No one had noticed the look that crossed Clete's face, just last Saturday, when Mark had announced the great news to all the guests. No one had heard Clete's teeth grind in anger and frustration, for he had set his cap for the young, blonde beauty, never thinking that perhaps she might be way above his class and far beyond his reach. He had spoken with her often and she had been polite but laconic, for, though she never showed it, she did not like him, neither his looks nor his personality.

Some of her girlfriends in college had bragged about their experiences in bed with black men, and though she had said nothing, she had been mildly repulsed. It was not an experience that she cared to share. His white teeth and mustache gave her the feeling of being under consideration by some feline predator and she felt herself shrinking away from his attention. Once, he had touched her arm and she had jerked back and hurried away.

But Clete was far from her mind now, for she was with her beloved Mark and he was taking her for their usual Sunday picnic somewhere on the western side of the 800-acre Mitchell farm. The picnic had become a weekly ritual, and last week had nearly developed into a sinful affair, right after church, and though DesirЋe knew that it was dangerous, she was powerless to stop herself or do anything to avoid going along with him to that isolated place again. After all, she was not a girl anymore, twenty years old, and she could control herself, couldn't she?

She could, but she wondered how. He was so handsome, so noble and strong. And she loved him so very, very much. She would do anything to please him, and there was the problem, for if he were to ask her to give herself to him, she would do it willingly. She would do anything for him, and that was the simple truth, for he was her life. She wondered now how she had ever lived without him.