Free Plains Song by Wright Morris

bury a child in a grave without a marker. Before the summer was over they would never be able to find it. Was that their intent? Since Orion had married, and built his wacky house, and let other people do his farming for him, Emerson failed to understand his brother and he wasn’t so sure he any longer felt obliged to.
    Cora was troubled at night by the thought of the child lying in the cold earth. Had they put it in a box? Or had they merely wrapped it in the flour and sugar sacks used for dishcloths? She wanted to know, but she dreaded to hear what Belle might say. She was shocked too deeply to speak about it, yet she understood in her soul what had happened. Belle had not liked the child. She wanted to forget that it had ever existed. The way some animals destroyed the weakmembers of the litter, Belle did not want this child to make demands on her. Her nature was sure. It told her without confusion how she should act. What could be done for those, and Cora feared there were many, who did not distinguish between right and wrong? What could be done for those who were able to distinguish but chose to do wrong? If Belle had cast a spell over Orion its shadow could be seen hovering over Cora, who saw plainly as a crack in a plate the strengths and weaknesses of her own nature. She was God-fearing. But there were things in this world that scared her even worse.
    It was hardly surprising that Belle grew more possessive of both Sharon Rose and Madge. She would put the two girls in a wicker wash basket and tow them to her house on a wooden runner sled. Madge was such a plump, fat child she caused Belle to grunt when she was lifted from the floor. Sharon Rose was almost frail, but her pretty little mouth was seldom shut. She was also selfish, in the way of most children, and took from Madge whatever she had been given, but since Madge didn’t seem to mind, she soon gave it back. She seemed to be less acquisitive than domineering, yet when she dominated she soon lost interest. If not assured that children grew into grownups, Cora would have been appalled by what she saw. If deprived of Madge, Sharon Rose would howl as if in pain. There were things Cora saw that she refused to admit, turning away to fuss with something, look for eggs, or stand in the dark of the stairwell for a moment, herapron pressed to her face. Both children proved to eat paint, where it flecked, and the soft muck where the dishwater was emptied. Without something in her mouth, Sharon Rose babbled in a singsong voice, almost like a bird warbling, but it also signified the filling of her diaper with number two. She was Belle’s child, Cora reasoned with herself, and let her squirm in it.
    With or without the little girls, Cora’s chores were never done. She tooks eggs to Battle Creek to be hatched in the incubator, and brought back the chicks to swell her flock of Plymouth Rocks. Emerson had built her some sheds, with a fenced-in run for the chickens, hoping to keep the cackling hens away from the house, but what he proved to have done was to have drawn a line between his farm and Cora’s yard. The yard included her chickens, the pump on its platform, the storm cave along the path that led to the pump, and as much as half an acre of grass and weeds. One day Emerson came in from the field to find the weeds scythed between the house and her sheds.
    â€œYou folks run out of steam?” he asked her. The way Emerson took a dig at Cora was to include her in with Belle and Orion. He had come to the house with two pails of water, which he lowered to the ground, then turned to look behind him. One could see very plainly where the cut grass ended and the weeds began.
    â€œI’ve grass in mind for the yard,” Cora said, “not weeds.”
    â€œI take it you know the difference,” Emerson replied.He didn’t turn to see if she did: he waited to hear.
    â€œIt’s been scythed,” Cora said, “but what I plan to do is mow