“No,” he said. “I mean, I trust you. Still.”
“Then I guess you better keep my coat.”
He looked at her, startled and hurt, and laughing. “What? I can’t wear no woman’s coat!”
She said, “I don’t mean you should wear it. I mean you should use it like a blanket. Sleep under it. Nobody’s going to see.”
He shook his head. “Nah. I’d probly spoil it. You going to need it yourself anyways.”
“I’ll get it tomorrow.”
He picked up the little bundle. “You best be going along now. It’s getting cold. And I best get out of this wind.”
She said, “That’s where you keep the money. Tied up in a rag.”
“I like to keep it by me.”
“That’s fine.”
“You sure you don’t want some of it?”
“I’m sure.” He stood there, waiting for her to be gone, skinny and dirty, and a good child all the same. Nobody’s good child. “I don’t want the rest of them crackers, either,” she said.
“All right. Well, good talking with you.” He nodded and stepped away from her, and then he watched her out to the road.
* * *
She buttoned her coat and turned up the collar, because by now the wind was bitter, and she walked about halfway to Gilead. Then she said, “This won’t do.” So she went back to the cabin. It was barely warmer in there than the weather outside. The boy was curled up in the corner where she had slept, the one that was intact enough to give some shelter, and he was wrapped in that sad old scrap of a blanket, the little bundle under his head. He looked at her, but he didn’t move. She took off her coat and draped it over him. “Just for tonight,” she said. “So maybe you can get some sleep.” He didn’t say anything, he just settled himself under it. She pulled the collar up around his ears. She said, “Feels good, don’t it?” And he laughed.
And then there was the walk back to Gilead, through the bright day and the sharp wind. The stiff leaves of the cornstalks rustled and stirred, and a few pelicans were sailing and turning overhead, though she could hardly bear to look up at them, with that wind at her throat. She wondered if she might get so cold even the child would feel it. She felt it stir. She said, “Don’t worry about it. You ain’t going to have this kind of life. Once we’re home we’ll be fine.” But she thought to herself, This might not be the smartest thing anybody ever did. Best think of something else. But not that. Not looking for Doll in the snow. Not getting lost in that cornfield. She had followed footprints into it, so why couldn’t she just follow them back out again? But they ended where the snow ended, at the edge of the field, and farther in, there was just frozen ground. Anybody knew how lost you could get in a cornfield, and there she was, thrashing around, scared to death, the stalks so close and so high over her head that she couldn’t tell where she was, and it was only luck that she got back to the road finally. Covered in dust and sweat. She couldn’t have been in her right mind then, while she was looking for Doll. And what did she mean to do if she found her? She had some thought of covering her up, to keep her warm. As if anything could keep her warm. And then the next day there was real snow, hours of it, and no point trying to find her after that.
There was the time they were sitting by the fire, their faces hot and their backs freezing and the fire sizzling and popping and smoking because it was damp, sappy pine branches mostly. Lila had a bowl of fried mush, scraps of it, dark the way she liked them, because when Doll was doing the cooking she kept the crispy pieces for her. Mellie was right there beside her, close as she could get, watching that mush, and Lila was eating it a bit at a time. Mellie said, “I seen something go crawling into that bowl. I did. Its legs was all”—and she did a spidery thing with her fingers that made gooseflesh pass over Lila’s arms and across her scalp. Lila said, “Wasn’t no spider,” and Mellie said, “Not saying it was. Just saying what I seen,” and she did the thing with her fingers again.
Lila said, “I’m telling Doane.”
“Why? What you going to tell him?”
“That you trying to get me to throw my supper in the fire.”
Mellie said, “No need for that. I never mind a spider. You can always spit it out. They taste funny, so you’ll know to do it. And you feel them little legs. I swallowed one once and I ain’t dead. I’ll eat that mush for you if you don’t want it.”
So Lila just sat there with the bowl in her lap, thinking about spiders, and Mellie sat there beside her, watching, breathing on her. Doll saw that Lila hadn’t eaten her supper and told her she would thrash her if she didn’t, which was just to let Mellie know there was no use trying to talk her out of it. Lila felt Doll’s hand on her shoulder. That meant, Mellie’s the clever one, but you’ve got me here looking out for you.
Mellie whispered,
