“You hate me hard, don’t you, Lethe,” Theodosia said, speaking sharply. She tried to turn back to Americy’s song.
“Or let Flo Agnew. Some said it was Flo Agnew got your goat. God’s sake! You a tame one.” Lethe’s words were bitter to her own taste now, turned back upon herself, as if she were defending herself.
“Where’s Ross now?” Americy asked, speaking softly, afraid of Lethe’s passion. Her tone was slightly knowing, as if she gave a taunt in defense of Theodosia. Softly spoken, “Where’s Ross by now?”
“He works now of a night at the brick-yard, works all night at the brick-kiln.”
“It was said Ross was sweet on Lou at the lodge supper a Sat’day, sweet as pie on Lou, was said.” Americy spoke to herself, in a dream, and she began to rock to and fro again. “That’s what was said a Sunday at the church.”
“If he spends one quarter on her,” Lethe said, laying down her hard oath with slow, careful words, “If he spends one quarter on her or walks in the dark once beside her, I’ll ... I’ll cut her body open with a hog knife. One time, and I’ll do it, so help me God.”
Stig was telling his story, making small tracks with his fingers on the bare floor, his mouth dripping in his eagerness to relate the happenings. Theodosia looked at Lethe continually now and she saw her hate arise to an intense power and she knew, seeing her, the force of hate where it mounted, direct, willing, uncurbed by self-searching. Looking intently at Lethe she merged for the instant with her and felt the sting of hate where it spread over her own face and her breast.
“That’s what was said,” Americy whispered, staring at the floor. “Sweet on Ross, Lou was, and him sweet back on her, was said.”
“One time, and I’ll cut her open with a hog knife. She knows I will. She better know.” A cry.
“Crawl, crawl, crawl down stable. Climb step. Can’t climb last step. Too steep. Skeeter Shoots, he says, ‘I help ol’ rat up last step.’ Sets ol’ rat down on top. ‘See?’ Skeet says. ‘Here’s corn room.’ We kill ol’ rat inside corn room.”