The Execution by Sharon Cramer Page A

this morning’s events to be a dangerous path
on which to stumble. She was not as easily confused about such
things as some of the other young women of the congregation were,
stupid cows.
    She had finally escaped this afternoon
to read poetry at her favorite, secret place along the river. It
was a wonderful book of women’s poems a friend had given to her,
and she fled the farmhouse with it tucked under her arm. The poems
were scandalous, forbidden and adventuresome. The women were
pioneers and Julianne idolized her fictitious heroines.
    'And look at him, stumbling into her
haven, stumbling into her mind again. Standing there, looking all
ridiculous and—and, anyway, how dare he indeed!'
     
    * * *
     
    The horse foiled D’ata’s plans to turn
and flee by thrusting him more into the open. He inadvertently
yanked hard on the reins, which only served to make the situation
worse as the horse threw its nose in the air and flailed its head
back and forth. D’ata was yanked back to his feet abruptly and
shushed the animal too loudly in an effort to calm it. It was too
late. He was discovered.
    Now that she'd seen him, it would be
entirely unacceptable to simply turn and leave without begging off.
He turned and struggled awkwardly to hold the fidgeting animal
still as it circled around him. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m
sorry. I—it seems I have disturbed you. I didn’t realize...” He
stumbled over what to say.
    Her gray eyes darkened as she squinted
to peer at him, her hair cascading carelessly around her face and
down her back. Without hesitation, she pulled it roughly behind her
ear, then clutching her book with both hands to her chest, she
asked, “Did you follow me here?”
    This startled and silenced him at
once. He was again immediately overcome with her beauty and could
not bring his eyes from her face. He thought he'd imagined how
breathtaking she was to be at the church, the extent of it. He
realized that, in fact, he had not. He reached forward and stepped
towards her, then stopped himself, not sure what to say. He was
enraptured again and could not believe they were having a
conversation.
    “ Well? Did you?” she
demanded an answer.
    “ No, I wouldn’t—do such a
thing. It’s just that I frequently come here to think about
things,” he paused, realizing that he was sounding very much the
liar as he carried on. He tried again. “I see I’m not the only one
who finds this place particularly inviting.” He smiled awkwardly,
trying to lighten the situation.
    Setting her book on the tree trunk,
Julianne reached down to gather up her stockings and shoes from the
sand. She stood up, shaking the sand from them, her head cocked to
one side, eyes narrowed and frowning at him. As he continued to
just stand there, staring at her, she glared at him. “Do you
mind?”
    “ Oh, begging your pardon.”
He hastily turned away, stroking the horse on the nose, so it would
not circle him again, forcing him to turn and see her—putting on
her—he swallowed thickly. He succeeded in keeping his back to her,
acutely aware of the rustle of her gowns. He did not succeed in
blocking the mental vision of her pulling the stockings up those
lovely, slender legs. It was a sin that he had seen those long,
bare legs and he closed his eyes.
    He pictured her with less than her
stockings on and was suddenly hot. D’ata had only once ever seen a
woman's body naked. He'd accidentally walked in on a handmaid as
she was changing in Raphael’s quarters, an event which had burned
itself into his mind. Only later had he summed up the purpose of
the young woman’s visit.
    His face flushed and he swiftly opened
his eyes as arousal crept up his loins into the pit of his belly.
Loosening the catch on the collar of his linen shirt, he allowed
the breeze to cool him and cleared his throat. “I wish to
apologize. I don’t know what came over me, it’s just that it seemed
you were—I had never,” he paused, awkwardly trying to