The Leatherwood God

re and slipped on the rotting logs. But she caught herself from tumbling, and safely gained the border of Gillespie's corn field. There she sat dow

she sensed the thick August heat of the sun already smiting its honeyed odors from the corn; she heard the scamper of the squirrels preying upon the ripening ears,

she could get to speak with him when Jane was not by. He would send the girl away at a sign fro

body drooped under the burden of her heart, as if it physically dragged her down. Jane would be coming soon wit

here, Nancy?" her br

name of the Lord! Maybe He's going to be

gone,

an

care whether he's go

ell you h

es

im not to tell on him?

she sat gathering her shawl under her chin as if she were st

Dav

u want me t

on't know. I haven

this. Don't you see any d

heart forboded the im

. "Nancy," he said, "a woman cannot have two husbands.

id? Didn't I believe he was dead? Didn't you? Oh, Davi

you don't do it. You are doing it, now. I can

sin?

her can your second husband, now. If you live on with Laban a day longer-an hour-a minute-you live in deadly sin. I thought of it all night but I had not

in the vastness of her calamity. "If it was another woman I couldn't bea

brother cal

or you! But if Rachel was he

, "don't try to hide behi

Laban-as innocent as he was, poor boy, when he would have me; an

knows what awful pleasure in his casuistry, so pitilessly unerring. "If the lif

wailed out the words with her head fallen forward

one, and come to me. I will deal w

eft him? And the neighbors, let them think w

some great center of opinion such as in great communities dispenses fame and infamy, and makes its judgments supremely

a lie as that? Is

she did, in standing on the stone where she

sh it. But I wish to make it easy-or a litt

u could. But maybe-maybe it ain't what we think it

but each knew whom the other

you think so till he

Braile

infi

t. I must do it. I'll go and get ready an

t Jane thinks. When do

wn. I'll not come

r her cabin stood, and from it came the sound of a pitiful wail; at the back door a little child stood, staying itself by the slats let into grooves in the jambs. She ha

ht it to her neck and mumbled its wet cheeks with hungry kiss

y heaven. Often she stopped, and wondered at herself. It seemed impossible she could be thinking it, be doing it, but she was thinking and doing it,