The Saints of Swallow Hill(104)

Rae Lynn said, “I know. It don’t seem like I was ever there, sometimes.”

Del studied his boots, then lifted his head.

“You want to go into town with me later on today?”

Rae Lynn picked up a bark hack, hefting it in her hand, remembering the work she’d done at the camp, the aching muscles, along with the gratification of being able to labor in such a way. The way he asked her sounded different, like there was meaning behind the question.

“Sure. I don’t think Sudie May needs me.”

Del said, “She might not, but I do.”

Rae Lynn wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“What did you say?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he held out a hand and said, “Come with me.”

All of a sudden nervous, she slipped her hand in his, and he gripped it tight. They left the barn, and he led her across the yard, toward the woods. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and when she stole a glance, Cornelia was waving at her madly and making gestures in the area of her heart. Rae Lynn suppressed a smile, paid attention to Del as he started pointing here and there, talked about the work, the vision he had of the land, of a family, and of her by his side.

He turned to her, and he said, “Can you see it?”

Rae Lynn said, “Yes, I can.”





Chapter 35


Del


Bladen County, 1940



He’d made some mistakes in his life, no doubt. Too many, if he was being truthful, but marrying Rae Lynn hadn’t been one of them. He sat in one of the rockers on the porch, watching her tease Peewee. Cornelia, Amos, and Sudie May were shucking corn, listening too, and laughing now and then. Peewee had kept in touch with Del and visited at least twice a year. Del turned his attention to his children, Delwood, six, and Jeremiah, four, and baby daughter, Belinda. His thoughts went deep. He had to make them mistakes, go through all he’d been through to fully appreciate what he had and he was grateful. He’d already started teaching the boys about the longleaf, the skills of a woods rider, as well as how a cooper worked and what happened in a distillery. He wanted all his children to understand the entire way of life in turpentining, end to end. For him, it was important because in that understanding, they would appreciate it; that appreciation would make his vision, his love for the pines everlasting.

To that end, he and Amos had joined up with the American Turpentine Farmers Association (ATFA) and planned to take their boys to a few of the local meetings. They’d heard about the “Olustee process” through the ATFA, a new way of distilling pine gum with steam, and he thought it would be interesting to let them see the plant down in Hoboken, Georgia.

The women went into the house to finish cleaning the corn, and the men followed, talking about how the longleaf was becoming a tree of the past and the same would eventually happen for the work of turpentiners; their trade would disappear like the trees. All of them were aware of the one area in North Carolina that still had “round timber,” the name for “old growth” trees. They were located in Moore County, purchased about three decades before by James Boyd, father of nature-loving Helen Boyd Dull. The story goes after an impromptu delay of their train in Southern Pines, James Boyd and his daughter took a carriage up to a ridge, where, when they looked down at the surrounding area, they saw lumberjacks taking the majestic pines down. She pleaded with her father to save the remaining trees.

Peewee said, “Shoot. Ain’t gonna be long ’fore nobody even knows what a longleaf pine looks like, much less about turpentining.”

Del said, “Not if I can help it. That’s why I wanted to get something going here. We can work the trees and then let them be. Let them stand as evidence of that work.”

Peewee said, “The name is perfect. Memorable. Tar Heel Turpentine. Wonder how you come up with that.”

Rae Lynn and Del looked at each other, smiling.

Peewee said, “By the way, I got some news on old Crow right before I came. Slim Smith called me the other day, said he’d finally met his match.”

Rae Lynn stopped pulling the yellow threads off the kernels.

“Somebody beat him up?”

Cornelia snorted. “That would be too good for him.”

Peewee rubbed his head and then shook it as if he still couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“Naw. Sounds like he got more’n he bargained for by about fifteen feet worth. Some old gator out there in the Okefenokee.”

Incredulous, Del said, “It got him?”

“Apparently he was doing the usual, chasing some poor colored feller through the swamp. They heard it more’n saw it. Said he went to screaming, carrying on, and he stopped sudden-like. By the time they got there, all that was left was that hat a his floating in the water, crow feather still in it. Nothing else.”

Del said, “I sure didn’t care none for him, but what a helluva way to go.”

They sat quiet for a while until Del pulled out his harmonica. He played several slow, melancholy tunes, and everyone, the children included, sat quietly, reflecting on the lonesome notes. He finally stopped and stared around the table at the faces of the people he cared about most in this world, and knew if he were to die in his sleep this very night, he would go a contented man.