Rae Lynn jumped to her feet. As she passed by Crow he gave her a cockeyed grin. The workers spread out like ants, lines of them filtering through the trees, the long, hot afternoon before them, the only thing pleasant, the spicy smell of pine all around. Crow followed his men and disappeared. Rae Lynn was quick getting to her drift, pulling at her overalls and shirt, which were still damp from the morning’s work. Each time she finished a tree, she said a little prayer as she moved on.
An hour later, Crow showed up, winding his horse through the trees, mouth twisted like he’d bitten into a sour apple. Rae Lynn focused on a song a distant worker sang, faint, but she caught the tune and hummed along. She struggled with a particularly high catface, aware he could see her having trouble. After the scene at the commissary, she was certain he’d been biding his time, waiting for her to mess up, but she refused to acknowledge him. He wasn’t her boss man, he wasn’t in charge.
“Best pick it up!”
She gritted her teeth, yelled, “Tar Heel!” and moved on to the next tree.
Under his scrutiny, she fumbled with the puller and a piece of bark fell in her right eye. She immediately dropped the puller to the ground, bent over, and began blinking rapidly. Her sweat mixed in with her tears and made the eye burn.
She delicately moved the eyelid around, and said, “Dammitall.”
Crow’s voice was closer now, and he said, “Tick tock. Times a-wasting.”
Rae Lynn shifted away from him and gently rubbed at her eye, blinked several more times, but whatever was in there hurt, so she quit. Her nose began to run.
Crow said, “Ain’t gonna make your count, again. Ain’t no time for stalling.”
Tears streamed down her cheek like she was crying. She did her best to ignore the scratching pain and faced the tree trunk, puller held aloft, but looking up made her eyes run more.
Crow said, “Crying. I’ll be damned.”
Rae Lynn muttered, “Ain’t crying.”
Ballard’s voice came from behind her. “What’s going on here? ”
Crow said, “All he’s done for several minutes is worry over a speck a dust in his eye.”
Ballard got off his horse, came around to look at her, then said, “Here, use some a this.”
She angled her head, saw with the one good eye he held out a canteen. She went over to him and took it.
He said, “Try rinsing it out.”
Rae Lynn leaned her head back, attempting to do as he suggested, but most of the water ran down her cheek. She sneezed. Ballard approached her.
“Tilt your head back again,” and she did as he said.
He slowly poured a thin stream into the corner of her eye while grabbing her chin to hold her head steady. His hand felt hot, and dry.
She rubbed at her eye, and he said, “Naw, don’t, let the water wash it out.”
He stopped, and Rae Lynn blinked and blinked. The water made her eye feel sticky and rough. She sneezed again. Crow mumbled something under his breath. Ballard ignored him, and Rae Lynn flapped her hand at him to pour more water. It felt like a piece of metal in there. Tilting her head back, he did so while Crow snickered.
Ballard said, “What the hell’s so funny?”
“You playing nursemaid. That’s what’s funny. You ain’t a pansy, are you, Ballard? I don’t know which I can’t stand the most. A pansy, a shirker, or a nigra lover. What’s the world coming to?”
Rae Lynn blinked again. The piece of wood or whatever it was, was still there, but she pulled her chin out of Ballard’s hand.
Speaking in a low tone, she said, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Ballard ignored Crow’s taunt and said, “Good. You can work?”
In response, Rae Lynn went back to the tree, raised the puller, and began scraping while her eye continued to stream. Despite the discomfort, she only wanted them to leave her be. She didn’t want to cause no trouble, or bring any more attention to herself.
She finished making her scrapes and said, “Tar Heel.”
Ballard said, “See, only took a few seconds and good as new.”
Crow said, “He won’t make quota.”
“It ain’t the end of the day yet.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
Ballard dug a dirty rag out of his pocket and wiped his forehead.
He said, “Maybe you ought to tend to your own while I tend to mine.”
Rae Lynn began chipping at the next tree. God bless Ballard. She really needed to make a showing, especially since he kept defending her.
He was back on his horse and called out to her. “Good?”
She nodded.
“All right, then.”
They left, and she could hear Crow arguing, his voice rising above Ballard’s, and that soon faded. Glad for the peace, now there was nothing to hear but the scrape of her tool and the distant shouts mingled in with her own.
Despite her best effort, she didn’t make her numbers. Her eye gave her a fit, burning and running nonstop the rest of the afternoon, and she couldn’t hardly see what she’d done. It felt like it was on fire, and so she ended up short by two hundred trees. Her not meeting her count caused another stir between Ballard and Crow at quitting time, with both men arguing until Peewee was brought into the discussion as soon as they arrived back in camp.
Crow pointed at her and said, “He needs to know what happens when he can’t get the work done.”
Ballard said, “He’s got good reason to miss trees. Look at it. That eye a his looks like a damn tomato.”
Crow turned to Peewee. “He ain’t made quota since he got here.”
Ballard threw his hand out toward Rae Lynn, and said, “He would’ve today if not for that.”
Peewee sucked on a cigar, eyes darting between the two woods riders. Rae Lynn stood by the wagon. She crossed her arms, then dropped them. Finally, she shoved her hands into her pockets.
He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and said, “I know what all’s going on here.”
Peewee gestured at her in a way she didn’t like while swirling his tongue around his teeth to dislodge a piece of tobacco.
He spit on the ground. “He ain’t who he says he is.”
Ballard said, “What’s that?”
Peewee said, “He ain’t no man.”
Rae Lynn’s heart rate skyrocketed. By God, he knows. Del Reese and the other men who worked for Crow were listening too, and every head turned toward her.
Peewee started nodding, as if he was growing more confident. “Naw. A man could make his numbers, if’n he’s fit and all.”
Should she confess? What would happen if she did? She hadn’t thought about how she would explain herself if she was found out.
Peewee said, “Hell, he can’t be more’n fifteen, maybe sixteen. Ain’t it right, boy? I ’spected it when you first showed up. Come on now. How old is you?”
Rae Lynn’s muscles went slack with relief. It was a question of age versus her sex. This she could handle.
Crow said, “I always said there won’t something right about him.”
Rae Lynn spoke in a deliberately gruff, snide tone.
“I ain’t fifteen. I’m . . . sixteen. So what?”
Crow sauntered up. “It don’t mean you don’t have to do the work, that’s what.”
Rae Lynn stepped back. His fingers tapped on the “leather snake” looped from his belt. Ballard put himself in front of her.
He said, “He’s my worker.”
Peewee said, “We got rules, Ballard, as you well know, so this is his last chance. Crow, I need to speak to you.”
Ballard said, “He’ll make count,” while Crow glowered at her with his midnight eyes.
He followed after Peewee, and Rae Lynn exhaled as she watched them go. She turned to thank Ballard and saw how he kept his hand on his gut, as if in pain. It reminded her of Warren, the way he held himself.
He leaned toward her and said, “Don’t keep letting me down, kid. You’re here now, and you got to do the work or it’s gonna be outta my hands, sixteen years old or whatever.”
Both his eyes were bloodshot, glassy looking.
She said, “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He walked away, hunched over, while the colored workers from both crews stared at her, and while most appeared detached, a few looked angry. There was a low-level muttering from them she couldn’t help but hear.
“He gone mess it up for all a us.”
“Watch. Somebody’s gone have to do his dirty work.”
“How about Bones, what they done to him for less.”
“Ain’t fair.”
“Naw, it ain’t.”