hell would she be so happy about Forrest leaving him out once again? Granville poured his coffee into a saucer and sipped like a whiskered penitent. When he finished he scratched his beard with both hands and looked out the window.
You goin’ somewhere this morning?
I thought I was, Jack said.
Well, Granville said, then it looks like you can get that stack of pine out there. First break up the water in the barns and give them a bit of the silage.
Forrest might show any time now, Jack said.
Granville turned to Jack and squinted at him like he was looking at something far off. His father’s forehead was a tangle of creases, starburst eyes, throat mottled with spots and hanging skin puckered in three parallel lines.
You don’t have to go anywhere, Granville said. You help your sister with what she needs and then see to them cows and that wood. Emmy stood quickly and began to gather the dishes. Jack eyed her face, looking for some indication of amusement or accomplishment.
I’m supposed to be helping Forrest, Jack said.
Well, get him to put you up then, he said.
Granville got his hat and coat and went to open up the store. When he was outside Jack turned to Emmy at the sink.
What? Why you smilin’?
I didn’t say nothing.
She bustled with the dishes and Jack figured there was little use trying to pry the source of amusement out of his sister. He stood and drank his coffee at the window and watched his father clearing the smooth cap of snow off the car and gingerly negotiating the driveway to the road, his snow chains tinkling as he passed up the hill.
J ACK WAS SPLITTING wood when Hal Childress came up the drive in his car. The day had warmed considerably, remnants of snow clinging miserably in the trees, and Jack was stripped down to his undershirt, his body steaming like a workhorse. Hal picked his way through the snow and Jack could tell there was something wrong because the old man’s face was drained of color and he held his clenched fists in front of him like a drunken boxer. Jack wondered why he was here instead of running the grill at the County Line.
I don’t right know, Jack. Hal said. Think somethin’ done happened to Forrest.
Jack looked back to the house. The windows were dark, the dim outline of curtains, his mother’s rocking chair. Hal rocked in the snow.
Howard about?
No, Jack said. I ain’t seen ’im.
A car chugged up the road, snow chains rattling, and both men turned to watch it pass. Jack’s skin felt prickly and his feet itched in his wool socks.
What happened? Jack asked.
Don’t rightly know, Hal said. A deal with some boys from Shootin’ Creek went bad. Took care of it, but now this morning Forrest’s car is there but he ain’t.
Jack thought about his father at the store, probably standing with the usual group of gassy old men around the potbellied stove, shuffling their feet in the sawdust. He wished Howard was about as his brother wouldn’t say a word but simply get in the car with Hal and Jack could then ride along and everything would be fine.
Hold it a second, Jack said, and he walked quickly into the house.
The heat in the house was stifling and Jack wiped a sleeve across his forehead. Emmy was sitting in their mother’s old chair, holding a book and looking at him with large eyes.
I don’t know, Jack said. He’s sayin’ something happened at the County Line.
Jack walked into the cold-storage room that was filled with shelves of canned goods and jars of vegetables and preserves that Emmy and Granville had put up that fall. Jack knew his father kept a rifle in the room, but he wasn’t sure where. He pawed through the shelves, looking through an old bureau in the corner. When he realized he was opening drawers that couldn’t fit a rifle he felt like a damn fool and cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to find that gun, he didn’t want to deal with this at all and this thought wedged under his organs like a sickle thorn.
Jack stopped in the
You goin’ somewhere this morning?
I thought I was, Jack said.
Well, Granville said, then it looks like you can get that stack of pine out there. First break up the water in the barns and give them a bit of the silage.
Forrest might show any time now, Jack said.
Granville turned to Jack and squinted at him like he was looking at something far off. His father’s forehead was a tangle of creases, starburst eyes, throat mottled with spots and hanging skin puckered in three parallel lines.
You don’t have to go anywhere, Granville said. You help your sister with what she needs and then see to them cows and that wood. Emmy stood quickly and began to gather the dishes. Jack eyed her face, looking for some indication of amusement or accomplishment.
I’m supposed to be helping Forrest, Jack said.
Well, get him to put you up then, he said.
Granville got his hat and coat and went to open up the store. When he was outside Jack turned to Emmy at the sink.
What? Why you smilin’?
I didn’t say nothing.
She bustled with the dishes and Jack figured there was little use trying to pry the source of amusement out of his sister. He stood and drank his coffee at the window and watched his father clearing the smooth cap of snow off the car and gingerly negotiating the driveway to the road, his snow chains tinkling as he passed up the hill.
J ACK WAS SPLITTING wood when Hal Childress came up the drive in his car. The day had warmed considerably, remnants of snow clinging miserably in the trees, and Jack was stripped down to his undershirt, his body steaming like a workhorse. Hal picked his way through the snow and Jack could tell there was something wrong because the old man’s face was drained of color and he held his clenched fists in front of him like a drunken boxer. Jack wondered why he was here instead of running the grill at the County Line.
I don’t right know, Jack. Hal said. Think somethin’ done happened to Forrest.
Jack looked back to the house. The windows were dark, the dim outline of curtains, his mother’s rocking chair. Hal rocked in the snow.
Howard about?
No, Jack said. I ain’t seen ’im.
A car chugged up the road, snow chains rattling, and both men turned to watch it pass. Jack’s skin felt prickly and his feet itched in his wool socks.
What happened? Jack asked.
Don’t rightly know, Hal said. A deal with some boys from Shootin’ Creek went bad. Took care of it, but now this morning Forrest’s car is there but he ain’t.
Jack thought about his father at the store, probably standing with the usual group of gassy old men around the potbellied stove, shuffling their feet in the sawdust. He wished Howard was about as his brother wouldn’t say a word but simply get in the car with Hal and Jack could then ride along and everything would be fine.
Hold it a second, Jack said, and he walked quickly into the house.
The heat in the house was stifling and Jack wiped a sleeve across his forehead. Emmy was sitting in their mother’s old chair, holding a book and looking at him with large eyes.
I don’t know, Jack said. He’s sayin’ something happened at the County Line.
Jack walked into the cold-storage room that was filled with shelves of canned goods and jars of vegetables and preserves that Emmy and Granville had put up that fall. Jack knew his father kept a rifle in the room, but he wasn’t sure where. He pawed through the shelves, looking through an old bureau in the corner. When he realized he was opening drawers that couldn’t fit a rifle he felt like a damn fool and cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to find that gun, he didn’t want to deal with this at all and this thought wedged under his organs like a sickle thorn.
Jack stopped in the
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