Scarlett Hopper's Arc

Chapter 28 of 33

Scarlett woke with the harvest on her mind. The new row would come in heavy. The cellar was already full of tubers. There was no dry place to hang beans, no smokehouse for fish, no rack for peppers. Rot would take everything before winter. She sat up and remembered the barn. "There's an old curing barn past the north lot," she said over breakfast. "My grandfather's neighbor kept tobacco in it. If it's still standing, we use it." Marcus set down his cup. "I'll bring tools." "Take Duke," John said. "I'll hold the gate." They walked out at mid-morning. Duke ran ahead, tail sweeping left, ears up. Marcus carried his tool bag over one shoulder. The tabby rode in his overall pocket, watching the road. Scarlett kept her bad hand tucked against her ribs. The barn stood where she remembered. Ivy climbed one wall in a green sheet. The boards were dark and smooth from years of weather. The door hung true on its hinges. Marcus tried the latch. It gave. Inside, the air was dry and smelled of old wood. Rails ran the length of the ceiling. Hooks hung from every rail. A cold smoker sat in the back corner with its chimney intact. Racks were stacked against the far wall. A tin of salt sat on a shelf, still sealed. "It's all here," Scarlett said. Marcus ran a hand along a rail. "Somebody loved this place." They worked through the afternoon. He tightened a hinge. She swept the floor left-handed. Duke lay in the doorway. They talked while they worked — about his cat, about the block where he grew up, about the widow he used to fix the heat for. Scarlett told him about the rosebush that had been the last thing to die in the district. He did not fill the quiet after she said it. He just nodded and kept sanding. She watched him work and felt something settle in her chest that had not settled in a long time. The sky went the wrong color before they noticed. Duke stood up and pushed a picture into her mind — black cloud, sideways rain, the road washed out. Wind hit the wall a second later. The door slammed. Marcus looked at her. "We're not walking home in that." "No." He wedged the door and lit the lantern from his bag. She spread two feed sacks near the smoker for a bed. Rain hammered the roof. The barn held. They sat with their backs to the wall and shared the water bottle. His shoulder was warm against hers. Neither of them moved away. "We have a place for the harvest," she said. "We have a place for the harvest," he said. Duke put his head on her boot. Outside, the storm ran itself out over the district. Inside, the hooks waited above them, empty and dry, ready for what she was going to grow.