ONE

The road to Eden runs up the valley from the town of Indian River. All along its length are small farms, occasionally a large one, and, set back from the road in the edge of the forest, a few fine homes. Although the valley is wide, as valleys in that country go, the road is not the straightest and is only two lanes of asphalt. The centerline was repainted by the state not long ago, so that looks nice.

The village of Eden is twelve miles from Indian River. Due to some bureaucratic oversight the village still has a post office, a small brick building with an American flag on a pole out front. Old Mrs. Marple puts the mail up, sells stamps, and passes the time of day with anyone who walks in. She has been behind the counter in the post office for almost forty years, longer than many of her customers have been alive.

Across the road from the post office sits the primary business in Eden—well, the only business in Eden. The sign on Doolin’s Restaurant and General Store is faded and the paint flaking off, but everyone in four counties knows it. The enterprise is owned and operated by Moses Grimes, who bought it from Doolin years and years ago and never got around to having the sign repainted. Doolin moved away after he sold out and may even be dead now—no one seems to know for sure.

In the general store Grimes stocks groceries, fresh meat, tools, nails, nuts and bolts, electrical and plumbing items, ammunition, fishing equipment, and a breathtaking array of over-the-counter medicines, beauty products, pots, pans, school supplies, etc. Out back in a cinder-block shed he keeps fertilizer, bulk pet food, culverts, charcoal and the like.

Every item in Doolin’s General Store can be purchased cheaper in the county seat, Indian River. Most of the patrons tend to buy only things they forgot to purchase on their last shopping expedition in town. Grimes would probably go out of business if it weren’t for the restaurant, where he features good, plain country cooking at rock-bottom prices. Packed three times a day, the restaurant is the social hub of the Eden community. The dining room is not large, so people talk to their neighbors at the other tables. Sometimes four or five of these conversations are in progress at once; since the volume can be awe-inspiring, it takes a trained ear to hear the remarks directed at you.

All this hubbub takes place before the worst mural ever painted, a stupendous outdoor scene that covers the largest wall. The grossly distorted perspective of this work is trendy enough, yet one suspects the artist was color-blind or had decided this wall was the perfect place to dispose of a large quantity of hideous green paint. Regular customers find that the food goes down easier if they avoid looking at the mural.

There are four houses in the village of Eden, nice old houses with two large rooms downstairs and two up, with chimneys on each end and fireplaces in every room. Three of the houses are in fair condition, and one is ready to fall down because miser Hardy, who lives there, never spent a cent on paint or nails in his life.

A village would be incomplete without a church. Fortunately Eden has one: the Eden Chapel, a white frame building with a small bell tower, surrounded by a graveyard brimming with past Edenites. The former preacher, the Reverend Mr. Henry Davis, just retired, lives in the house beside the post office with the good Mrs. Davis.

At the south end of the village is a schoolhouse, now abandoned, located between two county roads that lead away from Eden. The left fork goes off through the hills to Canaan and Goshen; the right fork goes to Vegan. Although both forks are paved for the first mile or so, they are narrower and more twisty than the Eden road, and the state didn’t waste any paint on centerlines. Once they pass through Eden, most tourists turn around in the old schoolyard and head back down the valley toward the town.

Tourists do visit Eden. The trees may not be straighter there, taller and more symmetrical, the grass greener, the sky bluer and the distant mountains more purple and majestic, but it often seems so. On fine mornings the locals like to tell each other that, indeed, God made this place first. While no travel or leisure magazine has ever done an article on the Eden country and probably none ever will, word-of-mouth keeps a steady, dripping trickle of cars driving slowly up the Eden road, visiting Doolin’s and turning around in the schoolyard.

Today Trooper Sam Neely of the state police pulled his cruiser into the schoolyard and sat looking at the abandoned one-room frame structure with its peeling paint, broken windows and weeds growing in the playground.

He glanced back through the village. He could see past the chapel to Doolin’s and the post office. Although the scene looked inviting, with huge old maples and oaks towering over everything and still in full foliage these first weeks of September, there wasn’t another person in sight.

Sam Neely groaned.

He was just one week out of the state police academy and this county was his first assignment. This morning his sergeant told him the southern half of the county was his beat. His colleague, Trooper Tutwiler, with two years in the state police under his belt, got the northern half.

After the sergeant left to return to Capitol City, Sam Neely got into his police cruiser with the bubble-gum machine on top and drove slowly along the Eden road to see what he could see.

It was bad.

Oh, the houses were spiffy enough, the meadows mowed, the pastures full of hundreds of fat black cattle, the late-summer foliage lushly verdant, yet to young Sam Neely the place was as exciting as a postcard from Iowa.

He had joined the state police because he wanted adventure, and they sent him here! To this rusticated nowhere. The most interesting thing he would ever do here in the line of duty would be to chase a cow that slipped though a gap in a fence.

Neely turned off the engine of his car and listened to the wind in the leaves. Listened to his heart beat. Listened to his youth slip away. He felt like crying but didn’t because he was young and tough.

He started the engine while he wondered if he should go on up the road to Canaan and Goshen, then maybe swing back through Vegan.

He decided against it. He could only stand so much of this excitement. He would leave that odyssey until tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

And the day after, and the day after…The days stretched away before Trooper Neely into an appalling, dismal haze.

He cranked the wheel around and aimed the cruiser down the Eden road toward town.

Rot. He would rot here watching the cows chew their cuds, rot while listening to these rustics prattle endlessly about the weather and hay and politely nodding, nodding, nodding…

Rot!

He, Sam Neely, a young man in perfect health ready for any adventure—a true American ready to put his life on the line to defend honest citizens and the American way of life when the clarion call of duty pealed once again—already had one foot in the grave. He could almost feel the slimy worms crawling over his flesh. He shivered involuntarily.

His pistol would rust from disuse. The twelve cartridges they issued him for the pistol were a lifetime supply. He would still have all twelve when he retired—in thirty years.

Musing along these lines, Trooper Neely didn’t notice the driver of the car he passed just outside of Indian River headed up the Eden road. Even if he had, Neely had not yet met the man and would not have known who he was.

Mrs. Eufala Davis, the preacher’s wife, was a mile behind Trooper Neely, and she saw the car and recognized the driver, Ed Harris, the banker.

That’s odd, Mrs. Davis thought. Ed Harris should be at the bank on Wednesday afternoon. Why, Ed Harris was bragging just last week that he hadn’t missed a day’s work sick in ten years.

She made a mental note to ask Mrs. Harris, Anne, why her husband was going home at two o’clock on Wednesday afternoon.

 

What Mrs. Davis would later learn was really no mystery. Ed Harris was going home because he was indeed sick. Stomachache. He felt slightly queasy. Didn’t think it would look right if he threw up in his office at the bank, so he had made his excuses and was on his way home.

He turned off the Eden road into his private driveway, which led across the meadows of the valley, past the huge sycamore that had been threatening for years to fall over. He steered the car carefully as the driveway wound its way into the trees.

The house sat a hundred yards back in the forest on a low hill. It was a big two-story with eight rooms. Ed and Anne had designed it themselves, valuing privacy more than a scenic view.

Ed pulled into the turnaround in front of the house and killed the engine. He sat staring at the car beside Anne’s.

A Dodge.

Looks like Hayden Elkins’.

Naw. Couldn’t be. Hayden was his friend, his best friend. Why on earth would Hayden be over here on a Wednesday afternoon? With Anne alone in the house? With Ruth away at college? With Hayden’s best buddy Ed Harris at work at the bank?

Ed got out of the car, his nausea forgotten. He used his key to let himself in through the front door. He walked slowly toward the stairs, climbed them one by one. They were covered with carpet and didn’t creak. Not one of them. He and Anne had built this house to last. Their house. Their home!

On the top of the stairs was one of Anne’s shoes. And a tie. A short distance down the hall was a skirt. And a sports coat…and a man’s shoes.

He could hear them giggling. The bedroom door at the end of the hallway was partially open.

Ed Harris turned around and went back down the stairs. He went to the den and sat in his favorite chair, which faced the magnificent ten-point buck’s head hanging on the wall.

He sat staring at the wall, his thoughts tumbling over one another in no particular order.

Later he couldn’t recall just how long he sat there or just what he thought about, but when he arose from the chair he went to his gun cabinet.

He selected a twelve-gauge shotgun from the rack and a box of shells from one of the bottom drawers. He shoved three shells into the magazine of the gun. Then he jacked a shell into the chamber and engaged the safety.

Here he paused. He took off his tie and tossed it on the desk.

Grasping the shotgun tightly in both hands, he strode for the stairs.

They were naked in bed. Anne was on top, her head flung back, her dark hair bobbing.

Hayden saw him first. He pushed Anne sideways off of him.

“Jesus Christ, Ed! Don’t shoot us!”

Ed Harris held the shotgun across his chest, the way he did at the skeet range just before he said “Pull.”

Anne turned and saw him, then swept the hair back from her eyes and looked again.

“Now, Ed…,” she said.

“For the love of Christ, Ed…,” Hayden pleaded. He was twenty pounds too heavy, Ed Harris noted objectively, and would be bald as an apple in five more years. In bed with his wife! Of all people…his friend—Hayden Elkins!

Anne lowered her face into her hands and began sobbing.

Hayden wanted to argue. “Now Ed, this isn’t worth killing someone over. You don’t want to go to prison, have someone’s death on your conscience, do you? Of course not! My God, Ed, I am sorry. This just…happened! After all, we’re healthy people and Anne loves you—you know how much Anne loves you!—and this was just a roll in the hay, something to do on a Wednesday afternoon. We’re not in love, not like Anne loves you. You know how she loves you—”

“Get out of bed,” Ed Harris ordered. “Get dressed.”

“Ed, it was just a roll in the hay, for God’s sake—”

He gestured with the barrel of the shotgun. “Shut up! Get out of bed and get dressed. Both of you.”

Anne was sobbing hard, with her hair down over her face. Ed got a glimpse of tears streaming down her cheeks. Oh, Christ!

They dressed quickly. He went out in the hall and kicked the shoes and skirt back toward the bedroom, all the while keeping the muzzle of the shotgun pointed in their general direction.

When Hayden got his trousers and shoes on, Ed gestured with the shotgun toward the closet door.

“In there,” he said, “are her suitcases. Get them out. Pack all her stuff. All her clothes, her jewelry, cosmetics, everything. Quickly now.”

“What are you going to do?” Anne asked.

“Do as you’re told,” Ed replied roughly, and backed against the wall so he would be out of the way and could watch them both.

Not that Hayden was going to try anything. Not with Ed standing there holding a shotgun. Hayden might be dumb enough to screw your wife on a Wednesday afternoon, but he wasn’t crazy stupid.

Anne was crazy enough, and unpredictable to boot, but the shock of being caught in bed with another man had apparently taken the starch out of her, at least for a little while.

They opened the suitcases on the bed and Anne threw some things into them. Not all of her clothes, of course; it would have taken a small truck to haul all her clothes. Just the stuff she liked and wore often. One valise was for beauty paraphernalia and jewelry.

When the suitcases were about full, Hayden broke the heavy silence with a question: “What are you going to do?”

“Me? Nothing. It’s what you and Anne are going to do.”

The way Ed said that made Hayden queasy. “Now, Ed, you aren’t going to shoot us. Please! The kids…Please!”

“Shut up, Hayden,” Anne snapped. Her eyes were red, and tears were still leaking down her cheeks, but she had pulled her hair back out of her face and was biting her lip as she emptied her jewelry case into the small valise. “What are we going to do, Ed?”

“Pick up the suitcases.”

They closed them, and Hayden hefted three and Anne took the two small ones. That left one medium-sized one that Ed hoisted with his left hand. He held the shotgun in his right hand, his finger outside the trigger guard, and followed Hayden and Anne along the hall and down the stairs.

In the driveway Ed pointed the shotgun toward Hayden’s car. “In there.”

Hayden loaded the suitcases in the trunk and on the backseat. “What now?” he asked when he finished, turning to face Ed Harris.

“Hayden, ol’ buddy,” Ed replied. He poked the barrel of the shotgun into Hayden’s ample stomach. “Anne’s all yours. You are going to take her home and treat her right and be a good husband to her. She’s wonderful in bed, as you’ve found out. She can’t cook very well and won’t clean the bathtub or the toilets no matter how much you bitch about it. She’s a little selfish, highly opinionated, mildly spoiled and appreciates the finer things in life. Likes vacations in the Bahamas and gold jewelry at Christmas and Valentine’s Day. You are going to make her happy, Hayden. You are going to provide her with all that. I worked my ass off for twenty-two years doing it, and now it’s your turn.”

Hayden Elkins’ chin worked; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times. Finally he found his voice. “I’ve got a wife, Ed.”

“Now you have two.”

Anne tittered, a touch hysterically, Ed thought. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her hands.

“Ed, think of what you’re saying,” Hayden pleaded. “Give me a break!”

“You’re a lucky man, Elkins. You’ve lost a friend and gained a wife.”

“What on earth will I tell Matilda?” Hayden moaned.

“Your problem,” Ed Harris said brusquely. He backed away from Hayden several steps. “You might start with the truth. Matilda is a strong woman. Gotta be—she’s put up with you for a long time. Tell her the truth.”

“I’ll bet you’re bluffing,” Hayden said belligerently. “I’ll bet that gun isn’t even loaded.”

Ed Harris pointed the gun to one side and pulled the trigger. The report was like a punch in the chin to Hayden Elkins. Then Ed worked the Remington’s slide, flipping the spent shell on the ground at Hayden’s feet.

When Hayden raised his eyes from the shell, Ed told him, “You had better treat Anne right, amigo. If I hear that you’re not treating her as well as Matilda, if I hear that she’s unhappy”—Ed leveled the business end of the twelve-gauge full in Hayden’s face—“then this gun is going to go off again.”

He lowered the gun. “Now get out of here. Get in the car and get out of here! Now!”

They went.

Ed Harris went back into the house and put the shotgun away. He poured himself a stiff bourbon and sat down in his favorite chair in the den.

 

As Hayden Elkins drove along the Eden road, Anne sobbed some more. “Matilda, what will she say?” Hayden wondered aloud. “The people at the courthouse, at the country club, all our friends…”

“He’ll tell everyone,” Anne put in. She wiped her tears away and looked at Hayden without sympathy. “We’re in for it. You might as well face it.”

Hayden brought the car to a stop. He lowered his face onto the steering wheel and began crying. “He might have killed us back there.”

“He still might,” Anne said, digging the needle in spitefully. “You heard him.”

She dearly liked Hayden, but at times he was such a baby. So unlike Ed, who was all man all the time. Too much so, in fact. She needed a man who needed her. Ed was just so…well, he was Ed. Hayden’s soft spots stirred her womanly instincts, although at this moment he could do with a little more backbone. That was all right—she was perfectly capable of providing some.

“Let’s go,” she said. “We might as well face Matilda and get it over with.”

“I love her very much,” Hayden declared bravely, fighting back the tears. “I’m not going to divorce her.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” his second wife told him. “She may have something to say about the matter, though.”

 

When they broke the news to Matilda she fainted, to Anne’s disgust. Hayden caught her and chafed her wrists and kissed her and cuddled her in his arms until her eyes fluttered open. She started and stared around wildly. Her gaze fastened on Anne.

“You hussy, you home wrecker, you man-stealing tramp! You—”

“Now, dear…,” Hayden said soothingly.

“Let go of me, you bastard.”

Matilda fought free of her husband’s arms and got to her feet. She swayed slightly. “You tomcatting son of a bitch. I won’t have this hussy in my house.”

“Dear, we don’t have a choice. Ed is crazy! He had a gun. He has a gun. He’s crazy enough to use it.”

“By God,” his first wife declared, “if I had a gun I’d use it here and now. I’d shoot off your silly little weenie.” Matilda shook her fist in Anne’s face. “If your husband were a real man he’d have killed you both.”

Anne kept her dignity. She bent over and picked up the two small suitcases. “I’ll put these in the guest bedroom. Bring the others in, won’t you, dear?”

Hayden had to restrain Matilda as Anne ascended the stairs. Matilda was in a fine fury, spluttering with rage.

When she had calmed down some, Hayden whispered, “I’m sorry, darling. You know how much I love you. I’m weak. It was just a flirtation that got out of hand.”

“You and your damned peter!”

“Darling, this will all be over soon. She’ll probably go home tomorrow when Ed cools off. Don’t do anything rash.”

“I want her out of my house. Take her to the hotel in town.”

“Then everyone will know,” Hayden wailed. He had seen the look on Ed Harris’ face and was truly afraid of him, so now he grasped at this straw. “Let’s keep silent and send her home tomorrow.”

“Do you love me, Hayden?”

“Oh, of course I do, darling. You know how much! I am so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. She’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Our son! He’ll be home from school any minute—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him. He won’t tell anyone. This won’t get out.”

“How long,” Matilda asked acidly, “has this little thing between you and Anne been going on?”

“Today was the first time,” Hayden said. “The very first time.”

“If only I could believe that.”

“Matilda, for God’s sake. Let’s not let this wreck our lives. Our marriage. We have to think of our son, of our position in the community.”

“The community? I don’t give a damn what the community thinks.”

“Matilda! Darling! Don’t be rash. We have to live here. Our son has to live here. Anne will be gone in the morning. This whole thing will be just like a bad dream that’s forgotten in the morning. You’ll see.”

 

Matilda was in the kitchen fixing supper and crying, and Anne was upstairs, when Billy Joe Elkins came home from school. He was a senior in high school this year and drove his own Jeep. His father heard it skid to a stop in the gravel outside. He opened the door and met the young man on the porch.

“Son, we have a houseguest.”

“Who?”

“Anne Harris.”

Billy Joe’s eyebrows went up toward his hairline. He drew back and scrutinized his father’s face. “Anne Harris?”

“Anne Harris.”

“What happened? Did her husband kick her out of the house?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Billy Joe took another hard look at his father and snorted, trying to hold back the laughter. “What happened? Did ol’ man Harris catch you in bed with her or something?”

His father sagged into the porch swing.

“That is it, isn’t it?” the boy howled. “Dad, I can’t believe you did this. Anne Harris?”

“It’s not so damned funny. Quit that laughing.”

“Oh man, this is so far out!” The boy held his hands to his head and danced around in a circle. “I can’t believe this. My own father? What does Mom say?”

“Well, she’s unhappy, but…” Hayden stopped because his son wasn’t there anymore. The boy darted through the door and made a beeline for the kitchen, where he knew he’d find his mother this time of day.

“Dad and Anne Harris?” he demanded of his mother, who turned to face him with a large wooden spoon in her hand.

“She’ll be gone in the morning, dear. Your father and I want you to say nothing about this outside the house.”

Billy Joe couldn’t believe his ears. “You think no one else will hear about this? On the Eden road?”

“She’ll be gone in the morning, dear.”

“She’s upstairs, right?”

“That’s right,” his mother confirmed. “And you are not to disturb…” She was talking to thin air. Billy Joe’s thunderous tread sounded on the staircase.

He knocked on the door of the guest bedroom.

“Come in.”

He opened the door. Well, you had to give the old man credit, he acknowledged. Mrs. Harris was a dish. She still had a figure that would stun the guys over at school. Face wasn’t bad, either. Mrs. Harris was unpacking and stood before him now with a piece of filmy lingerie half folded in her hands.

“Uh, Mrs. Harris, I didn’t mean to cause you any distress or anything…”

“That’s quite all right.”

“I heard…you and Dad?”

“That’s correct,” Anne Harris said with simple dignity.

“Hoo boy. Whew!” This was big, the biggest thing he had ever tried to handle in his seventeen and a half years. “Awesome,” he muttered, still staring at the lingerie in Mrs. Harris’ hands.

“It must be a shock to you,” Anne said. She was always practical. She hated that quality in herself, but it was useless to try to change it this late in the game.

“And you’re leaving in the morning?”

“I don’t know what gave you that idea. No. I’m staying. This is my new home.”

Billy Joe was overwhelmed. He mopped his brow and fell into a chair. From its depths he stared at the woman standing before him, who finished with the nightie and began working on folding a dress. “Uh, Mrs. Harris…”

“Better call me Anne, since we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other, I imagine.”

“Anne.”

“Yes?”

“Uh, I don’t…I’m not sure I understand exactly…”

“Well, I don’t quite know myself. My husband caught your father and me in bed together this afternoon. There was quite a scene, of course. Very distressing and embarrassing.”

“Oh, of course.”

“No use lying about it. The truth is impossible to deny.”

“Of course.”

“It will undoubtedly be talked about.”

“Of course.”

“So I’m here for a while.”

“Of course.”

“You understand?”

“I understand. Of course.” Billy Joe pondered that answer for several seconds. “Understand what?”

“Mr. Harris had a gun.”

“A gun…”

“A shotgun.”

“Un-huh.”

“He said that…” Anne Harris sighed. “Well, it wasn’t what he said. He implied that he would shoot your father if he didn’t take me home and care for me.”

“Care for you?”

“That’s right. He told your father that he had two wives now.”

The boy’s mouth hung open.

“Close your mouth, Billy Joe,” his father’s second wife said.

The closing jaw made an audible noise. The boy opened his mouth several more times, closed it each time, scrutinized Mrs. Harris’ face, her figure, the clothes she was folding and stowing in the dresser…

He stood, jerked open the door and shot through. He left the door standing open behind him.

Anne closed it and sighed again.

 

“Jesus H. Christ, Dad! How could you?”

“Don’t use that kind of language to me,” Hayden Elkins told Billy Joe. He was still sitting in the porch swing.

“Two wives!”

“Sssht! Don’t say that where your mother will hear. You’ll upset her.”

“I’ll upset her? Me? I’m not the one who was caught with his pants down!”

Hayden cringed. It was hard hearing those words from the boy. Very hard. “Son, you don’t seem to appreciate—”

“You always told me to keep my pants zipped up. Don’t let your peter rule your life, you said.”

“I know I said those things.”

“Don’t do your thinking with the head of your dick, you said.”

“I did say that,” the father admitted.

“Should have followed your own advice, Dad.”

“Son, there are complexities here that you don’t seem to appreciate. True, I used extremely poor judgment with Mrs. Harris and—”

“Anne.”

“Yes, Anne—”

“Two wives, Dad! Two! Boy oh boy oh boy oh. Am I a lucky ducky or what. Should I call them both Mom?”

“Young man, I—”

“See you later, Dad. I’m going over to Tommy’s house.”

“I think you should—” But the father found himself talking to the back of his quickly departing son. He drew in air to shout, then thought, The hell with it! Let him go!

The kid dived into the Jeep and spun the wheels getting it under way. Gravel flew into the yard. At the end of the driveway the boy turned right and shot off down the Eden road.

Hayden Elkins sagged back into the swing and lowered his face into his hands.

His life was shattered. How could Ed Harris do this to his very best friend? Why, Hayden wondered, didn’t he just shoot me and get it over with?

 

Anne Harris didn’t go home the next day. She arose at her usual hour and ate breakfast alone in the kitchen. One egg boiled, dry toast and tea. The house was quiet. Well, it was nine o’clock. After she washed her dishes and put them away, she ran some clothes through the washer and ironed several dresses that had gotten wrinkled in yesterday’s rushed packing.

Last night Hayden had brought dinner to her room on a tray. He wanted to talk, but she refused, shooed him out. She had yet to speak to Matilda since the scene when she arrived.

She finished the ironing and was waiting for the dryer to complete its cycle when a car pulled into the driveway in front of the house and Matilda Elkins got out. She came into the kitchen carrying a bag of groceries, saw Anne and stiffened.

“When are you leaving?” she demanded as she placed the grocery bag on the kitchen table.

“I’m not, Matilda. Not soon, anyway. Ed is going to need some time to get over this. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Do you realize what people will say about us? Are saying about us?” She lowered herself into a chair by the table. “I was at Doolin’s store. You should have heard them and seen the looks! I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. ‘Two wives.’ Amazing! Where that phrase came from I’ve no idea.”

“Sharp tongues wagged by dirty minds,” said Anne Harris with finality. She had never been concerned about what other people thought. Perhaps she should have been, but the truth was she just didn’t care. “That’s inevitable,” she added as an afterthought.

“Don’t play the plaster saint with me, lady,” Matilda snarled. “I certainly don’t think your going to bed with my husband was the right thing to do, and I haven’t forgiven you for it. I don’t know that I ever will.”

“I apologize.”

“Apologize? As if you sneezed in public? Seducing Hayden was a wee bit more than a sneeze.”

“Seduced him? Hardly. He’d been eyeing me for years, flirting, stealing a feel when he thought no one was looking. I just…gave in. I wish I hadn’t. Still, if you had given him some decent loving he wouldn’t—”

“How dare you! To stand in my house, in my kitchen, and tell me to my face that it’s my fault that you seduced my husband! Of all the nerve!”

“I’m not suggesting it’s your fault. I’m merely pointing out that Hayden needs more loving than you’ve been giving him. That’s as obvious as the nose on your face.”

“Don’t make cracks about my nose!”

“I am not talking about your nose.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my nose.”

“I concur. There is nothing wrong with your nose.”

“I give him enough loving.”

Anne Harris raised an eyebrow.

Matilda Elkins collapsed in tears.

The other woman put her arms around her shoulders. “There, there, Matty. We must be brave. We’re in this together.”

“I feel like a good cry.”

Anne’s eyes were also tearing up. “So do I,” she admitted.

 

“Well,” said Mrs. Eufala Davis, the preacher’s wife, that is, the wife of the retired preacher. “I don’t like to talk, but they say Hayden Elkins just moved her in. She’s there now.”

“Oh, my dear. There’s so much more to it than that,” the widow Wilfred said breathlessly. She lived a half mile from Eden and often stopped in to see Mrs. Davis, her best friend. “Oh, my, yes. I just heard about it at Doolin’s. Why, they say that Anne Harris and Hayden Elkins have been having a torrid affair for years and years. No one knows just how long. And poor Ed fired a shot over there yesterday. Tried to kill that wretched wife of his.”

“I heard about the shots,” Eufala said, squirming in delight. “My husband just called me from town. He had a dental appointment and heard the whole story there in the dentist’s office. So Ed tried to kill Anne?”

“Of course. She was too quick for him, the brazen hussy, and is holed up with Hayden at his house.”

“But poor Matilda!” Mrs. Davis cried. “What about her?”

“To have that shameless creature under her own roof!” the widow Wilfred wailed.

“You won’t believe this, dear,” Mrs. Davis said breathlessly. “The coincidence! Horrible. But I actually saw Ed Harris going home yesterday afternoon. He never does that. He must have stumbled onto Anne and Hayden in his very own bed.”

“That must be what happened.”

“What a horrific shock! Some men might have lost their minds, might have murdered both the guilty parties right in their bed of sin.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Wilfred agreed. “It’s good that Ed didn’t succumb to his animal passions.” This remark was made without enthusiasm. She brightened, remembering the shots. A picture formed in her imagination of serious, austere Ed Harris chasing his naked wife with a gun, blasting away.

The widow Wilfred shivered deliciously and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hear Hayden Elkins is going to keep Matilda and Anne as his wives.”

Mrs. Davis twitched uncontrollably. This was really too much. Without a doubt, this was the most exciting thing to happen on the Eden road since they found farmer Williams making love to his son’s pet sow. Poor depraved man—he was in a home now. And such a nice wife he had. The shock killed her, poor thing.

She shook her head to rid herself of farmer Williams and his pig. She focused on Hayden Elkins. The evil of it! “Men!” she said nastily to the widow Wilfred, who nodded knowingly.

“I’m going to see about this. It’s sinful and wicked.” Mrs. Davis rose from her chair and reached for her sweater.

“But what are you going to do, Eufala? What can you do?”

“I’m going to the police. I’m going to swear out a complaint.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Wilfred said. “I better go with you. You realize, Eufala, that if you swear out a complaint, you must go to court and testify?”

Mrs. Davis stiffened. She drew back her shoulders. “Good people must raise their voices against depravity. It’s our Christian duty. And I will answer duty’s call.”

“We had better hurry,” said Mrs. Wilfred, the soul of practicality, “before someone beats us to it.”

 

The two women found Trooper Sam Neely in his office in the basement of the courthouse, his half-closed eyes focused on a calendar picture of the West, where Men could still be Men, where presumably honor and courage and straight shooting were occasionally still required.

Trooper Neely shifted his gaze to the two ladies before him and regarded them without enthusiasm. What on earth could they want?

“Yes.” It came out so deadpan that he forced himself to say it again, with feeling. “Yes?”

“I want to swear out a warrant—”

“Make a complaint,” the second lady said, correcting the first.

“—Against Hayden Elkins.”

The trooper took a very deep breath, sat up squarely in his chair, and drew a yellow legal pad around in front of him. He clicked his pen and waited.

“He has two wives,” Eufala Davis began.

“He’s living with them,” the widow Wilfred added. “At his house.”

“He’s a bigamist. Living in sin, living with evil and wickedness,” Mrs. Davis gushed, “without shame, without remorse—”

“—In defiance of the laws of God and man,” Mrs. Wilfred finished.

“Hayden Elkins?” Trooper Neely asked unbelievingly.

“That’s right.”

“Hayden Elkins, the prosecuting attorney?”

“That’s right!” Eufala Davis proclaimed triumphantly. “He’s the very one.”