 
### Alvin's Farm

### By Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this novel, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents, and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For my dad and mum, who offered their ranching and parental recollections of the 1970s. And for my twin nieces for introducing me to Oregon's Willamette Valley.

**Table of Contents**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 1

In the bus, Jenny Cope kept her hands warm by sitting on them as the woman alongside her continued knitting. Knitting and talking; Sylvia Baxter had chatted with Jenny since taking the seat next to her. The Greyhound cruiser wasn't cold, but Jenny felt chilled. Was it heading north, leaving New Mexico's sunny skies that rarely saw rain, even in winter. February viewed through steamed windows looked more familiar; bare trees, wet landscapes, a darkened evening with houses lit, stars shining. Even in the fading light, Jenny felt a misty return to something resembling a season, not the endless stretch of days governed by a strange, dry sun.

"Are you sure you don't know anyone in Arkendale?" Sylvia said, not looking up.

Jenny smiled. The woman, in her early sixties, had asked this question three, maybe four times. That was how they had begun speaking in the Las Cruces bus station, how Jenny had chosen this as her destination. Nothing like the south, east, or west; Oregon was a new world. Sylvia said it was so green, stirring within Jenny a new start. She knew sun, humidity, drought, and high desert, but not the lush, wide backdrop that waited under darkness. Out there lay some panorama of America previously undiscovered. Again starting over, Jenny wondered if new scenery could be indicative of something more.

"I don't know a soul. Except for you," Jenny said as though the question was brand new.

Sylvia smiled. "Well, me and Keith."

"That makes two," Jenny grinned, rubbing her hands together.

"You cold?"

Jenny shook her head. Her fingertips were numb, the only cool part. Her heart had warmed to this woman, Sylvia a conduit to some mysterious notion Jenny couldn't identify. "No, just don't have anything to keep my hands busy."

"I've got another crochet hook in here somewhere." Rummaging through her bag, Sylvia produced a medium sized hook and a small blue ball of yarn. The yarn caught Jenny's attention, the ocean's color in Florida. "You know how to crochet?" Sylvia asked.

Jenny caressed the fibers. "No, I never learned."

Sylvia reached for Jenny's hands. "Well, we still have a few hours. I'll teach you."

The woman's kind gray eyes owned Jenny, and she felt strange in their grasp. No one spoke to her that way, not since Joni, but that was years ago, miles away. Nearly as far as Jenny could be, one coast to the other, time, sun, rain, and darkness separating these women. Jenny had turned twenty-nine last week, Sylvia in her early sixties. Joni would be almost fifty, in between where Jenny was now, on a Greyhound bus, heading to Oregon. And learning to crochet as Jenny's hands were clasped by ones more knowledgeable, setting within them a hook and ocean blue yarn in another part of America.

As the bus rumbled, Jenny had completed two rows the length of a baby blanket. Having run out of blue, she now worked with yellow, a loose fray where the strands met. Jenny examined her uneven work, a double stitch Sylvia explained, Jenny picking it up easily. Had her mother tried to teach her? Jenny considered that for seconds, then returned to work. As she hooked yellow yarn through the small loop, Sylvia described their destination, a small farming community on the western edge of Oregon in the middle of the Willamette Valley, two hours from the coast. Set about halfway between Portland and Eugene, Arkendale was twenty minutes northeast of Albany and Sylvia had lived there all her life, speaking of the Smiths and Cassels, the Carmines and Harrises, names pouring over Jenny as she gathered stitches, occasionally pulling out some, her hands toasty. She was warm all through, especially after Sylvia insisted she spend the night at her house. Jenny hadn't given it any thought; she could have bunked in the bus station. She had done it before, her bag for a pillow, her clothes, while thin for this climate, adequate.

Sylvia had shaken her head. "Oh, they'll close it after we get in. This'll be the last bus until tomorrow afternoon. You come home with me and Keith. I'll not have your whereabouts keeping me from a good night's sleep."

Jenny hadn't argued, happy for a bed, somewhere safe. On her own for over ten years, she had roughed it in some scary places, but hadn't been worried about a station in the middle of Oregon. Yet, a bed in a house was infinitely better, and she had thanked Sylvia for the hospitality.

Tucking away the yarn and hook, also a gift from her companion, Jenny saw the small town ahead. If it had been light, she would have scanned for a restaurant. Not for a place to eat, but a job; a waitress from the age of sixteen, Jenny needed only one shift to prove her abilities. It was hard on her feet, not always enjoyable, but from tips she had earned enough to go from place to place, man to man, traveling to Oregon. She was now in Oregon with a crochet hook in her bag. She smiled as the bus turned off the long main street, pulling into a parking lot.

One person waited and she guessed the tall, older fellow with the exuberant face was Keith. Sylvia moved quickly and Jenny giggled.

The women were followed by one man with whom Sylvia chatted, but once off the bus, she walked straight to her husband. Jenny gripped her duffel, all her worldly possessions, allowing the couple their moment. Sylvia had been in New Mexico visiting her sister for ten days and her absence had been felt by both as Keith clung to his wife, placing small kisses along her face. They gave no notice to anyone else and Jenny smiled again. Her new friend was a modern woman, discussing en route how the Equal Rights Amendment had only gained three votes the previous year. Sylvia seemed disappointed, hoping that now in 1975, more states would ratify the proposal. Jenny wasn't sure. She had worked all over Florida and Georgia, never noting much interest in equal rights.

But the year was young, the tenth of February. Perhaps, Jenny had said, while stitching. Observing the older couple's embrace, she felt intrusive and watched as the bus left the lot. She hadn't noticed any passengers pick up this connection and the Greyhound rolled away, Portland its next destination.

"Oh, I've been so rude," Sylvia said. "Jenny, you must think me just awful. Come here."

Jenny stepped toward them and Sylvia grasped her hand. "Now this is my husband Keith, but honey, I've already forgotten your last name."

"Cope, Jenny Cope."

Keith nodded. "Nice to meet you."

His voice was shy, but his smile warm. Jenny sat in the back of their four-door sedan, noting how Sylvia scooted close to her husband, eschewing her seat belt. The ride wasn't long, but Jenny saw a sleepy town, already in bed. At nine o'clock, her hands were sore, but she was excited to practice again tomorrow once she had been out. She needed a job, and someplace to live. Sylvia had implied she could stay with them, but Jenny didn't want to intrude. She had taken good and bad things throughout her life; Sylvia and Joni were good, the men not so much. Nearly all of them had been horrible in one way or another, from her father to her last lover. Leaving New Mexico had been necessary, Tony another miserable situation. Jenny didn't want her friendship with the Baxters to last any longer than one night. Possessing enough money for a deposit, she could rent a studio or small one-bedroom apartment as soon as she found a job.

As Jenny followed the couple into their house, she noticed the scent was that of her friend, warm and comforting, yet lonely. Keith had missed his wife, her return adding to the level of intimacy. Jenny removed the ponytail from her brown hair as Sylvia showed her to the guest room, a space for the occasional visit from a granddaughter. Jenny used the toilet before dressing for bed, then slipped under the covers. Inhaling a soothing peace, she was asleep within minutes.

After breakfast, the women chatted about the rain, falling again. Sylvia smiled. "The sun was nice in Las Cruces, but my how I missed the wet."

Jenny had eaten toast and eggs, along with three cups of coffee. Avocado-green appliances meshed with cream cupboards, a long time since she had been in a kitchen so established. Photos covered the refrigerator; girls in swimsuits and smiles were captured in sunny places, as if on vacation. Sylvia's grandchildren lived in California, near Los Angeles. "Why they're so tan, all that sun," she laughed.

The Baxters' three daughters all had moved from Arkendale. To places much warmer, Sylvia snorted cheerfully. She spoke fondly of her family, admitting it had been easy inviting Jenny to stay. "Keith always tells me I'm picking up strays."

Both women laughed as Jenny finished her coffee, taking her empty dishes to the sink. "Well, if you have a spare umbrella and can point me in the right direction, I'll be getting out of your hair."

"Oh, I'll drive you once Keith gets back. This rain won't let up, not from the looks of it."

Jenny nodded, heading to her room. She desired a bath, then wanted to look out the large windows, absorb the green, like a jungle. Like Florida, but cooler, not as swampy or humid, but it was February. Maybe summer would be different. Jenny gathered clothes, then ran water in the tub. Washing off New Mexico, like shedding a skin, she allowed small fragments to remain. Not of the man she had lived with, nor those with whom she had slept, guys already forgotten. It was white sand and brown earth against an expansive blue sky, a feel of the frontier, old times laid at her feet. A desert like Colorado, but that flitted from her head.

Leaning back in the water, she washed her hair, rinsing pointless memories. She didn't need New Mexico or Tony, or any of the others. Men didn't linger with Jenny Cope, her brown eyes permitting only their temporary presence. She'd never had a child, never been pregnant. A careful woman, Jenny lived a solitary existence, had since she was seventeen, even considering all those with whom she had stayed. Many men, but like Tony, they were dismissed with the pull of a plug.

She rinsed out the tub, careful to leave the bathroom as she had found it. The crochet hook from Sylvia and eleven months of therapy courtesy of Joni were all Jenny had accumulated. Therapy was stored in her head, the hook and yarn small enough to tuck in her satchel, neither gift from a man. What mattered came from her own gender. Only in bed did Jenny allow the opposite sex any of her time.

She spent the late morning and early afternoon trudging from place to place, the duffel switched over her slender shoulders. Sylvia's disappointment had been evident, but Jenny insisted. If she found a job, she wouldn't need another night with the Baxters. Nothing personal, she had smiled, and Sylvia hadn't pressed, seemed aware of Jenny's singular nature. But nothing had emerged all day. No one needed help at Mel's Café or Dougal's Drugstore or even at the market. Jenny would have bagged groceries, but no jobs appeared.

She didn't know the Baxters' phone number, but wouldn't have called them even if she did. Her pride was slight, more of not wanting to be tied to anyone who might find within her a chink, some spot needy. Joni had done that, but they had spoken a similar language, sharing more than Jenny had imagined. As the rain lessened, she twirled the umbrella Sylvia had insisted she take. Shaking water from it, Jenny turned back, seeing a town closed and unwilling. She shook that off too, just the way it was. Looking ahead, an open road and the breaking blue sky beckoned. Jenny swung the umbrella and went for a walk.

She could return later, eat dinner at the café. The day wasn't cold, but spring was weeks away, trees sporting empty branches, short grass along the road. As sunshine peeked, Jenny's tempo quickened. She wore old tennis shoes and avoided the puddles, not wanting her feet any more soaked. Her clothes were suited to an arid climate; a thin windbreaker had kept her dry, but her fast pace repelled the breeze. Her long brown hair was still damp from the morning, held back by a ponytail, but her legs were sturdy from years on her feet, and she moved with ease along tarmac that turned more rural with each step.

Farms dotted the countryside, small, family-run operations. A few large barns, but mostly fields, with signs advertising summer produce. Jenny was lost in this new place not at all like New Mexico. No white sand or barren landscapes, no cactus or looming clear sky. High cloud streaked past as the sun cast shadows that darted, then disappeared. She smiled, describing herself. Here and then gone and perhaps she would head north to Portland. There she could find work, a city far removed from this pastoral scene.

Unexpected tears fell. She had lived in bustling towns all her life; people, noise, boyfriends, heartache. This place, small and agricultural, was so different. She didn't want to leave it, not until she could absorb this property alien but soothing. Jenny's heart was durable, but like all humans, she required consolation. That never happened during sex. There she drew a line that not a single lover had crossed. With women, ones like Joni and Sylvia, she had gone further, to a point. But not far enough to spend another night with the Baxters, nor to stay in Tampa Bay. Joni had asked her to move in, get another year of therapy under her belt. Eleven months had been all Jenny could allow.

She passed the last farm along the road, the change in the pavement stopping her, concrete resembling gravel. Jenny gazed at a thin forest, then found a house and barn, what looked to be a small orchard behind it, a few dozen trees bare and scraggly. Returning to the road, her eyes caught a sign: _Alvin's Farm_.

Painted in red and orange, green, blue, and yellow, it reminded Jenny of her yarn. She still had that yarn, would work on it that night. She had no idea where, but the town's motel sported a vacancy sign. She could see if they needed housekeeping staff, the one job she hadn't sought. Lost in her thoughts, she missed the man that approached. "Hey, you need any help?"

Jenny was startled, but he seemed harmless. She could tell on a glance, sorting the drug addicts and violent alcoholics from the ones that would hurt only slightly, ones that would use her, but not abuse. This man, appearing at least in his mid-thirties, was safe.

"Uh, I was just admiring the sign."

"Oh yeah, Tommie painted it for me last year. It was getting faded and Tommie said it needed to be touched-up."

His voice was simple and youthful, and Jenny wondered how old he was. His face, with large blue eyes, seemed easily thirty-five, maybe closer to forty years old. Not due to lines, but from his long-held grin.

"It's really colorful," she said, noting his dirty jeans, a long-sleeved shirt in need of mending. The pocket had a large tear along the bottom and his short blonde hair was damp, probably from the rain. "Tommie did a good job."

"Yeah, he did." The man smiled, brushing his hair aside, his other hand toting a hoe. "Only uses his left hand, but he's really good with it. He had to learn everything all over again, but he's smart."

Jenny squinted. On more than one occasion she had stayed alive by her choice of men, fleeing those with a predatory nature, but there was no malice in this fellow. His voice was slow but sure, all he was in blue eyes and the way he gripped the hoe, fingers dirty but honest.

"Oh, I'm Alvin," he said, reaching for her hand with his right.

"Jenny," she said, receiving a tight shake. "Jenny Cope."

He nodded. "Jenny Cope. That's a pretty name."

She smiled, against her nature, but his sunny manner demanded it. "Is this your farm?"

"Yeah," he nodded shyly.

She gazed at the house, old but well maintained and as vibrant as the sign. The barn was in good repair, painted bright red and topped by a weather vane. An aged truck was parked out front, but only one chair on the porch adorned the yard. No bikes or toys, nothing suggesting a family.

"You hungry?" he asked, shaking the quiet.

"Oh uh, yeah I am."

"Well, I don't cook, but there's coffee from this morning. And some cake Rae made on Thursday. You want some?"

Dark clouds hovered. It would be a long walk back to town; maybe Alvin could give her a ride. As Jenny's stomach rumbled, she giggled. "I would love some cake."

Chapter 2

Alvin Harris' lively cadence told Jenny much, for he did most of the talking, names washing over her that were slightly familiar from Sylvia's chatter on the bus. Tommie Smith figured prominently, he was Alvin's best friend. Rae, Tommie's wife, was also mentioned; she did most of the cooking, a task Alvin hated.

"I'm just so bad at it," he sighed, cutting another slice of lemon pound cake. "Never any good at anything here in the kitchen."

Jenny had eaten one piece, then another half slice, as it was delicious, and she was hungry. As Alvin told of his life, for he continued speaking, never allowing a quiet moment, she observed the kitchen. Unlike at the Baxters', this room was spacious, but not only from size. The farmhouse was three stories, and Alvin's room was on the third. His mother had died five years before and he lived alone, working the land. Weathered hands showed that labor, harvesting Granny Smith apples from the trees Jenny had seen, time spent in the garden, for which he owned a small bit of pride. There were chickens too, but Jenny couldn't recall if Alvin mentioned other animals. She was trying to take in, via the cabinets and counters, this man's identity.

He was challenged, retarded or some head injury. Jenny wasn't sure which and Alvin hadn't said. For all he did spill, that wasn't revealed. The room was free from clutter, definitely the haunt of a bachelor, one who didn't like to cook, probably from lack of experience. Rae supplied him with dinner, goodies too, but he was rail-thin. A new coffeemaker sat near the sink, an old toaster by the stove. Things were clean, but far and few between.

Frayed curtains hung over the window looking to the barnyard. The refrigerator had one tacked note, but the writing was faded, and Jenny couldn't make out the words. Cupboards held dishes, cups, and mugs, nothing fancy, the glass doors spotless. He kept it neat, but there was little over which to fuss.

Jenny watched him eat a bite of cake. He didn't speak, chewed with his mouth closed, caught her eyes. He smiled, seemed happy for company, talking interspersed with eating for the hour they'd been together. Maybe he had few visitors, other than Tommie and Rae. Jenny noticed he hadn't mentioned the Baxters, but a Jacob Cassel came up, not as frequently as Tommie however. It was Tommie and Rae and their kids whom Alvin didn't name, Jacob Cassel, and a Mrs. Carmine.

"So Jenny Cope, where're you from?" Alvin emphasized her name, then had a drink of coffee.

She smiled. He had repeated her entire name several times during his conversation. "Colorado originally, but I've mostly lived in the southeast."

He nodded, eyed the dessert, then pushed it away. "I better not have any more. Rae'll think all I did today was eat cake."

"Shall I set it on the counter?"

He grinned. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Better if I can't see it."

Jenny placed it near the toaster, away from the coffee. Three cups remained and he might want another. She gazed out the window, rain still pouring. It had begun right after he walked her through the barn and they'd had to run to the house. She would need a ride or get soaked.

"So, how'd you get here?" Alvin asked, facing her.

Jenny smiled. "Well, I was ready to move on and at the bus station in Las Cruces, I met Sylvia and she sort of twisted my arm."

"She can do that," he laughed. "Mrs. Baxter's pretty chatty."

Jenny returned to the table. "Yeah, she is. Taught me to crochet too."

"Oh, my mama did that. There's so much yarn upstairs, but I've just left it all."

He wasn't retarded. Slow, but not without understanding. How long had he been this way, she wondered. "Well, I just started to learn. Sylvia gave me a hook and some yarn to practice."

"You going back there tonight?"

Jenny fumbled with her cup, then smashed a few crumbs along the back of her fork. She put it in her mouth, chewing slowly. "No, into town. Gonna stay at the motel, next to the café."

Alvin frowned. "You don't wanna stay there. They have mice."

"Really?" she smiled. "Looked okay."

"Didn't Mrs. Baxter want you to stay another night?"

"She did, but I didn't wanna wear out my welcome."

Jenny said it deliberately, gathering the remaining bits of cake along her fork. Looking up, she saw Alvin trying to reason something.

"So, are you here for good or just passing through?"

Jenny finished the coffee. "I dunno. No jobs in town, so I might be heading out. Maybe up to Portland."

She saw this didn't please him. "Portland's a pretty big place."

"Yeah, it is. I've lived in some big cities, guess 'cause there's work there."

He sighed, nodding. "So, whatdya do?"

"I'm a waitress by trade."

He was quiet, going for more coffee. Jenny watched as he scanned the counters. Then he turned back to her. "Hey, you put it all the way over there."

She smiled. "Well, you said you didn't want Rae to think all you'd eaten was cake."

"You're pretty smart, Jenny Cope." Alvin poured the coffee, taking his seat again. "Too smart to be a waitress."

"It's what I know."

He took a drink, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I bet you can do other things."

His loneliness was plain, like his faculties. Nothing was complicated with this man, but he wasn't ignorant. Maybe he'd been injured as a child. Obviously he had been this way for a long time, no wife or girlfriend. Siblings were mentioned, but they hadn't rated more than a nod. His world was this place, his friends, nothing more.

"I can cook," Jenny smiled. "Can't be a waitress without picking up a few culinary tips."

He lit with her words. "Oh well, that's it then. You can stay here and cook for me!"

Jenny's heart felt pinched, but his clever grin eased the skipped beat. "Oh I can, can I?"

He shrank back, then put his hands in the middle of the table. "Yeah, I mean, until you find a job. Then you won't have to go to Portland."

His obvious disdain for that idea made her giggle. "What's so bad about Portland?"

"Well, nothing. I mean, Sam lives there and it's fine for him, I guess." Alvin drank his coffee. "I mean, yeah, it's a lot bigger than Arkendale."

He was lonely, wouldn't bother her, wouldn't want any more than someone to listen to him. The rain continued and the idea of staying at a motel, mice or no, didn't appeal. Not used to a man wanting anything other than sex, Jenny's reserves melted; Alvin was like Sylvia Baxter or Joni, but not that deep. Jenny listened to his proposal, sizing up the situation. She could cook, sleep in the extra room, on the second floor, he emphasized, just until she found a job. Or, he said, disappointment all through, she decided to go to Portland. He drawled that word, not looking at her.

Surprising them both, Jenny grasped his hand. "Show me what's in the freezer."

Two weeks had passed and Jenny felt roots settling. Spring arrived early, a few sunny days sprinkled within the rain, Alvin noting the apple trees were blossoming. He took her out, showing off small flowers that would lead to fruit, and with each step Jenny felt more firmly planted. Wearing his mother's old boots, Jenny absorbed not only the garden and chickens, but a sense of place. Not home, which she fought daily, but a peace so long unknown, tugging like shoes stuck in the mud. Her skills in the kitchen were greatly appreciated and while she hadn't yet seen Rae, Jenny had been hastily introduced to Tommie Smith a few days back, given a once-over that hadn't bothered her in the least.

Yet, Alvin was charming. He had explained that a fall off the monkey bars when he was nine accounted for his slowness. He told her in detail how he had woke in the hospital, his parents Betsy and Alfred over his bed, so worried. He had felt fine until the doctor appeared, asking questions Alvin had found difficult. Suddenly his head ached and tears had fallen. He'd hurt part of his brain and would never be the same.

"Like Tommie's hand," Alvin had said. "Tommie got his hand all torn up when he was sixteen, seventeen, I don't remember. He used to play baseball real good, but then he got hurt and had to learn to use his left hand for everything."

They had been collecting eggs in the barn when Alvin spoke of his friend. His best friend, the men almost the same age. Alvin was thirty-eight, but Tommie had a month on him, both with injuries, but sometimes that was how life was.

Jenny carried six brown eggs in her skirt apron, worn specifically for this task. "How'd it happen?"

"Oh, he was in a car accident. So lucky it was only his hand, but then he couldn't play ball anymore. He was so sad, but you know, I told him at least he still had all his marbles."

Alvin's smile was infectious and Jenny gave one in return.

"And he laughed and said yeah, weren't we a pair. Me with a bad head and him with a bad hand." Alvin had set the last egg in the apron, then gazed into the barn, tidy and sparse like the house. "Just the way things happen."

Jenny returned to that moment seeing Alvin and Tommie through the kitchen window. They were close, slapping backs and laughing, Tommie's right hand in his pocket or tucked under his left armpit. She hadn't spoken to him when introduced, but in the fortnight of her stay, she had heard of him daily, his wife Rae, and their four kids, who Alvin still hadn't named. Tommie raised cows, why Alvin's freezer was full of beef. The occasional hog explained the sausage and bacon and with ample ingredients at her disposal, Jenny had enjoyed cooking.

"Jenny Cope?" Alvin called through the back door and she turned, seeing Tommie at his side.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm gonna help Tommie for about an hour. But I'll be back for dinner."

She nodded, meeting Tommie Smith's gaze undaunted. His brown eyes were like hers, with dark hair in need of a trim, his right hand concealed in the pocket of his jeans.

Tommie grinned. "I won't keep him long, I promise."

"Oh, take your time. I've got plenty to keep me busy." Jenny's tone was cordial.

"Boy, let me tell you Tommie, but don't tell Rae, 'cause no offense, but Jenny here's a great cook." As the men left, Jenny received one last glance from Tommie, a smile accompanying. Hearing the door slam, she returned to the sink, watching them leave in Tommie's old Ford truck.

"Well, I just don't like her," Rae said, removing her nightgown.

"You haven't even met her," Tommie answered as she snuggled against him. Then Rae snorted, running fingers along his body.

In the darkness, Tommie Smith set his useless right hand along her side. He could feel his wife's skin with digits shriveled, but that was all. His fingers hadn't moved on their own for over twenty years, and he was used to it, but none of them were anywhere at ease with Alvin's roommate. Tommie thought back to Alvin's words as they had left the house, Jenny's cooking superior to Rae's. No, Tommie wouldn't say a thing to his wife.

"Honey, she's harmless. I talked to Keith Baxter about her, Sylvia too. She's just a girl, nothing more than that. She's got one bag of stuff, nothing else."

Rae kept her head tucked into his body. "That's what I mean. Going from place to place, shacking up with God knows who."

"I don't think she's looking to take over the farm."

"Tommie, you know what I mean."

"Listen, you even gone over there yet, said _boo_ to her?"

Rae was quiet, pressed against her husband.

"That's what I thought. She doesn't look permanent, although she was wearing one of Betsy's aprons."

Rae sat up. "See, that's exactly what I mean."

Tommie laughed. "Oh God! If she steals some aprons, good lord. Could be a lot worse."

There was silence, then Tommie pulled her close again. "Honey, he's got someone to talk to. All she's waiting on is a job, that's what he said. Then she'll move to town. Although...."

"What?"

Tommie considered Alvin's words about the women's cooking. "Nothing. Why don't you go over there tomorrow, take some pound cake? I didn't see any desserts lying around. She can cook, but maybe she's not big on baking."

Rae moved her hands along Tommie's skin. "Hmmm. Maybe I'll do that."

Tommie closed his eyes, setting his left hand on her breast. "Yeah, maybe you should just do that."

Sun shone and Jenny was glad. If the rain held off, she could finish the laundry. Alvin had a washer, but the dryer was broken, and Jenny had one load in as he left to check the trees.

The farm wasn't what she had expected, only busy work. Nothing was for cash, as he told of the apples coming in sporadically, the trees thirty years old. The garden was to pay back Rae for all the cooking. Then he had smiled; maybe those days were over.

Jenny hadn't said anything to the contrary, roots growing deeper, but she couldn't give an adequate reason for it. Alvin was polite, still chatty, but didn't approach her for anything more than a _thank you_ or to put eggs in her apron. She giggled, a funny euphemism, yet he was utterly harmless, and wouldn't be setting anything within her.

Not that he wasn't good looking. His blue eyes were deep, was that why she hadn't left? Still no openings could be found anywhere in town; on nice days Jenny walked along that road, noting the Smith cow sign set near their mailbox. She had seen who she believed was Tommie's wife, but Rae Smith hadn't given Jenny the time of day. Jenny wasn't bothered, judgments never weighing on her mind.

But Alvin's opinion mattered; he liked her chicken and dumplings, beef stew, and Swiss steak with noodles. He did the shopping, following her list, and she provided dinner, a sandwich at lunch, oatmeal for breakfast, and a filled cookie jar. She did bake, but refrained from making lemon pound cake, not wanting to offend if Rae ever managed to come round.

Jenny placed laundry on the line, her own items along with Alvin's jeans and work shirts, socks and underwear. She had washed previous boyfriends' clothes, but Alvin didn't fall under that category. Living with him was mutually convenient, but Jenny found her seclusion challenged by his optimistic nature. He had been alone for five years since his mother's death in 1970. A sister lived one county east, but Lorraine Harris Stapleton never visited. Alvin had the Smiths, Jacob Cassel, and the chickens to keep him amused.

With the laundry hung, Jenny walked to the edge of the yard, finding Alvin in the trees. He spent his time there, or in the barn, or to the left, a huge garden plot all brown-turned earth. Green grass was short but velvety, bordered by bright buildings; a red barn and white house with blue and yellow splashes along window sills and doorframes. Jenny's eyes had trouble taking it all in, and with each day that passed, her heart ached too.

As the washer churned in the small shed, she left her usual confines, heading to the orchard. Halfway there, she looked back; all was neat as a pin, as though a museum piece. Who was there to mess it up? Alvin's time was spent rotating between the garden, trees, barn, house, and back again, and it was this way due to his hands, present and needy. This place was all he had. And he was all it had.

"Jenny, Jenny Cope!" His voice carried through the stillness. Other trees, beech, walnut, and oak, were also bare, nothing catching his words.

"Yeah?" she called.

Alvin's smile could be seen from a distance and Jenny felt tendrils sinking into the soft ground. This day was sunny, but it had rained for the last three, since Tommie had visited. She hadn't seen him since, but the phone rang at nine every morning, the men sharing a short chat. Jenny tried to move toward Alvin, but her boots were stuck.

"Jenny Cope, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Was it raining? Only then did she find her tears.

She wiped her face as he approached, lifting her boots from the dirt, losing one in the process. Grabbing her hand, Alvin pulled the shoe free, helping to set her foot back inside.

"You okay?" It was said in his usual tone; slow, unsure, and kind.

Jenny nodded, felt pulled from more than the ground. "Dinner'll be sausage and potatoes, that okay?"

"Sure." He squeezed her hand. "Why're you crying?"

Jenny gazed up, blue sky framed with white clouds, so much color as she looked to the emerald lawn. There was no green in New Mexico, only blue skies and white sand and reddish-brown dirt. "I don't know," she said, wiping the last of her tears.

After dinner, Jenny folded laundry while Alvin watched TV. He was anxious for baseball season, a fan of the San Francisco Giants. He mentioned often how on Monday nights he would be busy watching the game and hoped she wouldn't mind.

Jenny had fought tears the rest of the day, but with those words, she couldn't help it. Men never made her cry, only Joni had, pleading for Jenny to stay in Tampa Bay. Jenny hadn't wanted to let anyone, not even Joni, under her skin, and this with Alvin was temporary, just until she could find a job. Maybe there were no jobs here. Maybe a bus ticket to Portland was necessary.

Matching socks, she used her own to wipe her face. Looking up, she met Alvin's blue eyes.

"Jenny, you didn't tell me earlier what was wrong." He knelt down, then sat on the backs of his legs. He looked like a little boy and she couldn't face him.

"Maybe it's time I should be leaving." She began folding shirts, setting his in one pile, hers in another.

"Did I do something wrong?"

His tone wasn't demanding or brutal. Or sexual, which shook her. "N-No," she mumbled.

Jenny expected him to grasp her hands, then rub them within his own. Some of her boyfriends had done that, wanting her to stay, and after a little consolation, slight and unpracticed, she would spend a few more nights. A few more sometimes stretched into weeks or months, but then it would end. She would always end it, moving to a new place, another man.

Alvin stayed still due to ignorance, Jenny considered. Then she gazed into his face. It was bereft.

"Jenny Cope, I'm sorry if I did something wrong." Careful not to disturb the piles of clothes, he sat on the end of the couch. "That's what I always do, something wrong."

"Oh no Alvin, it's not you. I just, oh god, I just need to find a job. I can't rely on the kindness of strangers forever."

Her small smile gave him some comfort, Jenny noting how he relaxed, then giggled.

"Maybe it's me who's gotten the kindness. I haven't eaten this well since Mama died."

Jenny felt tears again. She stood, picking up a pair of faded jeans, smoothing out wrinkles. "Well, that's nice of you to say."

Alvin stood too. "Jenny, do you really need to leave?"

She set the pants on the back of the couch. "Alvin, I don't stay in one place for very long."

He didn't move toward her. "Why not?"

"Just not my way."

"People change. Look at me and Tommie."

He offered that contagious grin and she couldn't help her own. "You're pretty smart."

He looked down, then came her way, still keeping distance between them. "Jenny, I'm not gonna lie. I like having you here. I don't like living alone, I hate it. But if you need to go, well...." He met her eyes. "I know I'm not that interesting, just how I am. I wish I...." He paused again.

"Oh Alvin, it's not that at all." Jenny's tears continued and reaching for his hand, she gripped it. "I'm not what you think and maybe it's better if I just head north."

"Portland?" he whispered.

Jenny nodded, but couldn't speak. Leaving a half basket of clothes unfolded, she fled upstairs.

Chapter 3

Alvin turned off the television. Once it was quiet, he could hear Jenny's cries. Locking the house, he collected his folded clothes, passing by the second floor, still hearing her tears.

He walked up slowly, trying not to squeak on boards he'd used all his life. His entire life had been spent in one house, one place, someone like Jenny so alien to Alvin, her gender, her travels, those tears. As an adult, he had only seen his mother cry a few times; when his brother Adam died in Vietnam, when his other brother Randy fled home shortly afterwards. Also when Lorraine got married, and on none of those occasions did Alvin cry too.

Reaching his room, he put away the laundry, a large chest of drawers along the wall by the door. His room was as simple as he was, with a double bed, night stand, and closet for the few nice slacks he owned. He had worn navy trousers to Lorraine's wedding, then black pants to his mother's funeral. Rae had helped him choose a new shirt for that and a black tie that she picked as well. Those items hung in the closet too.

Alvin wasn't tired, only sad. Jenny's words about leaving stewed in his head, that and her crying, but he wasn't sure if that sound was now only a memory. He stepped to the landing and listened. She was quiet, the occasional sniffle coming from her door. Alvin wanted to see her again, wanted to make sure she was okay, but he felt odd. He'd lived with his mother, but that was different. Jenny was a woman.

He stepped down halfway, missing all the noisy boards, could detect her moving about. Hearing the door knob turn, he scurried back up, but didn't go into his room. Concealed on the landing, Alvin listened as Jenny went into the bathroom. He slipped inside his doorway, closing the door until only a crack remained.

Waiting ten minutes, Alvin went downstairs. If he saw her, he would say he just wanted to make sure he'd locked the house. He knew he had, but if she asked, he didn't want to appear to be spying. Passing Jenny's door, a small strip of light leaked from under it. Alvin went down with force, rattling the front door knob, then turned to go back up.

Taking each step with care, he paused outside her room. She was crying again and he nearly knocked. Alvin looked at where he stood; this had been Lorraine's room, his mother's bedroom, now vacant, across the hall. Alvin and his brothers had the third floor, Alvin in his own room, Adam and Randy sharing the other. Alvin then recalled the only time he cried when his mother had, when his father died. Alfred Harris didn't come back after one last look at the farm and Betsy had gone searching for him. Her hysterical return, when Alvin was eleven years old, had brought him to tears. Then and only then did Alvin cry.

In the morning he woke first, making the coffee and some toast, what he had for breakfast before Jenny came, what he could easily manage when he didn't want cereal. He missed the oatmeal she made, but didn't say anything about it as she entered the room, her eyes red and tired.

"Hey Jenny Cope. Good morning."

She nodded, taking a seat.

Alvin got up and poured her some coffee. "You hungry?"

Jenny shook her head.

He set the cup in front of her, then returned to his chair. Her head was down, but he studied her, afraid it might be one of the last times he would see her.

To Alvin, Jenny Cope was beautiful. She didn't look like Rae, Jacob's wife Debbie, or Lorraine, the only ones of a similar age with whom to compare. Jenny wasn't tall, but she wasn't short either, and Alvin liked her body. Her breasts weren't tiny like his sister's, but they weren't huge like Rae's. Jenny had short legs, small feet and hands, and long brown hair that Alvin loved. It was either back in a ponytail, as it was that morning, or up in a bun, sometimes with a pencil pushed through to keep it in place. She didn't wear perfume that he could tell, not like Debbie Cassel, no makeup either like Rae, who wore lipstick all the time. Stuff on her eyes too, which was fine on Tommie's wife, but Jenny didn't need all that.

Alvin liked her face most. She had brown eyes like his mother, but they weren't wrinkly. Jenny's smile had been slow in coming, but Alvin saw it more often, except for that morning. Looking past her sorrow, he recalled cheeks that puffed when she giggled, which came after time. Not quickly, as Jenny Cope wasn't a bubbly type. Yet, he'd heard her laughter, had been the cause for some of it, but not the usual source. People laughed at Alvin because he wasn't right in the head, but not Jenny. She laughed _with_ him.

"Jenny, you sure you're not hungry? I can make you some toast."

She looked up, those brown eyes now red, tears falling down her pretty face.

"Oh Jenny!" He handed her a napkin. "It's okay, really."

"I'm sorry I wasn't down to make breakfast," she whispered.

Alvin scooted his chair next to hers. "It's okay. I like toast. Haven't had it in a while, not since you came."

His voice was light; he wanted to make her feel better. When Robert and Jasper were rude, Tommie spoke to him in that tone and Alvin felt grateful to get to use it with someone. No one ever needed his comfort.

Jenny looked toward him and Alvin reached for her hand. Rae had gripped his hand right here at this table when his mother died. He had woke and made himself toast, his mother still in bed. Not until Tommie's call did Alvin notice he was alone. Tommie and Rae had come over and Rae sat with Alvin as Tommie went up, finding Betsy Harris had died in her sleep. Alvin hadn't cried then either. She was old and while Lorraine visited every few months, it was only the two of them. Alvin missed his mother's presence, but hadn't mourned her person.

Jenny's hand felt cool and Alvin squeezed it as Rae had done. He remembered that morning so clearly, hearing Tommie's footsteps, slow and heavy. Tommie had no tears either, only said that Mrs. Harris was with Alfred. Alvin understood, getting another grip from Rae. Then he left to witness that he was alone. Two brothers were gone, his sister might as well be, now his mother. Alvin had needed proof, unsure if Randy was dead. He might still be up in Canada somewhere, but Betsy was deceased.

"Jenny listen, you really should eat."

Her eyes caught his and Alvin saw something he hadn't known in ages, how Tommie looked when Alvin saw him in the hospital, Tommie's hand in a cast. His face was broken too, his heart lost. All Tommie had wanted was to play ball, maybe even for a pro team. Then that dream was gone and Alvin had joked about their bad parts, hoping to get that horrible look from his friend's face. It had helped, laughter coming from Tommie. They had laughed, but with Jenny, things were different.

"I'll make some toast. You like butter or jam?" Alvin stepped toward the counter, then turned to her, staring until she spoke.

"Butter's fine."

Alvin made the toast, setting two slices in front of her. Then he poured orange juice, placing it near her coffee cup. Seeing it was empty, he filled it again, returning to his seat.

She ate a few bites, but kept her body closed. That's how Lorraine had been around him, a few years after he fell and she hadn't wanted to be his sister anymore. Alvin had never said anything to her about it, but had talked to Tommie, especially once Tommie was out of the cast and they knew his hand wasn't going to be any good. He had to learn to write left-handed; as Tommie practiced letters in an old primer, there was time for Alvin to talk. He'd always liked to talk and Tommie had a good set of ears. He never shushed Alvin, some things easier to say than others.

Alvin's heart was sore, how he'd felt when his sister hardly spoke to him at their mother's funeral. She had arrived with her husband and two children whose names Alvin didn't remember any better than those of the Smith kids. In a black dress, Lorraine sat in the front row, but hadn't looked his way, just a few seats down. He had felt so alone and if not for Tommie and Rae behind him, Jacob and Sam to their right, Alvin would have wondered if he should have even been there. Afterwards at the Smiths', Lorraine had chatted with everyone, all but him. Only at the end did she approach with a gruff face and an angry voice. She told him except for the Christmas nativity, he could do what he wanted with their mother's things. She didn't want any of them.

Later Alvin learned why she was so mad; the farm was left to him, all but one thousand dollars, which Alvin assumed Mrs. Carmine took care of. Bonnie Carmine had been his mother's best friend and now dealt with the business side of the farm. Tommie had told Alvin all this and once he understood, Lorraine's nastiness was clear.

Jenny wasn't anything like Alvin's sister, except they both had brown eyes. Jenny wasn't mean, didn't ignore him, but the pain he felt was the same. Jenny would probably leave like Lorraine and his mother had. He would be alone again and that idea made Alvin take back his hand.

He set both hands in his lap, heard the rain falling, but there wasn't much work for that day. It was too early to plant vegetables, the trees were fine, and he had gathered eggs yesterday. There wasn't much to do but sit in the house with Jenny, which would be fine except she wasn't happy. She had eaten all the toast, drank half the juice. She'd used the napkin to blow her nose and Alvin stood, getting her another.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Jenny, are you really gonna go?" With all he had been thinking, the words slipped.

She stood, taking the bottle of aspirin from the windowsill. She set tablets in her mouth, washing them down with coffee. Placing the cup back on the table, she leaned against the sink, looking at her feet. "Alvin, oh god."

In the silence Alvin felt that if he had all his marbles, his way of putting it, he would know the right words. He liked her, not as a _girlfriend_ , but as his friend. She was a better cook than Rae, but mostly she was someone close, the house not quiet. He didn't have a better vocabulary, but if so, her absence would have been explained as a light gone from his heart.

Alvin wasn't poetic, hadn't even graduated high school. Ninth grade was as far as he got, then his time and energy went to the farm. His talents too, which Tommie was always pointing out; this farm was where Alvin's gifts lie, but if Jenny left, what was the point?

Those words slipped, and why he said them, he wasn't sure. "That's what Tommie tells me. I mean, not the part about you, but why I'm here, why I've stayed the whole time."

Without guile, Alvin wasn't easily embarrassed. When younger, he was tongue-tied around girls, and those who only saw the outside. As the years passed, he had grown comfortable in his skin, aware of his limits as well as his passions. The farm was the latter, friendship with Tommie and Rae as well. Alvin's life wasn't destined for big plans or wild schemes. He knew himself, for, as he said, there wasn't much to know. "Jenny, if you go, then I'm alone again. That's not a good reason for you to stay, but it's the truth. Since you've been here, oh wow, it's like there's a reason to get up in the morning. It's not just me here by myself. I mean, it was like that when my mom was alive."

His voice grew wistful; five years was a long time to be alone.

Alvin stood, moving toward her. "Jenny Cope, I know it's boring here. I mean, I'm not the greatest company. And if that's why you wanna go, you can say so, it won't bother me. I get along great with Tommie and Jacob, Rae and the kids too, but not everyone. I know you like the Baxters and I'm not saying they're bad folks, but Keith's just not my sort. He's pretty smart and they just move in a different circle. Sylvia's always traveling off somewhere, down to California to see her family or like where you met her. You're like that, always going somewhere new. But me, I'm here, this's my home. It's not exciting or anything. Pretty dull, if you think about it. The same thing, all the time. Rain and trees and eggs and the garden. But that's fine for me. I'm simple too."

"Oh Alvin, you're not. Not at all."

Her sudden speech shocked him, also how she reached for his hands.

"You're not simple," she repeated, more slowly.

Alvin smiled. "Well, I'm no astronaut."

She took back her hands, giggling. "Neither am I."

He laughed. "No, but you're always on the go like they are, heading off somewhere so different, never staying put. And that's fine, it really is. Not everyone's meant to stay in one place their whole lives." He inhaled as she lowered her arms to her sides.

"So if you need to go to Portland, well, I'll miss you, and your cooking, and I won't forget you. But people leave all the time and I did learn there's nothing you can do about it." His voice grew sad. He didn't want her to go, but pining wouldn't help the situation.

Alvin looked up, seeing her tears again. That was another surprise, also that he lost some too. His words came easily, but once said, his heart accepted those sentiments.

"So I guess, well, whatever you need to do," he sniffed, wiping his face with his hand.

Turning from her, Alvin went to leave the kitchen. As he stepped through the doorway, he noticed the basket of clothes. He would be back to doing laundry, another task he didn't like. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Alvin, did you mean what you said?"

She wore a pink robe, old yellow slippers on her feet. He hadn't seen that in the kitchen, just her broken face.

"What Jenny?"

"About if I go, there's no point." Her voice was a whisper.

"Yeah, I mean, it's been what, three weeks? And all that time it's been so nice. Even with all the rain, 'cause I come in, and there's someone here who doesn't mind all my gabbing."

He smiled, seeing how she responded. She had been so afraid, that was plain. Now she looked hopeful, how Tommie had been after he met Rae.

Jenny looked to the floor, scuffing her covered toes along the smooth wood grain.

"Jenny Cope, you and I are really different. I mean, I know there're things about us that will never be the same. But I think you like it here, I mean, I think so."

She nodded. "I do."

"Well, can you just let that be enough? I mean, Portland's big and exciting, and if you really wanna go there, well then you should, 'cause Arkendale's not like that at all. If something like Portland'll make you happy, you probably shouldn't stay here."

That sentence was spoken with great hesitation. Then he continued.

"But if you wanna go 'cause something's scaring you, something that's made you go all over, it'll probably be up there too. I mean, astronauts go to the moon 'cause they're wanting to discover something new. They're not running away from anything. And if," he said, again slowly. "If you're only thinking of leaving 'cause you're trying to get away from something, you'll never find any peace. You just won't."

Alvin wanted to hold her hand. "That's what Tommie told me when Randy left. Randy, my youngest brother, he left for Canada after Adam died. Tommie said that Randy was just gonna keep running, never stop. He was scared to go to Vietnam and I bet Jenny, I bet he's still running now. He'll never come back here, just running from what he was scared of."

Jenny nodded. Feeling brave, Alvin reached for her fingers as Rae had done with him before she and Tommie left on the morning of Betsy Harris' death. Using no words, Alvin squeezed Jenny's digits, then kissed the back of her right hand.

Chapter 4

For two days Jenny stewed over Alvin's words. During those days it rained during the first, was cloudy on the second. And on the second day, Jenny met Rae.

The knock stirred Jenny from her crocheting. She had finished the yarn from Sylvia and on Alvin's insistence had rummaged through the bagged skeins in what had been Betsy and Alfred's room. An aged bed remained, the closet full of women's clothes, a dresser also stuffed. Two straight-backed chairs rested along the wall next to a large window that looked over the back yard, a chest on the window's other side. Alvin said it used to sit at the end of the bed, but he and Tommie had moved it after Tommie hit his foot.

"He and I were up there getting the bed cleared after they took her out, and Tommie hit his toe and swore a blue streak." Alvin smiled. "We both started laughing 'cause my mama would've boxed his ears."

Jenny hadn't gone into the room alone. Alvin accompanied her, staying as she poked through the colors and types of yarn. All were acrylic, for which Jenny was pleased, not wanting to deal with wool. Alvin noted his mother had felt the same and other than small differences in thread sizes, there was plenty from which to choose.

Taking three small balls, Jenny continued practicing. Her stitches were improving, but she didn't feel competent to embark on a large project. There was enough yarn if she wished to do so and Alvin hadn't shied from encouraging her.

"You need a new blanket?" she had asked.

"Oh well, if you get bored, sure." His smile had again caught her off guard and she'd nodded, then left with her supplies.

Sitting in the rocker, Jenny tied coral red to yellow, working three rows out of it, ready to add the gray. The knock made her drop the hook and she scrambled to collect it. "Just a minute," she called, sticking the hook in the back of her bun.

Opening the door to a woman holding a wrapped cake, Jenny guessed this probably wasn't Mrs. Carmine who Alvin occasionally mentioned. "Hi," Jenny said, her hands full of yarn.

"Hi. I'm, uh, Rae Smith, Tommie's wife."

Jenny hadn't seen Rae up close, only her blonde head in a car the few times Jenny had passed by the Smith farm. Lemon wafting through plastic offered confirmation.

"I'm Jenny Cope. Please come in. Alvin's out, uh, in the trees."

Slowly Rae stepped inside. Leaving the yarn on a small table in the entryway, Jenny noticed the woman's strangled movements as Rae closed the door behind her, the day still cool.

Rae observed a setting not much different from the last time she had seen it, almost a month ago, prior to Jenny's arrival. Alvin had alluded to Rae's visits two or three times a week, and Jenny felt a sharp gaze on her, as well as the house, Rae seeking alterations. There were none, save yarn on the side of the couch and the crocheting waiting on the table.

"You want some coffee?" Jenny asked.

"Oh uh, yeah, thanks."

Jenny led them to the kitchen. As Rae sat with some difficulty, Jenny poured two cups. Rae looked a year Tommie's junior, on the plump side with a large bosom. An extra chin was visible, but Rae was pretty, time and children aging her.

"You need any milk or sugar?" Jenny asked.

"Just sugar," Rae said, more relaxed. "It's there by the," but she stopped.

Grabbing the bowl by the coffeemaker, Jenny brought it to the table, taking the chair opposite Rae. Jenny faced the back door; when Alvin came through, she would note his initial expression.

Rae added one sugar, stirred, then took a sip. She plopped in another, smiling. "Been trying to cut back, but it's pretty strong with only one. Especially Alvin's coffee."

"I've noticed." Jenny liked hers black, but it had been a jolt, and she wondered if Alvin had always made it this way.

She wanted to ask, but felt strange. Since she and Alvin had talked, Tommie hadn't come round, although the men still chatted every morning at nine o'clock, delayed only if another call engaged the party line. Usually it was free and Jenny wondered if others accepted that slot was for Alvin and Tommie. Again, she was curious, but said nothing.

Rae pushed the cake Jenny's way. "Just some pound cake. I made two yesterday and thought I should get it over here before my kids ate it."

"I had some when I first met Alvin and it was really good. Thanks."

Rae smiled. "Well, he hates to cook and I've always got something going."

Again silence. Jenny sipped her coffee, wishing Alvin would appear, broker some conversation. She wanted to open the cake, but refrained.

"Tommie says you're from New Mexico," Rae began.

"Oh uh, well, I'd been there about eighteen months. Originally I'm from Colorado."

Rae nodded. "I'm from Talent, just south of Medford, down in Josephine County. Not a native from around here." She turned to the back door and Jenny wondered if Rae was hoping Alvin would rescue them both.

Jenny laughed. "You know, I don't even know what county this is."

"Linn," Rae smiled. "Tommie visited mine with his ball team, after his accident. We met in '54, got married in '57. My, that seems like a long time ago." Rae sipped her coffee, then turned to Jenny with kind eyes. "I was new here, just like you. May have been from three counties away, but I might as well have been from the moon."

"Well, so far people here seem friendly."

Rae gazed into her mug and Jenny regretted her words. It had taken Tommie's wife over three weeks to make an appearance.

"Well yeah, most folks are," Rae murmured.

"I've met you and Tommie, and the Baxters, but only I'm here due to Sylvia's insistence." More silence and Jenny's heart raced. The last thing she had wanted was to start off on a bad note with this woman. Her anxiety about staying had been tempered with Alvin's easygoing words and behavior since their talk, but again Jenny felt misplaced. Even if Rae had once been a newcomer, she was now firmly established within this hamlet.

"It's hard going somewhere new. You don't know anyone, they don't know you." Rae looked at Jenny. "I guess after while you get used to things, forget what that was like."

Jenny nodded. "I've been moving all my life, never settled down. Hard to know just where to begin even when I've done it a dozen times."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Hmmm. A lot of time on the road."

Jenny wasn't bothered at the guarded tone. "Yeah, since I was seventeen."

Rae flinched. "God, that's so young! Lexi's just sixteen, I'd hate for her to be trekking across the country."

"You know, Alvin talks about your family all the time, but he never calls any of your kids by name. You have two girls and two boys, right?"

Rae warmed to the question. Lexi, the oldest, was a junior, followed by Steve, a sophomore at fifteen. Max was thirteen, in eighth grade, and the youngest, Alana, was in sixth grade, eleven years old. Rae spent the next half hour detailing her offspring, opening the cake and retrieving plates, unbothered by her altered status within Alvin's domain. Jenny watched as Rae did all with ease, the woman of this house since Betsy's death.

Jenny allowed this, a transition of which she still wasn't sure; was she staying in Arkendale? Rae's words went into Jenny differently than Alvin's; Jenny caught the kids' names and ages, but missed their hobbies and school activities. More noticeable was Rae's effusive pitch over their exploits, a tone loving and protective.

As Jenny ate the last bite of cake, she heard the door, Alvin's smile a beacon. He greeted Rae, washed his hands, then got some coffee. As Rae went for another plate, Jenny noted their shared ease. She hadn't moved, wanting to remain unseen, yet, her heart slipped to an easier beat with Alvin's presence.

Once Rae cut a slice for Alvin, she stopped herself. "Good God, here I am, acting like this's my house. Jesus Jenny, you must think I just come in and take over all the time."

"It's okay Rae. I've told Jenny all about you," Alvin said after swallowing.

Rae's face went red as Jenny spoke. "You've known this place far longer than I have."

Rae stood with unsteady moves. "Well, I just wanted to drop off the cake. Tommie's probably wondering where the hell I've been."

"This's been nice." Alvin said. "I haven't seen you in, well, it's been three weeks since Jenny came."

Jenny bit the inside of her cheek and couldn't look at Rae, who stared at the floor. "Uh yeah, well, the kids have been busy."

"Yeah, I finally learned their names." Jenny gave Alvin a look.

He wore an impish grin, and Rae departed in a pleasant humor. Together Jenny and Alvin walked her to the door, where Jenny squeezed Rae's hands. Rae looked surprised, then reciprocated with a one-armed hug. Alvin led her to the car and from the open front door, Jenny watched the woman's halting steps.

When he returned, Jenny was setting dishes in the sink, having wrapped up the cake. Alvin's cup remained on the table and he sat down, sipping his coffee. "Wow, I'll tell you, I was sure surprised to see Rae when I came in."

Jenny turned with a smile. "Yeah, it was a shock to find her at the front door."

He grinned. "Well?"

"Well's a deep subject."

Alvin laughed. "Oh, I know that one. My daddy used to say that." He finished the coffee, putting his cup down with a thump. "Jenny, Rae's not like Tommie, I mean, she takes a little more time to get to know."

"Why does she limp?" That had been obvious, but Jenny hadn't mentioned it, both Smiths with troubled limbs.

"I think she had polio when she was little." Alvin brought his cup to the sink. "She's always had that limp, ever since I've known her."

"Mmmhmm. I really saw it when she went down the stairs."

"Yeah, takes her extra time. But Tommie's always saying they've got more time than money."

Jenny smiled. "I guess we all do."

Alvin didn't move away and while Jenny appreciated his presence, again she felt disturbed. Since the other morning they hadn't spoken of anything more serious than the weather. Rae's visit was a distraction, but Jenny sensed Alvin was working up to something.

"Well, now that you've met Tommie and Rae, other than Mrs. Carmine and Jacob, that's about all the people I know."

Jenny smiled. "Well, she seems nice enough. Likes being a mom."

"Yeah, she does. Tommie picked a good one for that."

Jenny rinsed the last plate and wiped her hands on the bottom of her apron. Then she looked at Alvin's blue eyes staring right at her. Even standing on the linoleum, Jenny felt roots looking for cracks, trying to set into the hard floor.

She stepped away, sitting at the table. Alvin joined her, taking the seat across. "Jenny, she's not so bad. It's not so bad here."

"No, it's not."

She didn't look at him, couldn't see those eyes again, as if they were from where the roots emerged, blue like the sky, making things grow from all the rain. She had never felt that way in New Mexico, no precipitation encouraging something to take, to set, to stay. In Florida, she had never been with a blue-eyed man. Usually they had brown eyes like her own, eyes and minds looking for something temporary, all she had ever known.

Jenny glanced up, but Alvin wasn't looking her way. He stared at the window. "It's raining again."

In the quiet she could hear it hitting the glass. Four panes made a large picture window and Jenny gazed to streams formed from rivulets, trickling to the bottom.

She noticed the table, now clear, the grain going from side to side until it ended, the rain similar. Visible, until it reached the base of the pane. Then it too was gone.

"Alvin, why do you want me to stay?"

She hadn't meant to say it; he had made it plain the other morning, touching a nerve, one she hadn't liked exposed. Running was all she knew, but from the bits she retained about Lexi Smith, Jenny wouldn't want that girl taking off. Lexi was too young, but it had been all Jenny could do, only one year older. Like Lexi, Jenny had been a junior in high school when she'd left Colorado.

Lexi was sixteen, but Jenny had been seventeen and ages older. Still Jenny was running, but her feet belied that notion. She was having a hard time moving from this farm, and looking back at Alvin, from his blue eyes.

"Jenny, what are you afraid of?"

His voice was serious, the most adult she had heard since her arrival.

"Alvin, do you get thunderstorms here?"

He nodded. "Yeah, in the summertime."

"Mmmhmm."

"Are you afraid of thunderstorms Jenny?"

She stared at the wood grain again, tracing the lines. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, you know, I used to be afraid of the dark, before I hit my head. Then I wasn't and I don't know why that changed, but it did. Maybe here you won't be afraid of them anymore."

Tears landed on Jenny's face, more shed in this kitchen than in the last decade of her life.

Then he reached for her hand. His was warm and soothing, also slightly rough from the wear of his skin, but only from that, nothing more. She looked up, saw his tender smile. Alvin's eyes, so blue, were like her yarn, ocean blue eyes and yarn all the same.

"I doubt it," she said, trying not to breathe. "I'll always be afraid of them."

She felt his squeeze. "Well, I'll be here, I promise. If you stay, I'll be here."

Her breath came strangely, her heart on fire, a great chasm always denied. Pain swirled and she tried to tramp it down. As she did, roots sunk into the room.

"Jenny, I mean it. Maybe this's where you can stop running from the thunderstorms."

Jennifer Melinda Cope stared into blue eyes and nodded.

Chapter 5

They laughed, running from the barn, eight eggs cradled in Jenny's apron. Dodging raindrops that pelted hard, Alvin beat her, holding the door, and they shook water from themselves, Jenny more gently due to the eggs. "Is Tommie coming for some of these?" she asked. "I swear, since St. Patrick's Day, those hens have been busy."

Alvin smiled. "Yeah, he's coming for lunch tomorrow."

Jenny set the eggs in cartons. "He's what?"

Alvin looked to the floor, wiping the last drops from his hair. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No."

Jenny put the eggs in the refrigerator. She used at least two each day, either in baking or Alvin's breakfast. He had switched from oatmeal, occasionally eating three medium-fried eggs each morning. The last time she had seen Tommie, he'd remarked at Alvin's weight gain, which was now evident. Jenny's cooking had added ten, maybe fifteen pounds to the man's slender frame, and he looked better for it. Jenny thought so and Tommie had too.

She hadn't seen Rae Smith except in passing since that initial visit. The days had been sunny and if Jenny happened to walk by the Smith farm, they would wave, but nothing more. She had met all the kids but Steve, receiving friendly greetings from the girls, a shy _hello_ from Max. He looked like his dad, the girls like their mother. Lexi was more outgoing than Alana, and neither had thought Jenny's presence at Alvin's odd.

Jenny knew Rae Smith would be time in coming, time that did seem more plentiful than money. Jenny was staying with Alvin, had agreed to stop running. They spoke of it at length, of that and thunderstorms, which terrified her. Alvin's promise was reiterated; when summer arrived, they would deal with it.

She was relaxed with Alvin's company; he was still chatty, but had calmed with the sense she wasn't fleeing to Portland. Together they were clearing his mother's room; Jenny needed something other than cooking and crocheting to fill her days. She had emptied the trunk, sorted the yarn, and now had bags set aside for future projects. She had begun a blanket for Alvin, grays and greens, colors he chose, Jenny's stitches consistent enough for a large afghan.

Next was Betsy's closet and that was more daunting. Alvin came and went with that project, checking to see what Jenny had found. Old clothes in good shape were set aside for the Salvation Army. Other pieces would be used as rags, or thrown out and Jenny had done that too. She found it strange that Lorraine hadn't wanted this job, but kept those notions to herself. It seemed a sore spot with Alvin, his family that had fallen away.

Now there was lunch with Tommie. He had joined them for coffee, but Jenny had excused herself for tasks upstairs once the cups were poured, cookies offered. Lunch was different and while she had managed to sit with Rae alone, somehow Tommie seemed more difficult.

"Jenny, it's no big deal." Alvin approached her at the refrigerator. "He's like me, just a sandwich. Nothing fancy."

She stared at the floor. "I just wish you'd told me before now."

Alvin moved close, but didn't touch her. "Don't you like him?"

She gazed up, finding gentle eyes. "Oh I do, it's not that. It's just I'm not...." She sighed. "I won't have anything to say."

Alvin smiled, shyly reaching for her hand. He held it for a second, then crossed his arms. "Oh Tommie can be like me, really chatty. You won't have to do much talking."

Jenny gave a fleeting smile and left the room.

"Jenny, Jenny?"

She stepped from his mother's closet. "Yeah?"

He took the one chair not cluttered with clothing. "Jenny, you mad at me?"

A long silence lingered as Jenny gathered her hair, twisting the ponytail. Pulling a crochet hoot from her back pocket, she pushed it through the bun. "No, I'm not mad. It was just sudden."

She sat on a clear spot at the end of the bed. Boxes lay everywhere and Jenny was glad for Alvin's presence, possessions he might want to keep.

He stood, opening some of them. "You can just throw away all this stuff."

"You sure?"

"It's been there at least five years, probably much longer. Not mine anyways."

"Alvin, I'm sorry for being so weird about this."

He looked puzzled. "Jenny, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You like Tommie, right?"

She nodded. He was nice, a good compliment to Alvin, and having met most of the Smith kids, seemed to have helped raise well-mannered children.

"Does he remind you of someone, you know, from your past? Is that why you're not happy?"

Jenny sighed, wishing to look out the window, not wanting to see Alvin's face, worried and hurt. They had spoken of her old boyfriends, many of them, men with whom Jenny hadn't stayed. Alvin had asked if they'd been with her during thunderstorms. Some had, but not one offered relief.

"It's not that. I just would've liked to have fixed something nice, you know? If he was coming in another day or two, I could've made chicken and dumplings or hell, I don't know."

She was drained, her period due, one piece of her mood, but she wasn't going to tell Alvin that. She just would have liked some notice, the quiet of the farm reassuring, not frightening. It offered time to think, crochet, not be inundated with noise or people, how it had been her entire life. She didn't drive, but liked walking to town, enjoying this place so rural yet lively, but not from the presence of others. From animals and plants, colors and nature.

Alvin nodded, poking through another box. "Jenny, I can tell him to come another day."

"No, it's okay. I'm just tired." Making light of her mood, she gave a pouty face.

He didn't seem convinced. She had found he was easily dissuaded at times, but could be obstinate like a child. Mentally she had pegged him at around eighteen years old, but not all the time. When it came to the farm, he was sharp, his handicap almost unnoticeable. Like a sixth sense he was engaged with this place, also with her, usually. That had been unnerving, mostly due to the harmless nature of it. Some men had known her buttons and she had stayed with them longer than she had liked. Alvin was that way too, but not as a boyfriend. She had felt nothing sexual, just a depth that rattled her, especially when juxtaposed with his limitations.

"Alvin, I've gotten used to it being just us. And what I mean is us here, at mealtimes, at night. I never knew such a quiet, maybe I've been trying to fill my life with noise to drown out other things."

"Like thunderstorms?"

"Yeah," she mumbled. "All I meant with Tommie was I just needed a little more warning. Advance notice." She smiled, then laughed. "God, if you'd told me that two months ago, I wouldn't have believed you."

She allowed a truth into the room, which Alvin caught. "Jenny, why'd you leave your last boyfriend?"

He had wanted to ask, not that it was any of his business, but Alvin thought her arrival was full of meaning. He wasn't sure what it was, or if he would ever figure it out. Most things eluded him and that was fine. He never pined for what was beyond him. Most things were, but Alvin had enough sense to not chase rainbows.

Sylvia Baxter could be convincing. He liked her better than her husband, a man nice but cool. Keith never said _hello_ unless Alvin did first, at the hardware store or the market. Sylvia was friendly and the few times he had seen her since Jenny's arrival, she'd asked how Jenny was, and was glad she had stuck around. He hadn't asked about their meeting in the New Mexico bus station; again, that was none of his business, like the boxes on his mother's bed. Jenny could throw them all out. Alvin didn't want them.

Jenny's Florida boyfriends were the same. Alvin didn't care a hoot, but the New Mexico man irritated. Tony was his name and when Jenny had spoken of him, something lingered in her voice that Alvin hadn't missed. So aware of people's attitudes toward him, he couldn't help but detect anguish in others.

She remained on the end of the bed, looking at the floor. She wore blue tennis shoes, a small tear where the right foot's big toe showed a white sock underneath. Alvin wondered if she wanted a new pair, but didn't ask. If he started talking about shoes, he would forget what he had asked her, about that last boyfriend.

"Jenny," he said, more to remind himself, that white sock again catching his attention.

"Alvin, you really wanna know?"

He gazed at her, finding those lovely brown eyes. They seemed pained and he forgot all about her socks. "Only if you wanna tell me. I mean, I do wanna know, but if you think it's none of my business...."

She stood, looking into the closet, then back at him. "Tony smoked a lot of pot. You know, marijuana."

He nodded. One of Jacob's friends, a man Alvin recalled from their junior high days, grew marijuana at his place, on the other side of Arkendale. That guy was always stoned, as Tommie said, but kept to himself, and most people let him do his own thing.

"Tony grew weed and a few times he was close to getting busted, you know, by the cops."

"Did he want to you, uh," Alvin paused.

"Get high?" Jenny smiled. "No, he didn't wanna waste any on me. Not that I wanted to."

Alvin sensed her anger. "Why not?"

She wore a funny grin, one of knowing more than words would say. Alvin saw that face on people when they were trying to be nice; tactful, Tommie called it. Sometimes those looks were directed at Alvin, sometimes at others. Alvin always knew when they were for him.

"'Cause the last thing I needed was to get stoned." She chuckled wearily. "He was getting sloppy, more stoned than not. Tony wasn't always the nicest guy high."

Alvin moved her way, grasping her hands. "He never hurt you did he?"

Jenny looked away. "No, he didn't."

Alvin didn't believe her, another gift for which he was grateful. He could read most people, enough not to be fooled. Some thought him gullible. He wasn't, but part of it was a gift.

"Jenny, are you _sure_ he didn't hurt you?"

She faced him with wide eyes, making Alvin's heart pound. Jenny wasn't lying. Tony hadn't hurt her. Someone else had, but not that New Mexico boyfriend.

She nodded, then looked away.

The next day, Jenny made Swedish meatballs, which Tommie and Alvin devoured. She ate too, but her appetite was slight due to her period starting overnight. She made small attempts at conversation and once all were done, she excused herself upstairs.

Tommie watched her go, could see she was in pain. With a wife and two daughters, it wasn't a mystery, and he appreciated all the work Jenny put into lunch. Alvin seemed unaware and that didn't surprise Tommie either.

They sat for fifteen minutes, then Jenny made another appearance. She took some aspirin, set out a plate of cookies, disappearing again. Alvin had asked if she had a headache and her flimsy excuse satisfied him. Tommie didn't breathe a peep until he heard her safely on the second floor.

"Poor Jenny," Alvin sighed. "I hate having a headache."

"I know. But Alvin, maybe it's not just a headache."

Tommie and Alvin had known each other before either could recall, best friends living on this country road. They rode bikes, chased rabbits, making forts in the small forest at the end of the lane. An only child, Tommie loved the Harris farm, always kids around, friends of Lorraine and Adam in and out. Randy was nine years younger than Alvin, and they had avoided him, but one point of their childhood stood firm, when Alvin had fallen from the monkey bars.

They had been nine years old, right after Randy was born. Was it fourth grade or third, Tommie wondered, seeing Alvin devour three cookies in almost one bite. Jenny's cooking stuck to Alvin and Tommie was glad. Even Rae had mentioned it. Alvin had always been thin, and after that childhood tumble, different.

Tommie's life had changed too, watching his friend hit the ground with a heavy thud. All the kids gathered, then Amy Sheridan ran to the office screaming her head off; Alvin had fallen, wasn't moving. He was breathing, all Tommie had seen. He'd grabbed Alvin's hand, unaware to not touch an injured person when a fall was involved. The school nurse hadn't been careful either, scooping the stilled boy into her car, rushing Alvin to the hospital.

Tommie smiled as Alvin moved the cookies his way. "You better take some or I'll eat them all." His easy grin was from their youth.

"Yeah, I'd better." Tommie took two, leaving four on the plate.

"Tommie, you think something's wrong with Jenny?"

Stirred from his memories, Tommie smiled. "Alvin, you know...." He lowered his voice. "Jenny might be on her monthly."

Alvin sat still a few seconds. Then he looked down. "Oh Tommie, oh wow." He drummed his fingers on the table. "When I told her yesterday that you were coming, she was kinda mad, I mean, I guess I hadn't told her earlier. That's why she was so upset."

Tommie looked at the plate, taking another cookie. They were oatmeal and chocolate chip, but no raisins. He didn't like raisins in cookies and these were fresh, she had probably baked them that morning. "Well, she's got that look, I see it on Rae every month." On Lexi too, but Tommie let that be.

Clearly agitated, Alvin stood, staring at a sink full of dishes, the pot of leftovers on the stove. "Oh Tommie, I'm so dumb!"

"You're uninformed, not dumb." Tommie stood, his right hand by his side. Only with Rae and their children, Alvin, Jacob, and Sam, did Tommie not hide that mangled collection of digits. He set his left hand on Alvin's shoulder. "It's not something she's gonna mention, you know."

Alvin nodded. He knew the differences between men and women, where babies came from, and how they were born. Tommie had shared that when they were teenagers.

"Oh Tommie, I'm just so, so...."

"Used to living alone. That's all it is."

Alvin looked up. "Did you know, I mean, how'd you tell?"

Tommie moved to the doorway, confirming Jenny was still out of earshot. "How she was walking, not fast like usual. And then when she took those aspirin. Alvin, it's just something from living with a woman. Nothing special about it, just what I'm used to."

Alvin stuffed hands into his pockets. "I don't know anything about girls."

Tommie laughed. "Join the club. You're in the same boat as all the rest of us."

Alvin smiled. "I'm not gonna say anything about it."

"No, don't. Some women talk about that stuff all the time but not always." Tommie had overheard Rae with their girls, was glad his wife was open with them, times changing. Tommie didn't need to know the particulars. He had only told Max about the birds and bees a few years back, enough to share that with his sons.

Alvin looked out the window. "Tommie, someone hurt her, hurt her bad."

"How do you know?"

It was Alvin's turn to check on Jenny's whereabouts. As she thumped above their heads, he pulled Tommie to the kitchen's back door. "She's afraid of thunderstorms."

Tommie smiled. "Well, lots of things people are afraid of."

Alvin shook his head. "No, I can tell. Not the boyfriend she ran away from, but someone else. Someone in Florida, maybe. I dunno."

Jenny's hum was heard. The men moved to the table and were seated as she returned. "You leave me any cookies?" she asked in a better humor.

"One," Alvin grinned. "Tommie ate the rest."

"I did not, he did!"

Jenny giggled, smiling at Tommie. "I know. He's awful."

She poured a glass of water, took one more aspirin, then joined them. Alvin gazed at her, but Tommie was thinking about his friend's words. Instead of studying Jenny, Tommie found something new in Alvin's face. He left that alone as well, wishing for one more cookie.

Chapter 6

On Easter Sunday, Jenny's pulse raced. Dinner with the Smiths was Alvin's tradition and she had tried to make an excuse. But unless Jenny stood at death's door she wouldn't get out of it. Her anxiety had nothing to do with the holiday, only the choice of company.

Jenny stepped from her bath that morning, then shook herself. Not even the company, but the overall meaning, a meal with Alvin's family, the Smiths all the family Alvin had. Jenny had been in town not quite two months, Easter on the thirtieth of March, the holiday arriving early. In those seven weeks, in addition to gaining a roommate, Alvin had put on fifteen pounds. Jenny had maybe put on one, all the walking keeping her trim. But with this dinner, something was descending, a heavy implication waiting.

She wore her robe, hearing Alvin's voice overhead. He had taken a bath last night and they had already eaten a light breakfast. Ham would be served at three and Jenny was bringing oatmeal chocolate chip cookies at Tommie's request. Alvin usually just brought himself, but Jenny had insisted, once she knew there was no escape.

Dressing casually, she would wear a skirt, but not until later. The only nice outfit Jenny owned was a long, granny-style blue skirt, and Alvin had taken her shopping on Thursday for shoes. Not only for some flats, but tennis shoes too. He had noticed the tear in her sneaker, remarking he could see her socks.

She had offered to pay for both pairs, but he had insisted. "I get money every month from Mrs. Carmine, rarely spend any of it. Besides, you're making that blanket for me."

The afghan was nearly finished, the greens and grays blending nicely. Tommie asked if she might make one for them. Jenny had giggled, then was nearly accosted a few days later by Rae, pulling from her driveway. Rae mentioned that blanket, one she also would appreciate, and then Easter dinner. They all hoped Jenny would come, bringing those cookies. Rae's voice had been generous, and Jenny hadn't missed the effort.

With Alvin's blanket almost completed, she would learn that afternoon what colors Tommie and Rae wanted. Betsy had stockpiled yarn, one topic of conversation for the day. Jenny's biggest problem was what to say. Her life was so strange compared to people here, not only Alvin. She was similar to him on another level, but around those without a handicap, Jenny felt alien. Both Tommie and Rae bore scars of misfortune, but not like Alvin's. He was the same as Jenny, her turmoil all inside like his brain damage. She could allow that, unlike Tommie and Rae.

Jenny was younger, nearly ten years their junior. Then there was the matter of her previous existence, where she had lived and with whom, but no marriages. Even in 1975, morals in a small town were those of earlier times. Tying her new tennis shoes, Jenny smiled, accepting her promiscuous reputation, other words popping into her head; loose, wanton, and immoral the more dignified ways to describe her lifestyle. A slut, whore, harlot, and on and on as Jenny made her bed, unwrapping her tresses from the towel. Alvin had asked her to wear her hair down, noting she looked so pretty with it loose. _So pretty_ : no one had ever told her that.

Issues hovered over this Easter dinner, matters Jenny rarely faced. She never associated with such normal people, even those with obvious injuries. Jenny shook her hair, running a large-toothed comb through it. She stared at herself in the mirror, then went downstairs.

She was quiet all morning and Alvin knew why; she wasn't looking forward to going to Tommie's. Alvin wanted to take her out, thought she would be so pretty in her skirt and the new gray flats. He hadn't bothered to dress up yet, wearing his usual attire. He had a new work shirt and a pair of jeans that he would put on right before they left, clothes that felt a bit stiff. He had needed them, having put on some weight, and would save them for other special occasions that required something fancy, but not for a funeral.

Jenny acted like that was where they were going as the smell of chocolate filled the house. She was baking cookies, Tommie's favorites. He had asked Alvin if Jenny could be persuaded to bring them and Alvin hadn't missed her smile when Tommie brought it up a few days back, over lunch. Tommie had started stopping by on Thursdays, Rae busy at their youngest daughter's school. Jenny was now used to Tommie's presence; she got used to things quickly, but the initial adjustment was hard. Alvin had learned that in the seven weeks she had been there. Once she was used to something, she never complained.

Like this dinner; she hadn't argued with him, except on the first night. He had mentioned it and she'd seemed angry. Did she not like Easter, he had asked, and she had shaken her head, only said did they have to go?

Alvin liked Easter and had been sharing it with the Smiths even before his mother died. After Adam went to Vietnam, Alvin, Randy, and Betsy had been at Tommie's, better than at the Carmines. For many years the Harris family had spent that holiday with Mr. and Mrs. Carmine, but Alvin always felt odd there, like he didn't belong. Harold Carmine never talked to him and Bonnie gave him strange looks. Then Tommie and Rae invited the family, after Lorraine had gotten married and moved out. Maybe it was Lorraine who had made things difficult. Alvin wasn't sure, dates and people not sticking, but once he had spent Easter with Tommie and Rae, Alvin insisted that was the family's tradition. His mother hadn't argued, seemed happy for the change.

Those last years of Betsy's life were ones Alvin also had trouble keeping straight. She died in 1970, three years after Adam. She had suffered after his death and when Randy ran away, it seemed to break her. Alvin wished he'd been smarter, able to comfort her, what he wished he could do for Jenny. He couldn't help her any more than his mother, but with Jenny, there were other feelings too.

From the kitchen doorway Alvin watched as she set another cookie sheet into the oven. Racks of cookies cooled on the counters, some on the table. She would fill their jar, take a generous plate to Tommie's, and from the looks of it, maybe freeze some. Jenny knew so much about cooking and the warm sweetness made Alvin's stomach rumble.

"You getting hungry?" she asked, turning to him with a smile.

Alvin took a cookie from the table. "I better not eat much or Rae'll give me the what-for."

Jenny giggled and Alvin was glad. Maybe she wasn't so sad about where they were going. Honestly, Alvin didn't understand. Tommie came for lunch now on Thursdays, two of them in a row. Jenny talked with Rae and was going to make them a blanket. Why was she so worried?

"Well, maybe you should have half a sandwich. What time are we eating?"

"About three." He gazed at the cookies. "Yeah, maybe I should have a little something."

Jenny gave him another smile, then pulled peanut butter from the cupboard. Before the next batch of cookies was done, Alvin had a half sandwich in front of him and a glass of milk. Jenny set the same across and joined him, cookies moved to the edges.

Alvin loved this time with her alone. The only part of the day he wasn't looking forward to was sharing her. They could talk or just sit quiet, either way was fine. He loved looking at her face, small freckles around her nose, her smile warm and lovely, her eyes so open, but not that day. "Jenny," he began, swallowing a drink of milk. "Why don't you wanna go to Tommie's?"

She seemed startled, then the timer chimed, and she jumped, checking the cookies in the oven. She lingered over them, then pulled that tray out, putting in another. She set the timer, but didn't return to the table.

Alvin finished his lunch, taking the empty plate and glass to the sink. There were measuring spoons and cups, a bowl she cracked the eggs in to keep the shell out of the batter. Jenny had her ways, Alvin had found, keeping things separate from each other.

He stood near the sink, leaving space between them. It was rare; she wasn't afraid of him. Didn't mind his faults, never acted like he was going to give her his problems. Alvin didn't have many troubles, then it hit him; Jenny did.

She did, but none you could see. She didn't have a bad leg or hand, or a bad head. Inside her was the damage and Alvin felt that gift wash over him. "Jenny, who hurt you?"

His words slipped gently, but they had been taken far more painfully than how he had said them. She had been staring into the kitchen, maybe listening to the timer, little bits of sound that had been smashed by his voice.

Her color drained as though his tone was that of the dreaded thunderstorm. Alvin felt awful, like when saying his dead brother's name in front of his mother. Sometimes _Adam_ had slipped, Alvin remembering a funny thing Adam had said or done, and that name would make Betsy cry.

"Oh Jenny Cope, I'm sorry," Alvin whispered as she shook while clutching the counter.

"No, no, it's okay," was all she muttered, but Alvin knew it wasn't. His mother always said the same before leaving the room. Alvin would hear her run upstairs, close her door, shedding tears for her son killed in a war that had nothing to do with the farm or rain. Alvin knew Vietnam only from what he had seen on the evening news and never could he picture his easygoing little brother standing in the jungle with a rifle in his hand.

Alvin had never felt compelled to comfort his mother, but again, Jenny was different. "Oh listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I mean...." He moved toward her as hands went to her face, tears emerging.

"Jenny, please don't cry. I'm sorry, really really sorry. I just don't understand things, you know? Like you seem okay with Tommie now, Rae too. She doesn't hate you or anything. Tommie says she just takes time to warm up to people."

Standing in front of Jenny, Alvin didn't know if he should grasp her hands or wipe her tears.

"A-Alvin, I'm nothing like any of you."

That sentence sat in the room, hovering over cookies and sandwiches, like an unspoken mist Alvin could smell. It was nothing he knew, nor was it nice. Something rotten, like a bad egg.

"Jenny, whatdya mean?"

Alvin still couldn't touch her but Jenny trembled. Then the timer went and she jerked from her spot. Alvin backed away, letting her remove the cookies. Dough remained in the bowl, but Jenny only set the pan on the stove.

Then she faced him, tears pouring. "Alvin, oh my god, if you knew the life I've led...."

He approached, clasping her hands with great unease. "Jenny, none of that matters now."

Her voice came from somewhere cold, slipping from an edgy smile Alvin had never seen, not even from his sister. "A cat doesn't change its stripes. What you think," Jenny pointed to her heart, "doesn't really exist."

Alvin sat in the kitchen alone, having turned off the oven, putting the remaining dough in the refrigerator. Then he ate a cookie. Jenny had run outside and from the kitchen window, he'd watched her head to the barn. As far as he knew, she was still there.

It was twelve thirty, but Tommie wasn't expecting them until two. Alvin didn't want to call and cancel; he wanted to take Jenny to Easter dinner. He wanted to take out whatever was inside her, but it was probably easier to call Tommie instead.

Alvin stewed, thinking of her voice. Not nasty, but tired and brittle, how Mrs. Carmine talked to him, just as close to unfriendly as you could get without going over. He had never done anything to Mrs. Carmine, but she spoke like that to everyone. Even to her husband, so Alvin wasn't overly bothered by her tone. Only a way to describe Jenny's voice, just like Bonnie Carmine.

Except that wasn't how Jenny spoke. Jenny Cope was kind and caring, not at all like Mrs. Carmine. Mr. and Mrs. Carmine didn't have any kids and Alvin always thought that was good; the way Mrs. Carmine talked to him, and to everyone else, wasn't the way a mother should speak. Rae sometimes got mad, both she and Tommie could yell a streak, but it didn't happen often. They were good parents who loved their kids, kids that Alvin could name on sight, but not from far away. He would chat about baseball with the boys, give the girls a quick _hi_ , then get back to Jenny, if Jenny went with him.

Alvin gazed at the cookies, then stood. If he stayed there, he would eat another, and while Rae would excuse him from taking peas that he hated, if he avoided any other part of the meal, he'd be on her list. Would he go alone? If he did, what would he say? Moving to the window, Alvin looked to the barn, didn't see Jenny anywhere. She didn't drive and he wasn't sure why, but she didn't. Maybe she had gone for a walk.

Stepping outside, he heard tears. Heading to the barn, the sound grew louder, and it made him ache, his mother's cries having done that too. Alvin had felt bad that Adam's death didn't stay with him long, but it had lingered within their mother, and after Randy's departure, it had killed her. That's why Alvin hadn't mourned her; she hadn't wanted to be there. He missed the company, but her death was something he understood. And after she died, Lorraine didn't come around anymore.

"Jenny, Jenny?" The crying stopped, but climbing the ladder into the loft, Alvin knew where she was. Old hay bales fringed the edges, and Jenny was curled into the far corner. Alvin found her from her new sneakers sticking out.

"Just go away." Her voice was still sad, but no longer spiteful.

Alvin went to his knees, glad he hadn't put on his new jeans. He crawled to where she hid, her face turned toward the wall.

"Jenny, oh I'm sorry." Alvin reached for her knee, expecting her to jerk. She didn't move.

"Alvin please," she whispered.

"We don't have to go today, really. I can call Tommie, make an excuse."

She turned to him, eyes red, the lids puffy, like they hurt. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped her cheeks. "It's okay, really."

"It's not. I'm just a whore."

Alvin moved back. "Jenny, oh jeez, don't say that!"

She sat up, wiping her nose on her apron. "Oh god, I am. Everyone here knows it. How many looks have I gotten in town, guys hoping for some. Christ, it never ends!"

"Who?" he shouted. "Who's looked at you that way?"

Jenny stared to the wall opposite. "Guys like all the ones I've ever fucked."

Her language cut into him and he fought the urge to leave her.

Then she stared at him. " _Fucked_ Alvin, that's all I do. I screw guys I've only just met, guys I'm sure never gave one shit for me except for a nice free lay."

"Jenny please, don't say this stuff."

She pulled up her knees. "Why not? It's the truth. You're living with a slut and maybe they all think you're getting some too. I could, you know."

Swallowing hard, Alvin knew this tone, mean people wanting to hurt him with cruel words, intentions now that he was older were far and few between. But when younger, someone with a chip on their shoulder had taken their anger out on him. Yet Jenny wasn't like those others. She took her hurts out on herself.

He let her words pass, giving the handkerchief to her. Then he sat beside her, feeling her moving toward the wall. Every scoot she made, he matched, until she had run out of room.

"Go away Alvin." Her tone was rough. "Go have Easter with your friends!"

"No."

From the corner of his left eye, he saw her looking his way. "I mean it," she barked.

Alvin reached for her hand, grasping it with a small bit of force. Her fingers were cold, but he held on, even though she struggled to get free. "Jenny Cope, you're my friend. I don't like it when people say bad things about my friends."

Her efforts to shake loose ceased and she leaned his way. Then Alvin placed his arms around her as she began to wail.

Chapter 7

Arriving at the Smiths', Jenny gripped Alvin's hand. She looked a mess, but he had been convincing on the phone, telling Tommie she'd had a good scare, Alvin in the tree, getting the cat down. A yellow tabby occasionally got stuck in the huge beech in the front yard. While Jenny hadn't yet seen Alvin scramble up, he claimed to have done it often. It used to frighten his mother, especially after his fall, but that hadn't stopped him from climbing.

Jenny had taken three aspirins to combat a headache that still lingered at her temples, faint but present, like the memory of Alvin's arms around her, his words in her ears; she wasn't any of those things she had said, she was his friend. Standing on Tommie's front porch, Jenny couldn't set aside what she had always known as truth.

Alvin knocked, Lexi answering the door. "Hi!" But her grin was fleeting.

"Hey Lexi," Alvin smiled. "Happy Easter."

"Happy Easter Alvin, you too Jenny." Lexi stepped back as Alvin opened the screen door.

Holding a plate of cookies, Jenny nodded at Lexi. Jenny's eyes were still bloated, but there was nothing to be done.

They were led through, noise wafting from the television and kids' chatter. Jenny had never been to Tommie's house and it was as she expected, lived-in but tidy for the day. Good smells emanated from the kitchen down the hallway, where more sound was detected. To the left was the living room, and Jenny glanced at Max and a young man who must be Steve, the one Smith offspring she hadn't met. From a glimpse, Jenny saw Tommie's double stretched over the sofa. With arms folded over his chest, Steve perched his feet on the coffee table, giving a perfunctory _hello_ to Alvin as they passed.

Along the hall, Jenny noted family shots and kids' school photographs, one of Lexi in a formal gown, maybe at prom? Pictures hung of the boys dressed in baseball uniforms, one of the girls on a horse. Several of the kids as babies and toddlers, all the frames recently dusted. To the right was the dining room, the table neatly set. Alvin's grip tightened and Jenny was glad for it. All she wanted to do was run.

She had correctly imagined a loving family with a collection of pluses and minuses recorded in framed pictures, laconic teenagers, and clutter conveniently hidden for the afternoon. Jenny inhaled, then released a sigh.

"Alvin?" Tommie laughed. "You got those cookies?"

"We do," came the answer.

Tommie appeared from the kitchen and like his daughter did a double take. Then he smiled, giving Jenny a gentle kiss, slapping Alvin's right shoulder. "You know, one of these days he's gonna fall right outta that damn tree, really do some damage."

Jenny glanced down, seeing the cookies leave her hands. "Uh-huh." She missed the men's exchange; Tommie gave Alvin a look and Alvin nodded his head.

"You give me those or we'll never see them again." Alvin took the plate from Tommie, heading to the kitchen as Tommie led Jenny to the dining room.

More pictures lined the walls, but these were older, Tommie using his baseball bat as a cane, that right hand whole and well. In photographs at the couple's wedding, Tommie's hand was concealed.

"Jenny, I'm glad you're here."

She didn't say anything, gazing at the frames.

Tipping her head his way, Tommie gave her another peck on the cheek. "Happy Easter Jenny."

She couldn't help her smile. "Happy Easter Tommie. Thanks for having me."

Using his right hand, he brushed it along her left arm. "It'll be fine, you know?"

Jenny nodded, clasping that wrecked hand, tenderly stroking mangled fingers.

Ninety minutes later the meal was gone, demolished by the four males. Alana was quiet like Steve, Max and Lexi speaking the most. Or more than their siblings; Alvin, Tommie, and Rae carried the bulk.

In her silence, Jenny noted the couple's devotion, but such differing temperaments. Tommie talked, but Rae had the fire, from where Max and Lexi inherited their voices. Steve said maybe two words when baseball was mentioned and Jenny found the resemblance between father and son uncanny, medium-sized brown eyes, straight noses, wide smiles. Tommie wasn't trying to live through his offspring. Steve's talent was for pitching while Tommie had been a fielder, but deep love for the game ran through both.

Then to the Smith women, Lexi and Alana blonde like their mother, with gray eyes and round faces. Rae offered her opinions on this and that, but Jenny had pried a few words from the girls about Joni Mitchell and Elton John. That was all Jenny contributed. Otherwise she sat next to Alvin, his hand under the table offering an occasional squeeze. Rae complained about their neighbors, the kids' schools, and the rain. Only with the weather did she include any laughter.

This family was Alvin's not by blood but proximity, longevity, necessity. He was relaxed with them, even the kids, who he did address by name, pulling two sentences from Steve about the San Francisco Giants, both wishing for a baseball team closer. Seattle was in line for a football team, the Seahawks joining the NFL next year. Steve and Max discussed sports, Max more inclined toward the gridiron. Then as Lexi and Alana cleared the table, Jenny noticed the adults were alone.

She hadn't looked at herself since arriving and no one had mentioned anything. Rae had stared, but owned the good sense to keep quiet. Jenny's headache was gone, but she wanted a night's rest to erase her biggest meltdown in memory.

She hadn't erupted like that during therapy, never releasing so much at one time. Alvin had held her, not tightly, but with arms that had kept her from falling apart. She hadn't spoken while bawling her head off, trying to breathe, the scent of musty hay filling her lungs. She could still smell it, even in this house, mixed with ham and scalloped potatoes.

Alvin and Tommie's voices were interspersed with Rae's and Jenny closed her eyes, relieved the kids were gone. She had enjoyed talking about music with the girls, not so far from caring about her favorite movies and artists. She had left records with Alan in Jacksonville, 8-tracks with Buster in Miami. Her Elton John and Joni Mitchell cassettes were in Las Cruces; Tony had hidden them, hoping to keep her there. She had been furious, but time had grown short, and she had fled without them. Alvin didn't have a stereo, no way to have played them, but _Court and Spark_ and _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_ were now in the hands of a stoned idiot, and Jenny would never see those tapes again.

She leaned back, resting her head on Alvin's shoulder. How many possessions had she abandoned at seventeen? Only taking the minimum of clothes, she had agonized over the few scraps of her youth worth keeping; two small stuffed animals were shoved in her duffel, the same bag she had carried into Arkendale. That bag had traveled to Georgia, Florida, New Mexico, and now Oregon. Feeling Alvin's warm squeeze, Jenny wondered if this was her last stop.

Jenny's belongings were scattered all over the southeast, then one state in the southwest, but it had begun in Colorado. Having run from home with only the basics, Jenny hadn't looked back. She had left her driver's license there too, and since 1963, hadn't legally driven a car. She still knew how, but hadn't wanted anyone to trace her, wishing to disappear. That was how she had felt arriving at the Smiths that day, her face a broken mess of spilled tears. She had wished to slip into the shadows unnoticed. Yet, here she was, and it was okay. Nobody had intruded on her agony, plainly displayed.

There in the dining room, no one was perfect. Jenny looked as much of a mess as Tommie's right hand, Rae's left leg, Alvin's head. His skull housed a tangle of gray matter no one could fix and Jenny heard his laughter. She didn't know the cause, but it was warm and honest, the first man in her life she didn't fear.

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts. Shifting in her seat, she stared to the doorway. Tommie stood with a grin as if aware of the caller. "Well, I'll be," he said, reaching the hall. "Jacob, Sam, what the hell you two doing here?"

Jenny gazed down, then at Alvin, whose face held a happy smile. He joined Tommie, Rae also with a pleased expression.

"Well, when little brother comes down, gotta go see Tommie and Alvin," said a voice unfamiliar to Jenny. She knew Jacob Cassel as the other member of Alvin's contingent, had heard there was a younger brother, vaguely recalling Alvin mentioning Sam.

The siblings stepped through, six-packs of beer in their hands, and Jenny wished she could hide. Stealing looks, she observed the taller man with curly brown hair kiss Rae, then turn her way.

"You must be Jenny," Jacob said, moving behind Tommie's wife.

Alvin came from the other side and Jenny was trapped. "Uh yeah."

"Jenny, this is Jacob Cassel. And that's his brother Sam." Alvin pointed to the shorter, bearded man still in the doorway.

Jacob's voice boomed as Tommie took four beers, opening them all, giving one to each man. He handed one to Rae, left it unopened. Then Tommie caught Jenny's eyes. She shook her head and he smiled.

Jenny looked at Jacob's brother, sipping his beer. Sam offered a small grin, taking the seat next to Alvin. Alvin had one drink, then set the can down.

Jacob and Rae chatted as Tommie, Sam, and Alvin caught up; Sam had traveled the night before, surprising the family for Easter. Jacob's wife Debbie was at home with their kids and the brothers' mother Maisie, the siblings out for a short chat. It turned into one much longer as six o'clock rolled around, but Alvin was still on that first beer while nearly all the rest had been consumed.

After a time Jenny had excused herself to the bathroom. Instead of returning to the group, she started washing dishes. Only when Alvin came looking for her was her isolation broken.

"Hey, I missed you," he said. "Boy, the girls are gonna be happy."

Jenny smiled. "I thought one of them popped in, but they didn't stay long."

"You okay?"

She nodded. "They don't look alike."

"Jacob and Sam?" Alvin chuckled. "Yeah, and they're not alike either. Jacob's really loud, kind of grumbly too. But he's had a few beers. Nothing's gonna bother him now."

Footsteps were heard and Alvin turned. "Hey, Sam. Boy, you sure know how to surprise people."

Jenny didn't move as Sam set his empty can on the table. "Yeah well, didn't make it down for Christmas and Mom's still kinda sore at me."

His voice was lost as Steve and Max joined them. The plate of cookies was opened, those in the kitchen with the first sample.

"Who made these?" Sam asked, his mouth full.

"Jenny did," Alvin smiled.

"Well, now I know why you're looking so filled out. Jenny, these are great."

Alvin laughed as she turned around, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She smiled, finding Sam's gray eyes on her. "Thanks."

He took another cookie as the boys left with hands full. The plate was still loaded and Alvin took another. "I better give these to Tommie or he'll come to our house tomorrow looking for his share."

"I can do it," Jenny said.

Alvin had the plate in his hands. "I'll be right back."

Jenny fiddled with the dishcloth as Sam cleared his throat. "I've heard a lot about you, you know, from Jacob." Sam moved toward her. "Alvin looks so much better with weight on him. From these cookies, I see why."

She smiled. "Well, he's not picky."

"Oh, he doesn't like peas," Sam laughed.

"You do know him."

"Yeah. Alvin's been another big brother all my life."

Jenny nodded. "He's got good friends, good people around him."

"Yeah, he does," Sam smiled. Quickly he grasped her hand, offering a gentle squeeze, then he released her. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him."

Jenny looked into eyes that seemed to know her. The face was familiar, but under the beard, moustache, and long, tousled brown hair, she couldn't place from where. Sam looked at her not as other men stared, which seemed odd. This man gazed at her as Alvin did, nothing expected.

"Boy, he was glad to see those cookies," Alvin said, rejoining them. "But if you want any more, you're gonna have to fight for 'em."

Sam smiled. "I'll go a few rounds." He patted Alvin's shoulder, then left the kitchen.

Alvin moved to Jenny, brushing back her hair. "He really likes those cookies."

She inhaled, glad for his return. "Well, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Jenny, we can go any time. I mean, it's been nice seeing Jacob and Sam, what a surprise." He looked at the cleaned kitchen. "You got on Tommie's good side with those cookies and boy, what's Rae gonna say when she sees this!" His laughter filled the room.

Jenny's heart lifted as she reached for Alvin's hands. "Whenever you're ready to go."

Tommie escorted them to the door, giving Jenny another kiss. "You're tops in Rae's book now."

Jenny smiled. "It's the least I can do. Thanks for the lovely dinner."

Rae had been sandwiched between the Cassel brothers and after the long day hadn't been up to moving, Tommie explained as he walked Jenny to the car. Alvin waited in the driver's seat, warming the engine.

"Tommie," Jenny began, but he shook his head.

"Thanks for the cookies and for coming." He smiled. "Tell Alvin to keep outta that damned tree."

Jenny nodded as Tommie's right hand brushed along her shoulder. Then she got in the car, an aged Buick four-door that Betsy had driven. Alvin had kept it around as an extra vehicle. Now with Jenny's presence, even though she didn't drive, it came in handy, nicer than the work truck.

It was dark as Tommie ambled into the house, noise from the kids and the dining room where the Cassel brothers and Rae still gabbed. Mostly Rae and Jacob, who'd had several beers. Tommie was thankful Sam had drunk only two; Jacob was in no shape to drive them back to town.

Tommie's girls dried the dishes, and had told Jenny _thank you_ , he was glad to hear. His sons were sacked out on the couch, watching _The Ten Commandments_ , and Tommie smiled, the traditional Easter fare.

He reached the dining room finding Jacob and Rae in laughter, Sam nursing a cookie. The plate was nearly empty and Tommie took one, sitting next to his wife. "Kitchen's nearly done."

"I'm gonna have to thank her proper next time I see her."

"She's a looker, that's for sure," Jacob chuckled.

"Watch what you say," Tommie smiled.

"Jenny's a good girl." Rae's words were slightly slurred.

Tommie patted her hand; he knew her leg was bothering her. Usually she never drank more than one, but she had been on her feet all day. With three empty cans in front of her, Rae had taken off the edge.

Jacob took a cookie and ate it in two bites. "Well, she sure knows how to bake, no offense Rae," he smiled.

"Yes she does. You see how much weight Alvin's put on? All in what, less than two months." Rae's voice carried no trace of anger.

Sam took another cookie. "When'd she get here?"

"Beginning February, I think," Tommie said. "Came in on the bus with Sylvia Baxter."

"From Arizona," Jacob mumbled. His eyes were closed and he leaned back in his chair.

"Las Cruces, New Mexico," Tommie corrected.

"Whatever," Jacob said.

"She here permanently?" Sam asked.

Tommie moved forward. Both Rae and Jacob had closed eyes, but Sam's were wide. "Maybe. She's been on her own a long time, since she was nearly Lexi's age."

With Jacob and Rae, Tommie wouldn't spill much, but Sam would keep things to himself. Tommie stood, then nodded to Sam, who followed, leaving Rae and Jacob to their naps.

Tommie walked to the front porch. The evening was cool, but warmer days were coming, the grass looking brighter, daffodils poking up, tulips not far behind. Tommie loved spring, moving cows from the barn, longer days that meant for nights sitting with Rae in the porch swing. It was a simple, pleasant life, not what he had planned when he was Steve's age, but better than most.

Sam stood on the step, looking into the night. Tommie had lived in Arkendale all his life, Jacob too, but Sam had left for college, not returning. There were reasons for that, ones that Tommie understood better than Jacob. Jacob was always harping on his brother to come home, but Sam had gone from Eugene to Portland, only returning for holidays. This trip had made up for his absence at Christmas, but better for Sam to stay in the city. He was an ad man for a newspaper, nothing like that for him in this small town, where everyone knew everything. Like Alvin, Sam was another walking wounded, and no one would want him with all that baggage.
Yet, Alvin had found someone, or maybe Jenny had found him. Tommie hadn't missed their body language during dinner. He also hadn't missed how God-awful Jenny appeared when they arrived and he knew that cat hadn't been up in the tree. Whatever had made Jenny fall apart seemed to have been covered with that small fib, enough for her to come with Alvin.

"What's her story?" Sam asked, interrupting Tommie's thoughts.

"She just showed up and Alvin took her in. I don't really know much else."

Sam scuffed his foot along the step. "She sure looked like shit tonight."

"Yeah well, you should've seen her when they got here."

"They get into a fight or something?"

Tommie wanted to smile, hearing the same concern in Sam's voice as in Alvin's. But Sam lived far away, the type of man who would only inquire. If anything existed between Alvin and Jenny, Sam would do no more than look.

"No fight. She's just got a lot underneath."

Sam nodded, staring into the darkness. "Pretty young to be on her own for so long."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, Alvin'll look after her."

Tommie heard wistfulness, that if Sam was here, he would probably look after her too. "Yeah, he'll keep an eye on her."

Sam smiled. "Apple never falls far from the tree, does it? You think I'll ever learn?"

Tommie laughed. "Man, will any of us?"

Sam chuckled. "No, probably not."

They gazed into the night, hearing laughter of their loved ones. Then Tommie led Sam back inside the house.

Chapter 8

All of Jenny's subsequent trips to town were with Alvin in tow. He didn't mind if she walked their road alone, but after her words in the barn, he didn't want her unaccompanied in Arkendale proper. As he expected, she fussed a bit, then said nothing more.

For two weeks, Jenny was subdued, busy with the blanket for the Smiths. Rae had visited a few days after Easter, bringing flowers and pound cake to thank Jenny for helping with the dishes. Jenny had seemed somewhat embarrassed, Alvin present when Rae arrived. Soon he left them, the talk turning to things he didn't care to hear. Personal things, as though he wasn't in the room.

He had been glad to leave them like two cackling hens, as Tommie liked to say. Rae had accepted Jenny and if the cost of that approval hadn't been so high, Alvin would have been on a cloud. Jenny still wore scars from Easter, her manner slightly aloof, her temperament dulled. Alvin tried to lighten her mood, but Jenny's funk continued.

Tommie didn't have any good ideas, Alvin sharing all but Jenny's coarse language with his friend. Tommie's advice was to let her be. If she really felt that way, there was nothing Alvin could do but allow time to speak for him, but Tommie's voice was troubled. Alvin hadn't missed that, then was perplexed with his friend's next words, that Jenny owned so little self esteem. Once Tommie explained, Alvin understood, exactly how he had felt as a kid. Those days were long gone, but memories of being the odd one out still lingered. Some things he forgot at the drop of a hat, but Alvin recalled that notion perfectly.

Robert Tucker and Jasper Wilkins still gave him looks, even though all were same age. They never bothered Alvin when he was with Tommie or Jacob, but alone he felt them waiting for him to make a mistake so they could point it out to everybody. Not that their lives were anything special; Robert still lived at home, wasn't married, helping at his dad's garage. Jasper had been divorced twice and didn't seem any smarter than Alvin. He'd gone to jail, and now lived in a little trailer near Lambert, the guy who grew marijuana. The last time Alvin had seen Jasper, he looked a lot like Todd Lambert, red-eyed and acting funny.

Todd and Jasper were stoned, how Tommie described them, how Jenny spoke of that New Mexico boyfriend, but Alvin was sure he wasn't the one who had hurt her. Jenny's pain went so deep that when she'd cried in the barn, Alvin had wondered if she might pass out. She had wept from something so buried under her pretty smiles, those lovely brown eyes had been red for two days. For two days she had looked awful and now, two weeks later, she still wasn't over it.

They needed groceries and Jenny's list was long, all sorts of things Alvin never knew went into cookies, breads, gravies, and soups. Alvin had always taken his mother shopping, avoiding Robert and Jasper. In his early thirties they had still pestered him, but now, approaching forty, both had backed off. Yet, Alvin had to wonder; were they the guys Jenny had meant?

Had they bothered her with rude looks, unkind words? Probably not Robert, for he was like Alvin, shy around girls. Most likely Jasper had said something, especially if he was stoned.

Alvin stifled a giggle. Here he was, thirty-eight years old, sitting next to a pretty girl, thinking about someone being stoned. What would his mother say?

She wouldn't have liked it, but it was the middle of the 1970s, the middle of April, and Jenny was still sad. Alvin parked the Buick and watched her slowly unbuckle the seat belt. She hadn't told him why she didn't drive, but she could, moving the truck while he pulled out the car. He had watched her from the rear view mirror; she knew _how_ to drive, but chose not to.

"Hey Jenny, before we go home, I gotta pick up a couple things at the hardware store."

"Oh, you can do it now. I have a lot to get."

Alvin squeezed her hand. "I don't mind pushing the cart."

Her smile emerged. "Whatever you want."

They walked in together, Alvin receiving waves, _hello's_ and _how are you's_. As Jenny studied her list, Alvin chatted with Fred Hooper, a friend of Tommie's. Then Mrs. Carmine approached.

Alvin said his goodbyes and hurried to Jenny's side. She knew a few people; Jacob Cassel always said _hi_ when they saw him in town. This, however, was the first time Alvin had been with Jenny in Bonnie Carmine's presence.

"Well hello Alvin." Bonnie's tone was stilted. "How are you today?"

Alvin nodded. "Oh, hey Mrs. Carmine. I'm fine. This here's Jenny, Jenny Cope. Jenny, this's Mrs. Carmine."

Jenny offered a no-nonsense stare to the gray-haired woman across the aisle. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. I've heard about you, from Sylvia Baxter. She can't say enough kind things about Alvin's houseguest." Bonnie accentuated that last word.

"Sylvia's a lovely lady," Jenny smiled.

There was silence, but Alvin felt something in the air, a battle all in faces. He had been honest with Jenny about how Bonnie Carmine held the accounts for the farm, sending him a check every month for living expenses, and how darn unfriendly she was about everything. She never had a nice word, never stopped by unless it was about something she thought needed his attention. Why his mother had been friends with such a stingy person, Alvin would never understand.

"Well uh, did you have a nice Easter?" he asked her.

"Oh yes, Harold and I had ham. And I assume you were with Tommie and Rae?" Bonnie sniffed her words.

"Yes, it was really wonderful." Jenny's voice was pleasant. "They have such a great family."

"Well, yes they do. That boy of theirs, I hear he's as good of a ball player as his father had been."

_Had been_ stirred in Alvin's gut _._ Everyone knew Tommie used to play and Alvin wanted to slap the smirk off Bonnie's powdered, hurtful face.

Jenny smiled. "Yeah, they look so much alike. It was the first time I'd met Steve."

Jenny sounded like Lorraine, the way she had talked down to him. Jenny didn't feel she needed to be nice to Bonnie Carmine. Alvin wanted to laugh, amazed to see someone match Bonnie word for word, but he only watched.

He wasn't alone, as a quiet gathering had paused in the canned fruit and vegetable aisle. He looked behind to Gladys Miller and her husband Tank. They weren't fond of the Carmines, Tank and Harold nursing an old feud over a fender bender from at least ten years before. On the other side of Bonnie stood Ray and Ann Gardner, the Carmines' next door neighbors. Alvin was sure Bonnie had poisoned their cat that she had claimed always used her flower beds for a litter box. All these bits had been passed from his mother, from Tommie, Rae, and Jacob, finding a place in Alvin's head. Bonnie wasn't a pill just toward him, but to everyone in town.

The Carmines were rich, everyone knew that too. Harold had retired from his postal route at fifty-five over ten years ago. No one knew just _how_ wealthy they were, but they owned a new Lincoln Continental, took vacations to Idaho and Montana every summer and not on the bus as Sylvia Baxter traveled. Harold and Bonnie _flew_ to places, even as far as Chicago. Alvin had heard all about that trip, back before his mother died.

Then Alvin heard Jenny's mocking voice. Focusing on the disrespectful sound, Alvin missed her words, but Bonnie's shaken face made him lose the giggle he'd been holding. And from the sound of it, Tank Miller too.

Bonnie stood astonished and Alvin wished he had caught Jenny's words. He did see Ray Gardner's gaping mouth, his wife Ann's huge smile shining.

"Well Alvin, it was nice to see you. And Jenny, I'm glad we finally met." Bonnie's voice was weak, but she moved down the aisle more quickly than Alvin had ever seen.

He watched Ray and Ann give Jenny a thumbs-up, Gladys and Tank coming toward them, Tank's hand on Jenny's shoulder.

"I missed it," Alvin said. "What'd you say to her?"

"Oh, just what she's been needing to hear for about twenty-five years," Tank laughed. "Honey, she'll have her nose outta joint for a week!"

Jenny said nothing, flashing a tiny smile.

As Alvin hurried them through the store, Jenny complained she was going to forget something, but since she wouldn't repeat her words until they were done, he was dying to leave. By the time they reached the front, a buzz hovered, those words having filtered through the entire building. As Alvin paid, the checker winked at Jenny, yet she remained silent.

They reached the Buick, and Jenny helped Alvin put groceries in the trunk. "I'll wait here while you go to the hardware store," she said, stepping toward her door.

"Jenny, I'm not going anywhere till you tell me what you said to Mrs. Carmine."

She smiled, the first real joy he'd seen on her since Easter, and both got inside the car. "I just made it plain I knew what kind of person she was. I don't think she missed my meaning."

"What kinda person's that?"

Jenny looked out her window, then returned to Alvin's gaze. "Just that as your roommate, I noticed you work pretty hard to keep the farm going with such, well, outdated equipment. She asked what I did and I said with a broken dryer and a washer on its last legs, I was just glad to lend a hand, seeing how busy you were, trying to fix things." Jenny sighed. "She seemed to think I wasn't doing anything except sponging off you. Just wanted to set her straight."

Alvin's jaw dropped. The washer was always giving Jenny fits and he had asked Bonnie to send a repairman. The dryer hadn't worked in years, Alvin not good at mending appliances. "Oh Jenny, oh man. I'm sorry, I mean, I shoulda said something to her."

"You have Alvin and she doesn't give a crap." Jenny looked out again. "I know she's in charge of the purse strings, but that doesn't mean you have to live in squalor."

Alvin hadn't given it much thought, in that most of his requests fell on Bonnie's deaf ears. Only if Tommie said something, which was how Alvin had new tires on the truck, the leaky sink fixed a few months before Jenny arrived. Alvin had let those things slip, not wanting to bother Bonnie Carmine, bother or deal with her, either one.

"Alvin, I don't care what she thinks of me, that's pretty plain. But I hate seeing how you work your ass off and...." Jenny stopped, staring toward the store.

"Jenny, I'm sorry I haven't gone to her sooner about the dryer. I mean, with all the rain we get, you should have a proper dryer."

"No Alvin, you should. This isn't about me. It's about her treating you like, like...."

"Like I'm some retard that doesn't know any better."

Jenny turned back. "Don't say things like that."

The cold things waited, so did the hardware store, but Alvin grasped her hands. "Just like you Jenny Cope. Saying things about yourself that aren't nice or even true. I know I'm not retarded, but sometimes I feel that way, like now. Not seeing what everyone else does, or maybe not wanting to see it. Maybe it's easier to let things go."

People passed and Alvin felt unmistakable stares. He didn't care.

"You're right," she said after a minute. "God, you're right. Crap." Jenny leaned back, then put on her seat belt. "Listen, if you hurry, you can get over there."

Alvin shook his head, starting the car. "I'll come back tomorrow. Need to get that ice cream in the freezer."

He backed out and drove away. Neither said another word the entire trip home.

Two weeks later, Alvin owned a new washer and dryer, set up in the small shed to the right of the barn. Tommie had helped with the installation and Alvin called Bonnie that night, thanking her for the new equipment. She was clipped on the phone, but Alvin felt the overture was necessary. Not only for the items, but for Jenny's return.

After that confrontation, Jenny's mood had gone back to its previous pleasant nature. Alvin didn't really reap the reward of the new washer, but Jenny's joy was music to his ears, and he thought it amusing that while Jenny now had a dryer, she still hung clothes on the line, weather permitting. Only towels and jeans regularly went into the new machine and both commented on how soft they were dried by the Maytag.

Yet, there was still something, Tommie noting it. Jenny had made lunch on Thursday, the twenty-fourth of April, and after they were finished, she took out a load of clothes, a smile on her face. Once the door shut, Tommie grabbed a toothpick, leaning back in his chair. Poking at a back tooth, he gazed toward the kitchen window.

"Well, she sure likes that washer," Alvin said, taking a toothpick.

Tommie smiled. "Yeah. I still can't believe she had the guts to say something to Bonnie."

"I think she was tired of messing with that washing machine," Alvin sighed.

"Maybe. Or she was taking her feelings out on someone else."

Alvin set the toothpick on his plate. Jenny had made vegetable lasagna, a recipe from her friend Joni in Tampa Bay. Florida was a long ways away and Alvin hadn't thought much of that, but the lasagna was very good. He had planted most of the garden and she had asked him to put in eggplant and extra crookneck squash. She was going to freeze a lot of stuff, not big on canning like his mother had been. Alvin then stared at his friend. "You know Tommie, I bet that was it 'cause after Jenny met Bonnie, she was so much like how she was before, I mean, like she is now, all happy again."

Tommie nodded, then looked to the floor. "Alvin, she was talking a lot today about the weather. You notice that?"

Alvin nodded, then shook his head. "I guess I was too busy eating. That lasagna sure was good."

"It was," Tommie laughed. Rae made lasagna, but the kids would have raised hell if she served something full of vegetables. Jenny had a different way of cooking and as long as she omitted peas, Alvin would eat anything. "But you know, I watched her the day we set up the washer and dryer. Pretty cloudy, thunderstorm clouds. Today too. Her eyes were on those clouds, on the sky." Tommie set down his toothpick. "She say any more about that?"

Tommie wasn't nosy, only picking up the slack that Alvin would miss. Tommie had tucked away all Alvin had said about Jenny's Easter meltdown, hadn't breathed a word of it to Rae. She and Jenny were now fast friends, but Rae wouldn't note what Jenny might have left unsaid. Rae wasn't good with invisible hurts, preferring to talk about what she could see.

Was it from her disability or their first baby? Tommie's hand hadn't bothered her, only from an accident. Alvin's problems were the same, nothing but misfortune, just shit happening. Rae also wouldn't speak about Sam Cassel, a story safe from Jenny as Alvin didn't know and Rae would never mention it. Sam's loss was ten years in the past and just the type of thing Rae never dealt with.

Whatever was going on with Jenny was the same. Rae and Jenny might talk about everything under the sun, but Rae would never inquire _why_ Jenny had been so upset on Easter. Rae wasn't bothered when Steve got hit by a ball, or when Alana had tumbled down their front steps, chipping a baby tooth. It was a bit much for Tommie, who could clean up vomit, but not blood. He had passed out in the car after hitting the tree, smelling his bleeding right hand, which had been on the gear shift, going straight through the front dash. Even thinking about it made him woozy. He remembered the crash, but once detecting that scent, he had gone right out.

Had it been from Alvin's fall? As Jenny returned, Tommie did too, a situation he could take. Tommie was better for the brokenness not visible.

"Getting warmer out there," she said, setting the basket against the back wall cupboards.

Alvin hadn't answered Tommie's question and now with Jenny close, maybe there wasn't anything else to say. Maybe they wouldn't know how she was around a thunder clap until it descended, the how or the why.

"Yeah and soon it'll be summer, thunderstorms before we know it." Alvin's voice was slow, Tommie's words not forgotten.

Jenny nodded, then left the room.

Tommie finished his water. Sometimes Alvin was as subtle as a truck, although he could be astute. Tommie never forgot how Alvin sat with Sam after that catastrophe; Alvin didn't know any of the details, had only held Sam's hand, sitting in Jacob's living room as Sam, just twenty-one years old, faced his whole life having been stripped away. It had been decided to keep Alvin in the dark, Rae insisting. If she couldn't handle it, how would Alvin?

Yet, with Jenny, Alvin was doing enough that Tommie only had to prompt, reminding Alvin to keep his eyes on Jenny and on the skies that threatened, thunderstorm season around the corner. If Jenny was scared of those storms, Alvin would need to be aware.

"You think she knew what I meant?" Alvin moved from the table, heading to the cookie jar. Pulling out a handful, he set them on the plate Jenny had left on the counter. He placed the cookies near Tommie, then went for the milk.

"Yeah, I think she knew." Tommie reached for dessert, peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips. Jenny added chocolate to most of her baking, something Rae wasn't prone to do, and Tommie appreciated the change of pace.

"Tommie, I'm so bad at this stuff. I mean, I never see what you all do."

"Not all of us. Rae won't deal with it."

Alvin nodded. "Yeah, but still, I'm so dumb."

"Al-vin," Tommie drawled.

"Oh, I know. _Uninformed_." Alvin poured the milk. He ate a cookie, then took a drink. "But still Tommie, what good am I to her?"

"Alvin, she's here. You ever think of that?" Tommie didn't expect Sam to come home. Tommie wished Jacob would get it through his sometimes thick skull. He was more like Rae, didn't see the deeper meaning.

Jenny had no baggage connected to Arkendale. Her memories came from other places and only in thunder would the past find her on this farm. Tommie didn't doubt that for a minute, hearing her thumping around upstairs. No matter where she went, the roar would reach her.

"Alvin, whatever comes, just do what you did for her in the barn. She didn't run then and that looked pretty goddamned bad."

Taking another cookie, Alvin nodded, then went to the window. Clouds were gathering, a storm on the horizon.

Chapter 9

Jenny's stitches moved in and out, weaving rows that every time Tommy came for lunch became more noticeable. Jenny's free time, now that Betsy's room was cleared, was spent with yarn that Rae had chosen and that Tommie had approved. All their kids clamored for blankets and Jenny promised she would make them each one, starting with Lexi, working down to Alana. But first came one for the parents.

Jenny loved crocheting. It was mindless, perfect on Monday nights when Alvin watched baseball, perfect in the middle of the day as bread rose, dough chilled, stew bubbled. Perfect when Alvin was inside, rain keeping him from various chores. He would talk, he loved to talk, and Jenny stitched while listening to his uncomplicated voice, a sound that soothed her troubled mind. The stitching was straightforward, but Jenny's head was never fully at rest.

It was the season, spring as lively as the colors Rae had chosen, cranberry red against a deep, dark blue, a thin strip of pale yellow separating the rich hues. It had a primary look to it, a blanket wide enough for the couple's double bed, yet because the blue was nearly black and the red not scarlet, the yellow like a faded buttercup, it didn't appear as a child's comforter, but for people well established in their relationship. Lexi had already chosen light and medium blue with cream, even Steve had an opinion, wanting green, like the colors in Alvin's throw. That first afghan sat along the back of the couch now that the days were warmer, as if green was everywhere.

Green flashed bright when set against the sun, or lay brooding in shadows made from gray clouds that emerged from the west, threatening noise that had yet to rumble. But rain tumbled, reminding Jenny and Alvin that lightning wasn't far behind.

And where there was lightning, thunder followed.

Jenny said nothing, only stitching and hearing Alvin's speech. His cadence was as when she met him, slow and careful, but now so familiar, as were the movements of her hands with the yarn, Sylvia's hook in her fingers, or one of Betsy's. Jenny didn't have a preference for which tool she used, hooks catching her hair as well as colored strings. Jenny's hair was still held aloft, but lately she wore it down just as often, Alvin's preference. He had made that known, telling her how pretty she looked with her brown hair long.

She still pulled it back when cooking, or if she was in the barn gathering eggs. But once inside she would catch those blue eyes and Alvin's smile would remind her. Taking the hook from the back, she would shake her head, long chocolate waves falling over her shoulders and back. He would tell her again how pretty she was, then look away.

Jenny hadn't missed the compliment, mixed with a bashful tone, Alvin requesting something personal. He asked her to cook specific things; chicken and dumplings, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, raisin bread. He loved that bread, his recent breakfast habit. Two thick slices were heavily buttered, but his weight had stabilized. Even with a generous helping of jam, Alvin's frame had settled into a filled-out appearance, one that looked healthy, not ailing.

Her stitches looked fine too and occasionally Jenny wished to make Alvin another blanket. That first attempt was okay, but the one she held that evening, baseball in the background, was much improved. She had laughed with Alvin over dinner; Alana would reap the benefits of getting hers last. By then, Jenny's stitching would be perfect.

She looked up, her shoulders a bit sore. She had been at it all night, after the dishes had been washed, Alvin on the sofa, awaiting the game. He rooted loudly for the San Francisco Giants. The only other time he shouted was against the New York Yankees. He couldn't stand them and Jenny loved watching him rail. He rarely became annoyed and she thought him cute, but kept that to herself.

Jenny had noticed Alvin more and more; was it those quiet nights, engrossed with her work, listening to his earnest voice? More than repetitive movements with hook and yarn seeped into her; Alvin was finding places within Jenny, places she thought needed no one. Her ears absorbed new sounds, a voice simple but rich, like the blue she held in her hands. Not blue like his eyes, but so many layers atop one another, building to a nearly indescribable shade that when set against the yellow hit her in the center of her body; as that came to Jenny's mind, thunder struck.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" She dropped the blanket, the hook crashing to the floor.

"Jenny, what?" Alvin was watching the Giants' celebrated rookie pitcher John Montefusco earn another strike out.

She inhaled, waiting for another clap, another rumble, another roar. They always came, no matter where she went or how far she hid, which was never far enough, even with therapy and this farm on the West Coast. Nothing would ever be enough to prevent that sound from piercing her heart.

There was silence, save the television's hum. Jenny didn't move, didn't feel anything, what occurred when that noise reached her ears. Don't cry, don't speak, don't breathe, and for god's sake, stay as still as can be. Then it will be over.

"Jenny?" Alvin collected the yarn and hook, then held her hands. Jenny didn't feel him, only heard his voice so unlike any other.

She remained motionless, all she knew to do, an instinct from so many years of waiting for it to end, yet it never did. No matter how long she waited, it always found her.

"Jenny, please, it's okay." His voice didn't waver, staying near her, but not right against her face, in her ears, along her skin. She knew where she was, in Arkendale, Oregon. It was Alvin's voice, his farm, only them. Jenny inhaled that, waiting for the noise.

Another noise, but not like Alvin's. One brutal and repetitive until all she knew was sound unexpected. You never knew when it would appear; sometimes just as she fell asleep the boom exploded like a crack around her body, beneath her skin, all through her until she could take no more.

And still it resounded.

Jenny sat on the couch, burrowed into Alvin. Somehow she had moved from the rocker to the sofa, and she saw the unfinished blanket in a pile on her seat. The rocker had become her chair and there was Tommie and Rae's afghan, set in a mess, the hook poking out at an angle.

His voice rambled, had he spoke all that time? How long had the thunder lasted? The game was off, the TV dark. The room was too, only a small glow from the kitchen that contrasted with the outside windows, revealing night.

Flashes of light had dotted those panes, bolts from far over them, but Alvin had held her. He had been there just like he'd promised.

Jenny remained curled against him, calling him on that pact agreed. She had done it with boyfriends but what had followed always left her cold. Sex after storms happened more than she had liked, but it had never comforted. It had made it worse, reminding her of a pain she had hoped therapy would cure. Eleven months of bimonthly sessions with Joni's psychiatrist had helped, but not enough to remove this ache of memory, impaled within Jenny as if the hook that stood from cranberry yarn was jammed into her body.

"You getting sleepy?" Still it was only Alvin, and Jenny nodded. She was exhausted from how many years running. Over half her life had been spent on her feet, covering her ears, trying to pry that hook loose, ease her pain. How many men had she slept with, yet none had done any good. None of them had eased her trembling, healed her anguish. She had tried, jumping into bed with whomever looked safe, whoever seemed willing to have her. Many had; Jenny was a girl with an easy smile, an open mind, and a more accessible body, which had allowed for evenings spent in strange beds with unknown men, but they never hurt. They didn't help much, but because she didn't really _know_ them, they never got any farther than the physical. They took off the edge, like Rae's few beers; Jenny hadn't missed that attempt at self-medication, a phrase she'd gotten from Joni. Joni had wanted Jenny to stay, get more therapy, _sort it out_. Use some pot if necessary, have a glass of wine, maybe two, ease that burden gradually. Joni had been big on self-medication and while Jenny loved her friend, choosing one dependence to assuage another problem wasn't remedy.

Sleeping with lots of men hadn't done any good either, but at least Jenny hadn't been alone all those nights when storms raged; how many guys had she screwed while listening to the din? They liked her during those downpours accompanied by great noise, light dancing along walls, but no man had ever lessened that fear, or her heartache. Once Jenny found she was again without a cure, she moved on.

But not from this place; Alvin enveloped her as he had promised. He had agreed to be with her and why had she told him? Why had she even brought it up? She never told any of them; it just came as a surprise, her terrified, mute behavior, then she exposed herself while hiding again. Alan in Jacksonville had loved her like that, frightened but aggressive, chasing her demons as the rain pounded his small creaky house. She remembered him vividly, one of the first to pick up on her anxieties, calling it out of her, but not completely, and not for her advantage, only his. She was wild when thunder screamed, once the stillness had been acknowledged. After that, Jenny grew animated, using sex to weather the storm.

With Alvin, there was no sex, nothing to battle that raging maelstrom within her. Only his soft, loving voice and steady, present arms. His breaths weren't rapid or excited, but one after another, sustaining. Jenny had never known this from a man, the sheer novelty finally allowing her to speak. "Is it over?"

"I think so. Jenny, are you all right?"

Only then did she begin to shake. Her entire body trembled, running on a fuel previously unknown. It was his tone so unlike any she had ever heard, asking a question before unregistered. No one had ever asked Jenny Cope if she was okay.

Alvin watched her sleep, unable to leave. He felt odd being in her room, but couldn't move. Sitting in the chair next to her bed, night slipping through the curtains, Alvin found his feet unwilling to leave the floor.

She was asleep now, resting quietly. He had led her up after she'd started nodding off there on the couch, nestled against him. Only there, after a long time, did she finally relax, her limbs clutched tightly, as he'd held her. He had held her for ages, how long it took to undo the few pops of thunder's massive damage.

So much harm from just a few moments, but those rumbles were nothing in comparison to what sometimes happened, and that scared Alvin. An entire summer of afternoon and evening thunderstorms awaited and just how bad was Jenny's fear? How would she get through what was still out there, rain that plunged to the ground after the claps and bolts had gone. But it wasn't the rain she dreaded. It was the noise.

He had missed that first rumble, watching the game. That new pitcher was so good, a rookie showing stuff that made Alvin's heart leap with that called strike three, but Jenny's words had rippled terror into him, what the thunder did to her. It was a jumble how he had gone to her, then gotten her on the sofa, how she had coiled into him, not making a single noise. She had barely breathed and for a few seconds Alvin wondered if she was going to pass out. Not from too much crying like in the barn on Easter, but from a stillness as though she was dead.

He inhaled quietly, not wanting to wake her. She had tossed and turned, then settled, and staring at the clock on her bedside table, he saw it was almost three in the morning. That notion made him sleepy and with slow, silent movements, Alvin stood, looking at her once more. She was curled in bed like a little kid, how Tommie's children slept when sick on the couch, trying to get so far into themselves that all that was making them feel bad wouldn't have any room to stay. Alvin sighed leaving the room, closing her door most of the way.

Going up, he avoided the squeaky boards, then undressed and got into bed. He wasn't cold, but for some reason he pulled the blankets tight. Then he wished for the one Jenny had made him, wanting a little more weight, wanting to keep out all that troubled. As Alvin turned to the wall, facing his window, he shed tears for Jenny, for wanting her blanket. Wiping his eyes, he fell asleep to the memory of her face placed against his chest, so very still.

In the morning, the sun shone, everything dripping from the storm. Jenny was up first, had made the coffee. Hearing Alvin approach, she set two thick pieces of raisin bread in the toaster.

She was glad for his presence, but kept her back to him. "Good morning," she said. "You sleep all right?"

He came closer as she noted how good it looked outside, but unspoken was the immense price.

"Jenny," then he stopped, both his speech and movements.

She still didn't turn, then felt bad. He had been so good to her last night and all she wanted was to pretend it had never happened. Nothing was wrong, nothing was different. It was sunny outside, bread was in the toaster, coffee in the pot. Everything was normal.

That small pretense allowed Jenny to turn. Immediately she wished she hadn't. Alvin was exhausted and had he been crying? Or was it from lack of sleep that his eyes were red, his pallor haunted.

"Alvin, oh my god!"

As she said those words, his emerged. "Oh Jenny, what'd someone do to you?"

She felt him around her in a clumsy, jerking manner. Then he grabbed her with force as though he could keep out what hurt, protect her. It was way too late for that, yet, she clung as if time could be erased, as if he could manage what all the others hadn't, to expunge her memories forever.

"Nothing Alvin, nothing," she said, then pulled from him, hearing the toast pop up.

"Jenny, that's not true. Good lord, I mean," but again Alvin paused.

She set the bread on a plate, buttered both slices, and poured his coffee. Like it was any other morning, she set his place, then refilled her cup. Yet, she didn't sit.

Neither did Alvin. "Jenny, oh Jenny Cope!"

She couldn't look at him, his face so sorry, his eyes so tired. The blue was replaced by a flat gray, all life gone. "Alvin, it's nothing."

Moving her way, he took the cup from her hands. "Jenny, that's not true. You told me you didn't like thunderstorms, but jeez, I mean...."

His stilted speech cut into her, also how he reached for her in awkward, halted movements. Not like last night when she had felt his fluid words and comfortable motions try to rescue her. In vain, but more than anyone else had ever offered.

This morning he was tongue-tied and self-conscious, but that was familiar, what she needed. If he'd come across as he had last night, she might just open up. "Alvin, it's nothing. Really."

He crossed his arms, looking down, then to her face. "Jenny, that's not the truth."

Those blue honest eyes wound into her, that and his voice. What was truth, some easily brushed-off idea of what no one wanted to know. Honesty was Jenny Cope's biggest enemy, but she could hide from anyone, had been doing so for years. Hide from her family, boyfriends, Joni's therapist when things got too close to the bone, even from Joni. Telling her it was time to move on, but not the _real_ reason, that shrink reaching too far under Jenny's skin. She had told most of her story in that small, cramped office, the air conditioning fighting a losing battle with humidity that Jenny had hated. Her native Colorado desert was so far from the sticky, heavy moisture that suffocated as the wordy doctor poked and prodded, looking for truth.

Truth; Alvin's face spoke of something Jenny could reckon, but had no desire to plumb. Who cared? Who cared, really?

"Jenny, please don't lie to me. People have lied to me all my life, telling me they were my friend, telling me they liked me. Only Tommie and Rae, Jacob and Sam really like me."

"I like you," she said, ignoring his admonition.

"Well then please don't tell me nothing's wrong 'cause I saw it last night, saw it plain. There is something wrong."

Alvin had grasped her hands, but all Jenny heard was his pleading tone, worried and desperate. His voice was usually sweet to her ears. She could sit for hours listening to him speak, but now he was suffering, all her fault.

"Please Jenny. Don't do this to yourself."

Yourself; as that word struck her, warm hands landed on her skin, slipping through her bloodstream like a painkiller. Alvin eased inside her like a drug that would force her to stop and consider. Consider who? Herself.

"Oh god Alvin, oh my god," she started, all Jenny could speak as tears poured down her face and over his hands, which gripped hers, not letting go.

Chapter 10

"And that's why she doesn't drive." Alvin's breath was a long, solid exhalation.

Tommie had heard a lot of bad things in his life; when the doctor told him his right hand, encased in plaster, was damaged beyond what they initially thought. That occurred a few days after the accident, once his parents had eased the idea that maybe his numb, wrapped hand might be injured more seriously than they had expected.

Then the night he and Rae lost their first baby, a miscarriage at ten weeks. Probably why she didn't like dealing with things unseen; Rae's mangled cries still rested within Tommie's head.

Sam's tortured face was etched upon Tommie's consciousness, when that twenty-one-year-old had returned from Eugene with arms empty, a body young but suddenly so aged, tears falling freely from one Tommie considered a younger brother. Tommie had held much within him since he was seventeen, but none of those had prepared him for Alvin's words about Jenny.

Tommie stood, just men in Alvin's kitchen. Rae and Jenny had gone to town, buying yarn for Steve's blanket. Jenny had finished theirs and it lay across Tommie's bed, but he had to put that from his mind. That, and he wished, Alvin's words, but those were stuck like Sam's face and Rae's cries, like the doctor's news, wrenching all of Tommie's hopes and dreams, what he had considered his life. His life at seventeen had been forever altered, but for Jenny, it had been stolen when she was only thirteen, Max's age. Tommie fought tears, but lost.

"Tommie, she knows I'm telling you, 'cause I told her I didn't want her here alone, you know, if a thunderstorm hit. That you'd come sit with her if I'm out. And she was fine with that, just fine."

A nod was offered, a breath taken, but Tommie couldn't hold back. So many horrible things he had faced, and after Sam's, Tommie thought that was it. Barring anything actually happening to his own family, nothing could be worse than Sam's dead wife. But here was Jenny, and even though she wasn't dead, a part of her was. The part that had been a little girl was long long gone.

"Oh Tommie, I know. Isn't it awful? And that's not even the right word. Oh I wish I had better words!"

Turning to Alvin, Tommie didn't hide his wet face. "Sometimes there aren't enough words in the world."

Alvin nodded and the men embraced, both sickened by what seemed indescribable.

They walked to the orchard, the day sunny and warm after a week of rain, which had fallen steadily since Jenny's breakdown, as Alvin described it. Rain had fallen each day with no sound, silence easing her words, a bit at a time, as Alvin hadn't left her side, nor allowed her to leave, or stay hidden. Jenny had wanted to flee, and she had for a few minutes, out to the barn, up to the loft where he had come after her, again finding her curled in the corner. For some reason that barn allowed her to cry, and again she had spilled more than Alvin could comprehend, grief and pain that this time brought her to him, not away. She hadn't scooted to the wall but toward him, burying herself, not letting go. After all she had purged, then she began to talk.

Alvin looked at the trees that now at the end of May sported tiny green orbs like Christmas ornaments, balls that would grow into Granny Smith apples. Some had fallen and he crushed them under his boots, wishing he could do the same to Jenny's father. Her father, but not really. Fathers didn't do to their children what Jenny's dad had done to her. Alvin kept hearing her words, so bizarre, unreal. Her father, Jenny's father....

"Tommie, you ever hear of something like this before?"

Tommie looked off, not at Alvin. "Yeah, but only heard of it, like on TV or something."

Alvin sighed. He had never known anything like it, even with what had happened with Mrs. Atherton. Thinking of that name use to make him shudder, but Jenny's life was far more....

Horrible. Awful. Sick. He had nearly thrown up as she told him how her father had raped her when she was just thirteen, then kept doing it until she ran away four years later. Alvin had listened because he had asked her to not lie to him, but it was still miserable to hear.

It was about as bad as telling Tommie about Mrs. Atherton, but Alvin had done it, and after Jenny had told him every lousy, terrible bit, then he had looked at her, aware. He knew what she meant, how it felt, and told her why he understood. Then Jenny held him, both in tears.

He didn't cry now, thinking about it all. The day lifted his mood, the day and Tommie's company. Tommie wouldn't say anything to Rae as Jenny didn't want anyone else to know. Tommie's knowledge was only because Jenny had agreed that if Alvin was gone, she didn't want to be home alone if storms were coming.

"Tommie, why do people do things like that?"

"I dunno," Tommie said, looking at a cloud.

Alvin looked too, puffy cotton balls that edged the horizon, on their way to somewhere else. Alvin liked these clouds, used to like the storm clouds too, but they had taken on a bad feeling, one he hadn't known in over twenty years. He shook himself, not wanting to think about it.

"Alvin," Tommie said, turning back. "Does she think he'll come after her? I mean, it's been twelve years."

"No, she's not worried about that, not that she said. Why?"

Tommie stared back to the sky. "Oh, just wondering. I mean, yeah, it's been a long time. If she's been under the radar this long, I suppose he couldn't track her."

"Yeah, I mean, I asked her, and she said she hasn't gotten a driver's license recently just because it's been so long. I mean, she says she doesn't need one anymore."

Tommie nodded. "Well yeah, probably not."

Alvin set his hand on his hips, then rubbed his arms. A slight breeze blew and their words weren't warm. He hadn't felt warm deep down since holding Jenny in the barn. "Tommie, I uh, I'm sorry, you know, to tell you all this."

Tommie looked at Alvin. "Oh no, I mean, it's bad, Jesus Christ. But I don't want her here alone either."

"Yeah. Tommie, I uh, I care about her."

"I know. I know you do."

"Really? Oh jeez."

"I saw the way you were with her on Easter. I know how you feel about her."

"Oh man, oh Tommie. You think anyone else does?"

"No, I mean, not like that. And even if they did, so what?"

Alvin ran a hand through his hair, breathing easier with Tommie's words. "Well I mean, I don't want anyone thinking less of her."

Tommie's hand rested on Alvin's shoulder. "Just take care of her like you did on Easter. Anyone says anything, they're talking about stuff that's none of their business."

Alvin nodded, missing Tommie's few tears as they walked back to the house.

The men were eating cookies when Jenny and Rae returned. Rae had offered to make new curtains for Jenny's room, a thank-you for the afghans. Jenny had Lexi's underway and Rae hadn't taken _no_ for an answer.

Rae showed Alvin the fabric, lavender with blue and yellow flecks. He wanted to see how it would look and Rae took him into the living room, as she didn't climb stairs. Tommie watched as she held the cloth against the front windows, Alvin's cheery voice booming.

Jenny removed groceries from the bag, her body tense. Tommie wanted to say something, but Rae's hearing was sharp, and he wouldn't compromise Jenny's privacy. Tommie moved toward her as Alvin and Rae headed to the back of the room.

"Jenny," Tommie said quietly.

She still didn't turn. "Nice weather, lots of people in town."

"Mmmhmm."

Jenny put away the cold items, but the rest went in the cupboard across the room. Yet, she didn't move.

Tommie wanted to speak, but had no idea what Jenny preferred to remain unsaid. Alvin could get things from her, not that Tommie wanted to learn any of it, but he felt obliged as Alvin's friend, as someone who knew. For the rest of his life he would know this young woman had been violated by someone she was supposed to trust, someone she'd once loved. Tommie had no idea how Jenny felt about her father now, but at one point she had probably loved him.

That was gone, Tommie was sure, and as a father, it nauseated him, thinking of such evil. Alvin might not have the words, but Tommie did, and they were crawling up his throat, choking any joy he might have carried. Seeing his wife and Jenny so chummy, a day bright and warm, but that was shattered knowing Jenny's history. Tommie Smith knew more about Jenny Cope than he wanted, but what Jenny knew was so damned mean, fair and just were out the window.

It wasn't fair, wasn't right at all, but it was real like his hand, Rae's leg, Alvin's brain, Sam's wife. All were shitty, inequitable, unjust. Fucked. Then Tommie had to clear his throat. He ran from the kitchen, pulling the door behind him.

Jenny was on his heels, finding him bent over. "Tommie, you okay?"

He looked at her, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve as Jenny reached for his right hand, nodding her head.

They walked to the barn, Tommie not worried if Rae missed him. He only needed a minute with Jenny. Too long and he might lose what was left in his stomach.

Not because of her, which she seemed to understand, holding his bad hand as they stepped into the musty barn. She wasn't frightened by that broken limb as he wasn't afraid of her, only that he didn't want to belabor the point.

Which was this: Jenny, you're family. All you have to do is call.

To which she answered: Thank you Tommie. Said through tears.

They returned to the kitchen and Rae and Alvin could be heard going on about the drapes. Rae's smile was infectious as she joined her husband and Jenny. "Tommie, we're gonna redo all their curtains!"

"Oh Rae," Jenny sighed. "You don't need to do that."

Rae nodded. "Oh yes. And I told Alvin not to breathe a peep to Bonnie. Let her come down, 'cause you know she will. I'll teach Jenny how to sew and Bonnie can see for herself."

Tommie smiled and saw the same on Jenny. Rae could get full of herself, rectitude settling after they had lost their baby, righteousness that now bordered on antagonism when it came to Bonnie Carmine. Rae was in Jenny Cope's corner full stop.

"I think it's a good idea," Alvin said. "This place needs some brightening up, a new look, you know."

Hearing Alvin's small hesitation, Tommie saw that Jenny paid no mind. She took only what he meant, spoken in his usual way. Not always thought out, but with intentions never cruel. In her face, Tommie also saw Jenny's feelings for Alvin, plain in her bright eyes and smile.

Driving home, Tommie let Rae jabber, learning the real reason for the new curtains. Rae and Jenny had run into Bonnie at the fabric store.

"That woman, I swear, I just wanted to slap her, giving Jenny the worst kinds of looks. I tell you, if she didn't hold the purse strings to that farm, I'd knock her out flat."

He laughed. "Well, just make sure you tell me when. I'd pay to see that fight."

She tapped his right arm, no aversion to that side of his body. "Well, she ever does that again to Jenny when I'm near, I'm not making any promises."

Tommie pulled into their driveway, bikes strewn across the front yard. The kids had been tooling around last night and hadn't put them away. Usually it was the kind of thing to make him blow. That day, all Tommie wished was to hug his daughters, ruffle his sons' hair, kids he loved, would die to protect.

He sat as Rae got out, but she didn't close her door. "Honey, you coming?"

He nodded, finding her smile, a face he loved, but one different from when he had met her. She'd been nearly seventeen, Lexi's age, Jenny's age when she had run away. "In a minute."

"Okay."

Rae slowly stepped around the bikes, her gait weary from the day's activities. For his wife's benefit, he would say something when the kids got home, Tommie's expected irritation suddenly muted.

After Tommie and Rae's departure, the rest of the day was quiet. Alvin didn't like the silence, but it had been like that since Jenny told him. Since she told him and he told her.

They had accepted each other's words, but no more was spoken, and he assumed that was due to the rain that fell without announcement. They had gone to sleep, then woke to rain. All week, since Monday night, it had been this way.

Now it was Monday again and he didn't know if he should turn on baseball. Jenny had finished Tommie and Rae's blanket on Friday, stitching in every spare moment as if it was out of the house, she could remove other things too.

Alvin had watched her fingers fly. So fast were her movements with the hook and now, after an early dinner, she sat in the rocker with blue yarns, Lexi's colors. Tomorrow Jenny would walk to the Smiths, start making curtains with Rae. Alvin was glad Jenny had something else to do. He would appreciate new drapes, something bright, the same pattern all through. Alvin had measured the windows and Jenny had that piece of paper in her bag, would take it with her tomorrow. They would buy more fabric as needed and if Bonnie didn't reimburse them for it, Rae didn't seem bothered.

Alvin sat down, but left the television off. It was after six, the game having started, but he didn't feel that was right. Jenny was busy with her work, didn't look at him, hadn't taken her hair down. She hadn't worn her hair down all week. Alvin set his hands in his lap, then stood for some water. He was restless, and wanted to watch the ball game.

He wanted to go back to a week before. He drained the cup in one gulp, then set it in the sink. Jenny had done all the dishes, her apron hanging on a nail she'd had him put in just for that purpose. She liked things neat, in place. Then Alvin sighed, parts of Jenny that before he hadn't understood. She liked everything just so; eggs cracked in a bowl, then put into cake or cookie batter. Measuring cups were for each separate ingredient, even if she used them all and had to wash some again. The way she fussed about something new, then never made another peep. Once she accepted things, she never mentioned them again.

Alvin clutched the counter. All these things were because of what had happened to her. He didn't want to think about it, but there it was. Why she never complained; it hadn't done her any good. No one had heard her, not even her mother had stopped.... Alvin couldn't bring himself to acknowledge who had hurt Jenny, it was too awful. At least Mrs. Atherton had only been his mother's friend, a strange woman who had touched him, then tried to get in his bed when he was fifteen and his mother was so sick. Betsy had been ill for days and Mrs. Atherton had cared for her, staying three nights, each evening climbing the stairs toward Alvin's room.

He heard Jenny turn on the game. Closing his eyes, he let baseball take his memories. He never thought about that anymore, time and Lois Butterfield both allowing Alvin to heal. He smiled thinking of Lois, his mind wandering to more pleasant recollections.

"Baseball's on," Jenny called.

"Uh-huh." He didn't move. He had told Jenny about Mrs. Atherton, but not about Lois. That was a nice memory and he hadn't thought it right to talk about when all of Jenny's words had been so, so.... He still didn't have a word that adequately described what Jenny had suffered.

"Alvin, you coming?"

"In a minute."

She stood in the doorway in a t-shirt and jeans. With her hair up, she looked faraway, like some part of his past. He cared for her, yet she was like the ball game, only real if you watched it. Otherwise it was a small box with bad sound.

He reached for another glass, not wanting to use the one in the sink. Jenny said that after he used a cup to set it on the windowsill. She didn't like it when he got it out of the sink again.

Pouring more water, he didn't hear her approach. Her touch along his shoulder made him jump.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Alvin, you okay?"

He looked at her, the same freckles along her nose, her eyes still brown, so pretty. She was still so pretty to him, even though now she was...different. He couldn't fight that anymore. But had his feelings changed or had she become someone else? Thinking about it gave him a headache and he reached for the aspirin.

"Alvin, what is it?"

Then it wasn't his head, some strange sensation squeezing the middle of his chest. It wasn't Jenny that was different; well, it was, but not like that. She wasn't anyone but the Jenny Cope that had made his life so happy and full. With her there, Alvin knew a pleasure never before understood. Her great pain was trying to intrude, but it wasn't her fault, not her fault at all. If she thought it was, or thought _he_ thought it was, he needed to stop that right now.

Setting down the aspirin bottle, Alvin gripped her hand. "Jenny, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't."

She tried to flee, but he reached for her other hand. "Jenny, I mean it. What he did wasn't your fault."

She looked down, but Alvin tipped her head back to his. Tears poured from her eyes at a rate he'd only seen in the barn. He pulled her to him, muffling the wails that followed.

They sat on the couch, baseball blaring. Neither had turned it off, needing some white noise to buffer their thoughts and the words that followed.

"Alvin, how'd you tell Tommie?" she asked, able to speak.

Her question surprised him. "What, about you?"

"No, about Mrs. Atherton."

Alvin inhaled. It had been too odd not to say anything; then fifteen years old, Alvin Harris knew the basics of sex. It wasn't until after he told Tommie about Mrs. Atherton that Tommie told him what had actually happened, that and everything else Alvin knew about the birds and bees.

"I just told him she came into my room, and then, you know, tried to get into bed. With me." It was still hard to say, not nice to think about.

Jenny squeezed his hand. "She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"No, I mean, not like physical pain. But it was so, oh, wrong."

Jenny nodded. "Alvin, thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me it wasn't my fault. I mean, I know it wasn't. Maybe someday, deep down, I'll believe it."

Alvin looked right into her eyes. This was the most important thing and Tommie had made sure Alvin understood it. No matter what else, she needed to know. "It _wasn't_ your fault Jenny."

She nodded, then leaned into him. They were quiet and Alvin heard what sounded like a home run. He wanted to look, but didn't.

"Alvin, you ever been with anyone else?"

Now he just wanted to watch the game. Lois Butterfield's face lingered, but he didn't want to think about her either.

He looked over Jenny; the batter was slowly taking the bases, three players waiting at home plate. It had been a grand slam, the hitter applauded by his teammates.

Jenny started to move away, but Alvin wanted to be honest. She had told him everything and deserved the truth. "Jenny, there was someone else, when I was twenty-two. But that wasn't like Mrs. Atherton."

"Oh." Jenny put her hands in her lap, then fiddled with the bottom of her t-shirt like she did with her apron.

"Her name was Lois Butterfield, and she was like me, you know, kinda slow. But she doesn't live here anymore."

"Alvin, I'm sorry, I don't mean to...."

"No, I mean, it's okay." He stood, turning off the game. Putting hands in his pockets, he went to the window. "Her father took her away when he found out what was happening. Said he didn't want her getting pregnant and I understood that. Lois had always been, you know, slow."

He turned to Jenny. "I mean, it wasn't for very long, just over a summer. Just a few times." The words were hard to say, those feelings long ignored. "But it was nice, I mean, she was nice." He smiled. "And it didn't seem wrong, I mean, I was careful." He looked to the floor.

Jenny joined him, but kept her hands at her sides. "Alvin, I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, I knew it wasn't gonna last, and Lois, she was, well, to be honest, a lot slower than me. Not physically, but you know, in the head." Alvin took his hands from his pockets, then wrapped his arms around himself. "She and I were always in the same classes, all the dumb kids together. But I quit school after ninth grade and she stayed. Don't know why, but she graduated when she was twenty. Guess her folks thought it was important."

He continued. "Then she started walking here, to the farm. It was right after she graduated and she and I, you know, kinda started seeing each other. She was the only one in Arkendale like me and I guess after while we both just needed someone.

"Then one day my mom took Adam and Randy to Albany. Lorraine was already gone, and Lois showed up. It was just the two of us and we went to the barn, you know, and she started getting close. I knew what she wanted 'cause she'd told me the last time. Said she wanted to pretend to make babies." He smiled, then looked at Jenny. "I'd talked to Tommie, told him what she said. Told him I wanted to, you know, oh jeez."

Alvin grew embarrassed and saw Jenny's small smile. "You don't need to tell me anymore."

He closed the curtains, ones he had helped hang, ones his mother had made. Soon there would be new drapes. "Jenny, it was just a few times 'cause when her folks found out, they sent her away. I wasn't sure where, but Tommie found out, some place up in Washington, where they knew she wouldn't get out. Not that I'd go after her, I mean, they told my mother, oh that was a mess! I told them we'd used protection, I mean, I'm not that stupid."

Jenny's new sneakers slipped along the wood grain, her shuffle familiar to Alvin, something she did when she was nervous or uncomfortable.

He turned, watching her shift from side to side. She wore a look he hadn't seen, not when she had cried so hard and told him so many horrible truths. This was different; was she jealous? She couldn't be and Alvin looked at his own feet, in boots that had crunched apples only that morning, walking with Tommie to the trees, telling Tommie about Jenny. Alvin looked up again. She looked jealous.

"Anyways, that was the end of me and Lois Butterfield." He yawned, but it wasn't even eight o'clock.

As he walked by Jenny, heading toward the stairs, she reached for his arm. He stopped, her face grim. "Alvin, did you care about her? I mean, did you love her?"

He couldn't lie. "No, I didn't." With that, Alvin headed to bed.

Thunderstorms passed through and Alvin was prepared. Jenny flinched, then gripped herself, then let him hold her as she wept. Then she would pull away, sitting quietly, unmoving. If it was during the day, it took her a few moments to recover. If it was at night, it took much longer.

Since that first breakdown, Jenny's outbursts were short-lived unless after she had gone to bed. Then it took ages for her to settle, but Alvin never left her, not until she was asleep. Sometimes they went downstairs; sometimes he would sit in her room, a chair now pulled next to her bed. Sitting beside her, either on the couch or in her room, Alvin would hold her hand, hearing her sniffles, but she remained still, lying on her side under blankets or curled into him in the living room. She never moved.

They didn't speak of their pasts, but memories hovered, and Alvin found their easygoing ways had faded. Now an unspoken layer sat around everything, from the morning coffee to lunchtimes with Tommie. He still came every Thursday, but as May turned to June, the kids out of school, Rae joined them, her chatter taking the edge from a growing silence Alvin and Jenny felt unable to breach.

The new curtains were hung, and Alvin was pleased with Jenny's handiwork. He asked if she wanted a sewing machine, hoping she would say _yes_ not only so he could give her something, but also to let Bonnie know about Jenny's additions. But Mrs. Carmine never came over and Jenny didn't mention other sewing projects. She was happy to crochet, now working on Steve's blanket.

It was another Monday night when Alvin heard the first rumble of thunder. He had been closing up the barn for the evening when that pop hit and he ran to the house. Coming through, he heard her cries over the television, baseball waiting for him.

"Jenny, it's okay." His usual words were spoken gently.

She had dropped a glass, shards scattered all over. He moved her to the back of the living room, glad she still wore her sneakers.

"I, I'm sorry a-about the c-cup," she muttered.

"Jenny Cope, it's okay. It's okay."

Alvin eased her into a high-backed chair his father had used, a seat kept for sentimental reasons. Alvin knelt down, grasping her hands.

She seemed shakier than usual and he wished he could get her to the couch. The broken glass needed to be swept first and he considered picking her up, taking her to her room. At least there she could lie down and he could sit too.

Another roar burst through the skies and Jenny cowered, covering her ears with her hands. "Oh god, just stop!" she screamed. "Just _stop!_ "

"Jenny, oh Jenny," Alvin whispered.

She continued wailing, rocking back and forth, and he worried. She never trembled, was usually motionless, but this was different. Was it the broken glass?

"God, just leave me alone, get off me!"

Alvin moved back, taking his hands from her. "I, I'm sorry."

Jenny looked up, her eyes huge, her mouth open. "No!" she bellowed, pounding fists into her legs over and over. "No goddamnit, not you, him!"

Alvin was frozen as her words continued. "Not you Alvin, my father!"

In Jenny's twin bed, Alvin lie next to her, but for how long he wasn't sure. After she had stopped screaming, she'd started to fall from the chair. Alvin scooped her up, carrying her upstairs. He had sat next to her, but only for a minute, as she shook so badly, he hadn't wanted her to fall off the bed. She calmed with him beside her and her words had come unexpectedly.

"I always thought once I left him, that would be the end of it, he'd never bother me again." She sighed. "I was so stupid."

Alvin said nothing.

"Then when I slept with somebody, it was like this doesn't feel any different. Yet, it did, like instead of physical pain, it was all in my head, emotional. Like that was the only way I could get off, by someone hurting me. Like if I slept around, all he did would be negated. You know what that means?"

Alvin shook his head. "Uh, I'm not sure."

She laughed. "Like if we took all the new curtains to Bonnie's house and said, 'Here Mrs. Carmine. Thanks for all you've never done for Alvin.'"

He nodded.

"So I just became the biggest whore, all my father ever made me. I mean, if I slept with him all that time, what else was I?"

"Oh Jenny!"

Alvin curled around her, no blankets over them. It had been a warm day and both remained in their clothes.

She shed a few tears. "No Alvin, it's true. That's why I slept around. Like 'Screw you Daddy. You wanted to fuck me? Well, here's where it got you.'" Jenny had a bitter chuckle. "Every time I hear thunder, I hear him telling me to be quiet. _Don't move, Jennifer. Don't say anything Jennifer. Just lie still Jennifer._ Like I'm thirteen again and it's never gonna end, never." She turned to Alvin, gripping his hands. "All that therapy got me was thinking I'd be okay. And usually I am, I'm fine. But when the thunder comes, oh Jesus, there's nothing I can do, just nothing!"

She jerked and Alvin squeezed her. "Jenny, I'm so sorry."

"Just don't leave me. They all left me afterwards. Once he was done, he left me, just told me to go to sleep. How in the hell was I supposed to just go to sleep?"

"I won't leave you, I promise. I promised you that before and I meant it." Alvin wished for words that would take all her pain.

There were none. "Oh Alvin, when will it go away?"

Chapter 11

June 1975 brought more thunderstorms than Arkendale had ever received; as if each was a bomb, by the end Jenny looked as though she could take no more.

Alvin had stayed up with her, nights that seemed never-ending. After a particularly bad session, Alvin and Tommie moved Alvin's bed to Betsy's room. Tommie told Rae that Jenny had a bad time with storms and Rae hadn't raised a single eyebrow. No one else knew and after that change of location, Alvin had been able to reach Jenny before she slipped from bed.

She was getting better during the day, standing stick-straight, clutching the counter if in the kitchen, staying motionless inside the barn if gathering eggs. She hadn't lost a single one, but as June ended, Alvin worried he would lose her. She hadn't made noises toward leaving, but it wasn't Portland he feared.

Her eyes were perpetually exhausted, her tone hollow and beaten. Alvin didn't pry, but she had revealed more details, again making him shudder. Jenny had two older sisters, both of whom had known the same abuse.

In her closet, right before he and Tommie removed Betsy's bed, Jenny told Alvin about Jess and Jane. Jess was five years Jenny's senior, still living at home when Jenny fled. Jane had moved out, also at seventeen, but Jess had remained, trying to spare her younger sisters from what she had known from the age of twelve. In furious words, Jenny recalled how after the first time, Jess had cradled her, trying to explain what their father had done, but no suitable language existed, only apologies that Jess hadn't been enough. He had gone to Jane, then to his youngest daughter.

Jenny never spoke her father's name, or her mother's, a woman oblivious to the evil permeating the Cope household. Thunderstorms hit Colorado Springs with the same regularity as in Arkendale and it was during those cloudbursts that Jenny's father came to her room, got into her bed, telling to her lie still, to not speak. Now Jenny used her words and Alvin had closed his eyes, unable to shut out her voice spoken in a near whisper, but still so ugly.

Alvin had collected her from the closet as she shook, but her tone was smooth, details he almost couldn't comprehend. Alvin had unloaded on Tommie, who nodded, but neither had anything to say. What explanation could be offered, how did one diminish such devastation?

That was the word Alvin had found, through his best friend, to describe what had happened to Jenny. All she had known of her entire family was devastated. Her whole childhood had been laid to waste, far worse than Alvin's fall, worse than Tommie's hand, worse than anything Alvin had ever known, even Adam's death. While their mother had suffered, wars had raged all through Alvin's lifetime, men dying to keep people free. What had happened to Jenny and her sisters was something else completely.

Yet, to see her on a sunny day, or even a regular rainy day, one would never know. For all Alvin had told Tommie, none of it reached Rae, for she treated Jenny just like a girlfriend. Jenny chatted with Sylvia, Keith, or Jacob when they met in town, exchanged the basic pleasantries with Mrs. Carmine if they ran into her at the store. Bonnie had mentioned the curtains, having heard from Sylvia that Jenny and Rae had been busy. In that month's check Alvin received an extra twenty dollars. He had tried to give it to Rae, but she wouldn't take it, said he should let Jenny spend it.

Alvin agreed, but no time seemed right. If they were alone, that strange quiet was now all he knew, their previous friendship absent. He couldn't ask her about it, for they had moved beyond that closeness onto something that stemmed from a shared hurt, but hers was so much deeper, he wondered if she could recover. Maybe she would just disappear, having drowned in the great puddle left by the thunderstorms.

The Fourth of July was less than a week away and Rae was curious; would Jenny make her potato salad for the picnic?

Alvin had gone to the Smiths for a piece of equipment. It was nearly lunchtime and Jenny had sandwiches waiting, but Rae's question stopped him. He said he didn't know.

"Well, you're both coming, right?"

"Uh, well, I guess. I kinda forgot about it."

Rae turned, hands on hips. "Alvin, how could you forget about the Fourth?"

Tommie had been washing his hands and Alvin looked his way.

"Rae, Alvin's been busy with the trees."

"Well, I'm surprised you haven't said something about those oatmeal cookies yet."

Tommie chuckled. "Well yeah, there is that."

Alvin saw Tommie's nod. "I'll ask her today. In fact, I gotta get home. She was making lunch when I left."

"Okay, but give me a call so I know," Rae said as Alvin exited the kitchen.

Tommie followed him out. "Listen, if she doesn't wanna go, it's okay."

Alvin gripped the truck's door handle. "Jeez Tommie, I completely forgot. I don't know if she'll wanna come. She's been pretty, well, you know."

Tommie set his right hand on Alvin's shoulder. "Ask her. Either she'll say yes or no."

Alvin nodded, got in the truck, and headed home.

He found Jenny crocheting for Steve. She was almost done, but Max hadn't settled on his colors yet. That was her first question.

Alvin watched her graceful fingers. "Oh, I forgot to ask."

"I should just corner him, make him choose or tell him it'll be pink."

Her smile gave Alvin such joy, an expression he hadn't seen in ages. Even with her hair up, that lovely grin lit her face. Alvin had missed that, had almost forgotten it too. How beautiful she was, not just pretty.

Jenny was beautiful and he wanted to tell her that and other things, how thankful he was for her presence, that she had found a way to survive. He'd given much thought to the situation, how she had been so devastated, a word Tommie had used once, but it had stuck with Alvin. Here she was, smiling; somehow she had found a way to put that part of her life off to the side, how she did everything. Each thing had one purpose, like a compartment, and that brought Alvin's happy mood to a crash.

She noticed, walking right past him into the kitchen. "Time for lunch," her voice flat.

Alvin walked slowly, sat down, took a bite, but could do no more. All month had been like this, pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. The only time they were themselves was when thunder roared. Otherwise it was as though nothing was wrong, but Alvin couldn't go on this way. So much was awful, from long ago, and here it was, messing up this day.

He stood, looking out the window. The beech in the front had huge leaves, all the shrubs were green and full, yet his heart felt stripped like the middle of winter. Maybe Jenny was used to living with pieces of herself set apart, easier to deal with what her life had been. Maybe she could live with only little bits of herself allowed to breathe, but Alvin couldn't.

"Alvin, what's wrong? Something with the egg?"

She had made egg salad sandwiches, always so tasty, but it had been like eating a bite of peas, bland and disgusting. He hated peas, always had. Instead his mother had set out a bowl of raw carrots, Alvin's favorite vegetable. He didn't like those fancy dips that Rae made; just a plain carrot was fine.

He didn't turn to Jenny, thinking how scattered she was, from Colorado to Georgia, Florida to New Mexico. Here in Oregon, she was a skeleton. So much of her was missing, but it was how she had managed, how she'd been able to live. Alvin wanted to say all that before he lost this important piece of information.

The sunlight caught his attention, shining on the green grass, making shadows of the beech's leafy branches, such a pretty place. All he knew, one place, for his whole life. His life, while limited, was all in one piece, but not really, because Jenny wasn't. Only when she had been happy, when they first met, before he knew all her hurts, had he started to feel complete. He'd never known that, his heart beating in a way not even Lois had encouraged. Only Jenny had tripped that sense of feeling like a real man.

Now that seemed as lost as Jenny's life, from here to there, like he was; two people in parts, not whole, not complete.

He hadn't heard her, so lost in this thought, things he never pondered; from where had they come? Las Cruces and New Mexico, yarn and crocheting, hooks and Jenny, who was now next to him, her hand on his.

"Alvin?" she said softly. "You okay?"

She wiped his face; he hadn't even noticed he was crying. Her touch brought back to him that sense of being whole. He didn't know any other word, but there with Jenny, even in all her devastation, Alvin was whole.

He had gone for a walk and the house felt bereft. Jenny sat with the remnants of lunch, then put his sandwich in the refrigerator. She didn't want the rest of hers and threw it away.

Alvin hadn't said a thing, wearing a distress she couldn't reckon. She wanted to talk to Tommie, but hadn't gotten a chance, Rae coming round now so often. Jenny was glad for their friendship, but with Rae feelings were unspoken, and Jenny accepted that. Tommie was one with whom she could speak, Tommie and usually Alvin.

With Alvin, Jenny could say anything, and she had. She had told him her entire life, all the nasty, dreadful pieces she had kept from everyone else. Not even Joni's shrink had heard it all, why Jenny had fled Tampa Bay. She couldn't say those things even to a doctor. But to Alvin, Jenny had spilled her guts.

Maybe that was why he left, why things between them were now so cold. Unless he was holding her during a storm, all the warm friendliness from when she had arrived was gone. She missed it terribly, but maybe that was the price. If Alvin could listen to her, a cost had to be paid.

It seemed so unfair; if she could tell him everything, why did the thunder still dig into her like a sharp shovel, stirring all that pain? She had released so much, yet every rumble made her want to die, that and Alvin's absence. That hurt too and it wasn't fair he could listen to her, stay with her, be so compassionate, and now was gone. She just wanted to return to when they had smiled and joked, talking about their days, hearing his stories; Jenny so missed his voice. Now she only heard it at night, during thunder, over her grave each time the boom erupted.

But at least she had that; if not for him, Jenny might just run. Yet she was so tired and this place, even with the strange silence, was preferable to one more change of location. Even if things with Alvin stayed this way, maybe it was better than leaving.

Tears fell for emotions she had tried to deny, feelings for Alvin that had been noticeable before that first thunderstorm. The way his voice had reached into her and while it still did, now it was all therapeutic, not just because. Not because rabbits were getting to the garden, not how the trees were looking good and maybe this year the apples would really turn a profit. Not that the Giants were doing pretty well and that pitcher, some rookie whose name Jenny couldn't recall, was having a fantastic year. Now on Monday nights Alvin kept the sound low, said he didn't want to disturb her.

He was so quiet now, and Jenny missed his incessant chatter. That tone had found a place within her, not only when storms raged, but all the rest of the day. How peaceful she was with him, how much she cared for him.

She began to cry. She cared that he ate properly, that he had clean clothes, enough sleep, and his exhaustion had been the worst. She cried harder for his easygoing ways now debilitated and aged. He appeared his thirty-eight years, all she had taken from him when what she really wanted to do was....

Return some of the care and affection he had so generously shown to her. Give him not a reward, but companionship, yet she was lousy company. So lousy, he had left his lunch uneaten, couldn't be in the same room with her. Couldn't stay near her and Jenny took that as a sign: time to go.

In her room, she gazed at the lavender-print curtains. So bright and cheery, but Alvin didn't tell her she was pretty anymore, didn't ask her to take down her hair. He was kind when she was broken, but maybe it was from pity. Maybe he felt sorry for her and while he could console when she was falling apart, the rest of his attentions had been muted, like his voice. Jenny overlooked his understanding, forgot about Mrs. Atherton, only recalling Lois. He had been with someone a long time ago, said he didn't love her, but maybe he did. Maybe he wasn't over her and Jenny, with all her baggage, was just too much.

Pulling out her duffel, she placed slippers and jeans on the bottom, followed by the rest of her clothing. She stepped to the closet, finding her skirt, and folded it carefully, setting it on top. Then she remembered her old sneakers, but left them. That's when she saw the flats.

Simple, undecorated gray flats that Alvin had bought her for Easter when things between them were uncomplicated. She collected them like glass slippers, then recalled leaning against him at Tommie and Rae's table, his hands holding hers, his breathing steady, so permanent. Placing the flats beside the worn sneakers, Jenny exhaled. Wiping a few tears, she closed the duffel.

She was halfway down the road when the truck approached. Alvin parked and ran to her, but she didn't look at him.

"Jenny, what are you doing?"

She heard worry in his voice. More than worry, but she ignored it. "Leaving."

He came around her, took her by the upper arms. "Oh Jenny, why?"

She tried to discount his anxiety. More than anxiety, but again she didn't fully acknowledge what was heard. "Alvin, it's uh, time. You know?"

She couldn't say much more without falling apart in the middle of nowhere. Where she had been all her life, but with Alvin so close, Jenny was being pulled back, his fear palpable.

That's what she heard from him; Alvin was afraid.

Then she noted words; he cared about her, she couldn't leave him. He kept repeating that and more, all too painful to bear. No one could feel that way about her, no one! If her parents hadn't been able to love her, how could anyone else?

Love; what he said, what she couldn't dismiss. Alvin said he loved her.

On that deserted road in western Oregon, Jenny heard one sentence with a word so long missing. Then his arms wrapped around her, the duffel taken from her shoulders, along with miserable wasted months and years. She didn't know where Alvin put her baggage, only that it was removed, replaced by love, one word that took all her burdens away.

What Jenny remembered next was odd, as though a dream, yet, sitting on the couch, Alvin so close, it had to have been real. They had returned in the truck, but did he walk her part of the way? She felt as if he'd kept his arms around her, maybe she had been sitting beside him as he drove them home. This was her home, he had said.

Then he had taken her inside and she wasn't sure where the duffel was, out in the truck still, or had he brought her bag in too? She peeked from teary eyes; the duffel sat next to the door. Somehow he had gotten her and that bag in the house, for since finding her, he hadn't been more than a foot away.

Together, how he wanted to be with her. He wanted her to stay, said he loved her. He'd been talking the entire time, telling her he knew how she had survived, breaking herself into little pieces; how she cooked and kept the house, this way and that way, rules for living. Jenny followed rules and as long as they weren't broken, it would be okay. All the boyfriends had been part of that, because she didn't love any of those men. Alvin knew that, or she would have stayed with them. Instead she had left pieces of herself that if added up would be too much to sort.

Then she had come here and everything was fine until.... He had paused and she could feel his smile, that warmth. He was different, not like those others, not interested in her except for friendship. They became friends first, she wasn't afraid of him. Of other things yes, his voice lowering with that statement. Then it rose as he wiped her face. They had trusted each other, letting her share all the bad things, and he was sorry their friendship had gotten lost. He had missed telling her about his day and how pretty she was, so beautiful. He had tipped her head to his, looked into her eyes. As he spoke she saw that blue, ocean blue, then heard him say she was the most beautiful woman, all he wanted. She was all that made him whole and alive. With her there, he was complete.

He was complete because he loved her.

Was it a dream, some fantasy of a man entering her life, telling her she was beautiful? Jenny looked at Alvin, then reached for hair that had fallen into his eyes. She wanted to speak, to refute his words. His smile wouldn't let her.

"Jenny Cope, I do love you."

Her lower lip quivered, unable to form a response. She looked again at the duffel, resting on the floor. He hadn't let her get away. All the others never bothered, never wanted her to stay, not because they cared for her. They had wanted to keep her in bed, not let her leave for that intent. It was the only purpose she had.

Alvin thought otherwise. "We can take it really slow. Rae wants you to come to Fourth of July, there's a big picnic and fireworks, and she wants you to make potato salad. And Tommie sure wants those cookies, the oatmeal ones. But I'd forgotten about it, with everything else." He paused, then grasped her hand, gently squeezing. "Jenny, if you'd rather stay home, if it's too much, I mean, but I'd love to take you. I'd love you to be my...."

"What?"

"My date." His smile was shy, then all over his face. "Not just my roommate. I'd like to take you as my, my, well...."

"Your what?" she asked in a hesitating whisper.

He swallowed, looked away, then gazed right into her eyes. "My girlfriend."

Jenny blinked at those precious, magical words. Tender, innocent, youthful; all she had missed because of what had been done to her, stolen from her. Yet here it was, proffered by a man somewhat touched, but honest and sincere.

"Oh Alvin!" Hands went to her face. Tommie's daughters owned their childhoods and adolescences, times Jenny and her sisters had been denied. Years that countless boyfriends hadn't provided, hours spent on her back in intimate positions never made up for, a life Jenny Cope assumed was out of reach, never to be experienced.

"I have to call Rae today, before dinner, or she'll be after me, wanting to know if you'll come. But if you want to, I mean, just wanna go as friends, that's fine too." He took a breath. "I miss you as my friend, I mean, I know things aren't like before. And Jenny, if that's all you want, that's fine. I mean, if you just wanna be friends again."

She heard his hopes, then what he would take. He would accept her as his friend again, if that was all she wanted. They had been friends first, good friends. He desired more, but their friendship meant something. It had never meant anything to anyone else, or at least to no other man. Only to Joni, and Alvin was implying it would be enough, yet....

Jenny chafed at that limitation. Why, how, for what reason had this man gotten to her where no other had ever reached? This special man, so utterly different than all the others, how had he seen something in her worth loving? What was so dissimilar to him, what strange view did he possess? Her head pondered it, then her heart told her; this man was the one. He wasn't what she had expected; maybe she had thought no man would ever love her, but Alvin did. He knew everything, then told her he loved her. Told her she was beautiful, asked her to be his girlfriend. Jenny felt the earth turn in a new direction, one never dreamed; Jenny was loved.

More than safe, more than protected, more than a warm body. "Alvin, I don't wanna be just friends."

He glanced down, then back to her face.

She smiled. "I love you too."

Chapter 12

Alvin and Jenny headed Tommie's way, Alvin with the cooler in his left hand, Jenny's hand in his right, and the biggest smile Tommie Smith had ever seen on Alvin Harris' face.

The day was sunny and warm, and with his left hand, Tommie waved them over. Alvin nodded, no free limb to reciprocate. Then Alvin's arm shot up, Jenny's in tow, and Tommie laughed. His friend hadn't changed, excited as ever.

Yet, there was a difference, and Tommie had felt it from the moment Alvin called that Saturday night, only a week before, with news that Jenny would be joining them at the picnic, bringing potato salad and oatmeal cookies. A funny giggle followed, then Alvin's happy laughter, that he was bringing his _girlfriend_ to the Fourth of July.

Rae had been close; his _girlfriend_ she boomed, catching all the kids' ears. The girls came running, Steve and Max poking their heads through: _Alvin has a girlfriend?_

There, winding through the grass, were Alvin and Jenny. A couple, Alvin had noted a few days later, when Tommie stopped by, just for a second. That second turned to an hour as in the trees Alvin talked a mile a minute, trying to explain what had happened. Jenny had tried to leave, so he had to tell her how he felt, couldn't let her go. Only with her had he known any real feeling of being whole, being complete. Being, he said very quietly, a _man_.

Not that they had _done anything_. Alvin had been hushed, then he'd smiled. He wasn't sure how that part would happen, but Jenny was his girlfriend and the joy he'd expressed with those words had nearly brought Tommie to tears. Alvin didn't need many words, all he felt shining in his eyes.

The same blue eyes blazed as the couple came near. Delight flooded Alvin, a totality never before experienced. With Jenny next to him, bliss all over her, Alvin had the whole world at his feet.

They sat on the blanket, Alvin noting he had left their chairs in the truck. Then Jenny presented Tommie with an overloaded plate of cookies. "I put in extra chocolate chips."

Tommie laughed. "You trying to get on my good side?"

"Life's too short not to have adequate chocolate," she smiled, tenderly gripping his right hand.

Tommie didn't flinch. Only with Jenny, his wife and children, did that not feel wrong.

The kids appeared and as Alvin talked baseball with Steve, Jenny giggled with the girls. Tommie noticed Rae with friends, but he caught her eye, and she ended her visit, returning to their group. Jenny got up and met her along the way. Then as Rae took her chair, Alvin stood.

"I'll go get ours," he said to Jenny.

"Okay," she beamed.

He got ten feet away, then Jenny joined him. They held hands, Alvin looking no older than Jenny, who seemed to have lost ten years. Rae chuckled as kids departed, cookies in hand.

"What a funny thing," she said. "Will you give me one of those cookies?"

Tommie took two, handing one to Rae. He ate his, savoring both the taste and Alvin and Jenny's joy. "I think it's for real."

"Me too. Honey, he say anything to you?"

"Only that they're together." Tommie leaned close. "Nothing other than what you see."

Rae smiled. "Well, the talk's gonna be more than that. But funny how they lived together first. Maybe that's better, find out if you're compatible."

Tommie reached for Rae's right hand. "I think it worked for them."

"Well, I'm so happy for him. After all these years, he deserves someone. I know she's been around, but look at them. You'd think they'd been together as long as us."

Releasing his wife's hand, Tommie reached for two more cookies. He set one on Rae's leg, tucking his right hand under his left armpit, his usual stance when seated, too difficult to pull that hand in and out of his pocket. He had concealed it since it came out of the cast, deemed useless for baseball. Jenny and Alvin returned, but Tommie felt funny. As Alvin set up lawn chairs, Tommie unfurled that knobby fist onto his right leg. Jenny's chair was next to his and she gently curled her fingers over that gnarled limb.

By evening, blankets had been laid out, kids settled on the ground. Jacob Cassel had come by, Jenny meeting his wife Debbie and their kids, Liz almost fourteen and Scott, twelve. Alvin had introduced Jenny as his girlfriend and Jacob gave Jenny a kiss. The Cassels joined their group, Debbie next to Rae and Jacob flanking Alvin. Jenny and Tommie sat in the middle, both with their eyes on Jacob's daughter.

Elizabeth Cassel was Liz to all, her father's brown curly hair long down her back. Liz's eyes were from her mother, wide and green, a beautiful girl, Jenny whispered to Tommie. He nodded as Jenny then noted Max's fixed gaze, his crush unmistakable. In veiled conversation, Tommie explained that while his youngest son had eyes for Jacob's daughter, Liz only saw Steve. Max had been in love with Liz Cassel from the moment he first took notice of the opposite sex, but was so shy, like Alvin. Max was a mix of Tommie and Rae with brown hair, his mother's gray eyes and round face, a good looking kid, but not as striking as his brother. Not as striking or as old, a boy at fourteen less mature than a girl the same age.

About the same age Jenny had been and Tommie's blood ran cold. It was one thing to think about Jenny at Max's age, but suddenly faced with a girl so vulnerable, Tommie's guts churned. Excusing himself, he headed to the public restrooms.

"Hey, hurry up," Alvin called. "You'll miss the fireworks!"

Tommie nodded, had to run to reach the toilets. He hadn't messed himself since the last time he got roaring drunk. Washing his hands, he struggled to recall when that was. Ten years back, when Alana was still tiny, a toddler when Sam's wife Tracy died.

Returning, Tommie heard laughter from other groups. He drank a few beers once in a while, well, most weekends. Two or three on Friday and Saturday nights, either with Jacob or maybe if Fred Hooper came over, four brews Tommie's limit. Growing older, his body didn't handle the mornings-after so well, and if he had more than four, he would wake feeling rough. Rae was happy his tolerance was waning. She accepted his drinking, but didn't think it was good for him.

Tommie had gotten so drunk after Tracy Cassel died, he had fallen asleep in the barn. In the dead of night he'd stirred, but was too inebriated to get inside the house, and shat himself before reaching the front steps. Mortified, he had collapsed on the ground, where Rae found him the next morning. In the back of the barn she had hosed him off, brought him some clean shorts, then eased him into the tub. Then into their bed, where he had slept the rest of the day.

That had been after Tracy's funeral, which wasn't in Arkendale, but down in Eugene, where the couple had lived. Sam was studying journalism at the University of Oregon, and had been married to Tracy for a year. Her mother wanted her buried in Arizona, where Tracy was from, but the circumstances had been messy, another screwed-up family. Sam hadn't wanted her buried that far away, but he'd been too young and upset to argue. Even Jacob's big mouth had been stilled, no one prepared for that sort of turmoil.

Tommie heard children's laughter, his and Jacob's kids, then Alvin. Alvin was like a big kid, why they hadn't told him any more than Sam's wife had died. Rae hadn't wanted to know the details, but she had listened once, then it was never repeated in her presence.

Liz teased Max about the Seattle Seahawks and Tommie's heart ached. Max was tired of rooting for Californians, a squad in Washington better than those down south. Liz continued, then grew quiet as Steve spoke in Max's defense. Tommie took his chair, caressed his wife's leg, then felt Jenny's hand on his wrecked, useless limb. Liz started chatting with Alana, just girls, only kids. Tommie couldn't use any of his right fingers, but he moved his hand under Jenny's, all he could offer.

After the fireworks, the Cassels departed, Liz giving Steve glances that Tommie's oldest son never noticed. Max had witnessed those adoring gazes, teenage crushes hard to manage. Jenny couldn't relive her life. It had been brutally stolen, but as Alvin squeezed her hand, she closed her eyes, happy for where she was.

She had nodded at Liz Cassel, then moved on, a group innocent, untainted. These kids owned little heartaches, all they needed. Nothing like her teenage years, which no one deserved.

Jenny saw Tommie's face as the Cassels left, knew they were of the same mind. Alvin and Rae, for different reasons, didn't know that type of loss. Jenny was glad, especially for Alvin. Then she remembered Mrs. Atherton.

Rae stood slowly, Jenny noting that disability, but Rae's heart was also handicapped. Jenny wondered why, tried to keep Mrs. Atherton from her head. A proper name, like Mrs. Carmine, but Jenny thought of her as Bonnie, she wasn't worth a title. Yet Mrs. Atherton was different.

"I'll be back for you honey," Tommie said to Rae, heading toward the parking lot, two chairs in his hand.

Jenny took one. "I'll help."

"Yeah, go on. I'll have everything ready when you get back. No cookies to take home," Rae chuckled.

Tommie smiled as Jenny matched his steps. "Yeah, we plowed right through those."

"You sure did," Alvin called as they walked away.

Jenny let them get out of earshot. "Tommie, thanks for tonight. I mean, for including me."

He laughed. "Oh, I think we're past that now."

Reaching the Smith truck, Jenny set her chair in the back. "Tommie, I wanna ask you something."

"Okay."

"What happened to Alvin when he was fifteen?"

Tommie looked out, the dim light concealing. "You mean with Caroline Atherton?"

Jenny nodded. "Alvin told me. She didn't hurt him, did she?"

Tommie sighed. "Not overtly, but it took a long time for him to trust being alone, you know, trust people he didn't know so well."

Tears fell and Jenny wiped them away.

"Honey, I think being slow saved him." Tommie gripped her hand as best he could with his right. "He only thought she was odd. Jenny, he's fine, really. It was a long time ago."

As Tommie spoke, Jacob's truck drove past, kids in the back. Liz Cassel waved to them. "Say goodbye to Steve for me."

"I will," Tommie smiled. Then he turned to Jenny, Alvin's voice not far away. "He's fine honey. Just like you're gonna be."

Jenny began to cry, Liz's words in both their ears. As Alvin reached them, asking if she was okay, Tommie nodded, his arms around the lost girl from Jenny's past.

Jenny thought about Caroline Atherton and Liz Cassel the entire drive home. Arkendale Park was on the other side of town and they had followed the Smiths until Tommie pulled into his driveway. The kids sat in the back and Tommie hadn't gone fast. Once on their road, he had slowed considerably, the night cool. The kids had blankets, but Jenny knew Tommie wouldn't rush, and Alvin never drove fast as a rule.

The slow speed allowed her time to think, much to consider with being introduced to so many as Alvin's _girlfriend_. She had made that announcement to the Baxters and Keith had shaken Alvin's hand. Alvin remarked on it later and Jenny had giggled.

Then the fireworks; while Tommie kissed his wife, Jacob and Debbie hadn't been close enough. Later Jacob took his wife in his arms, a quiet, friendly woman. They were an affectionate twosome, Debbie giving Jacob more than one kiss. Jacob had downed a few beers; maybe Debbie had wanted to prevent a scene.

Jenny had smiled, watching Liz and Max, both looking for affection, but not from each other. Max had just turned fourteen, was still so young when compared to a girl not quite that age. Then Jenny stopped. She couldn't imagine Liz without thinking of herself.

She returned to Caroline Atherton, a full name now, that and she hadn't hurt Alvin. Maybe Tommie would tell her more, or maybe that was all to share. Maybe it was enough that Alvin just couldn't feel what Jenny had, but then, it was a different situation, not incest. Jenny rarely allowed that word and was glad that Alvin had Tommie to talk to. Alvin seemed okay when he told her, only that he knew how _she_ felt, how _she_ was affected. What stroke of luck was that?

But Alvin was so much more; he was _it_. Some were bothered by his having a girlfriend, not the Smiths or the Cassels, or even Sylvia and Keith. But a few others, like Fred Hooper, had offered Jenny a funny look, had also given Alvin one out of his view. Jenny knew their minds, but could only sense the irony. What if they knew what kind of girl she was? Some assumed, but Jenny wasn't troubled. If they thought her loose, who cared? Alvin didn't, nor did the people he loved. They had accepted her, but what if Rae knew? What if that quiet Debbie Cassel knew what had happened to Jenny? What if Jacob or his brother? What if they knew she'd had an incestuous relationship with her father for four years? Only Tommie was aware and Jenny trusted him with her life, a man like Alvin, no judgment, only an open heart. Tommie realized what mattered due to his hand and his friendship with Alvin.

Nor did Tommie flee from others' handicaps. He had married a woman crippled by polio, was best friends with a man more like a kid. Jenny turned to Alvin, who had pulled into their yard. He smiled at her, his face so open and expressive, that of a boy.

But also a man as he grasped her hand, setting his palm along hers. Warmth ran through Jenny; she liked sex, or had used it, her crutch. Joni had called her on it right as Jenny left and they had parted on a bad note. Jenny utilized her body the way Joni employed drugs and alcohol, but not one man had set himself anywhere near Jenny's heart. Alvin had reached that muscle and other parts of Jenny were responding.

She didn't move from him, thinking how at first it was only his friendship she coveted, his voice so pleasant and calming. She had needed his arms around her during storms, would probably require those embraces for a long time. But they hadn't captivated, only sustained. Now as he placed his right arm along the back of the seat, the hairs on her neck prickled, her heart raced. Since he had asked her to be his girlfriend, Jenny felt something that emerged in small waves. She had denied his physical presence for too long; now Alvin Harris hit Jenny Cope like a hurricane.

"Well, we're home," he said, not moving his arm or any other part of his body.

"Uh-huh," Jenny mumbled.

It was quiet and she tried to breathe normally. She loved his eyes and smile, but hadn't paid much attention to the rest of him, except that his frame no longer looked thin. He had been so skinny back in February; now it was July, nearly five months since she had arrived. Five months since she'd last had sex, the longest she had gone since she was....

Liz Cassel's age. Jenny had been in a relationship, incestuous or not, for the last sixteen years of her life. But for the previous five months, she had been without any man, any sexual contact, and it had been...unnoticed, until now. She hadn't considered that until faced with being alone with Alvin and wanting him.

Had Jenny ever wanted any of her lovers, not as hiding places, but as men to fulfill her? Had any man ever _made love_ to her? Not a single one. She had been raped repeatedly, then had given herself freely, but never once had she been actively loved by someone wanting her for more than her body or a way to release their own sick desires. Her father had told her time and again how he loved her so special, how he would be the _only_ one to love her. But she had to be quiet, be still. Couldn't tell, couldn't move: _Keep still Jennifer, be still and go to sleep._

_Don't move, Jennifer, don't say anything Jennifer. Just lie still Jennifer._ Her father's voice rang in her head, the same words every time, using the long version of her name. Whether the thunder came or not, her father always did. If she was on her period, he masturbated over her stomach. Otherwise he penetrated her with cheap, thick condoms, never giving her any warning, entering her room in his robe, already hard with that rubber in place, telling her how much he loved her: _Jennifer,_ _I love you so much!_

She felt sick and ran from the truck, vomiting on the lawn. As bile left her throat, Alvin was at her side, holding back her hair that she had worn long, just for him. Jenny had her hair down all the time except for chores and he had been so affectionate, holding her hand, touching her shoulders. Nothing more, they hadn't even kissed. Her father never kissed her, groping at her tiny breasts, enjoying them more as she developed, then raping her. She had struggled at first, having no idea what he was doing. She hadn't even started her period, no clue to what sex was. He attacked his daughters right before they turned into women, Jane revealing in plain language a few weeks later once the sisters knew things had moved on. He had moved onto Jenny and she'd been so bewildered, she had nearly run away.

"He'll find you," Jane had said. "He always does."

Alvin grasped Jenny's hand, then wiped her mouth with his handkerchief. She looked into his worried face, wanting him to wrench away memories, voices, words. She wanted to have sex with him, but not as she'd had with so many others, without emotion.

As Jenny began to cry, Alvin's arms enfolded her, his gentle voice pulling her from that time, from images she couldn't purge. She could throw up the contents of her stomach, but the insides of her head were beyond Alvin's reach.

Chapter 13

Max had finally settled on yarn not pastel or black. Mostly earth tones, browns and dull greens, some beige and gray, magenta and a deep red that Jenny placed according to her mood. It was a handy way to finish up skeins and kept her busy as July moved into August.

Alana wanted light colors and Jenny had gone shopping with her and Rae, something to do as the men were busy, kids free for the summer. Alana chose pink, purple, and cream, asking if it would look too busy. Jenny loved the tones, so different from Max's.

She returned from that shopping trip with a bag full of yarn, a few groceries, and an invitation. The annual Smith barbecue, one that she had heard Alvin mention, was in two weeks, the middle-end of August. Alvin had told Jenny the details; lots of food, all their friends, then dancing. He seemed excited with that notion, but hadn't mentioned it after the initial description, except for asking if she knew how to dance.

He did, as Rae had taught him before she and Tommie got married. Jenny listened to Alvin's stories, tales that were now all around her. Living as his girlfriend was much like before in the return of their warm friendship, their talks during mealtimes, and Alvin's nightly chatter as she crocheted. If baseball was on, she heard less talk, more hoots and hollers, then the TV would go quiet as nine o'clock chimed from the living room grandfather clock. Alvin turned in early, lots of work during the summer; the garden to tend, trees to check, and he helped Tommie with the cows. At nine every night, Alvin was ready for bed, but each evening he went up alone.

Jenny saw Rae drive off, Alana having moved to the front seat. She was a sweet girl, talkative the more Jenny got to know her. The baby of the Smith family, Lana wanted to be a teacher. Jenny had encouraged her; better than a waitress, her tone light as Alana had offered more of her likes and aversions that afternoon. Jenny put away the groceries, then sat with her work. She wanted to get through the darker colors Max had picked and start Alana's blanket. She wanted to go up with Alvin every night, but had been unable to do so.

She was relaxed as Alvin's girlfriend, and told him so. Their conversations occurred as they ate, gathered eggs, even in the evenings when there was no baseball, or any other show he liked. She kept her eyes on the yarn, easier to talk to him with no eye contact. Yet, her words were honest; Jenny kept nothing concealed but her body.

When storms rumbled, he held her close, but as a friend, nothing further. They were friends again, good friends, but not lovers. For all she had slept around, Jenny hadn't yet made it to Alvin's bed.

She pulled yarn from the skein, wanting to finish this color and move onto the next. She wished to move to Alvin's room, but every time she tried, echoes of her father's voice hovered. She had never heard that before and it infuriated her that even now, so far away, he still hurt her, her and Alvin. She had shared that it wasn't Alvin's fault, even explaining how in coming home from the park, she had wanted to love him completely. Her father kept getting in the way.

Alvin hadn't seemed overly bothered, only that when lying with her during a storm, he had stopped setting his body all along hers. She had noticed that a few nights' back; when curled on her right side, space remained between them. Maybe he had been aroused, maybe not, but either way he hadn't wanted her to know. While stroking her hair, he said he loved her, that it would pass, which it did. The next thing she knew it was morning, and she was alone.

Jenny didn't like waking by herself when he was right across the hall. Sometimes they woke at the same hour, sometimes he was up before her. She could smell the coffee, how she knew, but what she really wanted to know was how much longer would it be this way?

She had no idea, for she had never felt so trapped. Not even in her father's grip had Jenny been so ensnared, nowhere to run, to flee. Silently she shed burning tears. It wasn't just her; Alvin was imprisoned too.

Jenny whipped through that skein of brown yarn, tying green to the end. Starting another row, she wished loving Alvin was that easy. She inspected her work. She hadn't liked the dull brown, but Max had added it to the pile. She wasn't fond of the green either, not bright like Steve's. Or like Alvin's, his blanket set along the back the couch. He didn't use it now, although sometimes he laid it over her if storms rumbled in the late afternoon and she was huddled on the sofa, scared witless. Jenny clucked at Max's blanket. She wasn't fond of it, but there was nothing she could do to change it. She couldn't change that or where her father lingered, either one.

When Alvin came in, he was tired but happy. Coming home to Jenny now that they were together was good, no matter how long the day had been.

That day, spent mostly with Tommie and the cows, Alvin's feet had been pounded by anxious calves while getting them into the chute for shots, cries emerging from their small throats. Then came the messy part, marking ears and cutting little bulls into steers.

Alvin had shoved small animals down narrow gates as Tommie, Steve, and Max did the rest. Jacob was there too, but Tommie and Steve were in charge, Steve learning the trade, all he could talk about. When girls weren't around, Steve was as chatty as Rae, all about baseball or animals. Steve also paid close attention to his dad's words, Tommie patient but thorough. Steve loved to pitch, but this place was his home.

His home and where his heart lie, but not with Jacob's girl. Lots of teasing about that and Alvin hadn't missed Max's broken face when her name came up. Steve smiled, hearing all Jacob was to pass along to him, but Steve spoke of another girl, one his own age. Steve had little time for gals anyway, he said, what with all these squealing calves.

While thinking about Steve's words, Alvin found Jenny in the kitchen. Steve had just finished playing summer ball with the church, was starting football practice. He would be a junior, on the varsity team, and that had brought Max out, the brothers chatting sports as the day ended. Alvin had been glad to see Max smile, all talking of how great it would be next fall when the Seahawks started to play.

Alvin stopped at the sink, washing up. "Hey Jenny."

"How was your day?"

"Oh fine, but I'm tired." He dried his hands, smelling dinner; beef stew, fresh bread, and maybe pie? Jenny was so good in the kitchen and he joined her at the stove. "Did you get the yarn?"

"Yeah. Alana's such a sweet girl."

Alvin sat down, watching Jenny cook. He loved her so much and closed his eyes as Jenny told of her day. He imagined she was next to him, her hand in his, as if through her words he could feel her very presence. Their relationship brought him great joy and it was rare that Alvin pondered what else couples shared. Only at night, falling asleep alone, did he need more than Jenny's voice.

She brought dinner to the table, her hair down. She wore a blue t-shirt and jeans under her full apron and as they ate, she continued speaking, but Alvin only noticed those adorable freckles, her stunning smile. He had heard those words on TV, but they applied to Jenny, his girlfriend. They were a couple and if they only had this, it was enough for Alvin.

He knew she felt awful that this was all they shared. It didn't bother him, well, not often. At night, hearing her across the hall, he thought how nice it would be if they were together in his room. Sleeping with her didn't carry the sexual context, more of two people beside each other, what he recalled with Lois. The act of intercourse had faded; stronger was the memory of her next to him, not being alone. Yet, Jenny was just across the hall and when she was upset, he did lie with her. But lately, it had been with space between them.

As she spooned him more stew, he saw her from behind, the apron not in the way. He liked her curves, then he took a drink. She was so angry with herself, telling him in plain words how unfair it was that her father still affected her. She got downright mad, banging her fists into the bed, pouring frustration for them both. How it wasn't right that they both had to suffer.

She seemed to suffer more than he did and Alvin told her so, yet, the longer they were boyfriend and girlfriend, the more he felt troubled. Alvin had needs too, ones that he allowed out sometimes, thinking of how beautiful she was, her voice and smile which shone more often than not. Jenny was happy, he was too. Both happy, yet....

Alvin had felt frustrated before due to his slowness. Rarely was it physical, never sexual, an odd discovery. For all he shared with Tommie, those notions stayed hidden.

Alvin was getting full. Then Jenny mentioned she had made an apple pie and his mouth watered. Alvin loved her cooking, also loved having her with him, but beyond that was a hazy sense of something more satisfying than good dinners or desserts. Yet until Jenny felt able, Alvin would wait. Sometimes it wasn't easy, but as she brought him a slice of pie, pulling her chair close, Alvin looked into her pretty brown eyes that had known so much hurt. Alvin took a bite, reached for her face, then kissed her cheek. He would give Jenny all the time she needed.

That evening Jenny crocheted while Alvin watched TV. Small light peeked through the front window, the days still long, but after Tommie and Rae's barbecue, the sunshine would lessen, autumn approaching. Alvin looked forward to shorter days and fewer thunderstorms. He wanted that season to end.

Jenny was chatty, more so than usual, talking about Alana's blanket. Alvin saw how fast Jenny's fingers moved; she wanted to finish Max's afghan. Alvin had begun to think of those kids with their names attached, Jenny remembering Jacob and Debbie's children too. Jenny easily spoke of Scott, but Alvin had noticed Liz's name came with difficulty.

He knew why, had spoken with Tommie about that. Liz was about the same age Jenny had been, and Alvin stopped there. Then he realized that was why she was there in the first place. If not for her father, who knew where Jenny Cope would be?

Probably not with him. If she'd had a normal father, she wouldn't have run away. She would have married some guy in Colorado, not gone to all those places, then met Sylvia on the bus in New Mexico. Alvin thought simply; if Tommie's hand hadn't been bad, he wouldn't be living down the road. Steve had talked about baseball most of the afternoon, but not that he would be making it his life, the first Alvin had heard of that. He had thought Tommie's son would want to play for the Giants. Not the Yankees, Alvin had hoped, but now it sounded like Steve wasn't even thinking of Alvin's favorite team.

"Oh, I'm much better at this," Steve had laughed, clipping the ears of another bawling calf. As that one was let loose, another moved through the chute, Steve snipping Tommie's mark into the ears of another small cow.

As the men finished the job, Steve and Max departed for other chores. Then Alvin asked Tommie; wasn't Steve going to be a ball player?

Tommie had shaken his head. Steve was good, but that summer he'd seen men better than himself on the church squad, talented guys that could pitch and hit, field and bunt, but only for the love of the game. Steve knew his limits, what Tommie said, looking right into Alvin's eyes. His son was good, but not good enough for it to be his career. Steve would be a rancher like Tommie, and Alvin had thought about that when he wasn't thinking about Jenny. Jenny could have been so many other things, except for her father.

Tommie wasn't bitter about his hand, about what might have been. Alvin felt the same, for this was all he knew, and that was okay. Playing ball wasn't going to be Steve's life, but Jenny hadn't been given any choice, neither had Tommie. Alvin had never considered what else he might have done, only the farm, taking care of his mother, helping Tommie, and now Jenny. Jenny was Alvin's life, just how it went. Tommie liked to say that, not good or bad, but how it was. Rae said he was philosophical, and while Alvin didn't know what that meant, Tommie always laughed, so it must be something close.

"Jenny, do you know what philosophical means?"

She giggled, setting down her work. "What?"

Slowly he said it again. Maybe she didn't know that word.

She stood, stretched, then joined him on the couch. "Uh, it means thinking about stuff, like being a deep thinker. Why?"

"Rae tells Tommie he's philosophical. Is that true?"

She grasped his hand, rubbing it in hers. That made him feel good, nearly made him forget why he asked.

Her laughter was also welcome. "Yeah, I guess he is. I never thought about it like that."

"Well, I was just thinking and remembered that. Oh Jenny, I thought about something else."

"What?"

As she continued her movements, Alvin grew hard. It didn't take much these days, especially if she was near him. He would probably think about her that night, then masturbate. As he got older, it had been something he had done less and less, until Jenny became his girlfriend.

He lost his thought as she touched him, her leg against his. She smelled pretty, not all fancy like some women. Rae used makeup, but didn't wear perfume, not like Debbie Cassel. Alvin liked Jacob's wife, but she always smelled too sweet, like one of the sections at Dougal's Drugstore. Alvin avoided that row, going down the aspirin aisle if he had to get to the back for a prescription.

Jenny smelled like her cooking, right now like pie. That was sweet, but mixed with how warm and good she was. Alvin had forgotten all about Tommie and philosophical, but that was a good way to describe him. Alvin returned to thinking about Jenny, much nicer to consider.

"Alvin, you going to sleep?"

Her voice was gentle, how her hand felt on his, and Alvin wouldn't sleep that night unless he thought about her. If he didn't masturbate, he would toss and turn, taking forever to relax. Sometimes he dreamed of holding her in the barn, hay around them, protecting them from all that had been before. Then Alvin remembered what he wanted to tell her.

"Jenny," he said, sitting up. "I know why you're here, with me."

"Why?"

He turned to her, no longer hard, only wanting to speak his thoughts. "Because, well...." Now it seemed silly. It seemed.... Alvin tried to think of the right word, but all he could come up with was _incorrect_. Yet, that wasn't it either.

"Alvin, what?" she asked, still holding his hand.

He was getting distracted, feeling her again, his erection returning. He wasn't self conscious enough to wonder if she noticed. They had shared so much, but he wanted to tell her this, maybe it would help. Maybe if she had a reason....

Yet, what could excuse what had happened to her? All Jenny had suffered wasn't enough to bring her here to him.

He stood abruptly, not looking at her. "Oh, nothing. I'm going to bed. Goodnight Jenny."

Alvin rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He used the bathroom, got undressed, and didn't masturbate. He only wanted to cry.

"Alvin," Jenny called after knocking three times. "Alvin, please, what is it?"

She stood still, but could hear his cries, ripping into her from the moment she had gone after him. Once she heard the toilet flush, she had put her yarn away, then locked the house, but Alvin's tears hadn't abated.

He said nothing, but she heard him sniffle. "Please Alvin, what?"

Jenny waited, heard him moving in bed. Still, he stayed silent.

She opened the door, found him on his right side, facing the window. The night seemed cool and he was curled up, a blanket pulled tight.

"Alvin please, I know you're not asleep."

"Jenny, it's nothing."

She moved closer, noting the room was arranged similarly to how Betsy's furniture had been placed. The bed rested in the middle of the far wall, his dresser across, but the chest was gone, another low bureau in that spot. The curtains Jenny had sewn were closed, but the room wasn't dark, the sun just having set.

"Alvin, what is it?" Jenny knelt on his side of bed. "Oh baby," she whispered, wiping his tears. "It's okay, really. Please, you can tell me."

"Oh Jenny Cope."

He moved to the center of the double bed and Jenny sat next to him, stroking his head. "Alvin, I love you. You can tell me anything."

Her voice carried all she wanted to give him, but only in words could she express it. It felt strangled in her throat, but still the physical couldn't be breached.

Yet she could comfort him, that was safe. Jenny felt safe with him, but loving him seemed completely dangerous, and she hated that. Sex had never been scary or hazardous. It meant nothing, but Alvin meant everything.

Was that it, she wondered, looking at the blonde head lying on the pillow. He meant everything to her, more than she could process, more than any man or woman had ever been. Jenny shed a few tears. Alvin was her world and what she would give to lie next to him, show him exactly how deeply her feelings went.

She stayed upright, stroking his head. "Please baby, I love you. Please Alvin?"

"Jenny, it's all mixed up. If I tell you, you'll only be sad. Or maybe mad at me."

She had no idea what would provoke such a reaction. Jenny's feelings for Alvin were rooted in love and appreciation. Also remorse for what she couldn't give him.

"Alvin, I promise I won't be mad. I'll only be sad if you can't share it with me. Honey, I've told you everything. There's nothing you could say that would hurt."

He sat up, wiping his tears with the sheet. "That's just it. All your life is why you're here."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh Jenny," he sighed, leaning against the wall. He wore a t-shirt and underneath was mesh shorts. She washed all his clothes, had lain next to him how many nights? They were so close in all but one manner.

He didn't continue, looking toward the window. Night was falling, but Jenny saw an answer, one he wasn't eager to share.

"Alvin," she murmured, reaching for his hand but not stroking it. He had been excited on the couch, she had too. Why she hadn't stopped touching him; maybe she could help him get off. If nothing else, maybe she could do that for him.

Jenny knew how to turn on men and Alvin wasn't difficult; he was just a man. Then she wanted to slap herself. He wasn't _just a man_. He was special, who she loved. Maybe he wasn't her lover yet, but one day, eventually.

But not that night. His eyes were anxious but hesitant, wanting to tell her something. She held his hand, then traced the side of his face. What she would give to love him properly and for him to touch her that way. "Alvin, please tell me. Whatever it is, I love you. I'll always love you."

"Oh Jenny," he started again, then looked away from her.

Her hand left his face, but not from her own power. He had moved suddenly and she hadn't stayed with him. "Alvin, god, please just tell me!"

He didn't look at her. "Jenny, you're here in Oregon, with me, because of what he did to you."

Setting her hand on the bed, she gazed at the coming darkness. Alvin still hadn't turned her way and she was glad. "Uh, well...."

"See, I knew you'd be mad."

Jenny inhaled. How Alvin went from someone so adult to one not, she didn't know. Not often did he cross such a wide gamut, but when he did, it threw her. His voice was whiny but honest. He was right. She was mad.

"Alvin," she said slowly. "What do you mean exactly?"

He looked at her, his face contrite and earnest. Jenny knew he meant no malice, only saying what he thought, and why was he always so damned right? For his simplistic nature, he was the most rational person she had ever met, aside from Tommie Smith. As Alvin spoke, Jenny wanted to fall to the floor, feeling his intelligence overpower hers. Tommie wasn't the philosophical one, it was Alvin.

"Jenny, if your dad hadn't been so mean to you, then you wouldn't have run away and ended up here. And I know that was horrible! There's nothing I can say to make up for what he did to you and your sisters. But I love you. I love you and I'm so glad you're here, but you wouldn't be here, right now, if not for what he did. You'd be somewhere else, far away, married probably, with kids. Maybe little kids or maybe you'd be doing, oh, I don't know. So many other things, but you wouldn't be here, sitting with me. And Jenny...." He wiped her tears. "While if I ever see your dad I know I'd kill him, I also know that if not for him, I never would've met you. Never met the woman I love more than anything I've ever known."

Each of Alvin's words sliced into her, leaving pieces all over the bed. Then Jenny was pulled onto the mattress next to him. Setting her close, Alvin wrapped around her, saying her whole name, _Jenny Cope_ , followed by _I love you._

Chapter 14

Again that morning, Jenny had stirred to the sun, Alvin forgetting to close the curtains. She didn't know if it was his usual way, or due to her presence.

For two weeks, Jenny had shared Alvin's bed, but only for slumber. After that night in early August, she hadn't slept alone, or hadn't wanted to. Was it both or either, she wondered, draining water from the potatoes. After they were cooled, she would make the salad for that night's barbecue. The oatmeal cookies had been baked yesterday and now Saturday, the twenty-third of August, she prepared the rest of the Cope-Harris' provisions. Alvin was at Tommie's, stringing lights in the trees. Alvin loved that task and Jenny only now understood how big of a party this was going to be.

Rae had asked for a double batch of cookies, but a single portion of potato salad, others contributing. She admitted Tommie wanted some cookies set aside for his personal snacking. Jenny had smiled, but knew that already.

As a storm raged, Tommie had asked if she could make extra cookies. Not that he was greedy, but they were so good, everyone would be at them before he would get a single one. She had nodded to a voice that while not Alvin's, was as calming, as kind. With Tommie's arms around her, Jenny shut her eyes, trying to stay as still as possible.

Tommie had arrived just as the thunder started, Alvin in town, meeting with Bonnie Carmine. He had been tight-lipped about that, was also getting a haircut. Jenny had watched him leave, clouds on the horizon. She had stayed indoors crocheting, now with Alana's bright colors in hand, vibrant purple as the first rumble emerged. Jenny had gripped her hook, how she had clutched the side of her bed as her father assaulted her, his words keeping her hushed, still preventing her from loving Alvin. The couple shared a bed, but not each other.

After that initial roar, she had found hands on hers, one not as strong as the other. Looking up, she saw Tommie's warm brown eyes, his face worried but present. She hadn't even heard him come through, but he had moved her to the couch, setting her yarn on the chair. Then he was beside her, telling her he wanted some extra cookies and that he wouldn't leave her.

Looking at the loaded plates on the table, Jenny remembered his words. That storm was a few days ago, but for the barbecue, the weather was sunny, white puffs fringing the sky. Alvin had returned sopping from the pelting rain that fell after the thunder, his freshly cut hair soaking wet. She hadn't cared as Tommie released her, and she had clung to Alvin, his soothing tone like Tommie's, but more healing. Now every night Alvin's voice eased her to sleep. In her dreams she loved him.

Those dreams were hard to ignore, but no matter how she tried, Jenny couldn't discount her fears. Once she allowed his theories into her brain, she had been able to lie next to him, allowing that this life was all due to her past. But it was one thing to think it, say it even. She had said his thoughts aloud, that if not for her father, most likely she would be far from the farm. Far from Alvin, from all she knew to be good, honest, and wonderful. Yet, if this life was so damned wonderful, why couldn't she make love to him?

"Jenny, you ready yet?" It was almost six and they were late. Late for him, as Alvin was always at the barbecue by five. He had wanted to be there early to introduce Jenny to everyone.

"I'm almost ready, just another minute."

"Okay." She still dressed in her room, where she was right then. But she slept in his bed, and finding her there each morning was a treasure Alvin couldn't imagine being any better. His memories of sex were so old, there wasn't anything with which he could compare falling asleep to and waking with Jenny Cope. Sometimes he would find her in his arms, sometimes she would be turned on her right, facing the window. Either way, he always woke happy, and usually with an erection that he carried to the bathroom. If he got back into bed with her, it returned, but she never called attention to it, and, he had noticed, she didn't lie right against him. Space remained, allowing both to ignore it, yet still Alvin didn't care.

He didn't care if she couldn't be with him because she was his in nearly every other way. If he knew better, it would probably drive him to distraction. Since he didn't, he wasn't bothered.

The _only_ problem was he never got a minute to masturbate. Now with her so close, Alvin felt ready to jump out of his skin every time she touched him. He had thought about doing it in the bath, yet that seemed unpleasant, but finally, two nights before, he had done it right as the tub drained. It had taken only moments, never had it happened so quickly. He had slept well that night, but again, only yesterday morning, his body was alert, Jenny soft against him, smelling so nice. She wore a large t-shirt to bed and he could see the outlines of her breasts. Alvin had accidentally brushed against her nipples a few times when he woke in her arms. That happened too, Jenny on her left, curled around him. That was good because she didn't know how hard he was, and he could slip right out of bed.

"Jenny," he called, shifting back and forth, his jeans uncomfortable, but not from extra pounds. Mrs. Carmine had mentioned his weight the other day, before he'd gotten his haircut. Then the rain had poured on him as he ran into the house, seeing Jenny in Tommie's grasp. Those thoughts silenced Alvin's libido, yet, he had been relieved finding her with Tommie, who had finally gotten an earful that very morning. Rae had needed a few more groceries, and the kids were either in the house or gone as Alvin strung the lights. He loved being in the trees, but once on the ground, the men stepped to the barn where Alvin shared why Jenny was in Oregon.

It didn't explain their lack of intimacy; Alvin didn't spill that to Tommie, but somehow his friend could tell, and again Tommie had good advice. The same advice, but Alvin knew there was no other. Give her time, Tommie had said, then agreeing with Alvin. If Jenny had lived a different life, she wouldn't be there in Arkendale.

When Alvin seemed overwhelmed, he pondered that. It usually calmed his mind and body. Jenny was with him, but the cost to her had been horrible.

That idea vanished as she came downstairs. Her hair was loose, what he noticed first, then her skirt, long and blue with soft flecks of green. She had made it with Rae's sewing machine; Jenny had taken Bonnie's money for the curtains and bought some fabric.

Her blouse was also handmade, light purple with a drawstring at the neck left untied. Around her throat was a pukka shell necklace, Alana's thank-you gift for her afghan. Jenny's fingers had flown to finish it and when Alana gave her the choker and a hug last night, Alvin had found more than tears in his girlfriend's eyes. Jenny's face held many emotions, more than Alvin could sort.

But she had been happy, how she looked now, and so attractive. "Oh Jenny, you look so pretty!" On her feet were the gray flats; she was like Cinderella and Alvin felt a little like Prince Charming. "Oh wow, I'm the luckiest guy!"

She stepped close, kissing his cheek. He felt her tears. "Jenny, what is it?"

"Nothing." Her voice was another mixture he couldn't place. "We better get going."

He nodded, then grabbed his keys from the coffee table. Alvin carried the picnic basket and while walking her out he saw a shooting star. Setting the basket in the back seat, he felt this night was blessed, but he stayed quiet, only opening her door. Then seating himself, Alvin drove them to the party.

All evening Sam Cassel observed Jenny and Alvin. He had watched Jenny mostly, while drinking one beer. Then Tommie placed another in his hand, and Sam had nursed that along. He didn't want to get drunk that night, or at least not until Jenny was gone.

He moved through groups, avoiding his brother. Jacob was plastered, but that hadn't taken long. Sam had been home for a few days and Jacob seemed drunk all the time. That wasn't true, but every time Sam returned from Portland, Jacob was usually blitzed. Nights at the Cassels' house consisted of Jacob drinking beer after beer, Debbie clearing the cans, Scott and Liz ignoring their father's rants. If Jacob thought Sam wanted to return to this, he had another thing coming.

Sam came home only for their mother Maisie, Maisie and Jenny. Not actually Jenny, but Sam hadn't been able to get her from his mind since meeting her at Easter. Yet, she had been off limits, like now. Then she was Alvin's roommate, his houseguest. Tonight she was his girl and Sam took a drink of his beer, washing down that notion.

Had he thought it would be any different? Truthfully, he hadn't expected her to still be there, was shocked when Jacob let it slip that Alvin and Jenny were together, spoken as if a joke. This wasn't a joke, Alvin's arm around the young woman who didn't look at all as when Sam had met her. On Easter, her face wore the remnants of a bad accident. Tonight she shined, she and Alvin both. If Sam had owned any idea of hooking up with her, it disappeared as soon as he saw how Alvin held her hand.

Her hand, her waist within his grasp; Jenny's whole attention was gripped by Alvin Harris. Sam wasn't alone in watching them, that couple garnering more than their share of attention. It was hard not to stare because Alvin was so besotted and in his awkward yet graceful manner, he and Jenny openly relayed their affections. Alvin had no awareness to be anyone but himself, so his love for Jenny was unabashed. Sam saw that as clearly as he noted how Tommie's youngest felt for Liz. Sam's niece couldn't give two figs for Max, her heart crushed by the girl Steve brought. Sam had smiled at the heartache running all through Liz and Max. Max was like Alvin, shy around girls, especially around Liz. He didn't know what to say to her, how Alvin used to be.

Sam made his way to the porch, saying hello to Fred Hooper, who pointed at Jenny and Alvin, sharing a table with Tommie and Rae, others nearby. Fred laughed at Alvin's smitten demeanor, clearly that of a man in love, yet like Liz, unaware of custom or rule. For years Liz had chased Steve, just not getting it through her brown-haired skull that he simply didn't see her, missing poor Max, who would have fallen at her feet.

Lots of men at the barbecue would have fallen at Jenny's, and after Fred left for another beer, Sam sighed. She was breathtaking, but only had eyes for the last person expected. Her feelings were apparent too, but subtle, the way her hand didn't leave his arm, how her smile lit from his voice, the one most didn't notice. Like Max, Alvin graced the sidelines, was invisible. But to Jenny he was the only man present.

No other man mattered. She had shared her attentions, dancing with Max and Scott. Sam's nephew was just starting to give girls more than a second of his time and Jenny had surprised him with an early dance. Then she had gone to Max, twirling in that skirt, one Sam had heard she made. She had all kinds of talents, then Sam took another drink.

Jenny was a girl that a small town like Arkendale drove out with a few sniffs. No one like her lasted for long unless she wanted to live on the outskirts with Todd Lambert. The Fred Hoopers and Bonnie Carmines would eradicate someone like Jenny before the sun went down. But they hadn't found her first. Alvin had.

Sam finished his beer, wanted another. No more than three, as he didn't want to get sloppy and end up like his brother. Debbie was their driver, so Sam didn't need to be stone sober, and he was glad. Seeing Jenny with another man, even one as deserving as Alvin, Sam would need that third beer just to take off the edge.

"Come on Alvin, you owe me that dance." Rae stood with care. She hadn't been drinking, but with all the work for the party, her leg ached. "I'm not gonna last much longer."

Jenny smiled, gave him a shove. "Get movin' buster."

Alvin laid a quick kiss along Jenny's face, then he grabbed Rae's hand. "I'm coming." He smiled back at Jenny. "You and I are next."

"You bet," she said as Alvin and Rae went to the middle of the yard. It was a slow song and Jenny watched them with a happy heart. Then she felt Tommie's hand on hers.

"She gets him out there every year."

"He said she taught him to dance for your wedding." Jenny sighed. "So much I don't know, so much that happened before me."

"There is no _before you_ for him."

Jenny saw the truth in Tommie's eyes. She looked down, felt his squeeze.

"Honey, all his life's been wiped away. You're all he knows, all he wants to know."

Her heart hurt, wishing it was like that for her.

"Jenny, I know it's hard thinking it'll be okay. Was that way for me and Rae, but sometimes you have to take it on faith. Have to trust it'll be all right."

"When Tommie?" For a second Jenny's pulse raced as Alvin and Rae stood close. Then they laughed as others joined, Jacob supported by his wife, his brother with Alana. By the looks of it, Alana was leading and Jenny giggled.

"Isn't Sam a hoot?" Tommie chuckled. "Lana thinks she's got him sorted."

Jenny gazed to Steve and his girl, Lexi and her boyfriend. Tommie and Rae didn't seem thrilled with Lexi's choice, but Rae had said she would give him the benefit of the doubt, which Jenny translated as Lexi had one more year of high school, then would be off for college. They talked of sending her to Eugene, a good school there, but Jenny wasn't familiar with Oregon's universities. "Tommie, is Lexi still thinking of going to Eugene?"

He nodded. "Can't happen too soon for Rae."

Jenny knew he only referred to the boyfriend, one on which he seemed neutral, his usual tone. "Tommie, doesn't anything bother you?"

He smiled. "What's the point? When I screwed up my hand, I thought that was the end of my life. Thought that for about three, four months, then I met Rae. If I hadn't been at that game as a spectator, I would've been in the batter's box or on the field, never given her the time of day." His voice went low. "Jenny, until I got hurt, I was the biggest SOB you'd wanna meet. Just Joe Cool, thought I was real hot shit. Then I wrecked my hand, ruined at the time what I thought my whole life was gonna be, Mr. Ballplayer. I was gonna be Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, and Jackie Robinson all rolled into one, then it all went to shit. Couldn't even write my own goddamned name, had to learn everything all over again. Suddenly I was just like Alvin."

Tommie stared toward his wife and friend, his best friend. They were best friends, but until that accident, Tommie had no illusions, none that he'd realized.

"Suddenly everything fell apart, just like Alvin, God bless him. The best friend I ever had and I didn't even know it until no one else wanted anything to do with me. You wanna talk about humbling? Jenny, until that accident, I was the biggest asshole you ever met."

Tommie glanced at the porch. "You know why I let Fred come out here? To remind me of who I'd have been, some narrow-minded jackass, just where I was headed. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I hate Fred. But that would've been me if this baby hadn't come my way."

He held up his right hand, the thumb missing, having been severed at the base. "Honey, shit happens." He took a drink of his beer, then smiled. "It happens all the fuckin' time and if I've learned anything, it's not always the end of the world."
Jenny's tears kept her head down. She heard Alvin's happy voice, both he and Rae chatting loudly over the music, another song beginning, Joni Mitchell's "Same Situation". Jenny had heard Lexi telling her mother that she and Jenny were both big fans.

Tommie stood, offering his bad hand. "Come dance with me Jenny Cope."

She looked up, finding his smile. Accepting that hand, she let Tommie lead her to the yard.

After that song, Jenny danced with Max again, then Scott Cassel. These were faster songs and she twirled as Tommie's words settled in her head. Then Sam requested her for a slower song, but Sam didn't hold her close. He knew different moves, ones she picked up on instantly.

His were deliberate, but not intimate, only those of a talented dancer, someone not too young or old, as Alvin was. Unlike Alvin, Sam twisted her under his arm, propelling her away, then back again, never letting go. He was smooth, but not cloying or rude. She'd endured some looks, mostly from Fred Hooper.

Tommie had been right about that man and more, Jenny floating as Sam held one of her hands, his other on her waist with no purpose other than to keep her within his reach. His touch meant nothing more than taking her where he wanted, which was all over the yard, in time only to the music. Gracefully they moved around other couples and when they reached Alvin and Lexi, Sam asked for Alvin's partner, giving Jenny to her man.

She mouthed _thank you_ to Sam, who smiled, whipping Lexi away, much to the chagrin of Lexi's boyfriend, whom Jenny also observed. He seemed miffed that a good-looking older man had the gall to spin Lexi round, but Jenny was happy to be back with Alvin.

"Hi," she smiled. "Long time no see."

"Sam's a good dancer," Alvin said, putting his arms around her.

"You're better," Jenny said, laying her head against his chest.

Alvin's movements were stilted, without the proper knowledge to move from one beat to another. Yet, Jenny clung to him, all she needed within her arms. Not the fancy moves of Sam Cassel, not the youthful giggles from Max or Scott. Not the leering grins from the Fred Hoopers of the world. She had seen enough from him to last her the rest of summer.

She wouldn't tell Alvin that Fred had shot her licentious glances, but Tommie seemed aware, and now as Alvin's girl, she was safe from that too familiar sense of being given the once-over. Not from Sam or the younger boys; she had appreciated their company, dancing faster than Alvin could manage.

The music changed, "Visions" by Stevie Wonder, a ballad from the _Innervisions_ album. She had bought that record back in Florida, listening to it late at night as Joni got stoned. Jenny had imbibed nothing that evening, although Alvin drank one beer. Tommie had brought it to him and he'd sipped it as all chatted, the meal long over. Alvin nursed that one can as he had on Easter, a special treat, he'd said with an earnest giggle. Jenny let the gentle music fill her head, feeling Alvin moving in tandem with her.

He placed his right arm around her torso and Jenny breathed a deep peace. She had heard this record countless times in Tampa, so many nights Joni had tried to talk her into staying, but Jenny always ended up somewhere else in the morning. She had fled Joni's, gone to a bar, picked up someone, anyone. Anyone would do, but truly they never did. She would be back again at Joni's or on the shrink's couch, and all it led to was another one-night stand, evenings spent with strangers trying to blot out her father.

Jenny bent her head into Alvin's shoulder as he kissed the side of her face. Then soft words reached her ears: _I love you, Jenny Cope. I love you._

Amid her falling tears, she saw his grin. Then another kiss landed along her forehead.

Setting herself against him, she smiled as he led their clasped hands along her cheeks, stroking away her sorrows. He said nothing, kissing her head again. So close to him, Jenny melted, her heart losing that edge to which she'd been clinging since meeting Alvin in February. So cold back then, she had been ice cold, all she could be and survive. Sleep with anyone, that was Jenny. Take it on her back any way you liked it, call Jenny Cope. The coldest girl in high school, but as soon as she left Colorado, she had opened up like an all-night restaurant, giving it away for free. Any guy with an eye could see it; easy-going Jenny Cope always put out. All you had to do was ask.

"Jenny, I love you," Alvin whispered. "You're so pretty tonight."

His head was where only she could hear him. She gulped for air, nearly breathless.

"I love you so much Jenny Cope. So much."

She dissolved against him; was it the music, how Joni had tried to reach her? Was it the night, warm and sensual? Was it Tommie's words, similar to Alvin's, or Sam's precise ways, wanting nothing more from her than a dance?

As Jenny pressed against Alvin, her insides went weak. She couldn't deny what had been emerging since the Fourth of July, before she thought about Liz Cassel, which led Jenny to her father, to throwing up on Alvin's lawn.

Yet now Jenny felt anything but ill. All she wanted was to be with Alvin alone, before any more time was wasted. She had known him for over six months, had been his girlfriend since the end of June. She had been tied too long to her past, and that night, Jenny wanted to set it all free.

Alvin kissed the side of her face again. "I love you Jenny."

She looked up, tears still flowing. "I love you too. Baby, let's go home."

"Uh, well, okay. But the song's not done."

Jenny moved not to the rhythm of the music, but of her heart. Then she set her mouth to his, the first time she had kissed him there.

"Jenny," he breathed. "Oh Jenny!"

"Take me home, please?"

"Oh yeah."

With Christmas lights twinkling overhead, Jenny and Alvin offered Tommie and Rae their goodbyes. Bidding a hasty farewell to others, the last one Alvin and Jenny saw was Sam Cassel, to whom Jenny smiled while Alvin shook his hand. Jenny missed Sam's anguish. Alvin did too.

Chapter 15

Reaching their house, Alvin and Jenny calmly walked inside. Once the front door was closed, then locked, they couldn't keep their hands from the other.

Jenny's kiss was open and warm, beyond anything Alvin had shared with Lois Butterfield. Those initial exchanges occurred in the living room, and they held hands going up the stairs. Once in his room, Jenny closed the curtains. Then she slipped off her purple top, a white bra glowing in the darkness. She smiled, removing her skirt, clad in a half slip. Stepping toward him, she unfastened his shirt buttons, then ran her hands along his bare chest, tracing the thin line of blonde hair that emerged from his waist up to the small circles that surrounded his nipples. Jenny's fingers lightly went round as Alvin took off his shirt, shaking from desire.

As he was chatty in life, his uninhibited nature continued as Jenny explored his shoulders, down to his arms. Then she set his hands on her upper body. As he fingered her collarbones, she undid his trousers, placing her groin against his.

"Oh my God, oh Jenny!"

She didn't speak, moving her lips and tongue along his throat to his jaw. He moaned, his erection hard against her leg, still covered by the slip. Then Alvin grew still; they would need protection.

"Jenny, I uh, I don't have any, you know..."

"It's okay. I'm gonna start my period in another day. I'm not fertile now."

Her voice was soft, but he gasped. He was going to love her without anything between them. He had never felt a woman like that, always using a condom the few times he and Lois were together. Her name flitted in, then out, of his head. After this with Jenny Cope, Alvin would never think of Lois Butterfield by name again.

"Oh uh, are you sure?" he muttered, feeling the silkiness of her slip against his briefs.

"Uh-huh." Jenny smiled, pulling back the bedding. "Alvin, make love to me."

The way she said those words tripped something in his brain, knowledge set aside for this moment that would be for both a first time all over again. It was immediate but lasting; then Alvin Harris knew what it was to be a man.

Lying together afterwards, his mind spun. Things were so clear, it took all Alvin had not to get up and write words on paper. With his left hand, Tommie printed better than Alvin did, yet there was so much Alvin wanted to record, but lying with Jenny was all he could muster.

It was all he could do, and wanted to do, for the rest of his life. She lie next to him, the blanket set across their bodies, a quiet sense of purpose Alvin hadn't dreamed existed.

This was what people were made for, not just words said during dinner, doing chores, or watching baseball while she crocheted. He'd had no idea that loving someone could be so basic, but so deep. So complete and again Alvin was struck by how whole he felt. She had made him feel complete before, but not like this.

Not so physical, so far into whom he was. Now he really was hers; all of Alvin belonged to Jenny Cope. Nothing else would be so much a part of him, why he could ponder ideas not previously considered. How could he consider such things, never having loved so fully?

He thought about his life, all thirty-eight years of it, and how partial it seemed. Up to that night, Alvin had only lived one small section, thinking what they had shared was enough. He grinned, her body so close, and they had been even closer. He had been inside her and what a wonderful place that was to be.

He hadn't been there for long but had learned new words. And having watched Jenny reach an orgasm, new ideas. He'd had orgasms before, ones of his own making, ones with... Her name was gone, nor had she experienced what Jenny had, which made him come, how Jenny described it. She had come, then so had he. Watching her, then being inside her; it had all happened so quickly, yet he remembered, even in those brief moments, how good she felt.

She had lain down, setting her hand on her pubic hair, then taken his, laying it on hers. Alvin had no idea what she was doing, then her fingers moved, her legs stiffened, and he watched her face, hearing sounds that made him nearly cry out beside her. Her voice was low, changed, and so beautiful as she asked him to make love to her, and he had ejaculated within seconds. He had wanted to last longer, but couldn't; loving Jenny was more than he had ever dreamed. Then she sobbed his name, wrapping her arms and legs around him, begging him to stay. He said he would, how in the world did she think he would leave her? Then he understood; she didn't want him to move away.

He hadn't, not for a long time. Now lying beside her, he was still hard, which was new, so much for Alvin to process. They hadn't spoken once he lay back down, but she had rolled to his side as soon as he was flat, and was still there. She was awake and he didn't feel at all like sleeping. He wanted her again, wanted it to last longer, wanted to just lie in bed with Jenny all day. Then he smiled. The farm wouldn't take care of itself, but if Alvin could have stayed in that room alongside Jenny, he would have done it.

Jenny felt him breathing, but didn't want to budge. She didn't want to be anywhere but right there.

Having lost her virginity so long ago, this felt like losing it again. Purging so many bad connotations associated with sex, gaining one never previously known; Jenny felt loved.

She had been made love to, even in Alvin's instant orgasm. She was surprised he'd held out as long as he had, making sure she was completely ready for him. She had wanted their first time to be without a condom and finally willing, she wouldn't risk a thing.

Jenny had known protected sex since the beginning, but only considered that as they drove home, the trip short but as though her life wasn't real until he was with her. She had been on the pill in Florida, but it made her sick, and with condoms, diseases had been avoided. But no thought to any other man existed as Alvin became one with her. And like Alvin, Jenny learned new things that night.

Not the words, but the feelings. While explaining to him what an orgasm meant, how the verb _to come_ was used in sex, Jenny found herself experiencing those emotions. Never before had she realized such thrills; his body, the one she loved, a man she trusted and wanted, pressed against her as she brought herself to that climax, exacerbating the intensity. If he hadn't placed himself in her, she would have climbed on top of him. But she wouldn't do that yet, a position for later, when Alvin was ready.

He was noisy, how could he not be, and his few succinct strokes provided pleasure she wanted to explore in greater detail. None of Jenny's previous partners had stirred that desire, none had been right.

None had been it, _the one_. This man, somewhat unskilled in the language of sex, had rendered more passion and satisfaction in those few seconds than in all the times she had been a willing participant. That was as far as her mind would allow, but how could she ever think of sex any other way? With Alvin, Jenny had been set free.

She smiled; Alvin's heart was the key. After taking himself from her, he had told her how much he loved her. His voice made that plain, no other description necessary.

His hands were tentative, his hesitations apparent. Those would fade in time, but time they had, as he pressed against her. She was ready for more than a few seconds and moving beside him, she heard a voice so unlike his usual tone. This was adult, sensuous, but no smooth words or fancy lines. He spoke in a way she hadn't before known, claiming her with his touch, his voice, and his love.

They woke with no shy smiles or hidden gazes. Both had learned much that night, their second time far more instructive than the first.

Reaching for his face, Jenny tried to reckon this man who was now a mixture of men; one to liberate her, care for her, take her to unscaled heights. Later in the night his voice probed her with depth which she hadn't anticipated. From his wide blue eyes, Jenny knew Alvin hadn't expected it either. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. You?"

She smiled at his mature tone. "I'm okay. I love you."

"Oh I love you too Jenny Cope!" His eyes danced in that charming, boyish way, but his speech was richer.

"Alvin, you sound different."

"Really?" He glanced at his naked body, then smiled, pulling up the sheet. Then he took it off, his penis at half staff. "I'll never be the same like at the party. Not after loving you."

His tone wavered from that half-adult, half-youth to one far older, more like the man he would have been if not for the accident. Jenny wasn't sure what she thought of it.

"Oh Alvin!" She snuggled against him. "My god I love you."

He grasped her. "I love you too. Oh Jenny, how am I ever gonna get any work done?"

He was sincere as he smiled, filling her with relief. He was the same, but with an unexplored depth. She was happy he hadn't reached this with anyone else; this moment was theirs alone.

Freedom coursed through her. She wanted to tell him, but didn't want to spoil it, especially since he looked so, so...

Not just happy or thrilled. More than satisfied, more than changed. He was whole, as whole as he ever would be. He had told her how loving her made him feel complete and before she had taken his word for it. Lying naked beside her, Alvin was a fulfilled man.

A man who could understand, a man who listened, protected, had loved her. That second time he'd brought her to an orgasm all on his own, something Jenny had never known. Only a myth she had assumed, that a man could get a woman off, and she had gone to sleep after he came, which was right after she did. Memories might return, but Jenny she hadn't felt so unencumbered since she was thirteen years old.

"Alvin, I'm free." Then she began to cry. If it was too much, she didn't want to know.

"Oh wow Jenny, that's so good!" He stroked her head, then tipped her face where in his gorgeous blue eyes, Jenny saw delight, also peace, for them both.

"It may not last, I mean, no bets. But Alvin, I haven't felt this way in so long."

It was unstated how long, sixteen years. Jenny wept as Alvin held her, his voice finding itself in this new place both inhabited.

They spent that Sunday checking the hens, the trees, and the garden. Jenny froze squash, salting eggplant for dinner. While the eggplant sweated, they went upstairs. Alvin asked if things would be like this now, so much passion between them. Jenny smiled while dressing. "Well, for a few weeks, then maybe it'll slow down."

"A few weeks? Are you sure?"

Jenny sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He hadn't moved, looking exhausted. "Alvin, it's been a long time for us both." Her smile was naughty, her giggle too.

"Oh Jenny Cope, I'm not so young."

"You're younger than you think." She caressed his smooth chest, making his penis jump. "See," she chuckled. "The body's willing."

"Oh my," he smiled, reaching for his briefs.

Jenny put on her t-shirt. "Alvin, I uh, I wonder if there's room, you know."

He stepped into his jeans, then looked at her. "Room for what?"

"For my dresser, in here."

She gripped herself and he came to her side. "Oh Jenny, oh yeah." His boyish grin returned. "I want this to be our room."

She nodded. "Alvin, I love you so much."

"It's a lot of new stuff. But Jenny, all I want is you." He kissed her face, then looked off.

"What?"

"Jenny, you, uh, wanna get married?"

"Do you?"

She saw different blue irises, bigger than the sky, his answer to match. "Actually, no. I mean, if you do, that's fine. But it's 1975 and I guess, well, I never thought about getting married. But if you want to, I mean, that's fine." His smile emerged, huge like the ocean. "Jenny, I love you. No piece of paper or standing in front of people can make it any more real than, well, than loving you."

His heart sat in her hands; she didn't need a ceremony or legal notice to be with this man. Marriage suited Tommie and Rae fine, but Alvin was right. It was 1975 and if couples required that sanction years ago, Jenny felt no need for it now. Not with this man, one to whom she was bound more than any preacher or justice of the peace could bestow.

"Alvin, I love you. And I know you love me. I know that." She grasped his hands. "I don't want any more than that. You're all I need."

She kissed him, felt him return that sentiment. Then she giggled, feeling more standing against him. "You're hard again."

"Oh jeez!"

She kissed him again, felt him respond in kind. "Alvin," her tone tempting.

"Jenny, how in the world am I gonna get anything done? What about supper?"

She led him back to bed. "The eggplant will wait."

By evening, both were incapable of anything related to intercourse. Jenny explained she could feel a backache, one that always led to her period. Initially Alvin squirmed with her talk, then they shared a thorough discussion as she crocheted, now working on a blanket for them both. One for _their_ bed, she had smiled.

Jenny told him her cycles lasted twenty-eight days. Then she noted why she hadn't worried about making love with him unprotected. Once the egg had been released, it was only good for a short time. His sperm could survive longer, but the egg was more delicate.

"If it's not fertilized right after I ovulate, I won't get pregnant. It's the days before that we have to be careful with."

He sat quietly, then cleared his throat. "Do you want me to get some condoms?"

She set the blanket on her lap. "Yeah, 'cause the pill makes me sick." She joined him on the couch. "Alvin, what?"

"I know this's gonna sound funny 'cause all you've been thinking all these years was not to get pregnant."

She stared at him, then gripped his hand. "Yeah, that's true."

"Jenny, you think maybe someday, maybe you might like to, you know..."

He was the Alvin of old, treading on shaky ground. Jenny saw what he wanted and it hit her hard. "Yeah, maybe someday. Maybe."

The question and answer were both left vague, neither party willing to put words to an idea ages away. Jenny had never considered motherhood, keeping her eggs unfertilized the point. She hadn't been around kids with any frequency until coming here, but enjoyed Tommie and Rae's. Perhaps one day she would be ready, but this with Alvin was less than a day old. She smiled, squeezing his hand. "Maybe in a few years, but let's get all this out of our system." She giggled, running her hand along the front of his jeans.

Jenny nestled against him, feeling good despite her slight agonies. Tomorrow she would be dragging, but she allowed Alvin's body to ease her mind. Tucked into him, Jenny didn't see an aspiration wrenched from his hands.

Chapter 16

Alvin didn't hear from Tommie until Tuesday and didn't think it odd until the phone rang at nine that morning. Only when picking up the receiver did he remember they had missed yesterday's usual phone call. "Oh hey Tommie, oh wow!"

"Hey there Alvin, just wanted to check in. How you all doing?"

Hearing Jenny's giggle as she washed the breakfast dishes, Alvin had to clear his throat. "Oh we're, uh, fine. Fine Tommie. How's Rae?"

Their chat was short. Then Alvin chuckled, turning to a belly laugh as Jenny came his way. She had started her period, the word funny in his head. She'd been so achy yesterday, but seemed better that morning.

"He's gotta think something's up." She kissed his cheek. "You gonna tell him?"

"You want me to?"

"Sure." She returned to the sink. "Unless you don't want to."

Alvin ran a hand through his hair. "That's so, well, personal."

Jenny set the towel on the rack, then took off her apron. "Alvin, you're not the same. I mean, he's your best friend and he's gonna notice."

"You still think I sound different?"

She hugged him. "We're both different now."

They were only sharing his bed again; when he woke to her that morning, his erection came and went, her body offering a different scent, one he hadn't before noticed. It was from her period, and he knew she was right. He wasn't the same man, aware of so much more in living with a woman. Alvin recalled the conversation he'd had with Tommie when he first came over for lunch. Jenny had been on her period then too and Tommie had known. If he could tell that, how could Alvin hide how things had changed, how he had changed?

Alvin kept her in his arms, she fit perfectly there. He didn't feel that different, except for the new things he'd learned about sex, women's bodies, and making babies. And how not to make them, but time was against him; in less than six months he would be thirty-nine years old.

"Listen, why don't you go have a visit, see what comes up. I've got plenty to do here, laundry's piling, and the sun's out." She pulled from him with a smile. "We've got all the time in the world and I'm out of commission for today anyways." She giggled, pressing close to him.

He smiled, wanting her, then he laughed. "When you told me it would be a few weeks, I didn't believe you." His desires had surprised him; in fact it seemed like he only wanted her more. By the time she was done with her period, he would be ready for her again.

Thoughts of what else came from lovemaking slipped away as Jenny found his lips. She still seemed eager, even if her body wasn't agreeable. So many things Alvin had to learn and she was right. Some honest talk with Tommie would probably be a good thing.

Alvin had been in luck; Lexi and her boyfriend were gone for the day, Steve off with his gal. Rae had taken Max and Alana school clothes shopping and it was up to Tommie to see that the men had lunch. Alvin knew what that meant; Spam.

Tommie loved Spam. He would fry up two or three slices each, then cook eggs in the pan while Alvin made toast. He was good with toast, but they didn't need any butter. The grease from the Spam was enough.

They ate their lunches, drinking coffee still warm from the morning. Alvin hadn't said anything to Tommie, other than how much fun the party was, how great it was to see everyone, especially Sam. Wasn't he a good dancer with Jenny?

Tommie smiled. "Yeah and sure patient with Lana."

Alvin wiped his mouth, then sat back. This kitchen was different than his, counters covered, kids' activities dotting the calendar and refrigerator. Alvin's face dropped and he missed Tommie's question.

"Alvin, you okay?" Tommie asked.

"What? Oh yeah. Just thinking."

"Did Jenny have a good time?" Tommie repeated.

"Oh yeah, we both did." Then Alvin's smile emerged. A shy, stilted laugh followed, then he slapped his leg. "Tommie, she and I, we uh..."

"Got together?" Tommie said with no trace of embarrassment.

Alvin laughed. "Yeah. Uh, yeah. Tommie, I really love her."

Tommie's smile was the biggest Alvin had ever seen. "She loves you too. Congratulations."

They were quiet as Tommie finished his lunch and Alvin drank his coffee. Alvin had so many questions, like did couples, you know, did they get together when she was on her... But that was too private. He didn't want Tommie to know Jenny was on her...

"Alvin, all I'm gonna ask, not that it's any of my business, but are you taking precautions?"

"Oh yeah, I mean..." Again Alvin considered Jenny's privacy. "Yeah."

"Alvin, what?"

Tommie had told him all about men, women, and babies; wasn't it amazing how it all worked? Alvin would have never thought it happened that way, but having been with Jenny, now it made perfect sense, because loving each other was so good. When it was with the right person, but Alvin hadn't wanted that at all with... Her name just wouldn't come to his head. With her, he hadn't wanted to make babies, only pretend. But with Jenny...

"Yeah Tommie. It's okay. I need to buy some condoms." He spoke as though he required something for the farm.

Tommie stifled a giggle, then looked at Alvin, finding a sadness that didn't fit with what had been revealed. Jenny had been able to love Alvin and for that, Tommie's heart felt near to bursting, his heart and stomach both. With lunch consumed, Tommie stood. "Alvin, let's go for a walk."

Checking on the herd, Tommie noticed trees were sporting that dusty look, even with all the rain that fell. He was looking forward to thunderstorms ending, but now that Jenny and Alvin had been together, maybe she had found some peace of her own.

Alvin talked as they avoided cow patties, noting in his usual chatty manner how good it had been. Leaving out specifics, he hadn't expected it to be that nice. Then he had asked Jenny, in a roundabout way, if one day she would like to, you know...

"Have a baby?" Tommie offered.

Alvin's weary nod gave Jenny's reply, but he said it anyway. "Yeah. She said maybe, someday."

"Why a baby so soon?

"I'm old. I mean, you've got kids, Lexi's gonna be a senior. She could be a mother soon."

"Bite your tongue." Tommie smiled, realizing that Alvin had referred to Lexi by name, and remembered this would be her last year of high school. His voice was altered, mature.

Alvin stood with hands in his pockets, gazing to the field. He wasn't the same as Tommie had seen on Saturday night. Alvin was a _man_ , presented with a new vision. Lexi would be a senior, was old enough to be a mother. Parenthood flashed from babies to preschoolers to right where Tommie stood. Alana had led Sam Cassel around the yard fully in charge of that dance. Tommie's kids weren't small and he wasn't a young man anymore.

Neither was Alvin. Some manner of his voice had altered, with a firm sense of what he wanted. For months it had been Jenny. Now he had found what came afterwards. Tommie and Rae had known that joy, then incredible loss. But after their miscarriage, they tried again and that little baby girl, Tommie's precious firstborn, was looking at her last year of high school. Time did fly and Alvin only wanted to grab what he could.

"Alvin, you're right. I'm sorry." Tommie reached for his friend's shoulder. "But you have to remember, Jenny's only twenty-nine. And she's been through so much."

"I know, I mean, all her life that's been the last thing she's wanted." Alvin looked at Tommie. "I don't wanna scare her, make her think she's not enough. It's not that. Oh Tommie, it's all so new, so much. I love her, I thought that was all I'd ever feel. But it's not. I wish I had a way to tell you how different it all is now."

He moved away, wrapping arms around himself. "I never thought I'd have all this, have, oh, a feeling I was more than just the guy that fell on his head." Alvin glanced to Tommie, then looked out again. "I thought all I'd ever be is some dummy, but Jenny, oh my God. Jenny's everything to me. More than I thought. More than I knew."

Tommie noticed Alvin's words, the somber tenor as well as his use of _God_ , the closest Alvin came to swearing. Here was a man in flux, what Tommie had felt when Rae cried over their lost baby, while watching Sam mourn his dead wife, then when holding Jenny during the thunder. Tommie had been too young to properly grieve his hand, but that had occurred through other losses. There with Alvin facing so many new emotions, Tommie breathed deeply, setting that pain with his own, balancing it together.

He had been far too young to understand what Alvin had lost that day in elementary school, but how were nine-year-olds supposed to comprehend what took a lifetime to accept? How was Alvin now to consider what loving a woman meant, being a part of something no longer solitary. Yet Alvin was deep, and Tommie never took for granted what maybe only a few saw; Jenny, Jacob when he wasn't drunk, Sam. Had Tommie witnessed sorrow on Sam's face when Jenny and Alvin left the party? Tommie had been buzzed by then and it hadn't registered fully, but Jenny Cope had touched more lives in her short six months in Arkendale than anyone gave her credit for.

Hardly anyone gave Alvin the benefit of the doubt, but if they could see what Tommie did, such depth and anguish, no one would dare think less of him. Yet it was only here, in the quiet, that Alvin could be that person. Having loved a woman, now Alvin realized what kept this somewhat miserable human race in the black. People came together, for better or sometimes worse, making more humans, and on and on it went.

"Alvin, not to sound like a broken record, but you've got to give her time." Tommie hated saying it, the only thing he knew. More time than money they all had, except for Bonnie and Harold Carmine. Tommie and Rae would have a few lean years putting Lexi through college, but Steve was staying on the farm. Sam said Eugene was a good place to send Lexi, hadn't let his loss color that town or the school. They would figure out a way to pay for it, it would just take time.

"Jeez Tommie, I thought once we'd gotten together, there wouldn't be any more worries."

Patting his friend's shoulder, Tommie smiled. "Oh Alvin, nothing's easy once a woman's involved."

Walking back they joked about getting older, Alvin taking Tommie's advice; they would always find time more plentiful than any monetary gains. Then Alvin stopped as they reached the barn, the children and Rae's rumble detected. "Tommie, you know a week back, that day I went to town, and you, well, you came to my house?"

Tommie nodded. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but would Jenny's breakdowns cease? "Yeah, I remember."

"Jenny doesn't know about this, but since we were already boyfriend and girlfriend then, I wanted to change a few things, you know, with the farm."

Alvin's description of their roles was indicative of his mind, without commitments except to each other. Alvin might think he wanted kids, but Tommie considered that notion was better left alone. Let them get used to this before adding to the soup.

Then Alvin continued. "If something happens to me, I told Bonnie I wanted Jenny to have the farm, that I want her to live there as her home. It's all I've got to give her, but I always want her to have a place where she's safe, a place she knows is hers."

"Alvin," Tommie started, then looked at his friend's eyes.

The blue was somewhere Tommie couldn't reach. Alvin was taller than him and at times far ahead, such a mix inside one man's body. A man getting to grips with so much all at once, but Jenny was top of his list.

"Tommie, I'll telling you because if Bonnie raises a stink, you'll know. We met with the lawyer. I think I surprised her, she probably didn't know I knew about him. Mama gave me a piece of paper with lots of names on it and right after Mrs. Carmine's was Mr. Wheeler's."

Tommie nodded. Five years their senior, Jeff Wheeler was an attorney in town, and Tommie didn't worry. Jeff was honest, where Bonnie was just a bit biased.

"Anyways, I told him that Jenny and I weren't married, but that if anything happened to me, she was to have the farm. She and..." Alvin paused. "Any kids she might have. Mine," Alvin's voice went to a whisper. "Or anyone else's."

"God Alvin, I mean..."

"I never want her to feel she's got no place to go. And I don't want her to ever worry. I mean, the farm's not worth much, and it sure surprised Bonnie, she about fell off her chair." Alvin smiled. "I know she doesn't like Jenny, but all she does is keep the books. It's my place, my house, and I want Jenny to always know that it's her home too.

"Tommie, just keep this under your hat. Mr. Wheeler knows and at the end of the day, I'm the one in control. Bonnie can't do much past putting up a fuss." Then Alvin grew serious. "But I don't want Jenny to know. Mostly because if she thinks I'm thinking about all this, well, like you said, we have more time than money." His joy returned. "Tommie, you're right about Jenny and a baby." His voice lowered. "We do have time, lots of it. All I wanna do is just, oh, you know."

"Be with her," Tommie chuckled.

"Yeah," Alvin smiled. "In fact it's probably time for me to get home."

Tommie walked him to the truck. As Alvin drove away, waving wildly, Tommie leaned against the big oak. Lights remained, but Alvin would be back. Tommie would have him take them down then.

By the end of the week, Jenny was over her period, had gotten Alvin to say that word with a straight face. He had said other things too, not about the farm's arrangements, but how he loved her, how terrific this all was, their living together, sleeping together, and that was when his smile blazed.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice." Jenny felt sated and it wasn't even bedtime. They had made love that afternoon and she expected more in another hour, already after eight o'clock.

She joined him on the couch, her crocheting taking a back seat, but now she was making their blanket and autumn was still weeks away. "Alvin, in another day or two, we should uh, you know."

"What?"

His voice wasn't leading or suggestive. Jenny hadn't found that at all with him, the biggest difference between him and the others, how she now thought of her previous lovers.

"We'll need some condoms," she smiled. "And I'm gonna let you take care of that."

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry Jenny, I forgot. You need to remind me."

"Don't worry," she giggled, grasping his hand, stroking his fingers. "I'll remind you."

She leaned against him, closing her eyes. He squeezed her hand, then kissed the back, more forward than he'd been and it surprised her. His face stirred so much she wanted to give him. "Alvin, you ready for bed?"

"Jenny, I love you."

"I love you too. I wanna love you."

"Oh Jenny!" He kissed her hand again. "I'll get some condoms tomorrow, I promise."

She wasn't looking forward to using them, but better that than a baby. She had given his words little thought. Jenny didn't want to add anyone else, too early to invite others to this party.

He helped her off the sofa, leading her up the stairs. Jenny still initiated their encounters, but he was growing bolder, taking her hand that night one sign. Yesterday she had been on top for the first time. He hadn't flinched, but it had taken him longer than usual to come. That was how Caroline Atherton had tried to assault him, Jenny not the only one with a checkered past.

That night he lay on her, moving so slowly, then more rapidly. They were finding a rhythm, one he seemed comfortable with, then she giggled.

"Jenny, what is it?"

His voice was of that older man, used when they made love. "Nothing," she said, stroking his back, enraptured with his touch. This was all the change she needed.

"Oh Jenny, oh Jenny Cope!"

His pleasure was released, hers already felt. Even with the condoms, they discovered so much within the other, and she had been relieved nothing from her past emerged using that form of birth control.

It had been nearly three weeks and she was ready to feel only him; in another day they could skip the prophylactics. He hadn't mentioned anything more about procreating, and making love had settled, as she had predicted. Once they could eschew the rubbers, Jenny hoped to take advantage of the complete spontaneity.

She set her legs over his, didn't want him to move. They had always moved from her as soon as they came, all the others from her father to Tony. Jenny now included her father with those men, but still had trouble with thunderstorms. Yesterday while inside the barn they had missed streaking clouds, but the noise erupted. Jenny dropped an egg, then swore profusely as Alvin took the other, getting her into the house. They went right to bed, making love after it was quiet. She had cried, covering her ears, but his soothing words and easy touch offered a shield, followed by great bliss. She had been disappointed to still be so affected, but Alvin's devotion had strengthened her, and she wasn't even upset about that broken egg.

"I love you," she whispered as he lay flat. Even if she was always plagued by storms, Alvin would be with her for the rest of her life. Jenny released more of her past with every stroke of his hand, every kiss. All of that took Jenny from what she had known, replacing within her this man. Once they eliminated the condoms, even for a few days, it would become more true.

He felt so genuine, unlike the rest, who had never satisfied. Physically Alvin was a novice, but in reality, Jenny loved a man pushing forty. In the past sex had maintained her sanity when everything else seemed erroneous. Now Jenny was learning new habits, her libido satisfied by accepting who Alvin was.

A man who didn't hurt her with inattention or lack of sensitivity. A man always with a kind word, a loving touch, a gentle kiss. A man with a sense of humor that Jenny understood completely. Something about him fit not only her body, but her mind. She was eased by his simple wit, his plentiful laughter, and that loving, soothing voice which emerged with almost no time for breath. Alvin still talked a blue streak; the farm, the Smiths, and baseball, but words weren't the focus. It was his attention to her, his tone directed her way. No one had ever cared about Jenny the way Alvin did.

She could tell he was nearly asleep, his breathing regular. Alvin was so normal, and that made Jenny cry. No one else would see him that way, but so few knew the life she had lived. To Jenny, this slow, tender man with the biggest heart didn't hurt, didn't ignore, didn't injure. He loved, oh how he loved! He loved her, Jenny Cope, previously unlovable. Alvin had seen through her, found something worth loving, something that made her shed tears. He loved her so much, had talked of wanting a baby with her on that first day. Late on the first day, he had mentioned that, seeing her as someone worthy of carrying his child.

Jenny rolled to her left, close to him. He was out, but it had been a long day, helping Tommie with the cows, then removing the lights from the Smiths' oak a month after the barbecue. Jenny would never forget that beautiful night, twinkling colors overhead while dancing close to Alvin, her entire world coming together in his arms.

And he wanted more. Jenny dried her tears, finding as she pondered that idea, a great brokenness still remained. Alvin might think she would be a good mother, but that occupation scared Jenny to death.

Chapter 17

As Jenny liked bright colors, Alvin preferred the missionary position. They had explored various techniques, but his traditional manner led him back to that usual way, one from which Jenny took great pleasure, never before finding such an ordinary method of lovemaking so satisfying.

Was it his pleasing touch or his voice, still in transition? Alvin was still coming to grips with his sexuality, early October finding Jenny nearly done with their red, blue, and purple blanket as sunlight grew shorter, the days cooler. Apples were harvested, the freezer full of beef and pork, the garden an earthy brown. The grass was green, but trees were losing leaves, the farm heading to a quiet, dormant season.

Life with Alvin was evolving too, days spent preparing for winter. Jenny had received trousers, sweaters, and shoes more appropriate for the ever raining skies, a long weatherproof coat and flannel nightgowns, things Alvin felt she needed, things they bought together.

They were always together and Jenny coveted that closeness. Others might feel suffocated, but Jenny craved his attention in and out of their room. She had finally met Robert Tucker, who gave her a strange look, but he seemed harmless. And effeminate. Years on the road had broadened her outlook, but Jenny didn't care as long as both partners were accepting.

Jenny's life with Alvin gave way for stares. He held her close, Jenny happy in his arms and his bed. When they met Sylvia at the store, Alvin had kissed Jenny's face, his forthright nature unchanged. Sylvia smiled, but others quickly looked away.

One Saturday Jenny paid attention to people she was beginning to know well. Ray and Ann Gardner were friendly, having taken Jenny's side from that day with Bonnie Carmine. Gladys Miller had cooled, but her husband Tank always offered Jenny a friendly wink.

Mrs. Carmine didn't give Jenny the time of day. That was no bother, nor was Fred Hooper. His furtive smiles no longer grated on Jenny, but she stared down Robert Tucker, finding his gaze as she and Alvin went from shop to shop, picking up groceries and more clothes for her, Alvin sparing no expense.

He spared no expense or his affections, again drawing glances from those who had only known one side of him. All these people considered Alvin as that slow man, or even less of a man, but Jenny had no intention of concealing their newfound joy. As she and Alvin left the drugstore with condoms in a brown bag, Robert Tucker glimpsed their direction. Jenny smiled as he quickly turned away.

That night as Alvin moved from her, Jenny sighed, the rubber prohibiting an idea that he hadn't mentioned, but wasn't far from her head. Was it the pregnant woman they had seen that day? Kellie Anderson captivated Alvin as he patted her stomach with trepidation. Feeling a small kick, he beamed, but hadn't said a thing about it. Kellie's husband Rick was someone Alvin knew through Tommie. Tommie was Alvin's lynchpin, yet they all said _hello_ , that couple giving Jenny grateful smiles which countered suspicious glares she didn't verbally acknowledge.

She also hadn't wanted to recognize that coming baby. As Alvin lie flat, his breathing smooth, she curled against him, setting that thought far away. "I love you."

"Oh Jenny Cope. As long as I live, nothing will ever be better than this."

His voice was deep and lasting. "I know. Me too."

He sighed. "Jenny, Robert was looking at you today."

"A lot of people look at us."

He turned to her. "Jenny, I don't care what anyone thinks."

She reached for his face. "I don't either. But it's different with Robert."

Robert Tucker was homosexual, deflecting his own insecurities by harassing Alvin. Ganging up with Jasper as a youth, both men had caused Alvin tremendous heartache. Now Jasper had moved on, finding Todd Lambert's agricultural exploits a greater comfort. Jenny had seen those two together, glassy-eyed and reeking of pot, partners at their sides with whom Jenny identified, women easing their pain through a high that demanded a deeper sacrifice. Breaking their heads open, or so they thought, but their souls were slipping away. Jenny clung to Alvin, thankful that only in sex had she sought refuge.

Alvin had grown quiet and Jenny said nothing more. Then he spoke. "I won't let Robert Tucker touch you."

She smiled. "I'm not his type."

Alvin sat up. "Whatdya mean?"

Innocence lay in his eyes and Jenny smiled. "Alvin, Robert's not interested in girls."

Alvin was now fully awake. "Jenny, what in the world are you talking about?"

She clutched his hand and kissed it. "Alvin, Robert Tucker's gay."

They talked long into the night. At first Alvin's disgust was plain, mixed with confusion; why would a man want to be with another man?

He didn't seem repulsed by two women together, but Jenny kept that to herself. "It's just a different way of loving someone. I mean, it's just how some people are."

"Jenny, are you sure about this?"

They had dressed for bed and he held her, sitting against the wall. Once he was confronted with a new idea, he wanted to grasp it fully, or as much as he could. She didn't dismiss his questions; Alvin deserved answers, even if his opinions didn't match hers.

"Alvin, he's never been married. Has he ever had a girlfriend?"

"Well no, I don't think so." He sighed. "Jenny, why?"

"Why what?"

Alvin covered himself with their newly finished blanket. "Why would he want to, you know..."

"Sleep with another man? Alvin, let me ask you this. Why do you wanna be with me?"

Her voice was soft, but Alvin looked offended. "Jenny, I love you."

"And I love you. Yet some people give us not-so-nice faces."

"Jenny," he began, then stopped.

"You know it's true. And if they knew about me..."

"Jenny Cope, don't say that."

She hugged him. "That's exactly what I mean. No one can tell Robert who he can love anymore than they can look at me and say 'What do you see in Alvin?'. Or if they knew about my life, why you'd want to lie in bed with me?"

Some knew what kind of girl she was. They didn't know _why_ , but rare were those who looked beyond what sat under the naked eye.

Alvin said nothing as Jenny snuggled against him. All she wanted was within her grasp, a man slow but steady, owning a good heart. Novel ideas were sometimes hard for him to tackle, but they weren't impossible.

He scooted into bed, still subdued. Jenny moved with him, felt him reach for her, not letting go. "Jenny, I love you."

"I love you too. No matter what anyone else thinks or says, that will never change."

He seemed accepting, then began asking questions. Jenny gave the best answers she had, then revealed her experiences with women.

"Jenny, really?"

"It was right after I left home and had moved to Georgia. I was living with a bunch of women, not all of them were lesbians, and I gave it a try. I wondered if maybe what my father had done, you know, turned me off men." During high school Jenny hadn't allowed any boy to touch her, but a woman hadn't stirred her either. "It just wasn't my cup of tea," she smiled.

Jenny was weary, the bed warm, Alvin the one for her. She had slept with men and women, more than one at a time, little she hadn't done trying to set aside memories only this man had erased. This simple, loving man had fulfilled all Jenny Cope deemed necessary, the irony providing her a tired grin.

She settled in for the night, Alvin's nearly hairless frame toned from all his physical labor. Those traits hadn't been important in the past, experiences now far from Jenny. Her reality was this man in their bed. She was nearly asleep to that notion, but Alvin's voice brought her back.

"Jenny, Robert doesn't have any kids. If he only loves another man, he can't be a father."

"Uh-huh," she murmured.

"So all those gay people can't be parents."

Her slumber disturbed, Jenny looked at him. "Well yeah, I never thought about that. Most I knew didn't really want families."

"Well yeah, I guess."

Jenny tried to get comfortable, his voice again asking the unstated question. She said nothing, turning to her right as his hands lay along her body. He might be simple, but Alvin Harris had all his ducks in a row.

In the middle of October, Jenny's period arrived with a dissimilar notion. Never before had she wished for its absence, not until she saw Alvin's distress, misery unaccompanied by words.

She spent much of that day sitting on the sofa, Alvin in town. It was raining and she crocheted a blanket for Sylvia and Keith. Sylvia had asked how the work was coming and Jenny had happily rattled off all she had made. Then Sylvia asked if Jenny might make them an afghan.

Jenny had been shocked, but large pieces weren't Sylvia's speed. She had arrived on Alvin's doorstep with a bag of yellow and white skeins. Jenny only had to crochet.

As her body churned, all she could do was run yarn through her fingers, stitch after stitch, row after row. That mindless activity left plenty of room for Alvin's disturbed face, from when Jenny had casually mentioned she had started that morning. He had looked down, then away, giving a mumbled _okay_ , announcing he had errands to run.

Jenny hadn't missed the way he engaged with the Smith kids, noting Kellie Anderson's baby was due any day. Scott Cassel had helped Alvin with the harvest, but Jenny had wondered how much of it was Scott escaping Jacob's surliness. Jenny had asked Rae about it, got little from her. More had emerged from Tommie; Jacob had been drinking since Sam's wife died.

Jenny hadn't inquired to that situation. Alvin hadn't either once she informed him of her status. Not one man had wanted her knocked up and Jenny obliged, equal in that desire. As soon as Jess and Jane explained why she bled and how that needed to be a monthly occurrence, the presence of those five days every four weeks was a talisman. Until Jenny fled her father's house, menstruation meant she was safe. He violated her, but Jenny's uterus remained empty.

Those thoughts swirled as the yarn went from thin string to ten rows of bright yellow broken by three of white, wide enough for a double mattress. With little else to do, Jenny was happy for the distraction, but it wasn't enough to keep Alvin's wounded eyes from her head.

Why a baby? She had called Tommie once Alvin was gone, and he wasn't sure either. Something to do with Alvin feeling old, but Tommie was surprised it remained an issue. Alvin hadn't said any more about it since their talk in the field.

Jenny didn't know either, but it was still on his mind. His eyes had been crushed, his manner disheveled, his voice lifeless. Jenny hadn't known the extent of his hopes, and maybe he hadn't either.

Without guile, Alvin spoke his mind. Maybe he hadn't realized how deeply this was felt; if he hadn't said any more to Tommie, he just hadn't known. He had set it aside, but from his broken demeanor it was unmistakable.

Jenny's fingers flew, wanting to get the blanket done before it grew cold. Her time and talent would produce a large, bed-sized comforter, overtaking her lap, stretching all across the couch. She started a blanket on the rocker, but didn't like the finished product falling to the floor. While the smaller projects for Tommie's kids had rested upon her, this blanket, like the one she had made for Tommie and Rae and the large afghan that sat on Alvin and Jenny's own bed, was fashioned on the sofa, all three starting from one small skein.

A baby began with one egg and sperm, and Jenny blinked tears. Alvin loved her so much all he wanted was more of her. Did he know what he was asking, did he really think her so worthy that a child was desired, her child, a baby from Jenny Cope? Then she sobbed, setting down the yarn. Her self esteem had been lifted from the plummeting depths, but not that high. Jenny thought the world of Alvin. He seemed to think the world of her and she could accept his devotion, his need for her, to a point.

She couldn't imagine herself as a mother, such a daunting task. Rae was a good parent, Debbie Cassel too. She couldn't help it if her husband was a drunk, but Liz and Scott were well mannered. Jenny considered those two women as strong role models, Sylvia Baxter too, letting their children grow right. Jenny felt on shifting ground, no idea of how to parent, no clue as to what that meant.

She heard Alvin come in the kitchen door and she stood slowly, her body aching. She needed more aspirin, but would get that in a minute. She wanted to hold him, tell him all her thoughts. She didn't like keeping things from him, but his face held a story. "How was town?" she asked, taking groceries from the bag.

Alvin was wet from the rain and didn't approach her, setting the other sack on the counter. "Jenny, I saw Robert Tucker."

"And?"

"You were right," he said with a tired sigh. "You were exactly right."

She made a quick supper of grilled cheese sandwiches which they consumed as soon as she had them off the stove. Alvin talked a blue streak, so much to tell her that Robert said when Alvin approached him. "I mean, I wasn't gonna just ask him, but I told him that, well..."

"What?" Jenny said, her mouth full.

"I just told him that I wanted to be his friend, that the old days were a long time ago and now that Jasper wasn't around, that if Robert needed to talk, I was good to let by-gones be just that. Then he gave me a funny look, asked if someone had said something. He was all suspicious, looking around, but no one was close. We were in the parking lot at the store and the rain was falling hard."

Jenny smiled. Alvin didn't mind getting soaked. Apparently Robert hadn't either.

"Then he started crying. I've never seen him so upset. He asked me about you, asked if you'd told me something." Alvin took a drink of milk. "I just told him that I knew he was different like me. Not that that was bad, just different."

"And?"

"Well, he looked around and asked how'd I know? I told him you only said what you thought. He really started crying after that."

Jenny cleared their plates as Alvin shared the rest. The men had sat in Alvin's truck while Robert said things that Alvin had trouble remembering, only because it was so much. No one knew, no one had ever guessed, and Alvin had felt sorry for Robert because he was alone. No one in Arkendale was like him and Robert was so scared someone might find out. Talking with Alvin was a small weight released, then Robert apologized for years of treating Alvin so cruelly. Robert knew it was wrong, but hadn't been able to stop.

"Jenny, he was just so afraid of himself, it was easier to pick on me, especially with Jasper egging him on. Now Jasper doesn't want anything to do with him, only hanging out with Todd Lambert." Alvin sighed. "Jenny, I love you and I'm so lucky. Maybe people don't think we should be together, but it's not like what they'd think if Robert was with who he really loved."

"Yeah baby, that's it." Jenny dried her hands, then kissed him.

He stared at her. "You feeling okay?"

She nodded. "The worst'll be over by tomorrow."

Alvin led Jenny to the couch. He had built a fire while she cooked; adding some wood, he then joined her. "Jenny, I'm sorry about this morning."

She gazed at the sparking logs, the flame building. "Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean, I guess I was hoping, well..." He looked to the fireplace.

"You were hoping I'd be pregnant."

He nodded.

Unable to speak, she nestled beside him, allowing her actions to relay her thoughts. Terrifying was that notion, maybe as frightening as what Robert had shared with Alvin, motherhood to Jenny as candor was to Robert Tucker. Never considered with more than a fleeting breath, then shoved aside, disallowed.

"Do you _not_ want a baby with me?" Alvin mumbled.

"Oh Alvin, it's not that at all. Oh god no!" She clutched him more tightly, then looked up, needing to see his eyes. It would hurt; all he was sat in those open blue irises. "Alvin, it's me. I'd make a horrible mother."

"Oh Jenny, how can you say that?"

She stood, moving toward the flames. "Alvin, oh god. What kind of mother would I be? I don't know the first thing about babies, about that kind of life."

"Oh Jenny, that's so wrong! You're the best around here, keeping everything so clean and tidy, and you're such a good cook and everything. All my clothes are washed and mended..."

"Alvin, there's a lot more to it than that."

His arms came around her, his body so peaceful and appealing, even with cramps. She loved how he touched her, made her so happy. Yet she couldn't contemplate a baby, not due of any fault of his. She was the liability.

"Jenny, I love you. Every time I make love to you, that's all I know. How good you are, how perfect."

"I'm not perfect," she said, pulling from him.

"Well, neither am I. All I wanna do is the same thing, all the time."

She looked at him. They had tried different positions, but Alvin always returned to what made him most comfortable. He allowed her on top sometimes, liked blow jobs, but ultimately he preferred one arrangement. Jenny smiled. "Is that what this's about?"

"No, well, I've just been thinking lately about all the different ways people love each other. And who they love." He said that slowly. "And depending on who you love, you might be able to have a family. Robert never will. But," he whispered, "we could."

"A family? Are you serious?"

"Jenny, I love you. I wanna have a family with you. Maybe not as big as Tommie and Rae's, I mean, I'm getting old, but Jenny, I never knew why people had kids. I mean, I knew _how_ they did, but why'd people have babies? Now I know, because loving someone is the best thing. When I'm with you, all I can think about is how blessed it is."

He laughed and she did too. "Jenny, when I was talking with Robert, all I could think is how lonely he sounded, and all he'd never have, a family, someone to share his life with. I have you and if that's all I have, that's fine. It really is. But then I see you, I mean, I think it's fine, sitting there with Robert, 'cause you're so much. Not that I want a baby with you because you're not enough."

Looking contrite, Alvin grasped her hands. "Jenny, you're everything, I mean that. I never imagined how good it would be to love someone. Then I thought I was complete, even before we made love. Then that, oh my goodness!" His smile shone. "You just keep showing me parts of myself I didn't know about. You just keep going deeper under my skin.

"Then Jenny, after we made love, then I knew, like it'd been sitting right in front of me, but I'd never seen it. After Tommie told me how babies were made, I thought it was just what happened when people were married. And maybe for some that's how it is. But I know, like for Tommie and Rae, he really loves her, and she loves him. I remember when they were pregnant with Lexi, I know it was a long time ago, but how special that was, all their kids were special. Tommie was even with Rae when she had Alana." Alvin smiled. "It was gonna be their last baby, and she told him he had to be there. Jenny, I'd be with you if you had ours." Alvin kissed her hand. "'Cause now I know why people have kids. When I love you, I just wanna have myself in the best place in the world, inside you."

Jenny stood motionless as he gently placed his hand on her belly.

"Just think about it. I know I'm asking a lot 'cause this's so new, and we're just, you know, getting to know each other like this. But Jenny, I do know you. I know what a good woman you are." He moved his hand to her heart. "You take care of me so good and I know you'd take care of our baby even better. 'Cause I can do lots for myself and a little baby would be so easy to love. Just as easy as I love you."

Alvin led her to the sofa, wiping her tears, stroking her head. "Jenny, there's nothing easier in this world than loving you. You think about it and whatever you decide, that's fine. It'll be just fine."

Jenny sobbed as Alvin's words slipped in her ears, reaching an unknown place in her heart. Now realized, Jenny Cope would never be the same.

Chapter 18

"Oh Jenny..." Physically and emotionally, Jenny Cope had opened Alvin's heart to places he had never considered. He kissed her face, finding tears along her cheeks. "Jenny, what?"

Her period having ended, they'd lain much of the night in bed, but not in slumber. Alvin had spent the day with Tommie and Jacob at the Smiths'. Jacob had been in a foul mood, but all Alvin considered was making love to Jenny that night, the first time all week. While Jacob had ranted about another Saturday spent hauling hay, Alvin had been daydreaming of Jenny, and more than once Tommie had yelled to get Alvin's attention.

Tommie's good nature had been appreciated, Jacob often hollering at Alvin, then heading home, muttering that he hoped dinner was waiting. Alvin had no such worries. Jenny was making him chicken and dumplings, for Tommie and Rae too; they were coming for supper. Not the kids, only the adults, but Alvin hadn't said a thing about it to Jacob, as the Cassels weren't invited.

"Jenny, you okay?" Alvin asked, feeling her nod. She didn't say much during sex, or afterwards, preferring quiet, Alvin talking for them both. Sometimes she called his name. Other sounds she made told Alvin he was doing what she liked and her few words didn't bother him. She was quiet in bed, but had spoken her mind at dinner.

Jacob and Debbie were the main topic; Jenny was worried about how Liz had started dating an older boy, more of Steve's age. Rae brought up how heartbroken Max had been, Tommie only saying that Liz seemed to have accepted Steve wasn't for her. It had gone from those kids to the parents, then Tommie noted that Sam wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving. Maisie Cassel, the boys' mother, wasn't happy about that, but even she hadn't argued when Tommie met her in town. Maisie admitted that Jacob was heading for trouble just like his father, Tommie had added quietly.

Alvin didn't know anything about that, but Rae talked a streak, and Alvin had half listened, watching the way Jenny fretted about the kids. Not the Cassel brothers, but Liz and Scott. Then Alvin realized what they hadn't talked about, he and Jenny. After that night and his chat with Robert Tucker, she hadn't said a thing about babies.

He hadn't either, but her face trembled as Rae told story after story of Sam and Jacob's dad, or was it just Liz with an older boy? Alvin hadn't missed that and Tommie seemed unhappy too. After chocolate cake was served, the women began chatting to themselves, and Alvin had asked Tommie if that girl would be okay. Taking another bite of cake, Tommie had shrugged his shoulders, his face unsure.

"I love you Jenny." Alvin was tired but satisfied. They had made love right after Tommie and Rae left, once Jenny put the food away and washed the dishes. This was the second time, but Alvin was spent. He wouldn't move from her until she was ready for sleep. She liked him close and he liked that too. Sometimes she cried afterwards, saying later it was because he took away the pain. Was it that ache that made her think she wouldn't be a good mother? He wasn't going to say a peep about that, not until she brought it up. He had told her to think about it and while he was dying to know if she had, Alvin would be patient. It was hard, like hearing about Jacob and his brother, how Rae said it was all due to Sam's wife, the one that died ten years back. Alvin remembered that Sam had been twenty-one when she died; Tracy was her name. Rae said that and more, how Jacob's drinking had gotten worse every year since Tracy Cassel was killed. Rae usually didn't talk about things like that, but she was angry that Liz was seeing this boy, one of Todd Lambert's family, a nephew or something. That was the other problem; it was a Lambert boy.

So much swirled in Alvin's head and overshadowing it all had been thinking about Jenny. Loving her, sleeping with her, and while Alvin felt bad for all the Cassels, he mainly considered Jenny. Her tears had stopped, her breathing was calm. She was starting to fall asleep and Alvin moved slowly, not feeling her reach for him. If he left her too soon, she would set her leg over his or put her arm over his back. She didn't use words, but he had gotten used to her ways. Now she let him move, turning to him once he was flat. She would slip on her nightgown in another minute, then kiss him, roll to her right, and go to sleep. Alvin liked falling asleep to her little snores. She snored very quietly, but it soothed, knowing she was there.

Within a matter of minutes, Jenny was asleep. Alvin reached for his briefs, then a long sleeved thermal top. He didn't need sweatpants anymore, her body warming his legs. Once he knew she was out, Alvin turned to his right, his covered arms coming out from under the blankets. He set his left arm over her, knew she liked that too. Even in sleep, Jenny liked him right against her. Alvin closed his eyes and soon was unconscious.

Rain fell heavy for days. Nearly November, Jenny was tired of running back and forth from the barn, careful not to break eggs that she used each morning, Alvin back to a cooked breakfast that included bacon and toast. He made the toast while Jenny cracked eggs in the bacon grease, three for him, one for her. Some days she had cereal, but as the weather grew cooler, they shared hot food over coffee and conversation. Jenny had also gotten into the habit of hearing from Rae mid-morning once Alvin and Tommie had spoken. Jenny had learned more about the Cassel family, Liz especially, than she wanted to know.

She couldn't ask Rae to change the subject without being rude, yet it hurt to hear how Liz was getting serious with Chad Lambert. At Thanksgiving Jenny hoped to talk to Liz, tell her to slow down. Rae had invited the Cassels, Maisie too. Jenny was baking pies and making cranberry sauce. It gave her something to think about other than a subject she hadn't been able to dismiss.

Jenny sat across from Alvin, who ate heartily, his smile one of ignorance. They hadn't talked of babies, not since last week, nor would he be thinking of that young teen dating, from what Rae said, a fast boy who spent too much time with his Uncle Todd. Liz was just fourteen, but Chad Lambert was going from girl to girl, and Rae didn't trust him. Neither did Debbie, but Jacob was getting so awful, who could blame Liz for wanting some respite. Jenny remembered wishing some boy would spirit her from a hellish environment, yet not allowing any close to such a twisted situation. At least Jacob was only a drinker.

"Jenny, what're you thinking about?" Alvin said after wiping his mouth.

"What?"

He smiled. "I can see it, you're thinking about something."

"Oh, just Liz Cassel." She didn't want to raise his hopes. More than Liz Cassel, but Jenny wouldn't confess she was thinking about Debbie, such worries with kids these days.

Jenny's mother hadn't worried about anything and Jenny poked at her egg. How could her mother have overlooked the dread and horror on all her daughters' faces?

"Jenny, you okay?"

"Oh uh, yeah." She looked down, the runny yolk unpleasant. She nibbled on the toast, it too without taste. "Alvin," she began, then she went quiet.

"Jenny, what it is?"

She ran her fork through the egg, stirring it round, similar to those Sunday mornings when all five in the Cope household sat through breakfast. Her mother made eggs and pancakes, and it always seemed to fall after he'd been with her, Jenny's father in a sunny, bright mood. The girls were sullen, Jenny unable to look at him. She couldn't speak, could barely eat, her mother's stern gaze forcing Jenny to swallow a few bites, Jane's hand tight in hers under the table. Jenny sat between her sisters, across from him, who gazed at her with a friendly smile.

"Alvin, I, I'm not hungry." Jenny stood, taking her plate to the sink. Then she ran out the back door.

He found her curled in the loft. She was wet from a small leak in the roof, but she hadn't noticed. Alvin moved her from that spot, making a mental note to patch that section.

"Jenny, what?" She wasn't crying, only shaking, moving easily to his arms.

"I can't be a mother," she said over and over in a voice sorry and sad.

"Oh Jenny, I love you. It's okay. You don't have to."

"I know you want a baby, but I just can't."

She was buried next to him, feeling so good. Alvin loved holding her, hated the reason for it, but loved it nonetheless. He didn't ponder that, her words more than enough.

"Jenny it's fine, really. I love you and it's okay. I mean it."

She looked up, her eyes dry but aching. Alvin smoothed back her hair, then in her brown eyes he caught a small piece of truth. He searched for more until she looked away.

"Jenny," he whispered. "Jenny Cope?"

He knew there was something as she burrowed into him again, rubbing her hands along his sides, into his chest, around his nipples, then to the edges of his body. Alvin grew hard as her hands moved down, stroking the insides of his thighs.

"Oh Jenny!" Her lips bit into him, but he tried to focus on what had been in her eyes. "Jenny, please tell me."

His words emerged with difficulty as her fingers fidgeted along the front of his jeans, struggling with the zipper. Alvin knew what she would do; put her mouth on his penis, which he liked very much. But if she did, he wouldn't remember what she was hiding. "Jenny, please tell me," he repeated.

That she used sex this way didn't bother him, all she knew to do. Alvin knew Jenny far better than she thought, and as he spoke, breathless and ready, she stopped moving, then began to cry. He wasn't sure why, unless she felt bad that he knew. Alvin knew how Jenny Cope had survived and didn't hold it against her.

She collapsed beside him, no longer seeking escape, only his arms. He wrapped her close, feeling her hands grasping, but not to sidetrack. Then her apologies emerged; she was sorry, so sorry.

"You don't have to be sorry. I love you. Just tell me Jenny, 'cause I see it, something you're trying to run from." He kissed her face. "Is it your dad?"

She shook her head. "How could my mother let that happen to us?"

They stayed in the barn until noon, when Tommie arrived for lunch. Both had forgotten it was Thursday and Alvin left Jenny in the loft. As he made excuses, Jenny came down, waving the men inside.

Tommie noticed where they had been and Jenny's distress. She said nothing while making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then set out potato chips. She fixed herself a half sandwich, but only took a bite before slipping upstairs. Tommie didn't hear any thumping, just stillness which Alvin broke with clumsy movements.

"Is she okay?" Tommie asked.

"She's so close, so close."

"You wanna go up there? I can see myself out."

Alvin reached for Tommie's hand. "Don't go, please. I uh, I need to talk to someone."

Tommie nodded, taking a bite.

Jenny never returned. After they ate, Alvin led Tommie to the barn, sitting on an old hay bale, his face low. Tommie pulled up a battered stool, but gave Alvin space. There was great sadness on his friend and Tommie could only think this was about a baby.

It was, also agony in Alvin's basic words. Jenny hadn't previously faced her mother's role and with the whole mess of Jacob and Debbie Cassel and thinking of their own child, Jenny had fallen apart. But a flicker of joy rang in Alvin's voice; Jenny did want a baby with him, what she'd admitted right as Tommie had arrived.

"Oh Alvin, you should've let me go." Tommie kicked the dirt floor. Dust stirred and he smoothed it with his boot.

"Oh no Tommie, because I knew she did, but she can only let out a little at a time. We'd been up there for ages and that only came out right as you got here." Alvin's face held a small smile, then grew dark. "I knew she would, but it might take a while."

Tommie stood. What this couple shared was almost too deep for him. How Alvin took it, Tommie didn't know.

"But even if we hafta wait, it'll be okay. I mean, forty's still over a year away, and it's not that old. Not so old."

Tommie looked at blue eyes dancing in the musty barn. Alvin had patience when it came to Jenny, exactly what she needed.

As Tommie's truck rumbled through puddles, Jenny appeared. Alvin wasn't in the kitchen, and she finished her sandwich, ate some chips, then cleared the plates. Alvin returned through the front door and she dropped the jam-covered knife.

"Oh Jenny, I'm sorry." He kept his distance as she ran water over the dishes.

"It's, it's all right. Did Tommie leave?"

"Yeah. Jenny, you okay?"

She didn't turn, looking to the dismal weather. Rain poured and she smelled the barn on her sweater, wet clothes on Alvin. He never used an umbrella, just stood out in it unbothered.

"You're probably soaked," she said, moving his way. He was, from his soggy hair to his sopping jeans. She smiled. "You better go change."

Alvin pulled her to him. "You come with me Jenny Cope."

An ache stirred within her, and her words, right as Tommie had arrived, resurfaced. They hurt, wrenching from her deep anxieties, but also something sweet and tender. Alvin caressed her face, his wet lips then set against her cheeks. His kiss was easy, not painful. Neither were his hands along her body.

She nodded and once in his arms, naked in their bed, Jenny let him make love to her. His words, so kind and devoted, again reached into her heart. He said nothing about a baby, didn't have to. Jenny had already said it, and once released, that notion hung about them in all the ways he loved her.

Jenny woke, surprised she had fallen asleep. Alvin was gone and Jenny rolled to her left, not minding his empty space.

A hurdle sat in front of her, one invisible but real. In the barn she had spilled far more than she'd been aware, never openly considering her mother's role. Jenny had harbored hatred for her father, seeking to expunge that parent from her body, yet the other had lingered. Jenny had used copious sex to flee her father, but wasn't sure how to remove her mother.

Would having a baby with Alvin do it? She looked at his side table; a clock, some Chap Stick, a small flashlight. He was so uncomplicated, telling her all she needed to do was love a baby the way she loved him, as though loving a child was like loving a man, something Jenny felt she did very well. Or at least she had good sex with him.

But she did love Alvin, loved him deeply. She also couldn't escape the idea of his child, their baby, words she had said right as Tommie's truck door opened. She could, could, could...

Have their baby. It was possible, and more to the point, was something Jenny wanted. She wanted to adopt Liz, raise her as their own. She wanted to see Kellie Anderson's little boy who had arrived last weekend. Alvin had spotted Rick in town, was told to come by anytime. Jenny had made a baby blanket for them, hiding it among Keith and Sylvia's afghan.

Feeling a chill, she dressed. Their few days of protection-free lovemaking were nearly up and while Jenny didn't mind, it wasn't as nice as Alvin unsheathed. Using condoms didn't remind Jenny of her father or other partners, but there was no comparison in how perfect Alvin felt without a rubber. Jenny put on her socks and shoes, brown loafers that kept her feet dry and warm, thicker than her sneakers and better for the rain that fell. Rain that Alvin was probably out in, as she didn't hear him downstairs.

Jenny called for him, but reaching the bottom step, all she heard was rain and the fire's pops. She warmed her fingers, then set arms around herself. If they did have a baby, this quiet, solitary life would vanish. No time for crocheting or for walks along the road. No time for her and Alvin to go up when she needed, or when he did. That afternoon had been for him as much as for her, long and slow. She had lain on him, then moved away, reaching her own orgasm, driving him crazy. Other times she would let him provide that pleasure, but if not, Jenny knew next time she would come. Her gratification wasn't always required, the joy she received from his climax indescribable.

She wasn't sure why, turning so the fire reached her back. She had never cared whether the others had gotten off, maybe because they always had. It was why she was there, her body a vessel. With Alvin, if Jenny felt the need to come, she would. Her sexuality had changed since making love with him, not necessarily about personal pleasures and certainly not about running away. Then she shivered, even near the hot flame. In the barn, she had wanted to take his mind from asking her _why_. She knew his query, couldn't lie to him. Alvin was simple, but could read her better than anyone ever had.

He had seen what she wanted, what she couldn't hide, even from herself; Jenny wanted Alvin's baby.

Was that the difference? She didn't need to climax to get pregnant, but he did. He needed to place himself in her or nothing would grow. Jenny blinked away tears. Where was Alvin?

Usually she knew, either in the house, or he would tell her where he would be on the farm. She went to the front window. His truck was to the left and she could see the back of the Buick, but there was no sight or sound of him.

Then an idea hit her so hard she grasped the wall. If she had his baby, part of him would rest within her. She would always have Alvin close, no guessing where he was.

Jenny returned to the fire, warming her hands in front of the blaze. Their baby wouldn't only be him. Her egg, his sperm, and Jenny shook, a proposal he'd asked, one she had turned down flat. She didn't want a responsibility she felt utterly incapable of assuming. A baby for Jenny Cope, was he kidding? Yet, Alvin knew her better than anyone. Better than herself, for he'd seen in her eyes as she had tried to seduce him. Just before she got his jeans undone, he had asked, one more time: _Jenny, please tell me._

The back door rattled and she turned around, hearing his footsteps, his rain slicker dripping on the floor. His smile was wide as he took off the jacket and Jenny rushed to his arms.

"Hey, how was your nap?" Alvin asked.

"Where've you been?"

"Just out. You fell asleep and I just wanted you to rest." He kissed her nose, getting her head wet from his sopping hair. "Jenny, you all right?"

She nodded. "Alvin, we need to talk."

"Okay," he said, moving them to the couch.

She directed them to the stairs. "Up, in bed." She looked down, then to the fire. "About a baby."

"Oh Jenny," he said with hesitation. "Are you sure?"

She kissed his cheek, setting herself along his frame. "Alvin, I love you. Maybe we can try, you know, starting next year."

His smile turned to laughter. "You mean like a bicentennial baby?"

Jenny wiped drops from his hair. "Yeah," she smiled. "We can try for one."

She didn't expect to be swooped in his arms and twirled around the room, Alvin's voice all she could hear. "You wanna have a baby Jenny Cope! You wanna have my baby!"

Chapter 19

Jenny Cope's first Thanksgiving in Arkendale was spent with those she had known for less than a year. Yet, as she moved through Tommie and Rae's home, Jenny's position wasn't that of a newcomer, but of one long settled.

Known, but not old, which helped enormously with Liz Cassel. Jenny had found Liz hiding in the barn, trying to avoid Steve. No longer was the ease of that friendship, Liz quite out of place as Steve and his girlfriend Marcy were now serious. After the Cassels had arrived and Jenny sensed Rae, Debbie, and Maisie had things under control, Jenny found the most of the kids playing Monopoly. But Liz was nowhere in sight.

Jenny searched the farm, the day cool but dry. Hearing tears from inside Tommie's barn, Jenny located the crying girl in a long-abandoned horse stall, and she joined Liz on the floor. With an objective voice and youth on her side, Jenny learned that Chad was pressuring Liz to move well past first base, the girl obviously frightened. Taking a deep breath, Jenny opened her heart.

"You know, I lost mine when I was your age, and that's something I've always regretted." Jenny's tone carried sorrow, but not the agony of old. "I know things at your house aren't easy, but having sex with Chad isn't gonna make it better."

Huge green eyes filled the girl's face. "How'd you know, I mean..."

"He's a boy and you're so pretty, lonely too. Honey, it's just how things go. But Liz, both of you are way too young for that. I know he doesn't think so but..."

Relief flooded Liz's bearing and Jenny's heart nearly stopped; she would be damned if that Lambert boy stole Liz's innocence.

"I just, I mean, I don't wanna lose him." Liz heaved tears and Jenny shielded her as best she could, feeling so deeply the words she and Alvin had shared about their child. Alvin vowed nothing and no one would ever hurt their baby.

As Liz sobbed, Jenny rocked her with an unexpected maternal instinct. It had always been about keeping herself safe. Now Jenny's being was overtaken; she would kill Chad Lambert if he laid one finger on Liz.

Jenny took a breath as Liz trembled. Chad hadn't gotten past kisses and small groping, Liz assuring Jenny his hands hadn't slipped under her sweater. Jenny bit her lower lip both in humor and rage, then from sadness as Liz spoke of Steve.

She had hoped he would be her knight, rescuing her from Chad and Jacob's temper too. Max stood outside of Liz's considerations. Then Jenny heard him calling for them both.

She sent Max for Debbie, then returned to the stall. "He just wanted to see if you were okay."

Liz's tears were mixed with a small smile. "He's so sweet."

Jenny smoothed back Liz's curls. "He looks out for you."

"I guess I'm gonna need other friends."

From deep in her gut again Jenny felt that impulse; if Chad Lambert set one hand on Liz...

Debbie joined them on the floor, Liz shocked at her mother's anxious green eyes. They clung to each other and Jenny left them, hearing comfort of which she had only dreamed at that age.

After the meal, Jacob was reserved, Debbie having spoken to him once Liz was safely deposited in the Monopoly game. Max gave up his space and well ahead of the others, he advised Liz how to complete the takeover. Alana and Scott claimed it wasn't fair, but Lexi and Steve put their collective voices behind Max. Jenny had heard those exchanges, then found tasks in the kitchen, Jacob and Tommie's mumbles wafting from the dining room.

Jenny wasn't alone. Lexi had lost and came to help as Rae and Maisie sat at the small kitchen table while Debbie ferried cups of coffee to the dining room. Jenny didn't know what had been said, but from Jacob's stark face at dinner, something had gotten through to him. He had been tipsy upon their arrival, sobering as the evening continued. With the drainer full of wet plates and cups, Jenny dried her hands. "I'm gonna go find Alvin."

"I think he's in the porch swing," Rae smiled. "He likes to digest out there."

Jenny gave her a kiss. "A ritual, huh?"

Rae nodded. "Yeah. But he'll be happy for your company."

Jenny didn't check on the men, but glanced at the kids. Scott was resigned to his fate and Liz and Max seemed chummy. Alana sat on the couch while Steve counted what money he had left. Jenny grabbed her jacket and stepped out, finding Alvin in the swing, his face relaxed.

"Can I join you?" she asked.

He turned, smiled, and moved over. "Oh hey Jenny. I'm so full."

She patted his leg, all the day's events washing right over him. He hadn't seen Jacob refrain from a beer, or the way he poked at his food, staring at his wife and children. How quiet he was, the gazes of his mother ones of hope and worry. Nor had Alvin needed to be included in the chat between Jacob and Tommie.

Alvin had missed those moments, but as he touched her hand, personal issues lingered. "Jenny, I love you. Maybe this time next year..."

"I know." She gave him a squeeze, grateful for all Debbie and Liz had shared, but what Jenny would have given for that protection.

Those sentiments had emerged all month as Alvin and Jenny spoke of their child, one they would start to make in January. Yet it came with a price; Jenny had cried more over the last four weeks than she had in ages due to her mother's unintended complicity.

Sitting with Alvin in the swing, Jenny closed her eyes. Her mother may not have been aware, but Debbie Cassel's view was unimpeded, and perhaps Jacob would shed his bloodshot eyes. Jenny might always fight her demons, but from inside the house laughter drifted. At least the Smith and Cassel children were safe.

Over the weekend Jenny and Alvin decided to exchange small presents at Christmas. Yet he wanted a big tree, and after inspecting the paltry collection of ornaments, Jenny made a list. They needed more baubles, lights, and a nativity. When Betsy died, Lorraine demanded the figures of Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus that had always rested on the mantle. Alvin loved that scene and Jenny insisted they would have their own.

They only needed enough condoms to last out the month, but as their shopping took longer than planned, by the time they reached the drugstore, the stock boy turned the _Open_ sign to _Closed_. Alvin pleaded, but the young man pointed to his watch, shaking his head. Jenny sighed, walking back to the car. They would have to wait until Monday.

Groceries sat in the trunk of the Buick along with decorations and a nativity, the point of Alvin's faith centering on a blonde, sleeping Jesus. Jenny didn't put stock in a god that would allow what had happened to her, but she didn't quarrel with Alvin's beliefs.

She had none, but was happy to see Jacob in town, standing with his wife and kids. Jenny noted Jacob's clear eyes along with shakes that came and went, but if he'd been on the sauce for ten years, detoxing would take more than a weekend. Their short chat as Debbie steadied her husband had been another thing to waylay Jenny and Alvin, but two nights without intercourse was a small price. If Jacob could stay sober, Jenny wouldn't complain.

By bedtime, she reconsidered her generous mood. Alvin had been so excited setting up the nativity and all Jenny wished was for him inside her. They could enjoy each other without the actual lovemaking, but that night, Jenny longed for him. He had delighted in arranging the figurines, all but the Three Wise Men and Baby Jesus. Jenny wondered why he didn't include them as well. "Is it because it's not December yet?"

"You don't put out the Baby Jesus until Christmas morning. And the Wise Men don't go out until then too."

"Oh. I didn't know."

Alvin smiled. "Well, I guess there's a few things I know that you don't." His voice was pleased and Jenny giggled.

Then she kissed him, felt him envelope her, realizing more than she could say. Their hopes made her tipsy, as though all Jacob Cassel wasn't drinking coursed through her veins. She pressed against Alvin, felt him respond.

"Oh Jenny, I wish we'd got to Dougal's before they closed."

"Me too." Her heart pounded. "Let's go up." She glanced at the figures, having expected that baby to complete the scene. Without it, the nativity looked empty.

As Jenny took the stairs, Alvin locked the door. She put on her nightgown. The bed wouldn't be warm and since they wouldn't actually make love, she didn't need to be naked.

Alvin left on his briefs and long sleeved thermal. He wore them as undershirts in the winter, sleeping in them after his evening bath. A clean one would go on at night, but he hadn't washed yet. As he joined her, Jenny smelled all day accumulated in the fabric. She pressed her thighs together, aching for him.

They masturbated quickly, Jenny's few words that of his name, all she could manage, for she wanted to say far more than _Alvin_. She wanted him to love her, and perhaps fill her. Thinking of poor Mary and Joseph having to wait nearly four weeks for their baby, Jenny began to cry.

"What Jenny?" Alvin asked. "You okay?"

She turned to his side, the fabric of his shirt between them. Her own was as well but she wished for his smooth skin, ached to set her body atop his, longed for... a baby. Jenny Cope tried to shut that out, but Alvin's easy voice infiltrated her ears, moving along her bloodstream, winding deep into her body. Like pulling from a skein of yarn, Jenny felt herself unraveling. Only him inside her would set her right.

Yet, Jenny would ovulate any day and all she had to do was wait until Monday. Then she could send Alvin to town and afterwards they could make love all day, albeit with something between them more intrusive than the clothes they wore. Her nightgown and his thermal were nothing compared to thin latex that before Jenny had coveted.

Had lived by and been so injured; her father had used condoms exclusively, causing great pain yet protecting them both. Jenny hadn't gotten pregnant, not carried that shame in addition to all she bore. If she had, would her mother have finally opened her eyes? If a baby had been conceived, what would Jenny have done?

She was no longer consumed with passion, only questions. To Alvin's surprise, she began to speak words of wonder, of horror too, revulsion mixed with thankfulness for what hadn't happened; Jenny hadn't gotten pregnant with her father's child.

Alvin smoothed her hair, strangely relieved for her thoughts. He had been close to loving her, but they had decided to wait until January. Yet, she felt so warm and soft, smelling so nice. He loved her scent, but those words hadn't been nice to hear.

Jenny was right; how fortuitous, which meant _by chance_ , that she hadn't gotten pregnant years ago. The condoms hadn't been easy, but a baby with her father would have been so much worse.

They went to sleep after that, missing dinner. On Sunday morning Alvin woke at seven to scant light, the days so short. Jenny wasn't in bed, then he heard her splashing in the tub.

He got up, putting on his robe. Going down, he started a fire, then turned on the wall heater next to the kitchen. Jenny cooked so much that he hadn't needed to run it often, the stove warming that part of the house, the fireplace heating the rest. He looked to the nativity and saw how lonely Mary and Joseph appeared, no baby for them to admire. Alvin smiled, a situation he and Jenny were going to fix. He had wanted to start last night, but her words were necessary. Jenny needed to get that out now, before they had a baby.

Alvin went to the box, still on the couch. He cradled the Baby Jesus, blonde like himself, with a tiny smile. Alvin shed tears, things happening he hadn't expected. Last Thanksgiving he had played Monopoly, losing to Alana. He hadn't felt bad, Steve and Max lost worse than he did. This year he was part of the adults, wasn't the same man as before.

All of that was due to Jenny. Alvin ran his finger along Jesus' smile, then placed the small figure back in the box. Jenny had changed Alvin's whole life and it was going to keep changing; they were going to make a baby.

He put another piece of wood on the fire, setting the mesh cover in front of the flame. Alvin checked the heater, warm air drifting from the top. Hearing the bathroom door open, he started up. As Jenny slipped into their room, he went to relieve himself.

The tub was draining, the room warm. He was hard and it took a minute until he could urinate. That stiffness returned as soon as he washed his hands, smelling her bubble bath. She liked a pretty scent, and he turned off the light, aware of how much he loved her, how happy she made him. How he was never lonely, how his heart held so much joy. Alvin hadn't been unhappy before, only unaware of what he _could_ feel, how good life _could_ be. Jenny had shown him more than he thought, more than he had known.

He stepped into their room and she was getting dressed, already in her jeans and socks, but topless. Her breasts were round and soft, the nipples small but dark, so pretty. Jenny was a vision and approaching her, Alvin placed his hands on her chest, for she was his. As Jenny made happy sounds, he pressed into her. Only their clothes were in the way.

"Alvin, oh my god!" Jenny leaned her head back, a towel wrapped around her hair. Alvin continued his gentle contact, her damp skin still warm. He usually didn't touch her this way, not for this long. Something about all he'd been thinking kept his hands steady, his fingers stroking back and forth.

"Jenny, I love you." His tone was of bliss and wonder. Kissing her, he wanted change to continue. Alvin unzipped Jenny's jeans, then eased her trousers to the floor.

Thirty days wasn't going to make a huge difference, not the kind of difference Jenny herself had already caused. Alvin would never be that person again, shy, embarrassed, ignorant. He pulled down Jenny's underwear, feeling her clutching him, her head nodding, asking for him and his baby. One month this side of 1976 was only thirty days, Alvin thought, setting himself inside her.

In bed, Alvin felt Jenny's small weight as a joy of admission, recognition, approval. When he came in her without anything between them, he hoped she wouldn't mind, hoped that their original timetable could accommodate a slight alteration. Those were the words in his head, big words he hadn't previously said. From where did they emerge?

Maybe from being a man, from loving a woman so completely, from wanting a big responsibility. A baby was a huge task, but small at first, although not as little as the Baby Jesus. But still it was only a baby, not a teenager like Liz Cassel, who needed lots of attention. It was tiny like Mike Anderson, Kellie and Rick's newborn. Now he was a month old, getting bigger every time Alvin saw them in town, the baby wrapped tight like the figure downstairs. And maybe, just maybe, like a baby Alvin had put into Jenny.

In a few weeks they would know, her period due in the middle of December. She had told him that after they had gotten into bed, Alvin surprised how easy it had been to come inside her standing up. That had shocked him, as had the hope in her voice.

She hoped that they would conceive, a word not big, but new to him. Conceive a baby was the proper term, but Alvin liked his just fine, for that was how it happened. He had put himself inside her and if it worked, he would be there for nine months. Alvin liked that idea, a part of him always close to Jenny, then in their arms, how little Mike Anderson was now in his mother's arms, or in the carrier strapped to Rick's torso. "Hey Jenny?"

"Yeah?" Her voice was dreamy as she set her mouth along his chest.

Alvin smiled; he loved Jenny right on top of him and maybe she was already pregnant. "Jenny Cope, if we have a baby, I wanna get one of those things like Rick Anderson has, you know, to put the baby in."

"Sure."

"Jenny, you okay?"

"Uh-huh." She smiled, opening her eyes. "Alvin, I love you."

"Oh Jenny, I love you too." He moved hair from her face, her brown eyes so big. "Jenny, what is it?"

She rolled off of him, but stayed close, tracing the few chest hairs along his nipples to his navel. Then further down, her hand resting right above his pubic hair. "Alvin, I've never felt so, so... I can't even think of the word. Like satisfied, but more." She returned to her place over him, running her hand along his jaw. "Like all I've ever been meant to do is be with you, love you. Get pregnant with your baby."

It had been so hard all month as she spoke of her fears, her past, her mother. Getting out so much bad stuff, but maybe there had been a reason. Maybe it was for now, for this. For what they might have made.

"Jenny, oh Jenny Cope!" All of Alvin's big words and deep thoughts vanished seeing her smile that now took over all she was. All he was too; he grew stiff, then alerted her to his condition. Her smile widened as she placed herself over him.

Jenny lay on his chest. "Alvin, even if this month's a bust, I don't think we're gonna need any more condoms."

As she enveloped him, he nodded. They wouldn't need more condoms.

Chapter 20

Alvin couldn't believe the change in Jacob Cassel. He had completely stopped drinking. He was still sort of grouchy, his face with a look of trouble. Not from sobriety, but of why.

When Alvin had asked Tommie about it, Tommie said Jacob had come to his senses. Jenny thought it was due to Liz and that Lambert boy, but that was over now. Even though they weren't dating, he still pestered her. Alvin had heard that Jacob had to run him off and if that kid wasn't careful, Jacob might just pull out his shotgun.

Alvin thought about that only because he was helping patch Tommie's barn roof. They had fixed Alvin's a few days back, Tommie spotting for Alvin on a cold but dry day, and now it was Alvin's turn at Tommie's place. Alvin had no fear of heights and again Tommie was on the ground, keeping watch. Alvin felt invincible for being so close to the sky and one other reason, something he was keeping from Tommie, but just for a few more days.

Jenny's period was late. That sentence hung over everything in Alvin's mind. Hammering boards, his heart sang, what he'd repeated to himself since she had made it plain on Wednesday morning. Now it was Friday, December nineteenth, and Alvin had arrived at Tommie's later than he'd wanted. They were supposed to get started at nine, but Alvin had to take Jenny to the doctor. She was now five days late and she was never late. She was a little tired, and her breasts were, as she put it, off limits. She said they ached really badly, another sign, but Alvin wasn't going to let any more into his head except one sentence; Jenny's period was late.

Dr. Fisher had taken Jenny's details, Alvin sitting beside her in the small back room. Then Dr. Fisher gave Jenny a plastic cup and Alvin was confused; why did she need a plastic cup?

"We'll test both her blood and urine," Dr. Fisher said slowly, but Alvin didn't mind that tone. Many people spoke to him that way, as if they said the words gradually, it would sink in. Alvin didn't need that kind of help, only an explanation.

Alvin had nodded, then understood; Jenny would pee in that cup. It seemed a lot in Alvin's face, but from the moment he had told her he would be with her for the baby's birth, Alvin had accepted his role as an involved, modern parent. It was almost 1976 after all.

Almost January and here they were, waiting for the results. A month early, but if Alvin had to wait much longer, he might not have lasted. Jenny was excited too, yet both had to be quiet, not say anything. They weren't going to tell anyone until they knew for sure.

Alvin pounded the last nail, then slid to the ladder. With the hammer in his back pocket, he went down, jumping off the second to last rung, pins and needles in his legs. He was dying to know and they would get a call from the doctor by the end of the day. The blood tests would take longer, but the lab at the office would confirm the urine sample, and Alvin was so happy they wouldn't have to wait all weekend. Blood tests were done in the big hospital in Albany, half an hour west, but in Arkendale the contents of that plastic cup could be learned. All Alvin had to do was wait.

He hated waiting, was bad at it when his birthday was coming, Christmas too. Bad at keeping secrets, but Jenny didn't want anyone knowing until they did. Being with Tommie was the worst. All Alvin wanted was to go home and wait for that phone to ring.

They had gotten a private line just last month; Alvin was so glad no one else could pick up the receiver and hear their news. He and Tommie never had to wait anymore, although most folks knew nine o'clock was their time. He had called Tommie late last week on his thirty-ninth birthday and they had gabbed alone, no one cutting in. Alvin took the hammer from his back pocket. He didn't know how he would tell Tommie about the baby, but if he wanted to call, it would only be between them.

Alvin looked up; Tommie seemed older since his birthday and Alvin was glad he and Jenny weren't waiting. Even if it was just one month, they would start off the year with great news. Jenny had told him all the early signs and except for not being sick, she felt tired and her breasts were tender. That had started last week, but they hadn't talked about what it might mean. They got sore right before her period started. But it hadn't. She hadn't gotten it.

"Alvin, what're you thinking about?" Tommie moved the ladder back into the barn. "Looks like a cat's got your tongue."

"Oh nothing." Alvin followed Tommie, feeling the need to go or else he would spill the beans. "Well, I think I'll be heading home."

"You just got here. Come in for some joe. Rae'll be mad if you don't."

"Oh, I need to get home."

Tommie leaned against a beam. "Everything all right?"

Alvin shifted his weight from side to side. Tommie knew him too well. Then Alvin thought about Jacob. "Tommie, why did Jacob quit drinking?"

"I think he just knew it was time. Either that or he was gonna kill himself, just like his dad."

Alvin nodded. Jacob Cassel Senior, known as Jake, had died when the brothers were young, around the time Alvin quit school. "How's Jacob doing?"

"Oh, okay. Between you and me, it had a lot to do with Chad Lambert. I think, even though that boy's out of the picture mostly, it just sobered him up." Tommie smiled. "Literally and figuratively."

Tommie had used that phrase before, real and pretend. Alvin always appreciated how Tommie would speak and then explain it, not treat him like he was dumb. Only slow, from an accident, but the baby wouldn't have any troubles.

Alvin smiled. Were they really going to have a baby? He missed Tommie's question, and not until his friend was next to him did Alvin pay attention. Tommie's right hand, lately seen more and more, rested on Alvin's shoulder, his face concerned. "Alvin, you listening to me?"

"What? Oh Tommie, I was just thinking about the..."

"The what?"

"The weather," Alvin blurted.

"Uh-huh. Well, supposed to be dry another few days. Any more repairs you need done?"

"I don't think so. Tommie, I gotta go. Tell Rae I'll stay for coffee next time." Alvin headed to his truck, missing Tommie's curious smile.

Lunch was hard to eat, not because Alvin was so nervous, but due to Jenny's poor appetite. She picked at her sandwich and looked like she was going to be sick, but trying to hold it in. Alvin didn't say anything; she had gotten a bit angry that he'd nearly told Tommie about the baby, but then she had started crying, and he wondered if this was another sign. So moody, but she got that way a day or two before she started. Her grumpiness had only lasted a minute, then a smile came, one of hope, trying to be patient, as hard for her as it was for him.

Now she looked sick. "Jenny, you wanna go lie down?" He took a drink of milk, her green face taking his appetite.

"Alvin, oh god!" Then out the back door she ran.

She gagged as he reached her and he held her hair back, now past her waist. She never wore it up unless she was cooking or gathering eggs. He had gathered the eggs the last few days, Jenny not moving fast, and now she was throwing up. She was throwing up and Alvin's heart raced. "Jenny, oh goodness, you think?"

She gave a weak smile, wiping her mouth on his handkerchief. "Maybe Alvin, maybe."

He helped her to the couch, her glass of water in his hand. She drank most of it, then leaned back. "I just wish they'd call."

"I know, me too." He sat, grasped her hand and kissed it. "What's it feel like?"

She laughed. "Like I'm being taken over. My boobs are so sore, now my stomach's blah." She touched his face. "I love you though."

Her smile was all he needed. If she was willing to feel so crummy, he would find some way to wait. "Oh, I love you too. We'll know soon."

Her giggle was cut short by a cough. "Yeah, one way or another, but you better get me a bowl. If I'm not pregnant, I've got one hell of a stomach bug."

By three o'clock Alvin was ready to drive to town, corner that doctor, and get the answer. Jenny had thrown up again, then taken a nap, and now, having eaten some crackers, seemed better. Yet, both were on edge, sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the phone to ring.

He got a drink of water, then stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. They hadn't said much since she woke, only about that blasted phone. Then they laughed, so much tension, so much they might be having...

Alvin squeezed her, then kissed the top of her head just as he had at the dance at Tommie's barbecue back in August. Alvin had kissed her head, then taken her home, made love to her. Now they were waiting to hear if being that close would make them parents. Alvin barely knew his own dad; Alfred Harris had died when Alvin was eleven, but he did remember a man who loved him, tried to teach him things. Other men, Ray Gardner, Tank Miller, and Tommie's dad, Mitch Smith, had showed Alvin how to run the farm. Tommie's dad and mom were both gone, but Mitch and Alva Smith had been like a second family. They had been older parents who died when Tommie was in his twenties, one right after the other. Alvin had been nearly as torn up as Tommie at their deaths.

Alvin was glad he and Jenny hadn't waited that extra month. On the fifteenth of January he would be thirty-nine, which was getting up there. At least he would be a father before Tommie was a grandfather. Alvin would be a dad and he missed the ringing phone, thinking of a little girl or boy calling him Daddy.

Only when Jenny jumped did Alvin hear it, followed by her excited, tearful voice: _Are you sure? Okay, yes, I'll tell him. Thank you, and merry Christmas to you too!_

As Jenny hung up the receiver, tears poured from eyes so different. These brown eyes held something, more than anything she had held before.

Those eyes had known great fear and sorrow. Alvin recalled meeting her, those eyes so pretty, yet far away, filled with more than he thought someone could contain and breathe. Now they were huge and full, but not with sadness, only bliss, as Jenny grabbed his hands.

"What'd they say?"

"It's positive," she sobbed, setting his palm along her flat belly. "We're gonna have a baby!"

For as sick as she felt, Jenny Cope had never been happier. Late on Monday the lab in Albany confirmed the urine test and Alvin was on a cloud as Jenny threw up, ate what little she found appetizing, then tried to crochet.

She hadn't seen anyone, Alvin telling all interested parties that she had the flu. Rae called daily, hoping they would make it for Christmas. Jenny had chatted for a few minutes, sounding as bad as she felt, assuring Rae they would be there.

Tommie had stopped by early on Christmas Eve morning, but Jenny was still in bed, and she heard Alvin's explanation; she was better and they would be at dinner tomorrow. Tommie had yelled up and she gave the loudest _goodbye_ she could muster. She did feel absolutely awful, but for the best possible reason.

Only in Alvin's arms did Jenny's nausea subside. They had made love a few times, for as soon as it was confirmed, her body let loose. Her breasts were untouchable and morning sickness lasted all day, even at night. Alvin had helped her to the toilet when she could make it, or held a bowl when she couldn't. Jenny had an appointment with Dr. Fisher for the beginning of January. He would deliver the baby sometime in late August, if all went well.

For how sick she was, Jenny couldn't imagine it not being fine. Alvin had become proficient at warming chicken noodle soup, that and saltines about all Jenny could manage. Some corn flakes too, but little else. Yet, it wasn't food turning her stomach, only their baby. That never left her, no matter how much she vomited, how her chest throbbed, how exhausted she felt. It was all because of their baby.

Jenny found it on Alvin's joyful face, how he danced through the house, attending to her every need. He constantly talked about the baby, and her too, Jenny and this tiny speck as one. She felt that, her body teeming alongside her mind.

She was going to be someone's mom, the mother of Alvin's baby, thrilling her all through. It was scary, but some female part had been tapped, then released, a piece of Jenny vaguely conjured in the barn with Liz Cassel. That instinct was nearly as strong as the queasiness.

Maybe it was more powerful; Jenny felt horrible, yet not once did she blame what caused the ruckus within her, only trying to eat and rest, but it came in fits and starts. The doctor would give her all the necessary information at the appointment next month. Alvin had called them yesterday, worried because she was so sick. Jenny had heard the nurse telling Alvin it was perfectly normal, but if he was really concerned to bring her in. Jenny had refused, would last until the new year.

She would last, but they hadn't, making a baby early. As Alvin heated more soup, Jenny considered all that had changed in 1975; if she were to list everything, it would make her dizzy, like how the baby made her feel. She sat on the couch and laughed as Alvin approached with the soup.

"What?" he said, nearly spilling.

"Oh, just that so much's changed. Here, you give me that, then sit down." She took the bowl, sipping from the edge. So much had come back up, it was nice to send something the other direction.

"Jenny, you sure about going tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh. I wanna tell everyone."

"You sure?" Alvin's voice was tentative.

"Honey, what is it?"

"What, I mean, what if something happens?"

She drank from the side of the bowl, then set it on the table, grasping his hands. "If something happens, our best friends will know and will be there for us."

Just because they had gotten pregnant so easily, until she was further along, anything could happen. Not usually so optimistic, something about being pregnant made Jenny hopeful. If her ideas were misplaced, she would deal with it later.

"Well, if you're that sure."

She took him in her arms, breathing deeply, allowing air for her and the baby. She was living for two after so many years of hardly existing for herself. But here with Alvin, she had found peace. "Baby, to be honest with you, I'm not certain at all."

He pulled away. "Jenny what? Is there something you haven't told me?"

"Oh no Alvin, no!" She smoothed his hair, staring into his eyes. How to explain all that had altered? Could he understand, did she? It was bizarre when pondered all at once, but Jenny took that as a sign, along with the nausea and sore breasts. So much good had happened for her and Alvin in less than one year, their baby the cap. She tried to incorporate all her initial misgivings, how she had wanted to flee, and had nearly done so. He had stopped her, taking her home, giving her a place. Now she was going to give him a baby.

"Oh Jenny, that's the best present I could ever have! You, the baby, right here with me."

She wiped his few tears, then finished her soup, her heart unable to hold any more.

In the morning, they opened their few presents in bed. Then going downstairs, Jenny gasped. "Oh Alvin, you shouldn't have!" On the coffee table waited a record player.

Next to it were three albums, two by Elton John and _Court and Spark_ by Joni Mitchell. _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_ and _Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy_ were titles Alvin learned from Lexi, and while he didn't remember the song he and Jenny had danced to at the barbecue, Alvin knew Jenny would. He could get it for her later.

She was in tears going to the couch, opening the lid. Then taking the albums in her hands, she shook and Alvin joined her. "I know you love music and now you can listen to it all the time, you and the baby."

"Alvin, oh my god! You didn't have to do this."

He laughed. "Well, at first I was gonna wait for your birthday. Then when you thought you were pregnant, I wanted the baby to hear all these songs. Then she'll know them too."

Jenny cried as he plugged it in with the extension cord. As she set down the needle, a pretty song began, piano soft and faint. Then in a woman's voice words were spoken like poetry, feelings Alvin recognized. He wasn't sure why, but he understood what Joni Mitchell meant.

"Jenny, what's this song?"

She set his hand on her belly. "One of my favorites, "Court and Spark"."

Arriving at Tommie and Rae's, Jenny had needed the bathroom. For seconds Tommie wondered if she should just go back home. Yet Alvin's excited smile didn't speak of illness or malady.

"Oh my God," Tommie blurted. "Is she pregnant?"

As Alvin nodded, Jenny yelled. "Couldn't we even tell you properly?"

Lexi, Steve, Max, and Alana were thrilled from the day, but this news was the biggest surprise. "She's pregnant?" Lexi asked, coming to Alvin's side.

The boys hung back as Rae moved through the stuffed hallway. "Jesus Christ," she said, adding a laugh. "Jenny, you okay in there?"

Rae moved the group aside, opening the door. From where Tommie stood, he saw Jenny on the floor, her head over the porcelain.

"Alvin, you're gonna be a dad!" Alana giggled.

"I know. Can you believe it?" he smiled.

After the meal, Jenny sat in his grasp, the girls in the kitchen, the boys in the living room. Conversations had been centered on the coming baby, one that Jenny asked, between deep breaths and another visit to the bathroom, that they all keep quiet just until she saw the doctor.

Rae had followed with a stern look, adding for them to all hush until they were told otherwise. Tommie backed her up and the kids were subdued until Jenny felt nauseous again. Then giggles returned.

Now alone, the adults talked openly. Alvin revealed why he hadn't stayed for coffee the previous Friday and Rae was glad to know it wasn't personal. Both Smiths gave their hearty support, but cautioned Jenny and Alvin to keep mum until Jenny was further along.

"Oh, I know." Jenny's eyes fluttered, but so much ran through her. Speaking of the baby fueled that tremendous notion of all being so right; 1976 would be such a good year.

The doorbell rang and Tommie reached the hall as Sam Cassel spoke. "Merry Christmas! How are you all?"

"Good, we're really good," Alvin said. Then he laughed.

Jenny stuck her elbow into him. "Merry Christmas Sam."

He sat next to Alvin as Tommie brought him a beer. "Bet you didn't find these handy."

Sam smiled, popping it open, taking a sip. "Actually, that's why I'm here."

"Looking for a beer?" Rae chuckled.

Sam ran a hand through his long hair. "Oh well, in a manner of speaking."

They hadn't seen Sam since the barbecue and he settled into his chair while banter flowed, mostly in how Jacob was still dry. As Jenny excused herself to the bathroom, the room grew quiet. Alvin stood, Jenny's loud vomiting not missed by anyone.

"Is she okay?" Sam asked.

"Oh, just a little sick," Tommie said as Alvin passed by Sam on the way to the bathroom.

Sam took another drink, then leaned forward. "Listen, she's one of the reasons I'm here. Debbie tells me it was Jenny to get Jacob to quit drinking."

Rae stood. "I'm gonna check on them." Her fatigue was evident, but Rae was out of there before Sam could say any more.

"Hey, is Jenny okay?" He looked toward the hall as she continued retching.

"Uh Sam," Tommie reached for his hand, gave it a squeeze. "They're having a baby. We just found out tonight."

Sam's face moved in ways Tommie hadn't noted for over ten years. Alana was still in diapers when Tommie had last witnessed such anguish on Jacob's little brother.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Sam muttered. "They sure?"

"You can hear her. They're sure."

Sam stood, chugging the beer as Tommie found his feet. "It'll be okay for them. It will."

As Rae and Alvin soothed Jenny, Sam trembled, staring at the bathroom door. Tommie gripped him. "She'll be okay. Don't worry Sam. This one'll be all right!"

Chapter 21

On the last day of 1975, Samuel Eric Cassel started off his morning with a beer. Not in front of his brother, but after Jacob had gone to Tommie's. Only Debbie stood as a witness and her face told of understanding, also caution. Sam nodded, finished the can, set it in the bottom of the garbage, then ate some toast.

He wouldn't drink another, but needed that hair of the dog to ease down breakfast. Debbie asked if he wanted any eggs, but that turned Sam's stomach. As he shook his head, his gut calming, he thought of Jenny Cope.

Not Jenny Harris; they weren't getting married. Sam had thought that comical, another funny thing about the whole situation. Some was funny-ha ha, like Jenny and Alvin's unmarried state. Other parts were more funny-strange.

Not strange, Sam thought, giving Debbie a kiss, then going for a bath. Odd, sad, sorry, and too damned late. Once again, Sam was too late on the scene, but at least Jenny wasn't dead.

She was just knocked up by the best guy around, one nobody would have guessed. Alvin Harris lay low on the radar, but boy, when he made his move, no one would miss it.

Scott snored as Sam went upstairs, Liz still in her room. Sleeping at Jacob and Debbie's had been a last minute decision only due to Jacob's continued sobriety. Sam had planned to stay with their mother, but had moved to the other side of town once he was assured Jacob was truly dry. It made all the difference between them, Sam thoroughly enjoying his brother's company, Maisie pleased to see her sons getting along. Sam hadn't meant to leave her alone, but Maisie nearly pushed him to the so much happier than usual house that Sam had found on Christmas Eve. Arriving in Arkendale, he hadn't expected Jacob's mood to be any different. His brother's clear eyes and coffee-laced breath told a new story.

Staying with Jacob was also better for the party. Sam could get as drunk as he wanted and only have to stumble into the back room. Every New Year's Eve was spent at the Cassels' to keep Jacob off the streets. Debbie liked a few beers to ring in the New Year, up to the guests to get home alive. Rae was the Smiths' driver, or Alvin took them all. This year, Alvin was only bringing Jenny.

Jenny and a baby; filling the tub, Sam let that spin as his brain slowly returned to normal. He had gone out last night with guys who had stayed in Arkendale, men with whom Sam could tie one on, then come home and collapse. Jacob said nothing. No need for words between them, it had all been spoken years ago at Tracy's funeral. Ten years had passed and it had taken Jacob's own daughter to pull her father from the edge, Liz and Jenny Cope.

Sam stepped in, the warm water rising past his torso. It was soothing, and he sunk down, gripping the edge. Leaning back he let his head go in, all but his face. Then he washed that hunk of brown hair, a style his mother still tutted him over, but Sam had let it grow after his wife died. Before he had been a clean cut young man, in college to stay out of harm's way, keeping him from any line of fire, yet not far enough. Vietnam hadn't bruised Sam, but he had witnessed sufficient bloody bodies to last the rest of his life.

After rinsing his hair, Sam sat up, setting those memories aside. He wished he could do the same with Jenny. Sam had dreamed of her after that first meeting on Easter. Dreams had only exacerbated after the barbecue.

Now Alvin was set within her, a baby for Alvin Harris. Easier to think of it that way and Sam chuckled, rinsing off. He had stayed another minute after Tommie's words on Christmas, spying Alvin's cheery face emerging from Tommie's bathroom, a smile needing no explanation. If Tommie hadn't told Sam, Alvin's wide grin would have, a look of love and happiness Sam grudgingly allowed. Then he chided himself. Alvin deserved the same delight as everyone else, and why shouldn't he become a father? He was a good man, one of the best. Sam loved Alvin as he did Tommie, had been so thankful for Alvin's words, even after a decade. Sam had never let any of those admonishments, Jacob's, Tommie's, or Alvin's, get far from his head, one reason he had gotten drunk last night; coming home always reminded him of 1965, returning from Eugene alone. Tracy was gone and Sam was surrounded by three men, each with a different perspective. Sam hadn't been pleased with his brother's drinking, but he accepted it; Jacob knew everything.

Tommie knew a little less, and Alvin was only aware that Tracy had died. But Alvin's straightforward words had stayed with Sam best, drawing the deepest sobs. With Jacob and Tommie, Sam had held tight, hearing comfort and advice. With Alvin, it had only been love.

Lying in the tepid water, Sam couldn't filter Alvin's distressed voice, and he only knew that Tracy was dead, like Alvin's father, but not like his brother; Adam Harris was still alive in 1965. Sam had wept when Adam was killed two years later in Vietnam, a place from which Sam's continued education in Portland had shielded him. Sam had left Eugene, staying out of harm's way, what Maisie and Jacob demanded once the draft came into force. Sam had his masters in journalism, but hadn't needed to go halfway across the world to see death in action. It had landed right on his and Tracy's front door.

He splashed the water, chilled from his thoughts and the cooling liquid. Sam didn't wish to move, didn't want his feet under him, feet set too firmly in his hometown. Portland was much safer, especially now that Jenny was pregnant. Maisie had mentioned that with Jacob's newfound sobriety, Sam wouldn't have to be so distant. Sam had nodded to that sentiment upon his arrival. Since Christmas Day, all he wanted was to flee.

Selling ads for _The_ _Oregonian_ wasn't at all what he had planned, but hard news was too intense. Sam had endured gritty, didn't need to do it eight hours a day. Feature stories were fluff, but he was good at selling columns of empty space. It didn't take anything but his time, and time Sam had.

Time here, on this last day of the year; he would stay for the party, take another day or two to get sober. Since hearing of Alvin and Jenny's news, all Sam had wanted was to drive home. Yet, how to explain, Jacob's drunkenness no longer an issue. Sam had needed one since the end of March; Jenny's touch on him was some irrational but authentic mark that made Sam flinch. It made him recall loving his wife, then losing her. It also made him need another beer and it wasn't even lunchtime.

Sam pulled the plug, then stood, reaching for a towel. He wanted to see Jenny. She had said something to Jacob, or at least enough to Liz to get through to Jacob, and Sam only wanted to thank her. Once Tommie's words hit, Sam couldn't get out of there quickly enough. Alvin's face had been hard, but it would just be that night. Sam just had to swallow one more round of gut-wrenching anguish, then it would be over. He smiled, clenching his teeth. One more night and it would all be over.

By eight-thirty that evening, he was pleasantly numb. Sam smiled at Alvin, truly thrilled for the couple, even looking Jenny in the eye, hearing her good news. It was good and Sam hadn't needed more than four beers after dinner to be honest with her. Honesty with Alvin and Jenny had come with four beers. Truth with Tommie took a whole lot more.

That was for later. At half past eight, Sam laughed with the Cope-Harris couple as Jenny's nausea came and went. That night she felt better, but had visited Debbie's bathroom three times already. Jacob had offered to get her a bowl, but she declined. "Good god, but that would be disgusting."

"Oh, no worse than where I'd be in another couple hours," Jacob had laughed, looking at Sam with understanding. Tommie wasn't the only one aware.

Stripping the booze, Jacob hadn't missed Sam's return on Christmas night, and almost a week later, it was evident if one knew Sam. If you really _knew_ Sam Cassel, then how he felt for Jenny was obvious in how he didn't look down at her, didn't take her for anything other than who she was; Alvin's girlfriend. Living with Alvin put a stamp on Jenny that deemed her acceptable in Arkendale society, which wasn't saying much. Even that night, Fred Hooper still gave Jenny a look, Sam seeing it all over that leering SOB's red face. Fred didn't know about the baby, but once he did, it would make little difference. There were others who shared Fred's view, but kept their mouths shut.

They were ignorant, small-minded bastards, but smart enough not to say anything overt in Jacob's house with Tommie close. Alvin was harmless, but others would have ripped from limb to limb anyone with more than an unkind word to Jenny. Then Sam would have taken over.

He sat next to her, Alvin on her other side. Sam could only look at her with eyes half-glazed; she wasn't too clear, her beauty not as blinding. What was it that Sam found so damned irresistible, was it simply her otherworldliness, that she was so not of this place? So far above them, yet accepting her lot, that of a girl who had been around and no one but Alvin would take her in. No one but Alvin had accepted her, Sam not counting the Baxters. They were nice people, but not folks to love Jenny as Alvin did and, Sam sighed, he did love her.

It staggered Sam how much of a man Alvin seemed, his arm around Jenny, his other hand on her leg. She wore a knee-length skirt with a sweater and Alvin's hands rested on her in a subdued yet apparent manner. That was how the couple had appeared at Easter when she had looked like shit, leaning into him for dear life, also how they had danced at the Smith barbecue, so close it had made Sam turn away. Since then they had been even closer; now Jenny was pregnant.

She was stunning and Sam couldn't even look at her straight on, too damned painful. He needed another beer and would get one. They were talking of leaving soon, as Jenny was tired. Sam just had to wait until they were safely away, then he could get plastered.

He would too, her voice in his head too tightly, her laugh caught sharp in his ears. Her laugh and that noise, when she'd been sick, had cut into his guts. Alvin had been with her but it had taken all Sam owned to not get down on his knees beside her. Only Jacob's clear eyes had nailed Sam's butt to his chair, Jacob and Tommie's both.

Tommie knew and had given Sam that fourth beer, one in need of assistance. Sam required a fifth, to be followed by a sixth. Then he would see how badly it still ached, that place within him where Jenny dwelled.

"So Sam, how long you staying?" Alvin asked.

"Oh, just another day or so." He smiled at Jenny. "Gotta get back and check the plants."

She squeezed his hand. "Jacob's glad you're here."

"He sure is." Alvin nodded, then stood. "You want some water Jenny?"

"Yeah, thanks."

As Alvin went to the kitchen, Sam wanted to spirit Jenny north where Alvin would be hard pressed to find her. Sam smiled, then held that look by force as Jenny clasped his other hand. "Listen, it really means a lot to him, you being here."

Sam swallowed hard. "I didn't get to thank you properly on Christmas night. Whatever you said to Liz, it sure got through to my brother."

Jenny looked down, had a small cough. "Well, it just uh, came from my heart."

Freddy Fender wafted through Jacob's speakers. "Jenny, you up for a dance?"
Sam needed to either take her away or be so near her, he would never return. He needed it to hurt, setting within himself a firm warning to keep his distance. He was happy for Jacob, and for Alvin, but after this holiday, Sam wouldn't come home for a long time.

Her smile was instant. "I'd love a dance. I hear Alvin and Rae. That water'll be forever in coming."

Sam took her hand, helping her stand. Her hair was down, freshly washed. She smelled of bubble bath, of a softness Sam had long forgotten. He pulled her closer than in August, but still with hands only intending innocent recreation. They danced as a couple judged for poise, not affection, a twosome well-matched for their steps, not their hearts. Others joined, Jacob spinning Debbie while Rae gripped Alvin's hand, setting the water on the table. As Freddy Fender sang of teardrops falling, Jenny grasped Sam's hand. He looked into her face, joy throughout, yet not for him.

Sam watched as Jacob said goodnight to them, Jenny having been sick one more time. She looked pale as they left, but Alvin was around her, and once the door was closed, Sam walked to the kitchen. He popped open a beer, pouring a whisky chaser. Downing the whisky first, he then poured another, pounding the beer, that second whisky getting its rightful due. Tommie came through, got himself a beer, and Sam gave a weary smile, grabbing another beer from the fridge. "They're good together."

"Let's go for a walk," Tommie said, taking a sip.

"Can't get far enough on my feet," Sam smiled.

"C'mon soldier."

They went out the back door and down the few steps. Sam looked into the night; it had rained earlier, but small stars shined in the darkness. "Pretty, just the big old sky."

"Yup. You see this often up there?"

Sam gazed out. "Nah, usually I'm in bed long before the clouds break."

Tommie walked around the yard, drinking his beer. Then he returned to the concrete patio, smashing the empty can with his boot. Then he looked at Sam. "Gimme yours."

Sam chugged what remained, then set the can on the cement. Tommie put down a hard step, the noise piercing. "You feel any better?"

"I feel less. How's that?"

Tommie sat on the bottom step, clasping his hands together. "You gonna be okay?"

"As long as I don't come back here I'll be fine."

"They're happy, you know."

Still able to feel, Sam wished for another beer. "I know. Good for Alvin."

"For her too. Jenny's got a lot in her past."

Tommie's voice alluded to what Sam didn't want to know. He couldn't take any more of Jenny Cope that had rested in his arms. "Listen, you don't have to worry."

Tommie stood, setting his left hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know. He just found her first."

Sam shed a few tears. "Better for her, you know. Oh shit Tommie. Who'm I kidding?" He laughed, then wrapped arms around himself. "Anyways, too late now. She's really all his."

"She is. But it's better this way. Sam," and Tommie hesitated. "Just better like this."

"Damn straight. Who knows what woulda happened if I'd met her first?" Sam headed for the steps, his walk uneasy. "Hey farmer, I need another drink."

Tommie led him up, more hurt in Sam than a case of beer would cure.

Falling asleep that night for Sam was easy. Keeping Jenny from his head was the hard part. Keeping Jenny and Tracy straight was even more difficult.

His last dream pushed Sam over the edge, and he had stirred, feeling horrible, needing one more beer. Drinking it well into the night on that first day of 1976, Sam steadied himself against the kitchen counter. Trying to be quiet, not wanting to wake his family, Sam moved to the living room, sitting on the sofa where in March 1965 he had been with Tommie in front of him. Jacob was to his right, Alvin on the other side, his face so opposite to how he had looked earlier that evening. No joy, only tears from a boy-man, but with words that Sam couldn't erase, not even now, over a decade later. Gentle, loving sentences were spoken by one living halfway between where the rest of them dwelled. Wherever Alvin actually lived, Sam never knew.

It was a place where pain was felt, but not completely understood. Had that been changed by Jenny? Sam fought that name by thinking of his late wife. Ten years ago Tracy had been brutally killed, maybe how Adam Harris had gone, goddamned blood whether you went to war or not. Sam's friends hadn't escaped that conflict and all spoke of it, especially Grant Schumacher, who had known Sam the longest. Grant knew that while Sam had been spared military duty, he hadn't avoided death. It haunted them all.

"Sam, listen, if you need anything, just come down and we'll go for a walk in the trees. That's what I did when my daddy died." Alvin's ancient words floated through the room as if Sam could set them in his pocket.

"Thanks Alvin," Sam had replied.

"I mean, I know it's hard losing a part of yourself. I barely remember my accident, but when I woke and they told me I wasn't gonna be the same, well, I got real sad 'cause my head hurt and my mama's face was all tearful. I knew something was wrong."

Their losses were opposing, but intrinsic, why they lived, what made them breathe, Alvin his smarts, Sam his wife. His life, as Alvin's injury had taken part of his; who might Alvin had become if not for that fall?

"Sam, I just want you to know I'm here, like Tommie and Jacob." Alvin's grip had been crushing. "And like I know you'd do anything for me, I'll do anything for you."

Sam looked at the empty room, then to the cleared floor where he had danced with Jenny, wanting to take her from Alvin. Tears poured as Sam laid on the sofa, huddling against the back, Alvin's words battering his brain.

"Anything Sam Cassel. I'd do anything for you."

Chapter 22

Maisie Cassel took arduous breaths as Jenny crocheted pink, blue, and yellow yarn. She sat in the back of Maisie's room, unobtrusive but present; Jenny only moved to use the toilet or get something to eat.

In April, morning sickness was long gone, and Jenny was showing, wearing some of Alvin's work shirts and her own larger tops. At home she didn't dress up, but coming to the hospital she tried to look presentable. Rae had made her some maternity skirts, Jenny having trouble with the stretchy insert, Rae more adept with tricky fabrics. Jenny fashioned baby blankets, but Sylvia Baxter had gifted Jenny and Alvin with booties, hats, and three sweaters in soft, white yarn. Not at all masculine and Alvin was pleased; he wanted a girl.

Jenny caressed the gentle fibers, feeling her baby turn. That had begun in the last few weeks and Alvin was jealous. She often felt his anxious fingers on a small mound having risen since Maisie's heart attack. As if offering an alternative to the older woman's failing health, Jenny's baby could just be seen from the outside. Yet, only Jenny could feel her child.

Maisie's condition was precarious. She was on oxygen, and if she had been younger, Jacob would have had her transferred to one of the big hospitals in Albany. Arkendale General treated emergencies, also where Jenny would deliver. Other than minor surgeries, it was a place to be born or to die. Jenny had seen Dr. Fisher in the hallways, checking other patients. During her vigil, she had set herself within Arkendale proper, wishing this occurred for another reason. Jacob and Sam had agreed to Maisie's wishes; it was only a matter of time.

Standing, Jenny stretched her back as Debbie and Rae headed her way. Jenny gave a weak smile, then it broadened, Alvin behind them.

"Any change?" Debbie whispered.

Jenny shook her head as Alvin reached her. She leaned into him, ready for a break.

Rae gave Jenny a kiss. "You go on. Sam's supposed to get here this afternoon. If you want, you probably won't even need to come back today."

"Oh I will." Jenny looked at Maisie. "We like to have a chat before she goes to sleep."

Since Thanksgiving, Maisie had taken Jenny under her wing. Now time seemed short; Jenny didn't like thinking of Jacob and Sam's mother so close to leaving.

Jenny gathered her yarn, Alvin's arm around her. Life and death weaved together as her baby moved, but Jenny wasn't settled. As usual, accustoming herself to a situation, she accepted what lay in front of all. Jenny kissed both women, Debbie worn and in tears. Her mother was dead, Maisie all that remained. As Rae steadied Debbie, Alvin's loving grasp led Jenny from the room.

"Oh boy, what a day," he said, reaching the Buick. "I meant to get here earlier, but Tommie needed help. Sorry I'm so late."

Jenny was lost to the words, but his voice found a place within her just like their baby had done. She caressed her small belly, noting a reassuring flutter. "What?" she asked.

He opened her door and knelt as she sat in her seat. "Jenny, you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's just a lot. Baby's moving."

Alvin's hand joined hers, only Jenny's skin to his touch. "Oh I can't wait. I wish I could feel it!"

She smiled at his impatience. The winter months had flown, a heartbeat proof of what she held. What had made her so sick now made her complete; Jenny hadn't been prepared for what motherhood would stir beyond the physical notions. Her whole being had been altered, yet, with storm clouds approaching, summer could be a long season.

Long both in waiting for the baby, due in late August, and what emerged from those clouds. Jenny carried no physical worries for her child, wanted a drug-free experience for the birth. She loved her baby, loved Alvin even more. She loved him so much, was it possible to plumb that even deeper?

As he kissed her, then drove home, Jenny pondered that. Losing Maisie was awful, but with her man, Jenny felt whole. Rarely troubled by her pregnancy, except when she contemplated her mother's failings, Jenny had never known such peace, buffered by great passion. They had found a tender but active way of making love, as her ever growing belly precluding him from lying directly on her. Jenny missed that, but as her body altered, there seemed no emotional barrier to their affections. Alvin had been so right to want a child and she told him so at every opportunity.

Jenny knew his apprehensions; he wanted a daughter. She didn't care, but found herself speaking of the baby as _he_ only to balance Alvin's insistence of _she_. It became their joke, fair is fair, Jenny had said, using the same amounts of pink and blue yarn. The nursery would be her old room across from the master bedroom and Jenny had chosen names; Chelsea Louise if a girl, William Alvin for a boy. She had reversed Alvin's names and he'd liked that.

Louise was Betsy's middle name, then Jenny's thoughts turned to Maisie. They had spoken about the baby, Jenny wishing she was due sooner. Jacob's mother wasn't going to last through summer; the heart attack occurred right after St. Patrick's Day and for a week, it seemed Maisie would be fine. Then compilations set in. Sam had been reluctant to stay long term and Jenny felt something was amiss. Was it memories of his late wife? Jacob was still sober, but something was keeping Sam from home at a time when he should be there.

But Sam was due that evening and would stay through Easter, the following Sunday. Dinner would be at the Smiths' and depending on Maisie, perhaps a funeral afterwards. Her condition had deteriorated and Jenny wanted to see her that night. It could be one of the last times.

Arriving home, Alvin helped her from the car. Jenny took note of yellow daffodils with orange centers; had she missed them the year before? She had been there for fourteen months, and reaching the porch, she felt time was playing games. She would have recalled these flowers, yet, they were as new to her as the baby. Jenny tried to acquaint all that had occurred with the woman she was this time last year, using Easter as a marker. Alvin had no idea of her past at that dinner, where she had met Sam. Sam and Jacob both, and now they were like family, their mother at the end. Jenny began to cry, emotions on her sleeve easily disturbed.

"Honey, you okay?" Alvin used a term he had recently begun to employ. Usually it was her name or _Jenny Cope_ , spoken as one word. Tommie called her that, Sam too. When Sam arrived after his mother's heart attack, _Jenny Cope_ had slipped from his tongue as quickly as possible.

"Why now? She's not even gonna see the baby!" Jenny bawled as Alvin led her inside.

"Oh Jenny Cope, I dunno."

They sat on the couch, yarn everywhere. Jenny had made three small blankets, then begun a large one, now draped over the back of the sofa. In green, purple, orange, and cream, it would be used when the baby was older. Jenny had started it now, needing a distraction.

"Alvin, do you realize what's happened in a year, in one year?" She felt woozy from it all, then remembered she hadn't eaten lunch. "Baby, I'm hungry."

"Let me get you a sandwich." He kissed her and went to the kitchen.

Jenny hunkered into the couch, tempted to pull the blanket over her. She didn't want to disturb her stitches and curled toward the back. When Alvin returned, she was snoring loudly.

That evening Jenny set Maisie's limp hand on the baby. Then Jenny joined Alvin at the back of the room. Sam had looked awful on Maisie's other side and Jenny couldn't view that for long.

"Call us," Alvin said to Tommie as the Cassel brothers and their kin surrounded the bed. "I don't care what time."

"I will. You wanna be here?" Tommie asked.

Jenny shook her head, burrowing against Alvin.

"No," he said, gripping her. "Just gimme a call."

Tommie reached for Jenny's face with his right hand, no longer hiding that limb around family. She kissed those mangled fingers, then went to Tommie's arms while Alvin made their goodbyes. During Jenny's nap, Maisie had stopped breathing, and was now on a ventilator. Jacob and Sam would choose her time.

Alvin embraced the brothers, then walked back to Jenny, followed by Sam. He hadn't been there when his mother's lungs ceased functioning, why Jacob had her put on the machine.

"Oh Sam!" Jenny said. "I'm so glad you made it."

"Yeah, me too." Sam took her in his arms as Tommie led them from the room.

In the hallway, Jenny rejoined Alvin. "Please, if there's anything we can do."

Sam patted Alvin's shoulder. "I remember those words, never forgotten them."

"That still stands. I'd do anything you know." Alvin shook Sam's hand as he spoke, his other arm around Jenny, who began to cry.

"Take her home and get her to bed." Sam's smile came at a price only Tommie noted.

"Yeah, I think that's where we're heading. Listen, like I said, gimme a call. And if I don't pick up, call again 'cause it just means..."

Tommie smiled. "Means you're up in bed and I'll let it ring."

Alvin nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

Jenny remained tearful as they left, Tommie walking them to the end of the hall. Sam shifted his feet until Tommie returned. "She okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Just been here with her a lot. The only one of us with not much going on."

"She's making a baby, that's something."

Tommie saw Jacob motioning them back in the room. "Yeah well, that only takes time."

Later that evening, the phone rang, then stopped. By the time Alvin reached the kitchen, it was silent, and Jenny wasn't far behind him. The noise returned and Alvin picked it up on the second ring. "Hello? Uh-huh, oh Tommie! Okay, well, yeah. Okay. Uh-huh."

"Oh no!" Jenny cried, looking at the clock. Nine thirty and Maisie was gone.

On Tuesday, the thirteenth of April, Maisie Ellen Cassel was buried next to her husband, Jacob Samuel, the gravesite surrounded by family and friends. Jenny wore her long blue skirt, the waistband pulled over the baby. With Alvin standing behind her, she sat in a chair and cried throughout, weeping not only for the loss of a loving woman, but one of Jenny's own family.

The Smiths, Cassels, and Baxters were all she had. Bonnie and Harold Carmine stood on the periphery, as did many others, nearly the whole town attending the service. Jenny, however, sat in the center with those who called Maisie mother, grandmother, or good friend. Jenny's place was cemented that day and it had washed over her like so many tears shed. Jenny had a home, that notion as overwhelming as losing Maisie. Jenny hadn't lost anyone by death, and her copious wailing, while quiet, hadn't ceased. She grieved for Jacob and Sam's loss, also for parents and sisters she had fled at seventeen, a family having fallen apart when she was much younger. People had been tied together, then unraveled like so much loose yarn. As she stood, supported by Alvin and Steve Smith, she cried more, seeing Sam alone.

Jacob had his wife, and Tommie helped Rae, but Sam remained at the casket, a solitary figure that Jenny understood. He had no spouse, no parents, only a brother, and that relationship was still being mended. Distance had taken a toll and now he was unaccompanied.

"Just a minute." Jenny stopped Alvin, sending Steve to his family. As she reached Sam, her voice was soft but strong. "Listen, I know. I know."

Sam trembled. "What? You know what?"

"I know what it's like to be alone. But Sam, you're not. We all love you."

"Oh Jenny, Jesus!"

Pulling him to her, she sobbed, then felt her baby move with force. She placed Sam's hand on her abdomen. Then she noted his stunned face.

"Jesus Christ Jenny, the baby!"

"Can you feel it?" she said, not quietly, which brought Alvin over in a dead run.

"Did he feel it?" Alvin set his hand on Jenny's middle.

Sam nodded.

"Oh there it is, the baby. Jenny Cope, our baby!" Alvin's voice rose, catching the attention of all who remained.

Soon a circle enveloped them. Jenny glanced out, catching Bonnie Carmine's cautious stare.

Later at the Smiths, Jenny was the focal point. After the women took their turns, Alvin always on Jenny's right, the men stepped forward. As that baby turned and twisted, faces moved from sorrow to laughter, Jenny full of a new generation.

Sam had stepped away and Alvin left to check on him. "Hey Sam, you okay?" Alvin took a carrot, not getting any dip.

Sam sat in the back of the dining room, a table of food between him and the doorway. "Hey Alvin. What a good day for you and Jenny."

"Oh Sam, yeah. But I'm sorry it came today though."

Sam smiled, drinking his beer. "Nah. Mom would've loved it."

Alvin took another two carrots, ate them, then spoke. "Sam, you gonna come back home?"

"I don't think so. My life's in Portland."

Alvin reached for another carrot, then changed his mind, sitting next to Sam. "You know, Jenny was gonna go up there, but I stopped her. I guess I can't do that for you."

Sam's laughter came freely. "No Alvin, I don't think so."

A commotion arose from the sofa, where Lexi and Alana fought over Alvin's seat. "You know Sam, bad things happen. But then good things too. I never thought I'd have all I do with Jenny, but I meant what I said." Alvin looked over, then reached for a carrot. "If there's anything I can do, me or Jenny, you name it."

"I know Alvin. Just take care of her, keep her safe."

"Oh, I will. So much's hurt her, but no one will ever touch her again." Alvin took two carrots, shouts from the girls growing louder. "Well, I'd better get back there."

Sam smiled, Alvin's voice that of a peacemaker. Then Jenny appeared, hunting for Alvin, her joy evident. The couple left together, but Alvin's words were wedged in Sam's heart.

At the end of the week, the group again gathered at the Smith farm, Easter a subdued but pleasant day. Sam had pondered Alvin's words and Tommie's fragments from New Year's Eve. That night was a blur, but something in Tommie's voice had been similar to Alvin's, much between the lines. Sam hadn't wanted to hear it months before. Now with Jenny's baby so real, he couldn't get away from it.

She sat at the table, leaning against a man who completed her. Contentment lay all over Jenny Cope, her baby the talk of the night. Sam watched her with one eye, unable to use both. He winced; knowledge had been brought to his attention deliberately by Tommie, from Alvin accidentally. Alvin did nothing with any forethought, only speaking his heart. His heart was all over his face, Jenny's closed eyes a testament to how safe she felt. Safe; had Tommie said that on New Year's? Sam didn't remember, but if that word hadn't been used specifically, it was certainly implied.

Tommie implied things, Alvin told them straight out; he would always be there for Sam, for Sam and Jenny both, and that no one would ever touch her. Alvin's words stuck in Sam's craw, but he smiled, heading for the kitchen, where he grabbed a beer from Tommie's fridge. Lexi, Alana, and Liz were doing dishes and Sam gave his niece a kiss. "You okay honey?"

Liz nodded, but looked tired. Losing her grandmother was still fresh, but she had changed so much since last year. Her friendship with Max was losing the frivolity, moving to something quieter. Not intimate, but Max was getting older, and taller; maybe he would surpass Steve's height. None of these kids was little anymore.

Sam returned to the dining room doorway. The Smiths and Cassels spoke in hushed tones as Jenny slept, Alvin's eyes drooping. His arms were around her, his hands on the baby. Sam thought it good, it hurt a little less. Less of him felt debilitated, just a little.

He moved to the front porch, the boys playing catch in the yard. Scott had a few extra inches, his short dark hair similar to Max's, but Steve's looked shaggy. Sam had known them since they were born; now they were getting to be not quite adults, but passing Alvin in smarts, yet a long time from knowing what it meant to be a man. Sam hadn't known when Tracy died, barely registering that loss. His head and heart had just sucked it up and moved on.

Passing on an invite to join the boys, Sam wondered what had happened to Jenny. He sat in the swing, rocking back and forth, as Tommie joined him. "You okay out here?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

Tommie stood at the steps, watching the kids. "Debbie's giving the girls a hand, Jacob's watching TV. Rae, Alvin, and Jenny are napping."

Sam chuckled. "Those three, too funny. I hope they don't fall outta their chairs."

"Jenny won't, she's got Alvin for support. If Rae does, I'll never hear the end of it."

They laughed, then Sam cleared his throat. "Tommie," he started, then stopped, as the boys moved toward the house.

Yet, Sam wanted to ask. He didn't expect Tommie to tell him, but he had to put it out there, see what Tommie would say. He could express more with a few small sentences than a whole article by one of _The Oregonian's_ wordy reporters.

"Nice evening," Tommie said. "You heading back this week?"

"Uh-huh." Then Sam chuckled.

"What?"

Sam stood, coming close. "What happened to her?"

"All water under the bridge."

"I know, I know it is." Sam scuffed his foot along the rail. "Damnit Tommie, Alvin said no one would ever hurt her again. Shit."

"No one will. Of that I assure you."

Sam set his hands on the top of the railing, this house where Tommie was raised. The Smith family home was more lasting than any of them. Like Maisie, they would all die off, but someone would always be living in this house.

"You're too damn smart for me, you simple farmer."

"Hey, we might have a farmer for president so watch your mouth."

Sam laughed. He didn't give that Georgia peanut grower much chance at the White House. "Well, stranger things have happened. Look at Alvin."

Tommie sighed. "All I can say is Jenny's had a hard road. But then who hasn't?"

Snores drifted from the house. Young men shouted in the barn. The chatter of women rang from the doorway, a cacophony small against the pounding of Sam's heart.

He turned from Tommie, wanting to ask Jenny why she was here, why she had come. Why she had stayed was the better question; from what was she running?

"Tommie, all I'm gonna ask is anyone looking for her? Anyone, you know, out there?"

Sam didn't appreciate Tommie's answer. "I don't know. But if there is, we'll be ready."

Chapter 23

Alvin set his hand along Jenny's large belly. She was seven months pregnant; seven months meant only two left. Such a long time still, but that baby wasn't just hers.

Jenny moved against him, they had just made love. She was growing sleepy, but the sunlight wasn't gone, and Alvin wanted to be aware of this day, these moments, but he didn't think of it in those words. Only that Jenny was next to him, their baby sticking out of her so noticeably not even Mrs. Carmine could look away.

They had seen Bonnie in town that morning, after visiting the doctor. The heartbeat was strong, Alvin hearing it after Jenny, the stethoscope in his ears offering a fast sound, making Alvin shake. Every time they saw Dr. Fisher, Alvin had to take deep breaths for this was real. Jenny's body was so different, her stomach round, her breasts full, the nipples much bigger than before. She was going to nurse the baby and at the shower last week, no bottles were received and it hadn't only been women. Alvin, Tommie, and Jacob had attended, but Sam sent a package, Seattle Seahawks t-shirts too big for the baby, also ones for all the Smith and Cassel kids. Alvin hadn't expected anything from Jacob's little brother. Baby showers were for girls, yet, it was just like another party at Tommie's.

Alvin felt Jenny going to sleep; she no longer leaned against him, but into the mattress. It took her a while to find rest now and she was up at night to pee, or to find a better space. Sometimes he slept through it, sometimes she woke him, and sometimes...

Sometimes they both woke, wanting the other. Alvin wore a smile, what had happened that very night. Jenny was still passionate, but now they used different positions, ones Alvin thought odd, but had accepted. Either that or not make love, and after a few days, that idea went through the window. She was so gorgeous, a new beauty Alvin couldn't dismiss. At first he had worried; maybe he wouldn't like her so different, but that hadn't been a problem.

They made love every few days, not as often as before. After the baby came, he wouldn't be able to love her for six weeks. That seemed as impossible as the two months left to wait. Alvin's eyes grew weary and he snuggled against her. How they would manage to not make love for six weeks he wasn't sure, but things changed. As he felt asleep, Alvin Harris thought about his baby, his and Jenny's. Nothing could be more unexpected than that.

On the Fourth of July, Jenny brought cookies, but no salad. They sat in chairs, her with that big belly, Alvin's smile just as huge. Well wishers came and went, the couple's hands intertwined. As fireworks exploded, Tommie noted Jenny's quiet mood.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just tired," she smiled. "Wish Sam would've come home."

They hadn't seen him since Easter, Tommie and Jacob providing acceptable excuses. Tommie squeezed Jenny's hand, then kissed it. "Honey, he's settled up there."

Alvin had started to snore, making Tommie laugh, Jenny too. "He's been up with me the last few nights. Baby's giving us practice early. It's not fair."

Tommie chuckled. "Oh honey, you're just getting started." He looked to the kids on the lawn. Lexi had a different boy next to her, the previous one booted well before the end of school. Her parents liked this one, but Lexi would be leaving for college in another month, and Tommie had no idea if the couple would remain together. Ricky Shelton was staying in town, but seemed to have fallen hard for Lexi.

Steve and his girl, Marcy Lewis, were huddled close, and Tommie had a feeling about them. Steve didn't like change and Marcy was his type, quiet but witty. Both would be seniors, neither with plans on leaving Arkendale.

Max sat next to Liz, a twosome slowly evolving into something, and Tommie stifled a chuckle. Alana and Scott were just pals surrounded by others, a large group spread throughout the area. Jacob and Debbie sat to Rae's left, Alvin flanking Jenny. His snores increased in volume, the sky's crackles not disturbing him. How he would do once the baby arrived, Tommie wasn't sure. "Well, let him sleep now. Soon it'll be something you'd pay big money for."

Jenny giggled. "I'd pay some pretty pennies now."

As the festivities came to a close, Alvin stirred. "Oh hey, is it over?"

"Yeah baby. You were out like a light." Jenny stroked his face, then stood. A strong kick made her wince and she rubbed her back.

"Jenny, you okay?" Tommie asked.

"Yeah, but I think this year you'll be toting your own chairs."

Alvin was up and went to her side. "You want me to carry you?"

"You'd need a forklift."

"I'd get one," Alvin smiled.

He said their goodbyes, then returned alone for their seats. After he was gone, Lexi pulled her father close as they headed to the truck. "Daddy, they're so cute together."

"I know." Tommie set their chairs, one at a time, in the back.

"It's so unfair that I'm not gonna be here when they have the baby."

He kissed her head. "Don't worry, we'll call you."

Lexi sighed, looking to the stars. "It's not the same."

Returning hand in hand, Tommie considered when she was born. Waiting for the news, he had been so fearful until a nurse appeared with word of his daughter; Tommie Smith had a daughter. There next to him, she was ready to leave home, but Lexi had a good head on her shoulders, growing up in one place, safe from outside influences. Not eighteen until December, but parents had to let her go, and Tommie swallowed hard. At Lexi's age, Jenny was already on the road.

Clutching Rae's arm, Tommie hid his tears. With Lexi on her mother's other side and Ricky Shelton close, all walked to the truck. Tommie looked back, his other kids trailing behind. He breathed deeply, noting his blessings.

Jenny tossed and turned, dreaming of storms and her baby. Menacing rumbles had increased during summer, thunder still her nemesis.

She hadn't told Alvin her concerns, for he worried the baby would be a son that wouldn't love him, or that something would happen during labor. He was having second thoughts about being at the birth, but Jenny had pooh-poohed that. He had promised and she would hold him to it.

That was the reason for her quiet now, not wanting to add any pressure. Jenny kept her feelings and dreams to herself, but couldn't mute her anxieties when the storms blew through, still unable to withstand those roars. She remained motionless, holding so still, then crying in huge waves. The bigger she got, the more unhinged she became.

In the middle of August, only the barbecue sat between the couple and their child. After the party, the baby would be far enough along that labor could begin and all would be well. Jenny never fretted for her baby's health, a squirmy thing, even with little room for movement. Yet that baby was all over and Jenny wondered how in the world movement was possible. Her body felt like one massive bulge, no room for breath, urine, or anything but Alvin. That togetherness kept Jenny going. She trembled as rain poured, bolts of light slamming to the ground. So close to motherhood, Jenny's past was still attached, an umbilical cord she didn't know how to sever.

Next to Alvin's warm, tired body, Jenny could breathe. Not much room for air, but it fell in and out like his soothing, reassuring words. She missed him atop her; Jenny hadn't realized how that comforted. Now when they made love, after he came, he was gone.

She had grown used to his presence, but she accepted change rapidly, had forced herself to allow something new with no probable cause. Take it, live with it, but having been with Alvin for a year and a half, maybe she had altered. Beyond her huge belly, perhaps a piece of her head had changed. A part, but not all.

It hurt, admitting that fear. As spring became summer, storms passing through, Jenny couldn't dismiss what still lay so deeply within her. Like her child, but even more ingrained; she would expel this baby, but her past was stuck hard. No amount of labor would reposition those feelings.

A strong kick landed and Jenny smiled, caressing that child. Then her heart felt torn; would she be a good mother or would she always be plagued with doubts? Dark thoughts swam alongside joy and Jenny started to cry.

"Jenny," Alvin mumbled. "Jenny Cope?"

She tried to stop, but couldn't. Slowly she turned to him, her sobs strengthening.

"Jenny, what?"

"Alvin, what if, what if we're wrong?"

"Jenny, what? About what?"

As he smoothed her hair, she opened her eyes. He was trying to wake, but looked like a child. Sometimes Alvin wasn't more than a kid. He had grown cranky recently, his patience stretched to the limit. That and his worries about a son; Alvin did not want a boy.

"Honey, what if I can't do it?"

"Oh Jenny, they'll take the baby by surgery. Don't worry."

She had explained a cesarean section and he had remembered. "No Alvin, not that."

"What Jenny?"

She looked at blue eyes that lately had been grumpy and tired. Both were exhausted and ready for their child. But what if Jenny couldn't set aside her past? What if the baby suffered from her uneven moods?

"Alvin, maybe it's a mistake. Maybe we shouldn't have gotten pregnant."

He sat up, his face stark. "Jenny, what? It's too late!"

"I know," she cried. "But I still can't sit through a thunderstorm and what if one happens and I freeze up with the baby in my arms?"

"Oh Jenny, it's okay. I'll be here. Don't worry."

His words hit her, kind and steady. He was so steady and nothing, except the idea of a son, seemed to rock him, that and her pain in the delivery room. She smiled. "Alvin, it'll be okay."

"I know it will." His adult tone added to her ease.

"No, I mean, when I have the baby. You'll be okay."

"You think so?"

Peace came to her, Jenny unsure of the source. "Yeah because when I told you everything, you never left me. And honey, you won't in the hospital either."

He looked unconvinced. "Oh Jenny, I dunno..."

She gazed out, the room lit by a small sliver of moonlight. "Alvin, we've come so far. I know there's still a lot left to go. Honey, maybe it'll be okay for both of us. As long as you're with me, I can do anything."

"Oh Jenny, when you say things like that, it makes me feel like I can do anything!"

He wrapped his arms around her, settling them both. Jenny closed her eyes. She had to believe it would be all right.

At the barbecue, the air was cool, rain having fallen on and off all day. Jenny was in sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt of Alvin's, didn't feel at all beautiful. Yet, she was repeatedly told how pretty she was, impending motherhood all over her.

"Yeah, like a bad rash," she laughed to Debbie, who joined her, Jenny stroking the baby.

There was music and dancing, but she sat, the thunder from earlier in her ears. She had wept hard, but took it as a sign of hormones, the baby due in a week. Jenny was ready for whatever came, girl or boy, natural or cesarean. They had made this decision and were bound to it.

Alvin had left to assist Tommie and as Jenny looked up, a face made her shed more tears. "Sam Cassel, what're you doing here?"

She burst out crying and his arms came around her. "Jenny Cope, look at you. Good God, you're big as a house!"

He took a chair next to her as she smiled, hitting him on the arm. "Well thanks. I love you too."

Shouts and laughter rang, then they were surrounded. No one had expected Sam; they hadn't seen him all summer.

After he had eaten and chatted with his brother, Sam rejoined Alvin and Jenny. The baby took her whole lap, a plate balanced on her bulge.

"So Sam, why the surprise?" Alvin steadied Jenny's dinner.

"Oh, just decided at the last minute. Figured a little road trip was necessary." He grinned at his brother and Tommie near the pit. "Not that anyone twisted my arm."

Alvin laughed. "Oh, I've been hearing that too."

"He's trying to worm out of being there when I have this creature," Jenny said. "I told him we're through if that's the case."

Sam flinched with her words, then he chuckled. "Oh, I know Alvin pretty well. Don't think that'll happen."

"It better not," Jenny smirked.

"Uh, I'm gonna see if Tommie and Jacob need any help." Alvin stood. "Jenny, you done?"

"Yeah, thanks honey."

He took her plate and scooted off. "He'll be there," Jenny smiled. "But he's so worried."

Sam sipped his beer. "It'll be fine."

"Well, it'll be one way or the other. He's just so scared it'll be a boy."

Sam took her hand. "That'll only last a few seconds. Then all he'll know is the biggest thrill."

She stared at him, then giggled. "Sam Cassel, you talk from experience."

He laughed, pointing to the older men. "Well, that's what I heard from them."

They were quiet as young couples danced, Lexi and Ricky, Steve and Marcy. Max went to Liz and she shyly grasped his hand. "That's so nice to see," Jenny said.

"Yeah, been a long time coming for that boy."

Jenny nodded. "He's got his father's patient ways."

"Smarts too, hell all those kids got Tommie in 'em."

"Better for more Tommie than Rae," Jenny giggled.

Sam squeezed her hand. "You said that, not me."

"Oh, I don't think she'd disagree too strongly."

Sam saw something flash over Jenny's face. "Honey, what?"

"Just that Lexi'll be gone next week. You tell her any good places to hang out?"

Sam glanced down. "Oh, it's so different now. I just told her to be safe."

"Safe," Jenny murmured. "Yeah, safe."

Sam saw it again, fleeting wistfulness, and no small bit of worry. Then she took a breath, accompanied by a sharp wince. "Jenny, you okay?"

"Just a little contraction. I've been getting them for about a week. One every few hours, or sometimes every couple days. It's almost time."

Sam looked at Alvin, being led to the yard by Rae, time for their dance. As Sam stroked Jenny's hand, he wanted to protect her. He stood, not wanting to think of Jenny in danger. She was too much not his. "Honey, I know you're tired and feeling like hell, but you wanna dance?"

She laughed. "Do I really look that bad?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." He smiled. "I'm no big catch, but..."

As she straggled to her feet, he noticed her bulk. In the chair it had been somewhat concealed, but once she was vertical, Sam's heart pounded. So much to her now, but only for a few more days.

"Sam, I'd love a dance. Might be my last one for a while."

He walked her near Alvin and Rae, finding their smiles. Taking Jenny to his side, the only way to hold her, Sam saw his brother and Tommie's concern. Sam ignored that, setting his arms tightly around Jenny. Her baby bumped alongside an ache within him, one that would sustain until the next visit, when that baby would rest in Jenny's arms.

Chapter 24

At opposing speeds, Rae and Tommie paced the small hallway as though it was their own grandchild arriving. Tommie's quicker gait left Rae behind, but she smiled. Men didn't have any idea of what childbirth was truly all about.

Even Tommie, who had been with Rae when Alana was born, not even that patient philosopher knew what Jenny was doing. To Rae, unless you'd had a baby, you were talking in the air.

"Slow down," she said as he passed her. "You're not gonna get that kid here any quicker by wearing a hole in the floor."

Tommie stopped and smiled. "Good God woman, how'n the hell can you be so calm?"

Rae kissed him, then looked to the couch where all their children but Lexi sat, the Cassel kids there too. Debbie and Jacob had gone out for a minute, but they had been present since three that afternoon, in and out on Thursday, the second of September. After Jenny's due date had passed, each day felt torturous, and Rae didn't remember it like that. Maybe it would be that way when grandchildren _did_ arrive, but once the baby had decided it was time, Jenny and Alvin hadn't been given a chance to breathe.

"Listen, it's only been nine hours, nine hours! God, what I would've given for a nine-hour first labor."

Lexi had taken eighteen and with the initial loss hovering, both Rae and Tommie had worried. Jenny and Alvin were getting theirs in half that time; twenty minutes ago a nurse had announced Jenny was pushing and so far, so good.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just he's only gonna have so much patience with her." Tommie sighed. "Lately he's been like a little kid."

Rae gripped her husband's bad hand and they stepped away from the others. "I know, but if the nurses are bending his ear, maybe he'll listen. Nine hours for a first baby's like heaven."

Tommie looked back to the maternity ward doors. "Yeah well, he's been a pain in the ass."

"Yes he has," Rae giggled. "And she hasn't been a princess either."

Fifteen minutes later Rae glanced at the clock, six thirty. Jenny had gone into labor after nine that morning, stayed home until noon. Rae had driven them, Alvin too nervous. Tommie was behind in their car, the kids filtering throughout the afternoon. School didn't start until next week, but Lexi had been called, was as anxious as the rest. Rae peeked at the wall clock again, just a matter of the nurse popping her head through.

Rae struggled from the chair, her leg sore from all that pacing. Alana joined her. "Mom, when will we know something?"

"Soon honey, real soon." Rae smiled, looking at the doors. "She could've already had it and they're just doing all the early stuff."

"You think?" Alana asked.

Rae nodded. "A lot to having a baby. Gotta cut the cord, put drops in their eyes. I think Jenny wanted to nurse as soon as she could."

"She's so modern," Alana smiled.

Rae combined a giggle with a huff. "Yeah well, times aren't what they used to be."

With Rae's words, out stepped a young woman, dressed in scrubs. Rae was led by Alana's strong grip, all standing in the small waiting area.

"Well?" Tommie asked.

The nurse's warm smile matched her voice. "It's a girl, born at six twenty-seven. Mom and daughter are fine."

A loud whoop rebounded in that crowded space, hugs and tears spilling. With her husband and daughter's embraces, Rae's bad left leg tingled. Then she turned as the woman headed back. "How's the new father?"

The nurse blinked tears. "Oh, you would've been so proud of him!"

By that evening, all had met Miss Chelsea Louise Harris, sparse hair blonde like her father's, eyes as blue as Alvin's. Jenny was apparent in her daughter as Chelsea opened those peepers, noting everything. Her first faces were of family not by blood but just as thick, and in her Uncle Tommie's arms, she drew tears from a man who stroked soft new skin with fingers curled and wrenched. Chelsea didn't mind at all.

Jenny ate dinner, famished and exhausted, but her heart beat strangely in her chest. Watching Tommie with her daughter, Jenny spilled a few, setting down her fork. It was only the new parents and Tommie and Rae, and Jenny was glad for the quiet. She had happily shared her treasure with everyone, but now she needed solitude. And, she smiled, maybe some sleep.

"Oh Tommie," was all she could say. Alvin snapped pictures as Rae sat on the pull-out sofa, having just held that baby, which Jenny still couldn't believe had come from her.

"I'd forgotten how damned small they are. So small, so, so..."

"Seductive," Rae giggled. "We're not having any more."

All laughed as Alvin set down the camera, moving to Jenny's side. "Well, we'll take care of that for you."

"Oh really?" Jenny quipped. "You having the next one?"

Grasping his hand, she didn't hear the rest, laughter followed by quiet as Tommie handed the baby back to Rae. Jenny remembered Alvin's loving, adult voice gently urging her to push, to breathe, to wait, like he had been through it before. Afterwards Jenny had kidded him, asking if he had ever been a birth coach.

Holding their baby, only minutes old, Alvin stared into eyes as blue as his own. Jenny would never forget his words, spoken as earnestly and honestly as everything else he said.

"All my life's been waiting for this, to be with her and you."

Rae headed to the door as Tommie kissed Jenny. "Honey, I'm so damned proud of you."

"You need to thank Alvin. God, he was so good. So good!"

"I'll tell him." Tommie smiled, then joined Rae, waving goodnight.

Jenny's daughter lay next to her, Alvin resting in a chair to the left. A mother's body was worn, but Jenny's heart still produced that new beat, quiet but determined, one solely linked to her baby. Leaning over, she kissed the knitted pink hat on Chelsea's head, then moved down in bed, cuddling that bundle. "Oh Alvin, I don't even have the words!"

His eyes fluttered, but his voice was smooth. "She's perfect Jenny, so perfect."

"She is. Oh god Alvin, I love her so much. You too."

He came to her side, stroking Chelsea's small head. "I feel like such a different person, like you had me too."

He smiled and Jenny reached for him. "I had all of us today."

Alvin chuckled. "Well, you sure screamed like it was three."

"It hurt!" she laughed. "But god, she was worth every bit of it." Jenny looked at him, then to the baby. "Every bit."

They said nothing, absorbing this new identity. Then Jenny sighed. "Alvin, I would like another. Not right way," she giggled. "But I want a lot of your babies. They're so beautiful."

Chelsea stirred. Jenny didn't know what she needed, to nurse, to be admired; Jenny hoped she didn't need to be changed. She looked up, Alvin's face wet but happy.

"Oh Jenny Cope, my goodness." He wiped his eyes. "I wanna have lots of babies with you."

"Yeah Alvin," Jenny giggled as Chelsea began to fuss. "Lots of babies."

Jenny needed help positioning her infant, but once settled, she felt an enormous wave of joy, her daughter firmly attached. At nearly midnight, Alvin had nodded off in the chair. He would sleep on the couch. She hadn't wanted him to leave, neither had he.

Looking at that small new face, Jenny pondered the day, feeling pains that didn't subside, then the end of her body as a huge belly. Something new had sprung forth and now that little person took sustenance from her. In return, Chelsea had bequeathed a heart restarted, one refilled. While Jenny loved Alvin deeply, their daughter had shifted an ache long possessed.

Chelsea's eyes were closed, sucking by reflex as she had done shortly after her birth, a small gaping mouth like a baby bird, eager to find food. That tug was intrinsic and Jenny noted her heart's alteration with every movement of Chelsea's jaw. That infant drew more than colostrum, also a sense of unworthiness having existed within Jenny from the age of thirteen. She wanted to change a diaper, let her child pass that previous being from her newborn body, freeing them both. Eliminate what Jenny had known, what Chelsea would never realize.

This baby would never experience that terrifying anguish and Jenny let that slip too, smiling at the face that now pulled away. Stitches in her lower body made Jenny wince, but she sat up, placing the wrapped baby over her shoulder, getting two substantial burps. With each noise, Alvin stirred, while Jenny inhaled lasting breaths, replacing fresh oxygen within her veins, replenishing blood long dry.

A nurse collected the baby and would return Chelsea when she complained. Alvin had moved to the sofa, but Jenny was still awake. As her previous thoughts hovered, Jenny's newly birthed heart trembled, and she began to cry.

She lay on her left side, a position used only in the last few months. She wasn't the same woman, now a mother. That eased her tears, then restarted them, wishing her baby was next to her. Jenny needed to close her eyes, end this most fabulous of days, the second of September when her life restarted, the past swept away with water, blood, and tears as a child entered the world. Chelsea Louise Harris, but Jenny Cope's daughter.

"Jenny, you okay?" Alvin mumbled, stepping to the side of the bed.

She didn't move. "Alvin, oh, I didn't mean to wake you."

He sat beside her, stroking her hair. "That bed's too small."

"Well, you can go home if you want, get some decent sleep."

"Oh Jenny, I can't leave you. I can't leave you and Chelsea!"

"Oh A-Alvin, oh my god," Jenny wailed.

"Honey, it's okay. I'm never gonna leave. I love you, you and the best baby in the world."

Jenny coveted his words, along with his voice. "I can move over. Then you can sleep here."

He giggled. "You think it'll be okay?"

"I don't care," she sniffled. "Tonight I need you right next to me."

Alvin lay beside her and she snuggled against him. Then she placed his right hand over her heart. "Alvin, it's all new. All different."

"Oh me too."

She smiled. He didn't move his hand, set between her breasts, and Jenny fell asleep, Alvin in bed alongside her.

The next two days Jenny recovered in Arkendale General, receiving well wishers and gaining insights into the life of a parent. It meant little sleep, aching breasts, Alvin's aversion to diapers, and a visit from Bonnie Carmine.

After a Sunday morning bath, Jenny nursed her daughter. They would go home the following day, for which Jenny was ready. She lay Chelsea in the bassinette, wanting a nap for herself, but was interrupted by a knock, followed by a peering head through the door. Pulling her robe together, Jenny nearly giggled at Bonnie's terse smile. "Hi Mrs. Carmine."

Bonnie held flowers and a small, white teddy bear. Steps were cautious until she found they were alone, a sleeping baby their only company. "Hello Jenny. I hope I'm not troubling you."

A smile couldn't be helped, Jenny's heart continuing that new rhythm even with this guest. "Nothing could bother me now. She's eaten, is sleeping, and I'm on a cloud."

Jenny spoke her new spirit, unable to do anything else. Robert Tucker had stopped by late on Saturday with flowers and a shy smile and Jenny had been the same with him. Her chest felt to bursting, pressure not only due to lactation. Chelsea nursed well, but Jenny's altered heart muscle was the cause of such pounding.

"Well, I hear you had a quick time for a first baby." Bonnie's voice was clipped, but Jenny heard something else. Not experience, but wistfulness.

"Yeah. Nine hours and Alvin was great. Kept me from losing too much of my cool."

"He was with you?"

"Of course," Jenny smiled. "The best coach I could've had."

Bonnie set the gifts on the table, then looked to the baby. "So, a girl. Chelsea, I hear?"

"Yeah, Chelsea Louise. For Betsy."

Bonnie nodded, her eyes on the baby. "Well, that's nice."

Hands were clenched at Bonnie's side. Her entire body was rigid, but she'd never had a child, and Jenny wasn't surprised at her demeanor. "You wanna hold her?"

Bonnie looked up, eyes aghast. "Oh I couldn't. I mean, my hands aren't clean."

"There's a sink right over there." Jenny pointed as Bonnie battled some demon. She was dying to pick up that baby, but so hesitant; was it only the baby or that it was Alvin's?

And Jenny's too, an illegitimate infant. Small potatoes when compared to the rest of Jenny's life, yet someone like Bonnie would think it a big deal. It may be 1976, that peanut farmer closer to the White House every day, but a bastard was still that, and Jenny watched Bonnie shrink. "Oh, she looks so peaceful, I won't disturb her."

Jenny readjusted her robe. "Well, she just ate, what a piglet." No bottle stood close and Jenny's voice was deliberate; not only an illegitimate baby, but fed right from her mother's body.

Bonnie flinched and Jenny hid her smile.

"Alvin should be back any minute." A sense of mischief filled Jenny. "He's been staying with us, sleeping here with me. But we go home tomorrow. I think we'll both be glad for our own bed."

Bonnie stared at Jenny, who didn't blink. "Yeah," Jenny countered Bonnie's unspoken disgust. "He's been with us the whole time."

Jenny couldn't help herself; Alvin was a man, had made a family. He had claimed her and their baby, all without marriage, and without as many smarts as most. Yet, it wasn't Alvin's head that mattered, but his enormous heart, a muscle Bonnie Carmine couldn't comprehend. She owned no heart with which to understand.

Bonnie glanced at the sleeping baby. "Well, that's so, so... nice."

"Yes, it's been absolutely wonderful having him here."

Bonnie moved to the bassinette, her hands loose. She began to reach out, but instead curled her fingers tight. Then she adjusted the purse on her shoulder. "Well, I should let you get some rest."

"Of course," Jenny smiled. "Thank you for the gifts. I'll tell Alvin you stopped by."

Their eyes met and Jenny nearly stopped breathing, some deep pain in old gray-blue irises. Bonnie departed with no proper goodbye and Jenny had to look away. She had seen Bonnie Carmine's heart, for there was one within that uptight body. It was mangled like Tommie's hand, and so very cold.

The family's last night in the hospital saw Alvin's initial experience with a poopy diaper. Not Chelsea's first messy bottom, but still sticky and Alvin complained during the entire process. "Jenny, maybe you should do this. I'm just making it worse."

Tommie's laughter rang from the couch. "No Alvin. You can manage fine."

"I told you the next one was yours. You should've changed the last one." Jenny grinned. He had gotten out of it earlier, but a number 2 was waiting for him.

She had been glad to let the nurses tackle that primary bowel movement, hearing how thick and unpleasant they were. Jenny knew that was typical, but she wondered if Chelsea's first poop was indicative of what that baby had absorbed from her mother. Yet heartache and agony had slipped from Chelsea as if Jenny had lived any other life.

"Oh jeez," Alvin sighed. "This's so yucky."

"Oh for God's sake!" Tommie stood and with one hand wiped the baby's bottom, then set the diaper correctly. "Here it is 1976 and you don't even have cloth diapers. I don't wanna hear another peep!"

They all laughed, Tommie's tone teasing. Alvin finished the job, then washed his hands before taking the baby into his arms.

"You need to wrap her up more," Jenny offered. He was doing a good job, only little reminders necessary.

"Oh yeah. Don't want her getting cold." Alvin took her to the bed and with Jenny's help, rearranged the receiving blanket. A snug bundle fell back to sleep in her father's arms.

Jenny and Tommie exchanged glances. Here was Alvin at his best, even with a messy diaper in the mix. Jenny shed tears as Tommie stepped to Alvin's side. "I think this's what you were made for," Tommie smiled.

"Better than changing diapers," Alvin sighed.

"I agree." Tommie gave Jenny a kiss. "All right. I told Rae this was gonna be a short visit, better not make too big a liar of myself. What time you gonna be home tomorrow?"

"Sometime after ten, maybe noon." Jenny squeezed his right hand. "We'd love to have you all over, maybe for dinner?"

"I'm not cooking," Alvin mumbled.

Tommie ruffled his hair. "No, you'll be changing diapers."

"Hey!" Alvin stared at them, then grinned, returning to his daughter.

"Rae's got meals planned for you all until Jenny's back on her feet." Tommie's voice was soft. "Give us a call," he said to her, Alvin lost to them both.

"We will. And tell Rae thanks for everything." Gripping his hand, Jenny kissed where his stubby thumb bent inwards.

"We love you and she's a beauty." He wiped tears, then patted Alvin's shoulder. "See you tomorrow Daddy."

Alvin glanced up, his face alight. "Hey yeah. Thanks Tommie. See you tomorrow."

Having told both men about Bonnie's visit, Jenny was ready to go home, relieved to have seen Bonnie on this turf. When Alvin went to the bathroom, Jenny had spilled to Tommie the real essence, that and Bonnie's frigid heart.

Tommie couldn't add anything, that woman a mystery. Her childless marriage could be an explanation, but neither Jenny nor Tommie felt it was the only one. Yet, as far as they knew, nothing else remained. Now Jenny wanted to sleep in her own bed, her man beside her, their baby too. No nurse would offer a hand, but Alvin had been right. Chelsea needed so little, but offered so much. Alvin's love washed over that baby, so much for both mother and daughter.

"You're so good with her," Jenny murmured.

He looked up with eyes changed, his voice too. "Jenny, I can't begin to tell you how I feel."

She leaned forward, touching his face. "You don't need to. I see it all right here."

He smiled. "That's good 'cause I can't think of a thing to say."

Jenny's heart ached, the man he might have been right in front of her. She fought tears; Jenny would cry for many things, but not that.

"It's like I feel my head's all together. She, you too, put it back together."

"Uh-huh." Jenny wouldn't cry, would not!

He kept his eyes on their daughter. "It's like I know her how I know you, so funny."

For those moments, Jenny Cope allowed a fleeting dream. As Alvin gave his loopy, boyish grin, she breathed in, then exhaled.

Chapter 25

Chelsea's first Christmas was a grand affair with a gathering at the Harris's on Christmas Eve, followed by the usual meal at the Smiths' the next day. At three months old, Chelsea was contented and gurgling, with a smile that possessed every heart except for two, but one hadn't yet met her.

Bonnie hadn't been broken by Alvin's tiny daughter, but that hadn't bothered anyone. More to the point was her Uncle Sam, the only member of Chelsea's extended family not to have laid eyes on her. His absence at Thanksgiving had angered Rae and saddened Alvin, but left unaffected those who knew him best. Jacob and Tommie had made excuses while everyone else expressed great disappointment.

Jenny had been dismayed, but let Sam have his way. No use to have pitched a fit and she was too enthralled in motherhood for much to get her down. Words she didn't say eased into receptive ears throughout December. If anyone could get Sam Cassel home for Christmas, it would be his brother and a man just as meaningful.

Yet Jenny was ignorant to her own influence. As she slipped into motherhood more easily than anything ever known, she said to both Tommie and Jacob how she wished Sam would travel. Not just for Chelsea; the baby wouldn't remember him for ages, but this was the first December without Maisie. Sam would do better, in Jenny's gentle opinion, to be with family.

Tommie had nodded, this topic broached at his fortieth birthday in the middle of the month. Jenny had remarked how nice Sam's presence would have been, and how she hoped he would be home at Christmas. With a baby in arms now accustomed to toting a child, Jenny's warm smile had reached into Tommie. Then he understood Sam's pain.

"I'll do what I can, but honey, he's always been, oh you know, different." That wasn't the truth, but Jenny's limited knowledge of the village's history served her well. Served her, and Tommie too. She couldn't argue with him, not vociferously.

She didn't debate, only smiled, then hushed her baby with a loving tone, an infant to which she and Alvin both were attached. Tommie had seen the change in her, an ease and release with Chelsea's birth. How Jenny would be next summer was unknown; Tommie hoped her fears would be alleviated by then, also her continued expectation for Sam's presence.

Tommie and Jacob discussed it thoroughly. Sam hadn't said any more to his brother than to Tommie, yet both men accepted the nature of Sam's heart, and its depth, Jenny having tapped into him with all gears. Maisie's passing still weighed on the Cassels, yet Chelsea had been a gift not only to her parents. No one had enjoyed a baby for ages and neither Tommie nor Jacob had to again become fathers or, bite tongues, grandfathers, to take in the sweet scent of a tiny child. Chelsea had Alvin's smiley temperament, going from person to person, but it was in her parents' grasp she seemed most settled. Either in Alvin's competent hold or nestled against her mother, Jenny unabashed in how she fed her baby. Tommie had gotten used to looking past Jenny's breasts, but Jacob and the boys were another matter. When around others, Jenny went to a quiet corner to feed her daughter.

With Christmas a week away, Tommie noticed how Jenny didn't move from her chair in the kitchen, nursing in his presence. Before Tommie could move, there they were, a natural tandem of mother and child. Tommie noted how the squawky baby had quieted, then he saw why, Jenny's movements graceful and discreet. Yet, she didn't place a blanket over her infant, her ways not like those of the locals.

Her methods were different, Sam's were too. Most would have been eager to come home for Christmas, but as far as Tommie knew, Sam wasn't traveling.

"Jeez Tommie," Alvin said, getting more milk for them. Lunch had been soup, but oatmeal chocolate chip cookies sat on a plate, and Alvin topped up glasses, then left out the half-gallon carton. Reaching for a handful, he munched on dessert, watching Jenny. "Isn't there something you can say to him? He hasn't seen Chelsea yet!"

Tommie nodded to Alvin's disappointment. His heart and mind didn't have the ability or knowledge to put an adequate _why_ to Sam's behavior. "I'll see what I can do," Tommie said, taking three cookies.

"Alvin, would you get the pink blanket? I think it's in her room." Jenny's voice was as smooth as the way she nursed her baby, but Tommie heard something else.

Alvin didn't. "Sure, honey." He took a cookie with him, humming as he left the kitchen.

Jenny didn't look up, watching her daughter with a relaxed smile. "Tommie, he'll be okay. He just wants to show off our girl."

Tommie leaned forward, couldn't help but observe what to Chelsea was as good as the cookies her mother baked. Rae hadn't nursed any of theirs longer than days spent in the hospital. No one around here did things Jenny's way, but then no one had lived her life. "Honey, there's a lot with Sam."

"I know."

He gazed at Jenny. "Really?"

"I know there's something with him." She looked up. "Or someone."

Tommie focused on the baby, but Chelsea had finished, and was over her mother's left shoulder quicker than Tommie could move his eyes.

For a second he stared at Jenny's exposed breast. It looked like Rae's, the nipple darker, but he felt no more about it than Jenny's elbow or kneecap. Tommie's hand had forced him to look beyond what most saw, and it was to Jenny's eyes he went next; just what did she know?

"Did he lose a baby with his wife?" Her gaze was straight at Tommie.

He couldn't stop nodding, thankful that was all she assumed.

Alvin returned and no more was said until Tommie prepared to leave. Alvin had to use the bathroom and Jenny walked Tommie to the door after placing Chelsea in her cot on the sofa. "Listen, I'll explain it to Alvin, but tell Sam I understand. I mean, he was so young."

Tommie squeezed Jenny's hands. "Don't tell him honey. None of us wanted him to know."

"I'll just tell him something he'll accept. Please tell Sam I love him, we both do. And that I do understand."

Kissing Tommie's bad hand, Jenny stood in the doorway, the rain pelting. It had been a cold month, a few snowflakes falling, and Tommie ran to his truck, Jenny shutting the door behind him. Alvin's shoes tread softly as not to wake the baby and Jenny met him at the stairs.

"Tommie leave?" he whispered.

She nodded, gripping him. She'd known there was something, now she just had to explain it to a man who had never experienced such heartache. Suddenly Jenny was relieved for Alvin's simplicity. Since that glimpse of him in the hospital, a man so transitory, she had battled wishing for more of that Alvin. He still hated changing diapers and on a rare occasion whined when she was busy with the baby. Yet, lovemaking had returned with a deeper passion, fueling her wishes for him to be someone with whom she could have intense, thoughtful conversations. Instead Tommie filled that role.

Jenny kissed Alvin's cheek, pulling him close. "She's out. I'll bring her up, but I want you."

"Oh yeah Jenny. I'd like that."

Jenny glanced to the child Sam couldn't face. She had known it from his words since she'd been pregnant. "Go warm up the bed. I'll be right there."

Alvin nodded, Jenny hearing his quiet footsteps. He would understand, for his mind didn't desire heartache, was willing to accept sufficient reasons. Jenny sighed, gathering the handles of the Moses basket, carrying her sleeping infant upstairs.

After they made love, Jenny held Alvin, his tears plentiful. He had guessed and she wouldn't lie to him.

"Oh Jenny, and then his wife too, oh jeez!"

"I know honey. But that's why and we'll just have to let him work it out on his own."

Jenny felt sated, but an ache lingered, one Alvin owned too. They realized a baby's joy, their daughter all they could imagine. For so long Jenny's mind had been focused on merely existing; now Chelsea had burst into her mother's head as she had from Jenny's body, providing tremendous purpose and great hope. Sam had known that to one degree or another, then lost it. Lost that, then his woman.

"Jenny, what if I tell him we know? Maybe he doesn't wanna come, thinking he'll just make us sad."

She needed to inform Tommie that Alvin knew the truth. Maybe if Tommie or Jacob talked to Sam first, it would be okay, so much about Sam now making sense.

"Let me tell Tommie 'cause he didn't want you to know." She caressed Alvin's face, her body at such peace with him. "We'll see what Tommie and Jacob say."

"All right," Alvin sighed. "Oh, you hear her?"

Jenny nodded. "My milk's coming in. You get her, okay?"

Smiling, Alvin got up buck naked. Since the baby, he had lost some modesty, as had she. Sometimes he took Chelsea in the bath with him, Jenny able to separate her father's actions and Alvin's loosening attitudes. Jenny also wore nothing and as he set their child in her arms, only Chelsea was dressed.

Jenny leaned against Alvin, just skin between them. With her daughter at her breast, Jenny owned no worries. Setting Sam aside, she embraced her family all in one bed.

After speaking with Tommie, Jenny left it alone. There was nothing she could do, only her daughter and Alvin in Jenny's mind.

The week flew. With no word, Jenny had resigned herself to those in town. Lexi was home and had been a great help, toting Chelsea as Jenny cooked and baked. Ricky Shelton was with her, but not interested in holding a baby. Alvin had taken him to the barn as Lexi and Jenny chatted, Chelsea in Lexi's arms.

"Oh, how am I gonna go back to school?" Lexi sighed.

Jenny smiled, putting bread in the oven. "Honey, you have so much time for babies. Boyfriends too."

That was Jenny's truth. She would be thirty-one in February, caring for her child and Alvin without distraction. The women laughed as the baby grew fussy. With the men outside, Jenny proceeded with her usual manner, her blouse open as a knock on the front door was heard.

"I'll get it," Lexi said, wiping wet hands with a dishtowel.

Jenny looked, but no blanket was handy. If it was someone for Alvin, Lexi knew to send them to the barn. If it was for Jenny, no cover was necessary.

"Lex, who is it?" Jenny heard no discernable voice. "Tell them Alvin's outside."

"It's not exactly Alvin I'm here to see, although I'll give him a hug in due time."

Jenny glanced to the doorway, Sam's bearded smile shining.

Lexi retrieved a baby blanket to spare Ricky, the men returning after Sam's arrival. As Chelsea nursed, Sam and Alvin chatted, Ricky and Lexi offering their goodbyes. Lexi would keep Sam's presence a secret; he would surprise his brother next, the Smiths later that evening. His first stop however was Alvin's and Lexi left with a wide smile, a proper Christmas with everyone home.

Once Ricky was away, Jenny exposed her baby, Chelsea enjoying an extended session. Sam scooted close, at ease watching the infant nurse. Ricky and Lexi's presence had also kept words unspoken, but now Alvin cleared his throat. "Sam, we're so sorry. I had no idea."

To Jenny's relief, Sam's joy was honest, his voice directed at Alvin, but for them both. "It was a long time ago, just one of those things. But seeing you all here, good God. I couldn't ask for a better Christmas present."

Chelsea had finished and Jenny set her to burp, not slipping her breast back in her bra. There was no uneasiness with Sam's presence, as with Tommie. "Honey, we love you." Jenny's words were punctuated with a hearty belch from the baby.

"Chelsea does too," Alvin said as all laughed.

Changing sides, Jenny watched Sam's eyes turn away. Once Chelsea was settled, his smile returned, which Jenny acknowledged with a quick touch to his bearded cheek. "She'll be done in a few. You wanna hold her?"

Sam went to the sink. "Let me just wash these hands."

After the marathon that was the first breast, Chelsea nibbled at the second, and soon was in Sam's grasp, where she fell asleep. Jenny fixed lunch, then took bread from the oven. The kitchen had a warm, homey sense and observing Sam with her daughter brought Jenny to tears. She tried to hide them, but Sam noticed and joined her near the sink.

"Jenny, it's okay. Really."

She took note of the way he said those words, with little lasting pain. Some remained, but as though Chelsea eased it, Jenny watched it fade. "It's just, oh, I'm still a mess of hormones."

"Boy, that's the truth," Alvin muttered.

Jenny and Sam turned, Alvin's face one of tomfoolery. Then his laugh reverberated through the room. Chelsea stirred, but in Sam's arms she was soon asleep again.

Christmas night at the Smiths' was one Jenny wished never ended. In all her memories, she hadn't enjoyed such an engaging holiday, the greatest joys being her lover and child. Yet, even without Alvin and Chelsea, Jenny would have found pleasure in those around her.

Lexi and Ricky endeared as he arrived in the afternoon, and was still there, nearing eight o'clock. Jenny had wondered aloud to Rae and Tommie if perhaps Lexi might carry a stowaway back to Eugene. Parents rolled their eyes, well aware their daughter might have met her beloved.

Steve and Marcy were close, but in a more relaxed manner, already talking marriage in an oblique way. Once they graduated next summer, nothing would prevent them from seeking jobs and starting their lives. Jenny saw those two eldest Smith children heading in different directions, even with life partners attached. Lexi would be absent from Arkendale, allowing Ricky to find his way to her, but Steve was rooted to the farm. He might end up living in another house, but Steve would never stray far from the land.

Max and Liz were very good friends, and Jenny was unsure of their fate. News of Chad Lambert was curious, that young man facing a shotgun wedding after knocking up a girl from Josephine County. This was spoken out of Liz's earshot and Jenny shook her head. She was relieved for Chad's impending departure, but seventeen was still too young to be a father.

Scott and Alana were chummy, those two escaping the adults' gazes as soon as dinner was over. All the rest crowded the dining room, Jacob and Debbie almost sharing a chair. It had been a day of conflicting moods, subdued for that couple and Sam with Maisie's absence, but Chelsea stirred such delight. Jenny had shared her baby with everyone, Alvin avoiding diaper duty while talking with the men. He stood more erect, prouder than before. Possessing a family, he was now their equal. Then Jenny found Sam.

He was never far, but an anomaly; not a youth, nor a father. Yet, he'd known as much sorrow as any, his gray eyes carrying an aged grief. Jenny didn't know any details, assuming the baby had been lost early in the couple's relationship. Then Tracy had died and Sam had never remarried, never finding what Tommie, Jacob, even Alvin held within them. A parental, paternal mood was connected to a woman, making a family. In their house it was only Jenny, Alvin, and Chelsea, but the parents had been talking. Once Chelsea weaned herself, they would try again.

Lexi and Marcy called for Liz and Alana's help in the kitchen, Ricky, Steve, and Max fleeing with their partners' absences. Jenny half listened to Rae and Debbie, Chelsea growing hungry. With so many, Jenny felt self conscious. Taking her crowing baby, she excused herself.

"Just go to our room," Rae smiled. "I even made the bed."

All laughed and soon Jenny was settled against the headboard, her daughter in place. The baby needed bonding time and Jenny wasn't in a hurry. She would feed her, then change and dress Chelsea for bed. Alvin would take them home and Jenny thought about how making love to him would end this day perfectly.

"Knock knock." Sam poked his head in the doorway. "You mind some company?"

"Not at all." She patted the edge of the bed. "I'm gonna be here a while. Someone's just poking about, but when I take it away, she starts looking for it again."

Sam sat on the right, Tommie's side, where a Louis L'Amour novel rested against an old clock on the nightstand. Rae's table held her own books, mysteries Jenny noted. She had never been in the master bedroom, cluttered but settled like the couple themselves.

"It looks just like them." She eyed stacks of clothes and books on the low dresser across the wall.

"It does," Sam smiled. "You having a good day?"

"Oh yeah," she giggled. "Especially watching the kids, although I guess _kids_ isn't what they'd appreciate."

He nodded. "Yeah. Now she's the kid and what a girl she is."

Sam stroked Chelsea's head, close to Jenny's breast, but there was no awkwardness, only a gentle touch, and Jenny was glad. His relative youth in comparison to the rest showed in his easy manner. They were two and a half years apart and while Alvin was ageless, a difference remained between Jenny, Rae, and Debbie. Their ages, but so much more.

Jenny and Sam belonged to a younger generation. Jenny hoped that President Elect Carter would usher in more opportunities for women and minorities than his predecessor. While she had voted for Carter because of his politics, Alvin had chosen him due to his previous occupation.

Jenny felt Sam's smile, then heard his chuckle. "What?"

"Oh, just that this baby's sort of in the middle. I don't imagine Steve and Marcy'll be having kids any time soon. I mean, they could, but neither seemed too ga-ga over Chelsea. No offense," he grinned.

She nodded. "They liked holding her, but I didn't see any big attachments form. Not with Lexi or Ricky either." Alana had cooed the most, but that girl was only in eighth grade.

"So there'll be Chelsea, then grandchildren down the line." Sam's voice was faraway. "A long time between them all."

Easing the baby from her chest, Jenny didn't bother to cover herself while burping her daughter. "Sam, and I'm only asking because I don't know any of your history, and if it's none of my business, please just tell me. But..." She tapped the baby and a burp emerged. Soon Chelsea was reattached and busy, having woken from her belch.

"Jenny, it was uh, you know, early. We uh, it wasn't planned. It just happened, then she uh, she lost it."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be nosy."

Sam set his hand to Chelsea's head. "No, I mean, you're right. You don't know a thing about me and I really don't know anything about you."

His pain had occurred early, like her own, then had been set aside. Now they were older and did it matter anymore?

Not to Jenny. "It's all just water under the bridge."

"Yes it sure is."

As the reassuring tug loosened, Jenny watched her baby fall asleep. She didn't move Chelsea away, didn't want to disturb Sam, their histories in the past. Jenny didn't speak and Sam didn't either. Both remained on the bed, their eyes on a sleeping baby, resting in the quiet.

Chapter 26

Jenny's birthday present came a week late, the latest Fleetwood Mac album, _Rumours_. She now owned over thirty records, Alvin surprising her with new vinyl when she saw something at Dougal's Drugstore. He had bought her Stevie Wonder's _Innervisions_ and every time "Visions" played, Alvin would take her in his arms. Sometimes Chelsea joined for that slow dance, other times it was for the couple alone. If that was the case, it always led them to bed.

Alvin's fortieth birthday had been celebrated similarly to Tommie's big party, but Jenny hadn't wanted a fuss for her thirty-first. Not because she felt old, it just wasn't that important. Alvin had given her the album, wanted to buy her a ring. Not announcing an engagement, he had told her, but just so people knew they were together.

To his surprise, Jenny had said _no_. Too bourgeois, she had laughed, explaining that term as what Bonnie Carmine would expect, with a quickie wedding to follow.

Alvin hadn't liked that, deciding instead on a necklace with a silver rose charm. He had gone shopping with Alana and Liz and Jenny's thrilled smile had been all the thanks he needed. She never took it off, not even in the bath or at night, the rose resting against her chest when they made love, touching Alvin deeply.

Jenny still reached into him, as did his daughter, Chelsea such a happy baby. Jenny was starting to think about feeding her solid foods, and Alvin learned that _solid_ for a baby was smooth like applesauce. He was discovering all sorts of new things, Jenny patient with him, except when he wouldn't change a diaper. Poops were so messy and even when Chelsea was wet, Alvin still hesitated. He had angered Jenny the few times he'd gotten Chelsea from bed but not changed her. She had wet through her clothes while nursing, landing him in the doghouse.

In the spring of 1977, Alvin Harris was a contented man. He didn't mind being forty, didn't mind Jenny's occasional cross look when diapers were mentioned. He didn't mind rain that fell, but did wish Sam Cassel would come home more often. Easter wasn't until middle April and Sam wasn't planning on traveling from the sounds Jacob made, also unhappy but more resigned, another new word that meant _used to_. Jenny was resigned to Sam's absences as well as Alvin's aversion to changing diapers. Aversion meant _not liking_.

Sometimes Alvin's brain felt overused, so much to know with a baby and with Sam. He had been a father, well, not a father, but was going to be a father. His wife, whose name Alvin just couldn't recall with all these other things battling for space, Sam's wife had been pregnant but had lost the baby. Lost, how Alvin lost some of Chelsea's little socks. They had just disappeared, little socks and two hats, but fortunately not hats from Sylvia Baxter. Every time Alvin and Jenny took Chelsea out, they dressed her in some piece of Sylvia's handiwork, as one way or another they always met up with her.

Alvin had his daughter alone that morning while Jenny and Rae were in town buying fabric, Rae's idea to make mother and daughter matching Easter dresses. All Alvin had to do was listen for his girl, who was napping. Jenny had nursed Chelsea before they left and if she woke, he would just rock her and wait for Jenny to get home.

With nothing to do and unable to step outside, Alvin had time to think. Sam Cassel kept popping up; Jenny said that Sam's wife had a miscarriage, the proper term. Jenny didn't know anything else, then Alvin had asked Tommie. He hadn't said much beyond it was a long time ago, and Sam and Tracy had been pretty sad.

Tracy was her name and pleased for remembering, Alvin went for a cup of coffee. He peeked into the cookie jar, only one left, but Jenny wouldn't mind. He dipped the edges into his cup. She didn't bake as much as before, but they were so busy, a tiny baby taking a lot of time.

Alvin then remembered Chelsea. He stepped to the bottom of the stairs, hearing nothing. She was five months old, five and a half, Jenny counting those half-months as much as a whole one, so many things she took care of that he didn't. Like diapers, and he sighed, hoping Chelsea wouldn't be too wet if she woke.

He listened again. He loved that baby like loving Jenny, but different, a feeling so protective. With Jenny, Alvin was often gentle, due to all her hurts. With Chelsea he was that way only because she was little. Yet, he loved her fiercely. He had heard Max use that word when talking about the Seahawks. They had only managed two wins that first season, but they'd been fierce, which meant brutal, furious, very strong. How Alvin felt about his daughter, keeping her safe and protected. All but her bottom; once she sported a rash because he hadn't changed her and Jenny had really scolded him after that.

Alvin tried to recall Sam's wife, but nothing emerged, only that Sam had gotten married, not there in town, but in Eugene, where Lexi was now. Now Alvin remembered so many details where before he hadn't bothered. Life had only been about the farm, so quiet all by himself. Two years after Jenny had arrived, Alvin was a father, loved a woman. Those phrases fit in his head, made his heart beat, and Alvin smiled.

Yet Sam had lost both his baby and woman. His wife, which Jenny wasn't to Alvin. He was fine with that, Jenny right about not wanting a ring. Too... Alvin couldn't remember the word she had used. It started with a B, like in Bonnie and Alvin shuddered. He wanted nothing to do with Mrs. Carmine.

Alvin hoped Sam would come home for Easter. He had sent them cards on their birthdays; Alvin's said _Happy 4-0_ , while Jenny's was decorated with flowers. Both still stood on the mantle, but the Baby Jesus was gone. It was coming on spring and as Chelsea made a small noise, Alvin moved to the stairs. Easter was on its way.

As Rae and Jenny sewed dresses in the Smith dining room, Alvin watched his daughter play on the big blanket Jenny had crocheted. In early March, Chelsea was six months old, hitching on all fours, looking at him with the biggest smile. She had no teeth, for which Jenny was grateful, but Chelsea liked applesauce, tolerated pears, enjoyed peaches, and would go through a small dish of mixed cereals like Alvin had never seen. Jenny had started vegetables in the last few weeks, Chelsea eagerly taking to her new diet and Alvin thought she was the smartest baby ever.

Kneeling on the living room floor, he covered his face, then peered out, Chelsea with a huge grin. She babbled and laughed, then rolled over and over until she reached the edge of the colorful crocheted afghan made before she was born. Jenny had allowed for the possibility of a boy in the scheme, a color scheme of which she spoke often, hues going together, meaning something. This blanket had been neutral, boy or girl unknown at the time, but Alvin wasn't ready for Jenny to get pregnant again. He wanted more kids, yet Chelsea was still little, too much fun. He didn't want to think what it might be like if Jenny had a boy.

"Peek-a-BOO!" Alvin hooted and Chelsea squealed, rolling toward the orange side. Picking her up, he kissed her face, more laughter shared. As the machine stopped, father and daughter went to the dining room, the table covered with material. The dresses were of the same print, but Jenny's was yellow, light purple for the baby. Alvin thought they would be so pretty and he gave Jenny a kiss as Chelsea squirmed.

"I think she's getting hungry," Jenny smiled. "I know I'm ready for her to eat."

Alvin handed over his daughter and soon Chelsea was snuggled against her mother. Alvin watched them as Rae sewed, completely at peace with his life. Tommie was helping Jacob and even there with only the women, Alvin needed nothing more.

Thinking of Jacob took Alvin to Sam. "Hey Rae, you think Sam's coming for Easter?"

"Oh, I dunno." She took her foot from the pedal, then turned. "Probably not."

Jenny was absorbed in Chelsea and Alvin wondered if she had even heard them. "Well, I sure hope he does. Chelsea's getting so big. He's missing it all."

Rae returned to her sewing, but thread was stuck in the bobbin, and she stopped to fix it. Only Chelsea's faint breaths were heard and Alvin's heart hurt. Sam didn't know this joy. For all Alvin didn't have in his head, that stuck firm; poor Sam didn't know anything like a family.

Alvin reached for his daughter, her hair still blonde fuzz. "You know, I feel so bad for Sam, how he lost a baby, then his wife. I can't imagine anything better than this."

Rae's foot jerked along the pedal. Alvin looked up, the on-off sound catching his attention, one small sniff accompanying the familiar hum.

Jenny hadn't seen Rae's movements, but had heard soft weeping, more emotion from Rae than Jenny had ever noted. Rae was like Alvin, parts of life kept from her head. Yet, it was her choice.

As March moved to April, the dresses were finished. Jenny spent her days caring for her baby and her man while daffodils and tulips bloomed. She didn't ask Rae about Alvin's comment, knew it would have come to nothing. After lunch one Thursday, Jenny asked Alvin to take Chelsea up for her nap, leaving Jenny and Tommie with a moment alone. "So, you think Sam's coming for Easter?" she asked.

Tommie grabbed the last cookie from the plate. "Oh, I doubt it."

She smiled, then grew serious. "Tommie, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

"Sure honey."

Jenny sighed. "What happened with Sam's baby?"

Tommie ate his cookie, looking to the doorway. No peep from Alvin, then Tommie drank his milk. "They were pregnant and the baby didn't make it."

"Is that all?"

"Why?"

"Because when Alvin brought this up with Rae a few weeks back, I mean, they're so much alike." Jenny spoke softly. "Both don't deal well with things too deep."

Tommie nodded.

"I mean, I love her like a sister. And you're my brother." She grasped his bad hand. "God Tommie, you're all my family, Sam too, and if there's something you don't want Alvin to know, I'll keep it to myself. But," she paused. "I've got this big handicap, not like I want everyone knowing my business, but this's my life. I love Alvin and I'm not married to him. Everyone can see that, which's fine. No illusions, not too many anyways."

Tommie smiled, then reached for her face. "Honey, I know, I mean, yeah. You're right."

"All I'm saying is that if it's just what Sam said, okay fine. That's his business. But I mean, is there something more?"

Alvin hadn't returned and Tommie leaned close. "It's not so much about Sam as it is about Rae."

That was how Jenny Cope learned about Rae and Tommie's first pregnancy, one that didn't succeed. Jenny had heard Rae weeping over the hum of the machine, sitting closer to her than Alvin. She was closer to Rae in other ways too, but in this instance only Rae, Tommie, and Sam understood each other.

Jenny gave Tommie a hug, one that broke apart when Alvin's footsteps emerged. He didn't know and Tommie didn't think Alvin would guess, as Tommie and Rae's hearts weren't left empty. Other than a few extra embraces shared every June when that baby would have been due, the couple never spoke of it. A glance occurred when a similar situation arose, why in the beginning they had urged Jenny and Alvin to keep their pregnancy to themselves. One never knew what might happen.

Sam slipped from Jenny's mind, for which Tommie was glad, relieved also for Alvin's presence. Leaving Jenny with the dishes, the men went to the barn. Alvin needed help with some rotting boards and they inspected the structure.

Alvin's jovial chatter filled the vacant spaces, few words from Tommie that day. Telling Jenny about that miscarriage hit him more than he had imagined, another storm weathered. Four children, healthy and now nearly grown, had eased that pain, one Rae still carried. She had changed after that loss, but it had happened so soon after she moved to Arkendale, no one remembered her any other way.

Tommie had met a spunky young woman, undaunted by her weak left leg. She had chatted with him at the ball park, Tommie no longer the coolest guy on the team, instead facing a life in farming. As his hand slammed through the dashboard of his car, shattering bone and severing much of his thumb, his plans were considered just as irretrievable. Then there was Rae, short for Rachel, a name she hated. A name they quietly gave that baby, gender unknown, burying her remains not in the ground, but in their hearts. Tommie had released that child, but Rae still held that baby, no way to take it from her.

After that, a shell had formed, one that others assumed was from her crippled limb. The couple had only been married a short time when she'd gotten pregnant, no one but Tommie's folks and Rae's mother aware, but she lived in Josephine County. After a few years, Mitch and Alva Smith were dead. Not even Jacob and Debbie knew, nor Alvin, but now Jenny was privy to a piece of Tommie's life just as he was to hers.

Tommie owned a reputation as a saint, didn't like it. He'd been an asshole as a kid, but people possessed short memories, offering him an unwarranted benefit of the doubt. The couple's handicaps could have fostered anger and mistrust, but only Rae had allowed it to settle.

Yet, it hadn't sprung from her leg. Now Jenny knew, but Tommie hadn't been bothered in telling her. In the long run, it was better for Jenny to know about Rae's miscarriage than the truth of Sam Cassel's baby.

On Easter Sunday, Alvin took pictures of his daughter and her mother, adorable in matching dresses. The family went to church with the Smiths, Jenny toting their baby, Alvin leading them through the crowds. They hadn't gone last year, Maisie's death still so raw, but that spring, Alvin wanted to give thanks. His comprehension of Easter was Jesus the man, dead then living. Not the infant with whom Alvin was more comfortable, but now with his woman and baby, Alvin felt better able to identify with the older Jesus, even if he was only thirty-three when he died.

About Sam's age, Alvin thought, even though Sam wasn't there that day. They would eat dinner at Tommie and Rae's, the Cassel family too, but Jacob and Debbie weren't at church. Tommie and Rae usually didn't go either, but Alvin had pressed. Not hard, but enough, seeing Jenny and Chelsea had new dresses to wear.

Sam was about thirty-three, like Jesus when he died. Alvin considered that during the whole service, standing when Tommie did, holding Chelsea when she got fussy while Jenny found a pacifier. Chelsea didn't like it, wanted her mother. Jenny sighed, then took the baby. Alvin didn't know if Jenny would head to the car or just to the entryway. Then he looked over, Bonnie Carmine staring at him. Jenny would probably go to the Buick.

Too many faces were like Bonnie's, ones without a smile. Maybe that was why Sam didn't come home, people not knowing how to treat him, like Jesus, Alvin thought. People got scared of what they didn't know, whether it was Alvin with a family or Sam losing so much or Jesus being so nice, forgiving everyone. What Alvin's mother had taught him, why Alvin was so kind. Why he'd forgiven Robert Tucker, why he had admitted to Jenny that while he wanted to kill her father, Jenny was there with him, and if he ever did meet Jenny's dad, he would probably only give him a good what-for.

Jenny didn't return and Alvin went looking for her. The sermon was just words and he missed his lover, what she called him. Not her husband or boyfriend, sometimes her partner, but usually her lover, what people like Bonnie didn't understand. Love was simple, but also complicated. Someone like Bonnie Carmine wanted things to be easy; marriage first, then a baby. And for someone like Alvin, no marriage or baby at all. He had said _no_ to a wedding, but with Jenny and Chelsea, Alvin had insisted. He loved Jenny before she loved him, he to first mention a baby. Alvin found Jenny in the lobby, sitting in a chair, Sylvia Baxter next to her. He hadn't seen Sylvia get up, but she and Jenny were admiring Chelsea, and Alvin smiled. The best people always came at the right time. If nothing else, Alvin knew Jesus was good at fixing that.

Before they went to Tommie and Rae's, everyone headed to the cemetery where Jacob, Debbie, and their kids waited. The group gathered where Maisie was buried and flowers were set upon her grave. This had been arranged last week, Jacob wishing to mark his mother's passing. It wasn't the exact date, but Easter seemed a good time, and as everyone returned to their cars, Alvin realized he never visited his mother's plot, or his father's. Remembering family was important to Jacob, making Alvin wonder if Sam's absence was hard on his brother.

Alvin never missed his family, especially not since Jenny had arrived. Now with Chelsea, Alvin had put those other relatives behind him. Only Lorraine remained and he certainly didn't miss her. As they had placed daffodils on Maisie's headstone, Jenny had moved their daughter from hip to hip. This was Alvin's family; Jenny, Chelsea, and those with whom they had stood.

Over ham and potato salad, baked beans and raw carrots, Alvin considered those around him. Jacob was quiet, the kids chatty. Tommie and Rae seemed happy and Alvin pulled Jenny close, kissing her face. She handed Chelsea to him and left the room.

As Chelsea gurgled and laughed, Rae took her. Alvin sensed he was needed elsewhere.

No one had seen where Jenny went, but he found her sitting in their car, deeply upset. She wouldn't tell him why, only crying. Finally she calmed, but still wouldn't speak.

"Oh Jenny Cope, you gotta tell me! I mean, we tell each other everything, and it's Easter. This's a special day."

Her eyes were red and Alvin felt a tug in his heart. It had been ages since she had been this sad, the storms of last summer bringing her to these kinds of tears. Not happy ones shed for their baby, but ones old and painful. Grasping her hands, Alvin kissed her face. Jenny stayed quiet, then looked his way.

"Alvin, we just have so much. And so many others, oh god!"

He knelt in front of her, wrapping Jenny close. "Honey, I love you." Alvin had taken Sam's absence hard at the cemetery, had seen Jacob felt the same.

"Chelsea's starting to wean herself. Even she doesn't need me." Jenny heaved huge sobs. Alvin had seen storm clouds as they left the cemetery. Summers were hard for Jenny and even with their baby's presence, she was getting scared.

"It'll be okay Jenny Cope. I promise you. I promise."

Alvin heard footsteps. Looking up, he found Tommie on the other side of the car with Chelsea in his arms.

"Look honey, our girl's here. She loves you, just like I do, forever."

Alvin pulled away from Jenny as Tommie came round, handing the laughing girl to her father. Alvin gave the baby to Jenny, Chelsea unbothered with her mother's tears.

"Oh sweetie, I love you and your daddy so much." Jenny wept as Tommie helped Alvin to his feet. The men watched mother and daughter, Jenny comforted by a gurgling baby as other losses skirted the horizon.

Chapter 27

Storm clouds gathered and all Jenny could do was set her baby in the playpen, then curl into the couch and wait. In July, Chelsea could stand, hoisting herself with fingers embedded in the playpen's mesh sides, babbling as Jenny huddled under a blanket.

Running inside as the thunder roared, Alvin found them this way. He sat with Jenny, calling her name as Chelsea looked on.

There had been no change when it came to cracks from the sky, but in other ways Jenny had moved forward. Some adjustments had been out of her hands; Chelsea nursed only a few minutes right before bedtime. Bottles now cluttered the kitchen sink, and Jenny was trying to teach her daughter to use a cup, with some progress.

Other alterations had been more within Jenny's control. Sam was coming for the annual barbecue, which Jacob openly attributed to Jenny Cope.

She had said nothing more than wishing he had attended Steve's graduation or made the Fourth of July. She wouldn't bother with her daughter's first birthday. That bug had been planted by Alvin. What Sam did with it was his choice.

He had agreed to travel for the barbecue and Jenny was relieved that all would be together. Something ached within her heart, a need for family, but she wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was losing a vital connection to her baby, Jenny's period returning as well. Now she was all over Alvin. Before he had insisted, but now Jenny craved another pregnancy. Perhaps storms wouldn't be so bothersome if she was carrying his child.

Those storms were many, hitting every few days, making Jenny go numb. Yet, when it was clear or just raining, she was contented with her lover and child, happy and complete. Her life was smooth if not for the dreaded thunder. No matter how calm she was, once that noise exploded, Jenny lost her composure, setting Chelsea in the playpen or in her crib if they were upstairs. A few times Tommie had even stepped in when Alvin was in town. Jenny still needed a soothing voice, either man filling that bill.

But only those men. Not even Chelsea eased her mother's pain. All the peace Jenny had owned upon her daughter's birth seemed far away, stolen by the roar of thunder that Jenny cried through, whether she was in Tommie's grasp or Alvin's. She wept, then sought the refuge of arms to truly take it away. All she wanted, once the storm had gone, was Alvin.

Alvin and another baby; as August began, Jenny's body was feeling like her heart, ready to conceive. Yet Alvin was still leery, and his wariness pummeled Jenny like a storm. By the time they left for the barbecue, cookies and potato salad in tow, a small fissure had erupted.

Only Tommie saw it, Tommie and Sam. Sam noticed as soon as the couple arrived, Alvin not holding Jenny's hand. Jenny didn't gaze at Alvin like before; instead she sported a tired countenance, one of longing and needs unmet. Only Chelsea seemed delighted and at nearly a year old, all she wanted was to be set on the ground. She could stand alone, walking just eluding her. Then she would drop to all fours, crawling wherever she pleased. She looked more like her father than the last time Sam had seen her, but it had been all year.

She had been a wee thing, but now was on her own, getting off before someone scooped her into arms anxious for her charms. She was amiable like her mother, but that night Sam saw no charisma from Jenny, only a sadness that ate into him. Time hadn't alleviated that ache, nor had distance; Sam would always pine for her. With that, he met the couple as they approached the yard.

Chelsea had been collected, Alana toting the wiggly girl. Sam took the salad from Jenny, noting she had been crying. "Hey," he whispered, kissing her face. "You okay?"

She nodded and retrieved the salad. Taking the cookies from Alvin, she stepped into the house.

Sam knew it was serious, Alvin never looking so blue. As they exchanged greetings, Sam found Jenny hadn't rejoined them. Always before they were bound to the other, yet, things had changed. Sam's heart wasn't lifted, only worried. "Alvin, let's go for a walk."

Taking deep breaths in Tommie's barn, Sam listened to Alvin. Tommie had joined them, Jacob too. Where Jenny and the baby were, Sam didn't know, maybe in a similar klatch with the women, releasing her tears. Alvin had shed some and from that anguish, Sam was sure Jenny's were flowing.

"If she has another baby, it'll be a boy, I just know it! Then what'll I do?"

"Now Alvin, remember right after you had Chelsea, you and Jenny were already talking about more kids. Chelsea loves her daddy and so will another baby."

Alvin and Tommie shared a look, one Jacob missed, but not Sam, something to do with Jenny. Her name stirred Alvin's weary sigh, spoken by Tommie not as a weapon, but a reminder.

"Jenny loves you Alvin, only you." Tommie's eyes moved in Sam's direction and Sam didn't miss that either. "That's why she wants another baby. Just 'cause she loves you."

"Oh Tommie, I wish that's all it was."

Sam noticed Alvin's guilt, as though something had slipped. It had, right over Jacob's head, but straight into Sam's heart.

Implicit notions hovered in that structure, all to do with Jenny Cope. Then thunder rumbled. It had been threatening all day, and Sam was glad to have arrived before the storm hit.

As another crack reverberated, Alvin and Tommie were on their feet before Sam could say a word. He had never seen Alvin move so fast and as Sam and Jacob stood, clumsy in comparison, it wasn't until Sam reached the yard to know why, Jenny's screams racing through him.

Sam paced outside the Smith master bedroom. Tommie, Rae, and Alvin were in with Jenny, a blessing that Chelsea had so many admirers. She didn't miss either of her parents, spoiled by those happy to hold her.

Sam had been offered that baby, but was more worried about her mother. After that initial shriek, Jenny hadn't made another peep, the silence from Tommie and Rae's room more disturbing than any howl Jenny might have added. A pall hung over the group and people tried to ignore it, but it was difficult, the host and hostess absent, rain falling. Some gathered in the barn, but guests floated about, and Sam gave his brother and sister-in-law inquisitive looks. They knew nothing.

Leaving the hallway, Sam went for a beer. Kitchen counters were covered with food and he spied the plates of cookies, still wrapped, Jenny's salad too. A few flies buzzed and Sam shooed them off. Then he heard the bedroom door open. Rae stepped into the kitchen, looking beaten.

"Sam, hand me a brewski." Her ashen face averted his, her tone hollow.

"Jesus Christ Rae. What the hell's going on?"

Sam gave her the beer, watching her drain half in one swig. She took the can from her mouth, stared out, then at him. "Nothing."

"Bullshit!" he whispered. "Is she okay?"

Rae chugged the rest, then looked to the back door. "Can you or Jacob go tell those guys to bring in what's done? Tommie's, uh, busy."

Sam grabbed her by the shoulders. "Damnit Rae, what's wrong?"

Horrible notions sat in her lifeless gray eyes, how she had looked when Tracy died. Rae never craved that level of detail, but there hadn't been any way to get it from her head.

She began to cry, falling into his arms. "Oh Sam, oh my God!"

By nightfall only family remained, the party breaking early due to rain. The rain and Jenny, but no one said that. Only the rain was mentioned, which had started with that initial rumble, then spilled from the sky, drowning all in a dreary wetness. Chelsea rested in the playpen in Alana's room, the door cracked. If the baby stirred, someone would hear her.

Jenny was still sequestered, but food had been taken to her, also a few stiff drinks. Sam still hadn't seen her, but was glad she was eating and drinking. Maybe she could sleep off whatever had fallen that night, alongside thunder and lightning, separating her and Alvin. Sam didn't think it was Alvin's anxieties about another child. They played a part, but alone weren't enough.

He had seen Alvin, sorrowful and repentant, which broke Sam's heart. If Alvin looked that bad, how might Jenny appear?

Only Tommie hadn't left that room, the door closed. Sam remembered sitting in there at Christmas, Jenny on the bed, a tiny baby at her breast. He hadn't felt any pain, only great happiness for her and Alvin both, but nothing resembling joy sat on Alvin's face now.

Had she been pregnant, had they lost a baby? It was a flimsy explanation; in the barn Alvin spoke as a man not wanting another child. If Jenny had been in the throes of a miscarriage, a doctor would have been called. This wasn't a physical malady, one more of the head. The heart too as Sam watched Rae, her movements stilted and aching.

Sam wanted to see Jenny, hear her voice, confirm she was all right. All he hadn't been able to do for Tracy, but here it wasn't his place. He stood at the end of the hall, near the front door. The TV blared as Sam watched Alvin go back in that room. Alvin, but not Rae.

She'd had one more beer, but words weren't forthcoming, only more distress than Tommie's wife could take. Rae could handle any physical ailment, but when it came to things under the skin, she was a lightweight. Sam wasn't sure why, but she had been that way as long as he'd known her. Tonight with Jenny, Rae was foundering, removed from Tommie and their kids, fabrics and the farm. Jenny's suffering was beyond Rae's talents.

Sam hadn't eaten all day, wasn't hungry. He was starved for information and as Alvin stepped out, an empty plate in his hands, Sam moved that way, slipping through the cracked door. "Jenny, Tommie, can I uh, come in?"

Sam's breath was sucked from his body, not having seen Tommie in tears for more than a decade. As Alvin followed Sam, the door closing them in together, Sam felt weak. Then he saw Jenny.

Curled in a fetal position in the center of the bed, she quivered under blankets, making Sam shudder. He couldn't help himself, going right to her. "Jenny, oh Jenny Cope! My God baby, it's okay!"

She didn't move or answer him. Sam set his hand on her side, trying to calm her tremors. It did little good.

Alvin sat at her feet, saying her entire name as Sam had. She crawled to Sam, wrapping around him, then began to cry. Turning her head, she stared at him.

Sam couldn't move from her knowledgeable gaze. Then he glanced at Tommie, mouthing: _Does she know?_ Tommie shook his head, looking away.

Jenny's brown eyes were rivers of time, pulling Sam in, then sending him over the edge of memory and helplessness. His wife's bleeding body had met with their ailing baby, who was unable to hear or see. A newborn had been powerless to understand why she was dying prematurely, why her mother was gone, why her father was letting her go.

"Jenny," Sam mumbled, "it's okay, I love you. No one's gonna hurt you ever again."

Nearly the same words had been murmured to Tracy, deaf to Sam as she lay on the emergency room table, her body torn apart by bullets and a surgeon's hands.

By ten that night Jenny was fast asleep in the Smiths' bed. Sam slumbered on the couch, the cries of a broken woman still ringing in his head.

While Jenny had collapsed due to exhaustion, Sam succumbed to alcohol. No one knew what he had consumed before he saw Jenny, but afterwards with Tommie, Sam had downed almost half a case of beer. Now he lay under Steve's crocheted blanket, snoring loudly. Other than Chelsea's occasional whimpers in her father's arms, nothing else was heard from the living room.

The kids were in the kitchen, putting away food. Much remained and the fridge was stuffed. Rae was glad for the extra icebox out back, piling foil-covered plates onto the racks, an easier task than thinking about what had occurred. Rae coveted the busy work, directing her kids, but putting in equal time. With Jenny in her bed, there was no place for Rae to rest her head.

Tommie had gone outside and Rae wouldn't disturb him. It had been a hellacious afternoon, the party a washout. Rae didn't care about the latter, only Jenny, a girl Rae had come to love, one with a past Rae hadn't dreamed.

She still couldn't put it all together, too much God-awful shit, words Rae usually didn't allow in her head, the cursing and upset both. Yet that night they were inseparable. She couldn't shift Jenny's face, one so long-suffering, and Tracy's had emerged too, a fuzzy image, but so much like Alvin's girl. Alvin's woman, but also her father's; Jenny's dad had done things no man should ever to do a child, much less his own. It wasn't only that Jenny had been raped when Alana's age, but that it had been her bastard of a father to do it!

That pushed Rae over the edge. "I'm going outside," she said to Lexi.

"Okay Mom." Lexi gave her a kiss. "I'm gonna call Ricky, then go to bed." She looked toward the living room. "Is Alvin gonna be okay with Chelsea?"

"She's gonna stay here, sleep in the playpen. Alvin said he'd take Jenny home in a bit." Rae set her arms over herself. "Probably soon. He's looking pretty worn out."

Lexi blinked tears, her voice a whisper. "Mom, are they gonna be all right?"

Rae gave a weak nod, then kissed her daughter. Lexi had kept things together all evening, more than a girl her age needed to do. Yet, as Rae looked at her eighteen-year-old, what Lexi had handled was nothing compared to where Jenny had been at that age.

Lexi grabbed her mother and Rae clung to that embrace. None of the kids knew any more than Jenny had suffered a small breakdown due to old hurts. Only Rae knew, along with Alvin, Tommie, and Sam. Rae learned of Jenny's past as thunder and rain did their damage, injuries caused ages ago, but still dwelling within Jenny, and now in Rae.

She walked into the darkness, a muggy dampness clinging. She heard her husband in the barn, noises from a man for whom Rae owned a new appreciation, one carrying so much from so many. Tommie sat on a hay bale, stripping a piece of wood with a knife. Wedged between his leg and the hay, a stick vanished under his strong attack. He was aware of her, but until he looked up, Rae would be still, not wanting that blade thrust anywhere but against the wood.

His eyes found hers and she inhaled, unable to hold back tears. His face always broke her down, what had brought forth Lexi, conceived because of Tommie's gentle brown eyes. His eyes and voice had crept into Rae's brain, easing a heart so afraid. Trying again, they received Lexi, a baby Rae had wanted, yet fought, her body already discarding one child. As Rae moved closer, Tommie stood. They clutched the other, no words necessary. So much had been revealed that night and Rae required her husband's silent reassurance, soothing some of the agony.

But not all. It would take ages, if ever, for Rae to comprehend all she had learned. Ages and ages of Tommie around her, the only one who took her pain.

Alvin drove home alone, feeling devastated. No other word came, but that was enough for all he had learned and all Jenny had said.

Going home by himself was bad, but Tommie followed in his truck and would spend the night. Alvin hadn't asked, but when Tommie offered, Alvin had said _yes_ right away. Tommie had said it was better for Jenny and Chelsea not to be moved, especially Jenny. She had never been so apart from him, but Alvin blamed himself, not thunder alone to hurt her.

They had been fighting all day about another baby. For all of Alvin's early desires, the more he thought about it, the more he didn't want another child. Chelsea was perfect, and why wasn't she enough for Jenny? Alvin had never said a cross word to Jenny on purpose. Accidentally, when he was tired or impatient, but not because he wanted to hurt her. Yet before they left for the barbecue, he had been as mean to her as Lorraine had been to him, as Mrs. Carmine was; Alvin told Jenny he was going to buy some condoms.

She'd had two periods and he didn't want to risk any more lovemaking unless they were protected, he was protected. His heart needed a cover, unable to think of another baby. Not unless it was sure to be a girl and that sort of thing wasn't possible. People couldn't choose their children, but if Alvin couldn't be certain of another daughter, he didn't want any more kids.

He had yelled that to her, getting cries not only from Chelsea, held in Jenny's arms, but tears from the woman he loved, tears and so much sorrow. Then the thunder struck, setting Jenny under. They had found her standing stick-straight in the hallway, Chelsea again in her arms. Alvin had never run so fast and reaching her, he had passed the baby to one of the kids. Then Tommie joined them, both men taking Jenny to Tommie's bed. It wasn't made, but that didn't matter. Jenny was shaking, her body so jerky. Then her words followed, making Alvin wish he could redo the entire day.

" _You don't really love me, you don't really want me! You've never wanted me, never ever!"_

Alvin had cringed at her voice, tired and fearful. She was so scared, but not in the usual way. She wasn't frightened of her past, but for their future, terrified he would leave her. It wasn't just about a baby, but that Alvin was abandoning _her_ along with the idea of their family.

He had tried to tell he was sorry, but he had cried too, weeping for her pain and for how he had let her down. He had promised to always be with her, but now everything seemed broken. He was driving to a dark, lonely house just like the old days, before he had met her, when he had thought everything was fine. Now he knew better. For all Alvin didn't know, he recognized his life had come together in Jenny and their daughter. Now what he would give for her to feel that way again. Her and himself too.

He pulled into the shed, parking the Buick in its usual space. The only light was from Tommie's truck. He let Alvin reach the front door, unlock the house, then it was dark until Alvin turned on the porch light, holding the door for his friend. Tommie had tried to explain to them both, but Jenny hadn't heard anything Alvin had to say. Then Sam had come in, and as that awful story tumbled forth, more horrible things Alvin couldn't consider, Jenny had moved Sam's way. She had curled around Sam as he told a story, one Alvin hadn't imagined. Sam's baby hadn't died in a miscarriage. She had been born early, but didn't survive. Born early because her mother, Sam's wife, had been shot.

Tracy was murdered by her dad, a man like Jenny's father. Another man had hurt his daughter all the while telling her he loved her.

"Alvin, you ready to hit the hay?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"About midnight."

Alvin sighed. "Well, good. Means it's a new day. Yesterday was the worst in my life."

"Mine too Alvin. Mine too."

From the couch, Tommie watched as Alvin headed up the stairs. "Goodnight Tommie," Alvin called.

"Goodnight Alvin."

Tommie didn't lie down until he heard Alvin's door close. It took time; Alvin used the bathroom, then walked around, looking for his family. Finally his door shut and only then did Tommie take off his boots, the sofa more than comfortable. Perhaps a stiff board would have sufficed. Tommie felt pounded by hammers, his body bent and bruised. Jenny's words had inflicted much of it, Alvin's too. Sam's had been the capper.

Once Jenny had drifted off, Sam and Tommie left the room, heading to the barn, where Sam revealed that Jacob had always known about Sam's daughter Lillian. All those years that Jacob drank were spent trying to shut out his little brother's pain. Tommie had heard Sam's words, could take them. Yet Sam broke down for the truth to be told. His truth, and Jenny's too.

Sam had started with one beer; by the sixth, he had spilled all about Lillian. By the tenth, he was nearly incoherent, flooded by his love for Jenny Cope, love for another woman harmed by her father. Jenny hadn't said it, but the implication hadn't been missed. Alvin's scattered words had opened that can of worms, but it was looks exchanged by Sam and Jenny, faces aware of hurts only they could fathom.

Tommie had loathed hearing it again, hated for Rae to once more swallow what was so hard for her to bear. She and Alvin were present for Sam's story, coming amid Jenny's trembling. Was that how Sam knew? Jenny had told Rae everything earlier, pinning Rae to the floor. Tommie had seen how badly she'd wanted to flee, yet she stood by Jenny, then held her tightly. Once Jenny and Sam had released their histories, Tommie had looked at Alvin, a man incapable of accepting one more horror. It was ugly and brutal what Tracy had endured, a mirror to what Jenny had suffered, and Tommie stopped there, unable to run any more through his mind. Closing his eyes, his last thoughts were of his wife's broken face in the barn, Sam's snoring figure on the couch, then to Alvin and Jenny.

She hadn't left Sam's side no matter how Alvin apologized, and finally he had stepped from the room alone. Jenny's last conscious words to Tommie and Sam were cryptic; Alvin couldn't handle all her pain, had given up on her. Tommie knew that wasn't the case, but Jenny had been adamant, firmly repeating it was over.

Pulling the crocheted throw over his shoulders, Tommie turned to his right. After time, Rae and Sam would recover. But over Alvin, Jenny, and Chelsea, Tommie shivered. Soft weeping floated overhead, then footsteps. From the landing, Alvin called for Jenny. Tommie wanted to speak, but had no answers.

_______________

Look for _The Thorn And The Rose_ , the second book of this series, in January 2012.

_______________

### Liner Notes

This novel wouldn't have been written if I'd not partaken of late-night web-surfing. How many times have I stirred, slipped from bed, sat at the computer; in February of 2009, I went from John Carpenter's _Starman_ to Stephen King's _The Stand_ , and this novel was born. One that at the time I noted was a small cast, a novel I didn't need to plot. What was I thinking, had I even slept when I made that observation? _Alvin's Farm_ , supposedly one simple story, turned into a six-book series, and as I publish the first novel I consider those erroneous words. Then I smile.

Finishing this manuscript, I stepped outside on a gorgeous March afternoon, thinking what I have gotten myself into? Perhaps a third or halfway through, I knew the original ending wasn't going to be reached in one novel. By the time I completed _Alvin's Farm_ , I was thinking a sequel. And when I finished that book, a trilogy loomed.

Then a short time later, I decided to update the characters twenty-five years.

But that's getting ahead of myself. For _Alvin's Farm_ , I just wanted to tell Alvin and Jenny's tale, Sam's story. It became a wider narrative, winding personal memories of living on a cattle ranch, celebrating simpler times and earnest people. Jenny's issue is fiction, but much of the story is straight from my childhood, and my children's. A Granny Smith apple tree graced our British back yard, and I helped my dad care for beef cattle, collecting eggs from our chickens. My parents filled in gaps pertaining to Tommie's animals and Jenny's pregnancy, my recollections of party phone lines and family barbecues as inspiration. _Alvin's Farm_ pays homage to my youth, is perhaps one of my favorite novels.

Thanks go to my nieces who spent the first weeks of their lives in Eugene, Oregon, moving this novel's original setting from the central to western part of the state. The cover is thanks to Brian. Then to The Usual Suspects, especially my husband who has endured these characters since February 2009, since that night I woke, not wanting to keep him awake. Instead I read about a film I still haven't seen, then considered a beloved novel. Ideas spring from unlikely sources, taking on a life of their own. As this saga begins, may you enjoy it as much I did while writing.

### About the author

Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother of several, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and numerous hummingbirds.

Other books by  Anna Scott Graham are available on Smashwords.
