Del couldn’t worry about the men right now. He held his breath against the stench as he put one arm under the woman’s shoulders and under her knees before lifting her out. She didn’t weigh much more than a sack of potatoes. Her coloring was awful, somewhere between ghastly white and splotchy, as if her blood was having trouble circulating. Her breathing was sporadic, and when it came, it rattled loudly in an alarming fashion. To those who’d stayed, Clyde and Preacher, it was obvious how Del had made his determination of her gender. A large, dark burgundy stain in the crotch of her overalls clearly signified she was someone other than who they thought. They averted their eyes as Del went to the back of the wagon and laid her down. He climbed into it and pulled her up so her head rested on his lap.
He said, “Preacher, will you take Ruby to the barn, feed her good, and give her plenty a water.”
Preacher said, “Yessuh, ain’t no problem.”
Clyde waited, sitting in the front, and Del said, “Let’s get her to the Riddles, see what Miss Cornelia can do, if anything.”
Clyde clucked at the mule to get him going.
Del said, “Hurry.”
On his way he watched as the men who’d scattered came out of the woods and started for home.
They raised their voices to shout, “She gone make it!” “She be all right!” as they made their way back into Swallow Hill.
Del studied the woman. It all made sense to him now. The oddities he’d noticed, like her hands, the flowers on the table, the girlie sheets. Ways she’d acted. He should’ve seen through it, but he hadn’t. Maybe he’d have sensed her femaleness before the grain bin robbed him. Why she’d come here pretending to be a man to begin with was peculiar, but in listening to her periodic, noisy gasping, he doubted he’d ever find out why. Like Birdie, it was likely she was a goner and wouldn’t make it through the night. Funny, how the name he knew her by still suited her. He didn’t know how else to think of her. Ray Cobb was who she still was, least to him.
Pillowing her head on his lap to make the ride into camp less jarring, she was so far gone, it was possible him fussing over her comfort didn’t matter nohow. She only moved as the wagon did, her feet splayed out to each side in the new boots that didn’t look so new anymore. They arrived at the Riddle house, and Del eased her head off his lap and placed it on the hat like it had been in the box. He climbed out of the back, and the odd harsh breathing came again. Damn Crow. If Peewee didn’t chase him off after this, he wouldn’t know what to think. The noise of their arrival brought Cornelia out onto the porch, along with the smell of whatever she’d been cooking for supper. Otis came too, a napkin tucked into the top of his grimy shirt.
She said, “What is this? The commissary’s closed.”
Del pointed into the back of the wagon. “Cobb? He ain’t doing so good. And he ain’t a he. He’s a she.”
Cornelia’s mouth dropped, and she came off the porch and stared into the back of the wagon. Eyebrows raised high, she took in the form, the issue of blood, where it was, as well as the lack of response.
Del said, “Can you help her? She’s been cooking in that damn box for three days.”
Cornelia said, “Oh, my dear Lord. Well, I don’t know. I’ll surely try. Hurry, bring her on in.”
Del climbed back into the wagon and scooped up what was left of Ray Cobb. Her body felt like it was made of nothing but the overalls, shirt, and bones and only held together by parched skin and the cloth wrapped around it. Cornelia stood by the front door, holding it open for him. He went inside and followed her into a tiny backroom off the kitchen. It had a bed with a lacy bedspread, a chair, and a small night table with a Bible and a lantern on it. A small window sat at the opposite end of the room, and if a person was propped in the bed, they could see out of it. Del thought it an odd thing, this little extra room. Otis followed on their heels, disgruntled at his supper being interrupted.
Del laid Cobb on the bed, while Cornelia asked questions. “What on earth happened? How did he, I mean she, end up there?
He straightened up and said, “Crow.”
Cornelia said, “Oh.”
Otis said, “We ain’t no hotel here, and ain’t you already got plenty to do? Hell, she looks about dead already.”
Cornelia twisted her hands and said, “It’s the Christian thing to do.”
Otis stepped over, pushing Cornelia aside. “Hmph. He don’t look like he’s gone make it another hour.”