Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Third Year. Approximately, prior to chapter 1, late August or early September.

Content warnings: Mild sexual situation and the n-word.

Chapter 26: God Hath Not Promised

Marilla Cuthbert winced when she poured a cup of tea in front of Davy Keith. He sat in a beam of sunlight blaring in from the east window. Her "You're welcome" didn't sound like her at all. She raised a hand to block the glare to her eyes as she turned away, wondering if she were coming down with a sick-headache. Dora and Davy were too busy arguing to have noticed any difference in her timbre, but Mrs. Lynde's quick ears heard trouble on what promised to be a very busy day. She looked past the ready-for-church twins to the back of the kitchen and watched Marilla dump pain powder into her teacup.

"Marilla?" Rachel's distinct voice carried over the sparring Keiths. "If you're not feeling well, you don't have to go to the funeral. I'll stay behind with you."

Marilla waved off her longtime friend's concern. "I'll be fine, Rachel. I just need to get on top of it with one of Dr. Blair's treatments." She took a big sip before coming to the breakfast table. "I really want to go. John and Geraldine expect me and you know how I worry whenever Mrs. Sloane and Geraldine talk without us. There's always another Ladies' Aid project we end up doing as a result of their impromptu brainstorms."

The argument between Davy and Dora heated and Dora was on the receiving end of Davy's annoyed scowl. Marilla monitored them reluctantly and wished Anne hadn't left so early. Anne had a way of managing the twins when they fought. It was probably because Anne was the original hot-head.

"You shouldn't wear that. We're going to a funeral!" Davy sternly repeated to Dora. He gestured to himself, modeling his black suit. Never-mind the large, white napkin pushed into his collar covering up most of his front.

Through the buzz of a tension headache, Marilla thought Davy might be approaching handsome. His features were catching up with his changed voice and she wondered if she should budget a shaving kit for him. He was getting old enough to have some fuzz.

"You should wear your black dress. I know you have one."

"Davy, that dress is wool. It's too heavy for late August, I'll melt!" Dora's inflection on the world 'melt' made Marilla shut her eyes. Dora's voice pitched and almost squeaked like chalk on the blackboard.

Davy interrupted as only a sibling could, "Mrs. Lynde—would you please explain to Dora that wearing yellow is not appropriate for a funeral."

Rachel heard Davy, but her eyes were on Marilla. Marilla was turning white.

"You two! Stop fighting! Are you blind? Marilla's not feeling well."

"I'm fine, but I'd be better if the shouting would stop from all three of you."

"Oh Marilla, I'm sorry, but you don't need to witness this, not with one of your headaches coming." Rachel stood quickly and scraped her chair across the wide floorboards. The noise made Marilla grimace again. "See?"

Davy turned to Marilla and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Marilla," as Mrs. Lynde escorted her away.

"Me too," Dora feebly tacked on, but the matrons were already out of earshot.

The twins were alone for a few minutes. Davy devoted himself to his oatmeal drizzled with new chokecherry jam and Dora buttered her biscuit. The silence was short-lived.

"Have you thought any more about what I said?" Davy asked very quietly.

"No, I have not, because you're wrong."

"Dora, just tell me, where was Ralph that night?"

No verbal reply could be made. Mrs. Lynde returned to the kitchen at that moment and misinterpreted the glares the twins threw at each other. She believed Davy was still upset about Dora's yellow dress.

"Stop it, you two!" Mrs. Lynde couldn't stand it. "Cherish one another, you two are alive, and Mr. Marin is gone. That poor girl has no family left. Your fight is hardly important.

"Davy, we can't have Dora fainting in her winter dress. It's late August after all. How'd you'd like to wear your wool suit when it's so hot?

"And Dora, this is what comes from letting your sewing slide for your diaper project. I'm afraid Davy's right. Wearing black is traditional, and some folks get mighty offended if you take someone else's grief lightly."

"Told you!"

"Now Davy! There's no reason for that," Mrs. Lynde corrected. "If it really bothers you, Dora doesn't have to go. She can stay home with Marilla. Davy, you're the one that made friends with the Marins."

Davy bent his head down, slightly ashamed because he was glad Dora agreed to attend the funeral. He really wanted her there. He'd hoped that Miss Marin might know that she wasn't alone. They might be the youngest attending the service, but they could give Miss Marin the best support, being almost the same age and orphans too. As nice as the Blythes were, none of them understood as they could.

A little more calmly and sympathetically, Mrs. Lynde asked, "How is your Miss Marin doin', Davy? She must be really sad."

"She's really not my Miss Marin." Davy's cheeks burned, "We're friends."

Dora took pity on her brother and interceded before Mrs. Lynde spoke contrarily. "Davy, she's more your friend than ours. That's what Mrs. Lynde means." Dora stared back at their elder. "Right?"

Mrs. Lynde stayed in check, seeing that Dora was protecting Davy's soft spot. "Of course that's what I meant. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to check on Marilla."

Dora collected bowls and cups for the dishpan. Somewhere in her movements, over her swishing skirt, Davy thought he heard her say, "Ralph leaves for Queens tomorrow. I'm going to spend the afternoon with him after the funeral. So, I won't be at the Blythes when it's over. He'll pick me up at the cemetery." There was a pause as Davy heard Dora work the water pump to fill the bucket. "I know you want me close, but I can't tell Ralph 'no'. He's got a lovely picnic planned, and I can't wait to spend the afternoon alone with him."

Whenever Dora mentioned Ralph, Davy's ear grew bored. He listened only for the parts he wanted to know, and usually, Dora talked about something romantic which Davy found nauseating. Ralph Andrews was forward and presumptuous. Davy had seen them in the distance more than once, kissin' and huggin'. He tried to ignore it. It was hard. But this time, he couldn't. If Dora can't tell him 'no'... Alarm bells sounded off in his head.

"Dora, he's not asking you to do anything you don't want to do, is he?" Davy felt his heart pitch behind his ribs, hoping that Dora would be clueless to his inference. He did not like Dora's answer.

"Oh Davy," Dora uncomfortably laughed as pink blossomed over her cheeks. "Stop playing the part of the protective brother. I can handle Ralph just fine."

"Dora," For some reason, he thought the worst of Ralph, even if her answer was supposed to reassure him. Why does Ralph need to be handled at all? "You know what I think Dora," Davy huffed. "If I can bring you proof, will you, please, please, break it off with him?"

Dora was about to lash out, but Davy's earnest expression curbed whatever speech was forming in her head. She stared back, not sure if his face was more pained or sad. In a strange way, it was also beautiful, the worry he wore said her name.

"Davy," Dora said. "If you can prove it, I'll have to. You almost lost an eye, but I honestly believe you're wrong."

Helen Blythe anxiously removed her apron, freeing her black dress to the dangers of house dust, cat hair, and food debris. Secretly, she hoped her fidgeting around the house would hasten the events of the day. Funerals were always such a sad business. It was best to stay busy but there was little left to do. The Blythe residence was in pristine order, thanks to Anne's more excellent (Cuthbert) housekeeping skills. Their departure would commence once Gilbert and Katherine arrived magically. Helen would fetch Miss Marin who was resting upstairs. The other Blythes and the soon-to-be Blythe, Anne Shirley, milled around in the kitchen arranging cookies, cakes, and pies on long tables. There was no telling how many people would come to their small luncheon after the graveside service but they were ready for a crowd.

Anne joined Helen in the parlor where Helen arranged and rearranged the needlepoint cushions.

"Helen, you're making me nervous, the way you keep changing things."

"I know," Helen crossed her arm over her front and touched her chin. "I can't make up my mind which way is better."

"It looks fine, dear!" Anne rubbed Helen's back and noticed how tight she was. Helen had taken on a lot of responsibility in a very short amount of time. "Relax, your planning will pay off. You've accounted for everything. There's nothing left but to live the day."

Helen signaled agreement with a small bob of her head.

The clocked chimed nine A.M. It was time. Anne looked around. No Gilbert. No Katherine.

"Where's Miss Marin?"

"I should go check on her," Helen muttered, pulling one pillow away and dropping it in a chair. "She's so upset Anne. She doesn't even want to go outside, much less the funeral. But she must, she's her father's only family. I'm going to do what I can to help her through it, but folks will want to talk with her, not me, I just hope. . . "

"Helen, if it makes you feel better, I spoke with Moody...I mean, Reverend MacPhearson yesterday," Anne chortled a bit on his new title, "and he has a beautiful eulogy planned, and Fred Wright agreed to pray with the New Halifax folks outside. It will be a hot day but at least it won't rain. Though, it's a shame that we couldn't get the elders to open the doors of the church for Marin's colored friends."

Helen snapped her blue eyes to Anne's direction, her frustrations now refreshed. Anne was sure she also saw fire brewing in those eye sockets. "I'm so mad about that. We were lucky that they agreed to allow Miss Marin into the church for her father's funeral." Helen put her hands on her hips to emphasize her anger. "I had to show those elders Miss Marin's birth certificate, Anne! It was ridiculous rigmarole!" Helen hissed and then, somehow she turned her perturbed demeanor into a mocking laugh, "Mr. Marin was one smart cookie! He bribed the doctor when she was born. Her birth certificate says she's...

"Kate!"

Anne's body got sucked into Helen's vortex as Helen rushed to the middle of the parlor. Katherine and Gilbert materialized from Kingsport under his powers and Katherine's special focus. Helen tackled Katherine Brooke with a gigantic hug. They kissed in joyful reunion. Anne wasn't sure whose reaction was better. Katherine, whose face gave up a sweet smile that knocked years off her, or Gilbert, failing utterly at not noticing the two women so passionately embraced.

Anne didn't allow him a chance to dwell on their reunion, not when they had their own to celebrate. She didn't remember moving her feet or mimicking Helen's leap towards him, but only registered the sensation of Gilbert's hands at her waist, and their lips uniting, kissing away the bitterness of summer separation. She ached when he let her go. Later on, during church no less, Anne thought she might still be kissing Gilbert if his parents hadn't made those loud, throat clearing noises announcing their presence in the room.

Gilbert didn't care that they were caught. His father wasn't a prude. Gilbert's hand cupped her cheek as his parents tried to explain they were running late. His Anne-girl stayed next to him, hiding her blush and putting her efforts into straightening his tie.

"I like your new mustache, a horseshoe. It tickles though." Anne wriggled her nose, whispering. "I'm almost convinced you might be dashing."

Gilbert wished to kiss her again. Today was one of those days where he was sure that he was living his fantasy. How he used to dream of bringing Anne home to be his! Discovering Anne Shirley loved him was his rebirth. Her love was the catalyst for everything he was today and would be tomorrow.

Helen smoothed her skirt and stepped into the corridor. "I better go and fetch Miss Marin."

"How is she doing?" Gilbert asked. He followed Helen to the stairwell, waiting for Helen's reply.

"Bertie, she's hurting. She's lost so much." Helen's emotions swung low.

Gilbert looked up the stairs that led to his old bedroom. "Do you mind if I get her? Maybe I can help?"

"Go ahead, but, don't force the conversation you mean to have with her," Helen pleaded against Gilbert's troubled expression. "It's her right to decide how he, or anyone for that matter, should be told, if at all."

Well, this is a first.

Gilbert never thought he'd be knocking on his former bedroom door seeking permission to enter. He looked around the hallway that was still very familiar to him and waited. The carpet was old and worn down, the colors muted in the middle where he and his parents had walked over the years. How odd that he could recall the day the pile was new and hard under his feet. It was a lifetime ago.

The nostalgic echo stopped when he heard the mechanical squeak of the bed. He discerned the soft pace of someone much lighter than himself moving back and forth anxiously on the other side of the door. Finally, a straining-for-control voice acknowledged his knock.

"Is it time?" Sniff "I don't want to go." Sniff "May I please stay? I promise to come down and make an appearance when you get back."

The agony in her voice broke his heart. He understood some of what she was suffering. According to Helen, she had lost her powers the morning she was told her father died. Two of her nightmares were made real in one shot. He had been her age when he had lost his powers, but now he was recovered. He might be able to give her hope.

"It's Gilbert, may I come in? I just want to chat, I don't know when else I'll get the chance."

Gilbert cracked the door and entered slowly, allowing Miss Marin the chance to stop him.

The room did not remember him at all. Everything that he owned that personalize his private place was packed. Anne had written him this, but seeing the results gave him pause. His bed—no, not his, but hers—was moved to a new wall. The curtains were no longer practical and boyish blue, but lacy pink frills. And the bedspread matched the drapery's pastel hue. Seeing his former sanctuary like this cemented his reality. Forevermore, he'd be a visitor in Avonlea, an absent son.

Miss Marin sat at the foot of the bed, her chin tucked to her chest. Her feather-strewn straw hat rested next to her, waiting to be pinned to her head. She peered up at him. A deep, vertical line grew between her eyes as a question mark overtook her countenance. Despite the gloomy expression, Gilbert understood Davy's liking her. She was a pretty girl.

Her tea-colored skin didn't make him think she was mixed race, but a daughter from the proud Lakota tribe of the Canadian plains. He had gotten to know a few of their men over the summer. A young brave, a boy really, had broken his leg and Gilbert had to do it. Heal the boy's leg. Gilbert was discovered as a witch by that small band of warriors. His worry turned to relief, for they didn't fear his powers or use him. They were only grateful. He could never thank them enough for what they did for him in return. They protected him when it really mattered. When Marcus was close to the truth.

Gilbert sat down next to Miss Marin and she rocked a little as the mattress took on Gilbert's weight.

"You know what I am and I know what you and your father are..." Gilbert reviewed her reaction for any changes that would hint to her being uncomfortable. "We've never talked about our powers, but, I think maybe we should."

Immediately Miss Marin took a defensive posture. "Papa used to say that you and Helen are too trusting. No one else needs to know or should know, that magic is real and witches really do exist."

"Oh, I don't know if that's true," Gilbert stared straight ahead. "I'm a better man for sharing this part of me. Trusting others might be hard, but, it has its own rewards and merits." Gilbert checked her again, her face slightly defiant. "And you're right, there is also a risk. But, the right person can make your magic stronger. I believe everyone you meet, has the ability to shape and mold your powers. It's even more so when love is involved."

Gilbert stopped for a moment to allow Miss Marin a chance to respond. She did so by stretching her leg out before her and then crossing her foot before an ankle.

"Do you know, then?"

"Yes, Helen told me. I'm sorry, Miss Marin. Witches have to stick together, thick and thin. She asked me for some advice." He nudged her a tad with his nearest hand. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm here for you too. Same as Helen."

"I knew this might happen," Miss Marin looked away from him as a few fat teardrops rolled over her lip and into her mouth. "But it's not a real loss, is it? I'm absolutely nothing compared to the magic you and Helen have. Animal charmers like me, like Papa. . . we're not important."

Gilbert shook his head in disagreement as he handed over his handkerchief to the successor of his room.

"Making friends with animals is a very important and special gift." Gilbert's sincerity was clear. "And you used your powers creatively too. You're the one that asked the foxes to escort Davy to and from Green Gables, aren't you?"

Miss Marin smirked. "He was never supposed to see them. And, I don't want Davy to know. That's very important to me."

"Alright, but Davy's helped me quite a bit since he learned about me. I never meant for him to know I have magical powers, but, I'm glad he does now."

Miss Marin shook her head 'no' anyway. Gilbert really didn't think he would be able to change her mind, but he had hoped. He was pretty certain she was the key to answering his questions about Davy's attack.

"I had never heard of animal charming until you and your father came to Avonlea. And, I still can't believe there's another witch family nearby. It's amazing not to feel so unique. Us Blythes will always have a special kinship to you, for that reason alone."

"But I'm not a witch anymore." She started to panic. "Don't you understand? They're gone." Miss Marin wept freely. So much so, Gilbert wondered briefly if Helen might burst in and send him off.

"It happens to all of us. Me especially, for a really long time." Gilbert hunched forward. "I think it's a natural result to believing you're alone in the world, but, you're always a witch, even if your sadness is overpowering your magic. When I was your age, I had no powers at all, but I recovered once I knew the person I loved, loved me back."

"I feel ashamed you know, because, if I could choose, I would forgo being a witch to have Papa back, even for a day or even, one more minute."

"That's the exact choice I made," Gilbert attempted some humor that was marginally successful. "Look at me now. I'm a bi-locating healer." Miss Marin responded with a throaty chuckle. It wasn't a big laugh, but it was hearty and stress-reducing. "I'm still amazed that I got my powers back and then some. Anything can happen when you trust the people around you."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's true, that when a witch dies, the magic stays behind?" Miss Marin asked. "Miss Brooke had mentioned it to me. She said, if Papa dies happy, his magic will turn into a household blessing."

"I suppose it could be true, although, I hadn't heard of it before," He thought of the Tomgallons for some reason and their cursed ancestral home. What happened when a witch dies angry? "Speaking of Miss Brooke, she's waiting downstairs, along with my parents and Helen and Anne. We need to go, I'm sure Moody will wait until you're there before starting. I know it's hard, but, you won't be alone. We will say goodbye to Henry together."

Miss Marin painfully descended the stairs to the protective circle of her defacto family. Mrs. Blythe gave her a big hug which almost made her cry again and Helen helped her with her hat. Miss Brooke assured Miss Marin that she looked smart in her stylish, black dress. Anne slipped a card into Miss Marin's hands. "A token of sympathy from Green Gables."

It was a picture of Jesus tending a flock of sheep. Miss Marin thought she might keep it in the Marin Family Bible.

Her steps were not as heavy as they once were as she came outside into the beautiful late summer day. Rival whinnied his welcome in his horse speak she could no longer understand. She looked at the picture in her hand and saw there were words printed too. She couldn't read cursive, but, she caught the word at the very end.

That word was love.

Davy Keith aimed to stand as close as he could get to Miss Marin for the graveside service. She was being propped up and supported by Miss Blythe, with Mr. and Mrs. Blythe standing behind them. Mr. Wright served as the minister now. Reverend MacPhearson wasn't allowed by the elder board to address a congregation filled with both colored and whites. Preacher Fred spoke a lot about Mr. Marin's faith, going over some surprising details he had learned back when he had investigated Mr. Marin's application to join the Avonlea church. Davy wasn't aware that he had been denied admittance because of his colored daughter.

Davy looked down into the hole where Mr. Marin was laid to rest and saw not just a coffin, but an iceberg of injustice. Mr. Marin might have had an easier life, but he chose love over convention. As a result, he was estranged from his family. Davy suspected that Mr. Marin may have had a lot more than a few "falls in the woods". For a man with poor health to start with, his choice to love the colored serving girl his father employed might have sealed his impoverished fate.

Race didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The Great Destroyer was also the Great Equalizer. Death came to everyone, unbiased.

"Amen," everyone said.

The service concluded. Davy watched Preacher Wright shake the hand of Miss Marin. She appeared pale, but maybe that was the effect of the black dress she wore. She stood stoically with Helen's hand bracing her.

Folks approached the man-made hollow with their fistfuls of dirt. They scattered dust and Davy remembered Mr. Marin and his Bible quotes. "By the sweat of your brow thou shall eat," and here, watching the earthly sprinkling, he could also hear Mr. Marin finish that verse "from dust you came and dust you shall return".*

Davy dirtied his hands with the red, clayish soil too. He stood and waited for the line to Miss Marin and Helen to fall way. When it did, he approached.

"Thanks for coming, Davy," Miss Marin said in a detached and automatic fashion.

Davy stood straighter and tried to catch Miss Marin's face, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I really liked your father. He was a kind man and I know he loved you very much." Davy realized his voice was trembling. Eight years wasn't the lifetime ago he thought it was. He remembered how it felt to watch his mother be buried and all the faces that said similar things to him and Dora.

Miss Marin's eyes brimmed with moisture and she took an interest in her feet. Davy gave Miss Blythe a puzzled, uncertain look. What do I do now?

Don't worry, Davy. Helen smiled back.

Miss Blythe removed her hand from Miss Marin's back and asked, "Darling, would you excuse me for a moment? I want to be sure everyone knows that they are welcomed to come over for some luncheon. I'm sure Davy will stay with you." Not waiting for her answer, Helen crossed the graveyard into the throng of mourners gathered near the horses and buggies.

Davy turned his head a little bit to see the crowd. A good contingent of Avonlea had shown up to support Miss Marin and the Blythes. Davy even saw a flower-bearing Ralph Andrews approaching Dora. He suddenly wished he had picked a clutch for Miss Marin. He chastised himself for not doing so on such a terrible day.

"Look at how many people came," Davy pointed out the bouquet of well-wishers instead. "I think Mr. Marin would be surprised."

Miss Marin reviewed the people hanging around the gate, waiting for her. She could see Helen with Miss Brooke and they were talking with Mr. Sloane. Later, Mr. Sloane would tell Miss Marin that although he had never met her father, he knew that Mr. Marin had prayed for him, and he thought he should return the favor. Mr. Sloane's two-year-old son Robert was running circles around everyone until Preacher Fred scooped up his nephew and handed him back to his mother. Further off, she could see Margo White standing in her work dress and do-rag, with a few menfolk from New Halifax. She suspected in the woods that the foxes and other creatures watched as well. The birds would have told them, those hyper-aware wrens that saw everything and knew everyone.

Her father had touched more lives than she thought. Seeing so many people there; young, old, colored and white made her tremble in gratitude. She wanted to hold onto Davy for support but instead turned her focus to a late migrating songbird perched on the headstone of some older resident. It seemed to chirp condolences too.

"Miss Marin?" Davy quietly asked, as her face turned peaceful. "What's this in your hand?"

"It's a picture of Jesus." She forgot the card given to her that morning, but there it was, bent now from the pressure of her fingers. "Miss Shirley gave it to me. And, there's something written on the back."

Davy knew the card as one of Marilla's. She kept a few religious articles with her stationery. Mailing a picture of Jesus with a note was her formula for addressing trials and sufferings.

"Anne wrote the poem." Davy smiled as he flipped the card over. He knew her handwriting.

"Davy, will you read it to me? Please?" Her golden-brown eyes blinked expectantly. Davy swallowed, he was sure he would do anything if she looked at him like that and asked.

His voice was low and steady, and he didn't push quickly through the stanzas but tried to build flow and cadence.

God hath not promised, skies always blue
Flower-strewn pathways, all our lives through
God hath not promised, sun without rain
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain

But God hath promised, strength for the day
Rest for the labor, light for the way
Grace for the trials, help from above
Unfailing sympathy, undying love**

Davy felt his composure go. How much more obvious could he be? He wasn't reading a poem, but possibly making a confession, not only to her but himself as well. He was glad that his back was to the crowd as he retreated into his own handkerchief. It was Miss Marin that gave him some encouragement. Their gazes connected when he tried to return the card.

I really do love you.

She looked away again and to the trees, where more birds gathered, singing a chorus of tweets and trills. Davy couldn't think why the racket of a bunch of songbirds might make her smile, but smile she did. Her smile was big and bright and infectious.

"Davy?" Miss Marin asked as she stroked the back of his hand with her index finger. "Hold my hand? Will you? Please?"

Davy opened his hand and she put her hand into his. Her trust in him fortified his spine and melted it all at once. Feeling bold, or maybe too tired to feign a different response, he informed her. "I'll hold your hand forever if you want me to."

Davy guided Miss Marin away from her father's resting place. The conversations ceased as the crowd watched Davy and Miss Marin come forward, hands joined. In Avonlea, it was uncommon to see husband and wife display affection in public after all. The picture before them was shocking.

The stir they caused was interrupted when suddenly Ralph Andrews shouted some annoyance and Dora said "Eeeeww!" and a couple of men laughed.

Davy shot a look at Dora and Ralph and saw a bird had nailed Ralph with its droppings. Dora was trying to blot out the mess from his suit jacket when yet another bird targeted Ralph and got him.

"What crazy birds around here!" Ralph exclaimed, but he laughed along with the others in what seemed to be a ridiculous coincidence.

Miss Marin leaned in a little to Davy and whispered. "There's something about me you should know."

Dora felt his hands again reach up and under her skirt and this time she let him find her upper thigh. She was tired of pushing it away and if the truth were told, the kneading pressure of his strong fingers wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She relaxed on her back in the very secluded and shaded wood of their property. They were making out on the picnic blanket to Dora's relief. Dora hated laundering grass stains.

Ralph moved Dora so her hips would cradle his. She knew that she should object to their pelvises pressing together, even with the barrier of their clothes, but she found making protests tiring. She would wait until it really mattered, and was trying to work up an absolute resolve against his charms, as he sweetly adorned her with kisses in the shallow of her neck.

Ralph was perspiring, he was so worked up. His hand returned to her breast were he fondled it tenderly. Dora felt her hips move in natural response. She was sweating too, burning under his overly-warm weight.

His mouth found hers and somewhere between love bites, she heard his husky voice suggest. "Let's do it, Dora."

Dora pulled out of his kiss and looked at him. She wasn't as scandalized as she thought she would be and found the thought to be rather exciting for its wickedness. But still, it was a terrible idea. She could get pregnant, but how to tell the man she loved this when his face was excited, full of passion and want, she did not know.

Since she gave no immediate objection Ralph continued exploring, with a grin stretching ear to ear. He got his hand in her bloomers. He was pulling them down when she jumped away, "No Ralph."

"No?" Ralph repeated. He sounded genuinely hurt. Wounded even, but he stopped and rolled off of her. His belly up. She looked away as he refastened his fly. "What do you mean, no? I thought you loved me. This is what people do when they are in love."

"Ralph, I'm not ready," Dora lamely said. And I'm scared. "I could get pregnant."

Ralph groaned with disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you, I love you too much to get you pregnant. Don't you trust me? It's just a matter of timing. Billy told me what to do."

Dora snorted. "Billy's the father of six!"

"You know that the oldest two are Nettie's siblings, she adoptive those twins when Mrs. Blewett died."

"Fine, a father of four. My point stands."

"That means he has enough experience to know how to not be a father. Please trust me." He kissed her again along the curve of her neck, nuzzling the place he knew she liked touched. "It will be great, I promise."

"Ralph, I trust you, but, babies are made all the time when people don't want them. Changing all these diapers has taught me that. I don't think we can beat the odds, plus, it's a sin. Isn't that why we want to marry, to avoid hell?"

"It's more of a sin to get a man all worked up and not see it through." Ralph adjusted his crotch, not caring what Dora saw when she blushed for him. "If you love me like you say you do, you'd let me make love to you."

"Ralph, I...I can't." Dora started to panic. It was starting to feel more and more like an ultimatum. "But please, believe me, I do love you."

"Then prove it." Ralph lounged back on his arms. "I prove I love you all the time. This situation with your brother and the colored girl continues, but, I overlook it now. What I saw today, with those two holding hands." He frowned. "It's unnatural. I thought Davy might have learned his lesson. I guess not."

"Ralph, what are you saying? Do you know who beat Davy up?"

Ralph got really uncomfortable. "I love you, Dora. I'm just trying to protect you."

"You-you!" Dora couldn't breathe as she burst into tears. Davy was right! "It was you!"

"Now, now," Ralph said. "I admit in retrospect that my plan was a bad one. I chose Nettie's kid brothers to come with me. You know, help build their confidence a bit. Those two couldn't hurt a fly, they're so little. But Davy slipped my grasp and he fell. If he hadn't had fallen, he would have been fine, I swear Dora. I even stuck around to make sure someone found him. But Mr. Blythe showed up really quick. I am sorry. I told you I would never lie to you. I am responsible."

"Ralph!" Dora gripped her stomach as what she heard was making her physically sick. She would have preferred the lie.

Ralph tried to comfort her with a pat on her back that she angrily pushed away.

"I can't marry you, Ralph. I'm sorry, but you can't do that to my brother—my twin no less—and not hurt me too."

"Dora, you're being a little bit overdramatic now. Please don't let a little nigger girl come between us. We're going to have a beautiful life together. I do love you and I did something stupid. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

At this point, Dora had collected her things and marched off to the nearest house, she had friends everywhere now. All the mothers in the area welcomed her. She would be safe until Davy could come and get her.

"Dora!" Ralph called after her, but she only ran harder and faster away.

to be continued

*Genesis 3:19

**God hath not promised was written, I believe, after this scene would have taken place. Lyrics are by Annie Johnson Flint. I never heard this hymn before. I attended the funeral of a long-time family friend, and this was printed on the cover of the program and I loved it. I did try to look for something else to use, something that might have fit better to AoGG, but didn't like anything else. And let's face it, I'm a very lazy researcher. I am open to substitution if someone wants to make it. Please private message me.