Rings of Misfortune: Everything Is Not Enough

By Lloyd Duncan

Over 16,000,000 men served in the armed forces in WWII. Perhaps as many as 3%, or 480,000, had a homosexual orientation. Admittedly, several thousand were screened out before being inducted, and some later received Undesirable Discharges. 120,000 of these men saw combat action, and undoubtedly hundreds were killed, and thousands were wounded.

Jack Scott, by far the most outstanding seventeen-year-old in a small town in Arkansas, is forced to confront this problem both at home and in the military. This story is his, and to a degree, the stories of his family, his friends, and his comrades in combat.

The problem is handled sympathetically, if realistically.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 26, 2004
• ISBN: 9781462839872

Lloyd Duncan

This is the first, and only novel of W. Lloyd Duncan, a graduate of Yale University, former US Naval Flight Surgeon, and soon to retire from the practice of general surgery in a rural town in Tennessee. An autobiography is in his plans. He resides with his wife and enjoys a professional association with his daughter and her husband, both practicing physicians. A son is a wholesale food broker. But, what he treasures as much as anything is the love of his two beautiful granddaughters.

Book preview

Prologue

The river flows more rapidly since Dam Number 3 began to leak and the state engineers demolished the center section. Essentially all that remains are a few bent and twisted pipes extruding from the piles of concrete and gray stone on either side. Now the lawn of this ranch house slopes all the way down to a stream that rushes and tumbles over rocks, instead of filling a sluggish clear lake. Still, it’s difficult to remember exactly how it was, like trying to remember winter scenes in summer.

Autos and trucks hum and roar on the new highway, but back then traffic was sparse since US 63 was covered with gravel from the town southward for forty miles. The river is polluted, canoeists have to wait their turns, and popcorn stands crowd the banks in front of all kinds of trailers and tents. The little green turtles are rarely seen, fishing is not good.

Those were great times, back before the war, like that hot summer day, years ago when Bobby and I dived into the deep pool below the dam… .

CHAPTER 1

Butt naked was the only way to swim. My splayed fingers slid three inches below the surface in the clear water, and my lean muscular arms released trapped bubbles and plunged deeply in perfect synchrony with my whipping legs. Small undulating water plants and yellow-green, mossy rocks disappeared beneath me. A school of small fish feinted to the right, and then flashed to the left in a curved, silvery echelon.

I pulled one of my arms obliquely across my body, and rolled onto my back. 0nly my face, the top of my chest, and the tips of my toes broke water as I accelerated. Water swished by my ears. Cool currents swirled between my thighs and the cheeks of my butt. Yeah, naked! To heck with my birthday present, the scratchy, maroon, wool trunks with the white belt and the gold buckle stamped with an anchor.

Nearing a cliff, I abruptly stopped, pulled my knees toward my chin, raised my head, and waist-deep, carefully placed my feet on a slippery, flat rock. Heat radiated from my blistered neck and ears. Mother had told me to wear a hat. The same, huge, cumulus cloud we had watched from the hayfield loomed overhead. Bobby and I had prayed for rain. Where was Bobby?

I glanced downstream and lightly massaged myself. The bridge was just around the bend; someone could come. So what?

Tight, hairless skin covered my smooth chest and abdominal muscles. Despite the coolness of the water, my penis enlarged just a fraction before I moved my hand around to the cleft of my firm buttocks, then through my wavy, brown hair, starting at the widow’s peak, and ending at the little ‘v’ of soft down on my neck. Where the hell was Bobby?

A yell echoed. Chunky, naked Bobby carefully scaled the stratified rocks of a cliff. I hollered just as he dived from a small ledge twenty feet up. Legs apart, knees bent, toes not pointed, a little over-rotated, he hit the water with a big splash, and quickly surfaced.

He swam toward me with his head out of the water. Shit! Nearly broke my damn back! Your fault! What you trying to tell me?

Look at the sun. You said you had a date with Amy.

I fondled myself as Bobby climbed up onto the rock, and then pinched him on his behind.

What the hell? Thought you were past that! He shoved me, and shouted just before we hit the water, Last one back’s a horse’s ass!

My cousin by marriage, Skipper, had taught me the front and back crawl, so I easily outdistanced Bobby. I began to just flutter kick. Abruptly a cold wet arm around my neck lifted the upper half of my body. The rough bottom scraped the top of my feet. A naked body pressed against me. Bobby appeared in my peripheral vision. I fought to balance myself on the slippery bottom.

Bobby shook water from his curly head and screamed, Goddamn it, Lonzo, turn him loose!

I freed myself enough to halfway gaze up at Lonzo who was nearly strangling me.

"Young prince, you’re pretty enough to be a princess. Lonzo pressed his pockmarked face against the side of my cheek. His grip tightened even more. Now his lips were pressed against my cheek.

I was choking and could barely whisper Quit, Lonzo! You’re drunk!

An enveloping, white vapor settled over the river. The yeasty odor of stale beer smothered me. I was straining, twisting, struggling, choking, and smothering, while still aware of a rubbery probing at my buttocks. Sharp and slippery stones lining the bottom painfully bruised the soles of my feet. A crunching sound and a cry of pain came from Lonzo. He threw me into the water.

The white vapor cleared. My fingers clutched the sandy bottom. I fell backward to the shore with my nose to the sky, strangling, spitting, deep breath, and a shout from somewhere.

Brisco, you little bastard, we’ll kill you! The high-pitched voice could only have come from Red Byrd.

Red’s tall, pale, skinny body, dressed only in some loose hanging, faded, ragged shorts gradually came into focus. Standing in shallow water, with upraised tight fist, he gawked at Bobby, who hurriedly retreated. Lonzo’s face emerged from the water. Streams of blood poured from a ragged laceration in his cheek. A large, sharp rock sailed past Red’s face, and Bobby shifted another one to his right hand. Red hesitated.

Crab-like on my back, I retreated farther up on the shore, and then, warily and uneasily, watched the freckle-faced Red wade out of the water. Holding his hand tightly to the side of his face, Lonzo followed. Red made no move toward me, but turned and, through clinched teeth, half-whispered, Brisco, just wait!

Bobby answered with a snarl, Morphodites! You just wait ’til we tell this all over town!

With his eye almost closed by a reddish-blue swelling, Lonzo glared at Bobby, and said softly, You won’t be able to tell nothing when I’m finished.

Hah! Bobby lowered his rock-bearing hands to his side.

Lonzo turned toward me. You know, I always liked you, Jack. I warn’t going to do nothing.

You nearly choked me to death!

It was the beer! I forget how strong I am sometimes.

Lonzo had been arrested too many times to count for fighting in saloons. Allegedly, in a drunken fit of passion, he had raped a young woman and would have spent time, but the woman finally refused to press charges. He always had liked me—perhaps in a too-friendly manner when he hugged me, or tousled my hair.

Bobby and I watched the pair dress. Lonzo slipped his skinny white legs into his overalls, but had some difficulty getting the straps over his massive sunburned shoulders. He shook his long, black, greasy locks, and ran a large partially toothless comb through them. Later, after repeated whirring attempts at starting, Lonzo’s battered red 1934 pickup loaded with crosscut saws and axe rattled across the metal bridge.

Holding my neck, I croaked, Never knew they were near.

Musta seen us from the bridge, Bobby said. He began to dry off.

Hey! I said you could use one half of my towel! I reached for it.

Sorry, just using one side. Bobby said with a laugh. He tossed the towel to me. It was soaked. Let’s get dressed, Jack; I’ll be late.

Gonna stay a little while. Hey, check my truck up there. Hope they didn’t hurt yours or mine. I washed off the sand, and inspected the abrasions on my feet.

Bobby pulled a sweaty T shirt over his tanned chest, and his deep blue eyes, bloodshot from exposure to the hot sun and the river, flashed. Yep, I’m going to spread it all over town.

With a shrug, I said, You can’t hurt their reputation. You remember the traveling salesman?

Bobby nodded. He closed his lips tightly, blew out his cheeks, and struggled with his brogans. A brush salesman had called at Lonzo’s house. He had been surprised and shocked to see a couple actively engaged in sex on a dirty quilt in the front yard. The mother, appearing at the door had shouted, ‘I told you and your sister to not do that in the front yard! Get around to the back!’

Bobby combed his thick black hair, and said, Being a Morphodite is about as bad or worse! I’m going to broadcast it!

I shook my head and tried to swallow the hot acid that regurgitated into my throat. Bobby, don’t spread it around.

Why the hell not?

With palms held down and forward, I said, Because it involved me!

So what, Jack, he wasn’t able to do it.

Okay, Bobby how would you like everyone to find out you were almost cornholed? Huh?

I wouldn’t—but he didn’t, Bobby said.

Still, I don’t want my name mentioned.

Bobby wrinkled his brow. Why not?

Some people might get the wrong idea.

"Well, now, you did pinch me on the butt," Bobby said with a mischievous grin.

Damn it, Brisco!

Okay, okay, I won’t say anything.

More hot acid regurgitated into my throat. I was not that way. It was over with Skipper. I was making no visit to Virginia that summer. It was definitely over. I swallowed hard to clear the burning in my throat already sore from Lonzo’s attack.

Did you start to say sumpin’? Bobby asked.

No, just thinking.

About what? You looked worried.

Nothing important. I hope I appeared unconcerned.

Remember, tomorrow we have dates with the two gals from Little Rock. Bobby popped me on the behind with the towel.

Since Amanda’s out of town, I’d like to get me some ass, I said with as lecherous a grin as I could muster, while taking a wild swing at Bobby.

Bobby gathered up his things, headed for the bridge, and then said sarcastically over his shoulder, Who you trying to fool? ‘Mommy’ wouldn’t let you—even if you wanted.

Bobby had always been my best friend, but since he had gotten serious with Amy, we were kinda drifting apart. He and I had no secrets—except for one that I shared with no one.

Bobby’s engine roared, and the truck sent a shower of gravel against the metal supports. A yellowish-brown cloud of dust partially enveloped the bridge and slowly drifted down to the river. Now I enjoyed the solitude.

I loved the river and preferred to fish or canoe the rapids alone. When I was younger, I wanted the river all for myself. Fishermen and boaters were intruders. I learned later that even though we owned a lot of land on both sides, we could not control a narrow strip along the banks.

The sun warmed me, but the shadows lengthened. The bank would soon be shady. I waded back into the river, and paddled slowly on my back to the deep pool. A snapping sound came from the bank. I spun, but saw nothing. A cowbell rang softly somewhere in the distance, and a dove called plaintively from another direction. Soon the shadows of the trees covered the river, and I experienced a little chill.

Something rustled the loose rocks below the cliff, and a four-foot snake slid easily into the water. Wow, Bobby would have crapped! With its large head high, the serpent approached me, leaving s-shaped swirls in the water. Whoa! Don’t let it be a Cottonmouth! Probably just a Brown Water Snake, but I was taking no chances. I swam backward, kicked more water, and, with neck flexed, watched the reptile. The snake did not change its course, but I did—headed straight for the shore. Then the snake swam to the right, and slithered out of the water onto a low-lying limb.

I stood in three feet water. When I searched for the snake again, it was gone! I moved closer to shore. Something slimy slid across my leg! I jumped and bruised my foot again as I splashed to the bank. I studied the area. Some moss-covered, small tree limbs protruded from the water and swayed with the current. Hell, I knew it was a stick all the time. Yeah, a little old slippery stick.

Before sitting down to dress, I carefully checked behind a log. The sun slowly dropped below the small hills, and the river turned from a blue-green to gray. Another strange, soft, cracking sound in the woods behind me. I jerked the rough, warm overalls over my cool body and stuffed my sweaty underwear into the pockets. Something moved under the low-lying bushes across the river. I slipped on my boots, grabbed the towel, and headed for my truck

Spider webs tried to ensnare my face as I climbed the bank by the bridge. A rustling sensation tickled my foot! I jumped aside, and halfway slipped in the loose gravel. An eight inch, blue-tailed lizard glided over the large white rocks and disappeared beneath one of the creosoted railroad ties that supported the bridge.

I laughed and confidently stepped up on the road. If my teammates could have just seen me!

A vague feeling of anxiety spread through me. My smile disappeared. Why? Was it what Bobby had insinuated? Hell, no! Just because he had scored with several girls. Anybody could; particularly if they were as good-looking as me. I smiled again.

Maybe Dorothy would be pretty. Bobby only said she had a good personality. I had heard that before. A pleasant turgid sensation came from my groin, and I rubbed myself through my clothes. Her wealthy father had fallen all over any possible suitor. That meant that she was ready. I rubbed the tumescence again.

The new smell of the cozy cabin of the 1941 truck greeted me, and a bright red, handsome, young face smiled back from the large rear-view mirror. I let the little lock of brown hair hang down over my forehead, and studied my teeth. Thank God I had not been bothered with pimples. I rubbed myself again. Could do it here; naw, I’ll wait for Dorothy. One more glance—yeah, I was damn good-looking.

I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. I rared back in the seat and stomped the accelerator. The engine roared, the rear end slipped a little sideways, and the tires threw a shower of gravel. The truck shot forward. "I am the captain…

Damn! The leather seat slid under my butt. The truck slid sideways, and landed in a ditch. Only damage some dirt and leaves in the grill, and a minor scrape on the front fender. Well, captain! Still, I was glad I wasn’t going to Virginia. No more! And maybe dinner would neutralize the acid that burned my throat.

*     *     *

Mother stopped watering the flowers and greeted me. Ohh, Jack, you got too much sun. She kissed me on the cheek and pulled my head forward to inspect my neck.

It was pretty hot.

Jack, ride your bike to the store before it closes. We need some bread and milk.

I’ll go in the truck.

She shook her head. No, son, it’s only two blocks.

Mom, I’m almost too old for bikes.

Seventeen is not too old!

I’m almost eighteen, I said flexing my biceps.

Go on, please, and hurry back. She removed a note from her blouse pocket. By the way, you received a long distance call.

Dad?

I don’t think so. We weren’t here, and Ardella took the call.

Wonder who? I unfolded the paper and studied it; just a long distance phone number.

Best I can tell, it must have been Skipper, Mother said. She did not smile.

Skipper?

Jack, I must say I’m glad he’s in Texas, and you’re not going to Virginia.

What did she know? Almost as a challenge, I started to ask why. Instead I jumped on the bike and flew down the driveway. What in hell could he want? On my return, I placed the groceries in the kitchen and entered the library. A telephone rang far away.

Hello—yeah, Skipper, it’s me.

Great news, Jack, we can go on the canoe trip after all, came the muffled voice.

Damn. My body slumped lower in a chair. But you’re in Texas.

"We finish pre-flight before Labor Day, and I have a six-day pass.’’

Connection’s not so good. I can barely hear you, Skipper.

Be there on Friday, Skipper said.

Look, Skipper, I’ll be practicing football. Speaking in a whisper, I added, Besides, I have a regular girl friend now.

"So what? I’ve had, and I mean had plenty of girls, Jack."

In the cramped position, more acid regurgitated into my throat. I sat up. You gotta understand, I’m older now—

Look, Jack, I want to canoe one of those rivers you bragged so much about.

Really, they aren’t that good.

Hey, buddy, been thinking about you for weeks. This may be our last time. Of course, you know we’ll be in the war soon.

Probably—

Luv ya; see you Labor Day!

Goodbye.

Jack, I said I love you… . well?

Ditto, I answered. I replaced the receiver, and sunk back in the chair with my palms held close to my mouth.

Mother returned and glanced into the library. Are you in deep thought, or praying?

Just thinking, I said.

What’s with Skipper?

He’s coming Labor Day.

CHAPTER 2

A couple of days later, I drove back from my chores at the ranch and noticed that the water rippling over the large boulders of the remains of Dam Number Two glistened and sparkled in the slanting rays of the sun. Fall was almost there; the edges of the leaves had begun to curl, and already traces of red and purple appeared in the low sumacs beside the road. In the yards, grass and weeds invaded the ignored planters and flowerbeds that had been tended so carefully in the warm rays of Spring. Tough grass thwarted the efforts of all but the strongest boys with lawn mowers.

In the drug store the next day, I overheard some younger kids talking about the end of summer. They appeared bored, but not bored enough to want to return to school. It was not so with the older students and us football players, which reminded me, football exams that night.

Sammy Simpson, a middle-aged real estate and insurance agent with a potbelly and blondish-red hair, met me at the door of the gym. He was involved in everything going on in town; went to church every time it met, was a member of two or three service clubs, an alumni representative of the state college, politician, and so on. In fact, he had announced to some close friends that he wanted ‘Great Volunteer’ placed on his tombstone. I hadn’t figured out why the Judge slyly referred to him as ‘Babbitt’. I had other reasons to avoid him. At any rate, he told all of us to undress down to our shorts and then directed us to smaller rooms for exams by Doctor Huddleston.

Bobby walked throughout the gym in his shorts, leaning forward, pointing his index finger, and shouting, Cough, cough! How long you had that cough? Now bend over and spread ’em!

Alarmed by the tall tales of the older players, the younger ones entered the examination rooms with shorts stretched almost to their nipples and hairy balls barely visible at the bottoms. The came out with faces and chests red as cherries.

Monday morning I hurried up the concrete steps, and opened the large door. The steady hum was almost deafening. Particles of chalk, glowing like tiny stars in the slanting morning rays, must have remained suspended in the air all summer. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darker interior. The mixture of musty odors of old and new books, of the dyes of new clothes, of rubber erasers, and of the piney sawdust that the janitor was still sweeping, greeted me.

Illuminated by the large, yellow, mushroom globes, empty now of brown, incinerated bugs, the halls were scenes of activity. Students shouted and cupped their ears in the din, and, in new clothing, milled in every direction, with ever-changing mosaics of color. Older boys combed their greasy, rose-oiled locks, patted each other on the backs, or took friendly swings. The girls, smelling of perfume, squealed and hugged. Others stuffed books into lockers. Yep, could only be the first day of school!

I barely had time to greet Amanda. She squeezed her way through the crowd to meet me. We touched hands—never a kiss or hug—we’d be in the office in a flash.

I had to shout into her ear, Sorry I’m late; some cows got loose, see you at lunch, okay?

Amanda smiled and nodded just as the first bell rang. All of us responded lethargically, until the sudden clapping of a single pair of hands echoed down the hall. Miss Harriet Hunt, the assistant principal, stood halfway up the well-worn, wooden stairs. No one dared cross this intimidating little woman, with close-cropped hair, bulldog countenance, hairy forearms, and mesomorphic body. After a few coughs, the shuffling of many feet, and the slamming of lockers, students hurried to the classrooms—and then silence, as if a storm had passed.

At eleven o’clock, the junior and senior high students assembled in the auditorium. Beneath the well-worn, red and white banner inscribed with the words, BIG SPRINGS EAGLES, various speakers made announcements and welcomed the students. Mr. Gene Graves, the stern, bald, never-smiling principal, in a dark blue suit, laid down some strict rules and regulations. He wished every student success in the coming year, and requested that any student with problems feel free to consult him. I laughed; no one ever had, voluntarily.

The football coach, Billy Barnes, recognized the members of the team sitting at the back of the stage. We had been practicing for nearly two weeks. I blushed when he mentioned my leadership and superb athletic ability. Barnes bragged that the team might very well be state champions this year.

I took a deep breath and raised my shoulders, but remembered Grandmother Carter’s statement, There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.

As president of the senior class and football captain, I also welcomed the students, particularly the new seventh graders. I asked them to support the team. After all, the team is nothing without the support of you fans.

Hugh Adams, the handsome, blond, curly headed, junior high quarterback, sitting on the first row and jousting elbows with his buddies, made faces as I spoke. I stopped, glanced at Hugh, put my tongue between my teeth for a second, and then continued. He was pleased that I had noticed him. He came over many afternoons for coaching, and always wanted to wrestle or horse around, always testing his developing body and feeling his oats.

Led by Amanda, the cheerleaders, in white sweaters and short, pleated red skirts, dashed onto the stage from the wings, screamed a few cheers, and performed their acrobatics. I deliberately and obviously watched her every move, wanting everyone to know that she was my girlfriend. With her rosy complexion and shapely body, she was the picture of health, stronger than most girls. A star on the basketball team, she could canoe as well as I and could ride horses even better.

I glanced down in time to see Hugh wink at me, but then he pointed his thumb at Amanda who stood with the other cheerleaders on the side of the stage. I returned a half-wink back to him.

The team slouched off the stage, and I joined the choir about to climb the steps to the stage.

Reverend Evans read from Isaiah;

But they that wait upon the Lord, shall mount up as eagles they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint.

Then Evans continued with a short devotional and exhortation.

After the choir was seated, a beautiful girl gracefully walked across the stage. She flashed a friendly smile to the student body and to the student choir. Our gazes met, or did they? She seemed to look directly at me. I had not seen her before. Who was she?

With the ease and poise of a professional musician, she sat down on the piano stool. Flawlessly and beautifully, she played one verse of the anthem, The Netherlands. Then Mr. Braxton Senior led the choir and the student body in the singing of the anthem;

"We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing,

We hasten and chasten His will to make known."

Standing by the stage after the ceremony, Miss Ann Morris called me aside. So, Jack, you’re a senior now. I hope you’ll take the third year of Latin. We have to enroll enough to justify a class.

"Now, Miss Morris, you know I had all kinds of trouble with Caesar."

You can do it. I just think you should try harder. Oh, Jack, here comes Ellen. Jack, this is Ellen Andersson. As you can see, she is quite a musician.

We smiled at each other, and said hello.

Miss Morris continued, She and her parents just moved down from Philadelphia, and she is going to be in the class.

The girl was slender, almost too slender, with smooth white skin, and dark black hair and eyes. She flashed a friendly smile and her pupils dilated as she looked me straight in the face. She wasn’t flirting, and yet, there was something… .

Amanda approached with a big smile. Ellen, you play the piano beautifully. I see you’ve met Jack.

It was nice of you to make the arrangement. The choir sounded great.

I guess you were mainly hearing me and Jack, Amanda said and then laughed.

Some other teachers came up to talk to Ellen. She and I waved goodbye, as Amanda took my arm.

Strange that the only words we spoke we were hello.

I entered the basement and my mouth watered as the delicious aromas of something cooked in tomatoes, vegetable soup, or spaghetti filled the air.

Amanda, in line, motioned for me to break in ahead of her. A few students farther back booed and hissed. Bobby and Amy Wilson joined us at a long table. Several tables away, Hugh squeezed in between two girls. He threw his head back and scratched his chest with both hands in an imitation of Tarzan’s Cheeta. The girls at his table squealed.

Amanda said, Jack, your little buddy thinks he’s a monkey.

He’s a cute monkey, Amy said. She flipped open her compact, powdered her nose, and added a little rouge. The red clashed with her orange-blond hair, and make-up only partially covered the freckles scattered over her face and upper chest. I stared for a second at the cleavage behind the border of lace.

Bobby said with a snarl, "At least he thinks he’s cute,"

Yeah, and who said he was my ‘little buddy’? I asked.

Well, he’s over at your house all the time, Amanda replied as she reached for Amy’s compact and powdered her nose.

Amy said, Can’t believe we’re seniors at last.

Oh, I know! Isn’t it exciting? Mother said it was the happiest year of her life! Amanda’s face glowed as she patted my thigh under the table. As we ate, the other three made light conversation while my mind drifted…

Amanda wouldn’t have been so friendly if she had known about Dorothy. Bobby and I had sworn ourselves to secrecy. I had promised Mom to behave unless the opportunity arose, and it did, somewhat.

Saturday afternoon Bobby and I and the two girls from Little Rock rode the horses back to the ranch house. Movement in the saddle always stimulated me. After some heavy necking, Bobby and Betty Jo disappeared into the bedroom. It was Dorothy’s time of the month, but in near dark, while her hand manipulations were bringing me to the verge of a climax, Bobby’s indirect thrusts against the wall sent something crashing down on Dorothy’s dominant arm. She hesitated at just the wrong time! I brought myself to an unsatisfactory orgasm while Dorothy turned on the light and began to admire the picture of the handsome Skipper. Damn you, Skipper.

*     *     *

Amanda glanced at me. I smiled and squeezed her hand.

She said, A penny for your thoughts.

Bobby added, Why so quiet?

I answered, Oh, just thinking. It’s going to be a busy year for me. I shook the little thick bottle to mix the yellow top layer of cream and downed the milk.

You shouldn’t be so damn popular—always runnin’ for this or that, Bobby said. He whipped his head around to watch a pretty little sophomore walk by. Amy slapped him on the arm, and continued to pop gum.

You forget one thing, Amanda, I said.

What, honey?

Just the war, I replied. Bobby and I will be that much closer.

Shit!—Sorry, Bobby said. I ain’t going. My uncle’s already in the Army. He said if you kissed the examining doctor on the back of the neck when he was checking you for a hernia, they wouldn’t take you.

Shame, Bobby! Amanda slapped the compact on the table and glared directly at Bobby.

Bobby began, I was just—

We don’t talk about that kind of people, Amy said.

Dad said it’s best just to pray for them, Amanda said. What do you think, Jack?

Don’t know much about it; guess I’d feel sorry for them.

They’re evil; just pray for them, Amanda said again.

Jack almost—

Bobby! I glared at him.

An embarrassing pause followed.

Amanda leaned toward Bobby and asked, Jack almost what?

Nothing, he didn’t do nothing—forget it, Bobby said.

Amanda glanced at me, and I replied, Of course, I didn’t do anything.

Amanda still studied my face.

I faked a yawn and continued, But there are guys around.

In this town? Amy stopped popping her gum and leaned forward.

Everywhere! Bobby said.

Let’s not talk about all that, Amanda said.

CHAPTER 3

Rising like a two-dimensional gold fountain, sour-smelling, oak sawdust sprayed the sleeves of my jacket, and I stepped back a little. The long, sharp saw made a metallic sound as the blurred hands and arms of the two men cut deeper into the large log.

How come you ain’t helping cut dis wood, Jack? Jesse Johnson, Ardella’s oldest son, asked, as the end fell to the ground. He wiped the sweat and sawdust off his forehead with his sleeve.

Arthur, the Indian ranch hand, said in a mealy-mouthed voice, Because he has to play football, and don’t want to use up all his strength.

You got it, I said with a grin.

"Sure as shit won’t hurt you to lift another log