Fiction | June 01, 2001

This story is not currently available online.

The child is Thomas’, not his.  She knows this, just as she knows it was Thomas she tempted, Thomas’ seed she wooed that first night in the house.

She had answered the last of the visitors’ questions at her door instead of leaving by way of the fields as the two of them usually did at closing.  She had taken off her cap and let her hair flow down her back.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.