ellen ran up the stairs.
+
+“Ellen,” Mom called.
+
+“I’ll be all right.” The sky was massed with rolling cloud of blue and
+green and purple. In the north, lightning erupted in a yellow flare and
+the blacked clouds hanging before were outlined. A jagged orange bolt
+cracked through them. She was exhilarated. It’s a sight. And those folks
+are all hiding from it. She heard a rushing noise. The wind was coming.
+It tore at her hair, loosing it from its bonds. Within her, joy leaped
+again, like youth and first experience. And underneath she quailed. She
+was rounding the corner of the barn, running toward the shed.
+
+She heard his shout and Dan was in the wide barn doorway, scowling,
+booted feet spread. His black hair was wild, the wind had whipped his
+shirt out, the birthmark burned like a new wound. He cried again, “You
+damn fool.” She was stopping, poised.
+
+He strode out and pulled her arm, hurrying her to the barn. She
+protested, “I was afraid for you.”
+
+“For me? You fool.” He was roaring above the wind. “Dammit. Look there.”
+He pointed at an inky cloud where a tongue licked downward and
+retreated. “That’s a twister.” Like a long thick snake it shot down to
+the earth and a whining roar commenced.
+
+Dan’s hand was gripping hers. They were dashing to the stalls in the
+middle of the barn. She was suddenly afraid. “Now they’d talk of
+cyclones, but I ne’er saw one before, Dan.”
+
+Swiftly, in the dull light, in the musty smell of the unused stable, he
+had his arms about her. His yellow-green eyes glittered, laughing, “Lady
+Nancy Belle.”
+
+It came upon Ellen the way Craig Hedrick was grabbing with a band of
+steel while she struggled. That had haunted her dreams so she would
+awake in a sweat sometimes. And there was Uncle Garland’s hand seeking
+incestuous under her coat that lonely winter, so she had to drive the
+memory from her, suppress it, divorce it from her uncle whom she loved
+for his goodness. These things flooded up when she saw Dan’s weathered
+face, his shut eyes and hawknose, the red scar bending. She fought,
+violent, her hands hard against his blue shirt. “Bullying bastard.” The
+words were framed out of fright, without volition.
+
+He shoved her against the stall’s side planking, furious because her
+struggle disconcerted him. “You little bitch, what do you mean? You’ve
+been licking after me ever since you came.”
+
+“That’s not so.”
+
+“Dammit, Ellen. You aren’t going to get raped again. You’re not that
+lucky.” His yell was coming under the hurricane wind. He was gripping
+her arms, forcing his hard mouth against hers.
+
+By the stiffness of her lips and body, she resisted. But suddenly it all
+was falling away and a gentle hotness came up within her. She was
+parting her mouth and his tongue was seeking its softness. She moved her
+arms, laid them about his neck, holding him, feeling the coarse hair at
+her fingers. Wish I was Star. And there was the distant storm racket.
+
+He let her go, laughed regretful, “What were those names I called you?
+Dammit, Ellen, you are pretty. I never noticed that.” She felt it too,
+though her dark-blue dress was long and her low-cut shoes soiled because
+she wore them at her work about the Leghorns. “I never saw you before.
+Look at your hair. The wind’s blown it out.”
+
+Hail clattered on the galvanized tin roof. Thunder rolled. She leaned
+upon the worn wood of the manger, where bites of cribbing horses had
+made notches during long winters. She was putting her hand to her yellow
+hair, tucking it up while he watched. The thing that had happened, she
+felt it. How she would never be rigid and tied again, how she was free.
+Courage had replaced her hidden fears. Then it was that she came up to
+kiss Dan. And she put her head against his opened shirt, his tall
+strength, she felt the even thrusts of his heart. His hard arms were
+holding her and he stroked her hair. “The rain’s come,” she said, “it’s
+all o’er.”
+
+“Did you see that twister come out of that cloud?” He was releasing her.
+
+“First one I e’er saw, Dan.”
+
+“We’re safe for another year, now. They never come twice.”
+
+“Why’s that?”
+
+“The law of averages.” He was going down the aisle then to the doorway.
+“The rain’s letting off.”
+
+She was following, seeing the cuff was untucked from one of his heavy
+boots, the smoke of his cigarette drifting blue. “What are you looking
+at, Dan?”
+
+“Nothing. Smells good. I like a storm, even a mean one.” He looked down
+at her, absent.
+
+“I always did too.” The wind rode on bright clouds. She felt he was many
+miles away. Wonder if he’s thinking on Star. Well, I don’t care.
+
+They went into the light drizzle, met the family streaming from the
+house. “You scared me, Ellen,” Mom shouted. “You two all right?”
+
+“Was there a storm?” Dan cried. Ellen laughed. Dennie and Simon skipped,
+whooping.
+
+“I heard it,” Sudduth frowned. “Bet it went through Hidden Creek. Adele
+could be killed.”
+
+“Oh, Sudduth,” Mom said.
+
+“And the girls.” Sudduth added.
+
+“Now,” said Pop.
+
+“And she’s with child.”
+
+“What’s that?” Pop said.
+
+“No, she’s not,” Mom was soothing.
+
+“She’d have told us, Sudduth. She was just taking Hannah for that stye.”
+
+“She didn’t want it. She tried to kill it with vinegar.” Sudduth leaned
+his skinny body forward eager, his thinning hair damp, his black eyes
+full of tears. “She was going to try arsenic.”
+
+“But a baby.” Mom twisted her hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
+
+“Well, we have our own affairs, you know.”
+
+“I’m going to have a look around.” Dan was striding off.
+
+The two boys came running. “The lines are down. And one of the chicken
+sheds is a sight.”
+
+“Let’s go see,” Sudduth led the way. His parents came behind,
+whispering.
+
+The people moved about Ellen, words were spoken, but it was as if it
+flowed separate from her, reached her through a blurred wall. Everything
+was new, everything changed. She went to the field where the Leghorns
+were kept. She righted an overturned coop, discovering a dead hen under
+it. The rest were huddled safely beneath a shed. She got a dipper of
+cracked grain. The white flock was coming up one by one, clucking,
+bobbing brilliant red combs and wattles, discarding their fright as they
+pecked the seed in the clean afternoon sunlight.
+
+   I came down the mountainside
+   Give my horn a blow
+   Everywhere them pretty girls
+   Says yonder goes my beau
+
+   I went down in the valley green
+   To win to me my love
+   When I was done with that pretty little girl
+   She turned to a turtledove
+
+The tongue that Ellen and Dan saw had spun over a path fifty yards wide,
+catching a neighbor’s cow shed from an angle, sucking rafters aloft,
+strangling a cow while her bull calf brayed feebly below. It had prowled
+across the level land, come upon turkeys in a corn field, the gobbler
+shrieking insanely, flapping, trailed by his harem of hens. They were
+sucked into the wind like dust. Green oat shoots were rooted out so that
+when the field ripened later there was a clean swath across its bottom
+third. Varied incidents had occurred; a nest of newborn rabbits was
+flipped up, numbers of birds that clung to fence corners were torn loose
+and pounded into obstructions, the mortality among the insect life was
+untold. It had circled Hidden Creek. Adele was at the doctor’s office,
+calling to say she would be home as soon as her shopping was finished.
+
+“That’s fine,” Sudduth said in a low voice to Mom and Pop in the
+doorway. “That God-damn stair. I wrenched my back good.” Through coming
+years he would try out different chiropractors. For weeks at a time the
+pain would recede, then each movement would drive a dull fire as he
+dragged his way about the farm. The family would laugh at his
+self-concern, taking it as Sudduth’s way. He talked about “that first
+twister of thirty-six,” like men talk of a battle. When he spoke to his
+children’s children, putting a hand on the small of his back, it would
+seem to them that Sudduth had by himself stemmed a tornado in its path.
+
+Mom stood apart now from her younger son, whispered irritably to Pop,
+“That boy’s still a baby. You know, I’ll be glad when they all clear out
+to the new house. I plumb admire Adele for the way she puts up with
+him.”
+
+The next evening a chill wind was blowing. Ellen went to her room for a
+sweater. The furnace was not stoked in these spring days and there were
+no fireplaces. As she was coming out, putting it on, she saw Dan leaping
+softly up the stairs, two at a time. He laughed, catching her arm,
+pushing her back into her room. There he was kissing her. She breathed
+to him, “You know what I read in the Bible? Dan’s a lion’s whelp.”
+
+“Ellen. Your lips are soft.” He put his finger on them. A hot flood was
+taking her breath. He was loosing her, chucking her chin. “And I’ve got
+a date. Dammit, Star gets her dander up if I’m late. I’m out of gas,
+too. I’ll have to stop on the way.”
+
+Ellen went down the steps to the kitchen where the dishes waited.
+Jealousy was rankling, but her gray eyes were mellow. I’d not get my
+dander up, was he late. Through days to follow, Dan would come on her,
+take her aside to kiss her. If she went out in the night, sometimes he
+followed. And if she knew he was in the tool shed, she went to see if
+the chicken house door beyond was locked. If he met her in the hallway,
+alone, he led her back to her room. They heard footsteps passing in the
+hall as his mouth lay on hers. He bided his time, careful, waiting on
+her shyness. “Come here, honey.”
+
+So the days of March went by, and April started. Spring, and Dan’s in
+the same world with me. Ellen and Adele were laying out the kitchen
+garden. Ellen’s hands in the earth were like a mother’s. She had never
+seen such black rich soil. She held a clod, kneeling in her soiled damp
+skirt. She was crumbling it. “Look here, Adele. Ne’er a stone or pebble.
+Where I used to live they’ve got stone fences every way you turn.
+Sometimes a rock grows so big in a field they plow in a ring about it.
+Sam Offut claimed those rocks were nailed to the center of the world
+where the fire is. To hold the earth together.”
+
+“Land.”
+
+“Sam was full of tales. This is a fine garden.”
+
+“I call it a dirty job, though. I’d rather work at the house, Ellen. I
+like my hands clean. Dirt makes them dry and the nails break easy.”
+
+“I don’t mind.” Ellen was putting her hands down in the soft loam she
+had spaded.
+
+Adele brooded. “I’m going to have another baby.”
+
+“I’m glad for you.”
+
+“That Sudduth. He won’t let me alone.”
+
+“I always liked the Scarlet Globe radish. It’s the first one up.”
+
+“When I just got home from the hospital with Grace, there he was,
+hanging his pants on the bedpost. First thing.”
+
+“Wonder if it’s too early for sweet corn? We could put in a few rows.”
+
+“Hannah came when Grace was only ten months old.”
+
+“You’re supposed to put it in by sundown on the tenth of May.”
+
+“That man.”
+
+The breeze sprang up like a promise, stirring the hair of the women.
+Ellen knelt in the earth, her friend stood tall and hurt, the seed
+unfolding within her. The circle of sky was porcelain blue. A lone hawk
+held his wings still and floated away.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Sunday Ellen spoke up at the breakfast table, “Would there be room in
+the car for me and Simon to go along? I’d like to see how the
+Presbyterians do.”
+
+“You can have my place,” Pop said, “I’m mulching roses today.”
+
+“Oh, Ma,” Simon complained.
+
+“You’ll save Ellen yet from us heathen,” Dan said.
+
+“I saw the sermon in the paper.” Pop was pounding his knife. “He’s
+taking the text, what is man?”
+
+“I know that one,” Ellen said. “Thou madest him a little lower than the
+angels.”
+
+“Ma sure knows her Bible,” said Simon to Dennie. “She’s e’er preaching
+it at me.”
+
+“Simon, that’s not so.”
+
+“I’ll learn you the song, Ellen,” Dennie was crying, “I want to live in
+a royal way, as a child of a king should live.”
+
+“Tell you, Dennie, she can convert me,” Dan grinned, his eyes yellow in
+the early sun flooding across the table.
+
+“And I will too.” Ellen got up to fill the milk pitcher. Her hand
+brushed over the top of his black head. She saw Mom start. She filled
+the pitcher. Now why did I do that?
+
+Adele loaned Ellen a hat and Simon put on a fresh shirt. They were
+piling into the old car. Mom’s ample form filled the seat by Adele and
+the others sat in back. The sermon was dull. The minister was a wan
+tired man. “Yes, what is man?” he queried, “that Thou art mindful of
+him? Yes.” He said it as if he believed the question presumptuous. Ellen
+thought the service uneventful compared to a Catholic mass. She rose at
+each hymn time, stretching her shoulders.
+
+   Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
+   The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide
+   When other helpers fail and comforts flee
+   Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me
+
+Simon shuffled his feet. Mom and Adele separated the little girls, who
+giggled, black eyes squinting up. Ellen looked around. I reckon it’s
+that people like to gather together. It’s their nature, the way sheep go
+in a band. Lambs of God. And I’m a solitary. They were driving home. Her
+curiosity was sated and she stayed at the farm thereafter.
+
+It was the middle of April when Dan remembered his promise. He had come
+in for dinner, his hands smudged with cup-grease, his pants streaked.
+“Damn tractor again,” he was growling happily. “Ought to sue Ford for
+misrepresenting that pile of tin.”
+
+“Pass down the biscuits,” Sudduth cried. “Dan, let’s raise the studs
+this afternoon.”
+
+“Don’t you make a mistake now, boys,” Mom said gravely, “and get the
+back door to the front. Land.”
+
+“Say, Ellen,” Dan was calling, “I’m going up near Weems Crossroads
+tomorrow. Want to go see Luke Dougherty’s wife?”
+
+Ellen flushed. “There. I do.”
+
+“Are you going to Webster’s?” Mom asked him. “And visit Star?”
+
+“No. A fellow up there’s got sheep. I thought we might start a few
+lambs.”
+
+“Better stop in to see Star,” Mom said. “Since you’re going to be up
+that way.”
+
+“Sheep.” Pop was sipping his coffee through his beard. “Thought this was
+a dairy farm.”
+
+“I might, Mom,” Dan said.
+
+“It’th dripping, Pop.” Grace pointed to the coffee in his white beard.
+Hannah snickered.
+
+“Girls,” cried Adele. “Manners at table. I’ll get a switch.”
+
+“Dan, you stop in at Webster’s.” Mom’s voice was persistent. “A pretty
+girl needs attention.”
+
+“We’ll leave as soon as the morning work’s done, Ellen,” Dan said.
+“Let’s go now, Sudduth. Get those studs up.”
+
+“Dan,” Mom warned, as the door snapped shut.
+
+“Sheep will ruin pasture faster than anything,” Pop said. “Pull the
+grass out by the roots.” He was wiping his beard where it was wet and
+yellowed. “Why don’t you two girls quiet down?”
+
+“I wish he was little again so I could spank him, Pop. He’s so
+stubborn.”
+
+Before Ellen and Dan drove off in the morning, he threw ropes into the
+bed of the truck on the litter of dry manure and straw. The sleeves of
+his white shirt were rolled, it was unbuttoned at the neck. His face was
+constrained, the cheek lines tight. As they made a turn onto the main
+highway, the wheels shrilled. Ellen caught at the door handle. He
+grunted, “My mother. Women. What a nagger.”
+
+“Oh Dan.”
+
+“Go see Star. What’ll Mr. Webster think? Forever butting in.” He was
+tapping the wheel with his thumbs, the line of his lips wrathful.
+
+“Mom doesn’t mean anything.” All the day with him.
+
+“Let her run my kid brother. Not me. She won’t stop. I’ll be an old man
+and she’ll be doing it.”
+
+“Don’t be that way,” Ellen coaxed, hopeful.
+
+“Shut up.”
+
+Ellen’s anger lifted and she pushed it down. The drowsy odor of flowers
+was flooding through the open window, and of verdant wheat spears and
+growing fields. The breeze stirred dust on the floor. She was leaning
+back against the cool leather, watching trees flash by. With her shoe
+she felt the tin cake pan holding a three-layer cake for Penny’s
+children. A bird warbled and dipped before the truck, a darting of gray.
+“That’s a catbird. Dennie told me. We don’t have them in Kentucky. It
+mocks the other birds and it mews like a cat.” She sighed.
+
+He made no reply. The brooding silence grew as they covered the roadways
+swiftly. He raised his hand once and she glanced over. He was running
+his strong fingers over his hair that rose coarse. His lean legs were
+taut, his hips high on the seat, poised. His thin nostrils were spread.
+He’s honing for a fight, like a feisty bull. And he’s driving too fast.
+
+“It’s along this road a ways,” she was saying, then she pointed. “There
+it is. That’s the Doughertys.” The house was set back near the crab
+apple tree at the head of the winding lane; a wing newly built at the
+back had changed its contour. “You want to meet Penny, Dan?”
+
+“I’m out to buy sheep, remember?” He was lifting his eyebrows, the beak
+of his nose haughty. “I’ll be back to pick you up about three. I’ve got
+to get home for chores.”
+
+“I’ll be waiting here. In the roadway. So you won’t have to bother to
+drive to the house.” She slammed the door, went down the lane swiftly,
+her cake pan on one arm. The truck ground its gears and whirled down the
+road. Ellen’s cheeks were red, she breathed deeply. She saw Penny coming
+into the open doorway of the house, a baby on her arm, shielding her
+eyes from the sun glare. The woman appeared frail, her face that had
+been soft was sharper-featured, the skin dry. She came to meet Ellen.
+
+“Luke and me were talking about you last night. How’s that Simon?”
+
+“He’s big, Penny.” She was looking at the child in the blanket. “What do
+you call this least one?”
+
+“Jess. He’s a bit peaked.”
+
+Ellen took the bundle. The child was like a tiny aged man. It slept,
+scarcely breathing. “Say.”
+
+“I was right ill while carrying him. Have you come to spend the day,
+Ellie? You know how I always was one for company. Ernie,” she was
+calling, “stay out of the kitchen, now. Blossom, you watch him.”
+
+“I brought a cake for the youngens.”
+
+“There, Ellie.”
+
+“How’s your goats? How’s old Tiny?”
+
+“Tiny died. Must have been three years ago. But there’s a daughter out
+of her, Little Tiny. We got fifteen head now.”
+
+“Where’s the donkey?”
+
+“We let him go when times got bad. The boys’ll show you around after a
+spell.”
+
+“Where are Clate and Anse?”
+
+“In the orchard. Blossom’s minding Ernie for me. He’s ailing today.
+She’s good with him.” Blossom was in the doorway, brushing her unkempt
+hair from her face, her eyes soft like a rabbit’s. She was eight, sober
+with responsibility.
+
+“Blossom,” Ellen was calling, “I brought you a daisy cake.” The child
+smiled politely and retreated.
+
+“She’s not used to folks,” Penny said.
+
+“Where’s Melinda, Penny?”
+
+“She’s been gone four years. She came down with the scarlet fever.”
+
+“I’m sorry to hear that.”
+
+“Four years to the month. We put a marker on her grave. Says, Under the
+Shadow of His Wings. Luke got it from the mail-order house.”
+
+“I heard Luke’s in charge of one of Webster’s barns now.”
+
+“Yes, he is. And Anse was right sick with that fever too.”
+
+“I’m working for some folks now, Penny.”
+
+“I was going to ask you how you got to come.” Penny was putting her arms
+out suddenly, “You want to give me Jess? I’ll see if he’s hungry.” She
+gave her breast to the baby and Ellen saw that despite her many
+children, Penny was still rounded with milk. Her neck was thin, the
+bones prominent.
+
+A pale boy of two came out the door, clad in a short checked pinafore,
+his bare feet dirty. He pulled at Penny’s dress, whining. “Don’t now,
+Ernie,” Penny said, mild.
+
+“You ought to let your ma be,” said Ellen. The child waved his hand,
+petulant, at her.
+
+“Leave him alone,” Penny spoke sharply. She laid her hand on the boy’s
+cheek. “I lost a baby that came before Ernie.” The child had put his
+head in her lap. Ellen watched them. She’s like an old cow that has one
+calf after the last. And if you try to mind it for her, she’ll drive you
+off with her horns.
+
+At noon, the boys came dashing in. Clate was sunburned, a brawny boy of
+eleven. Anse, shy and tall, shook Ellen’s hand, blushing. “The table’s
+too small or we’d set it proper.” He went to lean on the wall where he
+watched the other children eat, so that Ellen would see the way he
+scorned the lot of them. When they finished, Ellen cut the cake. The
+layers were yellow, and butter-coloring had been stirred into the
+frosting to make it yellow, too. They sat about in the grass and felt
+the breeze move.
+
+“Wish you’d come more often, Ellie. I haven’t done a lick today,” Penny
+said.
+
+Clate was clapping his hands. He tapped his foot, throwing back his
+curly brown hair. The children were joining in as if it was a thing they
+did often, gathering close to their mother.
+
+   Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man
+   Whipped his wife with a frying pan
+   Combed his head with the wagon wheels
+   Died with a toothache in his heel
+
+Penny asked about Ellen’s goats. “How are they faring with you out
+working?”
+
+“Pa butchered them.” She let Penny think it was done with her consent.
+“I miss them.”
+
+“Now we got a kid at the barn, Ellie, for Simon. It’s Little Tiny’s. You
+tell Simon it belongs to him because he used to milk Old Tiny for me.”
+
+“Simon’ll be proud, Penny.”
+
+It was shortly after two when Ellen heard the truck’s noisy motor. Her
+breath caught. There he was. He drove up the lane and parked. He called,
+genial, as he came up, “Hello, Mrs. Dougherty. I know your husband. I’ve
+talked to him over at Webster’s.”
+
+Penny held her hand out in welcome. “Howdy.”
+
+“Come see my sheep.” High bleats were audible from the truck bed.
+Blossom brought Ernie out, lifting him to see the beasts with sawdust
+caught in the gray wool. “I bought a ram and three ewes. They’ll be
+breeding this fall.”
+
+“Dog. Dog,” babbled the child.
+
+“Now you two come again,” Penny was saying as Ellen and Dan got into the
+truck.
+
+“There’ll be no holding Simon when he hears about that kid. Goodbye,
+Blossom.” She waved to the little boy, “Bye now, Ernie.”
+
+“Dog.”
+
+Penny laughed, “He’s a case.”
+
+The cake tin was rattling on the floor. Ellen smoothed her rumpled
+skirt. “That Penny. I ne’er knew a body like her.”
+
+“Got her hands full with that gang.”
+
+“She lost two. One was a little girl I saw a few years back. A pretty
+one.”
+
+“That’s no way to live. But you ask that kind of a woman. They’ll pick
+it again if you give them a choice.”
+
+“That’s how some women are.”
+
+“I suppose. You ought to know.” He was laughing at her. “Me, I like
+things under control.”
+
+“You sure are acting braggy today.”
+
+He flushed, reaching for her shoulder and pulling her beside him.
+“Hello.”
+
+“Did you see Star?”
+
+“No, I didn’t.” His hard fingers were within her dress on the tender
+underarm.
+
+“Dan?” The April air was suggesting lilacs unsealing, tight dark purple
+buds becoming a feathery lavender, the vague pressing fragrance was
+turning Ellen back into the past. She was riding home in the Ford pickup
+from the circus, she was sixteen. She stirred now.
+
+“What is it?”
+
+There had been a pair of baby shoes dangling from the dashboard. It was
+hot in a late afternoon. The birds were still. Christian Ay was saying,
+“Want me to stop along the way?” It was long past, it was a dream. But
+the world had been new and fresh. Like today.
+
+Then it was Dan again. He was turning off the highway onto a lane
+bordered by a grove of horse chestnuts. “Now then.” He was braking the
+truck on the grass sward beside the trees. He opened the door on his
+side. “Come on,” he was shouting.
+
+They ran into the shade, under the low branches, where the grass was
+sun-speckled. Ellen was crying, “Smell the air.”
+
+He was drawing her down beside him. She saw blue innocence flowers in
+the moist grass amid wood sorrel. He was touching his hand on her face,
+her hair. His eyes were greenish in the shaded light. His flat thin
+mouth was demanding. His fingers were large and rough and at once
+tender. She felt them quiver. “Ellen?”
+
+“I’m afraid.”
+
+“Don’t be.” And he was unskillful for Ellen had lived lonely all of her
+days.
+
+Her head was on his arm, tears flowing from somewhere.
+
+“I really didn’t know, Ellen.” They stayed there a long time. She had
+fallen asleep. The shadows in the chestnut branches spreading made a
+network. The blue was far beyond. The small flowers were bowing to the
+breeze, a catbird started to warble, harsh, very clear, twitching its
+tail. After a while another bird called back from afar. Dan was waking
+her. “It’s nearly four. My arm’s asleep. I was afraid I’d disturb you.”
+
+“I wasn’t sleeping.”
+
+The lambs bleated from the bed of the truck. “Yes, you were.”
+
+“All right.”
+
+“Are you pleased?”
+
+“We had better go.”
+
+“We will in a minute.”
+
+“You were ugly this morning.”
+
+“I’m trying to show you how sorry I am. What do you think that was all
+about?” He was grinning.
+
+She ran from him to the truck. He came after and swung open the door for
+her. He made up a cigarette while she waited; he tapped the Bull Durham
+pouch, pulled the drawstring with his teeth. Then they were driving
+homeward. She leaned into his arm until they nearly reached the
+Wasilewski house. She had picked a horse chestnut leaf, and showed him
+the print of a hoof where the leaf was torn from the twig that held it;
+even the horseshoe nails were there, five of them. She twirled the leaf
+in her fingers. She sighed, smiling at him, already regretting the
+incident in the grove. And him plighted to Star Webster.
+
+
+                                   24
+
+In the morning Adele was urging her daughters through breakfast so they
+would be ready for church on time. Simon cried, “Wish I had my kid here,
+Ma. I’m naming it April for it was born this month.”
+
+“I’ll stay at home today, Adele,” Mom said. “I want to ready up the
+fruit cellar. We’ll be canning before we know it. Applesauce and
+berries.”
+
+The little girls clamored, “Pleathe. Let us stay too, and play with
+Thimon.”
+
+“Well, I’m going,” Dennie said. “We’re hearing about that Goliath.”
+
+“Girls,” said Adele, “I’m surprised you don’t want to hear that story
+too.”
+
+“Wish April was here,” Simon was saying, “trailing after me.”
+
+“Star’s coming for supper tonight,” said Mom.
+
+“I forgot that.” Dan rubbed the blemish that colored the taut flesh of
+his cheek.
+
+“Be nice to see Star again,” said Adele. “When was she here last?”
+
+“Let’s see,” said Pop. “It was snowing, wasn’t it?”
+
+“Did you meet her, Ellen?” asked Adele.
+
+“No.” Ellen felt the hot flush creep over her face.
+
+“Then it must have been before the thaw, Pop,” Sudduth said. “Because
+right after that Ellen came.”
+
+“You’re wearing your hair a new way, Ellen,” Mom said. “It’s very nice.
+Soft like that around your face. You used to pin it so tight.”
+
+Ellen hastily brushed the loose strands back. “Reckon I did.” She could
+sense Mom’s piercing eyes.
+
+The men went out; Adele and the children drove to church. Ellen was
+working in the kitchen. She was preparing peach cobblers for dinner that
+night. Mason jars of peach halves glistened bright orange in the
+sun-shot window. While she was mixing the dough with her fingers, Mom
+came in, carrying a heavy book. “Have you ever seen a Polish Bible,
+Ellen?” Mom laid it on the table and turned to the record of family
+dates on the first page.
+
+Ellen knew the woman had brought it in for a purpose. “I’ve heard that
+some keep their Bibles like that, Mom. Though our family ne’er did with
+ours.” She put her hand swiftly to her hair leaving a drift of flour.
+
+Mom pointed to the list. “Pop’s mother brought it over from Poland. We
+can’t any of us read Polish, but it’s been in his family so we write
+everything in it.”
+
+There were different hands, some with foreign characters, hard to
+decipher. The latest entry read, “Hannah Wasilewski. July 6, 1932.”
+Higher on the list Ellen could see in faded green ink, “Daniel Matthew
+Wasilewski. May 10, 1895.”
+
+“See, there’s Sudduth’s wedding to Adele.” Mom was putting a broad
+finger on it. “That was clean before the depression. Now Star and Dan’ll
+be setting their date. It’ll say, Daniel Wasilewski took Star Webster in
+marriage. October first, maybe. This year.”
+
+“That’s a fine book there.” Ellen said it coolly. I was born in 1909.
+That makes him fourteen years older. He’s forty-one. She felt languid
+because of her love. She was smiling at Mom, gray eyes narrow, hiding
+the secret anger.
+
+“We know Dan’s making a good marriage, Ellen.” Mom’s cheeks were red.
+
+“That Mr. Webster’s a rich man.”
+
+“Look, Star suits Dan.” Mom spoke crisp. “My son loves her.”
+
+“Reckon two cobblers’ll be enough for tonight, Mom? With company
+coming?”
+
+“Better make three.” The older woman was going to put the Bible back on
+its shelf; her heavy body moved stolid, with decision. Ellen watched her
+go.
+
+When she and Dan had come back last night from Penny’s, Dan had changed
+his clothes and gone directly to the barn. After supper he hurried out
+again with Sudduth to set up a pen for the new sheep. The two men
+returned at dusk, stood in the kitchen awhile talking before they went
+to bed. Dan paid no heed to Ellen. The yellow cat purred and mewled now
+about her feet while she rolled the dough deftly, fitted it into the pie
+tins. She thought how she disliked Mom. The woman’s hostility was
+palpable. She was calling out as her steps were heard descending, “I’ll
+be in the fruit cellar, Ellen. When you finish, come and help. We’ve got
+to get this straightening done if it is Sunday.”
+
+“I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old kitchen in the
+yellow house. For Frankie and Maria nearby, the boiler steaming on the
+range, Jack waiting in the bushes by the porch. The goats in fresh straw
+in the woodshed. And her in the garden rows, singing “Down in the
+Valley.” Here the customs were foreign, even their manners and speech
+differed from what she had known. The old people had been born in a land
+across the water, brought their alien habits with them. They bathed in a
+separate room where a white tub stood on ornate legs. Everyone had his
+own towel, and when he bathed he would hang it on the line in the sun,
+even Hannah. Ellen would see Dan pinning his in the evenings, casually,
+pausing to light a cigarette before returning to the house. It would
+seem to her as if he performed a woman’s task, as if it were too clean.
+When she first came to this household and rolled pie crusts, Mom had
+showed her how the edges of the dough must be crimped by twisting the
+thumbs in a particular way. And when they went to kill a chicken, they
+laid a broomstick across its neck and yanked the legs sharply so the
+head was pulled off. She poured the fragrant peach halves into the pans.
+At first I couldn’t get over their merry ways. But there’s Adele who
+tried to keep from having her baby. Sudduth’s jealous of his brother.
+And Mom’s bent on managing them all. Dan will bring Star Webster here
+just like she says. They’ll write it in that Bible. Wish I could be away
+tonight. I don’t want to see that girl. Ellen was crimping the edges of
+the pies skillfully and sliding them into the oven. The yellow cat
+bounded after, and she caught it in her arms as she went down the cellar
+steps.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lilacs on the north side of the house, outside the dining room
+windows, were opening their buds in the afternoon. The perfume was
+drifting through the house. Ellen fried the chickens while Mom helped
+Adele dress the girls and straighten the rooms. Ellen was setting the
+table, spreading first the linen cloth, cream-colored with age. She took
+out crystal that stood in the sideboard and heavy-plated silver, placed
+it as Mom had directed, the knife and spoon on the right side with blade
+turned to the plate, the fork on the left. Simon came in. “Who’s Star
+Webster?”
+
+“She’s a friend of theirs, Simon.”
+
+“Dennie says she’s Dan’s sweetheart.”
+
+Ellen was laying small butter knives in front of the plates. “Well.”
+
+“That’s fancy there, Ma. The way you’re doing.” Simon was grown so his
+head came above Ellen’s shoulder. He was over ten now.
+
+She put goblets at the knife tips and turned to him. “You eat proper. No
+swooshing your food with a biscuit. Mind, now. And the fork goes in the
+right hand.”
+
+“I’ll most likely fall o’er backwards in my chair.”
+
+“Watch Dennie and do like he does. You’re twice his size and half as
+mannerly. And be quiet too.”
+
+“I don’t care for all this.”
+
+“Put on that new shirt I made.” She went to the kitchen. “Now go on. The
+queen’ll be here before we know it.”
+
+The clock read seven when they drove up. Ellen paused to look out the
+window. Dan had changed into his brown suit, wore a bright striped tie.
+He was taking Star’s hand as she stepped down from the truck cab. Star
+Webster was just nineteen. Her small form was sheathed in a white dress,
+she wore white shoes and gloves and a wide-brimmed white hat. Her hair
+fluffed out, her arms were untanned. Adele said Star put stockings on
+her arms when she went to pick berries to keep the sun from them, and a
+sunbonnet to protect her face and neck. She was laughing up at Dan. He
+had said she was exciting. She was afraid of the dark. He liked that.
+Maybe she leans on him, helpless. A man doesn’t like a woman strong.
+
+The potatoes steamed as they boiled over, and Ellen turned hastily to
+them. Mom and Adele came in, fastening on starched print aprons. Mom
+wore her new black rayon dress, a cameo gold brooch at the neckline.
+Adele’s dark green suit made her round face sallow. The little girls
+followed. “Thay, Ellen. Look at us.” They twirled pink and blue dresses
+before her.
+
+“You sure sew pretty, Adele,” Ellen said.
+
+“A little starch will do wonders with that cheap voile.” Adele was
+modest. “Now you girls go say hello to Star.” They ran, whispering and
+nudging.
+
+The women beat potatoes with a wood masher, lifted browned chicken onto
+the huge white platter, and broke ice cubes into a water pitcher. The
+family was coming in from the living room, Star holding to Dan’s arm.
+Sudduth was complaining, “Sunday’s a workday like every other around
+here, Star. When my house is built, I’m going to church with Adele and
+the girls. That’ll give me a day off.”
+
+Pop shuffled after them, pulling his beard. “Hee. That’s one way to do
+it.”
+
+“This is our girl, Ellen,” Mom said to the guest, “and that’s Simon.”
+
+“Hello there,” said Star. “Oh Mom, what a lovely table. You always set
+it so pretty.”
+
+“You sit over here, Dan,” Mom said.
+
+“I’ll sit where I usually do.” He was smiling stiffly.
+
+“Well, Star, you take the chair by him.”
+
+Dennie said grace. “God is great, God is good, bless us for our daily
+food.”
+
+Grace shouted, “Zaccheus he. Did climb a tree. Our Lord to thee.”
+
+“That’s enough,” threatened Sudduth.
+
+They were pressing extra morsels on the girl in white. “Have some
+watermelon pickles,” Mom said. “Land o’ Goshen, it was two years ago we
+put them up.”
+
+“I got thick on them,” Hannah lisped, “on my new thpring coat.”
+
+“Hannah,” Pop shouted.
+
+“You’re always saying speak up,” Dan reminded him, “so you ought to let
+her alone.”
+
+“That’s right.” Pop clattered his knife. “Speak up.”
+
+“And it won’t come out of the coat, neither,” Grace said shyly.
+
+“Girls,” Mom cried.
+
+“Jesus, my back hurts.” Sudduth fidgeted in his chair.
+
+Dan and Star were sitting near Mom at one end of the table. Star would
+turn her face sidewise, appealing, “Don’t you agree, Dannie?”
+
+Sudduth was saying, “I’m trying to buy a piece of our neighbor’s land,
+Star. Near where my house’ll be. If I get it, this farm’ll total a
+hundred and ten acres.”
+
+“That’s a lot,” Star’s fork was poised, “don’t you think, Dannie?”
+
+“It’s Sudduth’s twenty acres,” Dan said, without looking at her.
+
+“Oh.” Her mouth was round and pink. She set the fork down, the food
+untouched, put her napkin to her lips. “Did you fry the chicken, miss?”
+she asked Ellen. “It’s delicious. Isn’t it, Dannie?” The lilac scent was
+floating through the open window behind her.
+
+“Yes, I did.” Ellen was blushing, resentment like a knot in her chest.
+
+“Her name’s Ellen, Star,” Dan said, “you just met her.”
+
+“You think I’ll ever make chicken like this, Dannie?” The girl’s
+laughter was the bright tinkle of a bell. “Will you teach me, Ellen?”
+
+Mom said, “Oh, you’ll catch on easy enough.”
+
+“Why should she teach you?” Dan’s voice was deliberate, matter-of-fact.
+
+“Oh, I never cooked a chicken.”
+
+“Well, why her? Your mama can teach you.” He laughed, abrupt.
+
+“Dannie. Don’t fuss.” The white dress was cut in a square neckline. Her
+eyes bloomed innocent.
+
+“No, I want to know. Why?” His underlip was jutting out, his smile had
+set. The mark on his cheek was dark, and his palms were on the table
+where he leaned.
+
+“Dan. Star’s our company. Land.” Mom reproved him, fingering the brooch
+at her breast.
+
+“Now there,” Pop cried, and the children, sensing the tenseness of their
+elders, looked from one to another.
+
+“Well? Can’t you answer?”
+
+Star’s little mouth quivered. “I’ll ask Mama to.”
+
+“Dan, will you behave? He doesn’t mean it, Star.” Mom shook her head.
+“Ellen, run get the dessert. You want to help them clear, Star?”
+
+“Oh, I do.” The girl took up her plate and Dan’s.
+
+Adele shoved her chair back so it squeaked, and Ellen noted that she
+pinched Sudduth’s shoulder as she passed him. This is one of those times
+Adele’s glad she’s got Sudduth. Ellen was moving rapidly, clearing
+dishes and brushing the crumbs. She cut the pies and brought them in
+silver holders to set before Mom. She went into the kitchen, and while
+cobbler wedges were passed down on small china dishes, Ellen was filling
+the flowered white cups with coffee and carrying them around.
+
+“I love this pattern.” Mom appraised her cup. “It’s Wreaths of Roses.
+And the set’s complete like the day I got it. I’ve held on to it. Even
+through the bad years. And not a one’s been broken.”
+
+Ellen set Dan’s coffee by him. He looked up, his eyes flinty, his thin
+mouth cruel. He doesn’t even see me. He muttered, “Now serve proper from
+the right, Ellen. And take care with Mom’s china.”
+
+“We bought them in nineteen ten,” Mom went on, ignoring him, “I remember
+just as clear.”
+
+“Can we have more pie?” Dennie asked.
+
+“They’re awful pretty, you know?” Star admired her cup.
+
+“More, more,” the children were shouting. “Pleathe.”
+
+“You weren’t even born yet, Star,” Mom said.
+
+“All you can hold,” Pop decided. “Fill those kids up.”
+
+They were pushing back their chairs. Sudduth lit a cigar and Pop took
+one, too. Simon groaned, holding his stomach, “Oh, this is heaven.”
+
+“Simon, you mind what I said,” Ellen warned. She was piling the cups and
+saucers, carrying them out.
+
+“Why don’t you roll one, Uncle Dan?” Dennie inquired gravely.
+
+“No thanks,” Dan told him.
+
+“Go on into the living room, all of you,” Mom said. “We girls will be
+done in a jiffy. Go on, Star.”
+
+“It was just lovely, Mom.” Star hugged her about the waist. “And that
+peach pie was delicious.”
+
+“I don’t know what gets into him,” Mom whispered, “but don’t pay him any
+mind. He was just hungry.”
+
+“Dannie’s a grouch.” Star ran out lightly.
+
+When they had nearly finished in the kitchen, as Ellen was saying, “Do
+go along, Mom. Adele and me’ll redd up the rest,” they heard the truck
+roar, saw it spinning down the driveway in the light of dusk.
+
+“There,” Mom said. “I’m mortified. I thought we were going to sit and
+talk. Dan was going to play for us, and Star could sing.”
+
+“Well,” said Adele, “I was shocked. Treating a guest like that.” Mom
+stepped into the other room to replace the shining goblets, and Adele
+said softly, “That was a fine example to set for young children.”
+
+“He was really raising sand,” Ellen admitted.
+
+“Dan can’t bear it that she’s so useless, Ellen. You know Websters have
+a maid. Lord knows when she gets up of a morning.”
+
+“I know. You already told me.”
+
+“I’ll be glad,” Adele said brightly to Mom as she entered, “to have our
+house finished. And I’ll have this baby in October.”
+
+The family trooped out to stand looking at the blooming lilacs. The
+children scuffled with each other without purpose. After a while as dark
+drifted, they all went in. Mom pressed her hands on the piano keys,
+discordant. She prodded Dennie, “Can’t you play a piece, Dennie? You
+know some.”
+
+“I’m tired.” The boy’s eyes were heavy.
+
+“I could put a record on the victrola, Mom,” Adele suggested.
+
+“No.” Mom was walking to the windows, looking into the shadowed yard.
+
+“What’s everyone waiting for?” Simon inquired sleepily.
+
+Mom sighed. “Let’s go to bed.”
+
+Ellen followed the others upstairs, avoiding any intrusion on her
+thoughts. She undressed, turned off the light. Sounds died in the house,
+all was still. She was sitting on the wide window sill. The lilac odor
+wafted up, her feet were cold. She felt the constriction in her throat,
+wondered if she would cry soon. She imagined Star lying dead somewhere.
+Mutilated. What a small baby she is. But Star’s white beauty came back,
+the immaculate dress and gloves, the big hat she swung in her hand,
+dainty, laughing, tipping her head up at Dan. She’ll make him forget me.
+The night hours, weighted, were passing. The silence was marred
+occasionally by a creaking rafter or a settling floor beam. In a distant
+meadow the whistle of a whippoorwill was echoing. It was nearly three
+when he returned. The boards of the rack on the truck rattled and
+slammed. The gravel crunched. The kitchen door clattered. His tread
+sounded on the stairs, it stopped outside her doorway. She held her
+breath until the steps went on down the hall.
+
+She was awake before dawn, in the cellar sorting clothes into ragged
+heaps. The wash boiler steamed on the range. She dropped clothes into
+the chugging electric machine, and let them beat while she hung those
+she had run through the automatic wringer. She took up the basket, piled
+high with white sheets. A narrow stone stairway led outside through
+sloping double doors. They were open and pallid sun rays crawled into
+hidden dark corners. She was going up into the sunlight. The grass was
+wet, an early bluebird darted to a fence wire and clung there, “Purity!”
+It vanished into the high leaves of the oak. At breakfast her dress was
+darkened in front from suds and water that had splashed; grass stems
+were caught between her toes. Her hair was brushed and coiled high. She
+moved lissome about the kitchen, looking at Dan’s black head bent surly
+over his food.
+
+“Ellen’s going barefoot,” Grace was crying. “Can I?”
+
+“I only did it,” Ellen explained, “to save my shoes from the wet. You’d
+catch cold.”
+
+“Ellen’s right,” Adele agreed.
+
+“When I’m growed, I’ll do it,” Hannah said.
+
+“I’ll warm the tractor up, Sudduth.” Dan spoke brusque, grease streaked
+on his browned arms and neck. “We’ll grind cobs as soon as you’re
+ready.” He was rushing out. Ellen saw him from the window. He had
+stopped under the oak to light his cigarette, glancing at the clothes
+strung on the line. She wondered if he saw the freshness of the grass or
+heard the bird.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+A week had gone. Ellen was grubbing on her knees in the flower beds
+along the side of the house. During the days the strain between Dan and
+Mom had been clear to the others. Dan refused to play the piano, Mom sat
+mending, her mouth unhappy. Only Sudduth was more talkative in the
+evenings; he would engage Pop and Adele in long good-natured arguments.
+Ellen was digging into the dirt now, vigorous. Mom’s voice came shrill
+from one of the windows above. Ellen held her trowel motionless. “But
+she expects you to. Star loves you.” Dan’s voice muttered and Mom was
+shouting again, “Who do you want then? That hill-woman? What’s the
+matter with you, Dan?”
+
+“Shut up, Mom. Will you?”
+
+“You’ve got a chance here of a marriage that’s the best in the county.
+Land. You ought to get on your knees and thank God a family like
+Websters took up with poor Polacks like us.”
+
+“Dammit, you forget we’ve got some of the best black soil there is.
+That’s better than money in a bank. A family like Websters. You sound
+like some cockeyed book. Now look, I told Star we’re finished. She’s got
+it through her head. That’s the last I’m going to hear about it in this
+house. It’s none of your business.”
+
+“Oh, it’s not?”
+
+“No, dammit.”
+
+“It’s that hill-woman.”
+
+“Will you stop calling her that hill-woman like she’s a tramp and not
+decent?”
+
+The sawed-off hoe was poised in Ellen’s hand. A door slammed. Later when
+Mom came to see how her work was coming on, there was no sign of the
+quarrel in her voice. “You think it’s too shady here for asters, Ellen?”
+The skin was tight around Mom’s eyes and her lips curved downwards.
+
+“Marigolds might do better,” Ellen suggested. And when she met Dan, as
+she was coming from the hen house with a basket of eggs, she sought his
+eyes. He frowned, feeling her gaze. “Hell, I’ve got the milking.” He
+strode away. She was walking back to the house, thoughtful.
+
+The lilacs that night, on the wane after their peak, were spilling forth
+a dulcet fragrance. In a few days they would be gone, withered. Ellen
+was seated in the long window of her room, studying the sky. There was a
+quarter moon, it was near midnight. She was restless and sighed on the
+shadows. All at once a red point came and went in the dark under one of
+the oaks in the yard. She raised her head quickly, seeing it. Her mind
+explored it. The figure had been there all the time, outlined vaguely
+against the trunk. As she watched it, her blood began to beat dully into
+the lilac scent. Then she was slipping into a dress swiftly and closing
+her room door. She went down the stairs one at a time, and lingered. At
+the kitchen door she turned around, hesitant, trembling. But then she
+was going out, languorous, into the night.
+
+He still leaned unmoving, against the oak. His features were dissolved
+into the dark moonlight. She smelled the burning tobacco, saw the
+scarlet coal. “Hi, Ellen.”
+
+She whispered, “What is it, Dan?” Pausing, she had blended to the night,
+a part of the grass, pliant.
+
+He shifted sharply and threw aside the stub, moved away from the tree
+hole. She went unerring into his lean arms. In a little while he was
+putting his hands in her hair that was nearly without color, bluish in
+the light of the small piece of moon. “Always I’ve been waiting for you,
+Ellen.”
+
+She looked at the crag of his nose, the etched bold face. “There. You’re
+like a hawk. I love you.”
+
+“Half made, half a man. Waiting for you. Understand?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“No, you don’t. You’re a woman. You don’t understand at all.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“You’re what I need. You make me complete. I want to do all things for
+you.” He was poised above her.
+
+“I know.”
+
+
+                                   25
+
+The square dances at Silvers Farm were held every year before the main
+hay crop was gathered. Dan and Ellen, Sudduth and Adele, were going
+together in the old Dodge. Ellen was in the front seat close against
+Dan. Adele was saying, “We used to go to Silvers when Sudduth was
+courting me.”
+
+“Time sure flies,” Sudduth said.
+
+“Are you positive I don’t show too much, Sudduth? To go to a public
+place? What do you think, Ellen? You know how girls can be. They’ll all
+be saying, is it September, October or November.”
+
+“You look real nice, Adele.”
+
+When they had pulled out of the Wasilewski drive, the children had
+shouted goodbye, Pop went to count the roses the damask bush had borne
+this year, and Mom called, “You young folks enjoy yourself.”
+
+Mom was resigned to Dan’s rupture with Star but where she had once been
+warm and friendly toward Ellen, a coldness was now in her air. Where she
+had used to gossip freely, she was constrained. Ellen would try to
+please her, to think ahead, doing the tasks before Mom could assign
+them. “But I already picked the bush beans this morning, Mom. There’s
+near a bushel. I reckoned you’d want it done.” And all the time there
+was joy because of Dan. He would come to where she was scrubbing the
+baby chick brooders or polishing windows, seeking her out when he was
+free. “Oh, this is a woman I’ve found.”
+
+At the Silvers barn the first cutting of hay was stacked at one end of
+the loft, its honey permeating the air. Wire cables had been stretched
+from automobiles and tractors below, and from them colored lights were
+strung along the rafters, and paper lanterns. On a platform near the
+door a fiddler and a banjo-player were busy. “Sometimes,” Dan told
+Ellen, “he’ll take steel knitting needles to those banjo strings.”
+
+“All he ever does,” said Sudduth, “is play that banjo.”
+
+“Pigeon wing,” Mr. Silvers called, his fleshy face in a sweat, his
+barrel stomach shaking with covert laughter.
+
+   I had an old hat with a flop down brim
+   It looked like a toad frog
+   Setting on a limb
+
+“Double shuffle,” he was roaring.
+
+“I told you I can’t dance, Dan,” Ellen protested. “Pa’d ne’er let us
+go.”
+
+“I’ll show you.”
+
+Adele went to talk with her friends and Sudduth merged into a group of
+men. “Any borers in your corn yet, Wasilewski?”
+
+“A few.”
+
+“My cow throwed twins.”
+
+“God damn. Better look if one’s a freemartin.”
+
+“Wrenched my back in the spring.” Sudduth put his hand on it.
+
+“Tarred my corn this time. Crows got pesky.”
+
+“Sounds gummy.”
+
+“No. Roll in it wood ashes.”
+
+“God damn. Where’d you hear that?”
+
+“County agent.”
+
+“God-damn bull-shitter.”
+
+“No crows.”
+
+“Um.”
+
+And the women were questioning Adele avidly, “Who’s that with Dan?”
+
+“Why that’s our girl, Ellen.”
+
+“Never saw her before. Is she from around here?”
+
+“She’s from Kentucky.”
+
+“Thought Dan was courting the Webster girl. I was looking forward to
+seeing them. They made a cute couple.”
+
+“Star’s real sweet.”
+
+“What happened with Star, Adele? You can tell us.”
+
+“He simply broke off with her. I don’t know.”
+
+“Now, Adele, we know how these things can be.”
+
+“Why’d Dan bring your hired girl?”
+
+“She was there. Maybe he felt sorry for her.”
+
+“She’s good-looking, Adele.”
+
+“Right young, too.”
+
+“She’s not as young as she looks,” Adele pleaded. “Told me she was
+thirty.” Ellen had said twenty-seven, but thirty slipped out against
+Adele’s will.
+
+“Now that just shows you what the night will do for a woman.”
+
+“You might have a new sister-in-law one of these days, Adele.”
+
+“Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Now when are you expecting it, Adele?
+Late September? Does Sudduth want a boy or a girl?”
+
+The floor of the hayloft was dusted with chaff. The people were spinning
+in the pattern of the dance.
+
+   Oh five times five are twenty five
+   And six times five are thirty
+   Seven times five are thirty five
+   And eight times five are forty
+
+Ellen was handed from one partner to the next. There were spindly
+angular boys caught by the music, feet tapping and shoulders springing
+in an extra beat. There were jovial men, worried ones, dumpy ones, old
+and young. Dan was across the floor, his dark face above the red shirt
+bending taut to a girl with curly hair. Jealousy touched in Ellen so she
+flinched, laughing up to her partner. Then when Dan came by, following
+the step, he whispered, “You’re having such a good time I’ll have to
+kill all your partners, honey.” And the roiling had vanished. Dan
+belonged to her.
+
+The music ceased and the fiddler was leaning back. The banjo-player
+wiped his brow. “Hell, it’s hot.” Dan and Ellen came up to sit on the
+platform edge. Dan was smoking. They watched the crowd at the bench
+where a barrel of cold beer was rolled on its side next to tin pitchers
+of Mrs. Silvers’ iced lemonade.
+
+“You sure can handle those strings,” Ellen was telling the fiddler.
+
+“Been doing this off and on since I was ten. Maybe this child will die
+this away. Maybe I’ll be like that Callahan.”
+
+“Who’s he?”
+
+“It’s a song. Fiddler Callahan killed somebody so they were about to
+hang him. Says if anyone would play his fiddle while he was being strung
+up, they could keep it. He begged at the crowd for it was a notion he
+had. Nobody’d do it, so when they were fixing to trip the gallows he
+quit pleading, and busted it to pieces over the coffin they had ready
+for him.”
+
+“Look,” Dan stood up, grinding his cigarette on the floor. “Could you
+play ‘Lord Lovel’ for her to sing?”
+
+“Sure thing.” The fiddler was taking up his bow.
+
+Ellen looked past the swaying lanterns into the June night.
+
+   Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate
+   Combing his milk-white steed
+   When up came Lady Nancy Belle
+   To wish her lover godspeed
+
+Lord Lovel went away then, vowing to return. But when at last he did,
+the Lady Nancy had died.
+
+   He mounted on his milk-white steed
+   And he rode to London town
+   And there he heard the death bells ringing
+   And the people mourning all round
+
+   He ordered the grave to be opened wide
+   And the shroud to be turned down
+   And there he kissed her clay-cold lips
+   And the tears came trinkling down
+
+“That was keen,” the banjo-player said. “You two want to try a
+Hound-and-Dog?”
+
+“Come on, Ellen.”
+
+“All right,” she was whispering. “I want to be woven into a part of all
+you undertake to do.”
+
+“That’s why you’re my girl.” His shaven hard cheek was on her hair, the
+red-checked shirt was tight against the white dress. And the people were
+all about but far away.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Summer put her hand on the earth and all things flourished. In early
+hours earthworms coupled on damp paths. Grain fields turned yellow.
+Mowers and reapers hummed busily across the countryside. Mulberries and
+cherries ripened. The children spread an old sheet under the trees and
+shook the branches. They gathered the corners and ran to the kitchen.
+“Berry pieth and cherry pieth,” chanted Hannah and Grace.
+
+Now that school was out, Simon was given a string of cows. He put his
+arm about their necks and the light of possession and love gleamed. One
+of them had leaped the fence and got to the bull when too young. Her
+teats were small and short. Simon’s hands were coaxing them patiently.
+
+“We’d have sold that one if it wasn’t for you, Simon,” Dan shouted from
+his milking stool.
+
+“Can’t abide a short-teated cow,” Sudduth said. “Come on, Lady, let
+those big bubbies down for me,” Sudduth was nudging the heavy udder with
+his fist; the cow chewed, serene.
+
+Simon told Ellen, “Dan might let the colt be mine if Pearl got caught
+with one.”
+
+“Colts are worth a lot.”
+
+“Well, so Dan said,” the boy insisted.
+
+They were driving over to the Doughertys. Penny gave Simon Little Tiny’s
+kid. It was brown with white stripes on its face and legs. “The daddy’s
+a Toggenburg,” Penny said. “It ought to milk proud.”
+
+The boy was entranced. “Hey, Clate. Hey, Anse. This be a fine yeanling.”
+
+Anse stood aside and said nothing, but Clate swaggered. He began to tell
+Simon how to care for the kid.
+
+“Oh shut up, Clate. I know about burnt flour when she gets the scours.”
+
+“You named it yet, Simon?” Penny asked.
+
+“April.”
+
+“That’s a fair name.” Ellen could see Penny was pregnant again. She’s
+liable to have another as puny as little Jess is.
+
+Then they were waving from the truck windows as they went down the
+narrow winding lane. “Seems I’m always saying goodbye to Penny, Dan.” He
+smiled at her across Simon who held the little doe on his knees. Used to
+be I worried over the past, how it clutched at me. Now that’s fallen
+away and I’m looking ahead, making this foreign place mine.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days were dropping, one upon one. Ellen and Dan would seek each
+other out. Their gladness was contagious, so that Sudduth was gallant
+with Adele, and Mom more attentive to Pop. Sometimes in the evenings
+they would sit on the board seat nailed between two oaks in the yard.
+“Ellen, we ought to get married now. We don’t have to wait till fall.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Whatever you say.”
+
+“I’d like to wait.”
+
+“Your family’s Catholic. You want a priest?”
+
+“I don’t care about that, but I’d like to see Adele and the children
+moved. Then I want to wash the walls and wax the floor. I’d as soon have
+a proper wedding.”
+
+“I see.” He was kissing her, and her earnestness faded as she made
+herself to him.
+
+But the next day she said, “I thought I’d write Frankie and my uncle and
+aunt. And even my pa. I’d like them to come here if they can and stand
+as my family when I marry.”
+
+“All that nonsense.”
+
+“I’d like it that way.”
+
+“Suppose I’ll have to wear a flower in my buttonhole?”
+
+“Yes. And Simon has to have a suit.”
+
+“Does he get a flower too?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What’s next?”
+
+“The minister. We can have Adele’s Presbyterian. That little sad one.
+I’ll have flowers in vases standing about. And the minister should have
+a flower too.”
+
+“He doesn’t have a buttonhole.”
+
+“I thought he did.”
+
+“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll get married now. It’s up to you,
+honey.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+That was in August. In mid-September the roof struts of Sudduth’s house
+were in place. The boards and shingles were nailed and fitted. Adele was
+moving laborious, the child big in her, sighing, “All my plans to leave
+this house so orderly for you, Mom.”
+
+“Don’t you worry, Adele. Things are good enough.”
+
+Ellen went out often to see how the building was progressing. Every nail
+driven was bringing the day nearer. Mrs. Daniel Matthew Wasilewski. I’ll
+write Ma, too. The nurses could read it to her. She might know what it
+said. I’ll go see her this winter. You can’t tell, in a year or so we
+might even be having a youngen. I could walk out to Dan where the corn
+was ripe, “Here’s your son I just happened to have.”
+
+The morning was bright and moist. The wind was drifting steadily from
+the southwest. Ellen had been picking tomatoes since breakfast and she
+was walking down to meet the men before the noon hour. They had been
+cutting hay in the field next to the new house. It was edged by a row of
+heavy-trunked willows. Long ago when posts had been cut and set, they
+had rooted in the easy way of a willow, and made heads, sprouting in
+summer rains. “What do you call those fence trees, Dan?” she was
+calling. Simon waved boldly as he clattered past her with the team and
+mower, heading for the barnyard. The men dropped their forks and came up
+to meet Ellen.
+
+“Those are golden osier willows,” Sudduth explained. “Pop planted them
+before we were born.”
+
+“Dinner ready?” Dan took Ellen’s hand as they were walking through the
+sweet-odored drying alfalfa.
+
+“I don’t know. Mom’s getting it. I’ve been in the garden.” The air was
+lightly misted though the sun was bright. There were cumulus clouds in
+the sky. The south wind continued to blow.
+
+“Hope we get this hay in all right,” Dan said.
+
+“This has been the best year yet,” Sudduth said. “Good and dry. Not a
+load lost.”
+
+“I don’t think we’ll lose this one. Knock on wood. The storm’s way off.
+The hay’ll be cured by early afternoon. We can get it in quick. Simon’s
+a help. He’s fast and he’s got the hang of it.”
+
+“It’s not twister weather, is it?” Ellen asked.
+
+“You’re not afraid of a wind?” Dan’s yellow eyes laughed, so she knew he
+was thinking of the day in the barn when he first kissed her, and she
+him.
+
+“I’m not.”
+
+In the afternoon, Ellen was in the middle of the tomato canning. At the
+kitchen door were four full bushel baskets; depleted ones were stacked
+outside. She was scalding the fruit, packing it into hot Mason jars.
+Rows of empty jars waited upside down on the table, the filled ones were
+boiling in the canner. Mom came in. “I’ll help out for a spell.” She
+fanned herself with her ample apron. “Sakes, the air’s close.”
+
+Ellen could feel how the wind had stopped. A piece of fear plucked at
+her. “Isn’t the hay in yet?”
+
+“They’re going at it real hard. They even gave Dennie a fork. He’s out
+working alongside Sudduth. Land, the rain’s not too far off.” Mom
+frowned. “Sudduth says the last cutting of alfalfa is like grain, it’s
+so high in protein.”
+
+“I know.” Ellen was pausing. “Mom, is this twister weather?”
+
+“It’s a little early for them. Doesn’t feel like it to me. We’ll know if
+Sudduth comes tearing in.” She turned to the sink. “Now, let’s get this
+mess put up.”
+
+They worked swiftly. But their minds were with the men who strove to
+save the hay.
+
+In the far field, Simon was perched on the load that towered, dwarfing
+the two dappled grays. Dan was throwing great forkfuls to him and Simon
+laid it deftly back, stepping it down, his small arms muscled and brown.
+Sudduth was unloading the truck at the barn, stacked with the previous
+load. The farm buildings were like toys in the distance, sharp-edged in
+the air which had a peculiar transparency. The movements of the man and
+boy quickened. Dan pitched up the last of the hay. “Whip them if you
+have to, Simon.”
+
+The youngster clambered into the driving seat, gathered the leather
+reins. The team pawed, rattling the harness. “I will, Dan.”
+
+“Get it in the loft fast. Sudduth’ll pitch it up.”
+
+Simon, overworked, sweated heavily, drops running down his face. His
+bleached hair curled damp, his shirt and pants clung to his skin. He
+shrilled, “Get in there. Major. Pearl!” The wagon was lurching through
+the stubble.
+
+Dan began to stack the hay that remained. By now the nimbus rain clouds
+were hovering low in the bruised sky. The man worked at a rapid pace.
+The temperature was falling, dusk descended, the air was dense. He was
+bent into his tool, trying to beat the rain in the race.
+
+A greenish-gray cloud tumbled slowly on the skyline to the west.
+Suddenly the wind came up, crying. Dan lifted his head, feeling the
+heat. The cloud had begun to spin. “Holy God,” he muttered. The stout
+willow fence teetered and creaked, the hay was swept wild, swirling. A
+purplish tongue licked downward, hunting, moving toward the hay field.
+
+Dan shook his fists at it, rearing lean in his high leather boots.
+“Dammit. Turn!” The long thick line veered crazily and then sucked back
+into the wounded cloud. But it was slipping down again, howling. “Turn.
+Turn!” His voice was nothing, his throat rended. The menace was swerving
+below the neighboring farm where it had come through in the spring. He
+was tearing his throat again, his loins on fire with fear. “Now, dear
+God. Turn!”
+
+Objects were fluttering, grotesque, like bugs in the dark pulsing. They
+were dying pigs and turkeys and a broken cart, small barns shattering
+glass, boards, dust, manure. Pieces of houses and ripped posts. Ravaged
+fruits from gardens. Drying hay, dust, chaff, dirt. Over Dan’s head a
+drove of birds winged abruptly, disappearing to the north. The heinous
+rhythmic humming was constant.
+
+The world was as if under water, green-blue, unreal, glowing. Simon was
+in the far barnyard, tiny on the stacked child’s wagon, attempting to
+pitch the hay to the loft alone. The three women, like dolls, were
+fluttering into the yard. Dan plunged into the shallow ditch bordering
+the field; he flattened himself, cowering. The ugly dancing shadow
+advanced. “No.”
+
+Then the roof of Sudduth’s bare unpainted house was rising weirdly. In
+deliberate motion it was wheeling above the field. The man stumbled up
+from the trench in rage, disbelief, clawing the air dazed, with his
+powerful hands, as if to replace the mighty shower of timber where he
+had nailed it with sweat and struggle. The roof was engulfing the field
+and the golden osier willows were breaking. The noise was tremendous.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+When they rode out to the hay field, Ellen was beside Sudduth in the
+truck. Warm silent rain blew gently against the windshield. Lumber and
+rubble were scattered and Sudduth had to drive around the larger planks,
+skidding in the mud. The prone figure was stretched face up amid the
+litter. Sudduth braked and Ellen was tearing at the door. She ran,
+believing him dead. She lifted the two-by-four from his body. She knelt,
+uncertain. His eyelids were flickering and they opened. “Hi.”
+
+“Sudduth,” she called evenly. “Get a doctor. Hurry.” She was touching
+the wet dark face, leaning over to keep off the constant rain.
+
+“You came.”
+
+“Dan?”
+
+“It didn’t turn,” he whispered. The rain was streaming from his carven
+face, his soaked black hair.
+
+“Where do you hurt?”
+
+“Dying. You know that?” He was moving narrow wood lips.
+
+“No, Dan.”
+
+“Sonofabitch,” he was sighing.
+
+“Don’t die.”
+
+“I won’t.”
+
+“The doctor’s coming. Do you hurt somewhere?”
+
+“Damn wind.”
+
+“Don’t leave me.”
+
+“Never comes twice.”
+
+“Dan?”
+
+“Never. No.” His mouth was thickening, his body was broken and when he
+heard her voice he came back through an effort of will. “Ellen?”
+
+“I won’t let you.” Her cheek against his, she cradled him in her arms.
+“Holy Mary?” The rain was pouring sweet and hot, releasing the sun-baked
+alfalfa odor. Her lips clung to his wet cool face.
+
+“Poor Ellen.”
+
+“Don’t talk.”
+
+His face was gray and seamed. It twitched, wounded. A red dot was
+appearing at the side of his mouth.
+
+“Don’t,” she breathed.
+
+His dulled greenish eyes were seeking her. For a few minutes she wasn’t
+sure he was gone. A thunderbolt tore exultant about the field, rolling
+passionate. A new torrent of rain swept like an enfolding blanket. She
+wasn’t aware. She lay upon the lifeless body reciting Hail Marys over
+and again. Pray for us sinners now. Amen.
+
+The truck sped down the drenched slick mire of the lane. The doctor
+jumped out, pried Ellen from the body. “Is he dead?” she asked. Sudduth
+was leading her to the truck cab. They wrapped a rug about the limp
+figure and laid it in back on soggy hay chaff. She looked at it through
+the rear window.
+
+“I’ll ride out here,” the doctor called, climbing over the rear bumper.
+
+Sudduth was driving through the field, avoiding the litter of boards and
+shingles. “Jesus.” He wagged his head, aimless. “I don’t know what we’re
+going to do, Ellen.”
+
+She watched the two men carry the body upstairs. Then she went into the
+kitchen, still in her wet hay-flecked dress, clinging. Vaguely she knew
+Mom was crying and the doctor was using the telephone in the sitting
+room. She lifted one of the heavy bushels by the door and set it down by
+the sink. She dipped tomatoes, peeling, packing them hot in jars,
+measuring teaspoons of salt out. No one paid her any mind. Sudduth
+called the children, shrilling, insistent. He took them all, even the
+little girls, to the barn with him while he did the chores. Upstairs,
+Adele began to cry aloud, and soon moaned at regular intervals. Mom was
+hurrying back and forth, hair wisped, mouth unsteady. She looked in at
+the kitchen door. “Land. I’m glad you’re finishing them, Ellen. Like the
+doctor says, the living come first.”
+
+Adele’s premature baby died in the night. Adele turned her head and wept
+into the pillow. She believed an all-seeing God was punishing her
+because she had tried once to rid herself of it. At breakfast Mom asked
+Ellen if she could stay at home to care for Adele while they went to the
+funeral. “I can’t, Mom. I would, but I have to go see him.”
+
+“Well, the boys can get Adele what she needs, I guess.” Mom moved her
+body cautiously; she had not grasped the two deaths yet. She was turning
+to Ellen. “Sakes. I really did want you and him to marry, Ellen. I know
+you’d have been to him what Star Webster never could have.”
+
+“Well, Mom,” Ellen shrugged, “want me to make up the rest of the bacon
+or fry ham?” She was dry-eyed.
+
+“Finish the bacon.”
+
+“Simon,” Ellen was asking at the table, “did you get that last hay in
+before the rain?”
+
+“No, it’s bad soaked, Ma. We can spread it in the yard. Reckon it’ll dry
+good enough.”
+
+“You-all do that. Even if it’s leached, it’ll still make horse feed.”
+
+“Jesus, I got a back this morning,” Sudduth said. “I don’t know.”
+
+Ellen appealed to Mom, “You got a black hat?”
+
+“You can wear Adele’s.” Mom patted Ellen’s shoulder. “It’s even got a
+veil. At least I think it has.”
+
+When she had dressed, Ellen came into the sitting room. Sudduth was
+pacing the floor, tears coming steadily down his thin face. Pop sat
+shriveled and fragile in his overlarge Sunday suit, his bony hands
+protruded from the sleeves like bird legs. The sun stretched itself over
+the room, catching the luster of the stuffed red-and-black tanager under
+the glass bell on the table. I hate the sun and I hate the prying light.
+“It’s a beautiful day,” she was saying. She had watched dawn unfolding
+out of dark, felt the dry thickening in her throat.
+
+“Let’s go on out and wait for Mom,” Sudduth said, stiff.
+
+Ellen walked with them, getting into the back seat with Pop. She folded
+her handkerchief, unfolded it. Sudduth started the motor and let it
+idle. After a while, Mom came to the house door, a fleshy large figure
+in black, veiled. The children stared, circling her, restless. “You be
+good and do what Adele says,” Mom told them.
+
+“Don’t punch me, Grace.”
+
+“I never touched you.”
+
+“Where’th everybody going?”
+
+“It’s the funeral of Uncle Dan,” said Grace. “He’s dead. And they’re
+going to plant him in the ground.” They watched the car go down the
+road, milling in a group, close to each other.
+
+Before the services, in the carpeted stuffy room, Ellen went up on the
+dais to look at the body. The casket was heavy. There was satin and
+white and purple cloth about him. He wore his brown suit. His hands were
+folded on each other, they had lost their sun color. Those men had their
+will with his body. Their prying hands. The almond tree shall blossom
+and the caperberry shall fail because man goeth to his long home and the
+mourners go about the streets. There was a slight reek of incense. His
+eyes were shut, his face puffed out so the familiar creases hardly
+showed. His hair was combed flat. They drained off his blood and pumped
+somewhat in his body, didn’t they? To keep back the death smell? He had
+a false look; it was the birthmark, they had hidden it with paste.
+Reckon he heard death bells in the air when it roared to him? Or the
+silver cord be loosed or the golden bowl be broken or the pitcher at the
+fountain. And the dust return to the earth as it was. That’s the husk of
+Dan. All I’ve got is a memory. I can’t recall him. I forget. She
+struggled, throat tight, to bring to mind how he moved and laughed, how
+he would be grease-stained from working under the machines, how he was
+alert and strong and moved quicker than the others. How he was awkward
+when he ran his fingers on her hair. But the statue slept, its hawklike
+features impassive.
+
+The organ struck up like breaking soft boulders. She moved as if she was
+of glass. For who knoweth what is good for man in his life, all the days
+of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow? She was going down the
+steps to sit by Mom in one of the blue plush chairs. The carpet made
+footfalls noiseless, the organ pushed her. She sat in the bruised music.
+Dan would be proud of how quiet I am. She didn’t feel tears pouring
+until she discovered her wet hands; she wiped them dully with the
+handkerchief. She knew she had been robbed once more. Praise ye the
+Lord. He telleth the number of the stars. He calleth them by their
+names.
+
+The minister was walking up onto the dais, patting his head where hair
+once flourished. He stared at the floor and straightened his coat. The
+head undertaker nodded. The organ hushed. “Behold the Lord God will come
+with strong hand. Yes. He shall gather the lambs with his arm and carry
+them in his bosom. Yes. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to pay our
+last respects.”
+
+What I can’t understand is why Dan didn’t see it coming and go to the
+barn on the wagon with Simon. When we ran out to look, I waved and
+called. But he just kept shocking the hay up. I can’t understand why he
+never saw it making there in the south sky. He should have come in with
+Simon. I don’t know why.
+
+“Dust to dust. Yes. Ashes,” the preacher intoned. That man was going to
+marry us. Daniel Wasilewski took Ellen Gaddy in marriage. So it would
+have been written. “Lord, make me to know mine end. Yes. And the measure
+of my days that I may know how frail I am. Behold, Thou hast made my
+days as a handbreadth. Oh yes.”
+
+The service was done, the organ was rolling muted hymns over plush
+upholstery. The undertaker bent his head in a gentle unctuous way to
+Mom. They walked out to where the sun dazzled the trees in a gilt sheen.
+They were rumbling slowly down flat roads toward the cemetery. Ellen
+asked Pop, “Why must they go so tormented slow?”
+
+“It’s the custom, Ellen.”
+
+“I’d rather put him straightaways in the earth. Fast. I got no use for
+all this furbelowing.” She looked through the windows to the bright day.
+Under her black veil, water ran down. “Why’d he die, Pop?”
+
+“He was in the way when it struck.”
+
+“I told him to come in,” Sudduth cried out. “I told him.”
+
+“Shut up,” Mom flared, and sighed.
+
+At the open grave, the metal-bound box was lowered. Now they’ll wait
+until we go away. They’ll take down the purple canopy and fold the green
+grass rug. They’ll drive off, leaving a man to cover the hole. He’ll
+throw dirt on the box with Dan in it. And it’ll be all over.
+
+Simon came to her that evening where she sat by the windows in the cold
+lavender air of dusk. The silence was delicate, like ringing. The family
+had taken the noise away. They were with Adele or in their beds. The boy
+touched her shoulder. “Ma?”
+
+She started, striking his hand from her. Then she spoke quickly,
+penitent, “What is it, Simon?”
+
+“Don’t grieve. Here, I brought you one of the kittens.”
+
+And because he was so kind and tender in his youthful shy way, all the
+walls she built broke suddenly. She bowed her head and wept.
+
+“Oh, Ma, I loved him too. He wasn’t afraid of ne’er a thing.” The boy’s
+voice was laden. He began to cry. Holding the kitten in his arm, he was
+putting his head in her apron.
+
+“Don’t weep, Simon,” she sobbed on his hair.
+
+Later she cradled in her hand the tiny black kitten. Through the window
+she was watching the north wind blow as autumn cast itself on the
+cringing landscape. I shall go softly all the years in the bitterness of
+my soul.
+
+
+                                   26
+
+The winter was passing. It had been long. As its last days dragged, in
+Louisville, a false spring came on as it often does in that season.
+Outside the city the first glimmers of growing had appeared, tiny green
+spears in barley fields, and hesitant statuesque spring flowers.
+Wake-robins bloomed in woods, dark red and hidden, like grief. In the
+city a soft evening wind moved. Anton Gaddy was parting from Dyke
+Burwell at the truck. He settled his round hat firmly. Dyke was coaxing,
+“Hey Mester Gaddy, whyn’t you come with me this once? There’s this here
+old girl. Must weigh near a quarter ton. Now I mean that pussy’s
+buried.”
+
+“I’ll see you here at the Chevy, boy.” Anton was impatient. “Tomorrow
+morning.”
+
+“All right. But they got skinny ones too. If you’d rather. They got all
+kinds.”
+
+Anton was rushing away down the street, his flewlike lips sagging, a
+frown over his long face. He was preoccupied, afraid. He believed he was
+losing the woman Rose. For more than a year now he had been visiting her
+apartment. At one time he and Dyke had made excuses to each other that
+there were auctions and sales that must be attended. But gradually they
+had shed the pretense and now traveled the seventy miles often. Dyke
+would come by the Gaddy farmhouse to see Anton. “Got an old cow that’s
+no good. Reckon I’ll take her to the auctions.” And Anton would reply,
+“Before God, leave the fool beast be. Haw. Let’s take off for Louisville
+right now.”
+
+He was halting outside the brick building. The last few times here a man
+had come down the darkened stair and once he saw him stride away on the
+street. The man’s cheekbones were broad and high, he was stockily built
+with a bold way about him. Anton had confronted Rose with it when she
+let him in. “You’ve had company, I see.”
+
+“I might.” She had smiled, tantalizing, throwing back her heavy dark
+hair.
+
+“I told you to e’er wait for me.” Rose denied it then and said she was
+teasing. But it had festered in him.
+
+Anton looked up now as he came into the doorway. The figure was there,
+at the bottom of the stairs. He stood aside while it brushed by. His
+heart began to thud, an anger started in his bowels. On the stairs he
+was breathing heavily. “Like to take the strap to her.” But he was held
+from physical action. She might slip away. He was never sure of his grip
+on Rose, winced from her laughter. He had thought of asking Father
+Tompert about a dispensation to make her his wife. But he put off the
+issue, fearing the priest’s flat refusal, his suspicious eyes. Anton’s
+old peremptory ways had given over to some hesitancy. His younger
+daughter and then his grandson had evaded him. His belief in his mother
+Nell’s, fidelity and excellence had been ravaged. Even his faith was
+wavering. He lived with feelings of frustration, of powerlessness, of
+guilt in sin. He was bent on Rose with a measure of desperation. As he
+was about to rap, the door swung open as if the woman were waiting.
+
+“Oh it’s you.” As if surprised she said it and laughed, her wide soft
+face impudent.
+
+“What’s this you say? Hum. I told you I was coming.”
+
+“I didn’t say I wasn’t pleased to see you. Did I?”
+
+He was coming after her in his heavy coat, placing his hand on her
+buttocks as he was used to do. “Rose?”
+
+“You don’t own me, Daddy,” she railed, eluding his grasp. She was
+wearing a sheathed dress instead of her flowered housecoat. “You’ll muss
+my make-up. I’m going out.”
+
+She had on high slippers so that she was taller than Anton. This somehow
+angered him. “You’re going to meet that man. That whoreson that just was
+here.”
+
+“No, Daddy.” Her voice was light.
+
+“I’ve caught him coming out three-four times now.”
+
+“He’s young,” she mocked.
+
+“I’ve got a power in me yet. You know that.”
+
+“Look.” She was picking up her purse and coat, and a green beret with a
+matching feather. “Look, I need some things for supper. I’ll be back a
+little late.” She put on the hat, her eyes moist and teasing. “But I’ll
+be back, Daddy. You wait.” She was out the door, her high laugh
+stringing behind.
+
+He sat on the edge of the bed, wearing his overcoat and hat. “I’ve got a
+mind to whip her. Got a mind to kill her. Punish her for lying.” He was
+whispering into the room. His coat dropped from his shoulders and was
+sliding to the floor. He pulled his shirt open roughly at the neck,
+tearing the tie. Noises came from throughout the building. A door
+slapped shut. Steps were ascending and descending. He waited for each to
+be Rose. His sickness for her churned in him. He could feel his potency
+failing, shrinking. “She’s wanting a young stud.”
+
+He was rising, moving to the window, the black hat still on. He shoved
+the window up, banging it, leaning out. There was a pale street lamp at
+the corner. A semi-truck came rumbling heavily over the pavement. A man
+stumbled across the half-dark spring-scented street. A couple were
+sauntering, arms about each other’s waists, the girl tittering shrill. A
+sailor, pants tight about his loins, stalked the sidewalk opposite:
+“Where’d you get the broad, Jack?”
+
+Anton’s eyes had slitted. He was wrenching off his belt. It was the old
+one of thick cowhide with a weighted brass buckle. His gray eyes were
+dry though his defeated mouth was drawn as if to weep. He spoke hoarse,
+threatening, “Before God, I’ll punish that Rose-whore good. I’ll put
+myself into damnation. I’ll learn her to cuckold.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two hours passed before Rose returned. She was humming in time to the
+click of her confident heels.
+
+   In a little lovenest
+   Just for you and me, a dovenest
+
+She shifted her parcels and turned the knob. When she saw the dead man
+hanging in the grip of the strap from the tall closet door, the body had
+ceased any movement. She stepped close enough to touch it with her hand;
+it was beginning to stiffen. Mechanically, she plucked up the overturned
+chair beneath it, and set it straight. A breeze blew up, billowing the
+curtains, and she went to the window to close it. She stumbled on his
+overcoat by the bedside, dropped her bags on the coverlet and caught up
+the phone. She spoke a number to the operator, whispering, and waited.
+
+“Christian?” She was sitting on the bed abruptly. “You have to come here
+right away. I can’t explain. I’m afraid. You tell Mama I might go home
+after all.” She began to cry, listening. “I’ll wait. You hurry.” She
+returned the receiver. She was quiet, shivering. After a long time she
+heard a step outside, ran to the door, pulling him in. All at once sobs
+were convulsing her, “It’s there. Look.”
+
+He called the police. “By damn, where’d you meet him, Rose?”
+
+“He’s the one I wanted to marry.”
+
+When the two officers arrived they took the body down and laid it out on
+the floor. They searched pockets and made notes. “Who are you?” they
+asked Christian.
+
+“I’m her brother.”
+
+They directed Rose to appear at the inquest; they questioned her, “You
+must have some idea why he did it, Miss Ay?”
+
+“I don’t understand. We were the best of friends, Mr. Gaddy and me. I
+just went down the street for a few minutes. He was waiting for me. I
+was going to get some food.”
+
+Christian was asking, “Will you notify the relatives?”
+
+“His wife’s in a state institution,” Rose offered. “He’s had family
+troubles, one kind and another. Maybe that’s why it happened.”
+
+“Here’s a letter,” the officer said. “Garland Gaddy. We’ll get hold of
+him.” A knock was heard. “That’s the ambulance.” The body was covered,
+then removed, the interns clattering as they went down the staircase.
+“All right, miss. We’ll notify you when we want you. Good night.” He put
+his cap back on.
+
+“I’d be glad to help,” Christian said.
+
+“We won’t need you. Just your sister. Good night.”
+
+Christian didn’t say that long ago he had known the dead man. Once Anton
+Gaddy had stood scornful in high weeds, spitting tobacco juice, calling
+him boy.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dyke Burwell was waiting at the truck in the morning, baffled, having
+searched cafes and bars for Anton. By afternoon he made the decision to
+drive back to Millville alone. A rainstorm was brewing and there was a
+load of soybean sacks under the tarpaulin on the truck. Dyke had known
+Anton was keeping a woman but that was as far as his information went.
+He had considered notifying the police but dismissed it. Anton would
+have to return by bus. When he reached the Gaddy farm three hours later,
+thunder was growling in the murky afternoon sky. Sam Offut ran out,
+followed by Eadie, her hair disheveled, her hands flapping. Eadie threw
+her apron over her face and wailed. Sam was yelling, hunched and
+beady-eyed, “Old man’s dead. Sheriff just left us. I says, call his
+brother in Chicago, he’ll know where those daughters be. Poor trash,
+walking out on their pa. For Gawd, Dyke.”
+
+“Hey,” Dyke shouted in fear. “Who was it killed him?”
+
+“Himself. He done it himself.” The wind smote the treetops.
+
+“Raised his hand,” cried Eadie. “Against his soul. He’ll burn for it.
+Jehovah!”
+
+Dyke helped Sam unload half the soybeans while lightning flashed nearby.
+Then Dyke went home and word was bruited throughout the countryside.
+Folks found reasons to drive past the Gaddy farm. They would peer
+fearfully at the two old Offuts and exchange words about them. They
+named it a ghost farm.
+
+
+
+
+                               part five
+
+
+                     and each alone
+   Walk together toward the trees
+   Where the road runs out of sight
+   In the green beyond the leaves
+   The green cove below the light
+
+
+                                   27
+
+Pop Wasilewski’s bees were suddenly swarming at winter end. On a sunny
+day from a secret impulse half the colony was awake, one by one whipping
+out to cluster on a fence post. The bearded old man brushed the
+yellow-brown insects into a new hive while the smoker puffed. Ellen was
+laughing to Mom, “I ne’er seen such a body, he’s that clever with bees.”
+
+“Pop’s always been like that.”
+
+Ellen had lost weight and because the work over the winter had been
+largely indoors, she was pale. But her body had fought for its health,
+and she moved in the household with vigor again. Over a few weeks she
+had thought she would have Dan’s baby, hoped wildly that it was so. But
+her time came again then in its regular pattern and she accepted it.
+Gradually she healed. There had been the moments when she forgot he was
+dead, “I’ll have to tell Dan the do-hickey’s broken on the wash
+machine.” The day would shatter about her where she stood trembling.
+
+Mom still leaned on Ellen, crippled by her loss. “You’re like a daughter
+to me.” Mom would humor herself by constant thoughts of Dan. She talked
+to Ellen about when her son was a baby of two staggering after her in
+the rose garden, and when older he would fetch her a blue eggshell or a
+butterfly wing he found. “I want you to stay here always, Ellen. This is
+your home.”
+
+Adele, so wounded by the loss of her premature baby that Dan’s death had
+scarcely grazed her, would talk about the infant yet. “He’d have been
+four months old today.” Adele had written in the page of the Bible:
+Jason Wasilewski. September 17, 1936. Died the night of his birth.
+Mourned by all.
+
+“You’ve got to quit thinking of it,” Mom said. “Sakes, it’s your duty.”
+
+Adele was eager in self-reproach. “I just get my mind on it somehow.”
+
+The ruins beyond the line of smashed willows were left untouched. Only
+the children would wander through the wrecked debris, playing. “Thith
+ith the dining room. I am Mithith Hannah.”
+
+“Simon, you be the father.” The half-demolished walls loomed like
+ghostly monuments. The roof was shattered, snow had drifted around
+timbers, melting, rotting them. In half-empty kegs of nails wild mice
+explored.
+
+The farm work had fallen heavily on Sudduth. Dennie and Simon were
+roused at daybreak to help at chores before they hurried to school.
+Evenings, they hustled out again to the barnyard. Sudduth’s back ached
+him like a recurring plague. “In spring I’m going to have to hire a man,
+Mom. I can’t do it all. He can sleep in the barn.”
+
+“No, we’ll give him Dan’s room.” Mom’s voice was strained.
+
+“Thanks, Mom.” Sudduth had become more dependable over past weeks. He
+made his plans resolutely. “I’ll put rye in the old corn field. And if
+you don’t care, Pop, we’ll sell the sheep. They’re ruining the pasture.”
+
+“That’s just fine with us, Sudduth. Whatever you say.”
+
+Ellen had gone out to help with the milking, a pail in her hand. Sudduth
+protested gravely at first, “It’s not our way to let women do barn work,
+Ellen.”
+
+“But I’m most happy here. I get tired of the house.” She sat on the
+three-legged stool, the cow’s hot breath on the back of her neck,
+snuffling, curious. It was licking her with a rasping tongue.
+
+“See here,” Simon shouted. “Old Belle’s begging Ma to milk her.”
+
+“All right, Ellen.” Sudduth was won over. “If you want. Thanks.” And he
+soon forgot that it seemed strange to have a woman at the barn.
+
+Ellen would think about Penny, wondering if her last baby had come
+wellborn. If work ever lightens, if Sudduth hires a hand like he says he
+might, Adele and me can drive over to see the Doughertys in spring.
+
+She was in the sitting room one morning after breakfast, ironing by the
+windows. Mom was holding a small black volume, with pictures of the
+little boy, Dan, pasted into it. “Ellen, I’m afraid you’re forgetting
+him.”
+
+“Dan wouldn’t want us mourning him fore’er.”
+
+The phone rang. “You get it, Ellen.” Mom pored over the photographs.
+
+“All right.” It was Western Union. Ellen listened quietly. She whispered
+into the mouthpiece, “Read it again, please.” The distant strange voice
+was almost inaudible. And the message was repeated. She hung the
+receiver onto its hook. She leaned against the table, put her hand to
+her mouth.
+
+Mom looked up, urged, “What is it, Ellen? What is it?”
+
+Her words fell of themselves, “Something’s happened to my pa.” Request
+presence Ellen Gaddy at inquest, the voice had said, cause of death
+suicide. Why would he do that? And him ever a good Catholic. He wouldn’t
+dare. And in the suddenness memories came rushing through the unbarred
+door. Anton was loving and he sought this daughter out. Guilt clutched
+her. He was dead too, now. She was stunned, but yet unable to weep. “I
+have to go to Louisville, Mom, and claim the body.”
+
+That afternoon she packed. Adele was ready to drive her to the station
+and the family had gathered to say goodbye. Mom was kissing her, “Land.
+You’ve got to come back, Ellen.”
+
+“I will if I can. I want to go to our farm in Millville when it’s o’er.
+And I have to see my sister, too.”
+
+“I won’t go to Millville, Ma,” Simon cried out. His tow hair was mussed,
+his young face worried.
+
+“Don’t take Thimon,” Hannah and Grace piped. “Let Thimon thtay.”
+
+“You see?” Pop shouted. “Sell your farm and be one of us, Ellen.”
+
+“Old Belle won’t give down her milk tonight,” Sudduth said.
+
+“How can you resist us?” Adele put her arm about Ellen.
+
+“Oh Ma,” said Simon, “I want to stay right here.”
+
+“Maybe you will.” But Ellen was remembering the old orchard and the
+little hills, the stony soil where crops were hard-won, goats bounding
+down the pasture lane, hoofs hammering the ground, snorting and tossing
+their beards. She turned to the Wasilewskis, “I’ll write you-all if
+Simon has to come. Just as soon as I know.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The corpse in the refrigerated drawer looked fragile and unprotected.
+The morgue smelled of mingled odd odors. “That’s him.”
+
+“Thank you, Miss Gaddy,” said the officer.
+
+“I don’t want him to stay there. Can I take the body?”
+
+“Certainly. When the inquest is over.”
+
+“How soon?”
+
+“Day after tomorrow.”
+
+“I’ll call you. I’ll find a funeral home.”
+
+“You notify them he’s here. And we’ll make the arrangements.” Then the
+officer was telling Ellen how Anton had hung himself by a leather belt
+in a woman’s flat.
+
+“A woman?” She was bewildered.
+
+“Says her name’s Rose Ay. Maybe you’d want to see her, miss. She doesn’t
+live far from here.”
+
+“Rose Ay?” Ellen stood beside the tall desk. The vein was throbbing in
+her forehead, the oval of her face stayed white in the bright glare of
+the waiting room. She was probing dully, raking into the past.
+
+“Do you know this woman?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Are you all right, Miss Gaddy? You look sort of shaky. You knew it was
+suicide by hanging?”
+
+“Yes. You said you’d give me her address, Mester?”
+
+The officer tore a sheet from a pad, scribbled on it. “This is the
+easiest way to get there.” He handed her the paper. “Turn left outside.”
+
+She was following corner signs then, and house numbers. In the streets
+winds were moving undisputed, brutal, and the city quailed and shrank
+upon itself. Finally Ellen was entering the brick building. She sensed
+the subdued trace of urine and must that corrupted the hall air. A
+woman’s deep voice was berating behind walls. And a radio came muted,
+
+   Oh sister Phoebe, how merry were we
+   The night we sat under Tom Jones plum tree
+
+A man was on the upper stairs, pausing. He was coming down a few steps.
+“Hello, Ellen.”
+
+She peered into the obscure light. “Who are you?”
+
+“Christian Ay.” The shadows crouched quiet about him along the steep
+stairwell. “Guess you’re here to talk to my sister.”
+
+The cheekbones and broad mouth were Simon’s, the stocky body. But his
+hair was different, no longer blond. And he was grave-faced. “I thought
+it was you,” she said thinly.
+
+His voice rent the stillness, “I’m sorry about Mr. Gaddy.”
+
+“Did you know he’d been coming here?”
+
+“No, indeed.” He came down another step.
+
+She backed away. “I say, did you? That it was my pa?” She was plaintive,
+cornered.
+
+“Not till my sister called me.”
+
+“What did he want of her?”
+
+“She says they’d have been married.”
+
+“Well. I don’t understand.” Jazz blared from the radio as a door opened
+and shut. She put her hand up and dropped it, aimless.
+
+“You are coming to see Rose?” he was asking.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“It’s that door at the head.” He gestured, disturbed with the awkward
+moment, at her air of incredulity. “Right up there. You can’t miss it.”
+
+As she was passing, he stood aside by the wall. His face was harassed,
+lined. She looked at it. “Your home’s in Louisville?”
+
+“On the outskirts. Twenty minutes from this place. Someone said you
+weren’t living in your home town any more.” The music, overloud, was
+persistent through the hollow walls. He was speaking then, abrupt,
+“Come. I’ll go up with you.”
+
+“Yes.” She preceded him to the landing, where a white square of daylight
+existed at one end of the dirty passageway. He was knocking. In a
+moment, while she shifted constrained, quick steps approached. The door
+was opening.
+
+“Well, Chris.” Rose spoke nervously, “I thought you’d gone. Who’s that?”
+
+“Ellen Gaddy. His daughter.”
+
+“No kidding. How do you do?”
+
+Ellen was staring at the woman in the tight skirt and spiked heels.
+Coldly she observed the waved thick dark hair, the wide white face, the
+pale irises of the eyes outlined in black. She was rudely brushing past
+Rose, hasty, and then checking herself in the center of the room, by the
+bed. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
+
+Rose shrugged careless. “Would you like tea, Miss Gaddy?”
+
+“If it’s no bother.”
+
+“Here’s a chair for you.” Christian was pulling one up. He took her
+coat. “I’ll hang it on the clothes tree.”
+
+“Now, thanks.” He was speaking with his sister over by the small stove.
+Sunlight was coming through the gray windows, drifting onto flimsy
+curtains and two narrow long mirrors. The simmering kettle and the quick
+disquieted whisper of the woman were playing on the air. I should never
+have come. I’ve got no business to be here. I wondered if I’d hear of
+him, or see him.
+
+Rose was bringing the tea on a black lacquer tray. “Get a table, Chris.”
+
+“Sure.” He placed the low table before Rose’s chair and sat down
+opposite Ellen.
+
+Rose was pouring and passing the cups. “Well, here we are, Ellen. It is
+all right to call you Ellen?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The woman was impetuous, “Give Mama the news, Chris. She’s been after me
+for years to go home, Ellen. At last I’ve made up my mind.”
+
+Ellen was sipping the weak hot tea. Rose was brash and Christian seemed
+embarrassed by it. Pa was going to marry her. I don’t believe that.
+Besides the church would not have brooked it.
+
+“Honestly, Chris,” Rose was saying, “I can’t get over you quitting the
+store.”
+
+“I’ve made plans to leave Louisville,” he said to Ellen with a slight
+grin, aloof. “Getting out of the city.”
+
+“I think he’s nuts,” Rose laughed, brushing at her heavy hair.
+
+“And how about you? Come, do you think I am?” Christian raised his
+brows.
+
+“No.” Ellen listened idly, half attending, refusing to make an effort.
+In the hallway he had seemed vaguely like the young man she had once
+loved. But he wasn’t at all. I shouldn’t have expected it. He was a
+stranger, changed, his aspect stern. He glowered now at his sister.
+
+“Chris is going shares on a feed concern.” Rose was mocking. “Grinding
+stuff for farmers. Banana oil. Did you ever?”
+
+“It’s a nice small town, now. Troy is a good way from the city.”
+
+Ellen was remembering the gossip she had heard in Grady Love’s store.
+“How will your family like the move?”
+
+“I’m going alone.”
+
+“He lives with Mama,” Rose said. “They have The Standard Shop over at
+the other end of Louisville. Mama’s getting old. That’s another reason
+why I’m going back there.” She was speaking warmly to Ellen, “You know,
+Daddy never mentioned much about you.”
+
+Ellen caught her breath. “Who?”
+
+“Mr. Gaddy. Your father.” Rose was motioning lightly, smiling.
+
+Ellen put her cup down. Her face was firm and molded, guarded. But she
+spoke unsteadily. “Reckon I have to go now.”
+
+“I’ll come with you,” Christian said.
+
+“You don’t have to run yet,” Rose was protesting. “Daddy used to come
+up, you know, for the waterfront auctions.”
+
+“Don’t call him that, woman.” Ellen’s voice rose high. She was crossing
+the room, groping for her coat where Christian had hung it.
+
+“I didn’t mean anything,” Rose said, hurt. “I thought a lot of him.”
+
+“Thank you for the tea.” Ellen felt her hands shaking.
+
+“I’ll see you to your hotel.” Christian was taking her coat from her
+hands, holding it while she put it on.
+
+“You don’t have to.”
+
+He was picking up his cap. The door closed behind them and they heard
+the tap of heels receding. They went down the stairs. “Rose means well,”
+Christian said. When he had hailed a cab, he looked at her. “You’re
+wishing you’d stayed away.”
+
+“But no.”
+
+They were sitting in the leather-smelling interior. The meter clicked.
+There were house fronts, wood and brick, cafes and corner saloons
+blazoned with neon. Pigeons strutting in lonely gutters, pecking,
+winging across streets. Christian was saying, “I’m sorry about your
+father.” They looked out of opposite windows. A parked van was unloading
+enormous handled baskets of gladioli and roses. There were people on
+foot. And bicycles, and trucks blaring, cars, a dray hauled by mules,
+red pompons on black bridles, and shouting teamsters. The taxi was
+halting. Christian paid the driver. They were standing before an old
+graystone structure.
+
+“You read the Bible, Christian?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I do, sometimes.” Their minds were running inward on their separate
+thoughts. He twisted his soft cap, frowning at the pavement. Her hands
+were in her coat pockets. “There’s a part goes, from out of the populous
+city men groan and the soul of the wounded cries out.”
+
+“Don’t worry yourself,” he whispered. The city lowered about them.
+
+“I’ve got no mind for it here.”
+
+“Nor I. I know just what you mean. I don’t like it either. That’s why
+I’m moving to Troy.”
+
+“It’s unnatural.”
+
+“It takes all kind.” His face softened. “Are you all right? Is there
+something I can do?”
+
+“No.” She turned to the stone steps.
+
+“I’ll try to come to the funeral.”
+
+She watched the last sunbeams striking against him as he merged into the
+moving people. He doesn’t remember. He’s forgot it all. I don’t give a
+care.
+
+But in the night Ellen dreamed of him. He was the way he had been long
+ago, swaggering and strong, laughing. It was a peaceful dream. As she
+came awake Christian was putting his hand on her hair. She cried into
+the dark, “Dan? Dan, I loved you.” She was weeping in the unfamiliar
+hard hotel bed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen was unable to get permission for a Catholic burial. The priest had
+been firm. “Absolutely. There is no possibility of it. Madam.
+Unquestionably he died in mortal sin.” He looked down at Ellen, fierce,
+“When were you last at confession? Madam.”
+
+She went from him, telling herself, “I’ll get Father Tompert in
+Millville to say a mass for him. There, he will.”
+
+The funeral was costing over two hundred dollars. Ellen had wired
+Garland and he sent the money. She intended to reimburse him for her
+share but it would take time. All her wages were rapidly disappearing in
+train and hotel costs and meals. The coffin would be oak, chemically
+treated to endure. The sermon would last twenty minutes. They would
+engrave a stone. Anton Gaddy. 1877-1937. At Rest. Beloved Husband and
+Father. There were things she had heard, customs attending a death. The
+clothes should be removed and hung on a line outside. The body should be
+anointed, silver coins laid on the eyes. And someone should sit with the
+corpse so a cat or something strange didn’t get to it. The tearing of
+the winding sheets, the telling of the bees so they didn’t leave the
+hives. And there lay Pa in the new-fashioned way. I misdoubt Pa would
+have cared for the way I handled things here.
+
+Then she was spotting, in the entrance way, Garland and Frankie and
+Violet, who had arrived from Chicago just in time for the service. She
+hurried down the aisle to greet them. She clung to Frankie, who was
+plumpish in her fur coat, holding Ellen’s hands, crying, “It’s her hair,
+Vi. Look how Ellie’s wearing it. She’s so sweet.”
+
+“I was afraid you-all would be late,” Ellen laughed.
+
+“Let’s make her go back on the train with us, Vi.”
+
+“Nerts. She won’t. Ellie’s a country girl.”
+
+“I’d say the country agrees with this wench.” Garland was fatter, his
+square jaw lost in sagging folds. He kissed Ellen’s cheek. “I suppose
+this puss has got her a beau now?” His small eyes were merry, sunk into
+the flesh.
+
+“Oh Uncle.”
+
+The organ began to play and they were taking their seats. We never said
+one word about Pa. We talked about ourselves all the time. She glimpsed
+Christian on the opposite side of the room by the far wall. At first she
+didn’t recognize him, a short man in a large gray overcoat, holding a
+gray cap. He was nodding to her, sitting down, bunching his coat on his
+knees.
+
+The last words were being spoken over Anton. Her father had been quick
+to quote the Bible at them all, relishing the Old Testament. But the
+funeral text was taken from Paul. Behold, I show you a mystery. The
+trumpet shall sound and the dead be raised. She was remembering her
+slaughtered goats. Her ire rose once more at that secret deed of his
+against her. Now she stilled it. Reckon there’s more to it than I could
+ever piece. He must have had a great sadness to take his life.
+
+They followed the hearse to the cemetery. The crank squeaked as the
+coffin was lowered. Earth to earth. Dust to dust. Behold the tabernacle
+of God is with men. And there shall be no more death. Neither shall
+there be pain. For the former things are passed away.
+
+Garland was taking the party to a steak-house for dinner. He went back
+into the kitchen to talk with the chef, to approve the cuts before they
+were broiled. Then Ellen began to tell them about the second tornado
+that had struck without warning near Weems Crossroads in Illinois, how
+it killed the older Wasilewski brother and tore apart a new-built house
+on the farm. “I might have married him, had he lived. We talked of it,
+Dan and me.” Her mouth twisted and she looked down at her plate. “I’d
+have had a life there.”
+
+“Oh Ellie. Why didn’t she tell us, Vi?” Frankie appealed.
+
+“Shouldn’t have stayed after it happened, puss.” Garland was tapping the
+table with his finger. “Should have come to us.”
+
+“Say, how’s Simon?” Violet asked. “How’d he take it, Ellie?”
+
+“He’s grown and he likes farming.”
+
+“Do bring my nephew and visit us,” Frankie pressed, “come on, Ellie. Gen
+would love it.”
+
+“No, I’ve got to take my own way. I can’t go to you folks. Tell me about
+your job, Frankie. Do you still like it?”
+
+“I’ve been promoted, Ellie. And Gen has a new office and twice the pay.”
+
+Garland was seated close to Violet, his arm was about her. He was
+ordering coffee for her and desserts to be brought for everyone. “What
+are you planning to do about the farm, hon?”
+
+“I’m going there as soon as I can.”
+
+“Are you really?” Frankie cried, surprise on her round face.
+
+“Want to come with me?”
+
+“No, thanks,” Frankie said swiftly. “Not me. I don’t want any part of
+that.”
+
+“But, Frankie.”
+
+“And that’s the truth. I don’t want my piece of that farm. I can’t stand
+it.”
+
+“You two can do it legally,” Garland said, “if Frankie means it.”
+
+“You make out the papers, Uncle, for me to sign. It should be Ellie’s.
+She likes it and needs it.” Frankie’s features were set, obstinate.
+
+“Funny,” said Garland, “An and me decided the same thing when we were
+just the age of you two. He bought me out of my rights and I signed over
+to him. When he married.”
+
+“You might change your mind sometime, Frankie,” Ellen said.
+
+“No. Ellie looks so doubtful,” Frankie smiled. “She thinks everyone
+wants to be a farmer.”
+
+“It doesn’t seem right,” Ellen said. “At least I’m going to pay you for
+your share.”
+
+“That’s silly. We have all we need. We’ve got good jobs. You have Simon
+to look out for.”
+
+They began to remember Anton then because Garland had used his name.
+“Uncle used to come at Christmas time, Vi. We’d butcher and bake,”
+Frankie was saying, “and then go to midnight mass in that little
+church.”
+
+“They watched out for my soul,” said Garland, “and Frankie was to be a
+concert artist.”
+
+“No, Chicken!”
+
+“That was Pa’s idea,” Frankie told Violet grimly, then giggled, “not
+mine.”
+
+It was time for their train, they were getting up in a rush. They
+laughed, bustling out together. Garland, from the middle of the street,
+waved a taxicab down. The women were waiting under the marquee. “Give my
+little nephew my love, Ellie,” Frankie said, and whispered, “I’m sorry
+about that man you were going to marry.”
+
+“You wouldn’t know your nephew, Frankie. He’s not a baby, he’s not
+little.”
+
+“Come see us, Ellie. Gen would honestly love it.”
+
+Violet took Ellen’s hand impulsively. “We’re redecorating the house. Why
+don’t you come back with us and have a real visit?”
+
+“I can’t.”
+
+“Goodbye, Ellie.”
+
+“Goodbye. Goodbye, Aunt Vi. Uncle.” She was walking back to the hotel.
+The streets were damp, the narrowed sky strip above the buildings clear.
+There was a purple circle of mist about the moon. Lone figures were
+moving in lighted areas. They gave her a message. Call Mr. Ay at the
+following number. She went into a phone booth, for there was a void now
+that they were all gone. She told him she would go to the Ay home
+tomorrow for supper.
+
+
+                                   28
+
+Christian Ay had called for her in his year-old V-Eight Ford. The
+Standard Shop was an echoing large building, half dark. They were
+passing aisles of goods spread out on counters and under glass, their
+footfalls drumming. At the base of a dowel-railed staircase, barely
+illuminated by a tiny skylight, he took her arm. She looked at his face
+cast into the new lines. His brown hair was smooth, his broad mouth
+disciplined. Only his eyes are the same, blue like that flower. He was
+waving in back of them at the laden counters. “What do you think of it?”
+
+“It’s nice.”
+
+“You’re polite. It’s not. It’s a decent living.” He was smiling, formal.
+“Now it’s quite a thing, Ellen, meeting you again.”
+
+She looked away, moved from under his hand up the stair. “Oh, yes.”
+
+“Are you angry about Rose and your father?”
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“You’re sure you don’t hold it against me?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Well, shall we go up?” They went through a cluttered office space at
+the stairhead and into a linoleum-floored room.
+
+Mrs. Ay was hustling from the square table she had been setting, a
+white-haired short woman with a quick smile. She spoke in a clipped way
+to Ellen, “Had tea with my daughter, Miss Gaddy? Sorry about your
+father. Too bad. It’s hard. I know. I lost my husband many years ago.
+Suddenly. Heart attack.”
+
+“I had heard of it,” Ellen murmured.
+
+“Rosie said she knew your father too. Said she’d had dinner with him.
+Heard Rosie’s coming home? She tell you? Nearly twelve years she’s lived
+in that flat near Market Street. Determined to show she was independent.
+It’s a bad section. Time she came back to the Shop, don’t you think?”
+She was gathering her apron in her small hands. “Oh dear, that’s the pie
+shell burning.” She ran out.
+
+“She gets that way when we have company.” Christian grinned. Then he was
+meeting her eyes, intent. “She hasn’t kept track of Rose any more than
+me. They go shopping together or Rose eats here with us two or three
+times a year. I might as well tell you she doesn’t know Rose had it in
+mind to marry anyone.”
+
+Ellen looked away. “She’s nice.” A speckled bird with a long iridescent
+tail was mounted beside a clock on the sideboard. “That’s a fine cock
+pheasant there.”
+
+“I shot it at Brinker’s farm that summer.” His voice for an instant was
+surging with the old eager sound.
+
+Mrs. Ay was back. “Soup’s on.” She carved the roast swiftly with a long
+blade, heaping the plates. “You like mashed potatoes? We aren’t fancy
+here.” There was a bouquet of artificial daisies in the center of the
+red-checked tablecloth. They ate hungrily. “Chris says he knew you, Miss
+Gaddy, that time he worked near Bethel.”
+
+“Ellen lived only three miles from me.”
+
+“I’ve been away from Millville more than a year now,” Ellen said.
+
+“Why’d you leave, Ellen?”
+
+She gazed down at her napkin. “I wanted to work out.” Why did I say
+that? I had to look after your youngen. I ought to tell him that. Her
+mind worked it over. She sat absent while Mrs. Ay began to talk.
+
+“After Kate left us, Chris nearly convinced me we ought to sell this
+here store and buy a small farm.”
+
+“Kate was my wife,” Christian said. “I got married the spring after I
+came back from Brinker’s.”
+
+“He wanted to grow truck crops. Store’s much safer. Better investment.
+Rain or shine you’re not dependent. It’s just getting nice too, we’ve
+got three girls at the counters. I can sit down in the afternoon.”
+
+“I knew you’d been married,” Ellen said.
+
+“Divorced. Three years ago.”
+
+“Too young when they did it in the first place.” Mrs. Ay was shaking her
+head, reproving. “Chris is headstrong. Like his father before him. I
+told him it wouldn’t work.”
+
+“Come, Mama, let’s keep some secrets from Ellen.” He was coloring,
+pushing his chair back.
+
+“Well, I’ll get that pie.” Mrs. Ay got up. “Shame the crust had to
+burn.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
+
+“I meant to write you, Ellen. You know? Back there when we were kids?”
+He laughed, still flushed, the skin wrinkling around his blue eyes.
+
+“Well.”
+
+“How come you aren’t married?” The silence came down, overlaid thinly
+with the whisper of the clock on the sideboard.
+
+Mrs. Ay slammed the kitchen door as she returned. She was cutting the
+cocoanut cream pie into large pieces. “You rather have something else,
+Miss Gaddy? There’s jello in the icebox.”
+
+“No, this is fine. It’s very good.”
+
+“So after Kate ran away like that,” Mrs. Ay was saying, “why Chris kept
+wanting to sell. Not me. He’s putting his share into something now that
+suits him. Over in Troy.”
+
+“You only live once,” Christian said dryly, “isn’t that right, Mama?”
+
+“I’ll be running the shop here with Rosie. The luck of my daughter
+coming home. And in my old age.”
+
+“Don’t let her fool you,” Christian said, “she’s not so old.”
+
+Ellen was helping them collect the plates then, Mrs. Ay insisting on
+leaving them stacked beside her sink. The evening was moving on. The
+older woman had brought out a pot of coffee and she stood in the bedroom
+doorway, her figure slack and weary. “Good night, Miss Gaddy. You come
+visit again.”
+
+“Good night.”
+
+Christian and Ellen were silent now on the chintz-covered davenport
+where the winter twilight faltered. Cars were whirring in the street
+outside, horns blew faint, lights shuddered and vanished on the ceiling.
+“Reckon it’s time for me to go.”
+
+“No. Wait.” He put his arm along the sofa behind her. “I can’t get over
+you, Ellen. You’re just the same. I had thought you’d be different.”
+
+The lingering noise of the clock was beating heavily upon time. She
+waited.
+
+“I did intend to write when I had to quit that job with Brinkers.”
+
+“I wrote to you. That autumn.”
+
+“You did? My father’s attack had come out of the blue. He left the
+accounts in bad shape. We almost lost the business. You know what that
+meant those days.”
+
+“I wrote you. Twice.”
+
+“Funny. I didn’t get them.”
+
+“I know. They came back.”
+
+“I’d have answered.”
+
+“I didn’t have the right address.”
+
+“Did you try Mr. Brinker?”
+
+“He didn’t know either.” She sighed.
+
+“Say.” He dropped his arm onto her shoulder. “I feel badly about that.”
+She had stiffened, but he was bending his head gently, hunting a thing
+lost, a fragment of his youth when time had been ground easily beneath
+the heel of his fired blood, his just-discovered manhood.
+
+But the anger was grating in Ellen. She cried to him compelled, as if
+she had memorized it, “Once I laid a curse on you. Curse him, I said! I
+swore it on the Virgin.”
+
+“Come, what kind of talk is that?” He reddened, withdrawing himself. He
+was taking a pipe from a nearby ash tray, filling it from his pocket
+pouch. He scratched a match, fragrant smoke sifted into the half-dusk.
+“A curse?”
+
+“You don’t believe in such things?”
+
+“Why would you do that?” He was looking at her, discomfited, inquiring.
+
+She made a movement to rise, impatient. “I don’t know. It’s getting
+late. I don’t want to talk.”
+
+“I’m curious, Ellen. Why did you?” he pressed.
+
+“It’s no use.” She twisted her fingers, at bay. Like I said that time.
+I’ll go all my days in bitterness.
+
+“Come on,” he was grinning. “We were such babies. Were you in love with
+that young squirt?” He drew on the pipe, then he was laying one hand
+over hers, the palm cool and hard.
+
+“There is a child.” Now it was said.
+
+“You have a baby? You were married then?”
+
+“Simon. He’ll be eleven the first of July.”
+
+The stillness stayed. Then he removed his hand, swift. His pipe knocked
+as he was putting it in the ash tray. He stood and was walking across
+the room to the dead pheasant. He looked up at it on the sideboard. He
+struck his fist into his palm, his back was to her. “By damn.”
+
+She cringed, waiting.
+
+“I never once thought of that. I didn’t.”
+
+She listened to the chatter of the clock at the side of the stuffed
+bird. His voice was intruding suddenly.
+
+“Brinker’s farm. That horse. What was his name? That stallion. Next
+morning I got the wire about my father.” His words were fast. He slapped
+his fist again.
+
+And she shrank, wishing herself on the street, away from him. She
+recoiled from his ferocity, his vitality. Hate, hate, the clock was
+spelling it out. I hate him. I do.
+
+“A boy, you say?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Does he know about me?”
+
+“I told him his father’d died.”
+
+“All these years.” He whispered it. “By damn.”
+
+“Well.” Her voice sounded frail. “It’s past and done. It’s o’er.” It was
+as if the room were empty and the clock, as it unwound, harped on dead
+walls.
+
+“No.” He moved quickly over the floor to stand above her, stocky and
+angry. The pulse of traffic was heard, ghost lights were shifting
+disturbed, on the walls about them. “I’d have married you. You know
+that. Don’t you?”
+
+“I thought you would.”
+
+“You know I would. Why didn’t you find me?”
+
+She was shaking her head. “I tried.”
+
+“I was there. In Louisville,” he cried.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why didn’t you go to Carl Brinker? For the child’s sake.” He shouted,
+towering.
+
+“I wrote. I didn’t know what to do. Where to turn.” She felt tears
+gathering. “I couldn’t even confess it. I’ve left the church since and I
+don’t care. But I dreaded it then. The sin.”
+
+“El?” Christian was leaning down, he put a hand along her cheek. He was
+pulling her beside him. They were about the same height and his eyes,
+dark and gentle, were gazing into hers. His teeth flashed in the dusk.
+“Remember that silly rabbit?”
+
+“I turned it loose,” she flared and tore away from him, to the table
+across the room, where the paper daisies were in a white bowl. She felt
+the tightness catch her and the quiver as she began to weep.
+
+“And the primrose from Mrs. Brinker’s kitchen? In the red pot?”
+
+“I wished you dead.” Her voice was quavering. “O’er the years. I hated
+you.”
+
+He pursued her. “Look here, El.” His hands were touching her shoulders
+and wheeling her to the vast warm bulwark of him. “I didn’t know.” He
+was putting his fingers to the wetness on her thin face. “And I see how
+it was.” He came out heavy and seeking, forged in deliberate tenderness.
+“If I had known. All the time lost.”
+
+She let his mouth find hers. And it was there, what she had wished to
+sense all along, the old love restored and made real. In their common
+need, they were clinging together, deaf to the brisk hammer of the clock
+and the keening wind that whined in sterile streets without; they were
+engrossed in their sudden solace.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Within a week they had married. Christian had driven over to Troy and
+severed his partnership with the feed store. Ellen was helping Mrs. Ay
+pack his belongings. “Has he told you about Simon?”
+
+Mrs. Ay nodded, vigorous. “His father didn’t get along good with Chris.
+Think that could have made him wild?”
+
+“We’d like you to come see us sometime.”
+
+“Will do that.” She opened a closet door. “Want to go through some of
+this stuff? Might be a thing or two you could use. Here’s a lamp shade.
+Good shape, too.”
+
+“We’ll take it,” Ellen laughed.
+
+Then they were driving to Millville in Christian’s car. On the way they
+ate the fried chicken and cookies Mrs. Ay had prepared, and by noon they
+were turning into the yard. They halloed but there was no sign of human
+life at the barn. A group of doleful-eyed cows, a woolly spindly foal, a
+pair of dull-coated horses gazed, questioning. Pigs were squealing in
+their pen, speckled roosters and hens wandered free under the hackberry
+or perched, roosting, on the porch rail. The wood bottom to the tin tub
+was broken out and a gray towel was flapping on the clothesline under
+the February wind.
+
+Ellen called to the dog, but there was no response from the bushes.
+“Wonder who’s caring for Jack?”
+
+They went into the house. Dust lay heavy, the beds were unmade, the
+windows closed. The air was musty, unlived in, as if the occupants had
+suddenly been spirited away. “It’s high time we got here, El.”
+
+In the late afternoon, while Christian was feeding the cows and she was
+scrubbing the porch, Sam Offut arrived. “Hey there, Ellie.”
+
+“Hey Sam. Where you been?”
+
+“I come o’er twice a day to milk and feed. I live at my place down the
+road. My ooman and me moved out of here. Folks call this farm haunted.
+What are you doing back?”
+
+“I’m here for good, Sam.” She came down into the yard, putting her wet
+cold hands in the sleeves of her coat for warmth. “I’m married now. Will
+you stay on with us?”
+
+“You mean work for you-all?”
+
+“We sure could use you.”
+
+“Reckon not.” Hunched over, he was rubbing his hip. “See, I spent my
+best years working for your pa. I liked him real well. He was a just
+man. And he was a right lone man, some ways. I don’t know. I study about
+him and that happenstance. Hope Jesus isn’t weeping for you, Ellie. Have
+you e’er taken hold of the horns of salvation?”
+
+“Well, Sam.”
+
+Christian was coming from the barn, heavy-set in his stiff new-purchased
+blue jeans and a storm jacket. His face was pale, winter-bleached. He
+called, “Hello, Mr. Offut.”
+
+“Heard you married up to Ellie.”
+
+“That’s so. You going to help us out?”
+
+“I’m too old. I got some garden and a roadside stand of sorts.” Sam
+shrugged. “My ooman does a little. Reckon not.”
+
+“Wish you could see your way.” Christian put his arm about Ellen’s
+shoulder; she was wearing an old ragged coat of Maria’s she had found in
+the attic room.
+
+Sam rubbed his stubble beard. His breath had a taint of whiskey. He was
+shifting his feet as if they ached. “You’ll make out. The cows aren’t
+milking much. This place is right run-down. I got the lumbago the same
+as my wife now. I’ve been doing the least I can get by with.”
+
+“What do we owe you anyway, Mr. Offut?”
+
+“You figure it out. You can get it to me sometime. I’ll say farewell to
+you both.” The old man was shuffling away. “Go with Christ.”
+
+Ellen stood next to Christian, against his warm bulk. “I always favored
+Sam.” The small bent figure was going out of sight onto Sweetincreek
+Road.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The rooms were being scoured and the floors rubbed with wax. Ellen
+rooted into dark places with a harsh brush and yellow soap. When
+seasonal winds blew up she threw the windows open and put on her torn
+brown sweater. She washed sheets and quilts, freshened curtains, and
+changed bed ticking. She lifted the crucifix from its nail over the bed
+to pack it in a trunk along with the painting of the Sacred Heart and
+the dusty images of Mary and Joseph. Reckon they had a meaning for Pa.
+And for me as well. I made that doll into a god when I had a trouble
+once.
+
+She had fixed up the loft-room to be Simon’s, dusting out a chest and
+setting it by the bed for his own. The big downstairs bedroom would be
+for Christian and herself. She was surveying it. “Could you cut some big
+windows in here, Chris?”
+
+He leaned in the doorway, his high boots caked. “I’ll do it. Let in some
+light.”
+
+“And I’ll hang yellow print curtains.”
+
+They were looking out the window at the bare bushes. A sparrow lit on a
+twig, lisping, “See, peabody, peabody, peabody!”
+
+“That’s the harbinger of spring,” Ellen said.
+
+“And today Simon will be here. That’s my son.” The boy was due on the
+afternoon train.
+
+“The redwing blackbirds are back at the pond.”
+
+“That’s plowing weather for sure, El. Say, the horses are shedding bad.
+Would Simon groom them?”
+
+“You might say he’s partial to horses.” She told him how the boy had
+found the red colt when he was very small.
+
+“How about the foal in the stable? We’ll call it Simon’s.”
+
+“There. He’d have been here long since if he’d known that.”
+
+They were at the station at New Hope then, waiting for the overdue
+train. Ellen was standing beside Christian. A black-haired man, his back
+to her, was rolling a cigarette. It was Dan, hawknosed, demanding, hot
+and vital. She had to still herself while she turned to Christian. She
+had to remember, while the pain was beating, that Dan had dropped out
+for always. She took Christian’s hand. He thought it was because of
+their son. “Don’t worry, El. I’ll make him like me.” When she had been
+cleaning the house she had found it was one of Dan’s songs she had been
+singing.
+
+   O say, darling, say, when I’m far away
+   Sometimes you may think of me, dear
+   Bright sunny days will soon fade away
+   Remember what I say and be true, dear
+
+Dan was a part of her, even a part of the way she would cherish her
+husband.
+
+They were watching at the coach car for Simon to step down. But he
+jumped onto the cement runway from a baggage car. He had brought his
+brown kid with him. He was running down the platform and it skipped
+after. “Ma. Look at me. Look at April and me.”
+
+“He’s a wild one,” Ellen said.
+
+“He’s big.” Christian straightened himself, nervous, turning his soft
+cap with his fingers.
+
+“This is Christian Ay. Like we wrote you, Simon. Now, he’s your father.”
+
+“I know it.” The boy was leaning over his kid, adjusting its leather
+collar.
+
+Christian took his hand. “Well now. Hello, Simon.”
+
+“Hi.” They walked to the V-Eight, Simon leading the docile animal. It
+stepped in and the boy followed, sitting on the back seat, holding the
+leash, watchful.
+
+Christian faced him. “I hear you’re keen after horses, Simon.”
+
+“What does he mean, Ma?”
+
+“There’s a colt in the barn,” Christian was saying, “belongs to you.”
+
+“How old, now?”
+
+“Ten weeks or so. Don’t you think, El?”
+
+“Yes,” she agreed.
+
+“Pearl had her colt, Ma,” Simon was hunting for her eyes. “And Sudduth’s
+getting him a hired man next week.” He leaned toward Ellen. “Strong like
+an ox, Sudduth says. Pop claims he’s got brains like one too.” The boy
+smiled, strained.
+
+“You want our colt?” Christian asked. “For your own?”
+
+“Yes. Reckon I do, Mester.”
+
+Christian and Ellen got in the front seat, and they were driving out on
+the road. Near Bailey’s Woods, a flock of bluejays darted before the
+car, pursuing a blinded flapping owl. Their barking was strident and
+shrill as they winged after it into the winter-stripped trees, now
+spattered with white blooms of shadblow. At the farmyard the three were
+getting out of the car, standing in the yard. Simon had his kid tightly
+by the collar.
+
+“Well, Simon?” Ellen said.
+
+His face became red. He stood before Christian, steady. “If it doesn’t
+matter to you, I’d as lief call you Pa, like Dennie does with Sudduth.”
+
+“That’s the general idea, son,” Christian sighed, glancing at Ellen.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+They were lingering at the long oak table in the kitchen. Ellen moved
+about, putting dishes and pots away. Christian was smoking his pipe. The
+boy cried, “Simon Ay’s a good name, isn’t it?”
+
+“You look a little alike, too,” Ellen nodded.
+
+“Say it again, how it was, Pa,” Simon urged, “that you happened to leave
+the county before you could marry Ma.”
+
+It was later when Simon told them about Luke bringing Penny and the new
+baby over to the Wasilewskis to visit Ellen. “Penny felt bad when you
+weren’t there, Ma.”
+
+“Was it a boy or girl, Simon?”
+
+“I don’t know. She said a boy, I think. Now I disremember.”
+
+“Simon. You knew I’d ask.” Ellen was disappointed.
+
+Christian was speaking to her. “Luke Dougherty works for a farmer,
+doesn’t he?”
+
+“A stock farmer. Webster. He raises Jerseys and Short-horns. Blooded
+beasts. Mester Webster thinks a mort of Luke too. There. I hate it, not
+seeing Penny and the baby.”
+
+Christian put down his pipe. “I’ve got an idea. You know I have to have
+help here if we want to make this farm pay. It’s in bad shape.”
+
+“I’m here. I’m a good worker,” Simon said.
+
+“How about asking Mr. Dougherty to come in with us? You think he would?
+What do you say? We could buy more land if it’s too small for two
+families. We could convert one of the old sheds for them till we found
+time to build a house.”
+
+“Simon’s due in school on Monday.”
+
+“Now, Ma.”
+
+“I need a man. I’d have to find one. And the Doughertys did raise you,
+Simon.”
+
+“Luke would be on his own.” Ellen considered it. “Reckon he’d like that.
+He’s got a way with cattle.”
+
+“I’m rusty. I’ll make mistakes alone. I haven’t enough experience. And
+I’d lose all my money.”
+
+“There’d be Penny. She’s like my family, Chris. I’d be done saying
+goodbye to Penny.”
+
+“Clate and Anse,” crowed Simon. “They’d have to go to school with me.
+We’d sleep in the barn.”
+
+“Hold on now. We don’t know if Mr. Dougherty’ll take us up on it yet. He
+might figure he’d be a fool to leave Mr. Webster.” Christian wrote the
+letter and Simon took it to the mailbox. He put the red metal flag up so
+the RFD car would stop.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+While they were waiting to hear from Weems Crossroads, Simon followed
+his father about. They pitched and shoveled and scraped from the
+stables, scattered manure on the hilly fields, rubbed the newborn calves
+with straw to clean them and put them to their dams’ inflamed fresh
+udders. Simon curried and brushed the horses and his long-legged
+undernourished foal. Masses of dead hair would accumulate in the litter
+under the animals in their stalls. “I’ll be glad to take orders from you
+for a change,” the child was telling Christian gravely. “Ma means well,
+but half the time she’s wrong.”
+
+“Don’t be so sure,” Christian grinned down at him, “might be you.”
+
+Ellen was sitting at the table in the kitchen, writing Mom Wasilewski.
+She told Mom how she missed all of them, Pop and Adele and the little
+girls. She asked advice on starting a flock of Leghorns. “And we’re
+fixing to send off to the mail catalog for some Italian bees. Does Pop
+calculate them to be a good honey variety? I’ve heard they’re mean.” A
+sadness descended on Ellen. Now that’s become my past. It never turns
+out the way I figure it will. I thought to spend my days in Illinois
+with Dan. Now he’s gone and that’s all lost. There came to her mind the
+white buckling that had perished so long ago, strangling in a fence. She
+heard Christian and Simon approaching. And their footfalls on the porch
+boards washed away her grieving. The sun threw itself in a blanket on
+the floor in front of them as the door opened.
+
+“What are you doing, El?”
+
+“Writing a letter. Thinking.”
+
+Christian was placing his firm fingers on her shoulder. In the heat of
+her love, born of gratitude, her blood mingled with his. She turned in
+her chair to lean against him. “I was reading a while ago in that
+gilt-edged fancy Bible in there, El. Where it says, for lo, the winter’s
+past. The rain’s over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth. The
+time of the singing of birds is come.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ellen was collecting Anton and Maria’s moth-eaten garments from the
+clothespress. She had made a bonfire and was carrying them out, throwing
+them upon it. She told Christian about her mother. “Frankie and Uncle
+and Vi went to see her on the way down for Pa’s funeral. They said she
+didn’t know them. She had a doll the nurses had given her and seemed
+content, rocking it.” Ellen poked the fire with a stick so it blazed up
+afresh.
+
+“We’ll go to visit her.”
+
+“I used to fear the past, Chris. I wanted to shake it off. And here we
+are on Pa’s farm, where he ruled. I ne’er thought I’d see it again.”
+
+“It has to be our way, though, El. That we’re building. Our own.”
+
+“I know. I want to change all of it. So it’s new.” She stood marking the
+ashes that trembled and faded.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In a few days the Doughertys were arriving, herded by the tall
+round-faced Luke. Clate and Anse were bearing boxes and suitcases in
+either hand. Ellen was taking the wailing new baby from Penny’s arms.
+The young girl, Blossom, held the blanketed sickly Jess. And little
+Ernie hung behind her. Penny’s face was relieved. “It’s a wonder we e’er
+got here, Ellie. With this crowd.”
+
+Ellen looked down at the baby. “What’s his name?”
+
+“Melinda. Didn’t Simon tell you it’s a girl?”
+
+“Now all we got is one V-Eight,” Christian was grinning. “Women and
+babies first trip. Boys and baggage the next. Come, Luke.”
+
+The Doughertys had crated and shipped their shedfull of goats when they
+learned that Ellen wanted them. The animals came two days after the
+family. There were fifteen all told, kids and goats. They arrived
+blatting and white-eyed at the New Hope station. In a week they were
+accustomed to the woodshed and the new pens there. Their mild oval
+pupils would follow Ellen’s unhurried movements. She set up a block of
+salt and shelled corn in their long trough while they crowded to eat.
+They crunched and shoved, and the hurt of her own lost herd began to
+heal.
+
+The men were enlarging one of the bigger outbuildings for the Doughertys
+to live in temporarily. They papered the rooms, tarred the roof, slapped
+on a coat of white paint. “I can’t smell pigs in here any more, Chris,”
+Luke was saying, “can you?”
+
+By fall the houses and barns were wired and electric fixtures had been
+put in. There was an overhead light in Ellen’s kitchen. “You sure are
+reckless,” she told Christian, “with your money.”
+
+“I’m so glad to be shed of The Standard Shop,” his face was browned and
+young, “I like spending it.”
+
+He sent for a separator for the dairy house. It spilled cream in a thin
+yellow stream from one fountain while skim milk gushed from another into
+tall cans. There was an electric churn, too. Christian promised Simon,
+“Give us a few years and we’ll have milking machines in the barn. Wait
+and see.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In early spring, a young purebred Guernsey bull was strolling about in a
+sturdy barred pen. It arched its crest and snorted toward the barnyard
+where the cows were. It baaed in a high voice like a calf, for it was
+yet immature. The men laughed at it. Luke said, “His seed’s got the
+lines to build up our herd.”
+
+“But has he got the strength in him?”
+
+“He has. What we ought to do, though, is buy a few top brood cows from
+good farms. Raise their calves by that bull. It’s the fastest way to get
+a producing herd.”
+
+“Let’s go ahead. You ride over to the next sale that’s advertised. Can
+you pick them?”
+
+“I’ll spot them easy.”
+
+Cold fresh winds moved. Christian was drawing on his pipe. “By damn,
+how’d you like to paint a Guernsey bull clear across the barn, Luke?
+I’ve been thinking. And trim the windows with white? The boys could help
+on that part. I’d like to see some fancying up around here.”
+
+“Well, that’s an idea. Does no harm. It’ll bring people in to use the
+bull, too. Give the farm a name hereabouts.”
+
+And the women came to watch the painting. Penny was holding her baby
+girl on her arm, Ernie at her heels. “Look at that giant Guernsey there.
+Well.”
+
+Beside Ellen tottered Jess, the undergrown brown-haired child, her
+favorite among Penny’s brood. He was gripping her skirt, open-mouthed at
+the men on the high ladders. Their blue jackets were paint-spattered,
+their buckets dangled by baling wire from the rungs. Simon and the
+Dougherty boys came running up from Sweetincreek Road, swinging their
+schoolbooks and lunch pails. They dropped them by the yard fence and
+went for paint brushes to join the men in the sun-dipped warm barnyard.
+
+“Say,” Ellen called, “you might set an iron bull on the roof for a
+weather vane, too. If you had a mind.”
+
+“We’ll do it, El,” Christian was shouting down, laughing.
+
+“I’m going to make my pies up,” Ellen told Penny. “I’ll take Jess with
+me. He fancies my kitchen.”
+
+She was walking slowly to the house. A tan puppy followed. She patted it
+as she helped Jess up the porch steps. A turtledove was calling,
+“Croo-ah, croo-croo.”
+
+“There’s the saddest voice,” she sighed, “of all the birds.” She let the
+small dog in the doorway. It heaved itself on the floor with a contented
+snort. She gave the little boy a cracker and sat him on a rug. He
+munched damply, eyes wide, watching Ellen roll out the dough. She was
+fluting the edges of the crusts, deft. Her cats were stretched in the
+warm sun on the window sills. She stepped over the sleeping puppy to put
+the pies in the new white porcelain stove.
+
+In the orchard below the house, blossoms were unfolding in a pink and
+white mist upon the shapes of old twisted trees and new-set nurslings.
+Shooting-stars and woodsorrels wasted their fragrance and birds began to
+trill, as if afraid of disturbing the air, from where they swung on
+branches. Gray squirrels carped at a cub-fox gliding down the path in
+the woods. Ellen, at the opened kitchen window, watched hawks sweeping
+in the blue and sensed the rustle of the new season. There was the green
+odor of growing. She felt the ancient promise, the wheel of earth once
+more.
+
+She led the pinafored Jess, his short legs stumbling, to the bedroom. He
+held onto the white spread, thumb in mouth, sleepy eyes fixed on her as
+she laid out a diaper. She changed him, then straightened her laden body
+as a birth pain came. Within her the child quickened in the darkness and
+she was aware of its joy.
+
+
+
+
+                            ABOUT THE AUTHOR
+
+
+Helga Sandburg was born in Maywood, Illinois, spent most of her early
+years in Harbert, Michigan, around the lake bend, ninety miles from
+Chicago. As a youngster, she was curious about the ways of the semi-wild
+country surrounding her isolated home. She mounted butterfly and leaf
+collections, kept a bird-watcher’s notebook, taught her five dogs to
+pull a sled over the snow-covered sand dunes of Lake Michigan’s shore,
+and trained her own horses. In her father’s house, she saw pass the
+great literary figures of the midwest. She served as secretary to the
+poet for many years and became steeped in the tradition of American
+folkway and song. _The Wheel of Earth_ casts a glance back to the
+vanishing lore of the prairie farmlands.
+
+In 1946 Miss Sandburg’s family moved to the Great Smokies of western
+Carolina. There she renewed her childhood interest in animals, raising
+calves, colts, dogs, goats, cats, varieties of rabbits, Peruvian cavies,
+parakeets, and hooded rats. Her animal collection was reduced to two
+Siamese cats and one Doberman Pinscher when she took up residence six
+years ago in Falls Church, Virginia. For two years she was employed
+nearby at the Library of Congress. Currently she is at work on her
+second novel. She has a son of sixteen and a daughter of fourteen. She
+is the wife of Arthur D. Golby, Assistant Professor of English at The
+American University in Washington, D. C.
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber’s Notes
+
+
+The original spelling was mostly preserved. All other changes are shown
+here (before/after):
+
+   [p. 24]:
+   ... love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranebills ...
+   ... love-lies-bleeding, marigolds and sunflowers, cranesbills ...
+
+   [p. 135]:
+   ... dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfolk tucked
+       between ...
+   ... dead like old man Moses Hedrick with a pitchfork tucked
+       between ...
+
+   [p. 329]:
+   ... “I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homestick for the
+       old ...
+   ... “I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old ...
+
+   [p. 344]:
+   ... To wish her lover goodspeed ...
+   ... To wish her lover godspeed ...
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78102 ***