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Leah's Apron

Leah's Apron Leah's Apron Bettie Sellers Appalachian Heritage, Volume 13, Numbers 1 & 2, Winter/Spring 1985, p. 110 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1985.0035 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/438848/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 22:00 GMT from JHU Libraries LEAH'S APRON Her eastern window fogs with April frost, obscures the cabin high across the valley where Nathan lives alone, no smoke rising yet, no tall man in the barnlot tending pigs. Leah rubs the pane with her apron's calico, blinks back as the sun rises over Kirby Cove lighting his roof and yard, remembers springs when Nathan came to call, a bunch of early violets in his clumsy hand, a ring he fashioned out of horseshoe nails, amber honey from his hillside hives—small gifts made large with halting words, a sober hand raised just as he turned to leave. But never could he say the right words though she waited, patient, while five springs of violets faded. She turns to face the room, folding her apron thick to lift brown hoecake from the fire's edge. Leah smooths her apron with long strokes, breaks bread, and sits down by the window to begin another http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Leah's Apron

Sellers, Bettie M.
Appalachian Review , Volume 13 (1) – Jan 8, 2014
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Leah's Apron Bettie Sellers Appalachian Heritage, Volume 13, Numbers 1 & 2, Winter/Spring 1985, p. 110 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1985.0035 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/438848/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 22:00 GMT from JHU Libraries LEAH'S APRON Her eastern window fogs with April frost, obscures the cabin high across the valley where Nathan lives alone, no smoke rising yet, no tall man in the barnlot tending pigs. Leah rubs the pane with her apron's calico, blinks back as the sun rises over Kirby Cove lighting his roof and yard, remembers springs when Nathan came to call, a bunch of early violets in his clumsy hand, a ring he fashioned out of horseshoe nails, amber honey from his hillside hives—small gifts made large with halting words, a sober hand raised just as he turned to leave. But never could he say the right words though she waited, patient, while five springs of violets faded. She turns to face the room, folding her apron thick to lift brown hoecake from the fire's edge. Leah smooths her apron with long strokes, breaks bread, and sits down by the window to begin another

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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