Over the Plain Houses

Over the Plain Houses
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It’s 1939, and the federal government has sent USDA agent Virginia Furman into the North Carolina mountains to instruct families on modernizing their homes and farms. There she meets farm wife Irenie Lambey, who is immediately drawn to the lady agent’s self-possession. Already, cracks are emerging in Irenie’s fragile marriage to Brodis, an ex-logger turned fundamentalist preacher: She has taken to night ramblings through the woods to escape her husband’s bed, storing strange keepsakes in a mountain cavern. To Brodis, these are all the signs that Irenie—tiptoeing through the dark in her billowing white nightshirt—is practicing black magic.
When Irenie slips back into bed with a kind of supernatural stealth, Brodis senses that a certain evil has entered his life, linked to the lady agent, or perhaps to other, more sinister forces.
Working in the stylistic terrain of Amy Greene and Bonnie Jo Campbell, this mesmerizing debut by Julia Franks is the story of a woman intrigued by the possibility of change, escape, and reproductive choice—stalked by a Bible-haunted man who fears his government and stakes his integrity upon an older way of life. As Brodis chases his demons, he brings about a final act of violence that shakes the entire valley. In this spellbinding Southern story, Franks bares the myths and mysteries that modernity can’t quite dispel.

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Julia Franks. Over the Plain Houses

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OVER THE PLAIN HOUSES

Part One: End of March

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But his wife was an inside-herself woman. Even when he’d first met her, and told her about the accident that had crippled his foot, she’d listened without saying a word. She’d looked at him and in him, as if she had the self-experience to understand the lull and fester of despair. But she’d been younger than him by ten years, narrow-shouldered and slim, her hair the color of ancient pennies. The big freckles on her face and arms were coppery too, and he’d wondered right away how much of her body did they cover.

But these days her private thinkings vexed him, like a walnut a man carried in his pocket. He couldn’t leave off touching it, rolling it between his fingers, worrying and working it until the thing loosed itself and the two halves fell away as they’d been meant to do all along.

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