There were a few mumbled no’s, then Big’Un said, “Mrs. Riddle, she do.”
Del said, “Let’s get him back to the camp.”
Preacher and another worker helped put Birdie in the bed of the work wagon and climbed in beside him. Preacher held Birdie’s head on his lap. Del retrieved Ruby from where he’d left her and rode behind the wagon. When he saw Birdie having trouble breathing, Del skirted around the wagon and put Ruby at a fast trot toward the commissary to give Cornelia Riddle a heads-up. He rushed inside, the bell on the door jingling. She was the only one behind the counter, stocking can goods. Otis was nowhere to be seen.
Before she could speak, he said, “You know anything about coral snakes?”
She frowned at him and said, “Who?”
“One of my men. Birdie.”
She reached under the counter, grabbed a bottle of turpentine, and followed Del outside.
Del said, “He didn’t act like he’d even been bit right after it happened. He worked all afternoon, but now he sounds like he’s been drinking.”
Cornelia said, “With them kind a snakes, it hits’em later.”
As they went back to the wagon, Del noticed a woman with dark hair shot through with gray. She talked with lots a hand gestures to Crow, who stood, arms folded, eyes on the ground. Del didn’t have time to dwell on them, but it appeared like Mama Sweeney had arrived for a visit, and neither of them looked happy about it.
Chapter 16
Rae Lynn
She lay soaked with sweat, yet shivering. The crack above her, the one she couldn’t look away from, told her all she could take in about the outside world through the half-inch-wide space. Her fear for what was to come rose with the sun. It had been so hot the day before, when Ballard died. She didn’t know what to expect of today, and while she was used to the heat of summers, it wasn’t while cramped inside something the size of a pig trough with a lid on it. Without food. More important, without water. She’d have to do like she done at the orphanage when she’d been forced to work in the laundry all them ungodly hours the summer. Try to think positive, and not about how much time she had left inside.
She hadn’t been at Swallow Hill long enough to know if anyone in her predicament ever made it out alive. She hadn’t wanted to ask. Right now, she was already so thirsty her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her throat was just as dry. Her stomach had cramped off and on all night. She found she could roll a little, side to side, and in the desire for movement she did this until her muscles spasmed, so she stopped. She was losing the internal argument about the need to urinate. Why hold it when she’d have to go at some point, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Not yet.
Somehow she fell asleep again, and the next time she woke, the inside had become an oven. Sweat ran off of her, little rivulets of distress along with her ever-increasing thirst. She attempted to lick her arms, the salty perspiration drying on her tongue. She laid her palms against the lid. It was hot to the touch. Each time she swallowed, she coughed. What was odd was her sense of urgency to urinate was gone, but now her head hurt, and though she hadn’t moved, she was dizzy. A distant rhythmic banging matched the heartbeat she heard in her head. Voices ran out in song occasionally somewhere in the belly of the camp. She strained to hear the tune until it stopped and was replaced by yelling. She rolled her head to the left, to the right, twisted each foot the same, left then right. A cramp seized the calf muscle of her left leg, and the pain made her grit her teeth.
Be still. Go back to sleep. Get through this. Get through it.
The next time she woke up, her ability to breathe was like sucking on a clogged straw while a peculiar pressure had developed in her chest, as if a heavy weight had been set on top of her. She made herself calm down and slowly took in the stifling air through her nose and let it go slowly out of her mouth. She smelled blood. The tinny, metallic odor was more obvious along with other unpleasant smells as the heat built in her little prison. The narrow crack above her revealed a sky that was hazy. She tipped her chin down to her chest, and a wave of nausea made her stomach roll. She shut her eyes until it passed, and when it had, she opened them. Here and there, other cracks in the wood allowed the sun to decorate her body with golden stripes over her legs and stomach. Dazed, half awake, lovely, she thought. If only some sort of breeze would slip in, it might give a bit of relief, but it was only wishful thinking. Since coming to the camp, most days had been as still as a corpse.
She shut her eyes again and hummed. Behind her lids, colors spun and shimmered. It was probably midafternoon and only the first full day. She didn’t want to get too far ahead of herself, but if she made it （and she didn’t like to think like that）， she had to decide what she could do to stay on. Her confidence at making numbers was shaken, but maybe Peewee would let her try dipping gum. There were a few colored women doing it, and after their bucket was filled, one of the men would usually empty it into a barrel in the back of the wagon. Thing was, Peewee might refuse. She’d not given him the best impression thus far. If that happened, she had no idea where she’d go. With the country deep into the Depression and jobs scarce, now wasn’t the time to be without a way to eat unless she wanted to resort to what some women did, prostituting themselves out. She couldn’t begin to consider such a thing.