Take a Holt of My Hand — As I Lay Dying

Anse and the gal and the boy got out of the wagon to walk the sunk bridge, Vernon says, and even on the planks Anse kept looking back like the whole thing might blow up and Addie would be laying up there in the house waiting to die again. The bridge shook and swayed over moiling water while logs scraped and shot out of the foam. I ain't asking you to risk your mule, Anse said. It ain't your dead.

They ought to went back and laid over until tomorrow, Vernon said. The water was cold and thick, like slush ice, only it kind of lived. On the far bank Vernon could not believe he had crossed and knew he would have to cross again. Here, you better take a holt of my hand, he told Vardaman, and the boy's hot confident grip steadied him like nothing would hurt you.

Cash turned the wagon back toward the ford trail until it was out of sight. We better get on down to the ford and git ready to help, Vernon said. It's the turning back, Anse said. It ain't no luck in turning back. I give my promise, he said. She is counting on it. Who steadies whom when the grown helper thought he was leading the child across the shaking planks?