Goshen Road. Bonnie Proudfoot

afternoons soon after their wedding, the idea came to Lux that he could buy the forty-acre piece of land at the head of the Goshen Road on a land contract from Bertram, and as soon as Dakota was old enough to ride, he and Dessie could spend their spare time on horseback, side by side, exploring the lay of the land and planning out a future homestead. Though he hadn’t discussed it yet with Bertram, he mentioned it to Dessie. All she said was “That’s fine, Lux,” with a nod and a wistful smile.

      SO MUCH for those plans, Lux thought. So much for trail riding beside the prettiest girl on the prettiest horse, so much for warm summer nights. Autumn sneaked up on him. He had a sweet little baby daughter, another on the way any time now. He couldn’t ride both of the horses. Yet right away, the trade with Alan Ray began to needle him. Lux thought Dessie would’ve been tickled to have the garden tiller and to get him a good reliable hunting rifle, and happy that their money would stretch a bit further. But lately Dessie never seemed too happy about anything, especially this last month as she got closer to her due date, and she hadn’t even looked at the tiller or at the rifle. All she said was “That’s fine, Lux,” with the same reassuring nod. At least he’d held on to Dakota, Lux thought. The colt needed a firm hand and a training routine. By rigging a makeshift scabbard to his saddle, Lux could take the Remington along as he rode through the woods on old logging roads to the highlands above the farm, crisscrossing the overgrown fields at the head of the Goshen Road, scaring up grouse and turkey, looking for deer sign, and planning for gun-hunting season later in the fall.

      IN THEIR trailer Dessie eased her pregnant body into the rocker, set her feet up on the milk crate they used for a coffee table, and took a few minutes to rest up before starting to put supper on. She placed her hands on her swollen belly, trying to figure out the position of the baby she was carrying. Little body parts, maybe elbows or feet, punched and kicked at her ribs. Each day, her skin felt more stretched and tight, the time closing in.

      She hadn’t wanted to think about this, but she couldn’t keep the memory from flooding back, the strange, glaring white walls of the Fairchance General delivery room, a room of stainless-steel counter tops like large shiny mirrors that she couldn’t quite see herself in, surgical implements she couldn’t figure out, arrayed like silverware next to the metal sink, and male doctors and orderlies that set Lux off into a jealous rant whenever he drove her to the clinic for a checkup. Did that man touch you? Did you let him look at you? She did not know how to talk to Lux at times like that. She knew that she did not trust them all that much herself, strangers all of them, using words that made no sense, epidural, Fallopian tubes, forceps, always in a rush. She remembered the astringent smell of the delivery room, how the double glare of an adjustable spotlight had shone in a young doctor’s glasses; she couldn’t see his eyes or his mouth under the mask.