"It
looks to be another beautiful day. And a good one for rice, I
think. Much hard work today will make for full bellies this
winter."
The children looked upon the coming day's
work eagerly. They knew that they would be working, working very
hard. But working together as a family was much preferred over the
solitary chores that filled their everyday life.
Buckets and baskets were taken up all around
as the man and the children hurried to tend the hens and hogs and
the milking before breakfast. Young Elsa rushed to the outhouse
alone. The three males stopped in the weeds near the edge of the
yard to relieve themselves before beginning their chores.
The morning was a fair one. The chinaberry
tree at the north end of the house was already bright yellow,
foretelling a coming frost. The distant sky was bright with pink
clouds, pretty and predictable.
"It is going to rain tomorrow," Laron told
the boys.
He gestured toward the eastern horizon and
the boys noted the color.
"A bad storm? A hurricane?" Young Jakob
sounded almost excited.
They had reached the bank and as Laron bent
to fill his buckets he chuckled and shook his head.
"Just a rainstorm," he assured Jakob. "That
will be good to have now before cold weather sets in."
"Why?"
"If the grass is too dry when it gets a heavy
frost and then is thawed by warm rains it will rot," Laron
explained carefully and with respect. Karl and Jakob might be only
boys, but even boys, Laron thought, should expect to be spoken to
without condescension. "The pasture needs to be wet when it
freezes."
"But the cattle aren't even here," Karl
pointed out, his voice questioning and surly.
"They are around somewhere," Laron answered,
unconcerned. "And as long as there is grass they will not stray
far. Jakob, take this water to your mother. Karl and I will tend to
the chores."
The little fellow hurried back toward the
house, spilling nearly as much water as he managed to carry. An
inordinate amount of smoke was now drifting up from the chimney as
Helga started the fire.
She would warm the water for him to shave,
she would present clean clothes for him to wear, and she would fill
his belly with good hot food. She was like a wife. But she was not
his wife. She was his . . . his . . . even in thought he was
troubled by the word. She was his whore. The term stung him. She
was more to him, so much more.
He hadn't intended the relationship they had.
He was not raised to consider such unseemly conduct.
"A man's seed is not to be sown illicitly,"
his father had declared one long-ago afternoon as the two, along
with his brother three years his senior, set lines from their
pirogue.
"The marriage act outside of marriage is a
grievous sin and brings shame and ruination upon the man that
consummates it."
Laron had had very little understanding of
the marriage act or even how to consummate it. He was in fact a
little young for the talk being given, very near the age that Karl
was now. But his father, who was perhaps more rigid in his beliefs
than most, did not relish the necessary father/son discourse
required upon approaching manhood. On this occasion with his
youngest sons, he thought to let one talk do for the two.
"There may be temptations set before you," he
had told them. "But you must resist so that you would bring
yourself as clean and whole to your marriage bed as you would
expect of your bride."
"But if the women keep themselves pure, where
would these temptations come from?"
It was his brother who had asked the
question. Laron had had a similar thought, but was far too
embarrassed to voice the question.
"There are women, even among us, who can be
led into sin," his father answered. "A man intent upon a path of
evil can always find the way. You must resist the unsanctioned
desires of your body. Your reward will be much pleasure in marriage
without the guilt of sin."
Pleasure without guilt. That was a thing to
be sought after, Laron now knew.
Perhaps if his father had warned him
looks to be another beautiful day. And a good one for rice, I
think. Much hard work today will make for full bellies this
winter."
The children looked upon the coming day's
work eagerly. They knew that they would be working, working very
hard. But working together as a family was much preferred over the
solitary chores that filled their everyday life.
Buckets and baskets were taken up all around
as the man and the children hurried to tend the hens and hogs and
the milking before breakfast. Young Elsa rushed to the outhouse
alone. The three males stopped in the weeds near the edge of the
yard to relieve themselves before beginning their chores.
The morning was a fair one. The chinaberry
tree at the north end of the house was already bright yellow,
foretelling a coming frost. The distant sky was bright with pink
clouds, pretty and predictable.
"It is going to rain tomorrow," Laron told
the boys.
He gestured toward the eastern horizon and
the boys noted the color.
"A bad storm? A hurricane?" Young Jakob
sounded almost excited.
They had reached the bank and as Laron bent
to fill his buckets he chuckled and shook his head.
"Just a rainstorm," he assured Jakob. "That
will be good to have now before cold weather sets in."
"Why?"
"If the grass is too dry when it gets a heavy
frost and then is thawed by warm rains it will rot," Laron
explained carefully and with respect. Karl and Jakob might be only
boys, but even boys, Laron thought, should expect to be spoken to
without condescension. "The pasture needs to be wet when it
freezes."
"But the cattle aren't even here," Karl
pointed out, his voice questioning and surly.
"They are around somewhere," Laron answered,
unconcerned. "And as long as there is grass they will not stray
far. Jakob, take this water to your mother. Karl and I will tend to
the chores."
The little fellow hurried back toward the
house, spilling nearly as much water as he managed to carry. An
inordinate amount of smoke was now drifting up from the chimney as
Helga started the fire.
She would warm the water for him to shave,
she would present clean clothes for him to wear, and she would fill
his belly with good hot food. She was like a wife. But she was not
his wife. She was his . . . his . . . even in thought he was
troubled by the word. She was his whore. The term stung him. She
was more to him, so much more.
He hadn't intended the relationship they had.
He was not raised to consider such unseemly conduct.
"A man's seed is not to be sown illicitly,"
his father had declared one long-ago afternoon as the two, along
with his brother three years his senior, set lines from their
pirogue.
"The marriage act outside of marriage is a
grievous sin and brings shame and ruination upon the man that
consummates it."
Laron had had very little understanding of
the marriage act or even how to consummate it. He was in fact a
little young for the talk being given, very near the age that Karl
was now. But his father, who was perhaps more rigid in his beliefs
than most, did not relish the necessary father/son discourse
required upon approaching manhood. On this occasion with his
youngest sons, he thought to let one talk do for the two.
"There may be temptations set before you," he
had told them. "But you must resist so that you would bring
yourself as clean and whole to your marriage bed as you would
expect of your bride."
"But if the women keep themselves pure, where
would these temptations come from?"
It was his brother who had asked the
question. Laron had had a similar thought, but was far too
embarrassed to voice the question.
"There are women, even among us, who can be
led into sin," his father answered. "A man intent upon a path of
evil can always find the way. You must resist the unsanctioned
desires of your body. Your reward will be much pleasure in marriage
without the guilt of sin."
Pleasure without guilt. That was a thing to
be sought after, Laron now knew.
Perhaps if his father had warned him
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