Now the sun was up, the landscape was once again friendly, inviting, and her unease over what she heard the night before seemed ridiculous. Opening the door of the truck, she got out and groaned as she started moving about. For all the convenience of these newfangled vehicles, the bumps and jolts on the hard seat for hours had her stiff and sore. She checked on the soap plug, which aside from having caught its share of bugs, remained in place. After taking care of her needs, she went through the tedious steps to crank the engine, grateful when it caught. She pulled away, the only sign she’d been there was the depression of the truck’s tires crushing the clover and chickweed. She drove until late afternoon and reached the outskirts of Valdosta. Thirsty, she decided to stop for a cold drink and to find out where the Swallow Hill camp was exactly. After her little to-do with the farmer, she was more clearheaded about her role as Ray Cobb. She spotted a small roadside store, pulled in, and parked, then sat for a minute or two, staring at the door. Maybe walking with more confidence would make a difference. She went inside, making sure to clomp heavy footed across the planked floor as she went to get a cold Pepsi out of the cooler. She kept her hands crammed into her pockets in a manner she thought befitted a man. At the counter a broad-hipped woman, hair wrapped in a scarf, heavy breasts resting on the counter, frowned at her.
The woman pointed at her feet and said, “If them boots is dirty, you need to do all that stomping outside. I only just swept this floor.”
Rae Lynn winced, and without thinking, said in her regular voice, “Oh, sorry,” which earned her a questioning look from the woman. Red-faced, she popped the top off the drink and carefully approached the counter. She handed the woman a nickel and avoided too much eye contact.
In a low tone, she said, “I’m looking for Swallow Hill.”
The woman took the nickel, opened the cash register, and said, “Ain’t far.”
Studying Rae Lynn with steady eyes, she gave her directions, mainly to go “that a way” and look for a small sign saying SWALLOW HILL.
“A couple miles or so, and you’re there.”
Rae Lynn said, “Thankee kindly.”
The woman said, “You traveling alone? Where’s your family?”
Now it was Rae Lynn frowning at her. “Ain’t none a your business.”
The woman said, “Huh. Reckon your mama ain’t never taught you no manners neither. Young men nowadays ain’t respectful atall.”
Rae Lynn rushed out, screen slamming behind her. In the truck, she wiped sweat off her forehead and felt a headache coming on. She would get better at this, she had to. After a few miles she spotted a decrepit hand-painted marker that said SWALLOW HILL, fastened to a slash pine with an arrow pointing up. Next, she came to a long and narrow sandy dirt road, not unlike the path to the house back home. With nothing but big clumps of wiregrass and stately pine trees scattered about, the area was isolated and lonely seeming. Rae Lynn drove the last leg of her trip, and out of nowhere came the distinct odor of a turpentine still, long before she came to it.
Minutes later, a cooper’s shed came into view, and beside that, the turpentine distillery. There was another building with OFFICE over the door. She pulled in front of it and got out of the truck, taking a moment to stretch. As she bent backward, then forward, she noticed a man watching her from a distance. She clamped her hat more firmly on her head, shoved her hands in her pockets, and swaggered inside. A heavyset man, busy with paperwork behind a messy desk, puffed heavily on a cigar as if his very life depended on it.
Using her new voice, she said, “Heard there’s work here.”
He lifted his eyes, gave her a once-over and to her mind, it took him a tad too long. His brow cinched like he found her statement strange. Or maybe it was her appearance. She held her ground, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
He spoke finally. “We got plenty of work, too much. Name’s Pritchard Taylor. Peewee to some, although there’s a name suits you, not me so much.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. He jumped up with a boisterous laugh.
“I’m only kidding.”
He put out his hand, and with relief, she stuck hers into his grip. He proceeded to grind her knuckle bones together as he pumped her hand. She managed not to flinch, and returned the handshake as firmly as she could, fighting the urge to rub her knuckles soon as he released her hand. He plopped back into his chair and commented on her size again.
“Sheeyoot. You look like a good wind could blow you away. You sure you up to this kind a work?”