Free A Virtuous Woman (Oprah's Book Club) by Kaye Gibbons

photographs I brought back when I went home for daddy’s funeral, especially the one of me holding my little prize Schubert bust at my ten-year piano recital, and then I’d say, “Well, mama, I do believe I am. In spite of everything, I do believe I’ve been happy. That John Woodrow time was something I went through to get where I am, and I can appreciate good now because of it.” Surely that would satisfy her.
    June’s been about as much reason for the good I’ve felt as any other, all those times she’d run to Jack and me. I couldn’t count how many mornings we got up and found her sitting on our front porch, swinging, waiting for us to start stirring, Saturdays, summer days, school holidays. She still comes to see us about every other weekend. I’ve been making some clothes for her to take on a cruise this winter.
    Since I’ve been sick June’s brought me a present every time she’s visited. I’ve told her not to bring me anything, but I feel like I have to accept the things, and when she leaves I take the robes and gowns and slippers, they’re all so pretty and I know expensive, and I put them in the cedar chest with all the presents she made me when she was small. Sometimes I can’t help but think how mama would’ve liked June.
    Jack and I’d been married about three years with nobabies when we figured something might really be wrong. It took us another year to decide to see a doctor and then another year to get enough nerve to go. When we finally went and found out I wasn’t likely to ever have a child, I think Jack and I both more or less assumed possession of June. Burr knew what we were doing. It didn’t bother him. I think he was glad for the help with her. A man must have a hard time looking after a girl.
    I’ll never forget her coming here once when she was twelve, crying, scared to death, absolutely no idea what had happened to her. I talked to her, explained things the best I could, and let her spend the rest of the afternoon here with me. Later on, I walked her back home and I got Tiny Fran out on the porch and asked her why, why for goodness sakes she hadn’t talked to the girl about her body, why she at least hadn’t gotten her some books to read. Tiny Fran told me it was none of my business, got pretty belligerent about it. We went around and around on the subject of her irresponsibility until I just gave up. By then I should’ve known better than expect her to apologize for the past or change so the future’d be different, better. But I went right back in the house and helped June pack an overnight bag, marched right past Tiny Fran with her, and brought her back here. Burr came over later that day and after I told him what had happened, he gave June some money to buy a dress she’d had her eye on. I promisedher we’d go into town and get it when Jack got home. Burr thanked me for looking after her, bringing her back with me. We were both surprised Tiny Fran let me take her without another fight, but you never really could predict her. Nobody predicted she’d leave him. We all thought she’d stay out here chipping away at everybody’s peace of mind as long as she lived.
    If Tiny Fran felt pushed hard enough she’d even say Jack and I brainwashed June. When June was small and Tiny Fran would say something like that with Burr present, he’d wear himself out trying to explain how ridiculous she was being. He’d bring up all those times she’d jumped all over June for no reason, humiliated her, and he’d come in from the fields to find June crying on the steps or shut up in her room. Then Burr got tired of listening to her and tired of running down his list, and when she’d get on one of her screaming jags he’d just bring June to me and ask me to keep her until he could get Tiny Fran in order. And more nights than a few, Burr himself spent the night on our couch. Poor Burr was certainly caught between a rock and a hard place with his wife and the land her daddy gave him. And