Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 16: Cutting Time

Chapter 16: Cutting Time

 

            When Jack was younger, he hadn’t been able to understand why his uncle had chosen to not take up farming, like his father and the one before him. That decision had ultimately cost him his life. But it was days like this that he couldn’t blame his late uncle for working the mines instead of the fields. Growing tobacco was hard work for meager pay, and the worst part of it was always cutting time.

            There were plenty of nice folks in town always ready and willing to help when needed, but when it came time to cut tobacco, everybody seemed to conveniently have something else to do. Even Jack’s voices had a way of making themselves scarce come cutting time. With the mine company owning so much of the nearby land, there weren’t any neighboring farm families with help to lend. The last such family had been Ralph’s, but except for Ralph himself, they had all died off or married off and moved away.

The year before, Jack’s daddy had been forced to hire help, since part of the work force was in Cleveland when cutting time came; it had really eaten into his paltry profit. This year, however, was like most others. The entire family was involved, except Adam, of course. Even Ralph came out to help cut and cure the tobacco, just as he had done most every year on the Paserella farm since he was a boy.

 Cutting tobacco was not a job for women, but in the absence of enough menfolk to get the job done in a timely manner, it became such. His mama, Aunt Susan, and even little ol’ Pit Viper toiled in the fields. It was her first year helping cut, and admittedly, she did a lot more getting in the way than actual helping. Overall, her presence this year slowed progress because one of them always had to stay near her, keeping an eye on her. They all knew she would never say when she’d had too much. Heaven forbid she should not be able to keep up with the boys.

The cutting was finished and the tobacco leaves, speared on sticks, had been left to wilt in the sun a few days. Now, Jack stood on the back of a wagon, receiving and arranging the tobacco sticks to be hauled back to the barn. It was never not hot in August, and cutting time always seemed to come on the hottest days of the year. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sticky, stained hand, and almost immediately the sweat returned.

He watched the rhythmic motion of his daddy and Ralph. They had been doing this so long their movements were almost mechanical in nature, like machines, Jack thought. He saw his Mama and Aunt Susan struggling to keep up, and felt his jaw tighten involuntarily at the sight. Then his eyes fell on Kody. His scrawny cousin had grown quite a bit over the past year and combined with several years’ experience cutting, he would have put Jack’s daddy and Ralph to shame had they been watching him. He made hard, miserable work look easy and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Of course he didn’t mind. Why should he?  It was almost over for him and he could see the light. One more year here, one more cutting time, and Kody was done with this place. He would go off to college and become a doctor or a lawyer or something important and never even think about this sticky tobacco field or the filthy little town nearby. Jack had never really had any reason to envy him until then, and he found that he very much did. He was regretting more and more having chickened out that day at the recruitment office.

The recruitment officer had told him that he didn’t think Jack had really thought it through, that he probably wasn’t ready and to come back when he was. Jack had to admit the man was probably right. He had spent a great deal of time thinking about how ladies adored a man in uniform, about medals, about adventure and glory, but he hadn’t much thought about what sacrifices might be involved and certainly not about what he would be leaving behind.

But he had thought about all that now and his mind was made. His daddy’s skin was dark and tough as leather, and sometimes he got down in his back for weeks at a time, all as a result of keeping this farm up. His mother worked like a man and still had to cook and keep house. Jack didn’t see the merit in ever getting married, but he was sure that if he ever did, he wouldn’t subject his wife to such a life. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he himself could not and would not live this life. No, it was not a question of if, but when.

Kody whistled and Jack jerked his head in his direction. Kody gestured at Ginny, who looked rather ill. After she handed him a stick of tobacco, he said, “Hey, squirt, why don’t you climb on up here and help me a while?” She made some kind of gesture that resembled a nod which Jack took for a yes, though he knew there wasn’t going to be any climbing done on her part. He squatted and pulled her up onto the corner of the wagon, where she sat swaying dizzily.

Jack’s thoughts drifted back to where they’d been before Kody whistled. He knew that he was going to join, so that must mean he was ready. But there was still something holding him back. Whether it was doubt or fear or his conscience, he didn’t know. He supposed he was waiting for something to tell him it was time, some impetus to compel him to action, some sign.

The mule farted and turned Jack’s already queasy stomach. He had just enough time to grab Ginny by the back of her overalls before she fell off the wagon, as she leaned over to throw up. When she was done, she sat back up and wiped her face with the back of her arm; Jack couldn’t help but notice the stains on her little hand that mirrored those on his. “I hate that mule,” she muttered.

“Not any more than me, kid,” said Jack. “Not any more than me.”

It was undoubtedly impossible for anyone to hate that mule more than Jack did. All the time he spent behind it and the plow had enabled him to identify the smell of Rufus’ flatus anywhere. It didn’t matter what they did or did not feed it, it had to be the gassiest mule east of the Mississippi.

He glanced down at Ginny, still swaying a bit but less green than she’d looked earlier. Maybe that was it, he thought.  He’d been thinking about needing a sign and then that happened. Nah. What was one more mule fart?

When the wagon was nearly full, Jack hopped off and walked alongside the dastardly mule. A moment later, to his surprise, Ginny joined him. “Ya know, you should take it easy for a bit,” he said. “Wanna ride Rufus?”

“I wanna kick Rufus,” she replied. “But I’m alright.”

“Well, if you say so.”

They walked toward the barn without saying anything; it was too hot for talking anyway. But when they arrived at the weathered wood structure, Ginny said, “Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Does it get easier?”

He bit his lip. It didn’t seem fair to tell the kid anything that wasn’t true, so he considered his reply carefully. “You just get better at it.” Ginny sighed and lowered her head.

 All he needed was for that sign to hurry up and show itself.