The Saints of Swallow Hill(58)

“Ain’t this something. The lot of you praying and carrying on like saints. Shut up with that racket.”

Del stood and, with gritted teeth, said, “Get him out. Now.”

Crow grinned and sauntered back over to his horse to rummage around in the saddlebag.

“Now, I know it’s got to be in here somewheres.”

Del said, “Hurry it up, for God’s sake!”

Crow stopped his hunt through the saddlebag. He patted his shirt pockets and pulled out the key.

“Aha! Now, that’s what I call a miracle, ain’t it? Looks like them prayers worked after all.”

Del held himself in check. It took all he had to control himself and not jerk it from his fingers. Crow moseyed over to the box and dropped to his knees. He knocked on the lid.

“Hello?”

He raised his hands up as if to say, Oh well.

Del said, “Get on with it!” and stepped closer.

Crow stuck the key in the lock and grinned over his shoulder at the group of men who dared to still whisper prayers, while Del paced, clenching and unclenching his fists. Finally came a tiny click, and Crow raised the lid. There was a collective drawing in of a breath as he peered inside. He stood up quick, stumbled backward, tripped over a root, and fell on his rear. His reaction disturbed the stillness holding the group in check. They broke loose, some yelling and running for the large pines, eager to put something between them and what the dreadful box held. Anybody who’d left the Earth in such an awful way was likely to have suffered mightily and might now be a haint who could come back to haunt them.

Crow lurched to his feet, backed away, his hand rubbing his chin like he couldn’t quite figure what he’d seen. For once, he was tongue-tied, no words, no smart remarks. Del peeked in at the form. Everything had gone still, even the birds in the trees. Preacher raised his voice, as if yelling at the heavens, lending an eerie tone to what they were experiencing.

“‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you!’”

Del stared at this person called Ray Cobb and felt like someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. He squatted down, reached inside to touch him, and the men, all of them, those behind the trees and those who’d not moved, waited and whispered in fear. Del’s thoughts were hectic as he dealt with the truth. This was no man. This was some poor young woman, no mistaking it. What in the hell had she been thinking? Why would she do such a thing?

Del turned and nailed Crow with an unforgiving look. “This here’s a young gal.”

Voices started into a low hum that rose as everyone mulled over the information.

“He ain’t no man?”

“A woman?”

Del rose to his feet, angry as he’d ever been. Crow adjusted his horse’s halter, brushed his hands down his pants, looked at a tree as if there was something interesting about it. Acted dumb.

Del said, “You’re a damn fool.”

Crow spat out an answer. “How the hell was I supposed to know? Didn’t nobody. Not even you.”

Del said, “Man, woman. Colored, white. You go too far. You always go too far.”

“Yeah. Like you been around all that long. Hell. It ain’t up to you, now is it?”

“We’ll see about that. We’ll see what Peewee’s got to say. I hope he throws you outta here. Better yet. Maybe you ought to spend some time in there yourself. You done killed an innocent young woman.”

Del jabbed his finger at the box and in that instant, a horrible croupy noise rose from within. The workers heard it and this time, they all fled, certain that Cobb, who wasn’t Cobb, but a woman, had, by some strange happening, been raised from the dead. They scattered through the trees helter-skelter.

Crow came to life, jumped on his horse, yelling, “Git back here! Don’t think you’re gonna run off! I’ll whip the black off’n your hides! Damn!”

Del couldn’t worry about the men right now. He held his breath against the stench as he put one arm under the woman’s shoulders and under her knees before lifting her out. She didn’t weigh much more than a sack of potatoes. Her coloring was awful, somewhere between ghastly white and splotchy, as if her blood was having trouble circulating. Her breathing was sporadic, and when it came, it rattled loudly in an alarming fashion. To those who’d stayed, Clyde and Preacher, it was obvious how Del had made his determination of her gender. A large, dark burgundy stain in the crotch of her overalls clearly signified she was someone other than who they thought. They averted their eyes as Del went to the back of the wagon and laid her down. He climbed into it and pulled her up so her head rested on his lap.

He said, “Preacher, will you take Ruby to the barn, feed her good, and give her plenty a water.”

Preacher said, “Yessuh, ain’t no problem.”

Clyde waited, sitting in the front, and Del said, “Let’s get her to the Riddles, see what Miss Cornelia can do, if anything.”

Clyde clucked at the mule to get him going.

Del said, “Hurry.”

On his way he watched as the men who’d scattered came out of the woods and started for home.

They raised their voices to shout, “She gone make it!” “She be all right!” as they made their way back into Swallow Hill.