The Devil in Canaan Parish Read Online Free Page A

Sally’s family filled that half of the church too.   Through the generosity of our wedding guests, we started our marriage with a car and a house filled with the finest china, crystal, cutlery furnishings and linens money could buy. We spent our honeymoon on Grand Isle, and returned to Techeville where Sally wanted to set up housekeeping.  
    Faced with the sudden realization that I needed to begin earning a living to support the two of us, I told Sally that I wanted to go back to college to complete my degree, but she wouldn’t have it.   The night we discussed it, she burst into tears and took to her bed with a migraine.   It was the first of hundreds of migraines she would have in years to come.   At the time, I was a newlywed and disturbed by my wife’s sudden incapacitation.   I called her parents, who rushed to her bedside. I told them what I thought had caused the attack, and her father ushered me outside.   There on the porch over a cigarette, he offered me the position at the drugstore.   He told me that if I quit school, he would guarantee Sally and me a comfortable living for the rest of our days.   He said that since he had no sons, the drugstore would go to me after his death, and then I could in turn pass it on to our children. Not wanting to turn down such a generous offer, and not having any real prospects of my own, I agreed.
    For a while after that my wife and I were happy.   I worked at the drugstore, learning the business, and Sally played housewife.   Her cooking was abominable, but I managed to choke through the sawdust she served me.   Eighteen months of pent-up frustration made our lovemaking passionate and frequent at first. She was willing and enthusiastic, but also modest and shy. It was time when the two sides of Sally struggled most against each other.   The shutters had to be closed, the door had to be locked and the lights had to be out.   There was no question of us being intimate anywhere other than in our bedroom, in our marriage bed.   Still, she was capable of long hours of insatiable desire, and it was a happy time for us.
    Soon, however, there was a subtle shift in Sally’s demeanor.   She became anxious and petulant.   It had been nearly a year since our wedding, and she was still not pregnant.   The edges of her mouth were more often turned down than up, and I noticed a furrowing of her brow.   At work, my father-in-law engaged me in the first of many, many meddling conversations about my marriage.
    “You know, Palmer,” he said one day, “I think Sally may be a little too overworked.”
    I was stocking one of the aisles, putting green bottles of insect bite medicine in a straight line with the labels facing outward.   The store was empty and silent, and I was startled by my father-in-law’s sudden statement.   Usually the man never spoke to me, except to tell me to ring up a customer or direct me to get another box of inventory.
    “Sorry, sir?”   I stammered, not sure if I had heard him.
    “Well, it’s Sally, you know.   She’s not used to running a household by herself.   You know my wife talks to her quite a bit and she told me that Sally seems overwrought.   She’s got too much to do.”
    I wasn’t sure what he meant.   Our house was small, we had a maid that came to clean once a week,   we had a boy to take care of the yard and the garden, all that Sally had really to occupy her time was preparing meals and doing laundry, which wasn’t much with just the two of us.
    “Well, it’s just too much for her,” he continued.   “I think it might be best if you get a house girl.   Someone permanent, to take care of all the cooking and cleaning and what-not.”
    “Oh,” I said, beginning to understand, “well I don’t think that would be necessary, I mean I think we’re alright, just the two of us.”
    “Palmer, I want to have grandchildren before I’m old, alright?” he said.
    Again, I was confused, not sure what he could mean.   I