The chair creaks again. I keep walking, never stop because if I do, I might never get going again and I’ll end up back in my house, Daddy sleeping next to the lamp, Juna sleeping a quiet, dreamless sleep even though Dale’s dead. I walk up the stairs, not looking to see which brother sits in that chair, push open the door, and step into the kitchen.
Cousins and nephews and uncles must have come from outside the county. A half dozen men or more sleep in chairs and on the floor. Their snores rise and fall, one right over the top of the next. A small black stove sits in the far corner, the fire inside burning strong and steady, will have been since sunset. Smoky cedar fills the room, and the fire’s yellow glow flickers and bounces off the sleeping bodies, throwing long, rounded shadows on the walls.
Next to the stove, a boy sits on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. So many nights, that had been Dale’s job—to keep the fire from going out. Daddy never liked to bother with starting a fire from scratch, but Dale wasn’t much good at knowing which pieces of wood were dry or which were too big or which would smoke. The boy tips his head in the direction of the only other room. Everyone knows my desire, even this boy.
Not wanting to hear the sound of another shell falling into its chamber, I say his name as I open the door. I walk in, not thinking about John Holleran back at his house. Since the day we buried Dale and I pushed his hands from me, John has stayed away. I hear him outside the house some days, asking Daddy what needs doing. Daddy is a shameless man, so he gives John plenty of work. I never come out to say hello, and when I hear his truck coming up the road, which I always do, I go inside and pull the door closed. I walk into Ellis Baine’s bedroom, not thinking about what a good man John Holleran is or the fine husband he’ll one day make for someone. I don’t think about the baby growing inside Juna, and I close the door behind me.
A small window lets in just enough light. Fully clothed in long trousers and a heavy shirt, Ellis is lying on the narrow bed, legs crossed, boots on his feet. A shotgun rests on his chest. He draws in a deep breath, but I don’t hear him let it out.
I start with my jacket, pull it off, and leave it to drop at my feet. Next I unlace my boots with fingers still stiff from the cold. My knuckles and the tips of my fingers ache. I can feel Ellis watching, but that’s why I’ve come here. I’ve come so he’ll see me, at least this once.
Toe to heel, I pry off each boot and sit them side by side on the floor. Under my coat, I wear only a dressing gown. A draft runs through the room, and the thin fabric flutters against my stomach and the front of each leg. If the light is reaching me, Ellis will see the shape of me now.
Juna is beautiful in the face and striking with her black eyes, but her body is hard because she works every day picking berries or chopping wood or topping tobacco. I’m the softer of us two. Daddy’s always said it. A man wants a woman with a soft place he can rest his head. He wants a woman who will stroke his hair and tell him he’s a good man who does good things and does things good. He wants a woman who will be warm when she lies next to him at night but who will stay out of his way when the sun rises. I’m all of those things, but Ellis will never know because at dawn Joseph Carl will hang.
Long before I slipped past Daddy and Juna, I decided where I’d be going and what I’d be doing. Since I first started thinking about wanting a man, I have wanted Ellis Baine. He knows things. He knows how to burn the fields for his tobacco and will stand over his land, sniffing the soil, rubbing it between his fingers, knowing just when the rain will come and leave the ground soft enough to set the tender plants. He doesn’t meet with the other fellows to talk about what is best. He always knows. He knows because he stands in the middle of his fields and feels something strong inside. That’s what I want—someone who feels something, anything, strong. Feels it so strong it fills him up and keeps him from eating proper or caring about hair grown too long. I want to feel things like that, to have things swell up inside me like they swell up inside Ellis Baine.
Slowly, I tug the twine holding my gown closed at the neckline. It will fall open, and this thing will happen. The bow unravels. The neckline of my gown falls open wide enough that I can tip one shoulder and then the other and it drops to my feet. He can see all of me now—the hidden dark places, the curves that dip and lift. My chest rises and falls more quickly than before. The light from the window and the shadows shift with every breath. Ellis’s head rolls forward and then back—a nod. I hadn’t seen the men, sitting there on the floor, leaning against the wall. Two more nephews, cousins, or uncles, both of them seeing all of me.