kind of woman abandons her baby? And what kind of girl gets herself pregnant with no husband? I know what kind. I can't even say the word.
    Ruby pounds her head against the doorjamb. I want my baby.
    Lord God pushes her face away from the gap in the door, the smell of his palm against her nose. He pulls the door closed and tells her not to make a spectacle. Once again the room is dark and she alone. Through the door he tells her to get back in bed and sleep.
    I'll bring you soup in a while, he adds. I've got other things to do. At the moment I don't have time for a girl who abandons her child. You want your baby now? You should have thought of that before.
    I bet you thought it was funny, he says. Running away from a man with one leg? Who's laughing now?
Ruby awakens again, curled in a heap on the floor, the dusty smell of the wooden planks in her mouth and nose. The room is lighter now, a bluish tint of dawn light out the eight- paned windows. She becomes aware of her own smell, notices how dank and sour she's become. The door is still locked.
    As soon as she moves, she feels intense cold, as if her body has been drained of all its blood. She shivers as she grabs at clothes in the closet, yanking a wool sweater over her head and over her flannel nightgown. She pulls off her underwear and dries her clammy, goose- pimpled skin with a flannel shirt from the closet, then hurries to her dresser to get a pair of jeans and wool socks, her hands shaking from the cold, her head pulsing with dizziness, eyes blurry from tears.
    It's all she can do to stagger to the bed and crawl into it, smothering herself with the blankets. Outside, the wind sings against the low- looped power lines, a high- pitched chorus that mimics the keening of dust- bowl furies. It sings against the bleached slats tacked onto the staggered, crooked fence posts beyond the woodshed. It sings and buffets and thrums over the bunchgrass and juniper and aspens. Enough to drive a body out of her head. Of weaker flesh and mind. You have to take it. To not think about it. To become accustomed to it. Like any pain. You get used to it.
    She huddles there, grinding her teeth, trembling uncontrollably. In time she warms up, the blankets wrapped around her like a heated cocoon. She creeps far enough from the blankets to get a handful of Kleenex and blow her nose. When she can breathe again she lies back on the pillows and closes her eyes.
    She wakes to noise in the room. Her mother carries a bowl of soup and crackers on a TV tray. Her face is drawn and careworn but she lights up when her daughter awakens. She smiles and strokes Ruby's cheek.
    How's my girl?
    Ruby blinks and tries to speak and can make no sound. She tries again, her voice breaking as she says, You're back.
    Yes, I am. For now at least. I'll come every day to check on you andâ
    What about Papa?
    John stays out of my way. He wants me to move back but I won't. He wouldn't hurt Lila for the world. He's a good man.
    But he wants me to â
    Hush. I know. That won't last, believe me. I won't let it. Okay?
    Okay.
    And now it's time to eat. You want to get strong again, don't you? You need to eat.
    Papa said you didn't care.
    Don't listen to him. I know he says a lot of hooey. I'm taking care of you and I say you need some soup.
    Ruby leans forward and lets her mother spoon the soup into her mouth, the hot metal touching her cracked, dried lips. The soup is salty and the chicken and noodles taste delicious. She feels the heat of the liquid as she swallows, filling her throat and passing like the warmth of sunlight into her belly.
    That's good, she says. That tastes
    Ruby pounds her head against the doorjamb. I want my baby.
    Lord God pushes her face away from the gap in the door, the smell of his palm against her nose. He pulls the door closed and tells her not to make a spectacle. Once again the room is dark and she alone. Through the door he tells her to get back in bed and sleep.
    I'll bring you soup in a while, he adds. I've got other things to do. At the moment I don't have time for a girl who abandons her child. You want your baby now? You should have thought of that before.
    I bet you thought it was funny, he says. Running away from a man with one leg? Who's laughing now?
Ruby awakens again, curled in a heap on the floor, the dusty smell of the wooden planks in her mouth and nose. The room is lighter now, a bluish tint of dawn light out the eight- paned windows. She becomes aware of her own smell, notices how dank and sour she's become. The door is still locked.
    As soon as she moves, she feels intense cold, as if her body has been drained of all its blood. She shivers as she grabs at clothes in the closet, yanking a wool sweater over her head and over her flannel nightgown. She pulls off her underwear and dries her clammy, goose- pimpled skin with a flannel shirt from the closet, then hurries to her dresser to get a pair of jeans and wool socks, her hands shaking from the cold, her head pulsing with dizziness, eyes blurry from tears.
    It's all she can do to stagger to the bed and crawl into it, smothering herself with the blankets. Outside, the wind sings against the low- looped power lines, a high- pitched chorus that mimics the keening of dust- bowl furies. It sings against the bleached slats tacked onto the staggered, crooked fence posts beyond the woodshed. It sings and buffets and thrums over the bunchgrass and juniper and aspens. Enough to drive a body out of her head. Of weaker flesh and mind. You have to take it. To not think about it. To become accustomed to it. Like any pain. You get used to it.
    She huddles there, grinding her teeth, trembling uncontrollably. In time she warms up, the blankets wrapped around her like a heated cocoon. She creeps far enough from the blankets to get a handful of Kleenex and blow her nose. When she can breathe again she lies back on the pillows and closes her eyes.
    She wakes to noise in the room. Her mother carries a bowl of soup and crackers on a TV tray. Her face is drawn and careworn but she lights up when her daughter awakens. She smiles and strokes Ruby's cheek.
    How's my girl?
    Ruby blinks and tries to speak and can make no sound. She tries again, her voice breaking as she says, You're back.
    Yes, I am. For now at least. I'll come every day to check on you andâ
    What about Papa?
    John stays out of my way. He wants me to move back but I won't. He wouldn't hurt Lila for the world. He's a good man.
    But he wants me to â
    Hush. I know. That won't last, believe me. I won't let it. Okay?
    Okay.
    And now it's time to eat. You want to get strong again, don't you? You need to eat.
    Papa said you didn't care.
    Don't listen to him. I know he says a lot of hooey. I'm taking care of you and I say you need some soup.
    Ruby leans forward and lets her mother spoon the soup into her mouth, the hot metal touching her cracked, dried lips. The soup is salty and the chicken and noodles taste delicious. She feels the heat of the liquid as she swallows, filling her throat and passing like the warmth of sunlight into her belly.
    That's good, she says. That tastes
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