Read Online Power in the Blood by Greg Matthews - Free Book Online Page B

sideways into the dust of the yard. Both men were dead by his hand. The fact stunned him, elated him. How had any of this happened? How could Chaffey, who had worked alongside him this past month, aim a gun and try to kill him? The fact that he had done so made Clay’s reciprocal aiming and more successful killing acceptable. Clay didn’t doubt it, even if his body was beginning to twitch, even as the instrument of retribution fell from his hands. It had been right, right and good, to do the thing he had done.
    He washed his mouth free of blood, then changed his fouled pants before mounting the horse that would take him to town. His face was on fire by then, the pain so bad he couldn’t keep himself from crying.

6
    Hassenplug paid for a doctor. It was worth two dollars to be sure his son was born right. His wife could have organized the assistance of area midwives, but Mrs. Hassenplug was in no mood to cooperate, wouldn’t go anywhere near the girl or fix her food, hadn’t even spoken to Zoe after her belly started to balloon.
    It was jealousy, pure and simple, Hassenplug could see that, but he didn’t interfere; best to leave his wife out of things till the baby was born, then he’d put her in her place. Zoe might even change her mind and begin showing respect for the father, might even consent to be his real woman, a second wife, like the kings in the Bible had. Yes, he’d keep Mrs. Hassenplug away from the baby, before and after its birth, just in case she was jealous enough to do the boy harm. She’d been acting very strange of late, and couldn’t be trusted.
    The doctor earned every cent of his fee. It was a night birth, protracted, noisy, troublesome. He very nearly lost patience with the girl under his care; she didn’t seem to be trying hard enough to push her baby out, reluctant to experience the ultimate pain of passage. He encouraged her, instructed her, shouted at her, and finally the thing was done, another soul received into the world of men. The doctor went downstairs to inform the Hassenplugs their erring daughter (or servant girl; the doctor had not quite fathomed the relationship) had delivered herself of a healthy female.
    Hassenplug paid the fee, but his two dollars felt like lead weights. A girl! What use had he for a girl! It was a colossal betrayal of trust. He’d wanted a boy, told Zoe many times to concentrate on making it so, exhorted her to prayer, if that was what it took. And she’d let him down with a girl as useless as herself. When the doctor’s buggy departed into the night, Hassenplug uncorked a jug and proceeded to get drunk.
    No one visited Zoe to inquire after her needs. When her chamber pot was filled, she tipped it out the window. When she felt hungry, she ignored the feeling, too proud to call downstairs for food—an act of begging, in that house—and in time the need for food seemed to pass. She drank from a bucket of water kept standing by for the doctor’s use in the delivery; the doctor had used little, and Zoe calculated it would last her at least another day.
    Her baby ignored Zoe’s various deprivations, insisted on and was granted as much suckling as she desired. Zoe had been convinced she would give birth to a boy, despite entreaties to otherworldly forces, and her delight in a girl was sufficient to quench much of the hatred and misery that had been growing inside her along with the child. A girl was not what her rapist wanted; this alone was a major triumph for Zoe. By a process she could not have defined, Zoe eliminated Hassenplug’s role in the pregnancy. Her girl had come to her by accident, as it were, and was in no way connected to anyone or anything on the farm. She was Zoe’s alone, a projection or extension of herself, and so doubly precious.
    On the second day after the birth of her daughter, Zoe came downstairs. The Hassenplugs drew away from her as she placed herself and her baby on a kitchen chair. “I need to eat,” she stated. She had