Mitchell nodded, mulling over what I was saying. “Thing is, I just don’t like the idea of givin’ this man a day’s work for nothin’.”
“It’s either that or we take off right now and end up with Jessup’s dogs chasing after and most likely catching us.”
Mitchell conceded to my thinking. “Well, I ain’t leavin’ without my gear.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it already and I’ve got it hid, all except for one of your blankets. Had to leave one of yours and one of mine.”
“I gotta leave my good blanket? Why ain’t you brung it?”
“Because I wrapped those blankets around some logs. Had to leave something looking like bedrolls. Figured as long as they thought our gear was still here, they’d think we were too.”
Mitchell wasn’t happy. “First a day’s pay, now my good blanket!” He slammed his axe into a tree. “That boss man, he better stay clear of me this day! He done made me mad!”
Maylene arrived unexpectedly at noon riding one of Miz Mary’s mules and bringing us dinner. She surprised both Mitchell and me with a feast of fried chicken, ham hocks and collard greens, corn bread, and even pecan pie. She brought hot coffee too, the real thing, not the chicory we’d been drinking in the camp. It was a Sunday feast. I thanked Maylene and took one of the drum-sticks and a piece of corn bread.
“Girl, where you get a chicken t’ fry?” Mitchell asked her.
“Miz Mary,” Maylene said shyly. “I done tole Miz Mary how Paul Logan done had t’ work this day and how you done said ya wasn’t gonna let him do this work by hisself, and how you was gonna work too. Tole her wasn’t no food served on Sunday here at the camp and she done tole me I could bring part of this here chicken up to y’all.”
Mitchell grinned. “Yeah? That a fact? Never knowed Miz Mary was so generous.”
“Had t’ do some tradin’ too,” said Maylene.
“What kinda tradin’?”
“Nothin’ much. Jus’ tradin’” She looked at me as she reached into a sack she held. “These papers here, they yo’s,” she said, handing them to me. “Found ’em on the floor last night where ya been sittin’.”
It was the letter I had been writing to Cassie. “Thank you,” I said.
Maylene accepted my gratitude with the same shy smile with which she had first greeted me, then admonished, “Y’all eat up now. I’m a good cook.”
She started away, but Mitchell pulled her back, putting his arms around her waist. “Ain’t ya gonna eat with us?”
“Naw. I gotta get back.”
“I don’t think so.” Mitchell smiled down at her, and she glowed in his smile.
I interrupted the lovers. “Mitchell, I need to talk to you a minute.”
“Now?”
“Now, before Miss Maylene goes,” I said, and walked away, still holding my chicken and corn bread. After a minute or two, Mitchell followed.
“So, what is it, Paul?” Mitchell asked when he reached me.
I glanced over at Maylene, who was kneeling on the ground spreading out our dinner. “I was just thinking that, seeing Maylene rode up on a mule, if she carried our gear back with her, we wouldn’t have to worry about our being seen walking the road carrying it ourselves. You think she’d do it?”
Mitchell glanced over his shoulder at Maylene. “She’d be wantin’ t’ know why.”
“Then tell her.”
“And get her in my business?”
“We could use her help.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Don’t trust a woman ain’t my mama.”
I shrugged. “All right, then,” I said. “That’s how you feel.”
“Course,” said Mitchell as I turned away, “you could be right. I mean, we get stopped on the road carryin’ our gear, there’d be hell t’ pay.”
I waited, letting him make up his own mind about the matter.
He glanced once more toward Maylene. “Where’s the gear?”
“In the bushes near that stand of three pines we figured to cut last at the end of the day.”
“All right,” Mitchell said. “I’ll talk to her, but I best do it alone.” He then walked back to Maylene. He took her hand and led her beyond my view. I sat down and ate, then waited. When Mitchell reappeared, Maylene wasn’t with him. “Maylene, she took our gear,” he said as I joined him.
“What you say to her?”
Mitchell sat on the ground and took up a chicken wing. “Jus’ told her I needed t’ trust her on somethin’.”