say.
Say yes. That’s all! How many times is it he’s asked you now?
Twice.
Forevermore! And you ain’t said—I swear Willa if you ain’t a caution!
They sat behind the marble counter that night; the gold blooms of the twin gas lamps flowering softly in the air above their heads, the whine of a Victrola somewhere off down the leafy street. Willa shook her head, eyes shut, as if she were trying to shake loose some key thought from among others.
If I was only sure it would—turn out, Icey—
A husband, grunted Icey, is one piece of store goods you never know till you take it home and get the paper off.
I know. That’s why I—
But if ever I seen a sure bargain, cried Icey, it’s Mr. Powell! A good, Christian gentleman!
Yes, Icey, but that boy of mine—
John? Well if you care for my opinion what that boy needs is the switch a little more often! He’s growed just a little too big for his britches, missy!
Yes, I know that. But something happened on the picnic that day.
The storm?
Something more than that. Something between him and Mr. Powell. He won’t tell.
Git in the habit of calling him Harry, honey. Men likes to hear a woman say their Christian name.
I didn’t say anything about it to—to Harry, of course.
Maybe it was just seein’ the father’s grave and all, said Icey. Youngsters find it so hard to understand that the flesh is really there—under the stone—
Willa shivered and stared at the spring night outside: the street lamp glowing behind the canopy of young sycamore leaves in a misty green halo.
And John—I don’t think he believes that about the money—that Ben throwed it in the river.
Nonsense! Mr. Powell wouldn’t have lied. He’s a man of God, Willa. Did you explain to the boy?
Yes. I told John yesterday. And then I made him come in the parlor and stand by the chair while Mr. Powell—while Harry told him.
And what did he say to that?
Nothing.
Without warning the still night was full of the piping notes of the calliope on the showboat down at the landing.
My, my! Hear that, honey! grinned old Icey. A body don’t hear that sound every month in the year. That’s the sound that says it’s spring.
Yes, sighed Willa. It’s spring.
And ain’t it a caution how such a noisy thing as that can get in your bones and make you want to kick up and frolic!
Yes. Yes, I reckon, Icey—
Honey, what’s wrong?
Willa plunged her naked arms into the blue dishwater and brought out a dripping ice-cream dish.
I don’t think John believed Mr. Powell, she said.
Well, honey, don’t
you
believe him? That’s the important thing, after all.
Yes, I suppose. I just can’t imagine why Ben wouldn’t have told me—those days when I went to see him at the prison—pled with him!
Because Ben Harper was a good man, said Icey. That’s why. He knowed that money wasn’t nothin’ but Sin and Torment and Abomination. And I reckon he thought he’d test you—let you think it was still somewhere hid—hopin’ at last you’d say you didn’t want it anyways and then maybe he’d be free of it—and you’d be free of it, too. Maybe you failed Ben, Willa! And maybe this is your chance to make it all up to him!
Aw, Icey, I know! I never doubt really—what Harry says is true.
Willa stared for a moment at her dripping hands and then pushed a lock of hair back with the heel of her hand and turned her anguished eyes to the old woman.
Icey, what shall I do?
Marry him!
But I don’t feel—Icey, it ain’t like Ben and me that summer—
Fiddlesticks! That wasn’t love, honey. That was just hot britches. There’s more to a marriage than four bare legs in a bed. When you’re married forty years you’ll know that all that don’t matter a hill of beans. I been married that long to my Walt now and I’ll swear in all that time whenever he took me I’d just lie there thinking about my canning or how I’d manage to git one of the boys new shoes for school—
That’s another thing, sighed
Say yes. That’s all! How many times is it he’s asked you now?
Twice.
Forevermore! And you ain’t said—I swear Willa if you ain’t a caution!
They sat behind the marble counter that night; the gold blooms of the twin gas lamps flowering softly in the air above their heads, the whine of a Victrola somewhere off down the leafy street. Willa shook her head, eyes shut, as if she were trying to shake loose some key thought from among others.
If I was only sure it would—turn out, Icey—
A husband, grunted Icey, is one piece of store goods you never know till you take it home and get the paper off.
I know. That’s why I—
But if ever I seen a sure bargain, cried Icey, it’s Mr. Powell! A good, Christian gentleman!
Yes, Icey, but that boy of mine—
John? Well if you care for my opinion what that boy needs is the switch a little more often! He’s growed just a little too big for his britches, missy!
Yes, I know that. But something happened on the picnic that day.
The storm?
Something more than that. Something between him and Mr. Powell. He won’t tell.
Git in the habit of calling him Harry, honey. Men likes to hear a woman say their Christian name.
I didn’t say anything about it to—to Harry, of course.
Maybe it was just seein’ the father’s grave and all, said Icey. Youngsters find it so hard to understand that the flesh is really there—under the stone—
Willa shivered and stared at the spring night outside: the street lamp glowing behind the canopy of young sycamore leaves in a misty green halo.
And John—I don’t think he believes that about the money—that Ben throwed it in the river.
Nonsense! Mr. Powell wouldn’t have lied. He’s a man of God, Willa. Did you explain to the boy?
Yes. I told John yesterday. And then I made him come in the parlor and stand by the chair while Mr. Powell—while Harry told him.
And what did he say to that?
Nothing.
Without warning the still night was full of the piping notes of the calliope on the showboat down at the landing.
My, my! Hear that, honey! grinned old Icey. A body don’t hear that sound every month in the year. That’s the sound that says it’s spring.
Yes, sighed Willa. It’s spring.
And ain’t it a caution how such a noisy thing as that can get in your bones and make you want to kick up and frolic!
Yes. Yes, I reckon, Icey—
Honey, what’s wrong?
Willa plunged her naked arms into the blue dishwater and brought out a dripping ice-cream dish.
I don’t think John believed Mr. Powell, she said.
Well, honey, don’t
you
believe him? That’s the important thing, after all.
Yes, I suppose. I just can’t imagine why Ben wouldn’t have told me—those days when I went to see him at the prison—pled with him!
Because Ben Harper was a good man, said Icey. That’s why. He knowed that money wasn’t nothin’ but Sin and Torment and Abomination. And I reckon he thought he’d test you—let you think it was still somewhere hid—hopin’ at last you’d say you didn’t want it anyways and then maybe he’d be free of it—and you’d be free of it, too. Maybe you failed Ben, Willa! And maybe this is your chance to make it all up to him!
Aw, Icey, I know! I never doubt really—what Harry says is true.
Willa stared for a moment at her dripping hands and then pushed a lock of hair back with the heel of her hand and turned her anguished eyes to the old woman.
Icey, what shall I do?
Marry him!
But I don’t feel—Icey, it ain’t like Ben and me that summer—
Fiddlesticks! That wasn’t love, honey. That was just hot britches. There’s more to a marriage than four bare legs in a bed. When you’re married forty years you’ll know that all that don’t matter a hill of beans. I been married that long to my Walt now and I’ll swear in all that time whenever he took me I’d just lie there thinking about my canning or how I’d manage to git one of the boys new shoes for school—
That’s another thing, sighed
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