“Shoot, Big Dubya, he got whipped and the box.”
Del Reese had stayed too, and stood nearby, hands shoved into his pockets, his expression so bland she couldn’t decipher it. Exhausted, her head pounding, she headed toward her shack. When she got there she made her way around to the outhouse to relieve herself. During the day, she had a fear of being caught, and her personal needs had surfaced as yet another problem she hadn’t thought about. She didn’t want to chance squatting in the woods. This meant she didn’t drink as much, and had to be part of the reason she felt so worn-out. After she was done, she went around front, intending to wash off the dust and grime of the day, eat, and go to bed, but there stood Cornelia at the fence, holding something covered with a delicate tea towel.
The other woman kept her eyes on the ground and spoke quietly. “I didn’t get to thank you proper for what you done. I was rude too. You shouldn’t a stepped in on my behalf, though, and you surely shouldn’t have paid for that cloth. I aim to pay you back, but ’til then, I brung you this.”
She held out what she had, and Rae Lynn took what she offered. It was still warm and smelled like vanilla.
Cornelia said, “It ain’t much. Jes’ water pie.”
Rae Lynn said, “Why, thank you. Ain’t had me one a these in a while.”
“I wished it could’ve been some kind a fruit one, but what I dried and put up last year got et up by critters. Don’t nothing last for long round here it seems.”
She finally met Rae Lynn’s gaze and put her hand to her mouth. “What on earth you done to your eye?”
Rae Lynn said, “It ain’t nothing. Piece a bark fell in it.”
Cornelia said, “I reckon you ain’t got you no rose water.”
“No.”
“Use tea, then. Soak some tea leaves in a cloth, put it over your eye, keep it there a few minutes.”
“All right.”
Rae Lynn brought the pie to her nose to sniff at it while Cornelia stared at her like she was deciding something before letting her eyes move to some distant spot beyond Rae Lynn’s shoulder.
Rae Lynn said, “You didn’t need to do this. You don’t owe me nothing.”
Cornelia said, “Sure I do. Like I said, I don’t like being indebted to nobody.”
She crossed her arms and rolled a rock around with the tip of her worn-out shoe. Rae Lynn thought she might say something about Otis, but after a few more seconds of silence, she turned to leave.
“Well. You enjoy the pie, Mr. Cobb.”
Rae Lynn said, “I’m sure I will.”
Cornelia nervously brushed back a lock of hair before hurrying away, holding herself tight like she didn’t want anything or anyone touching her. Rae Lynn watched her go, wished she could say, Straighten up, look the world in the eye.
Her stomach rumbled, and as she turned to go inside, she spotted Del Reese on his porch. He leaned against the rail, staring after Cornelia. She could draw the eye of any man even if her manner was timid, so it didn’t surprise her that Cornelia had caught the attention of her neighbor.
He tossed a comment her way, “Wonder why she wants to stay with someone mean as Otis. She sure is a real looker, ain’t she?”
Rae Lynn made like she didn’t hear him, went inside, and shut her door.
Chapter 13
Del
It was something about Ray Cobb. He couldn’t figure it exactly, despite knowing he wasn’t as old as he claimed. So, he was trying to pass as grown-up, but lots a boys did that, wanting to be men early. One of Del’s careful observations had to do with his hands. Sure, they were reddened across the knuckles, a few scrapes and dirt under the nails, common for the kind a work they did. And, there was that missing section of his finger. Still, none of that made up for the fact they looked small. When he was Cobb’s age, about to become a man, his own hands had not only been loaded with calluses, they’d been made thick and strong from working alongside Pap for years.
Cobb had other ways about him too. Like how his eyes grew big and round when one of the other men farted, belched, or cussed more than was necessary. How he put his hand over his mouth the way some gal might for that sort a behavior. Maybe he’d been raised in a real strict family with refined manners. Maybe he was a pantywaist. One way or the other, he wasn’t cut out for camp lifestyle. Hell, if he had half what Cobb had, the truck and a fistful a paper money, he’d live up to Nolan’s call name and be “long gone.”
Del stepped onto his porch. His neighbor’s was dark still, and he leaned against his rail to have a smoke, listening for the work wagon. When he heard it coming, he went back inside to grab his dinner bucket and rinse out his cup. He met it at the fence as it pulled up, and as he had every morning since coming to Swallow Hill, he hopped into the back, but instead of acknowledging Nolan, Earl, and Leroy, or any of the other coloreds like he had before, he was quiet. This was out of respect for what Nolan had said to him at the juke joint. Of course, it hadn’t taken long for Crow to notice Del no longer engaged in small talk.
Not long after, Crow had said, “See? Thought y’all was friends, didn’t you? White man mixing with nigras. Shoot. Like a dog being with a cat. You reckon God intended that, Butler? Them nigras, they know where they stand. They know ’cause a what’ll happen. Ain’t it right, Long Gone?”
“Yessuh. We sure do. Always been knowing it.”
Crow said, “How about that, Butler? How come he’s smarter’n you?”
On this warm morning, with the sun sending golden rays through the trees and across the dewy ground, Del brought Melody out. He played a soft tune as they rode to work, and his music joined in with the creaking wagon wheels, tired sighs, and pain-filled groans from the others. All of them showed the effects of camp living and work. Covered in mosquito bites, sores from abscessed wounds, rashes, cuts, bruises, and scrapes, the men roamed through the pine forests like a pack of mangy dogs. None, including himself, were any better off for all the work they did, not from what he could tell.
The wagon ride was short, and before long, they’d arrived at the day’s hang-up ground. Del spotted Cobb running for the woods, bark hack held like a weapon, like he expected to fight the trees. He wished the kid well, and while he knew Ballard watched out for him, he could only make excuses for so long. Crow constantly brought it to Ballard’s attention, yapping about Cobb’s counts and how it was sending the wrong message to his crew. Said some thought they could do less work too. He put a pall over the work hands, filling them with worry over what he might do. They’d been working like this all their lives, and with their worn-out bodies, they wouldn’t last much longer than a baby bird without its mama if they were punished in the manner Crow liked.