You have no right – The Regrets of Cyrus Dodd
Cyrus was walking back from the creek when he saw Ruth climb down from the wagon. By the time he reached the house Bethany and the boys were gone. “Where were you?” he asked.
“I went to see Bethany Jackson.”
“Bethany Jackson!” he repeated angrily. “Why?”
“I hoped she could talk Virgil into—”
“Dammit Ruth! You have no right—”
“I have every right,” she replied wearily. “You can’t make a living on a farm with no water.” She sat on the porch step, dropped her face into her hands and cried. “What kind of a life will it be…”
Cyrus sat next to her, bent forward with his hands hanging down between his boney knees. “You’ve gotta trust me,” he said. “I promised I’d provide for you and the baby and I will. I swear I will.”
She looked up, tears running down both cheeks, and gave a nod.
Cyrus gathered her into his arms. “Please Ruth,” he begged. “Just be patient for a while. I’ll work this out. I’ll find a way. I promise.”
Again she nodded, but said nothing.
For the rest of the afternoon, she sat on the front porch creaking back and forth in the rocker, singing a lullaby as she cradled her stomach in her arms. The baby, a boy she thought, had kicked at her ribs all afternoon, but now he’d become surprisingly still.
Perhaps like her, he’d simply grown weary.