Aquifer: A Novel Read Free Page B

along the twisty road until it was finally blocked from view by the ocean of trees at their property line.
    Pregnancy was one of the most common reasons for marriage in the Ozark backwoods. The tradition of Shotgun Weddings originated there. It was a family required, socially acceptable solution for young girls in that situation. Armenda herself hadn’t been much older than Valoura, and was already five months pregnant when she had married Otho. But this was different. The father of Valoura’s child was unknown, so no wedding could be arranged, or enforced. Armenda wanted something better for her daughter than the scorn that her current situation would surely bring once word got out.
    Gazing into Otho’s face she pleadingly asked, “Do we have to do it that way? We could just keep the child and raise it ourselves. It’ll only be two years younger than our youngest. It’d fit right in with the rest of ‘em, age-wise. That way, no one would ever know.”
    Otho was a man of few words but he loved his daughter profoundly. He also had a great understanding of the complexities and realities of the backwoods world in which they lived. From that perspective he had no other alternative. He raised his hands and gently clasped Armenda’s cheeks, tenderly looking directly into her eyes.
    “Some secrets can never be kept, no matter how tight the lips,” he said in response to her question. “If she keeps the child people will always talk. Wherever she goes the gossips will chatter behind her back. She’ll always be looked down upon and never be accepted.” He then frowned as he glanced away, unable to continue looking Armenda in the eye. “Then there’s the other issue . . .”
    He referred, of course, to the unwritten backwoods mores which insured that the little bastard would continually have to fight the bullies. He would be taunted mercilessly about his heritage, and never be given opportunities to grow out of the role into which their unforgiving society would place him.
    Otho placed his arms around Armenda’s waist, sighed deeply, then tenderly pulled her toward him. He hugged her for a moment, resting her head upon his shoulder as he gently stroked her hair.
    “No,” he said with a tone that bespoke wisdom far beyond his education. “There is no other way.”
    Otho knew that his daughter was still a child who only thought she was a woman. She still had much growing to do. It was specifically because of his love for both her and her unborn child that he must make this difficult and unpopular decision. Though he lacked the words to express it, he instinctively understood that with time, the reality of out of sight, out of mind would allow the community to forget her current predicament, and eventually his daughter could get on with her life in a socially acceptable and normal manner.
    To aid in that endeavor they would keep Valoura sequestered on the farm so that as few people as possible would know of her condition. When guests came, which wasn’t frequent, Valoura would be confined to her room.
    *
    Farm life had never been glamorous, but to those buried in the depths of the Ozark backwoods in the 1950s the monotonous tedium of existence slowed time to a crawl. To Valoura however, time seemed to stand still, knowing full well that at the end of her travail she would never see her child again.
    Five months later, greatly swollen as she neared the end of her pregnancy, Valoura lay awake late into the night talking with her sister Ellen. They shared the same bed, as did two younger sisters who were snuggled asleep in another bed barely an arm’s length away.
    The winter had been cold, and there was no fireplace in their room to keep them warm. Heavy homemade down quilts, held together with bits and pieces of cloth scavenged from every fabric source available, made the long nights bearable. But spring had finally arrived, and though the room was not exactly warm, snuggling beneath the heavy quilts made the girls