“Now, don’t that seem fittin’, Mistah Nick? You see how I figgered, suh? I reckon now, it sho’ wasn’t the right thing to do, seem’ as how Miz Rose carry on so bad, an’—”

“Well, now, don’t you worry none about that at all,” I said. “Miss Rose was just upset seeing her husband dead, and pretty ugly-dead, at that. It’s probably goin’ to take her quite a while to get over it, so maybe we’d better move the body somewheres else until then.”

“But—b-but you say I could leave, Mistah Nick. You say I jus’ tell you the truth, an’—”

“Yes, sir, that’s what we’d better do,” I said. “So just you hurry up, and turn your wagon back around.”

He stood there, head bowed; his mouth working like he was trying to say something. There was a long roll of thunder, and then a jagged flash of lightning, lighting his face for a moment. And somehow I had to look the other way.

“You hear me, Uncle John?” I said. “You hear what I tell you to do?”

He hesitated, then sighed and climbed up on the wagon. “Yes, sub, I hear you, Mistah Nick.”

We drove back to the house. It began to rain while we were loading Tom’s body, and I told Uncle John to stand on the porch until I was dressed so that he wouldn’t get no wetter than he had to.

“You’re probably kind of hungry,” I said. “You want I should bring you a cup of hot chicory? Maybe a little pone or somethin’?”

“I reckon not, thank you, suh.” He shook his head. “Miz Rose probably got no fire this time o’ night.”

“Well, we’ll just build one up,” I said. “No trouble at all.”

“Thank you, suh, I guess not, Mistah Nick. I—I ain’t real hongry.”

I went on in the house and dried off with a towel Rose gave me, and it sure felt good getting back into my clothes. She was pestering me with questions while I dressed: what were we going to do and what was I going to do, and so on. I asked her what she thought; did she reckon she’d ever feel safe with someone knowing what Uncle John knew.

“Well—” She wet her lips, her eyes turned away from mine. “We can give him some money, can’t we? Both of us will. That should, uh, well, he wouldn’t want to say anything then, would he?”

“He takes a drink now and then,” I said. “No tellin’ what a fella will do when he gets enough booze in him.”

“But he—”

“And he’s a very religious fella. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if he figured he ought to pray for us.”

“You can send him away somewhere,” Rose said. “Put him on a train and send him up north.”

“He can’t talk up there? He wouldn’t feel more free to do it away from us than he would here?”

I laughed and chucked her under the chin, asking her what she was so squeamish about. “Here I thought you was a real tough woman. It didn’t bother you at all about what happened to Tom.”