“Nothing personal, Coot. This is just business.” Then he took Judy’s hand and started to leave.

Judy stopped him. “Joe, he’s got more money in his sock.”

“He does, does he?”

Baby Joe removed Coot’s shoes and socks and said, “Jeez, Preacher, wash your feet once in a while, would ya?” Then cackled.

The approaching train was shaking the earth beneath Coot’s back.

“C’mon,” Judy hollered over the vibration.

Baby Joe nudged Coot’s limp body with his boot. He whispered to Judy, “Should I break his legs or something?”

“No, don’t be crazy.”

“But what if he chases us? He’s a lot bigger than me.”

“He ain’t gonna chase us,” said Judy. “Just look at him.”

“But what if he does?”

“He wouldn’t hurt a flea,” said Judy. “Just leave him.”

Baby Joe squatted low and whispered in Coot’s ear, “You come after me and I’ll cut you up good, you hear me? I mean it.”

Coot was too dazed to answer.

The loud train hisses filled the air. They were so loud they drowned out all thoughts in Coot’s wounded mind. For a moment it seemed as though the end of the world was happening. Armageddon. That’s what this was. He’d preached about it when he was a boy, but he’d never actually believed in it. Now he did. He looked through blurry eyes at the figures of Baby Joe and Judy standing over him.

Baby Joe slapped Coot’s face. “Answer me, Coot. Don’t make me break your legs. Tell me you understand.”

Coot couldn’t answer.

Baby Joe slapped Coot’s cheeks again. “C’mon, Coot, answer. I don’t wanna hurt you, Preacher. Gimme your word you won’t come after me.”

“Baby Joe,” said Coot, using all the strength he had. “Take good care of her.”

Forty-Seven
Sad Faces

The truck was traveling slow down a long dirt road, leaving swirls of dust behind them. Ruth scooted closer beside Pete. She watched the trees shoot into the distance behind the truck. She rested her head on Pete’s shoulder. She didn’t know what it was like to lose your mother, but she knew what it was like not to have one.

“Wonder why they call farmworkers farmhands,” Ruth said to Pete, who was sitting beside her in the bed of the moving truck.

Pete didn’t answer.

“You know,” Ruth went on. “Why not legs, or feet, or backs?”

Vern answered, “Just what they called.”

“Hands?” she said again. “I think it should be farm legs. Seems to me men use their legs more on the farm than their hands.”

Pete wore his cowboy hat low on his head so that his eyes were pretty much covered. He wasn’t responding to anything she said. Reese sat on his other side, wearing the same face. Ruth felt alone without their personalities to keep her company.