The Corn Woman, Her Husband, and Their Child

Jaron and Zilpha Earliwood had put some years into their marriage before their daughter, Goldie, was born.

- Annie Proulx

There had been differences between the couple from the beginning, and Jaron flinched every time he watched Zilpha make sandwiches. His mother’s cook had always cut sandwiches with trimmed crusts and an elegant catty-corner slice, but Zilpha left the crusts on and whacked them into rectangles that seemed to him quite—trashy. How could a woman who made sandwiches like that cherish rare fabrics? Something didn’t fit, and, though Zilpha considered herself as flexible as a silk scarf, Jaron saw her as more of a curtain rod.

Oh, please, Jaron thought, watching Zilpha, can't you cut them the other way? But they had recently had a fight and because he was anxious to heal the rift he did not challenge the sandwich-maker aloud. Jaron was tall and thin, with conjoined eyebrows, his usual mien the dazed air of someone just getting off a long flight.

Zilpha was plain, short-legged, and a bit fat; her notable feature was a cascade of heavy black hair that hung to her waist when undone, but was usually in braids that she then wrapped around her head. No thug could ever fell Zilpha with a knock on such a thick, resilient helmet. She never quite got over her amazement at being the mother of a child with spun-gold hair. As she made the sandwiches, she knew very well what Jaron was thinking. Y'know, fella, she said in silent rebuttal, if you want sandwiches that look like the Taj Mahal, why don't you make them yourself?