“You mean that fun with Lucinda who works in back?”
“Man’s got needs.”
“What you got is a whole heap a trouble you thinking Alice gone tolerate you being a fool.”
Snickering and sneaky glances went left and right, shifty and nervous-like. She worried someone would try to bring her into one of these conversations, and if they did, would she be able to hold her own with that sort of talk. At least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t join in. Del Reese never talked about anybody special. He sat some distance away, tooting on his mouth harp. Sometimes the talk grew serious, expressing worry over being abused for some small thing. They talked of that contraption, the sweatbox, of the people they knew who went in and came out really bad off, or who’d died. Some said a little prayer as soon as it was mentioned, so great was their fear of it.
Crow and Ballard appeared and yelled out to their men. “Get back to it! Hurry it up! Get a move on!”
Rae Lynn jumped to her feet. As she passed by Crow he gave her a cockeyed grin. The workers spread out like ants, lines of them filtering through the trees, the long, hot afternoon before them, the only thing pleasant, the spicy smell of pine all around. Crow followed his men and disappeared. Rae Lynn was quick getting to her drift, pulling at her overalls and shirt, which were still damp from the morning’s work. Each time she finished a tree, she said a little prayer as she moved on.
An hour later, Crow showed up, winding his horse through the trees, mouth twisted like he’d bitten into a sour apple. Rae Lynn focused on a song a distant worker sang, faint, but she caught the tune and hummed along. She struggled with a particularly high catface, aware he could see her having trouble. After the scene at the commissary, she was certain he’d been biding his time, waiting for her to mess up, but she refused to acknowledge him. He wasn’t her boss man, he wasn’t in charge.
“Best pick it up!”
She gritted her teeth, yelled, “Tar Heel!” and moved on to the next tree.
Under his scrutiny, she fumbled with the puller and a piece of bark fell in her right eye. She immediately dropped the puller to the ground, bent over, and began blinking rapidly. Her sweat mixed in with her tears and made the eye burn.
She delicately moved the eyelid around, and said, “Dammitall.”
Crow’s voice was closer now, and he said, “Tick tock. Times a-wasting.”
Rae Lynn shifted away from him and gently rubbed at her eye, blinked several more times, but whatever was in there hurt, so she quit. Her nose began to run.
Crow said, “Ain’t gonna make your count, again. Ain’t no time for stalling.”
Tears streamed down her cheek like she was crying. She did her best to ignore the scratching pain and faced the tree trunk, puller held aloft, but looking up made her eyes run more.
Crow said, “Crying. I’ll be damned.”
Rae Lynn muttered, “Ain’t crying.”
Ballard’s voice came from behind her. “What’s going on here? ”
Crow said, “All he’s done for several minutes is worry over a speck a dust in his eye.”
Ballard got off his horse, came around to look at her, then said, “Here, use some a this.”
She angled her head, saw with the one good eye he held out a canteen. She went over to him and took it.
He said, “Try rinsing it out.”
Rae Lynn leaned her head back, attempting to do as he suggested, but most of the water ran down her cheek. She sneezed. Ballard approached her.
“Tilt your head back again,” and she did as he said.
He slowly poured a thin stream into the corner of her eye while grabbing her chin to hold her head steady. His hand felt hot, and dry.
She rubbed at her eye, and he said, “Naw, don’t, let the water wash it out.”
He stopped, and Rae Lynn blinked and blinked. The water made her eye feel sticky and rough. She sneezed again. Crow mumbled something under his breath. Ballard ignored him, and Rae Lynn flapped her hand at him to pour more water. It felt like a piece of metal in there. Tilting her head back, he did so while Crow snickered.
Ballard said, “What the hell’s so funny?”
“You playing nursemaid. That’s what’s funny. You ain’t a pansy, are you, Ballard? I don’t know which I can’t stand the most. A pansy, a shirker, or a nigra lover. What’s the world coming to?”
Rae Lynn blinked again. The piece of wood or whatever it was, was still there, but she pulled her chin out of Ballard’s hand.
Speaking in a low tone, she said, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”