One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

Clyde’s violent killing of the coyote marks a climactic confrontation with his father’s legacy, forcing a definitive break from a model of manhood rooted in rage and control. The two-headed lamb initially brings out Clyde’s capacity for empathy—a quality Substance’s ghost scorns, believing it makes his son too soft. In choosing to give the lamb a view of the world before it dies, Clyde chooses gentleness and empathy over the pragmatic cruelty his father would have demanded. However, humiliated by his mother’s scolding, he regresses. 

His pursuit of the coyote is not a rational act but a desperate performance of the vengeful masculinity he was taught. Substance’s voice urges him to “Claim it all, like a man” (309), linking manhood to control and violence. It is only after discovering the truth of the lamb’s death and witnessing the horror of the women around him that he feels extreme remorse and reaffirms his desire not to live like his father. The ritual of burying the coyote, facilitated by Beulah, functions as penance. It also reaffirms her belief system, which presents all life as connected. They bury the coyote and lamb together because, though they represent prey and predator, their lives are united as part of the natural world. Their roles are defined by human perception; in reality, they’re both innocent creatures who should be free of humanity’s desire to segment and control life. This symbolic act parallels the broader relationship between the Bemises and the Webbers, who are caught in a conflict. Neither are predator or prey, but are instead equal members of a broader ecosystem, each trying to survive and protect their own.

In this vein, the dynamic between Cora and Nettie Mae evolves from resentment to friendship, illustrating that forgiveness is a process of recognizing shared vulnerability. Initially, Nettie Mae wields her moral certitude as a weapon, cruelly dismissing the president’s china as a bribe. The forced intimacy of winter erodes some animosity, but the chimney fire fundamentally shatters their power structure. In this crisis, Cora’s urban competence supplants Nettie Mae’s frontier experience; the city-bred supplicant becomes the savior, while the self-sufficient matriarch is paralyzed by past trauma. This role reversal allows them to see each other outside the rigid categories of sinner and victim. Their subsequent conversation on the porch is the culmination of this process. When Nettie Mae finally confesses, “I treated you dreadfully, Cora, and for far too long. My life has been—” (387), she is not just apologizing but admitting her own brokenness. They bond not by excusing past wrongs but by acknowledging a shared history of suffering. This relationship serves as the primary vehicle for the theme of The Necessity of Forgiveness in the Wake of Tragedy.

Through Beulah’s worldview, the narrative reframes death and hardship as integral parts of a sacred, continuous cycle of renewal. Her communion with Substance’s lingering spirit, whom she encourages to dissolve back into the world, establishes death as a state of “unbecoming.” The two-headed lamb, which she treats as a “miracle,” symbolizes the interconnectedness of life and death; its brief existence is not a tragedy but a complete cycle. The recurring motif of seeds and planting most explicitly articulates this philosophy. When she teaches Clyde her father’s planting rhyme—“One for the blackbird, one for the crow, one for the cutworm, and one to grow” (354)—she imparts a philosophy of coexistence. This worldview posits that humans are participants within, not masters over, the natural world. Beulah’s perspective directly counters the anxieties of the other characters, thereby validating a philosophy that finds meaning not in conquering nature but in harmonizing with its eternal rhythms of decay and regeneration, a central tenet of The Breakdown of Traditional Roles and Binaries. The settlers are not in opposition to the nature of the frontier; they are one with it.

The unforgiving prairie setting and juxtaposed crises dismantle the characters’ established identities, forcing them into new communal dynamics. The setting is not a passive backdrop but an active force. The brutal winter strips away the illusion of self-sufficiency, creating an environment where cooperation is a matter of survival. Within this, the chimney fire acts as a catalyst, demonstrating that strength and weakness are situational. Cora’s urban knowledge becomes lifesaving, while Nettie Mae’s frontier fortitude fails, leading to their emotional breakthrough. Furthermore, the landscape continues to highlight the characters’ internal states. For Cora, the prairie remains a “dead, lifeless plain” (363), representing how she still feels isolated and overwhelmed despite the tentative reconciliation with the Webbers. The scene in which Beulah compels Cora to close her eyes and listen to the world is a key moment of sensory immersion. The experience frightens Cora because it validates a reality beyond human society; meanwhile, it’s the structure, familiarity, and safety of society that she desires. The external landscape thus mirrors her internal struggles, and overcoming its challenges is synonymous with overcoming her personal limitations.

Throughout these chapters, Beulah functions as a spiritual guide whose nature-based wisdom gradually transforms the other characters. She operates on a different plane of understanding, one that Nettie Mae initially fears as unnatural. Beulah’s unsettling prophecy during a sewing lesson, where she states with certainty, “You will have a family again someday […] I’ve seen it. I know” (326), proves perceptive, foreshadowing the eventual union of the families. Her influence is not through argument but through experience—she does not preach forgiveness to Clyde but facilitates the burial ritual that makes his self-forgiveness possible. Likewise, she does not lecture her mother on nature’s beauty but orchestrates a direct sensory experience of it. Beulah represents an alternative way of knowing, rooted in empathy and communion with the non-human world. Her character suggests that healing comes not from adhering to inherited social or religious codes, but from an intuitive engagement with the larger cycles of life, making her the primary catalyst for the novel’s central thematic resolutions.