But Ripper had already made his choice and would take orders from no one but me. He had been out of Matt Parker’s best bitch, and Matt helped me teach him the ways of the wood and field and Ripper never once spooked at the sound of the gun. He never once shrank at smell of cougar. He is a born killer of wild beasts. Only he’s never liked the smell of Jim and only tolerated him on account of me, even when we were courting.
Jim and I used to talk together then, and I’d be concerned in what he told me, instead of just listening with numb patience as I do now. I used to ask him why he’d left home to move into this harsh and rocky land amongst strangers, and if he didn’t have a sweetheart waiting for him back home.
He’d answered the last question, “And iffen I have, don’t you have a sweetheart you’re waiting for, Jenny?”
“Matt Parker is gone for good,” I said sharp.
“I’m mighty pleased to hear that.” He smiled. “I’m sorta counting on him not ever coming back to claim you.”
Jim used to be so natural like. “We’ll have the rest of our lives to just sit by our fire and I’ll tell you all that happened at home and why I moved in here with strangers, Jenny.”
I must have hurt Jim so cruel the night we were wed he can no longer speak to me of what’s in his heart. But I wanted to die of shame! I who love to breathe the air of morning, I who love to see and feel the wondrous things of God’s world, I wanted to die that night. And the way I carried on must have made Jim wonder what manner of woman he’d wed!
Maybe that’s why he goes off to Ansted when he’s not working the farm and stays the whole day through, lounging round the general store and talking to folks he must find more amiable than me.
But now I am more used to the strange ways of man and almost have put away my shame. And certain sure I do not want to die now — not even when the distaste and fear of Jim comes up in my throat so it’s like a choking.
I must try to be kinder to him and more patient. Men are queer creatures and their passions like the dark winter’s night. And I, being woman, must accept them without questioning.
Perhaps if I keep on praying, a child will be the reward of my forbearance. All the evil will go out of Jim then and he’ll be different.
I whistled Ripper up from his dreams of hunting and stroked his long soft hair. I felt as though the sun had driven through and into me, piercing my darkness with hope. I tossed another hickory log onto the fire and listened to the sizzle and the crackling as the wood warmed, grew hot and burst into flame.
Everything has to be given time for warming.
I decided to fix something extra nice for Jim’s supper. Something that he’d really relish like candied yams and salt pork with rich cream gravy. I hadn’t thought of cooking fine for quite a spell. Maybe when Jim tasted the special victuals he’d know I was trying to please him.
Ripper’s hackles rose and he growled fierce and low. He’d caught the smell of Jim heading home. Sure enough, it wasn’t long till I heard the rattle of the buggy as it crossed the wooden planks over Gitah Creek.
Then I had a talk with Ripper who understands me better than any human ever has — lessen it were Matt Parker. I told Ripper it was our fault — his and mine — that Jim acted the way he did.
“We must let him handle us and not let on when our hairs begin to rise and bristle,” I said.
Ripper’s ears pointed and he began to pant, which let me know he understood.
Then Jim threw open the door and walking with his heavy, slow tread came across the threshold. Ripper did not growl at him and I reached down to give him a grateful pat. My own voice was light and cheery, “Hello, Jim!”
Jim dumped the store goods on the table and came over to stretch his great hands in front of the fire. He took out his pipe and tobacco, shook the bowl full and pushed it down tight.
I was thinking how homey this was — the way it ought always to be between man and wife. It seemed to me that even Ripper was going to give Jim a wag of his tail and maybe stick his nose up into Jim’s hand, and the rays of the sun could not outnumber my joys.
Jim rolled a long piece of paper into a spill. He leaned down and lighted it from the fire and pulled in on his pipe till the tobacco was glowing red. But he held the spill between thumb and finger till I thought he must burn himself.
I watched with wonder — about to cry warning — when Jim dropped the spill a-purpose straight down onto Ripper’s back.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Nor could I yet believe it. Ripper’s silky coat caught fire quickly, burning along like dry grass fire. I came out of my stupor fast and grabbed my dog up to me, rubbing out the fire against my body.
Then I looked up at the man I had married. He was standing smoking his pipe, a smile at the corners of his mouth.
We said no word. There was no word to say. He had done this thing with grim intent and I knew my hopes of the day were as dandelion fuzz in a high wind.
I went to the kitchen with Ripper at my heels and gently rubbed lamb’s grease over his burned skin. I was treating my own reddened belly when I knew that Jim was standing in the doorway.
“Where’s my supper, Jenny?”
I cooked food in silence and silently he ate. After, he said, “Come to bed, Jenny.”
I threw Ripper’s rug behind the cookstove. He took the side of my hand in his mouth, nuzzling it before he flopped down, all the time eying Jim with strange red eyes.
I followed Jim up the stairs. We undressed. Jim was full of lust and I bore it patiently while he spent himself, thinking all the while of the Bible’s teaching.
I waited till Jim’s breathing told me he slept. Then I crept from bed slow, inch by inch, making no sudden shift lest the springs sing out and waken him. My knees touched the cold floor and I eased my body out.
Then I heard his slow, even voice, “Come back to bed.”
The lust was strong in him again, and I thought my own thoughts as countless women have done till the bad time passes. Vengeful thoughts, then praying for forgiveness, praying hard, but still the vengeful thoughts were pressing.
I waited till I was very sure that Jim was deep in sleep. His snoring was loud indeed and I jumped from the bed and dressed. I raced down the stairs, and out into the kitchen to get Ripper up, cautioning him to make no sound.
We were starting out the back way when I remembered the great whine of the hinges, so we went through to the front.
In the black stillness, Ripper let out a sudden growl and my heart began to thrash about like a fresh-caught fish.
I reached my hands out to find the door, but instead of wood, my hands touched flesh. A triumphing, mocking laugh came from Jim. “Come back to bed, Jenny.”
Ripper growled low and fierce and full of hate. I had only to say the command for him to leap straight for Jim’s corded throat and I could almost hear the tearing sound Ripper’s teeth would make as they slashed skin. How many times I’d heard it when Ripper went for the throats of wild beasts.
I had only to say the word…
“Come back to bed, Jenny.”
My whole being was sickened. “No,” and again, stronger, “no. Let me go, Jim!”
“Where would you go, Jenny?”
“Home. I’ll go home to mom.”
“You want to go home?” he said, reasonable and sort of surprised. “Then I’ll dress and take you.” He flung wide the front door. I could see him standing large in his nakedness, his flesh shone dark as a pine tree in the light of the moon. “Wait for me, Jenny.”