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of his God.”
    Leaning forward and smiling at the congregation, he explains: “The pains in our bodies, the diseases which rack these fleshy shells of ours—all are manifestations of sin , of shame. And some show more sin than others.”
    Then, he glares at Ed’s mother, motions with his hand. She looks a little frightened, but she guides Ed up to the pulpit and gives him to his father, who stands the boy up on the pulpit for all to see.
    Reverend Bolt pulls the layered stockings from his son’s foot and reveals the boy’s deformity to the congregation.
    “Behold!” he declares. “Here is the sin of the flesh, a father’s burden--and I must bear it!”
    The people all stare and Ed and his bad foot, nodding somberly.
    Young Ed doesn’t quite understand what is going on. But he knows that this “burden” is a word that somehow means he is bad and ugly, and he starts to cry.
    His father cuffs his ear, and the people nod their approval, watching him as he cries, they stare and stare and stare …
    Staring at me !, Ed thought. Mocking ME! Ed Bolt, cripple! Cripple cripple cripple!
    Hate, you want HATE, you want to feel ALONE —
    Ed sits in shadows. He is sixteen years old, and he has grown accustomed to skulking in hidden places.
    This particular place is a thick stand of pines at the corner of the village green. The trees here grow so close together that there is a space under and between them, making a sort of shaded hollow carpeted with pine needles.
    Sometimes, in the evenings, lovers will sneak under here together.
    During the day, however, Ed often likes to sit here, hidden from view and out of everyone’s way. It gives him someplace to go on warm days—at least, on those days when he isn’t able to find some employment chopping wood or doing sundry tasks from those who would take pity on a cripple like himself. Since his schooling is done, his father doesn’t want him about the house until after sundown.
    Now, Ed sits there staring at the street, watching carriages wheel by, thinking of nothing in particular. Brooding.
    And then he sees her, walking jauntily by in a green cotton dress: Constance Clement, a young girl a year older then himself, who used to be in his class at school.
    She has a pert upturned nose, big green eyes, and freckled , pink cheeks. Her chestnut curls bounce as she walks, glowing in the afternoon sunlight. She is slightly plump, but curvy… and very pretty.
    Two months ago she smiled at him, a glorious event which Ed has never forgotten. No other pretty girl has ever done that. He’s wanted to talk to her for so long, has been aching to see if she would smile for him again. But she is never alone, always with her brothers or her parents or her friends.
    This time, however, as she steps briskly down the street on some errand, basket in her hands, she is by herself. Unescorted.
    Taking a deep breath, he stands and leaves his hiding place, approaching her, trying to form his numb and nervous mouth into a smile, trying desperately not to limp on his bad leg.
    Her pretty little nose scrunches up in distaste when she sees him. The first few words of his stuttered greeting are barely out of his mouth before she starts laughing.
    The sound sends chill tremors through his heart.
    Later, as Ed slumps home, two large boys block his way.
    It’s Tom and Cyrus Clement , Constance’s brothers.
    “Don’t you ever even look at our sister again, cripple. Don’t you even!”
    They shove him hard, push him, punch him.
    Ed fights, lashing out with fury, smashing his fist into Cyrus Clement’s jaw…
    But then Tom Clement manages to trip him down, taking advantage of Ed’s bad foot.
    They’re laughing then as they punch and kick and press his face into the dirt …
    Pain, pain running hot and cold, all sorts of pain.
    Betrayal, humiliation … Ed has tasted these flavors of agony and knows them well.
    And yes, it has made him hate.
    But it is HIS hate, his pain. How he hates his father, his