The Saints of Swallow Hill(30)

He said, “Peewee told me directly we can’t be losing no more men, got too much work to do.”

Del heard the annoyance in Crow’s voice as he replied to the other woods rider.

“I’m only showing this one he can’t be skipping work, and if he does, he ain’t getting off no different than nobody else.”

“Yeah, well, since when have loblollys been part of a crop? Besides, we got business to discuss, so when you’re done entertaining yourself, Peewee needs you in his office.”

There was some mumbling, a click, and the squeal of rusty hinges. Del lay straight-legged, arms at his sides, squinting up at the man standing over him. Crow chortled at him, then pressed a hand over his heart and began play-acting.

“Dearly beloved, who are gathered here today . . .”

He thought this hilarious and laughed hard enough to start wheezing. Overcome, he squatted, while Ballard, stoic and serious, stood nearby. The other work hands rubbed their jaws in nervousness, and some allowed a few random chuckles here and there, wary and forced. Crow wiped his eyes, leaned toward the box, and peeked in at Del, who’d not moved.

He said, “Boo!” and fell onto the ground howling again.

Del sat up. His entire body shook, and he thought he might get sick. He would’ve liked to have punched Crow if he’d had the strength, but he’d never been the fighting type, and what good would it do nohow? He stood, and ignoring the other man, he stepped over the side and began walking away, intent on getting water, but mostly wanting to get away from crazy Crow.

Crow’s laughter subsided, and he called out, “Hey. You.”

Del stopped but didn’t turn around.

Crow called out, “You understand, right? How things is? You chose how it’s gonna be. Can’t blame nobody but yourself, is how I see it.”

Del paused, then faced him, and Ballard suddenly came forward, as if anticipating a fight of some sort. Del would only have told the man his choices ought not matter so much. The work got done, didn’t it?

Ballard said, “Okay, everyone, let’s all get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow we go at it again, bright and early. Come on, Sweeney. We got to meet Peewee.”

Crow kept his gaze on Del and said, “That’s right. Tomorrow’s another day for you poor suckers.”

Del let it go. He really didn’t care to explain himself. He started walking again while the spot between his shoulder blades remained tense, aware Crow watched him. Once again he’d somehow managed to get on the wrong side of a boss man, but this time, he surely wasn’t to blame. As soon as he was at the shack, he went directly to the well. He pumped the handle and when the water gushed from the spout, he stuck his face under it and drank, and drank. Eventually he stuck his whole head under, blindly reaching over so he could keep pumping. He straightened up, and feeling better, he sank into a chair on the porch. He mulled over the idea of leaving, only he’d already run from Sutton’s. Is that the kind of man he’d become? Somebody who ran away when in a tough spot? If all he had was his name, and his reputation, then he had to prove both meant something, at least to himself.

His clothes reeked from being in the box, but he was too worn-out to do anything about them. Instead, he went inside and came out, tugging the mattress. He let it drop on the porch, went around to the back and over to the edge of the woods, and began to gather Spanish moss off of the lowlying limbs of one of the few hardwoods in the area. Stuffing the mattress was low on his list, but he had to do something. Back on the porch, he began packing handfuls inside the dingy covering. Not long into it, Nolan wandered by, propped himself on the fence. He kept looking over his shoulder, while Del stuffed in moss, shook it down, and added more.

Nolan said, “French hair.”

“Huh?”

Nolan pointed at the wispy gray strands hanging from Del’s hand.

Del said, “Oh.”

Nolan watched another minute or two, then said, “It makes it feel cooler.”

Del said, “It does?”

Nolan said, “Um-hmm.” He rubbed at his head and appeared troubled. “Gotta say, sure was surprised when boss man done what he done.”

Del was in no mood to talk about it, so his reply was cryptic.

“No more’n me.”

“Reckon he got it in for you, somehow.”

Del stopped packing the mattress and considered telling Nolan it had to do with the fact he was working amongst coloreds, but he didn’t have to.

Nolan said, “It’s ’cause you working with us. I know how he is. Ain’t gone do nothing but cause trouble.”

Del stopped working and said, “Yeah. Well. I can’t see why it matters so much.”

“In this camp, it do. To some. He gone come down on anyone trying to change how it is.”

“I ain’t trying to change nothing. I needed work, somewhere to stay. I hoped to make a little money, too, but I should’ve known better.”

“’S all any of us wanted, but it don’t do no good getting him stirred up.”

Del went back to stuffing the mattress, and Nolan was quiet. Music came from somewhere in the middle of the camp.

Nolan tipped his head and said, “Juke joint’s kicking in.”

Del turned his head a little and heard a bluesy wail coming from the colored part of camp.