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"On to a more cheerful subject. How big should my drawing be?"

I was glad to talk of anything else. The last thing I wanted to hear was how happy he
and Amy were. I preferred to forget her. As for the quilt I wasn't sure what size the middle piece
should be, so he said he'd draw up several sizes and I could choose which one I liked best.

As I got up to leave he put his hand on my shoulder. "I often see you walking on the
beach. Please stop by and talk to me again."

"But I don't want to bother you."

"Sophie! I love to talk with you. Your laugh makes me glad."

I smiled at that.

"And sometimes I just get lonely here by myself. Promise me you'll come again."

"If you want me..."

"I do."

For the next week I saw him on the beach every day, and armed with the invitation
always found my way over to him. I limited my time with him and hated leaving, but I was
skittish, afraid that if I stayed too long he would know what a dummy I was, or at least what a
dummy I thought I was.

For up 'til then no one had ever talked to me, with me, or maybe even more important,
listened to me. He wanted to know what I thought. What I thought about books he'd read,
whether I ever went out and just looked at the stars at night? Did I believe in God? What was my
family like? What did I think happened after a person dies? Did I think there would ever be
another war?

Funny things: had I ever seen a ghost, and did I think people had more than one life? If I
could travel, where would I go, and why? Did I want to get married and have children? What did
I want to do with my life?

I wasn't used to so many questions, and certainly none about most of the things he
thought about. I'd take the questions home with me, the strange and new ideas and thoughts
spinning in my head, and work out my answers while I sewed and cleaned, or walked on the
beach.

Next day I'd go back full of answers and questions of my own and we'd be off again,
talking and laughing a mile a minute, until I pulled myself away, frightened by the pull he had
upon me. David would always touch me somehow, lightly across my shoulders, fussing about to
make sure I was settled comfortably on the sand, taking my hands to help me up when I was
leaving. And once he insisted on helping me brush the sand from my skirt when I stood up,
causing such a feeling in me that I ran away.

The feelings he raised in me! I was sucked into him, completely absorbed in him, but,
oddly, I also felt separate, unique. With him I felt at peace. Alone, or away from him I was
confused.

He's married,
I kept reminding myself, but the pull just kept getting stronger.
Every day I would tell myself,
Today I'm not going down there, I'll stay at home
. But
then, he would pass by in the morning and wave, and I'd decide,
Well, just for a little while
this afternoon if I haven't got anything else to do
. And the day would go on forever, until I
left the cabin, and went to him.

Every day I used the excuse of the drawings to go talk to him. "Are they done yet?" I'd
ask and for a couple weeks I waited, wondering if he was really working on them or just a talker.
You know how lots of men are... And every day he'd say, "Just a little bit more, almost done,"
until it got to be almost a joke for me to tease him and him to pretend that he was working on a
masterpiece and I needed to wait for the, "magic of the muse," whatever that meant.

The day it happened... One day, about a couple of weeks later, after the boys had left for
work, I was rummaging through my scrap bag when I heard what I knew was his knock on the
door, what they used to call a shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits knock. I jerked and scraps fell on the
floor. I tidied my hair quickly in the small mirror in my bedroom and tried to appear casual when
I opened the door.

He'd never come into the cabin before. He took some time to look around. I let him
wander and started coffee, just to have something to do besides stare at him. The fire in the stove
was low, it didn't take much but a couple pieces of wood to get it up enough to cook the coffee.
He offered to help but I brushed off his offer, I needed to do something with my hands.

My clearest memory of him is the way he looked that day. He was wearing a blue shirt
that set off his eyes and tan prettily. His hair seemed more red, but as usual, it was wild on his
head. If I hadn't grabbed the coffeepot I'd have reached for his hair. I always wanted to touch it,
pat it, pull my fingers through it.

He walked around the room, then stopped in front of the window. "I like your view." He
smacked his lips like he was disappointed. "I tried to get this cabin. This land."

I watched him taking in the view, until he turned his head quickly, the sunlight flashing
off his hair. His eyes caught mine.

"Oh, really?" I said, just to keep him talking. I didn't care what he was saying. My hands
moved to the stove so I could open it and stir the wood about, reaching to the box for another
small piece to shove in.

"Un huh," he said, "but our landlady, Mrs. Hope, said she'd rather rent it out and have
some income than sell it and probably waste the money. The land our house is on was hers, too,
but she wasn't making anything on it. She was glad to get rid of it."

He came to the shelf Zack had put up for me. I'd put my shells on it, and other doo-dads,
just stuff I'd found. Now they took on a glow as he admired and fingered the trinkets with his
easy hands. He had his back to me when he said, "How's the quilt coming along?" He whirled
around to pull some sheets of paper out of his back pocket.

The drawings. In the excitement I'd forgotten them.

"Oh, David. Let me see!" I took the papers to the window and looked at each one,
comparing them to the original, the Rock. They all seemed perfect to me. Then I remembered the
scraps in my bag. Were any of them large enough? The reddish-brown from my good dress
maybe? Leaving the papers on the windowsill and without even thinking of David, I went to my
bedroom closet. I had the dress on the bed when David's hand touched me on the shoulder. "I
guess you like them? Do I get a thank you?"

I whirled around and straightened up quickly. I was face to face with him.

"What? I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He didn't step back.

His breath was warm on my face. His hand reached up to my hair, smoothed down to
stroke my face.

My hands went to his hair. I was rigid, but my whole body felt alive, pushing towards
him. In a last second questioning of myself I pulled back, but he looked at me and pulled me to
him, easy.

"Relax," he whispered, "I won't hurt you." His kiss was like velvet, soft and warm, but
strong, too. I had the strangest feeling, like I was melting into him. He unbuttoned my dress
while I kissed his face. I felt the stubble of whiskers on my lips. I opened his shirt while his
hands moved over my body.

By the time we were down to nothing I didn't want to stop him, or myself. He kept
whispering, "So beautiful, so beautiful," as we lay together on my small bed, the brown dress
among the heap of clothing on the floor.

I don't know how it was for you, Annie, your first time.
I'd heard that a virgin is
supposed to feel pain, but I didn't feel any. Only joy, and, afterwards, contented and wrung out.
No remorse. That David loved me as completely as I loved him, I never had a doubt.

As we lay easy against each other I was at total peace but I felt a tremor startle him.
"Oh, Sophie, dear, I hope you don't think when I said to thank me that I meant--"

"Well, no, but now that you mention it..." I shoved him over the side of the bed and he
landed on the floor with a heavy thump.

"Sophie!" he yelled in a hurt tone as I laughed. His dignity and sense of humor
sometimes clashed. When I'd do something a little rough or laugh at him when he wanted to be
serious, his nose would get out of joint. A little kiss always smoothed him down. Sometimes I'd
catch a wary look in his eyes when he got serious and, he'd warn me, "Now, So? Don't get
mischievous." It was more fun to keep him just a little off-guard because, in too many things, he
had the drop on me.

That David loved me but that he also loved his wife was a fact I had to accept. It was
never my intention to try to take him away from her. My desire was to have part of him for
myself. We made each other happy, that was all I cared for.

We loved together many times that summer. Often the cabin was our place, but once, on
a gray, foggy day he made love to me behind a barrier of driftwood. The open air with the cloak
and damp of the day only added to my desire for him.

At home I tried to be as I'd always been.

My brothers were suspicious. I'd been seen walking on the beach with David. I was
happy and cheerful around the house, which was always clean. The flowerbed was bright and the
vegetable garden came up well. This efficiency bothered Zack.

I was setting the table one evening and singing, when he demanded, "Sophie, what's the
matter with you?"

"Why, Zack," I answered innocently, "nothing's the matter with me. Don't you like my
singing?"

"Stop acting so damn prissy. It ain't normal. Not for you it ain't."

Instantly I was on my guard. "What's so un-normal about singing?"

"It ain't the singing. It's the way you do it. Flouncing around here. Cleaning up all the
time."

Willie got into it then. "Oh, leave her alone, Zack. She's just happy. Nothin' wrong with
that."

"I'm not so sure. What's she got to be so happy about? Living here on this lonely beach
doing our washing and cleaning? Is that enough to make a woman sing? I don't remember our
mother singing and working."

Neither Willie nor I answered him. I was hoping the whole thing would blow over
before Zack thought anymore. Then, slyly, he slipped it in, "You act like a girl in love."

I couldn't deny it, but I wasn't about to admit it either. I tried to divert him. "Sure, Zack,
I'm in love. With cooking your stupid meals and washing your stinking clothes. And I just love
the thanks I get. Do you ever appreciate it? No, all you do is complain about the lousy five bucks
a week I keep."

It worked. At the mention of the five dollars he jumped up, shouting, "It's more than five
bucks, missy. You take a 'wage' of two bucks a week, then get a buck-fifty apiece from us each
week and then grab another three bucks apiece for us. For savings, supposedly. How do we know
what you're doing with it?"

"Wait a minute, Zack!" Willie decided to defend me. "That's for our own good."

"I don't like it," Zack said, "It's my money and I never see it." While they argued I got
the box with the bags from my bedroom. I'd started out with envelopes but that hadn't worked for
very long as the cash started to pile up. So I made up three different bags for the money. I loved
the feel and the sound of the money rustling around in the bags when I pulled the box from under
my bed.

Willie's voice was loud. "You know we'd just blow it if she didn't keep it for us." I came
back and handed them their bags. Zack dumped his on the table and counted it. Ninety-six
dollars. Not a great sum nowadays but a comfortable amount for then.

Willie handed me back his bag. He didn't even open it. "I want you to still keep it for
me, Sophie. If you don't, I'll just waste it. I'll be going home in a month and if Nettie will have
me, I want to marry her."

I knew Nettie, a girl who went to school with Willie, and I hoped, for his sake, that she
would marry him. She came from a farm nearby where we bought pigs every spring to fatten and
slaughter for winter.

She was prettier than any other girl around and was in a couple plays in school. I
remembered especially once when we were over there and she took me into the house to show
me the quilt she was working on. She had told me she'd like to join up with some people in
Portland she knew about who put on real plays.

I also knew that she did like Willie, better'n he knew, but I wondered about her, could
she be a good wife to him? Recalling that day at her place I didn't remember any big statements
from her about how she was looking forward to settling down and cooking and cleaning for
someone for the rest of her life. She made an impression on me because I'd had those thoughts,
but she was the first other girl I knew who actually talked about doing something else. I couldn't
see how she would really do what she talked about so I figured it wasn't something I needed to
bring Willie's attention to. She was a good girl and I supposed she'd get over that stuff if she
married Willie. So I kept my mouth shut and my doubts to myself.

"Sure, Willie," I agreed, "she'll like you even better for having money to get started." I
knew that was true. She'd also said she didn't want to be a poor farmer's wife, which could mean
that she was willing to be a well-off farmer's wife. I truly didn't know.

Zack shoved the money in his pocket and threw the bag down on the floor, then he
picked it back up. "I been needing something to put my shoe stuff in. I'll just take this after
all."

Things were all calmed down and we were eating dinner and Zack was planning the
good time he'd have with his money, the girls he'd dance and romance, when he
remembered.

"Who could the guy be?"

"What guy?" Willie said. If he'd had any sense he'd have kept quiet, but he was too busy
eating meatloaf and boiled taters to be thinking.

"The guy Sophie's goofy over." He put his fork down and looked at me. "You haven't
been to a dance in...since Spring sometime." He nodded his head as he calculated time, moving
his lips as he brought his focus on me. I felt a coldness along my spine and, touching the bowl of
potatoes said to Willie, "Oh, I got a little bit of butter made today." He didn't even hear me. Zack
had his attention.

"Aw, that don't mean nothin' Zack, Sophie's just too nice a girl for those
roughnecks."