She was silent, ashamed. There were places you weren't supposed to show a boy or talk to him about, not even when it was Paul—just like there were things boys weren't supposed to let girls know about. Ma had impressed that on her when she was a little tiny thing. Some parts of your body are dirty. You didn't let anyone see them, or even touch them yourself except when you were taking a bath. Never, even, when you were lying in bed at night waiting to go to sleep—no matter how good it felt. Most of all, you never let a boy touch you there. Not even Paul, who crawled into bed with you when lightning snaked across the sky (and Pa would have killed them both if he'd known but she didn't care, she felt strong and brave when she was comforting Paul).

But there was blood on the front of her dress where the cuts had trickled down, and there were the ripped places where the leather lash had cut the material. Paul looked, his eyes widening. He reached out a shaking hand, then pulled it back. "Gosh, it looks awful."

"It hurts awful."

“Let’s see.”

He pulled down the front of her dress, the thin fabric tearing in his fingers. It was all she could do to keep from whimpering when he touched the cuts, crusting over now with stiffening blood. Then his fingers moved, touching the little pink buttons she was both proud and ashamed of. "You're getting all swole up here, Katie."

"I know. That means I'm growin' up."

"Me too."

"Boys don't get big chests when they grow up, silly."

"No, but they have other things."

They looked at each other, feeling suddenly strange and shy—fascinated, too scared to go farther but pushed by a new and strangely wonderful compulsion.

"Katie—"

"What?"

"I'll show you if you’ll show me."

She had never seen him entirely undressed, not even when they were both little. She forgot her hurts, which were now beginning to leak blood again, as she leaned to put her hand where he was guiding it. For a moment they looked at each other, asking and answering without words, eager and frightened.

Then everything happened at once. He was lying on top of her, and she was hurting, not only in the places where Pa had whipped her but in that other place that was so bad you must never even touch it. It was like being split in two. She lay smothered and hurting, hardly able to breathe because his body rested so heavily on her. And then he rolled off and sat beside her in the hay, crying, with his nose running and the tears sliding down his cheeks. He was unable to look at her. "Paul, what did you do?"