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work. We scrubbed the bedroom until our backs were sore, then moved on to the hall, the sitting room, and finally the porch. Each time we thought we were done, one of us would find another splotch. As dawn began to lighten the sky in the east, Henry was on his knees scrubbing the cracks between the boards of the bedroom floor, and I was down on mine in the sitting room, examining Arlettes hooked rug square inch by square inch, looking for that one drop of blood that might betray us. There was none there-we had been fortunate in that respect-but a dime-sized drop beside it. It looked like blood from a shaving cut. I cleaned it up, then went back into our bedroom to see how Henry was faring. He seemed better now, and I felt better myself. I think it was the coming of daylight, which always seems to dispel the worst of our horrors. But when George, our rooster, let out his first lusty crow of the day, Henry jumped. Then he laughed. It was a small laugh, and there was still something wrong with it, but it didnt terrify me the way his laughter had done when he regained consciousness between the barn and the old livestock well.
    I cant go to school today, Poppa. Im too tired. And I think people might see it on my face. Shannon especially.
    I hadnt even considered school, which was another sign of half-planning. Half- assed planning. I should have put the deed off until County School was out for the summer. It would only have meant waiting a week. You can stay home until Monday, then tell the teacher you had the grippe and didnt want to spread it to the rest of the class.
    Its not the grippe, but I am sick.
    So was I.
    We had spread a clean sheet from her linen closet (so many things in that house were hers but no more) and piled the bloody bedclothes onto it. The mattress was also bloody, of course, and would have to go. There was another, not so good, in the back shed. I bundled the bedclothes together, and Henry carried the mattress. We went back out to the well just before the sun cleared the horizon. The sky above was perfectly clear. It was going to be a good day for corn.
    I cant look in there, Poppa.
    You dont have to, I said, and once more lifted the wooden cover. I was thinking that I should have left it up to begin with-think ahead, save chores, my own Poppa used to say-and knowing that I never could have. Not after feeling (or thinking I felt) that last blind twitch.
    Now I could see to the bottom, and what I saw was horrible. She had landed sitting up with her legs crushed beneath her. The pillow-case was split open and lay in her lap. The quilt and counterpane had come loose and were spread around her shoulders like a complicated ladies stole. The burlap bag, caught around her head and holding her hair back like a snood, completed the picture: she almost looked as if she were dressed for a night on the town.
    Yes! A night on the town! Thats why Im so happy! Thats why Im grinning from ear to ear! And do you notice how red my lipstick is, Wilf? Id never wear this shade to church, would I? No, this is the kind of lipstick a woman puts on when she wants to do that nasty thing to her man. Come on down, Wilf, why dont you? Dont bother with the ladder, just jump! Show me how bad you want me! You did a nasty thing to me, now let me do one to you!
    Poppa? Henry was standing with his face toward the barn and his shoulders hunched, like a boy expecting to be beaten. Is everything all right?
    Yes. I flung down the bundle of linen, hoping it would land on top of her and cover that awful upturned grin, but a whim of draft floated it into her lap, instead. Now she appeared to be sitting in some strange and bloodstained cloud.
    Is she covered? Is she covered up, Poppa?
    I grabbed the mattress and tupped it in. It landed on end in the mucky water and then fell against the circular stone-cobbled wall, making a little lean-to shelter over her, at last hiding her cocked-back head and bloody grin.
    Now she is. I lowered the old wooden cap