"Before refrigeration, it had to be near freezing before hogs could be slaughtered," Gibb told her as he steered his pickup down the lane. "Otherwise the meat could spoil."
"That makes sense."
"So slaughtering became an autumn tradition. We fatten the hogs up all summer on corn."
" 'We'?"
"Not we ourselves," Matt explained. "We have a farmer who raises them for us out at his place."
"I see."
"That ham we had on our wedding night came from one of our hogs," Matt said proudly.
She grinned sickly. "I didn't realize I'd eaten a family friend."
He and Gibb laughed. Matt said, "Did you think that meat started out in those neat vacuum-sealed packages you buy at the store?"
"I prefer to think of it that way.
"Are you sure you're not a city girl?"
His words harkened back to what tie Crooks had said of her, and reminded her that Billy Joe was scheduled to be transferred to Columbia today. He was already an insolent troublemaker with a sizable chip on his shoulder. He had made it clear that he would resist analysis. his case, she feared that the RUE would be detrimental. She was seized by a premonition of doom.
Matt hugged her tighter against him, believing that her shiver was caused by the temperature.
The clearing was in a remote, heavily forested region and could be reached only by following a bumpy narrow dire path off the main road. By the time they arrived several dozen families had already gathered there.
It was a carnival atmosphere. The cried p air smelled of wood smoke, which rose from numerous campfires Where huge cast iron caldrons of water were boiling.
Children were playing games of chase among the trees. The teenagers had gravitated together and were hanging out on the tailgate of a pickup. They were raucous and rowdy.
The Burnwoods were greeted by shorts of welcome as they alighted from Gibb's truck. Someone thrust a mug of coffee at Kendall. She sipped it gratefully and was just about to offer thanks for it when she spotted the caresses.
Each hog was hanging upside down from exposed tendons in its rear hooves, through which rods had been run. The rod was suspended between too fence poles.
There were so many, she couldn't count them. Nor could she take her eyes off the grotesque sight.
"Kendall? Sweetheart?"
Mat':, speaking with obvious concern, touched her cheek and turned her face to him. He had pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves, which felt cold and foreign against her skin.
He'd also put on a pair of coveralls, a long rubber apron, and knee-high rubber boots.
There was very little grass on the ground beneath his boots.
Even where it grew sparsely, it had been trampled down. The dirt, like her husband's overalls, looked rusty.
She pointed at the stains and asked in a faint voice, "Is that blood?"'
"This is where we usually come to dress our kills."
She swallowed with difficulty.
"You look pale, Kendall. Are you all right?"
"A little queasy."
"Do I dare hope it's morning sickness?"
"Unfortunately no," she replied sadly.
His disappointment matched her own. Eager to have a child, he had promised her all the help she might need in the way of housekeepers and nannies, although she was confident that she could smoothly combine her career and motherhood.
She wasn't using any birth control, but, to their disappointment, her body continued to cycle as regularly as the moon.
Thoughts of the moon jarred her back to the present.
"I didn't expect them to look so helpless and . . . naked,"
she finished lamely, gesturing behind her toward the carcasses.
"They don't start out that way," Matt said, trying unsuccessfully to mask his amusement. "They're brought here and killed, usually by a bullet through the head. The jugular's pierced, and they're bled.-Then the hides are soaked with hot water and the hair is scraped off. All that takes time, so we pay people to do it. Hill people mostly. For doing the dirty work, they get a few dollars, the scraps, and the heads."
Kendall's knees went weak. "The heads?"
"They cook them to make sausagehead cheese.
"Matt!"
She and Matt turned and saw Gibb standing near two of the suspended carcasses. Dressed similarly to Matt, he was motioning him over.
"Coming, Dad." Matt looked at Kendall with concern.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just that I've never seen . . ."
"Kendall, this isn't as scary as you're making it out to be.
Even little kids get a kick out of it."
"Oh, it's awfully exciting." He and Gibb had thought this would be a treat for her. She didn't want to appear ungrateful.
"I guess it just takes some getting used to."
"Matthew!"
"I'll be right there, Dad."
Matt kissed her quickly and rushed off to join his father.
Kendall breathed through her mouth to stave off nausea. She inhaled each breath deeply, then let it out slowly. The air was thinner here than in town. She needed some oxygen, that's all.
Matt glanced back at her. She managed a gay little wave and a rictus of a grin for encouragement. She watched Gibb hand Matt a knife with a long, wide blade. While Gibb held one of the car casses in place, Matt drew the knife blade around the hog's neck, sawing through the muscles and tissue of the throat, completely encircling the backbone. Then, passing the knife back to his father, he gripped the head in both hands and gave It a VICIOUS twist.
When the head came off, Kendall fainted.
She felt the derisive stares of everyone in the congregation as she followed the usher up the aisle to the third pew, where she, Matt, and Gibb sat every Sunday morning.
As soon as she was seated, she opened her program and pretended to read, to spare herself the embarrassment of having to meet the belittling glances of the men and the scornful eyes of the women, all of them no doubt thinking that she was a shrinking violet.
She wanted to shout at them, "I've never fainted before in my life!"
She didn't, of course, but she couldn't hide her agitation from Matt. He leaned over and whispered, "Relax, Kendall."
"I can't. Everybody knows about yesterday morning."
To her mortification, she had regained consciousness in the bed of Gibb's pickup truck with a crowd of people hovering over her, patting her cheeks, chafing her wrists, and commenting on her fragility.
"You're being paranoid," Matt said. "And even if word has gotten around that you fainted, so what?"
"I'm embarrassed!"
"There's no need to be. It was a very feminine reaction to a new experience. Besides, it gave me a chance to redeem myself. I proved myself your hero by carrying you to the truck and fussing over you." He smiled. "You're very cute when you're helpless."
She could have argued that the adjective cite didn't inspire much confidence in the public defender, but she didn't want to argue. His loving expression reminded her of their wedding day and made her feel warm all over. She slipped her arm through his as they were asked to stand for the invocation.
Once they got through the hymn singing, announcements, and offertory, the congregation settled in for the sermon. Ken dall had tried to beg off from attending this morning, and only in part because everybody in town knew about yesterday's disgrace. Although the Burnwoods had been members of this independent Protestant church for years, she never looked for ward to attending because she thoroughly disliked the minister.
Brother Bob Whitaker was a pleasant enough gentleman and a kind and caring pastor to his extensive flock until he got behind.the pulpit. There, he metamorphosed into a ranting, raving preacher of hellfire and brimstone. Even that didn't bother Kendall excessively. Television evangelists had almost inured the public to fiery admonitions against sin.
What bothered her was the pastor's recurring message of wrathful judgment. He q
uoted "an eye for an eye" so often that she wondered if it was the only scripture he had committed to memory. He had little to say of mercy and grace; a great deal to say of vengeance and reparation. He depicted God as a bloodthirsty avenger, not as the creator of love and forgiveness.
Although she was here at Matt's urging, she couldn't be forced to listen. Now that Brother Bob was well into his diatribe against transgression, she tuned him out and turned her thoughts to other matters.
She was mentally planning her week, when she happened to lock gazes with a woman seated across the aisle and one row back. She was positively stunning. Kendall assumed that the man seated next to her was her husband, but then everyone faded into the background.
She wasn't a traditional beauty, but she was certainly arresting. Her chestnut hair had been teased high on top and fell in waves below her shoulders. Her eyes, nose, and mouth were large, blending well to form a provocative, somewhat sullen face.
Beyond her striking appearance, what held Kendall's attention was the glower the woman had fixed on her. In order to see her, Kendall had had to turn her head at an awkward angle. It was as though she hadn't seen the woman accidentally, but had been drawn around by the magnetic power of her malicious stare.
Matt nudged her. "What are you looking at?"
She brought her head forward quickly. "Uh, nothing."
He reached for her hand and held it throughout the remainder of the service. Kendall wanted to turn around and see if the woman continued to stare at her, but, for some reason, she was afraid to look.
After the benediction, as they were moving up the aisle toward the exit, Kendall spotted her in the crowd. "Matt, who's that woman?" Kendall nodded in the direction of the woman. "The one in the green dress."
Before he could answer, he was distracted. "Hey, Matt."
The superintendent of schools sidled up to them and shook hands with Matt. Looking across at Kendall, he winked broadly. "Y'all have ham for breakfast this morning?" He wheezed a laugh. "How 'bout coming over one night this week for supper. Me and the wife'll barbecue us some pork ribs."
Matt and Gibb had warned her that she would be ruthlessly teased about fainting at the hog slaughtering, maybe for years to come. It was the type of incident one never lived down.
Outside, at least half the congregation lingered to chat. Ken dall was ambushed by a woman whose daughter was thinking of entering law school. They solicited her opinion on which university the girl should attend. While answering their questions, she kept an eye out for the woman in the green dress.
She also noticed that Gibb and Matt had joined a group of men, most of whom she recognized and could name. They had separated themselves from everyone else. Probably so that they could smoke, Kendall decided when she noticed that several had lit cigarettes.
"I just don't know if we could afford out-of-state tuition," the woman said in response to some of Kendall's recommendations. "I suppose she might"
"Excuse me for interrupting," Kendall said. "See that couple getting into the car across the street? She's wearing a green dress. Do you know her?"
The woman shaded her eyes and looked in the direction Kendall indicated. "Oh, that's Mr. and Mrs. Lynam." She sniffed disdainfully. "They don't attend as regular as they should. And if you ask me, they need to be here every Sunday."
Kendall wasn't interested in gossip. She had only wanted to see if the woman's name rang any bells, which it hadn't.
Yet it had been obvious from her glare that she held a grudge.
Why?
"Excuse me, again," Kendall said. "Is Mrs. Lynam by chance related to the Crooks?"
"Land sakes, no! Whatever gave you that idea?"
Thankfully, Matt those that moment to rejoin her. "Hello, Mrs. Gardner, Amy," he said. "Ready to go, sweetheart? Dad's buying our lunch at the country club buffet. If we don't hurry, the Baptists will get all the good tables. Right, ladies?" Flashing the woman and her daughter a disarming smile, he excused them and ushered Kendall away.
As they walked toward the parking lot, Kendall indicated the group of men from which Gibb was just now detaching himself. "That looks like a high-level conference of some kind. What's it about?"
"Why do you ask?"
She had posed the question in a harmless, almost teasing tone and was therefore puzzled by his defensive response. "No particular reason, Matt. I was just curious."
His taut expression relaxed into a smile. "Deacons. A special deacons' meeting has been called for tomorrow night to review the church budget."
"I see."
"Please don't pout."
"I won't. In fact, I've got a lot of paperwork to catch up on. I'll do it while you're out." Lately, she had made a concerted effort not to complain when he went out in the evenings.
Likewise, if he had to go out, he tried to come home earlier and was especially apologetic and sweet when he returned.
To thank her for her understanding, he kissed her.
They were still nuzzling when Gibb approached, his Bible tucked under his arm. "You two keep that up and the sheriff will be along to arrest you for indecency."
He spoke in jest; was smiling as he climbed into the backseat. "Let's go. The sermon went long and my stomach growled all the way through it."
Matt got behind the wheel and started the car. "Some news about Billy Joe Crook, huh, Dad?"
Kendall was instantly alert. "What news?"
"He was involved in an accident on the way to Columbia,"
Gibb told her from the backseat. She turned and looked at him. "An accident? What kind of accident? Is he all right?"
"No, Kendall. I'm afraid he's not."
Luther, gnawing on a loose cuticle, cut his eyes over to his twin. Henry's only answer to Luther's quizzical glance was a shrug that conveyed his own bewilderment.
They were jumpy. On edge. They didn't know what to make of the situation.
They had never seen their mama this still and silent. She had been like this since yesterday evening when the prison had called and told them about Billy Joe's accident.
Henry had answered the telephone. He listened, shock and ]; outrage building inside him with each official word that came through the line. "Can we see him?"
"Not just yet," he was told. "We'll get back to you."
After hanging up, he had summoned Luther outside and told him of their little brother's fate. Luther had cussed a blue streak, picked up a hatchet and buried the blade deeply into the exterior wall of the house, then spoke the words Henry dreaded most to hear: "We gotta tell Mama."
Luther had said "we," but Henry knew he meant "you."
There was no time to call one of their sisters to do it. They lived too far away. Besides, they would only go to bawling and making a racket, and that wouldn't help the situation.
He was the oldest, the man of the family. The responsibility fell to him. So he and Luther had trudged back inside, where he broke the bad news to Mama.
But she hadn't reacted as they had expected. She hadn't gone on a rampage, hadn't started yelling or squalling Or breaking stuff. She hadn't even taken a drink, not a single one. Instead, she had plopped herself down in her rocker and stared out the window, and there she still sat, almost twenty four hours later.
It was like she had petrified, and i' was beginning to get on Henry's nerves. He would rather have her carrying on than sitting there like a stump, nothing moving but her eyes when they blinked. He almost wished she would have one of her fits. He would know from experience how to deal with that.
The officials had called an hour ago and said they could see Billy Joe at five o'clock. They would have him ready by then, they said. So that presented Henry with a dilemma. He needed to see to his little brother, but he couldn't leave Mama alone.
And Luther had refused to stay with her.
"By myself?" Luther's voice had gone thin and high with fear when Henry had suggested that he stay behind with Mama. "Hell no! She's spooking me out, the way she's sittin' and starin'
like that. I think she's not right in the head, is what I think. This is drove her plumb out Of her mind. Anyway, I ain't staying with her by myself."
Henry still hadn't resolved the problem, and time was running out. If he didn't arrive when they expected him, he might not get to see Billy Joe before
"Henry!"
He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Here, Mama."
Making his way across the room to her rocker, he stumbled over his own large feet. When he reached her, her eyes were focused, and he could tell right off that Luther had been wrong.
She wasn't out of her head.
"Your daddy'll turn over in his grave if we let 'em get by with this," she said.
"Damn right." Luther, looking relieved, knelt beside her chair. "No sir. No way in hell. We ain't gonna let 'em get by with this."
she hauled off and walloped him on the side of his head.
."I ain't lost my mind. Don't ever let me hear you say such again.
Tears filled Luther's colorless eyes. He massaged his ear, which would probably still be ringing this time next year.
"No. ma'am. I mean, yes, ma'am."
"What're we gonna do, Mama?" Henry asked.
As she outlined her plan, he realized that that was what she had been cooking up all the time she'd been staring out the window so strange-like.
Chapter 9
"The coffee smells good."
Kendall had been so lost in thought that she hadn't heard him come into the kitchen. At the sound of his voice, she turned. Propped on his crutches in the doorway, he was dressed, but unshaven. He looked rumpled but rested. Some color had returned to his face, and the dark circles around his eyes had faded considerably.
"Good morning." Nervously she wiped her palms on the seat of her shorts. "I was just about to come check on you.
How do you feel?"
"Better. Still not great."
"I hope Kevin didn't wake you."
"No. He's asleep in that square thing."
"Playpen. Sit down. I'll cook you some breakfast." She poured him a cup of coffee. "What would you like? Pancakes?
Eggs? French toast? I make everything except waffles."
"What have you got against waffles?"
"We don't have a waffle iron."
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