Clyde looked across the room at Dorian, who was still standing in the doorway, the heel of one foot propped against the screen door, holding it partly open.
“Come on in, boy, have a seat. Yer let’n the flies in,” he said.
Somewhat hesitantly, Dorian walked around the table, taking a seat at the table in front of the cook stove. The straw-bottomed chair creaked as he sat down. The cast-iron range, still hot from cooking, gave off a metallic scent and radiated a gentle heat on the back of his neck.
Billie and Amber both scrambled to get into the chair next to Dorian. Amber got there first, and Billie tried to nudge her away.
Billie looked pleadingly at Clyde, “Pa, she’s in my chair. I always sit here.”
“No you don’t, Billie. You lie like a dog,” Amber said.
“Git up, Amber and let yer older sister sit there,” Clyde said.
“Ah, Pa. You always take up fer her.”
“Go on, git up.”
Pouting, Amber got up and walked around the table to take a seat right across from Dorian. Beaming, Billie sat next to Dorian. They began to pass bowls of food around the table. Ma carried a plate of fried meat to the table and set it down beside a plate of biscuits, well-packed with home-churned butter.
“Cooked up a mess of rabbit,” she said. “Andy went an’ shot it this morning.”
Clyde looked at Dorian and said, “Yer name’s Door’n, right?”
“No, Dorian,” he said quietly.
Clyde handed Dorian the plate of fried rabbit. “Here, boy, have some Hoover pork.” Clyde smiled briefly at this, chuckling to himself and said, “Well, Door’n, yer not from these parts, are ya?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve traveled a long way.”
“Ya ain’t wanted by the law or nothin’ like that, are ya?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“You don’t say much, do ya? Where ya from?”
“Actually, quite a ways from here. Uh… you’ve probably never heard of it.”
Clyde studied Dorian a moment. “A long ways, huh? What I’m tryin’ to figger out is, you travelin’ these dusty roads and ain’t got a speck of dirt on ya nowheres,” he said thoughtfully, stirring his coffee.
Dorian knew that a lot of explanations were due, but he considered it best to say nothing and continued to pick at his food, not knowing how to respond. After a few moments, he continued to eat.
There was no logical explanation, no way to answer. He remained silent, hoping the issue would end there. Clyde stared at him. He grinned as Dorian looked up.
“So, your car broke down. It still happens, but they make cars better than they used to. Years ago, when I was young, my father would drive all the way to town, but someone would have to go and pick ’im up. They’ll never be able to replace a horse, he used to say.”
Dorian smiled at Clyde’s remark and continued to eat. After a time, he looked up again, noting that Clyde was still studying him.
“Looks like you ain’t done a day’s work in all your life,” Clyde continued, and gave Dorian a quick wink.
“What makes you say that?” Dorian said, unsure what to make of the gesture.
“Them hands is jes’ like a young woman’s, and ya ain’t got no suntan, like ya never been outdoors. Wearin’ them fancy duds; ain’t no one ’round here dresses like that.”
“They’re just some old clothes I picked up.”
“Old?” Clyde said, as he laughed out loud. “I’d like to see yer good clothes.”
Amber and Billie both giggled.
“Maybe he’s a movie star, Pa?” said Amber. “He sure be handsome ’nough for one.”
“Quiet down, Amber,” said Ma, not raising her eyes from her plate. The younger children started to laugh, but stopped short as they saw the expressions of disapproval on Ma’s and Pa’s faces. Dorian squirmed in his seat, not pleased about being the center of attention. Finally, he decided to get to the point. “The truth is, I need a ruby. I can’t continue on until I get one.”
Clyde laughed out loud once again, and said, “Yeah, you and everyone else. Hell, boy, for most folks ’round here, that’s prob’ly two month’s work. I figger it’s ’bout time for another farmer’s holiday. We’ll eat our ham and eggs, corn and wheat, and let them big wigs in the city eat their gold.”
The grin left Clyde’s face as he noticed Sonny seated across the table, his hand wrapped with a rag, massaging it and not eating much.
“Izzat botherin’ ya?” Clyde said.
“It’s still sore, Pa.”
“Yer gonna be useless like Andy effen ya don’t take care of yerself.”
Andy, although embarrassed by the remark, managed to force a meek smile.
Dorian ate, feeling glad the attention had been drawn away from him. But it was only for a little while, as Clyde asked him, “What do city folks like yourself do in the evening after dark? You are city folks, ain’t ya?”
“I suppose you could say that. We don’t do much of anything, really. Usually, we sit and spend our time reading and studying.”
“Reading? Guess you all got that electricity and lights to read by. You don’t know what it’s like bein’ without electricity. Out here, folks don’t have time for readin’. When it’s dark, ya can’t do much, ’less ya go coon huntin’.”
Sonny turned to Dorian, “Ever been coon huntin’?”
“You mean, raccoon? Well I…no, I haven’t.”
“Nothin’ to it. You jes’ follow the dogs. Ol’ Buck’s the best coon dog there ever was,” Andy said.
“The best damn coon dog there ever will be,” Clyde said, putting down his coffee with a crack. “Ain’t ever been one like ’im and never will be. Why, he can track a coon through creek bottoms, across rocky cliffs. Ain’t gun shy either; fired a rifle next to his ear, didn’t even flinch. Trick to it is, ya have to know how to train ’em. Ya always let the dogs fight with the coon, after ya shoot ’im out of the tree. That way, the dogs get their reward in the hunt and it helps trainin’. ’Course ya have to call ’em off before they tear the hide up.”
“How ’bout it, Door’in? Ya wanna go with us?” Sonny said.
“I don’t think the time is right. Them coons have lost their winter fur and the hides won’t bring nothin’ this time of year,” Clyde said.
Well, Door’in’ ain’t ever been coon huntin before. Jes’ thought we might break him in on how it’s done. We could just go to run the dogs?” Sonny asked.
“I don’t want you to go just on account of my being here,” Dorian said.
“I reckon you best not pack any coons tonight anyway, Sonny,” Clyde said.
Andy perked up, “I can help ya, Pa.”
Clyde frowned back at Andy. “Ya slow me down, boy.”
Ma said, “You ain’t been gittin’ any coons, no how. Ain’t no sense in goin’ out again, this late in the spring.”
“Ol’ Bucks been a-treein’. Them coons jes’ outsmartin’ the other