The Cove by Ron Rash Read Free Book Online Page A

It was also knowing that miserable as life was, there was someone else going through the same thing. As long as Hank could stand it, she could too, not just the hard work but the stares and snubs when they went to Mars Hill with Slidell. At night or rainy days or when the snow flew, they’d play cards or checkers or get out the wish book and pretend they had a thousand dollars and take turns picking out things until neither of them had a single penny left. As they got older, evenings Hank would whittle and Laurel would sew or read copies of the Marshall Sentinel that Slidell passed on to them. Sometimes she would take out the geography book Miss Calicut had given her and turn to a page and try to imagine such a farther land. But she never could. They were too distant. All the while their father lingered in the back room, more and more needful as the years passed.
    Then Hank got conscripted. I’ll never see him again, her father lamented, and he’d been right. One morning Laurel came into her father’s room and he lay in the bed dead, his eyes open, as if in death still looking for pity. But Hank had come back. She had never let herself believe he wouldn’t. The morning he’d been shot, she had awakened in bed knowing that he had been hurt, but knowing also as the hours passed that he lived, that he would return.
    Laurel rose and checked the rags the stranger had worn, found them yet damp. It was near dark but she’d let the outcrop’s warmth dry them a few more minutes. She sat back down on the granite and looked out over the cove to the blue mountains.
    Waiting for her life to begin. Still waiting a year after her father’s death. But now she felt something was about to happen, maybe already had happened, a beginning this stranger might be part of. Laurel took the flute from the case and found the instrument heavier than she’d have reckoned. It seemed queer that music so light and airy could come from such a solid-feeling thing. She held the flute’s mouthpiece to her lips. His lips had touched here as well and the thought pleased her. Laurel made a tentative puff before placing fingers over some of the holes. The silver and her breath brought forth a low plaintive note.

Chapter Five
    E xcept for two trips to the privy, the man did not leave the bed. He slept through supper and had not awakened when she and Hank went to sleep. In the morning, Laurel set Hank’s plate and cup before him and took coffee to the stranger.
    â€œThis may taste some different from what you’re used to. There’s chicory mixed in with the store bought.”
    The man raised his back against the headboard and took the cup. The swelling had gone down and his color was back. The starch was back in him too. His hands didn’t tremble when he brought the cup to his mouth. Laurel nodded at the two stacks of clothes on the bureau, his money and the note beside them. The haversack was near the door and she pointed it out as well.
    â€œI got your clothes washed best as I could but they’re in a sorry way,” Laurel said. “I read the note, so I know you can’t talk. But I can tell you hear okay, and if you done that note you can read and write.”
    The man shook his head.
    â€œYou can’t?”
    He shook his head again.
    â€œSomeone else wrote it for you?”
    He nodded.
    â€œWell, anyway, I need to get the daubings off you. They’ve drawn what poison they will. Besides, like Hank said, you don’t want to be mistook for a bobcat.”
    Laurel went to the front room. As she filled a wash pan with water, Hank pushed back his chair and brought his plate and cup to the basin.
    â€œHis clothes are rags so I’m going to give him some of Daddy’s to wear,” Laurel said. “They’re too small for you so someone ought to get use out of them.”
    â€œDamn, Laurel,” Hank said. “We’ve already doctored him and give him a bed for