With her hand over the lower half of her face to mask the smell, she scrutinized the small, single room, her new home. The sun had set and a weak light spilling in from two tiny windows made things hard to see, but one thing was certain, it sure smelled bad. Her home with Warren had been old, and showed signs of wear and tear, but it had been clean. This place, though, built to accommodate workers of the camp, had the appearance and stench of having been put here at the beginning of time. There were stains on the walls of questionable origins. The floor was planked but covered with dirt, like the porch. The unidentifiable fusty scent could have come from it being closed up for a while, plus the heat of the day, but she detected overlying odors of rancid grease and the unwashed left-behind dishes stacked on a rustic wooden shelf, encrusted with a mysterious black mold. A dull, dingy mattress was situated on what appeared to be a bedframe built into the wall of one corner.
Disheartened at the awful condition, it took her a moment to realize she was itching on her calves. She yanked a coverall leg up and saw black dots. She stomped her feet and began smacking her hands over her legs. Fleas, and no telling what else. She was still preoccupied with this when she heard a voice.
“Almost slept in the woods my first night. Would’ve been better maybe, ’cept there’s chiggers, skeeters, and snakes out there too. Reckon it wouldn’t have mattered much, in hindsight.”
Rae Lynn spun around and saw the mattress stuffer. He was at her fence, leaning on it, hat tipped back to reveal a pale forehead in comparison to the rest of his face, hair longish, cheeks and chin bearded. To her mind’s eye he was the saddest-looking feller she’d ever laid eyes on, but she didn’t know him, so maybe this was his natural expression. He was an odd-looking one. No, not odd. Interesting. His eyes were so pale blue she almost couldn’t hardly make out the difference between the irises and the whites. Aware she’d been staring too long, she turned to consider the grimy porch.
He said, “It took some getting used to.”
Rae Lynn nodded, but that was it. She wasn’t inclined toward being friendly. She’d only come up with this idea a couple days ago, had already seen how being Ray Cobb was rather exhausting, always having to watch what she said and how she said it. Having to watch how she walked. Not mess with her hair. Not forget the voice she was supposed to speak in. He stuck his hand out despite her lack of response.
He said, “Name’s Delwood Reese. Folks call me Del.”
She stayed where she was and jammed her hands into her pockets.
She tipped her chin up and grumbled her name, “Ray Cobb.”
He put his arm down, and he said, “Where you from?”
“South Carolina.”
“Which job did you take on?”
“Don’t know yet.”
She wished he’d leave her alone. She should’ve gone inside, no matter how bad it was.
He said, “Who you working for?”
Speaking in the unnatural tone she didn’t trust, she said, “Ballard.”
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.