“Well, how is your pa? Why, I haven’t seen him in a coon’s age, son.”

“He’s good. He’s just been tied up lately.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous. I’m glad to hear it.”

They were interrupted by a crash of glass. The door to the railcar was shattered by a rock that landed in the center of the railcar floor. Then a loud crash. Then the door flung open and slammed against the wall. In the doorway stood Joseph, bearing a pistol and flinty eyes that suggested he was not here to play patty-cake.

“Alright, Preacherman,” Joseph said. “Come with Daddy, sucker.”

Ninety-Two
Joy to the World

Pete was lying in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles. He’d never actually seen a ceiling fan before staying in this motel. They were strange devices, but they worked so well. The gentle breeze fell upon him and did little to keep him cool, but it felt good nonetheless. This only led him to wonder what air-conditioning was like. He’d only ever seen one air conditioner in his life.

He’d heard if you breathed the air from an air conditioner too long, you would develop asthma or, in some extreme cases, go blind. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he was very careful when he went into places that had air-conditioning, and did his best to hold his breath.

Ruth was asleep beside him. Stringbean was lying on Ruth’s feet, curled into a ball. He wanted more than anything to leave this town and go back home. He wanted to find a small house and start a small farm, maybe raise cotton or tobacco and, God willing, hunting dogs. But he knew that Ruth was feeling different things in this city, and he did not want to disappoint her. She was everything to him.

Ruth rolled onto her side. Pete could see her violet eyes boring into him. She was no longer asleep.

“What’re you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that I love this ceiling fan.”

“Maybe we can get one someday.”

“Maybe.”

She touched his face. She brought herself closer to him and spoke in a hushed voice. “I feel something here,” she said. “I feel . . . I feel . . . I don’t know.”

“What?” he said.

“I feel like I should be here. Like there’s something here.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he felt the exact opposite. He didn’t want to ruin her excitement. She was a girl who had adventure in her, he knew this. He was a man who could stay in one place so long he developed moss on his backside.

“You like it here?” he said.

“No.”

This confused him. He sat straight up in bed. “You don’t?” he said, and Stringbean moaned. She did not like to be disturbed while in the throes of sleep.

“No,” she said. “It’s too big for me.”