Love and Lament

by John M. Thompson

  She fell asleep and dreamed she was big with child, a child that was not moving within her, but growing and growing. Somewhere far beyond the window of her room where she slept between her sisters, the Devil was looking for her. But he was so far far away and she so deeply tucked in the warmth of her sisters that he could not see her.

  In the morning the sun tipped its golden light through the sheer curtains, and she opened her eyes and heard the soft breathing of her husband, asleep beside her and already familiar. The air was pungent with the smell of damp cedar and the fertile backwater of the sound. She tried to remember her dream, but she could only chase it into the shadows of her mind. The sunlight painted a pattern across the hills and valleys of the bedspread, a pattern as mutable and unpredictable as the beginning of her new life. She smiled. She knew that marriage was not the end of sorrow, only a patch of sun through the window.

  Dear Lord, she prayed, help my father with his suffering, which must still be a burden to him … She stopped. Lord, I will not ask you for any more favors, you have done so much already. You have brought Leon home safely, and that is enough. But only this: Please forgive me, and help guide me along the right path. And if it be your will to take me, please let me go unafraid. Amen.

  Acknowledgments

  I am indebted to Paul Kozlowski, Judith Gurewich, Sulay Hernandez, Sarah Reidy, Yvonne E. Cárdenas, Terrie Akers, Marjorie DeWitt, and the rest of the Other Press staff. Their unfailing support and guidance, their consummate professionalism, and their friendship have enriched my life.

  For her tireless reading and her know-how, thanks to my agent, Ellen Levine.

  I thank my parents, brother, and sisters for sharing stories over the years that have worked their way into my fiction. And I am much obliged to my cousins Nancy Ann and Gaines Hunter, keepers of the old place, for wonderful stories and hospitality.

  Among the many friends who continue to encourage me, I offer special thanks to Steve Keach, Ted Corcoran, Leonard Phillips, Katie Henderson Adams, and Joy and Burkhard Spiekerman.

  For their careful and insightful reading, thanks to Alanna Ramirez, Mary Rice, and Margo Browning. And to Margo: thanks for the title and for decades of inspiration and love.

  I drew background material from the following books: Wade Hadley, Doris Goerch Horton, and Nell Craig Strowd, Chatham County 1771–1971 (1971); Rachel Osborn and Ruth Selden-Sturgill, The Architectural Heritage of Chatham County, North Carolina (1991); Fred J. Vatter, Tales Beyond Fried Rabbit: Chatham’s Historical Heritage (2009); and Arthur Lloyd Fletcher, History of the 113th Field Artillery 30th Division (1920).