He crossed over the dog run and into the bedroom side. The blankets had a rank odor. Evidently they had not been washed or sunned since Gaskin had been here. Rusty rolled them and dumped them outside, along with a suit of Gaskin’s clothes he found draped across a chair. Wherever they had been worn, he assumed it had not been to church.

He propped open the one window to let the chill wind draw through. He returned to the kitchen and told the women, “I’m afraid you may have to sleep outdoors another night or two. It’ll take awhile to give this place a decent airin’.”

He walked to the barn as Gaskin drove the mules into a pen. Gaskin brought out a set of harness. Rusty stopped him as he started to put it on the first mule. “Wait a minute. That looks like mine.” He examined the harness and saw he was right. He carried it back into the barn and found an old, badly patched set he did not recognize. “That’d be yours.”

Gaskin grumbled but made the change. Rusty did not want to help him harness up, but he was so tired that as he watched the old man fumble around, his patience quickly wore through. He finished the job himself and hitched the mules to Gaskin’s old wagon to hasten his neighbor’s departure. He watched closely to see that Gaskin did not carry off more than he had brought with him. He allowed the blankets to go, though he recognized some as having belonged to Mike and Dora. He would never want to use them. They would forever carry Gaskin’s scent, in Rusty’s imagination if not in reality.

Leaving, Gaskin hollered back over his shoulder. “I hope you wind up in hell someday, because that’s the only place you’ll find any friends.”

Rusty grunted, “It’d be my luck to find him there ahead of me. Then I’d know for sure that it was hell.”

Geneva studied him critically. “You don’t seem to have much patience for a poor old man down on his luck.”

“I’ve got all the patience in the world for folks who have a run of bad luck that isn’t their fault. Like you-all. But Fowler Gaskin? He’s too lazy to scratch when he itches.”

After supper he started up the hill toward the oak grove that shaded the small family cemetery. Geneva stepped from the dog run. “A little late to start out huntin’.”

“I’m not. I’m goin’ up yonder to pay my respects to the folks.”

“Mind if I walk along with you?”

Rusty was pleased at the prospect of her company. “You sure Clemmie’s all right?”

“She’s takin’ her rest.” Geneva walked out to join him, and they started up the long slope. He took her arm to give her support on the steepest part of the climb. He liked touching her.

She said, “I’m sorry I never got to meet your mother and father.”

“So am I. You’d’ve liked them, and they’d’ve liked you.” It was on the edge of his tongue to add, They’d’ve been tickled to have you join the family. But that would be premature. He had not seriously toyed with the idea of asking her, and he probably would not until the uncertainties of the war were behind them. There was no way to know what calamities might be thrust upon them without any doing of their own. People had little control over their own destinies in such a time.