It’s a drearysome day,” Uncle Earl said, hunching his jean jacket tighter around his shoulders, “but maybe it’ll clear up before the service tomorrow.”
I looked out the windshield and figured otherwise. Fog could stay in our valley for days. It was like the mountains circling us poured the fog in and set a kettle lid on top. That grayness came seeping through the walls and into the house too. Bright things like a quilt or button jar lost color and footsteps sounded lonesome.
The road curved and the Tilsons’ farmhouse appeared. A car was parked beside Mr. Tilson’s blue pickup.
“That’s Preacher Winn’s car,” Daddy said. “Probably best just to go on to the field.”
Daddy eased the truck onto the far side of the road and we got out. Uncle Earl took the butcher knives and sacks from the truck bed and we walked down the slope and through a harvested cornfield, damp stalks and shucks slippery under our feet. The cabbage patch was beside the creek. Two of the rows had been cut but four hadn’t.
Uncle Earl nodded towards the field across the road. The fog was thicker here in the bottomland and it took a few seconds to see the tractor. It lay on its side, one big black wheel raised up, the harrow’s tines like long fingers.
“He shouldn’t have been on a hill that steep,” Uncle Earl said.
“No,” Daddy said. “But I’ve known many a man who at least had a chance to learn from that same mistake.”
They set down the sacks and kneeled at two row ends.
“Stay between us,” Daddy said to me. “We’ll cut and you sack.”
They began cutting, left hand on the cabbage head while the butcher knife chopped underneath.
“We’ll be filthy as hogs by the time we finish,” Uncle Earl said, brushing wet dirt off his overalls.
“Try to keep your clothes clean, son,” Daddy said. “I got need for you to do something else when we finish.”
“At least as clean as a ten-year-old-boy can stay,” Uncle Earl said.
I dragged the sack behind me up the row, feeling it stick harder to the ground each time I put another cabbage inside. Daddy and Uncle Earl stopped every few minutes to help catch me up. I followed Uncle Earl and Daddy as they carried six full sacks to the row ends.
“Let’s ease up a minute,” Daddy said.
“Fine by me,” Uncle Earl said.
Daddy put his hands flat above his tailbone and leaned backwards. Uncle Earl sat down cross-legged and took out a pack of rolling papers and a tobacco tin from his bib pocket.
“A day like this you feel your aches more,” Daddy said.
Uncle Earl nodded as he sifted tobacco onto the paper, twisted the ends and lit one end. A car engine started up at the farmhouse. In a few moments the car drove away, quickly invisible except for its yellow headlights.
“We best get back to it,” Uncle Earl said, and picked up the last four sacks we had. “I can cut and smoke both.”
“We’ll need two more sacks, three to be safe,” Daddy said to me. “You willing to go get a couple?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Should I ask first?”
“No,” Daddy said. “There’s no cause to do that. Just go to that shed by the barn. They’ll be some in there.”
“Three?”
“Yes,” Daddy said. “Three’s plenty.”
I left them and made my way through the cornfield and up to the road. The fog thinned as the ground slanted upward. I fixed my eyes on the shed and kept them there so I wouldn’t see the tractor. I had to use both hands to swing the shed door open, then wait for the dark to be less dark. In a back corner, burlap sacks hung above a mound of potatoes. I smelled them as I lifted the sacks off the nail. It was a dusty, moldy smell, but a green alive smell dabbed in it too. I stepped out and shouldered the door closed. Across the road, the bottomland had disappeared. It was like the fog had opened its mouth and swallowed the cabbage patch whole.
The sacks were in my right hand. I squeezed them tighter as I made my way across the road and through the cornfield. Soon after, Daddy and Uncle Earl came out solid from the gray. The last cabbages were cut and gathered and Daddy and Uncle Earl hefted a sack over each shoulder and walked to the truck. Three trips and it was done.
“Twelve full sacks,” Uncle Earl said when he and Daddy had loaded the last one in the truck bed.
“You still of a mind to take it to Lenior today?”
“Yes,” Daddy said, “but I need to ask her if she wants some for canning.”
“Then we better go see,” Uncle Earl said. “The preacher’s gone so it’s likely as good a time as there’ll be.”
We walked across the road and into the yard, where Daddy and Uncle Earl stopped.
“Take your shoes and socks off, son,” Daddy told me. “Then go up there and knock.”
I did what he said and went up on the porch.
Mrs. Tilson opened the door. She wore a black dress and I could tell she’d been crying. She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was, then fixed her eyes on Daddy and Uncle Earl, who stood in the yard with their hands in their front pockets.
“We cut the rest of the cabbage, Faye,” Daddy said. “We didn’t know if you wanted to keep any for canning. If you do, we’ll put it in the root cellar for you.”
Mrs. Tilson put her hands over her eyes. Then, real slow, she let her hands rub hard against her skin, like she was pulling off a mask to see better.
“Sell it,” she said. “That’s what Alec always does. Done.”
“We’ll do that then,” Daddy said. “We’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow but if there’s anything you need done before that, let us know.”
Mrs. Tilson didn’t say anything or even nod. She just stepped back inside and shut the door.
“Mrs. Tilson, she’s grateful to you for helping out,” Daddy said when we got back in the truck. “She may never say that though. It’s a hard time for her and she’ll likely not want to ponder anything about these days.”
“Anyway,” Daddy said as he cranked the engine, “you done good.”