decent house.”
“What’s the matter with the cabin? Don’t it look nice?”
“It does. But I thought you’d probably be hankering for a house.”
“Well,” said Lana, “I probably will be. But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to moon about it so. When I get discontented I’ll let you know it fast enough.” She sat against the bevel of a stump. “What did Mr. Demooth actually say?”
“Just about what I told her. He said I ought to go down. I told him I wanted to stay. It does seem kind of hard.” He repeated everything the captain had said.
“Who’s this Blue Back?” she asked.
“He’s an old Indian. Once in a while he stops with me.”
“It’s a funny name.”
“Yes, it is. If he ever comes round when I’m out, you treat him nice, Lana.”
“Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you know how Indians is.”
“You mean drunk.”
“No, he don’t drink much. For an Indian.”
He glanced at her.
“You won’t be scared, being left here?”
“No.”
“You could pass the time with Mrs. Weaver.”
“Maybe I will or go to Reall’s. But I’ll get back to have your supper.”
“You wait for me at Weaver’s. No telling when we get back,” he said. “If I got time, maybe I’ll fetch you something from the store.”
She laughed.
“Me. I don’t need anything. Lord! You’re kind of silly about me still, aren’t you?”
“I’m just about crazy,” he said, grinning.
“This isn’t time to start that kind of business,” she said. “What do you want me to do, now?”
“If you mean work, you could drag the lopped branches so the tops lay on the logs.”
She set to work. The tree trunks lay where they had fallen almost end to end, sometimes overlapping. She dragged the lopped branches so that they lay over the trunks, the tops all pointing eastward to favor the prevailing west winds of fall, when the burning would take place.
They didn’t talk. The dust and the heat choked them both. But as her brain dulled with the labor she kept wondering whether a man would continue to feel like Gil when his girl began to lose her looks. After a while, she even began to forget that. There was just the work.
They stopped at noon, and ate, and came out again into the heat, the flies following them from the cabin and then going in again, but a new swarm met them in the lot. The leaves were already wilting on the cut branches.
It was like that, day after day. At sunset Lana stopped to hunt the cow and milk her. She had dropped off in her milk and only gave a quart at night.
Then Lana started their supper. She gathered a few green ears from the cornfield, stripped the kernels out, crushed them in a bowl, and cooked them in the milk. The milk tasted of cherry and wild onion. All the time, as she worked in the kitchen, she could hear the strokes of Gil’s axe.
He came in at dark all soaked with sweat and they went down to the creek together where a pool was, and stripped and washed side by side.
Each night, to Lana, that marked the beginning of life again. She felt tired afterwards, her back ached, but she was clean; and while she ate, the natural uses of her body gradually returned. And the sight of Gil naked, knee-deep in the slow flow of the creek, was still the one exciting thing she had to see. Even when she looked up at the peacock’s feather in the dark, his lean white shape came between it and her eyes. One did not see the burned hands and face in the dark, only the whiteness.
They could begin to talk a little. They talked about a certain tree that had been hard in falling, or the way the mare was swelling in her neck from the flies. Gil would then go out with some of their precious salt in a cup and mix it with water and swab the mare’s shoulder, while Lana was clearing up. When he came in again, they would be wordless, and would wait only for a term of decency before going up to bed.
All day, her place to him might be taken by anything with hands and
“What’s the matter with the cabin? Don’t it look nice?”
“It does. But I thought you’d probably be hankering for a house.”
“Well,” said Lana, “I probably will be. But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to moon about it so. When I get discontented I’ll let you know it fast enough.” She sat against the bevel of a stump. “What did Mr. Demooth actually say?”
“Just about what I told her. He said I ought to go down. I told him I wanted to stay. It does seem kind of hard.” He repeated everything the captain had said.
“Who’s this Blue Back?” she asked.
“He’s an old Indian. Once in a while he stops with me.”
“It’s a funny name.”
“Yes, it is. If he ever comes round when I’m out, you treat him nice, Lana.”
“Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you know how Indians is.”
“You mean drunk.”
“No, he don’t drink much. For an Indian.”
He glanced at her.
“You won’t be scared, being left here?”
“No.”
“You could pass the time with Mrs. Weaver.”
“Maybe I will or go to Reall’s. But I’ll get back to have your supper.”
“You wait for me at Weaver’s. No telling when we get back,” he said. “If I got time, maybe I’ll fetch you something from the store.”
She laughed.
“Me. I don’t need anything. Lord! You’re kind of silly about me still, aren’t you?”
“I’m just about crazy,” he said, grinning.
“This isn’t time to start that kind of business,” she said. “What do you want me to do, now?”
“If you mean work, you could drag the lopped branches so the tops lay on the logs.”
She set to work. The tree trunks lay where they had fallen almost end to end, sometimes overlapping. She dragged the lopped branches so that they lay over the trunks, the tops all pointing eastward to favor the prevailing west winds of fall, when the burning would take place.
They didn’t talk. The dust and the heat choked them both. But as her brain dulled with the labor she kept wondering whether a man would continue to feel like Gil when his girl began to lose her looks. After a while, she even began to forget that. There was just the work.
They stopped at noon, and ate, and came out again into the heat, the flies following them from the cabin and then going in again, but a new swarm met them in the lot. The leaves were already wilting on the cut branches.
It was like that, day after day. At sunset Lana stopped to hunt the cow and milk her. She had dropped off in her milk and only gave a quart at night.
Then Lana started their supper. She gathered a few green ears from the cornfield, stripped the kernels out, crushed them in a bowl, and cooked them in the milk. The milk tasted of cherry and wild onion. All the time, as she worked in the kitchen, she could hear the strokes of Gil’s axe.
He came in at dark all soaked with sweat and they went down to the creek together where a pool was, and stripped and washed side by side.
Each night, to Lana, that marked the beginning of life again. She felt tired afterwards, her back ached, but she was clean; and while she ate, the natural uses of her body gradually returned. And the sight of Gil naked, knee-deep in the slow flow of the creek, was still the one exciting thing she had to see. Even when she looked up at the peacock’s feather in the dark, his lean white shape came between it and her eyes. One did not see the burned hands and face in the dark, only the whiteness.
They could begin to talk a little. They talked about a certain tree that had been hard in falling, or the way the mare was swelling in her neck from the flies. Gil would then go out with some of their precious salt in a cup and mix it with water and swab the mare’s shoulder, while Lana was clearing up. When he came in again, they would be wordless, and would wait only for a term of decency before going up to bed.
All day, her place to him might be taken by anything with hands and
Similar Books
