The Saints of Swallow Hill(59)

Del studied the woman. It all made sense to him now. The oddities he’d noticed, like her hands, the flowers on the table, the girlie sheets. Ways she’d acted. He should’ve seen through it, but he hadn’t. Maybe he’d have sensed her femaleness before the grain bin robbed him. Why she’d come here pretending to be a man to begin with was peculiar, but in listening to her periodic, noisy gasping, he doubted he’d ever find out why. Like Birdie, it was likely she was a goner and wouldn’t make it through the night. Funny, how the name he knew her by still suited her. He didn’t know how else to think of her. Ray Cobb was who she still was, least to him.

Pillowing her head on his lap to make the ride into camp less jarring, she was so far gone, it was possible him fussing over her comfort didn’t matter nohow. She only moved as the wagon did, her feet splayed out to each side in the new boots that didn’t look so new anymore. They arrived at the Riddle house, and Del eased her head off his lap and placed it on the hat like it had been in the box. He climbed out of the back, and the odd harsh breathing came again. Damn Crow. If Peewee didn’t chase him off after this, he wouldn’t know what to think. The noise of their arrival brought Cornelia out onto the porch, along with the smell of whatever she’d been cooking for supper. Otis came too, a napkin tucked into the top of his grimy shirt.

She said, “What is this? The commissary’s closed.”

Del pointed into the back of the wagon. “Cobb? He ain’t doing so good. And he ain’t a he. He’s a she.”

Cornelia’s mouth dropped, and she came off the porch and stared into the back of the wagon. Eyebrows raised high, she took in the form, the issue of blood, where it was, as well as the lack of response.

Del said, “Can you help her? She’s been cooking in that damn box for three days.”

Cornelia said, “Oh, my dear Lord. Well, I don’t know. I’ll surely try. Hurry, bring her on in.”

Del climbed back into the wagon and scooped up what was left of Ray Cobb. Her body felt like it was made of nothing but the overalls, shirt, and bones and only held together by parched skin and the cloth wrapped around it. Cornelia stood by the front door, holding it open for him. He went inside and followed her into a tiny backroom off the kitchen. It had a bed with a lacy bedspread, a chair, and a small night table with a Bible and a lantern on it. A small window sat at the opposite end of the room, and if a person was propped in the bed, they could see out of it. Del thought it an odd thing, this little extra room. Otis followed on their heels, disgruntled at his supper being interrupted.

Del laid Cobb on the bed, while Cornelia asked questions. “What on earth happened? How did he, I mean she, end up there?

He straightened up and said, “Crow.”

Cornelia said, “Oh.”

Otis said, “We ain’t no hotel here, and ain’t you already got plenty to do? Hell, she looks about dead already.”

Cornelia twisted her hands and said, “It’s the Christian thing to do.”

Otis stepped over, pushing Cornelia aside. “Hmph. He don’t look like he’s gone make it another hour.”

Del said, “She. It’s a she.”

Otis stared at Ray Cobb. “That ain’t normal what she done. It ain’t natural.”

Del ignored him and spoke to Cornelia. “She was hot seeming. She ain’t sweating none, neither. She’s been breathing real hard.”

Cornelia laid a hand on Cobb’s brow. She took it away, glanced at the men jammed into the small space.

She said, “If I’m gonna try and help her, y’all got to get out.”

Otis said, “I need my supper!”

Cornelia said, “I put your plate on the table, Otis. Go on and eat, now.”

Del said, “If something happens, let me know. You need anything, let me know. Otherwise I’ll be back at first light.”

He left with Clyde knowing he might never get any answers as to the secrets of a woman named Ray Cobb.





Chapter 20


Rae Lynn


She quit fighting long before she got to Heaven. She stopped begging herself to hang on. She quit praying, quit wishing someone would find her. None of it mattered, and now she was here, and Heaven was everything. Whenever some remote tiny part of her brain awakened, if only enough to register something good happening, she savored it, then slipped away, diving deep into the dark. The landscape of her body carried the signs of war. Damaged. Weakened. Wasted.

All manner of good, if strange, things happened in Heaven. Her arms and legs, light as the wind, moved and lifted one by one, and she was touched by a soft coolness across her forehead, over her face, her breasts, belly, and thighs. She’d been in hell, burned by the brimstone, forced to breathe sulfur spewed by evil. No longer. Heaven held only freshness, gentleness, and soothing, slow movements. Her reward.

She didn’t know who in Heaven talked to her, but the voice came now and again, light and soothing, speaking like a mother to a child.

It said, “Safe.”

Sometimes, “Miracle.”

Other times, “Stay.”

Mostly, it only quietly hummed. An angel.

When there were words, she couldn’t understand if they were meant for her, or if the voice was only soothing the feverishness of her mind, as would be natural for such a fine, orderly place. She didn’t want to leave this sanctuary, but there were moments when it seemed the perfect thing to do. It would come on her like the sensation of falling, and by falling she understood deep within herself that if she gave in, if she allowed it, this fragile fragment of existence, such as it was, would be no more. She contemplated this choice many times over, stepped closer to some unknown edge more than once.