"I thought the same thing myself, until I helped deliver this one. Don't you tell a soul, please, for it would hurt Sarah if others knew--but this last baby didn't have any genitals."
She paled. "Oh . . . I'm so sorry to have been so tactless. I did hear a few rumors, but I try never to listen to them. Of course nature sometimes creates oddities. Since all your father's children are so beautiful, I naturally presumed your mother would have another perfect child."
"Miss Deale, it's a wonder you haven't heard about me. Sarah is not my mother. My father has been married twice. I am his first wife's child."
"I know," she whispered in a low voice. "I've heard about your father's first wife, and how lovely she was, and how young when she died." She blushed and looked uncomfortable, then began to pick invisible lint from her expensive knit suit. "I presumed you love your stepmother very much, and like to pretend she is your mother."
"Used to like doing that." I smiled. "I've got to run along now, or else Logan will be walking another girl home. Thank you, Miss Deale, for being a good friend; for growing with us in school; for making Tom and me feel good about ourselves. Why, Tom and I said just this morning, school would sure be a bore without our wonderful Miss Deale."
Chuckling and tearfully smiling, she touched my hand and excused me with: "You're prettier each time I see you. Heaven--but set your goals now. Don't give them up just to become another girl who rushes into marriage too soon."
"Don't you worry that I'll not head for my goals!" I sang out, backing toward the door. "It'll be a rare fine day when I'm thirty before I go into some man's kitchen to bake his biscuits and wash his dirty clothes--and have his babies once a year!" And out of the classroom I ran, hurrying to where I thought Logan would be waiting.
This particular day in the valley was sunny, mild, with fat white clouds heading for London, Paris, and Rome as I ran to where six or seven boys clustered in a tight gang, yelling.
"Yer a sissy city boy!" one bully called Randy Mark yelled at a filthy, dirty boy who I gasped to see was Logan! Oh, they'd finally gotten him--and he'd said they never would. There he was on the ground, wrestling with another boy his age. Already Logan's shirt sleeve was torn, his jaw red and puffy, and his hair fell over his forehead.
"Heaven Casteel is just another whore in t'makin like her sister--even if she won't let us, she lets you!"
"She does not!" roared Logan, red-faced and so angry he seemed to give off smoke even as he managed to snatch a good leg lock on Randy before he twisted that leg ruthlessly. "You take back everything nasty you said about Heaven! She's the most honorable, decent girl I've met in my whole life!"
"Cause ya don't know rotten apples from good!" screamed another boy.
Who had started this, and what had been said? I glanced around to see one of the girls in my class who always laughed at my shabby clothes, and she was grinning slyly. I ran to where Tom crouched, ready to jump into the fight. "Tom," I cried, "why don't you help Logan?"
"I would if it wouldn't convince all the others he doesn't know how to fight. Heavenly, Logan's gotta do this himself, or he'll never live it down that I had to help."
"But hill boys don't fight fair, you know that!" "Don't matter. He's gotta do it their way, or forever be picked on."
Fanny was jumping up and down, terribly excited, as if Logan were fighting for her honor, not mine. Keith pulled Our Jane over to the swings and began to push her back and forth so she wouldn't cry to see one of her friends hurt. How sensitive Keith was, I had time to think before I looked back at the pair on the ground.
It was awful to stand there and watch those boys take on Logan one after the other, not giving him time to catch his breath before a new boy jumped into the dirt ring they'd drawn and began throwing blows. By this time Logan was bloody, his face bruised and swollen, and his left eye was all but closed. I clutched at Tom, almost crying. "Tom, you have to help him now!"
"No . . hang on . . . he's doing fine."
How could he say that when Logan looked ten times worse than any of the others? "They're killing him, and you say he's doing fine!"
"They're not gonna kill him, silly. They're just testin t'see if he's got what it takes."
"WHAT DOES IT TAKE?" I yelled, ready to pitch in myself and help, but Tom caught and held me.
"Don't you dare shame him by helpin," he whispered urgently. "As long as he keeps slingin blows an fightin back, they'll respect him. Once you or I help, it's all over for him."
As I stood there and watched, cringing every time Logan was hit, and yelling savagely every time he delivered a blow, he quickly glanced my way, dodged the next blow, and delivered a swift uppercut. I screamed encouragement, feeling as vicious as any girl there.
Now Logan was on top, and the boy underneath was screaming. "Now apologize . . . take back what you said about my girl!" ordered Logan.
"Yer girl's a Casteel . . . ain't none of em no good!"
"Take it back, what you said, or I'll break your arm." Logan gave that arm a vicious twist. The boy beneath him yelled for mercy. "I take it back."
"Apologize to her. While she's here and can hear."
"Ya ain't like yer sister Fanny!" screamed a boy about to have his arm broken. "But she's sure gonna be one damned whore, t'whole town knows it!"
Fanny ran to give him several hard kicks while all the others laughed. Only then did Logan release the boy's arm, turning him over before he slammed his fist into the boy's jaw. Instantly everyone stopped yelling and stared down at the unconscious face as Logan stood up, brushed off his clothes, and glared at everyone there but Tom and me.
Funny how they all disappeared, leaving me, Tom, and Fanny standing together as Keith and Our Jane continued to use the yard swings and paid no attention to the fight. Tom ran to pound Logan on the back. "Boy, buddy, you were great, really great! You threw that right hook just perfect. Timed your leg twist just right. . . couldn't have done it better myself."