The Saints of Swallow Hill(76)

Rae Lynn wasn’t in the mood, but she went along with Cornelia’s playfulness. “I have no idea who you mean.”

“Sure you do.”

“Del Reese?”

“Gosh, Rae Lynn. You got blood in them veins, ain’t you? I think you might consider him, is all. I think he’s interested.”

Rae Lynn was quiet as she dumped a measure of flour into a bowl. She cut in the lard and began blending it in with her fingers. Cornelia stoked the fire in the stove and moved some pots around, all the while sneaking peeks at Rae Lynn.

Finally, Rae Lynn said, “Nellie, there’s things you don’t understand.”

“What? You married already, or something? You got a husband trying to find you? Is that why you played like you was someone else?”

Rae Lynn faced Cornelia with the weight of what she knew, her past corralled within the fence of her mind. All she had to do was open the gate, let it flow from out of her, let it go, and maybe, just maybe, she could quiet her mind. Out of anyone, it ought to be Cornelia she should tell, the one who’d taken care of her, the one who’d whisked her from Death’s very hands. She owed her that much, didn’t she?

She tried a bit of the truth. “I was married. Once. We lived in North Carolina, in Harnett County.”

Cornelia puffed up, almost preening.

She said, “Ha. I knew it. You’re too pretty not to have been attached to somebody. Harnett County?”

The compliment made Rae Lynn blush.

She said yeah to Cornelia’s question, then focused on making a pit in the bowl of flour with her fist.

She reached for the clay pitcher of milk, and before she poured, she met Cornelia’s eyes, soft brown as a wren’s feathers, gazing at her in a manner not unlike the way Warren had sometimes when he was of a mood. It was disconcerting, and she dumped the milk too fast, adding more than she should have.

“Shoot!” She set the pitcher on the table. “I got to add more flour and lard.”

“Rae Lynn?”

Rae Lynn wiped her hands off and reached for the flour, disturbed by the uncanny look.

“What?”

“You said, ‘once.’”

Rae Lynn hesitated, then finally said, “He’s gone on to his Reward.”

“Oh, honey. I’m real sorry.”

Rae Lynn kept working, adding what she needed to her bowl. She supposed she could say a bit more that wouldn’t point to anything of consequence.

“He fell off our roof trying to fix it and got hurt.”

“How awful!”

Rae Lynn said, “It was the most awful thing I ever been through. He got hurt bad.”

“What you reckon was wrong with him?”

“Some internal injury, though I don’t really know. He wouldn’t let me get no doctor. He was stubborn as the day is long. Set in his ways. He was older’n me. He had him a son from a first marriage, named Eugene. I reckon he was probably closer to my age, though I never met him. He’s a lawyer, and didn’t seem to care much about nothing his daddy had, not ’til he was gone.”

The more she talked, the easier her words came, but also memories she didn’t like. The ones that forced her to relive the moment she’d taken up Warren’s pistol. The tragedy played out in her head, and she struggled with it, her breath coming faster as she concentrated on controlling her emotions. She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if physically preventing the rest of her story from spilling out. Cornelia grabbed her hand away from her face.

“Rae Lynn? You all right? What happened? Won’t you tell me?”

Rae Lynn wished she could convey the agony of it all without having to say it out loud. She couldn’t imagine what Cornelia might say, or what she might think. She pulled her hand away and went back to fixing the biscuit dough. She tried not to shake.

“I can’t. You’ll think I’m the most awful person you’ve ever known.”

Cornelia was vehement. “No, no, no. I couldn’t never think that. I couldn’t. Not even if you killed somebody. I’d say to anyone who asked, they must’ve had it coming.”

How surprising her choice of words.

Rae Lynn said, “I got to get these biscuits done.”

She began working the dough again; then she stopped and the words came, slipping from her as if they would choke her.

“That’s what happened.”

Cornelia stared. “What do you mean that’s what happened?”

“It’s hard to talk about, Nellie. Real hard.”

She spread flour over the tabletop, dumped the dough out while her heartbeat sounded like a hammer in her head. She was about to cry, and if she did, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop. She’d lose that careful control she’d kept hold of so well.

Cornelia said, “You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word. I can see how it causes you such pain.”

Rae Lynn sank into a chair. She buried her face into her arms, her hands still coated with flour. She heard Cornelia move away, but in seconds she was back, pressing a cool rag to the back of Rae Lynn’s neck. Bless Nellie. She was an awful good friend. They’d grown close in a short amount of time, and Rae Lynn had grown to depend on her calm manner, her ability to put her at ease, but she’d held on to this thing she’d done for so long, the thought of telling someone made her sick.