“If it’s not so different, then leaving will be all the easier!”

“Frances,” he chastised. “Think of Josh White. Think of Selma Mather.”

Selma Mather had been a classmate of Frances’ with a lazy eye who, even as a little girl, always had pined for men in general, and especially for men from larger, more sophisticated locales. Selma was afraid her wish would never become real. One afternoon, though, when in her young twenties, Selma ran through Munson’s streets with high spirits and mud on her legs, because behind her she pulled a fun-loving soldier who had been passing through town on a truck. The town was concerned, but soon grew accustomed to the sight of Selma Mather parading the soldier through the streets; besides, it was understood that once Selma relaxed, the couple could marry. A wedding was arranged, including preparations for a lawn-sized cake.

But peculiarly, Selma could not calm down. She continued to careen along Munson’s streets, much too giddy, laughing too hard, both with the soldier and without him, chatting feverishly and far into the night about her future and the marriage until some folks began to talk as if Selma Mather were growing ill. She had acquired an imbalance, some said. The young woman did not look right, either, having acquired a gaunt look and a grayish stain at the side of her neck. Seven days after finding the man, Selma Mather was killed by a tree falling on her head and spine, and though folks whispered that the soldier had not really been a soldier, but in fact a robber, it was clear that he had not killed Selma Mather. The man departed town as easily as he had entered, bouncing his rucksack, not caring to stay.

In a gesture unfamiliar to Frances, Kenny preened his hair with a finger. “You have to think about your future, you know.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You have responsibilities—both to townsfolk here, and yourself. Most girls your age wouldn’t mystify everyone, or let the town down by leaving. And it would be hard to go away, Frances. Do you really want to wake up in an unfamiliar room and feel nauseated besides? New places affect the digestion, you know.”

“True,” she admitted uneasily.

“And that scar of yours!” he pointed. “I’d worry about traveling with that. Frances, would you like to come meet Tod Maria?” he added softly. “You’d like him, I think. Naturally, he’s very protective of the ladies he cares for.”

“Oh, Kenny!” she cried sourly. “Tod is so large! Why do you always try and bring me to men?”

“I don’t know . . . I just can’t seem to settle with the way you are. Besides, why should my brother be allowed to have you?”

Kenny waited. He looked down at her with a strong expression, drawing close. “Frances . . . you ask me to come way out here at night to show me a scar on your leg, and you tell me that you’re looking for a new sensation in life. What am I supposed to think?”