Enemies in the Field 335 



"Len, you're not going to plant that field all over again?" 



"That's what I aim to do." 



She went back to the house, baffled. All day she watched 

 him and the lengthening furrows. But neither that day, nor 

 the next, nor at any time while the plowing went on did she 

 venture any more remonstrances. She knew it was no use. 

 Only on the day she saw him get out the sacks of seed corn, 

 she drew down the blinds in the kitchen and refused to look 

 out at all. 



Spring touched the land tenderly. The maple buds swelled. 

 The wild cherries and dogwood blossomed. Soft rain fell at 

 night, and the sun broke through the mists with morning. 

 Catbirds nested in the lilacs by the farmhouse door. The 

 rhubarb leaped out of its barrel. The woman knew, though 

 her eyes would not look that way, that the thirty-acre lot would 

 be green with young corn. 



Then came three days of unseasonable heat. The lilac leaves 

 drooped, and the dogwood dropped its petals. The cattle were 

 uneasy in the pasture. Toward sunset on the third day a mass 

 of copper-colored clouds gathered on the horizon. A leaden 

 stillness weighted the earth. Two hours later the cyclone 

 burst. You could hear the waters running in the hills before 

 the rain swept down the valley. 



All night it rained. The storm beat venomously on the 

 earth. All night the man and the woman lay side by side, 

 sleepless; yet silent. What was there to say? 



In the morning the woman stood at the kitchen door and 

 looked through the driving rain at the raddled fields. Her 

 husband came and stood beside her. Then it was, at last, she 

 turned to him. 



In his face shone a savage joy. He lifted his fist and shook 

 it at the sky. 



"Yah! Fooled you that time, God. I didn't plant her after 

 all." 



Men said of the corn belt, "God made this country for 



