The work hands stood in a semicircle around the box, and other than the insects zipping around them, nothing moved. Each man was as still as a stone on the ground, the stark fear evident on their faces, whether for her, for themselves, maybe both. There wasn’t any choice here. She could do nothing but get in. A tornado of bottle flies flew out. She swatted them away, sat, and tried not to stare at the stains of unknown origin, tried not to think about what they were, why they were there. She took her hat off and placed it where her head would rest.
Once she was within the confines, she wanted to gag, and stopped herself. She stared off to her left, away from them all, her attention on the tops of the trees as they moved in the wind. She captured them in her mind’s eye, and when she heard the creak of the lid, she shut her eyes along with it, refusing to watch the top come down. The light against her lids disappeared. She pressed her hand into her mouth to keep from crying as she heard it being secured. She shouldn’t waste tears. She somehow knew this. There was a double thump delivered to the top, a few mumbled words, and then silence.
She began praying. She prayed for time to go fast while knowing it would feel like a lifetime. Maybe, somehow, someone would tell Del Reese, or Peewee. Report Crow for stepping out of line. Rae Lynn concentrated on what she could hear. She carefully tested how far she could move her legs, her arms. She was smaller than most men, but the fact she felt cramped meant it must’ve been horrible for anyone even an inch taller. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and she wiggled her arm up and wiped it away. She schooled herself to think about the good times with Warren. The house in Harnett County with its cheerful kitchen and the garden out back. The flowers planted in the yard. Sitting out on the porch in the cool of the day, watching sunrises and sunsets, the waving limbs of trees, that bold blue sky. She wished herself there in her mind.
Time passed and she did her best to not think of her thirst, her hunger, how the hard boards pressed into her shoulder and hip bones. She ruminated on the idea to come to Swallow Hill, at what had seemed like a good plan. It had been her only choice—or was it? She dwelled on what had taken place and her decision to disappear. Butch Crandall hadn’t given her time to get her head on straight after what happened with Warren, and with what he proposed, what he’d threatened to do if she didn’t, she couldn’t have stayed. Nobody would’ve understood what happened, even if she’d tried to explain. Nobody but Warren. She was certain Eugene would’ve had her arrested, put on trial, locked up. And here she was, locked up anyway. Maybe this was God’s way of punishing her.
Her mind went over and over this, until she must’ve drifted off. Sometime later a stabbing pain in her lower abdomen roused her, and disoriented, she lifted her hand to press on her belly, and it knocked against the hard surface of the lid. It took her a few seconds and then she realized where she was, and she had to control the urge to bang on the top, to scream for help. The pain came again, sharp and deep, persistent now, as it had for the past fourteen years, once a month like clockwork. She’d not accounted for this, least not when she was in a situation where she couldn’t manage it. Her throat was terribly dry, like she’d been breathing with her mouth open for days. She coughed, and as she did, a warm, wet sensation spread from between her legs. Why now?
Her eyes adjusted to the interior, and through a small gap in the lid, a tiny sputtering star appeared in the night sky, and she stared at it until her eyes closed again, and she slept.
Chapter 15
Del
Cobb was an early riser like Del, yet no sound came from his little shack. The two shanties were fairly close together and poorly made, so normally Del would hear him as he stamped his feet into his boots every morning, then, like clockwork, came the rattling of his coffeepot. Once, he even thought he’d heard something like crying, but had doubted his hearing. This morning as he stood outside, there was nothing but silence. He wanted to let the kid know he needn’t worry about his counts too much. He’d be sure to keep an eye on how he was doing, maybe cut him some slack if he was only off by a couple hundred trees or so. Although, he’d not tell him that. The way he saw it, him not making his numbers sure didn’t come from lack of trying. After another minute or two, he went back inside.
For the first time since he’d hung it above the door, he reached for his shotgun. His plan was to kill small game and give whatever he shot to his work hands. They weren’t allowed weapons, and while they were skilled at setting traps, getting fresh game was hit or miss given the work hours. As he went out, he looked once more to see if Cobb was up. The tiny shack remained dark and still. It was at least thirty minutes or so before the work wagon would start rounding everyone up, and it could be Cobb was only catching him some extra shut-eye.
On the way to the barn, Del saw the camp coming to life with some men washing and shaving their faces on their porches. Women pumped fresh water into buckets while calling out to one another. Others were already in their gardens picking tomatoes or beans, or sitting on stumps and shucking corn for supper that night. A few gathered eggs from their hens. He made his way to the barn, sniffing the deep, rich scent of horse, hay, and manure. The smells conjured thoughts of the two horses his pap had used for pulling their wagon. He led Ruby out of her stall and gave her some feed and water while he cleaned it out. After he finished, a slim edge of molten red edged the land. It was time. He saddled her and lifted himself onto her back.
Patting her neck, he said, “It’s me and you now, old girl.”
At the hang-up ground designated for the day, the men who’d worked for Ballard unloaded from the wagon and moved to stand in a cluster, talking amongst themselves. They quieted as he approached, more nervous seeming than the day before. He took it in stride. They had to get used to him, how he was, though he’d said he was fair like Ballard, they’d have to see it to believe it. He dismounted and immediately noticed who was missing.
“Where’s Cobb?”
He looked at each of them. He couldn’t read their faces, he didn’t know them well enough, and besides, most coloreds were used to hiding their thoughts and feelings. Their faces were like staring at an empty glass.
He asked another way. “Won’t he picked up by Clyde?”
Ah, there, a barely noticeable twitch from the one called Birdie.
He homed in on him and said, “Can’t nobody tell me if he got picked up or not?”
Birdie rubbed his face and said, “He won’t waiting for a ride this morning.”
“Where’s Clyde?” Del asked.
“He gone to haul the gum.”
Del began to think Cobb was either sick or he’d run off. He scanned over the work hands once more. No one offered more. No one would meet his eyes. He decided to go on and let them get to their work.
“Y’all be sure to start small fires near to where you’re working. Anybody need’n anything ’fore we get started?”
A collective, “No suh!” rang out.
“All right. Let’s get to work, then.”
As the men left, Del called out, “Where’s the water boy, Georgie, at?”
The small boy came from behind one of the trees and eased up to Del like he was afraid.
“How old are you, Georgie?”
Trembling a little and big-eyed, the boy said, “Nine, suh.”
He remembered this kid, or at least his scars. Georgie was the one who’d seen a taste of the whip.
“Georgie, will you go check on Mr. Cobb for me?”
“Yessuh.”
“Go to number forty-four. Knock on the door good and hard. If he answers, ask if he’s sick, and come right back and tell me.”
“Yessuh.”
Georgie didn’t move.
Del said, “Go on, be quick.”
He still didn’t move.
Del said, “What’s wrong?”
The boy twisted the hem of his torn burlap shirt and focused on some spot to Del’s right.
He mumbled, “I ain’t knowin’ what a forty-four looks like.”
Del said, “Hang on.”
He reached into his pocket for his tally book, ripped a piece of paper out of the back, and on it he wrote in big numbers, 44.
He showed it to Georgie. “See this?”