Carnal Innocence

the brush where the shot had come from. Hit Henry dead in the pump, as my grandpappy used to say.”
    “He was, of course, an expert at knife-throwing as well as lovemaking.”
    “A man of many talents,” Tucker agreed. “And being a prudent man as well, he decided it best not to stay around Natchez and answer uncomfortable questions about a deed, a dead man, and an Arkansas Toothpick. Being a romantic, he took pretty young Millie out of that bawdy house, and they traveled to the delta.”
    “And planted cotton.”
    “Planted cotton, got rich, and had babies. It was their son who started building this house, in 1825.”
    Caroline said nothing for a moment. It was much too easy to become caught up in the flow of his words, the easy rhythm of his voice.
It’s not really the point—-how much is true and how much is made up,
she decided.
It’s all in the telling.
She moved away from the window, acutelyaware that he was about to touch her again, and less sure if she’d want to stop him. “I don’t know much of anything about my family history. And certainly nothing that goes back two hundred years.”
    “We look back more than forward in the delta. History makes the best gossip. And tomorrow … well, tomorrow’s going to take care of itself anyway, isn’t it?”
    He thought he heard her sigh, but the sound was so soft, it might have been silence.
    “I’ve spent my whole life thinking about tomorrow—planning next month, next season. It must be the air here,” she said, and this time she did sigh. There was something wistful in the sound. “I’ve hardly thought of next week since I walked into my grandmother’s house. Haven’t wanted to, anyway,” she said, remembering the phone calls from her manager that she’d been dodging ever since she decided to come to Mississippi.
    He had a strong urge to hold her—just to offer her the circle of his arms and the support of his shoulder. But he was afraid the gesture would spoil whatever was happening between them.
    “Why are you unhappy, Caro?”
    Surprised, she looked back at him. “I’m not.” But she knew it was only part of the truth. And part of the truth was a lie.
    “I listen almost as well as I talk.” His hand was gentle as he touched her face. “Maybe you’ll try me sometime.”
    “Maybe.” But she moved back, marking the distance. “Someone’s coming.”
    Now he knew the time wasn’t right, and turned to the window again. “The dead doctor,” he said, and grinned. “Let’s go see if Josie set the table.”

c·h·a·p·t·e·r 11
    I n the county jail in Greenville with its scarred, ring-less toilet and graffiti-laced walls, Austin Hatinger sat on a board-hard bunk and stared at the bars of sunlight on the floor near his feet.
    He knew why he was in a cell, like a common criminal, like an animal. He knew why he was forced to stare at bars, in a cage with filthy sayings painted on the sweaty walls.
    It was because Beau Longstreet had been rich. He’d been a God-cursing rich planter and had tossed all his tainted money to his bastard children.
    They were bastards, sure enough, Austin thought. Madeline might have worn that traitor’s ring on her finger, but in the eyes of God, she had belonged to only one man.
    Beau hadn’t gone off to the stinking hole of Korea to serve his country and save good Christians from the Yellow Peril, but had stayed behind, in sin and comfort, to make more money. Austin had long suspected that Beau had tricked Madeline into marriage. Not that that excused her betrayal, but women were weak—weak of body, weak of will, weak of mind.
    Without a strong guiding force—and the occasional back of the hand—they were prone to foolish behavior and to sin. God was his Witness that he’d done his best to keep Mavis on a straight path.
    He’d married her in a blindness of despair, trapped by his own raging lust. “The woman thou gavest me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.” Oh, yes, Mavis had tempted him, and, weak of flesh, he had succumbed.
    Austin knew that from Eve down, Satan spoke first to women in his smooth, seductive voice. They being more open to sin, they fell and with a wily heart took a man down with them.
    But he’d been faithful to her. Only once in thirty-five years had he turned to another woman.
    If there were times when, exercising his marital rights, plunging into Mavis, he felt, tasted, smelled Madeline in the dark, it was only the Lord’s way of reminding him what had