The Saints of Swallow Hill(37)

He stuck his own hands in his pockets and gave the fence post a kick.

He said, “Damn. That’s a stroke of luck.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, like he believed someone might be listening.

His voice lowered, he said, “I’m under a man goes by the name a Crow. We ain’t getting along, but it’s his problem more’n mine. Watch yourself around him, that’s my advice to you.”

Again, she stayed quiet, thinking the less she talked the better. He stared at the sky, then at her.

“Well, figured I’d introduce myself since we’re neighbors. Salt works on them fleas.”

Rae Lynn gave a nod and a terse response. “I know.”

He pushed off the fence and walked back the way he’d come. In seconds, she caught the throaty quaver of a harmonica. The music he made with it lingered in the tepid air, a solitary tune Rae Lynn thought matched his overall disposition. She reentered the shack and began to make do the best she knew how.





Part II

Swallow Hill





Chapter 11


Del


One hot afternoon, he got a chance to watch the new man who’d arrived a few days before. He allowed that he was an okay chipper, kind of slow from what he could tell, but something else about him didn’t seem right. The new man was working a drift nearby to his own, so he had a bit of time here and there to study him from a distance. Del pondered on what his situation might be. For one thing, aside from owning a truck, he had on new boots. Everyone here was either barefoot or they might as well have been, because they’d all patched what they had with some variation of Hoover leather. Del had made do recently using newspaper in his own boots since he’d near about worn out the soles. Everyone had a story as to why they were here, he supposed. As the day wore on, their individual drifts led them in separate ways, and now, there was nothing but the bark in front of him and the endless trees.

At quitting time, the wagon came and took everyone back into camp. Del hopped off at the commissary, thinking he’d just as soon settle for opening a couple cans of something. He was too tired to cook. As he entered the store, he blundered into a situation between Otis, his wife, and the new man, Cobb, who looked as hot and sweaty as Del felt. Otis and Cornelia were behind the counter, which wasn’t unusual, but Cobb was back there too, facing Otis, pistol in hand. Cornelia was behind him.

Del stood by the door contemplating walking out, and heard Cobb say, “You best leave her be.”

Cobb glanced at him, then back to Otis. Seeing as how he’d been spotted, he stayed.

Otis, cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips, said to Cobb, “This ain’t none a your concern. She’s my wife. She’ll do as I say. You getting off on the wrong foot, and I don’t take kindly to meddling.”

Cobb said, “She was getting what I needed, you didn’t have to shove her.” He looked back at Cornelia. “You all right?”

Cornelia gave her husband a terrified look before she shifted her attention to the smaller man. Her features smoothed out, hardening like the compacted soil of the much-trampled-on paths between the shacks.

She said, “I ain’t needing you to speak on my behalf with regard to my husband.”

She faltered on the last part of the sentence, raised her chin, and stared down her nose at Cobb. To Del, she looked like she was trying to convince herself she believed what she said.

Cobb said, “Well, he ain’t much of a husband treating you like that. Nobody deserves such.”

Otis moved closer and Cobb stepped back, forcing Cornelia to do the same. Otis pointed his finger close to Cobb’s nose.

He said, “This here’s my store, and how I handle what goes on in here is my business. Ain’t nobody got a damn say in it but us, mainly me. She’s to obey me. Bible says as much. And put that damn gun down.”

Cobb cocked his head as he listened to Otis’s tirade, but he didn’t lower the pistol.

He responded in kind. “Where in the Bible does it say anything about what you done?” He said to Cornelia, “It don’t.”

Cornelia’s face was ashen, and she hesitated before speaking, but when she did, it was to quote Scripture.

“Bible says obey your husband. Says, ‘Wives, be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord.’”

Cobb’s voice went oddly high. “‘Husbands love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.’ Ephesians.”

Otis stammered a few weak excuses.

“I take care a her . . . she can’t say different . . . hell, she knows it. And she done cost me a purty penny. Done gone off and ordered herself that cloth to make a new dress without my say-so.”

Cornelia stepped around Cobb and tried a different tactic. She started sweet-talking, while gesturing at a folded section of material.

“Otis, honey, I ain’t had me a new dress since ’fore we met. This one’s about to fall to pieces, and so is the other. They’re nigh on indecent. You don’t want me going round looking so poorly, do you? It ain’t good for everybody to see your wife in shabby dresses.”

Otis’s answer was to pull the cigarette out of his mouth and grab her arm.

Del and Cobb both yelled, “Hey!”

Cornelia tugged against his hand, then froze as he hovered the hot end of the cigarette close to her skin. Otis stared at Cobb and Del, as if daring them to speak as he lowered the cigarette until it was within an inch of Cornelia’s skin. Her arm was covered with past puckered, pink scars. This wasn’t the first time the bastard had done this. Otis suddenly stuck the hot, ashy end to the material and ground it out. A tiny wisp of smoke curled up, and Otis let go of her arm and pushed her away.