Belva couldn’t believe how tired and haggard she looked. Barely twenty eight years old and the face looking back at her in the mirror could have been ten, maybe even fifteen, years older. It was the reflection of a hard life, strained by the effects of seven full term pregnancies and two miscarriages during thirteen years of marriage. The once black shimmering hair - then described as suited to a Cherokee princess, with the softness and sheen of a crow’s feathers in the sun - was now lifeless and drab. Her cornflower-blue eyes had challenged that Indian princess comparison but they, too, were losing their luster as well.
She pulled her loose housedress around her waist to assess her figure and was a little more pleased. That part of her was showing improvement since the last child had been stillborn almost a year ago. Little June – named for the month of her delivery – would have been nine months old now, she thought. The doctor at the local medical clinic had insisted on having her “tubes tied” to try to protect her health and she had been grateful for that, even though her husband, Bill, was strangely concerned and had not wanted to “jump into things.” She suspected that it was more a matter of the additional medical costs than it was for any lack of concern about her health. Bill loved her, and the children, dearly – she knew that for sure.
When she heard what sounded like the green beans boiling over, she went into the kitchen to check on them. It was only a little after 3:00 but she liked to get them started and then let them simmer, with a piece of ham hock, until Bill got home from work about six. The beans had been canned last fall from Bill’s garden over at his dad’s place and their supply of all canned goods and meat in the smoke house was running low. It would be another month or so before he would even be planting any more; longer than that until hog killing time again. And those beans, along with some cornbread and milk, would be about it for supper.
As she glanced out the kitchen door, she thought she saw the mail truck leaving their box at the end of the long lane. She was anxious to see if she had heard from her sister, Sarah, up in Dayton and would go check on it herself, rather than to send Agnes as she would normally do. She had asked Sarah to borrow $40 to help with the past due payment on Bill’s pickup and other bills this month, and if Sarah was going to send it, it could be in the mail today.