14 comments/ 37897 views/ 8 favorites The Sharecropper's Widow By: CAP811 With my life drawing to a close, I want to make a confession. A long time ago I did something I'm not proud of. Maybe it did keep a family together. But as I look back, it was still wrong. When World War II ended I was in good shape. I'd saved some money, and had a wife and job to come home to. The Army Air Force kept me in Germany until 1946, but then I was a free man. I went back to work for my Uncle Plez. He owned 2500 acres of Oklahoma prairie, much of it good bottomland. As foreman, my job was to oversee our crops: winter wheat, cotton, and peanuts. And the people who actually did the work, the sharecroppers. We had a dozen sharecropper families. They planted and harvested, worked like slaves, in return for a house, garden space, and a half share of their crops' sales value. The 'croppers had to buy everything they needed to grow their crop from Uncle Plez, usually on credit. If the crop failed or commodity prices were low, then they would end up in debt to him. Some had owed him money for years, and were legally bound to the land until the debt was cleared. He was neither the best nor the worst of landowners, just a man of the times. I'd married Gloria in 1943. She and our boy Tommy, who was three, were waiting for me when I arrived home on the Tulsa Limited. It was the first time I ever saw the kid, and I thought with relief, yes, he's me all over again. For a while I wore Gloria out in the bedroom, making up for lost time, never missing a night. Twice on Saturdays. But things cooled as time went by. After Gloria had Tommy she gained some weight, which she never lost. To make matters worse, she was raised a city girl, and could not get used to her man coming home with good honest dirt on his pants and under his fingernails. I really got tired of hearing, "No, not until you take a bath." The day it all began was warm for mid-November. The hackberries and oaks along the creeks were in rich autumn color, a nice contrast to the emerald green fields of winter wheat that had been planted the month before. With sharecroppers it's always something. They catch pneumonia, or sometimes just vanish into the night, no forwarding address. With the Jenkins family it was a hard-drinking husband who was now dead. Joe Jenkins had gotten into a fight outside a local tavern and was smashed in the back of the head with a Schlitz beer bottle. He fell and hit his temple on the grille of a 1942 DeSoto, which pretty much finished him off. He lay in a coma for a week and then passed away. An ignominious yet somehow fitting end to the man's life. Today I had the task of throwing his widow and her children off the land. I pulled my jeep into their front yard, scattering chickens, mostly Rhode Island Reds and a few bantams. The older boy Earl, six years old, was crouched on the ground shooting marbles. "Mornin', Earl," I said, "your Mama home?" "Reckon so," he replied, glancing up. "Don't know where else she'd be." Alma Jenkins stood in the doorway of the clapboard house, which had once been painted white. "Mornin', Mr. Tillman," she smiled. "Good mornin', Alma," I answered. She was trying to be friendly and casual, and not doing a good job of it. Anxiety was written on her face. Overseers don't make social calls on the 'croppers, so something was up, probably not good. I entered the house, which had three rooms: a living room, a kitchen beyond that, and off to the right a single bedroom. In that room was Alma's bed and a crib for her other boy Donald, who was eighteen months old. Earl slept on a cot in the living room. "Would you like some coffee?" Alma asked in a nervous voice. Sure, I thought. Give me some coffee and maybe I'll go away. "No thanks." "Have a seat over in that chair, Mr. Tillman," she said, still tense. I sat in an old stuffed chair, my back to the window. Alma sat in an equally worn sofa facing a cast iron stove that provided the only heat for the house. Alma was about 25, I knew, of good pioneer stock. Her wavy hair was the color of sand, parted in the middle. She had a ruddy face from hours spent in the sun and wind. Like most countrywomen, she had muscular arms and legs. Being a housewife in those days meant hard work; there were no buttons in the kitchen to push. But with her full bosom and wide hips, you never forgot she was a woman. I got to the point. "I was wondering, Alma, if you had any kinfolk you and these boys could go live with." The woman slumped, heaving a deep sigh. "So you're putting us off the land?" "Yes Ma'm, I'm afraid so. We've got the legal right if the head of the household dies." "Look," she said, desperation in her voice, "there ain't much work to do around here for the next few months. Couldn't we stay through the winter?" "I'm sorry, Alma, but no. Uncle Plez is already looking for another family to move in here. They need to settle in and start getting ready for next year's crops." Alma got up and stared past me through the window, tears in her eyes. "All of mine 'n Joe's folks went out to California back when we had those dry years and the crops failed. We don't have nobody that could take us. I asked around at the funeral. Nobody a'tall." She went on, "We don't own nothin' except some furniture 'n tools. But at least it's a home. Earl 'n Donnie was born here. I like it here, especially in the fall 'n spring. It's so peaceful, 'n a farm's a good place to raise boys. They can roam here, and not get in trouble." "Could you make it through the winter?" I asked, feeling a twinge of pity for the first time. "Yes!" Alma said emphatically. "I canned lots o' tomatoes 'n beans last summer. And the root cellar is full of potatoes. Plus we got that hog out back. The Walkers said they'd help slaughter it soon as the weather turns cold." "You got any money for coal oil, lard, corn meal? Winter clothes for these young'uns?" She shook her head. "No, I spent our last dime on Joe's funeral, not that we had much before." She added bitterly, "Your Uncle Plez makes sure of that." Alma sat back down on the sofa. Soon little Donnie, wearing only shorts and a flannel undershirt, crawled over to her. He rose up, clutching the hem of her dress, saying, "Hungry, Mama, hungry!" "Not now, sugar, Mama's busy." But the tot persisted. "Hungry, Mama!" he pleaded, speaking the only two words he knew. Alma turned to me. "I'm sorry, but he won't quit 'til I nurse him. Do you mind?" I shrugged. She took the little boy into her lap and began to unbutton the feedsack dress that she was wearing. She turned partly away from me, toward the bedroom. In a few seconds the child grew quiet and began to suckle his mother's breast. Alma looked over her right shoulder to me. "I even thought maybe I could put out the peanut crop next summer myself. I ain't afraid o' hard work. And some of the other 'cropper families talked like they could help." After a pause she continued, "I really want to stay here and keep my family together; that's all I'm askin'. My little boys are all I've got now. They need their mother. Please, Mr. Tillman, please?" I had turned away too, looking at the stove. "If you don't have any money, Alma, then you couldn't even buy seed next spring. There's no way you could put out a crop." I glanced back to her and blinked in surprise. The woman had turned toward me, her dress unbuttoned to the waist. She had pulled it off her shoulders to reveal both breasts. They were large and turgid, pure cream in color where no sun had fallen on them. In the center of her right breast was a great dark areola, jutting out from which was a nipple almost an inch long. At the moment, mother's milk was oozing from it, trailing down the fullness of her breast and onto her stomach. Little Donnie contentedly suckled the other breast. Alma did not try to look seductive. Blushing intensely, eyes damp with tears, she just gazed at me fiercely, saying with her eyes, this is what I have to offer you. It is all I have. I watched her suckle the child for almost a full minute, glancing from her ripe breast to her face, then back to her breast. She returned my look, never wavering. A ray of pale sunlight fell upon the woman. Its radiance gave her skin and hair a warm glow. The house was dead silent except for the ticking of an oak wood mantel clock, the Jenkins' only possession of any value. To this day the ticking of such a clock brings to mind the impassioned look Alma gave me that moment so long ago. And I am filled with many strong emotions at the memory. Finally I said, "Well, let me think it over. Maybe I'll come by Monday morning and we can talk about it some more." "Best to come after noon," she said evenly. "Earl will be in school, 'n Donnie takes a long nap then." ******* Monday was overcast, a wind keening around the corners of the Jenkins house when I pulled up. I was wearing a fedora and my leather bombardier's jacket. I had been a side gunner on a B-24 bomber, so had come by the jacket honestly. Alma answered my knock at once. Today she had combed her hair carefully, and was wearing a flower print dress. It was not her best dress, not the one she wore to church, but one that she might wear to a movie. "Brought some things I thought y'all could use," I said. From the back of the jeep I began to unload a large can of kerosene, two ten-pound bags of corn meal, and a country ham. Without a word Alma helped me carry the goods to the kitchen and put them away. As promised, Donnie was sound asleep in his crib. The radio was playing softly. In between commercials for Clabber Girl and Brylcreem could be heard the music of Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys; then, an Eddy Arnold love song. "Do you want to see the bedroom?" she asked. I arched a questioning eyebrow, but she said with a faint smile, "It's okay, he sleeps like a baby." I sat in a rocking chair in the bedroom; Alma stood before me as we eyed each other nervously. Both of us had the same thought: can we do it? Should we? After this moment, there would be no turning back. Her face blushing crimson, Alma took a deep breath, reached back, and unzipped the dress. She let it fall from her arms; then, slid it over her hips and stepped out of it. Nude from the waist up, she was wearing large peach-colored panties. Underneath was a garter belt that held her tan hose. Still blushing intensely, she held her hands over her swollen breasts. "I don't wear a brassiere much around the house," she said in a quiet voice. "Seems like ever time I turn around Donnie wants to nurse." "You're a fine-looking woman, Alma," I said with a smile. She took a deep breath, then pulled the panties down and stepped out of them, revealing a thick russet-brown bush that went part way to her navel. I admired her naked body for a moment, and then spoke. "Go sit on the edge of the bed." She did so and I approached her, unzipping my work pants and pulling out my semi-hard cock. I held it in front of her. Soon a look of understanding crossed her face. "Lord," she whispered, "I ain't never done that! Not even to Joe. Please don't make me do it, Mr. Tillman." I smiled. "The German whores around the Frankfurt air base didn't seem to mind." But at once I regretted saying it. Alma winced as if I had struck her with my hand instead of cruel words. She glanced up at me, her look one of hurt and anger, yet mixed with awareness that the comparison had not been entirely unfair. Taking another deep breath, she reached out and took the cock into her hand, caressing it. I stepped closer; she began to kiss it. "I never thought I'd be doin' this," she murmured. Mustering her willpower, Alma gave a deep sigh and opened her lips enough to let the cock slide into her mouth. She took it to the back and then withdrew, wiping her lips with her tongue. Once again she drew the cock into her mouth and began to glide back and forth on it. I had thought to tell her how to satisfy a man this way, but decided to see what Alma would do on her own. To my surprise she settled into a slow pleasing rhythm, much more enjoyable than the German whores, who just wanted to get it over with. I closed my eyes and caressed her shoulders, fully savoring the woman's mouth. Occasionally, without prompting, she would withdraw and cover my manhood with kisses before once again engulfing me. Having overcome her great reluctance to suck a cock, I realized that Alma was now intent on giving me complete satisfaction. In those days, that was what a woman did when it came to sex. She pleased a man. That was the way it was. The wind keened; the mantel clock ticked faintly. A warm mouth sucked and licked my hard cock, occasionally pausing to hold it within her delightful wetness. After a few moments I could feel my semen rise. Sensing this, Alma paused, giving me one more pleading glance, but I just nodded my head. She again took the cock to the back of her mouth and gamely held on as I felt my semen surge through the cock and into her waiting mouth. She took all my come, emitting a low "uh ... uh!" Her eyes closed, she held the cock until I was spent. Then Alma withdrew, a mow of disgust on her face. She rose and hurried to the kitchen, where I could hear her spitting into the sink, followed by the sound of her running water from the pump next to the sink. Alma returned to the bedroom shaking her head. "That's the awfullest tastin' stuff I ever had in my mouth. Do you really enjoy that?" "Uh huh. I always have." Still glowering, she said, "Does Mrs. Tillman do it?" "None of your business. Now, take off your garter belt." One of the great erotic pleasures, now seldom seen, is watching a woman unfasten her garter belt from her hose. Alma bent and swiveled her body, her ripe breasts free and swaying, as she released the hooks at the back and front. She then rotated the garter belt so that the snap was in front of her, finally undoing it and tossing it aside. "The hose too?" she asked. "No, they're fine." I had stripped down to my boxers when she was in the kitchen. Now I embraced her, relishing the silky warmth of Alma's naked body. We kissed awkwardly at first, then more easily. "Mm," she smiled, "you kiss pretty good. Did them German whores teach you to kiss like this?" "No, my Mama did." Alma giggled, breaking the tension. Soon we were under the bed covers. I pulled her to me as she said, "Easy, easy, my breasts are real tender." I gently caressed them, once again offering Alma soft kisses. She was more than ready when I mounted her. Having climaxed once already, I was just hard enough to penetrate the woman. Alma's sheath was warm and surprisingly wet, a snug fit for my cock. I moved the cock slowly into and out of her in the time-honored fashion. The sensation of being inside her soon brought me to full stiffness again. I took my time, pausing now and then to withdraw and to caress her. Alma played the dutiful receptacle for my passion, freely submitting her body for my pleasure. Her eyes half-closed, at first I could not tell if she were enjoying my cock, or perhaps thinking instead of how she would cook the country ham I had brought. But as the moments went by, her body became warmer, her breathing more rapid. Alma did not have an orgasm, but a warm smile came to her face when she realized that I would do so, this time filling her pussy with my come. I was surprised by how intense was the sensation; by my reluctance to see it end. But it always ends, leaving the man drained but satisfied. Alma was by now damp with perspiration. Part of my own satisfaction came from the fact that she had taken some pleasure too. She had enjoyed the feel of her legs wrapped around a man's torso. Then we lay gently kissing again. After a moment Alma rose up on one elbow, saying, "How come you're kissin' me now?" "Don't you like it?" "Of course. But you already got what you wanted." "I know. But I just like to kiss a woman, that's all." She smiled and ran her hand over my hair as I kissed her breasts. Soon little Donnie began to awaken, fussing quietly. Alma rose up and looked over to him. "If I don't give him the tit, he'll just start cryin'. Do you mind?" "No, in fact, bring him over here." Alma rose and brought the child to our bed, settling under the covers as Donnie began to eagerly suckle at his mother's left breast. Soon mother's milk began to seep from the other one. I watched in fascination. A look of comprehension passed over her face. "You can't be serious!" "Uh huh." I licked the milk from her breast, savoring the warm taste of it. I hadn't really meant to, but could not resist taking Alma's thick nipple and sucking it. Immediately there was a small flow of milk into my mouth. I suckled for a moment, at the same time gently squeezing her breast, before finally pulling away. Alma was shaking her head, a deep blush again on her cheeks. "I guess I have to let you do anything you want with me. Is that the way it is?" "Yes, Alma," I said with a slight grin, "that's the way it is." ******* The next day Uncle Plez and I sat in his office, drinking coffee and having a smoke. We talked about repairs needed on the farm. And a topic that farmers have discussed for thousands of years, the weather. "Oh, by the way," he said, "when is the widow Jenkins movin' out?" "Yeah, about that. I was thinkin' that maybe we ought to let them stay the winter. She says she doesn't have anywhere to go with those kids. She even wants to put out the peanut crop next year." "By herself? Does she have the money to buy fertilizer and seed?" "Uh huh," I lied, "I think she's got enough squirreled away for that. Says the other 'croppers will help with planting and harvesting. I wouldn't mind giving her a chance." "I see." Uncle Plez eyed me in silence for a while. And of course he knew, as surely as if he had stood outside the window and watched as I had my way with Alma Jenkins. But Uncle Plez was a businessman, not a moralist. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. If he fired me, he could get rid of the widow and take back that part of his property. But he would lose a good overseer. His second option was to bawl me out. To say, You're married, dammit; keep your pecker in your pants. But a man would never show up another man that way. Not in those days. If he said nothing he would probably lose the value of the Jenkins crops. But he would still have a good overseer. His decision was based purely on business; on the financial ledger. "Well," he said, snuffing out his cigar, "I'll let you do as you see fit." His role was to act as if he didn't know what I was up to. Mine was to act as if I didn't know that he knew. That winter I visited the widow Jenkins every week. I'd bring canned goods, sweet milk and buttermilk, apples and the like. Several times I pulled up with a rick of split oak for her kitchen stove. Providing clothes for the boys and good shoes for Earl was a bit tricky. But I suggested to Uncle Plez that the poor widow could use a line of credit at the local dry goods store, as an act of charity. He agreed to cover it. To him it was just another expenditure to keep the farm running smoothly. In return Alma gave the only thing she had to offer: her body. On each visit she began by kneeling before me and sucking my cock. She never really enjoyed it, just accepted that it was part of the arrangement. But she knew that it pleased me. She would take her time, giving me all the pleasure her mouth could offer. She would dutifully let me hold her head to the cock as I climaxed and filled her mouth with come. When I finished, she would release my come into a damp cloth, wiping her mouth with its edge. Like any young countrywoman, Alma had a healthy appetite for sex. Each time I mounted her and buried my cock in her pussy, I saw a gleam in her eyes that I never saw any other time. Only occasionally did she reach orgasm, but the pleasure she took in using her body to satisfy a man was genuine. The Sharecropper's Widow Often, after I had finished my orgasm and lay kissing her, she would whisper, "Do me again in a little while. I don't mind." To use her body for a man's pleasure was a natural part of a woman's life, a measure of her femininity. I in turn tried to be gentle and appreciative. It was all that a woman like Alma expected in a man. Many times her sexual fervor caused Alma's milk to let down, at which time she would offer me a breast to suckle. Taking her milk became a part of our ritual; yet another way she could please me with her body. At first reluctant, Alma soon came to accept suckling a grown man. She would shake her head, watching me in amusement. "You ought to have your head examined!" she laughed more than once. ******* One evening in early April, I came home to find that Gloria had cooked my favorite meal, chicken and dumplings, with peach cobbler for dessert. After little Tommy had gone to sleep, we read and listened to Lux Radio Theater for a while, then went to bed. To my surprise, Gloria did not change into her pajamas in the bathroom, but rather in the bedroom, in front of me. For once she was in no hurry. After removing her dress and slip, she slowly drew down her large white panties and stepped out of them. Then she turned around, offering me a long look at her wide cream-colored derriere as she tossed the panties into the clothes hamper. Now she faced me again and unsnapped her bra, letting it fall to reveal her full pendulous breasts. Again this was done casually, at a pace that gave me a thorough view of her charms, yet at the same time seemed to be no more than a woman disrobing for bed. As I gazed at my naked wife, I reflected how a woman's body is all curves. From the swell of her abdomen to the arc of her wide hips; from the smooth concavity of her waist to the great sweep of her breasts, she presents curvatures that speak directly to some innate part of a man's brain. The message goes at once from his brain to his cock. With the same deliberation, Gloria now slowly stepped into and drew up her pajama bottom, pausing for a second just before she pulled them over her dense black triangle of pubic hair. Still acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, she donned the pajama top. Humming softly, she slowly buttoned it from the bottom until her prominent cleavage was partly hidden from my admiring eyes. "Have you lost some weight?" I asked. "Uh huh. Not much, but I'm trying to get back down to 130 pounds." Her impromptu striptease had its effect. By the time she turned off the lights and slipped between the covers, my manhood was stiff and ready. I moved over to where Gloria lay, now sensing the faint aroma of Evening in Paris perfume. I gazed at my wife and caressed her raven curls. Gloria's full lips were parted, ready to be kissed. When I smiled, she returned the smile, telling me with her eyes that her body awaited. Soon our pajamas were off and lying on the floor. When our bodies melded together, I realized how long it had been since Gloria and I had held each other this passionately. Her kisses, raw and sensual tonight, quickly raised me to the heights of passion. I caressed and squeezed the woman's body, meeting no resistance as my hands roamed to the most intimate parts of her. Her breathing now more rapid, she finally murmured, "Any time you like." I mounted and entered my wife, she moving her hips to welcome my thrusts. Each thrust seemed to take me deeper into her; each was more demanding and forceful than the one before. After a few moments I paused, kissing her as my cock head rested between her pussy lips. Of course my wife had seduced me, and I had gladly submitted. She had begun by playing the siren, but Gloria was now feeling the passion as intensely as I. Our naked bodies entwined, I looked into her green eyes, now wide and luminous. Give yourself to me, her eyes said; I need you to satisfy me tonight. A look of pleasure swept over her as I eased my cock into her again, gliding smoothly to her very depths. She sighed as I held her body and filled her. Long moments passed as Gloria and I moved together in perfect rhythm. As in her undressing, for once we were in no hurry. In between deep thrusts I would again pause, my cock at her portal, covering her with kisses and savoring her own. Finally I was overwhelmed by the warmth of her pussy; with the musky fragrance of her body; by the taste of her kisses. My orgasm was long and draining, at once the pinnacle of pleasure, at once the bittersweet end of it. Gloria's body was now radiant with heat. She murmured in a guttural tone, "Don't stop! Not yet!" Her own orgasm soon followed, the woman giving in entirely to her carnal side. She arched her back and gyrated her hips, milking every bit of the pleasure my cock could give her. Finally she collapsed back on the bed, gasping for breath. For a long time we lay in semi-darkness. My cock still embedded in her, we exchanged soft kisses; tender caresses. The musky aromas now suffusing the room, as well as Gloria's deep breathing even now, told me that she was satisfied. Without looking I knew that a deep rosy blush, about which I used to tease her on our honeymoon, covered her chest. The light of a half moon shone through the window. Somewhere far away a barred owl called. The room was moonlight and shadows, light enough to see a contented smile on my wife's face. "Did you enjoy tonight?" she asked. "Are you kidding? Good meal, good wife in bed with me, and now this. What more could a man ask?" Giving me a smile that seemed to say, Yes, what more could a man want, she caressed my cheek. A thought crossed my mind. "You know, I didn't take a bath tonight." "That's all right. Maybe you don't have to every night. Just most nights, if you don't mind." My radar was now up. I waited for Gloria to say something. "Did you take some goods out to the widow Jenkins the other day?" she asked. "Uh huh." "I guess she's real grateful for all the help you've given her this winter, isn't she?" "I reckon." Once again I could sense the mental wheels turning. Like Uncle Plez, Gloria knew what I had done. She had heard nothing of my cheating, but rather used that most subtle of all human senses, woman's intuition. An earthy young widow, an overseer who controls her fate. She didn't have to be Einstein to figure it out. I slid off Gloria and lay beside her. She knows, I thought. So why hasn't she raised hell? The answer came. She had tolerated my infidelity because so far, I had been discreet. Uncle Plez had decided to put up with my tomcatting based on finances; the bottom line. But it was different with Gloria; to her, the most important thing was honor. She must be able to hold her head up when she walked down the street. To be certain that no one would grin and make a cutting remark after she had gone by. Sharing me with another woman for a while she could endure. Losing face in the community she could not. As if to make sure I understood, Gloria leaned over, kissed my cheek, and said in a casual voice, "You know what I like about being married to you?" "What's that?" "That my husband is well respected, and everyone looks up to him. A woman needs that. I don't know if I could stand it if I was married to a man who shamed me." I said nothing, thinking only, yes wife, your message is clear. On that night, I was brought into Gloria's fold again. As only a woman can, she had reminded me of my vows to her, and the strength of the bonds that held us together. Yet as I lay there, I sensed that she had been surprised by the intense passion that we had shared tonight. Gloria had affirmed to me the pleasures she could offer a man. But in doing so she had perhaps realized how much pleasure she herself could take. I sensed that tomorrow night and for a long time to come, Gloria would, so to speak, serve her husband chicken and dumplings. The asking price was my fidelity; the reward would be to satisfy all my appetites. The next day I was making my rounds of the sharecroppers. I would continue to help the widow, but would no longer take my pleasure with her. What happened with Gloria last night had created a pact between my wife and me, unspoken but no less real for it. It was a bright spring day, with oaks leafing out, the redbuds in full bloom. Near the Jenkins place I saw approaching on foot Alma, her kids, and a man who looked to be about Alma's age. "Well, where y'all off to?" I asked as I slowed and stopped the jeep. "We're goin' morel huntin' down along the creek," Earl said. "So, you like those mushrooms, eh?" "Not to eat like Mama does," Earl replied, "I just like to see how many I can find." I glanced at the stranger. "Mr. Tillman," Alma said, "this here is Harvey Walker, Paul Walker's nephew. He just got out of the service and come over from Lawton to stay." "Is that right? Well, pleased to meet ya." I extended my hand, and Harvey shook it vigorously. A tall brawny man, he did not seem especially bright, but had an honest and open face. "When Harvey heard I was goin' to put out the peanuts myself this year, he offered to help. He's even goin' to buy the seed and fertilizer, ain't you Harvey?" "Uh huh," Harvey said, "there's good loose soil on the Jenkins allotment. We ought to be able to bring in a fine crop." "Well, let's hope so," I smiled. I turned to Donnie, my erstwhile partner at Alma's breasts. He was eyeing me silently, thumb firmly in mouth. "Now, how's this little fella?" I said. "He's doin' well," Alma replied, "growin' like a weed." She paused, then went on, "I've decided to wean him off my milk. I reckon it's about time I stopped nursing." She gave me a pointed look, making sure that I understood. For a few seconds we gazed at each other. In that moment I marveled at Alma's spirit; her woman's instinct to hold and protect her children. How she was willing to submit even her body, if need be, to remain a family. Finally I nodded, saying, "Yes, a mother knows what's best." After goodbyes had been exchanged, I put the jeep in gear and drove on. But the thought had been planted in my mind. We call them the gentle sex, the weaker sex, I mused. But are they? That winter I had taken sexual pleasure with both my wife and the widow, and congratulated myself on a man's good luck. Now I looked at things from their point of view. I saw for the first time the resolve that both women had shown. In those days, far from the cities, a woman was on her own. There were few lawyers and no marriage counselors. If there was a crisis in her life, she had to deal with it in whatever ways were available to a woman. Alma had offered me her body for the sake of her boys. Gloria, when she sensed what had happened, kept the hurt and anger inside her. She had simply used her own body to draw me back to her. In both women, I now realized, was a strength and perseverance worthy of a man's respect. It taught me a lesson. Since that time, I have held women in higher regard. I continued to ponder the whole episode as I drove back home to Gloria. Without a direct word being said, the widow Jenkins had offered herself to me, and without saying so I had taken her. Uncle Plez and later Gloria had perceived my misbehavior. They had made their choice of what to do without ever speaking of the matter directly. And now, through allusion, Alma let me know we should end it. That's how people were in those days. We did things we shouldn't have done. But we never talked about it.