He caught her scent when he inhaled again. Her perfume, her hair, the light sweat dried on her skin from sex. Malcolm would never forget the wretched stink from the raven, but this would heal him. Violet was all he needed.
Even so, when he saw Alfie beginning to hoist the raven toward the broken window, Malcolm shook his head clear and went to help. Violet spoke his name, but he had to do this. He took the raven’s left arm while Alfie took the man’s right. The raven’s blood had already pooled on the floor, and it pulsed and drooled onto the floor as Malcolm and Alfie dragged the dead man into the space Malcolm had cleared in front of the window.
They dumped the corpse out into the rain.
The train rumbled over the tracks, racing toward its next stop, Buffalo. The cold air whipped spatters of rain around the inside of the baggage car.
The three of them stood there, braced against the jostling ofthe train, and looked at one another without uttering a word, until Alfie patted Malcolm on the shoulder.
“All right, pal. At least that’s over.”
Malcolm found himself staring at the crate holding his mother’s corpse. One side of the crate’s lid remained pried up, an inch or two raised. He wondered what sounds might come from inside that crate now.
Outside the train, the day had begun to wane.
Nightfall would come soon.
But as Alfie had said, it was over. They were safe, now.
The gap between crate and lid seemed almost to breathe.
12
Morning on the Swickard farm had been clear, but the clouds had moved in all that day, and now that night was falling, it looked like rain. When her husband suggested they have their after-dinner coffee on the porch, Ruth told him he must’ve been kicked in the head by the mule. But Bill could nearly always sweet-talk her, so here she was, in a rocker on the porch with a cup of strong black coffee in her hands and a blanket over her shoulders. When the wind swept across the porch, she shivered, but aside from that, Bill had been right—the rain held off.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Bill asked, sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair beside her rocker. “A lovely night.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get carried away, mister. Those clouds look angry to me.”
Bill reached out and took her hand. Ruth stopped rocking and just sat beside him, their entwined fingers making a bridge of their arms, stretched between the two chairs. The last of the daylight had turned the thick clouds on the horizon a blurred indigo. The final traces of gray daylight faded into darkness while they sat contentedly.
A shudder passed through Ruth, and she released his hand to pull the blanket tighter around her neck. It felt as if all warmth had just bled out of the air.
“Call for Benjy, would you?” she asked. “Pretty dark tonight, and that rain is coming.”
Bill sipped his coffee. She didn’t like to make him get up, butshe was so cozy in her blanket she didn’t mind being selfish for once. He’d put a little brandy in his coffee, so she figured the falling temperature wasn’t likely to bother him much.
“Sweetheart?” she nudged.
One more sip, and Bill set his mug down on the porch and hoisted himself from the chair. “On my way.”
A hard life, there on the farm, but times like this made Ruth feel it was all worthwhile. They were tired but content. Bill had washed up the dishes. They had a warm bed to crawl into that wouldn’t creak much when he wrapped his strong arms around her tonight, after Benjy fell asleep. She loved the quiet, the breeze, the songs of the night birds. What more did they need out here, the three of them, than one another?
“Benjy?” Bill called, hands cupped around his mouth. He’d stepped down from the porch and started to walk toward the field. “Time to come in, son!”
For a moment, there came no reply. A tremor of concern passed through her. That was just the way of mothers, Ruth knew. Benjy was fine. This was their farm, their land, and he knew it as well as she and Bill did.
His father called for him again, scanning the field and then looking east and west for any sign of the boy. The fullness of night seemed to have descended so quickly. This wasn’t like Benjy, but he was growing up. It would be in a young boy’s nature to adventure a bit, to test the boundaries of his world and his father’s rules.
“Benjy, goddamn it!” Bill called, not angry yet, but on the verge of it.
Ruth heard the sliver of fear inside that anger. She set down her coffee, concern growing, and pulled the blanket tightly around her throat as she rose from her rocker and stepped off the porch.
“Bill, honey,” she began.
They both heard the sound, turning together to the east. Footfalls struck the dirt, headed toward them, along with an excited huffing. In the dark, it might’ve been anyone, but the footfalls were quick and light, and a mother knew her son.
“Momma, Pop, you gotta come take a look at this,” Benjy said. His face gleamed.
