The Virgin of Small Plains by Nancy Pickard

yelling. I’m only saying, we don’t know everything yet.”
    That was true. God knew, that was true. And yet the way his father had said it…did Mitch only imagine the doubt he thought he heard in his father’s voice and saw in his face? Mitch wondered if this was what a defendant in his father’s courtroom felt like when being accused of something terrible that he hadn’t done. Did somebody like that feel as if his whole world was spinning out of control?
    “Where are we going?” he asked, in a dull voice.
    “Out of this storm track, first. Then we’re going to Chicago, where we will stay until we have you enrolled in a college far away from here.”
    “What?” Mitch stared at his father across the car seat.
    He wasn’t going to be graduating with his class, his father told him. He wasn’t going to be going to the University of Kansas with his friends. He was going to be sent where nobody could reach him to accuse him of anything he didn’t do.
    A great sadness and hopelessness came over Mitch as he heard these things.
    He was too confused to be logical, except to follow one terrible train of thought that struck him harder than anything ever had, even harder than what he had seen.
I’ll call Abby from our hotel room,
he thought at first. And then he realized that not only could he not call her, but that he might never be able to talk to her again.
    When that realization struck Mitch, he lost it completely.
    He turned his face to the window, and began to cry.
    He did it silently, but his broad shoulders shook, and his father said nothing.
    It was Abby’s father who had done the terrible thing. It was Doc who was betraying him. It was Rex’s dad who was doing it, too. Mitch couldn’t tell his best friends what their fathers had done without having that horror hanging between them for the rest of their lives. And no matter how much Abby and Rex cared about him, who were they going to believe? Were they going to believe him, or their own fathers, whom they had never had any reason to doubt? Would anybody, even Mitch’s own parents, ever believe him over the word of those two men? With a feeling of utter hopelessness, Mitch thought he knew the answer to that one:
No.
    I’m never going to marry Abby…
    How could she ever choose between him and her own father? How could he ever marry into a family about which he knew such a terrible thing? Her father would never let him back in. Which didn’t matter, because he would never trust Quentin Reynolds again.
    It was at that moment that Mitch realized he was never coming home.
    “Dad,” he said, after a few miles had passed. “Maybe they killed her. Or…Patrick was there. Maybe Patrick killed her and they’re covering up for him. Maybe she wasn’t really dead when they brought her in. Maybe Doc killed her when he hit her.”
    “Mitch! They wouldn’t have done something like that!”
    “Right. They’d accuse me of it, but they’re such nice guys, they’d never—”
    “Be quiet, Mitch.”
    “What
happened
to her, Dad?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Later, after still more miles, Mitch said, “What are they covering up?”
    His father shot him a glance. “You’re going to have to forget about it.”
    “Forget!” He was young, he was overwhelmed by events, he was confused, he was frightened, he was in despair, but he was clear about one thing.
Forget?
He would never forget, and he would never, ever forgive.

    In his second semester at Grinnell College in Iowa, after he hadn’t gone home for Thanksgiving, hadn’t gone home for Christmas, hadn’t gone home at the semester break, he got a letter from his mother that led him to understand that she and his father had not broken off their friendships with the Reynolds and Shellenbergers.
    Life in Small Plains was continuing as before, but without him.
    Such bitterness began to grow in Mitch that he stopped writing to her, refused his parents’ calls, took only their continuing checks for as long as they