“Well,” she said, “I got my hands full.”
He laughed. “So you have! Let me take something. A Bible!”
“I stole it. And don’t go looking at my tablet.”
“Sorry. Ezekiel.” He laughed. “You are always surprising.”
“I stole your sweater. Was that a surprise?”
“Not really. But I was glad you wanted it.”
“Why?”
He said, “Well, you probably know why.”
She felt her face warm. And the fish kept struggling, jumping against her leg. She said, “Damn catfish. Seems like you can never quite kill ’em dead. I’m going to just put it here in the weeds for a minute.” And there it was, flopping in the dust. She wiped her hand on her skirt. “I can take that chain now, whatever it is.”
He said, “Excellent. I’m — grateful. You should put it on. It’s a little difficult to fasten. My mother always asked my father to do it for her.”
Lila said, “Is that a fact,” and handed it back to him.
He studied her for a moment, and then he said, “You’ll have to do something with your hair. If you could lift it up.” So she did, and he stepped behind her, and she felt the touch of his fingers at her neck, trembling, and the small weight of the locket falling into place. Then they stood there together in the road, in the chirping, rustling silence and the sound of the river.
He said, “So. Are we getting married, or not?”
And she said, “If you want to, it’s all right with me, I suppose. But I can’t see how it’s going to work.”
He nodded. “There could be problems. I’ve thought about that. Quite a lot.”
“What if it turns out I’m crazy? What if I got the law after me? All you know about me is what anybody can tell by looking. And nobody else ever wanted to marry me.”
He shrugged. “I guess you don’t know me very well, either.”
“It ain’t the same. Somebody like me might marry somebody like you just because you got a good house and winter’s coming. Just because she’s tired of the damn loneliness. Somebody like you got no reason at all to marry somebody like me.”
He shrugged. “I was getting along with the damn loneliness well enough. I expected to continue with it the rest of my life. Then I saw you that morning. I saw your face.”
“Don’t talk like that. I know about my face.”
“I suspect you don’t. You don’t know how I see it. No matter. A person like you might not want the kind of life she would have with me. People around. It’s not a very private life, compared to what you’re used to. You’re sort of expected to be agreeable.”
“I can’t do that.”
He nodded. “They’re not going to fire me, whatever happens. I’ll have my good house, till they carry me out of it.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that. I meant, if you’re not like most pastors’ wives, it won’t matter. I’ve been here my whole life. My father and then me. I won’t be here so much longer. No one will want to trouble me. Or you.” He said, “You have to understand, I have given this a great deal of thought. What an old country preacher might have to give to a young woman like you. Not the things a man her age could give her, a worldlier man. So I would be grateful for anything I could give you. Maybe comfort, or peace, or safety. For a while, at least. I am old.”
She said, “You’re a pretty fine-looking man, old or not.”
He laughed. “Well, thank you! Believe me, I would never have spoken to you this way if I didn’t think my health was reasonably sound. So far as I can tell.”
“You wouldn’ta spoke to me like this if I hadn’t mentioned it all in the first place.”
“That’s true. I’d have thought it would be foolish of me to imagine such a thing. Old as I am.”
She thought, I could tell him I don’t want to be no preacher’s wife. It’s only the truth. I don’t want to live in some town where people know about me and think I’m like an orphan left on the church steps, waiting for somebody to show some kindness, so they taken me in. I don’t want to marry some silvery old man everybody thinks is God. I got St. Louis behind me, and tansy tea, and pretending I’m pretty. Wearing high-heel shoes. Wasn’t no good at that life, but I did try. I got shame like a habit, the only thing I feel except when I’m alone.
She said, “I don’t think we better do this.”
He nodded. His face reddened and he had to steady his voice. “I hope we will be able to talk from time to time. I always enjoy our conversations.”
“I can’t marry you. I can’t even stand up in front of them people and get baptized. I hate it when they’re looking at me.”
He glanced up, preacherly. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that. I should have realized. I haven’t always performed baptisms in the church. If there are special circumstances— All I would need is a basin of some sort. I could take water from the river.”
“I can’t affirm nothing.”
“Then
