The Outcasts by Kathleen Kent Read Free Book Online Page B

days,” she said. “With no word of where you were, or when you were coming.”
    He traced a fingernail against one shoulder blade. “The vagaries of surveying, my dear. You must be patient.” He yawned as though he were falling asleep, but then he asked, “You’ve secured your position at Middle Bayou?”
    “Yes,” she answered. “I’ve written that I’ll be arriving in two weeks’ time.”
    “Good.”
    She turned to face him. He was motionless, but she could see the partially opened lids, the eyes watchful. “You’ll come soon for me?”
    He smiled and said, “You look flushed. Is it another fit coming on?”
    She frowned and flopped away from him again, lying on her side. He pressed himself against her back, palming one breast. “Lucy,” he said, the nickname that was his alone to use. “You know I’ll never leave you. I’ll never abandon you, but you shouldn’t question me. Do your job. Write to me of your progress, and, when the time is right, I’ll come for you.” He expelled air into her ear mirthfully. “Then, when I introduce you to my mother, I can truthfully say that my wife has been a teacher, not a whore.”
    “I thought you liked the whore.”
    She could feel his lips curling against her shoulder. “Oh, make no mistake. I like the whore just fine. One might even say I like the whore better than anything.” He rose up on one elbow, looking down at her. “The whore neither spins nor sews, but neither is she idle. She is not deceitful in her chosen enterprise; she is not puffed up. She is what she seems to be. Purely the embodiment of both commerce and discourse, pressed and distilled to a place no bigger than a sparrow’s nest.” He stroked her hair and slipped his fingers between her thighs. “Why, the only difference between you and our family deacon is the fob watch…”
    Now, a movement next to her as she stood on the barge pulled her thoughts back to the river, and she saw a man standing close by in a startling orange-and-brown-plaid suit, the tight-fitting coat long to his knees. He removed his hat, nodding to her awkwardly, his hair nearly as orange as his jacket. She suppressed a smile, imagining his tailor convincing the man that the mirroring colors of the cloth were complimentary to his person as well as fashionable.
    He pointed to the riverbank and said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    She followed his gaze and saw a large persimmon tree, the ripened fruit like scarlet globes of Italian wedding glass, perfect and seemingly untouched by birds.
    “Yes,” she said. “It’s beautiful.” She looked at his white, spotted profile and pale hands and realized he was closer to a boy than a man. “I’ve only ever tasted one, and it was near heaven.”
    He looked at her for a moment and then began to unbutton and remove his coat. “Shall I swim over and get you one?”
    She laughed, shaking her head no, but to her amazement, he smiled more broadly and began to remove his stiff collar and shirt as well. He drew laughs and shouts from the men above, which brought the women out of the cabin, looking to see what the excitement was about. Lucinda held her hands over her mouth in disbelief that he could be so foolish—perhaps he truly was a lunatic.
    He began pulling off his boots with some difficulty, and she then realized that he had been drinking, most likely fed whiskey by one of the other men. The women squealed in protest, and, while the men shouted encouragement, Lucinda fell helpless with laughter watching the boy stripping down to his undergarments and preparing to crawl over the railing.
    The captain shouted a warning at them from the steering house and climbed down the ladder holding a rifle. He grabbed a handful of the boy’s undershirt and quickly hauled him back off the rail and onto the deck. The captain whistled shrilly, and his dog, a black spaniel, leaped into the water and began swimming towards the shore.
    The captain turned to the boy and said, “Watch