The Transgressors by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

maybe—well, you know—a girl like me, a girl that’s been what I’ve been…”
    Lord’s grin became open. He gave her a jovial slap on the thigh. “Now, why don’t you just come right out and say it? Shouldn’t be so hard. Might choke on it, if you hold it in any longer.”
    “Well.” Joyce took a deep breath, bracing herself. “We’d better get married, Tom. A woman can’t testify against her own husband.”
    Lord nodded; he said idly, “There’s something else a woman can’t do.”
    “Yes?”
    “She can’t testify if she’s dead.”

5
    A aron McBride’s second wife, Donna, was the oldest of fourteen children, five of whom were still alive. At the age of fifty, her mother became pregnant with the fifteenth child, and died during its gestation. Her father promptly abandoned the family and went on about his career of True Gospel preaching. The younger children were taken into an orphanage. Being old enough to be “useful,” as well as a distant relative of McBride’s wife, Donna found refuge in his household.
    Donna earned her keep, and then some. She was only thirteen at the time, but she had been doing a woman’s work for years—assuming a woman’s responsibilities except the marital ones. Mrs. McBride firmly encouraged her to continue doing the first, and gradually allowed her to take over the second.
    Mrs. McBride’s health was poor; she had little interest in pleasing her husband. She could not say why—not exactly why—she felt as she did about him. He was a good provider, and an unswervingly faithful and undemanding husband. Most of the time he was away in the fields, while she lived comfortably, almost luxuriously, in Fort Worth. Still, she could barely tolerate him. She dreaded his visits home, and was always glad to see him leave. And Aaron McBride knew it.
    He had had no home, in the true meaning of the word, until Donna’s coming. She gave him one. While Mrs. McBride, after allowing her cheek to be kissed and a few polite formalities, withdrew to her bedroom, Donna saw to his needs—fixing his meals, taking care of his laundry, talking to him, and encouraging him to talk as long as he wished: doing everything she could to make him feel welcome and wanted.
    She was grateful for the opportunity to do things for him. It seemed to her that she could never do enough. He was the father she had never had—the strong, wise, and good friend who could have been no more interested in her welfare if she had been his own daughter.
    At his expense she received extensive medical and dental treatment. At his expense her near-illiteracy was overcome; she was cram-tutored, made able to enter high school only a year or so behind her age group. She worked hard around the house, but he would not allow her to become a drudge. She was to have ample time for her studies, and time and money for at least a few of the pleasures that other girls enjoyed. And he was unusually firm with his wife when she showed resentment at his “coddling,” or attempted to oppose his wishes.
    So Donna’s affection for the man, her gratitude to him, were completely in order. She did not see how she could ever do enough to repay the debt she owed him.
    When, following his wife’s death, a means of repayment seemed open to her, she almost snatched at the opportunity.
    Love? Did she love him? Well, of course, she did! How could she help herself, and who else would she love if not him? He was twenty-five years older than she, but that made no difference. He was young enough for her, and she was old enough for him.
    After their marriage and a brief honeymoon in Fort Worth, he returned to the oil fields. She planned to join him as soon as he could find suitable living quarters and was sure of remaining in one place for a time. But even as she prepared to leave the Fort Worth residence, he advised her to remain there. He did not explain why. She did not ask. He would have his reasons; when he was ready, he would tell her what