Daniel Woodrell - Winter's Bone

Mrs. Thump stepped closer, into plain view, with her hair rolled back into place beneath a snug scarf. She seemed grim and unruffled.

“You was warned. You was warned nice’n you wouldn’t listen—why didn’t you listen?”

“I can’t listen. I can’t just listen.”

She moved her head slowly, wobbling as she aimed her good eye, and saw that there were others in the barn. Shapes milling by the open double door, wearing man hats, smoking, watching in silence. One of the man hats stepped near. Megan squatted, patted Ree’s face, and said, “Whatever are we to do about you, baby girl? Huh?”

“Kill me, I guess.”

“That idea has been said already. Got’ny other ones?”

“Help me. Ain’t nobody said that idea yet, have they?”

The sightless eye was fattened shut and stretched tight. She felt the swelling and tried to pry the eyelid open, but could not even sense daylight through that eye. Blood had to be spit and came out in heavy wads trailed by stringy drools that lapped onto her chin and cheeks. With her tongue she could feel shreds of her own meat broken from inside her lips. Her skirt was thrown up and her legs were decked with bruises that colored uglier as she watched.

Megan said, “I tried to help you some the other day, and this is what come of that.”

Near the door the small crowd began to part, make way, and though nobody spoke his name, Ree knew Thump Milton had come into the barn. Ree could tell a hatted shape was stepping toward her, a shape wearing an olden sort of farmer’s winter cap with stretch earflaps and a stovepipe crown. Megan glanced at the advancing hat, then stood and quickly moved aside.

Thump Milton loomed over Ree, a fabled man, his face a monument of Ozark stone, with juts and angles and cold shaded parts the sun never touched. His spade beard was aged gray but his movements were young. He crouched, grabbed her chin, and turned her head from side to side, inspecting the damage. He was bigger than she’d thought, hands strong as stormwater rushing. His eyes went inside you to the depths without asking and helped themselves to anything they wanted.

He said, “You got somethin’ you need to say, child, you best say it now.”

His voice held raised hammers and long shadows.

Ree could feel the sting of piss drying on her legs and a thicker expulsion mushed in her panties. There were pigeons watching from the rafters. Smells of sweat-soaked leather, spilled feed, and scared calves. Ree turned aside and vomited blood and lunch toward a slop bucket but spewed wide. When she looked up at Thump Milton, the women and the other hats from the doorway had come to stand close behind him. She recognized Little Arthur, Spider Milton, Cotton Milton, Buster Leroy, and one of the Boshell men, Sleepy John.

She spoke low with her head down, the words lamed by spatters of red wet and slow limping from her mouth. She said, “I got two little brothers who can’t feed theirselves… yet. My mom is sick, and she is always… goin’ to be sick. Pretty soon the laws’re takin’ our house away n’throwin’ us out… to live in the fields… like dogs. Like fuckin’ dogs. The only hope I got to keep our house is… is, I gotta prove… Dad’s dead. Whoever killed him, I don’t need… to know… that. I don’t never need to know that. If Dad did wrong, Dad has paid. But I can’t forever carry both… them boys’n Mom… not… without that house to help.”

Her words were met with silence, an electric moment of utter silence, then Thump Milton stood and left the barn. Mrs. Thump and two of the men went with him. The others began to gather again near the doorway, whispering. Cigarettes were lit and funny things were said. The crowd chuckled at funny things she couldn’t hear and there was a great ugly roaring in her ears. Megan moved on the fringe of the crowd, and twice it seemed like she might’ve nodded Ree’s way.

Ree lay back on the barn floor, feeling the pitiful squish of her own voiding, and stared up. The pigeons in the rafters were awful quiet. Auction signs from long ago had been nailed to the underside of the hayloft floor and Ree stared at them but couldn’t make the signs hold still long enough to read any of the items for sale. She felt rude swishing in her belly and rolled over to spew but didn’t. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth to her earlobe and she wondered if Dad was lying on his side, too, or dead in a different position.

That redbone outside barked again, and a man in the doorway said, “Who’s this comin’ up here in such a big toot?”

Little Arthur said, “Is that truck green?”

“Looks green to me.”

“Aw, shit—that’s Teardrop’s truck. Teardrop her fuckin’ uncle—who the hell called him?”

The man said, “I don’t know, but I gotta go quick get somethin’ from my car. I ain’t standin’ here naked when that motherfucker walks in and sees her beat silly over there.”

Ree sat up and one of the women took two steps toward her and hissed, “Now look what you did!”

The truck door slammed and she heard digging steps cross the pea gravel.

Little Arthur said, “Hey, Teardrop, what—”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t get all excited.”

“She in there?”

The women and the hatted men made way for Teardrop. He had his right hand jammed deep into the pocket of his slashed leather jacket. The sun came from behind so his face was blurred by his own shade. His head was bare and his eyes moved quickly through the crowd. He took a few steps toward Ree and abruptly stopped.

Little Arthur said, “She was told, man, and didn’t listen.”

Teardrop seemed to stand straighter as he looked at Ree but his expression did not change. His gaze lingered on her face, her legs, the fresh and drying blood threads crisscrossing her cheeks and chin and neck. He turned to Little Arthur, spread his feet.

“You hit her?”

Little Arthur draped an arm toward the small of his back. His shirt bunched as he put a hand to his belt. He said, “What’ll you do if I did?”

“Say yes’n see.”

Mrs. Thump stomped back into the barn and stepped up, waving her hands.

“He never! No man here touched that crazy girl!”

“No man did?”

“I drubbed her good myself.”

Teardrop said, “You never drubbed her that way by yourself.”

“Me and my sisters, they were here, too.”

The crowd began to step aside and make way again, and Thump Milton returned to the barn. Buster Leroy and Sleepy John walked beside him and both carried shotguns, barrels pointed up, fingers near the triggers. Thump Milton strode forward with no hesitation to within an arm’s length of Teardrop. His quick pace had stirred the barn dust and he stood in a billow of whirling motes. He looked directly into Teardrop’s eyes and said, “Explain yourself, Haslam.”

Teardrop stared back and did not truckle. He pointed with his left hand as he spoke. “I ain’t never said a single fuckin’ word about my brother. I ain’t asked nobody about my brother, nor looked for him, neither. What Jessup done was against our ways, he knew it and I know it, and I ain’t raised no stink at all about whatever became of him. But she ain’t my brother . She’s my niece, and she’s near about all the close family I got left, so I’ll be collectin’ her now and carryin’ her on out of here to home. That suit you, Thump?”

“You’re willin’ to stand for her, are you?”

“If she does wrong, you can put it on me.”

“Agreed. She’s now yours to answer for.”

“This is a girl who ain’t goin’ to tell nobody nothin’.”

A near wooden post looked useful and Ree crawled to it. The rough wood rasped on her hands as she pulled herself upright and everything she saw moved in slow circles. Moans droned from her chest of bones. Shit leaked from her panties and she felt runnels of yuck on her thighs. She fluffed her wadded skirt loose and down. She swayed on her feet and realized that Thump Milton and Uncle Teardrop had turned to watch her.