alongside the cornfield was light enough. The moon shimmered off the sand, and shadows followed us through the long, tall grass and even taller corn. Blue bounced along beside us.
"What happened to your arm?" Amos asked while pushing the wheelbarrow and nodding at my forearm. "That's a pretty good one."
"Oh, that's just, uh ... I was moving some stuff in the barn, and Pinky tripped me up. Just came down on it wrong."
"You ought to send that thing to Smithfield. I'd tell you to make sausage out of her, but she's probably too dang tough."
"You got a point there," I agreed. A half mile later we rolled up to the riverbank and into the hollow where we hid the raft. The river was high, due to the moon, so floating it out would be easy. We pulled off all the branches that had either fallen on it or we had put on it, but there didn't seem to be as many as the last time we had done this.
"I think somebody's been on our boat," I said, pointing. "Less cover."
Amos nodded and looked at the raft. "Sometimes a man likes to be alone."
"When?" I asked.
"'Bout four weeks ago. I got tired of sitting there feeling useless and watching you hold Maggs's hand."
"Oh."
Amos mounted the motor and loaded the gas inside the lean-to. We had sealed it when we built it, so it was pretty good and dry. Matches even lit. Which would be nice once we got going. A fire helped keep the mosquitoes at bay, and this end of the Salkehatchie Swamp produced some big mosquitoes.
I grabbed the push pole, jumped on top of the poling platform, and backed out the raft.
We bumped into some old cedars, and Amos said, "D.S., you're getting rusty."
I gave a hard push and Amos, who was standing, lost his balance and almost went in the water.
"D.S., you get my Kimber wet and I'm gonna beat you like a drum right here on this raft in the middle of the river."
I laughed. "I ain't that rusty. And you might could whup me, but you're gonna have to catch me first, Mr. Donut."
Amos was actually pretty fit. He had gained a few pounds since high school-I'd say about ten-but it was mostly muscle. After high school his hair started thinning up top, so he just shaved it off. He said it was cooler and less hassle. Although I'd never tell him, Amos is a pretty handsome man, and he takes good care of himself. Spends about four days a week in the weight room. So between his head, his muscles, and the moon, he looked like a shorter, thicker, blacker version of Mr. Clean. I was glad we were on the same side.
"Listen here, half-pint, I'm within ten pounds of my playing weight. What are you? 'Bout a buck-seventy?" He eyed me up and down.
"One sixty-eight," I said.
"That's what I thought. You're almost thirty pounds under your playing weight."
"Yeah, but I can still outrun you," I said, laughing and looking downriver.
"But when I catch you," Amos said, flexing his right arm, "I'm gonna put you in the Carolina cruncher."
"Ebony," I said, smirking, "I think you're losing a bit. Your arms ain't what they used to be."
He took two steps, grabbed my legs, and tossed. The whole thing didn't take a second and a half. I went about fifteen feet in the air, then dived deep into the water. I swam back over to the raft and climbed up, something I'd done a hundred times. I wrung out my shirt and watched Amos stand atop the polling platform, smiling. It was good to be back on the raft.
We floated a few hours, not saying much. About three o'clock in the morning, Amos looked up from his pipe and broke the silence. "Have you been thinking what I think you're thinking?"
I knew what he was asking. This was why he had brought me to the river. Amos was checking my pulse, but it hurt too much just to come outright and say it. We needed the river and a few hours beneath the shadow of the moon to get him to the place where he could ask and me to the place where I could answer.
I looked up from my seat on the front of the raft. "If Maggs is already sitting in heaven, rocking our son, laughing with
"What happened to your arm?" Amos asked while pushing the wheelbarrow and nodding at my forearm. "That's a pretty good one."
"Oh, that's just, uh ... I was moving some stuff in the barn, and Pinky tripped me up. Just came down on it wrong."
"You ought to send that thing to Smithfield. I'd tell you to make sausage out of her, but she's probably too dang tough."
"You got a point there," I agreed. A half mile later we rolled up to the riverbank and into the hollow where we hid the raft. The river was high, due to the moon, so floating it out would be easy. We pulled off all the branches that had either fallen on it or we had put on it, but there didn't seem to be as many as the last time we had done this.
"I think somebody's been on our boat," I said, pointing. "Less cover."
Amos nodded and looked at the raft. "Sometimes a man likes to be alone."
"When?" I asked.
"'Bout four weeks ago. I got tired of sitting there feeling useless and watching you hold Maggs's hand."
"Oh."
Amos mounted the motor and loaded the gas inside the lean-to. We had sealed it when we built it, so it was pretty good and dry. Matches even lit. Which would be nice once we got going. A fire helped keep the mosquitoes at bay, and this end of the Salkehatchie Swamp produced some big mosquitoes.
I grabbed the push pole, jumped on top of the poling platform, and backed out the raft.
We bumped into some old cedars, and Amos said, "D.S., you're getting rusty."
I gave a hard push and Amos, who was standing, lost his balance and almost went in the water.
"D.S., you get my Kimber wet and I'm gonna beat you like a drum right here on this raft in the middle of the river."
I laughed. "I ain't that rusty. And you might could whup me, but you're gonna have to catch me first, Mr. Donut."
Amos was actually pretty fit. He had gained a few pounds since high school-I'd say about ten-but it was mostly muscle. After high school his hair started thinning up top, so he just shaved it off. He said it was cooler and less hassle. Although I'd never tell him, Amos is a pretty handsome man, and he takes good care of himself. Spends about four days a week in the weight room. So between his head, his muscles, and the moon, he looked like a shorter, thicker, blacker version of Mr. Clean. I was glad we were on the same side.
"Listen here, half-pint, I'm within ten pounds of my playing weight. What are you? 'Bout a buck-seventy?" He eyed me up and down.
"One sixty-eight," I said.
"That's what I thought. You're almost thirty pounds under your playing weight."
"Yeah, but I can still outrun you," I said, laughing and looking downriver.
"But when I catch you," Amos said, flexing his right arm, "I'm gonna put you in the Carolina cruncher."
"Ebony," I said, smirking, "I think you're losing a bit. Your arms ain't what they used to be."
He took two steps, grabbed my legs, and tossed. The whole thing didn't take a second and a half. I went about fifteen feet in the air, then dived deep into the water. I swam back over to the raft and climbed up, something I'd done a hundred times. I wrung out my shirt and watched Amos stand atop the polling platform, smiling. It was good to be back on the raft.
We floated a few hours, not saying much. About three o'clock in the morning, Amos looked up from his pipe and broke the silence. "Have you been thinking what I think you're thinking?"
I knew what he was asking. This was why he had brought me to the river. Amos was checking my pulse, but it hurt too much just to come outright and say it. We needed the river and a few hours beneath the shadow of the moon to get him to the place where he could ask and me to the place where I could answer.
I looked up from my seat on the front of the raft. "If Maggs is already sitting in heaven, rocking our son, laughing with
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