The Istoriaphile’s Corner

     Those next hours were the worst and the longest I’ve known since Ponder died.  I kept struggling to move forward with Jerry’s arm around my neck, his bad right foot banging against my left like we were the last pair in a three legged race. We walked through fields a good five yards away from the road and tried not to stumble.  The hot still night hugged my right side and Jerry hugged the left.   Sweat and blood brought out ever biting bug and they got every inch of us that wasn’t covered by clothes or each other. As we rocked along like some old, drunken couple, I heard myself singing under my breath: “Leaning, leaning, leaning on the ever-lasting arms of God” “Leaning, leaning, leaning on the ever-lasting arms of God”             Jerry threw back his head and laughed “Viola, I’d never have picked you as a holy roller!”  Well I’m not but I’d gone to church enough to learn the old hymns.  Jerry must have too because he joined me on the chorus after we hit the paper mill smell.      On and on, over and over, I put one foot out and then the…