Hill Man

by Janice Holt Giles

  “Wasn’t nobody ever said they was our kind of folks,” I says.

  “I don’t recollect but what we’ve alius knowed they was rich folks an’ would be different. Hit bein’ our first time around folks like that, of course things is goin’ to seem quare. But they’ve bought the place an’ we’re beholdin’ to be neighborly.”

  “Neighborly! How kin you neighbor with a wild woman!”

  “Now, Junie …”

  “Set down there an’ eat yer supper! An’ leave the neighborin’ to me Menfolks’ll alius excuse a good-lookin’ woman!”

  “Is she good-lookin’?”

  As innocent as I made that remark Junie pounced on it. “As if you never knowed!”

  “I’ve not laid eyes on her!” I swore, between a mouthful of meat and potatoes.

  “Well, that ain’t because you ain’t tried! You’ve been past there a dozen times since they moved in!”

  “The road runs right by,” I said.

  “An’ I don’t recollect you’ve ever loped it so steady, neither!”

  “Now, Junie …”

  “Oh, shet up!”

  And I did so, seeing right then the peace of the settlement was as good as gone for the time being. That black-haired woman was going to be a thorn in the flesh to the women of the ridge. And a man with as much mind as a goose would take heed mighty quick not to give his woman reason to rile up. Junie being like she was, I knew in reason not to give her an argument then, nor never. And I knew, also, I’d best be commencing to take care.

  It was Rady, though, got the first glimpse of Mister Rowe. He was putting in that new fence on the line between the places and he was making a clatter with the posthole diggers and didn’t hear him nor see him until he was right up on him. Mister Rowe was riding a neat little black mare. He spoke first, of course, “Hello, there. You must be my new neighbor.”

  Rady clacked the diggers together and lifted out the dirt and released it. Then he laid the diggers down and wiped his forehead. “Yes, sir,” he said, walking over towards the man, “though I’d say it was you was my new neighbor. I was here first,” and he laughed and put out his hand. “My name’s Rady Cromwell.”

  Mister Rowe got down off his horse and stuck out his hand. He was a taller man than Rady, built on the slight side, almost thin, but awful handsome. Had a kind of white skin and real black hair. Had black eyes to go with it and a soft, womanish-looking mouth. Rady was taken by surprise on account of him being so much younger than he’d expected. He wasn’t more than thirty, I’d reckon. “My name’s Rowe,” he said. “You’re right about me being the new neighbor, though. Putting up a new fence?” he said.

  It’s a funny thing how folks from outside go around saying things don’t need saying. Anybody could see Rady was digging postholes and there was a roll of hog wire laying on the ground in plain sight. If Mister Rowe had wanted to say something about the fence he could of asked Rady if he’d struck rock digging the holes, or if he was going to use cedar or locust posts. But Rady was polite. “Yes, sir,” he said, “they’ve not been gone over fer several years, an’ I’m aimin’ on turnin’ my hogs loose in the woods. Don’t want ’em gittin’ out an’ runnin’ over yore land.”

  Mister Rowe laughed. “No, I don’t suppose that would do.” He had a twitchy way of pulling at his lower lip. He tugged at it with two fingers and pinched it together. It made his mouth look puckered and narrow. “This is as far as my place goes, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. This is the line between my place an’ yore’n.”

  Mister Rowe kept pinching his mouth and he stared off in the woods. “I’m trying to find a good tenant,” he said directly. “You know anybody I could get? I can’t take care of this big place by myself.”

  “You got no kids?”

  Mister Rowe laughed again. “No.”

  Rady pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his forehead where his hat band had left a mark. “Well, it’s a awful big place fer a man to try to work by hisself. Young’uns come in handy on a place this size. Mister Hall’s renter ain’t goin’ to stay on?”

  “No. He’s bought a place of his own.”

  Rady studied. “Hit’s gittin’ pretty late in the season to be lookin’ fer a renter,” he said finally. “Most has done been contracted.”

  “I know. But I’ve got to find someone. Matter of fact, Cromwell, I’m no farmer at all. Never farmed in my life.”

  Now Rady had his own kind of gall, so he just come right out and asked what was on his mind, unmannerly though it was. “How come you to buy this place if you ain’t no farmer? Old Man Hall was a good farmer. An’ hit’ll take good farmin’ to keep it up.”

  Mister Rowe kind of drew back in himself like Rady had ventured too far, and then he seemed to think better of it. “The fact is,” he said, kind of slow-like, “I’m not very well. I’ve been ill, and we bought this place so I could live quietly in the country and rest and recuperate. But I can’t afford not to make it pay. I’ll tell you, Cromwell,” and it was like he’d made up his mind of a sudden, “I spent almost the last dime I had to buy this place, and I’ve got to make it pay. But I’ll have to have a good tenant.”

  “What kind of a deal you got?” Rady asked.

  “Deal?”

  “Deal. Trade. Proposition. What you goin’ to offer?”

  “What’s usual around here?”

  Rady was almost plumb disgusted with him, and he couldn’t help wondering what the fool was going to come to. But he told him. “A third’s usual,” he said, “an ever’thing furnished.”

  Mister Rowe frowned. “What does that mean? Everything furnished?”

  “Hit means you furnish a man a place to live, the land, the tools, the teams an’ feed fer ’em, the seed, the fertilizer … ever’thing. A tenant don’t put out nothin’ but his time. But you got a call on that six days a week from daylight till dark.”

  “That seems like a hell of a lot to furnish! And then he gets a third of the profits?”

  “That’s right. “That’s the way of it.”

  “Would a man like that take enough interest to keep the place up?”

  Rady shrugged. “Depends on who you git. Some would. Some’d see it as a good chancet to git a start. An’ then they’s some wouldn’t give a damn. Some’d have to be watched ever’ minnit.”

  “Can you recommend someone?”

  Rady studied a minute. “Not jist offhand. Like I said, hit’s gittin’ late in the season to be closin’ up with a man. I can’t think of nobody right off. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Mister Rowe thanked him and got back on his horse. He could sure sit a horse now. Looked like he’d been born on a horse the way he rode. Slim and easy and loose. “I’ll be grateful for any suggestions, Cromwell,” he said, turning the mare. “I’m almost helpless here.”

  Rady picked up his posthole diggers and grinned to himself. Brother, you shore are, he thought.

  Mister Rowe turned back after he’d started off. “Oh yes. You know a good bootlegger close by?”

  “You ever drunk moonshine, Mister Rowe?”

  The man laughed down at Rady. “No. But I guess I’ll learn.”

  Rady spoke kind of dry then. “You got quite a lesson to learn, I’d say. I’ll send you a man over.”

  “Thanks,” and this time Mister Rowe kept going.

  Rady told Annie about it that night. “Why, the biggity thing,” she said, surprised at anybody being so unthoughtful and stuck-up. “Why, I was jist fixin’ to go over to see his woman the next day or two! I was jist aimin’ on takin’ her a hot apple pie an’ goin’ to see if they was ary thing I could do to help her git settled.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Rady said. Supper was over and Annie was redding up the dishes and Rady was smoking whilst watching her. He had his chair propped against the wall. “From what I could tell, they ain’t used to this country, an’ doubtless they’ve got quare ways from us. You’d ort to of heared him talk … proper” And Rady laughed a
t the remembrance of how proper Mister Rowe made his words. “Like a perfessor,” he said, “jist so …” and he mocked Mister Rowe’s way of talking. “… T’d be grateful for any suggestions, Cromwell,’ Cromwell! Jist like I was a field hand!”

  Annie jerked the dishrag in the water. “I declare Hit does look like a body would of had the manners to say Rady or Mister Cromwell, if he was a mind to use yer last name! An’ us havin’ to live neighbors with ’em! I was hopin’ they’d be real nice folks like the Halls. You goin’ to say more to him about a renter?”

  “Well, hit wouldn’t hurt none I reckon. I’ll study on it.”

  “I heared the Pringles was lookin’ fer a place.”

  “I thought they was tied up with Old Man Crewel.”

  “Not the way I heared it. They’s some dissatisfaction. The Pringles has got enough kids that they could tend that big place, I reckon.”

  “Yeah. Got three or four boys, ain’t they?”

  “Three. Nigh growed. An’ the girls is comin’ on, too. They’s two of them as best I recollect.”

  “Well, I might name ’em to Mister Rowe. Wouldn’t hurt none, noways.”

  He let his chair hit the floor and stood up and dumped his pipe out on the apron of the stove. He put the pipe on the table and walked over to Annie and slid both arms around her. “Ain’t you done washin’ them dishes yit?”

  Annie leaned back against him and looked up at him.

  “Soon.”

  “Yer drippin’ dishwater all over with that rag. Come on.”

  Annie slung the dishrag back in the water. “My sakes, what a mess Let me go, Rady. I’ll git the mop.”

  But Rady just tightened his arms around her and rubbed his face against her hair. Sleepy-like she closed her eyes and put her arms about his neck. “Clean it up after,” Rady said, and he turned her around towards the bedroom. “I been waitin’ more’n a hour already fer you to git done with them measly dishes. That’s too long.”

  “Rady” she said, acting like she never wanted to go. But she didn’t really mind. And she went. Funny how a woman likes to have a man act masterful. Especially when he wants her. Reckon there’s something about it makes her feel like what she’s giving is a bigger gift that way. Or maybe it’s that they like for it to be taken. The feeling of being helpless maybe takes away any need for shame. I misdoubt there ever was a woman didn’t feel a kind of sin with a man. Even when it’s a nice, legal sin. Or maybe it’s the sin makes it nice. Not being a woman, I wouldn’t know. But I’ve thought on it.

  It rained for a week or more then before Rady could go back to fencing. First day it faired up though he was back digging postholes, and he hadn’t been at it more’n an hour until Mister! Rowe came trotting over, on foot this time. “God, Cromwell,” he said, “Fm about perished! I’ve got to find someone right away. Have you thought of anybody?”

  “Well, they’s jist one family don’t seem to be tied up yit. The Pringles over in the creek bottom. They been sharin’ fer Old Man Crewel over there, two or three years. But my wife tells me they’s some dissatisfaction an’ they’re lookin’ fer another place. I don’t know what’s back of them wantin’ to move on … may be them at fault… may be old man Crewel. An’ I don’t know a heap about ’em, except they’ve got the name of workin’ good. I know they’s a big family of ’em, an’ that’s alius a help tendin’ a big place. You might go over an’ talk to the old man an’ see would he consider movin’ here.”

  “You think they could take care of the place?”

  “Well, they could. They ain’t no doubts about that. But they ain’t no renter goin’ to tend a place right without he’s told what to do. You’ll have to keep aholt of the reins yerself.”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “What about that man an’ woman you got workin’ fer you now? Couldn’t they help around the place?”

  “They aren’t my … well, they live in the East. They just came with us temporarily. They’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Nothing was said for a time and then Rady said, “The man come with yer moonshine?”

  Mister Rowe acted like he was gagging, “Christ, yes What does he make? Liquid lightning?”

  Rady grinned. “I tried to tell you.”

  “Nobody could tell you! The lining of my throat was scorched for a week But it packs a mean wallop, doesn’t it?”

  “Yessir. Right smart of a wallop. But you’ll git to where you won’t touch nothin’ else after you been drinkin’ it a while. Regular whiskey’ll taste like swamp water to you. Hit don’t take much to do a feller, neither.”

  “I found that out! I was too drunk to find the bed after a couple of good snorts.”

  “Must of been right good ones then. They’s men hereabouts drinks a quart a day, year in an’ year out. Think nothin’ of it.”

  “I’ll have to work up to that. Where’ll I find these Pringles?”

  “Go down Old Ridge to the pike, follow it two, three miles an’ turn off down a dirt road on the right. Hit leads to Old Man Crewel’s place. They live in the house jist this side the main house.”

  Mister Rowe pulled at his mouth and Rady noticed his hands were shaky. He figured those two snorts must of been awful big ones, for two drinks won’t leave a man quivering the next day. He reckoned, too, that Mister Rowe must be a pretty hard-drinking man, on account of him asking so quick for a bootlegger.

  Then seemed like Mister Rowe made up his mind about something. “Come on over to the house and have a drink, Cromwell.”

  Rady looked down at his boots and his muddy overhalls. “I’m pretty mucky, Mister Rowe, to be goin’ in somewheres.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Come on.”

  So they went to the house and Mister Rowe took Rady in through the kitchen door and led him on into the front room. Leastways it had been the front room when the Halls lived there. Mister Rowe had fixed it into something else. One of those dens or studies you see in the pictures in magazines. There were books clean to the ceilings all around and a piano … one of those baby grands. He had a swell big gun cabinet along one wall and a heap of pretty guns racked there. Rady noticed them first, of course, and he couldn’t help going over and looking closer.

  “Like guns?” Mister Rowe said.

  “Crazy about ’em,” Rady said. “But I’ve not seen any this fine before.”

  Mister Rowe went over and unlocked the glass door and flung it back. “Handle them,” he said. “See what you think of them.”

  There must of been twelve or fifteen of the finest guns made, shotguns of every gauge, and high-powered rifles of all kinds. Rady had never seen the like and he took hold of each one as delicate as if it’d been a baby “Man, man,” he said, fondling them.

  “Ever do any big game hunting?” Mister Rowe asked him.

  “No, sir. Nothin’ bigger’n foxes an’ coons.”

  “Foxes around here?” Mister Rowe perked right up.

  “Thousands of ’em. Pests an’ nuisances. Can’t hardly keep fowls on account of’em.”

  Mister Rowe had poured each of them a drink and he handed a glass to Rady. “Fve never done any fox hunting. Hunted bear and deer, elk and goat, but never have tried fox hunting. By God, that might make living down here fairly interesting Can you take me some time?”

  “Any time. I got a pretty good hound, an’ we kin take a night any time you say.”

  “That’s a promise, Cromwell, I’m going to hold you to it.”

  “All right by me, sir.”

  You couldn’t help saying sir to Mister Rowe. He held himself so straight and proud, talked so proper and right, and was so easy and smooth in his ways. You had to figure him for a man that’d always been used to nice things and nice ways of living. And the sir slipped out in spite of yourself. It kind of went with the man.

  Rady took his drink down. “That’s mighty smooth likker, Mister Rowe.”

  “That’s bonded. The last I’ve got. And I can’t afford any more.” He laughed, kind of dry a
nd bitter. “It’ll be the local brand from here on out.”

  “You’ll git used to it,” Rady said.

  “Yes.” Then he laughed.

  Rady noticed a cabinet over in the corner and a lot of records stacked by it. He wandered over and looked at them. “Is this a victrola?” he asked.

  “A phonograph, yes.”

  “You shore got a lot of records.”

  “Quite a few. Do you like music?”

  “Yessir. But I don’t know nothin’ much about it. I got me a gittar an’ I pick it some.”

  Mister Rowe filled their glasses again. He held his up to the light and studied it. “Well, here’s to your gittar, Cromwell. May it bring you more happiness than my music does me!” He drained his glass all at one swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He shuddered like the likker was cold or burnt and Rady noticed his hand was shaking again when he lit a cigarette. He pulled at his mouth. “Cromwell, will you go down there and talk to those people for me? I’ll say the wrong thing sure as shooting. I don’t know how to talk to the people around here. Make them a fair proposition, and take care of it for me, will you?”

  Rady drained his own glass. “Mister Rowe, a man had ort to do his own dealin’. I might not fix it up to suit you.”

  “Oh, sure you will. You know what’s right. Whatever you arrange will suit me fine. Just for God’s sake be sure and get me somebody!”

  I reckon it was about then that the idea first come to him. The idea of running Mister Rowe’s farm himself, with the Pringles to help him out. Mister Rowe was a fool, it was plain to see, and when Rady thought of all those fine acres being wasted he couldn’t help feeling like it would be a shame not to use them to his own good advantage. He thought of Annie’s little farm, and his thoughts of it were good, for it was a tidy place. But if he could get the Pringles to help he could run both places and there was no knowing what he could make off the two. The particulars never come to him right then, but the idea took hold and commenced growing in his mind. He knew he could do it. And in a way it would be a favor to Mister Rowe. “All right,” he said, “I’ll do it. I’ll go over first thing in the mornin’.”