Abraham found her. That’s what has happened, and I know where she takes him. It’s on up the hill toward the Baines’ place and on the far side of the Lone Fork River. She could have picked a spot on this side of the river that would have been just as fitting and much easier to navigate for a man as large as Abraham Pace. His overgrown feet must struggle to step from rock to rock as he crosses the Lone Fork. Juna is lighter afoot. She would leap from one mossy stone to the next, never giving thought to slipping or falling or spending the day in soggy shoes. If Abraham loves her, Juna is all the time saying, he’ll accommodate.
There’s been so little rain, the crossing is easier today, and it makes me happy for Abraham. His feet must surely fit better on the rocks when the water is low. Once across, I hoist my skirt with one hand and begin to climb the bank, grabbing hold of a sycamore growing right at the river’s edge. Its brown bark crumbles and flakes off in my hands. I use the tree to brace myself, and once steady, I reach for the next. Higher up the bank, the sycamores give way to the elms. I climb higher still and listen before I look.
I am the older sister, so it should have been me telling Juna about the wants of men, but it was Juna who did the telling. Even though she isn’t so fond of the shape of Abraham’s face, the thought of him touching her and wanting her makes him appealing. Someday I’ll understand, she says. Someday, God willing, a man will want me in that same way. Every time she tells me these things, I think of Ellis Baine, and I hope, I pray, he’s the one who will want me.
Though Abraham is an odd sort, with his square chin and heavy brow, he wants Juna. He wants her so bad he will beg her from his knees to let him touch her skin where he thinks no one else has. He likes the softness of her belly and the shallow spot between her hip bones and the silky skin behind her earlobes.
In the beginning, Juna liked telling Abraham no because she was so inclined and for no other reason. It would frustrate him, pain him, she would say, to pull away from her, and that made him all the more tempting. His face would turn red, and sweat would sprout across his wide forehead. He would be angry, shout at her, threaten to leave her, but always he would return because next time she might say yes. Lately, she has taken to saying yes because she likes the way Abraham’s hands feel on those secret places. Dear God, she likes the feel of it. She leans into his touch and forgets she is supposed to say no. She likes that his palms are calloused and rough and turn her skin red, almost raw, after a time. You can’t imagine such a desire, she will so often tell me. Not for the man but for his touch.
I’m afraid to hear what passes between Abraham and Juna, so I listen instead for the sounds of Dale. I listen for the twigs he likes to snap when he’s bored and sitting on the front porch. I listen for his footsteps that would surely be unsteady on this damp ground. I listen for his soft voice, his mumbling to himself as he stops up his ears and tries not to listen.
The poplars on the far side of the river are thick. The branches tangle overhead, casting a heavy shadow. Black mold peppers their white trunks, and slivers of sunlight dot the ground, which is cool and damp, never dries through and through. Several seasons’ worth of fallen leaves, glossy and slick from having started to rot, coat the ground and make for unsteady footing. As I near the spot where Juna and Abraham lay together, I step carefully so as not to slip and so as not to catch sight of bare arms and bare legs.
I don’t want to see them—Juna and Abraham—and yet I want to know. I want to know about the things that will drive a man to kneel before a woman and beg. I want to know what such desire looks like so I can find it, foster it in Ellis Baine. I wonder if all women can draw such a thing from a man or if it’s only Juna. I want to see, but I’m afraid, so I fight to keep my eyes on the ground and I call out for them.
“At least send Dale to me,” I shout. “Let me take him home.”
I hear nothing of Dale or the sounds I have heard Abraham make when begging and stroking and touching Juna. I press between the poplars until I reach the clearing where they meet. It’s empty. They’ll have long since finished with the tobacco. Long since. I drop to my knees, lay a hand on the ground, and take a full deep breath to slow my heart. It’s pounding in my chest because of what I thought I might see, and now it pounds because Juna said this was not the day for going to the field.
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THE SUN IS an hour from setting, making it well past suppertime, when Daddy says we should go have a look. Blue and purple clouds stretch across the horizon, and the mosquitos are out. Last summer, we had the cicadas buzzing all the time, day after day. Folks say they won’t come again for sixteen more years, but I still find myself listening for them, thinking their brittle shells are crunching underfoot when I happen upon a dried-out twig or patch of brown leaves.