were made for a man twice my size. I rolled up the pants cuffs so as not to wear holes in the hems. Even the Sunday trousers Lishie sewed by hand for me frayed on the left cuff from the unavoidable drag of my foot. Somehow I had to make two pairs of coveralls last all summer, weeks and weeks of outdoor labor. I wouldn’t be able to afford mending, much less another pair, if it came to it. Lee warned me not to leave the grounds with any Grove Park property, which I assumed included uniforms for Lishie to mend during a weekend visit home.
I could tell from the number of disheveled beds that at least five other civilian men would be working on the property. All the beds were made, but some were military-grade smooth. I knew I could never achieve that, and from the look of the dorms, I was not alone. I imagined at least a couple men would be working inside maintenance, a few more in the kitchen and, judging by the muddy boot tracks, it looked like Lee and I’d have some company outside.
Though the dorm couldn’t have housed workers for more than a couple of months, it smelled of acidic metal and earthen sweat as if decades of men had laid their heads on the matted down pillows and tossed beneath the rough, woolen blankets, metal bedrails, and dangling pendant light fixtures sweating right along with them.
It was relatively clean, though. I was glad of that. At least I wouldn’t have to pick up after Bud or worry about supper for him. I just had to worry about myself and that was plenty for now.
“Cowney? Son, you coming?” Lee called to me through an open window. “Don’t have time for a housewarming party.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m coming. Just … are we staying in here with the soldiers?”
“Yep. This whole thing is temporary—rushed, really. Ain’t got time for formalities.”
Back outside, I found that another man had joined Lee. He too was large, with broad shoulders and thighs as thick as my torso. He smelled of minted tobacco, which was also evidenced in his few remaining teeth.
“This here’s Solomon,” Lee nodded at the foul-faced man.
“Glad to meet you. I’m Cowney.” I extended my hand, to the apparent displeasure of Solomon.
“Mmm hmm,” he replied.
Lee snorted. “Sol’s a man of few words.” He glanced in his direction. “He warms eventually … not sure you’ll want him too, though.”
I nodded, unsure whether to smile and please Lee, or smile and further annoy Sol.
“Come on, boys. Already getting a late start. Let’s kick this pig.”
Sol and I followed Lee to the edge of the property. I quickly found that Sol consumed more than his share of the talking space. The warming had begun.
“Where you from?” Sol asked after about five minutes into our work.
“Cherokee.” And then I waited.
He hefted the ax onto his shoulder and eyed me. “Wagon-burner, huh?”
“No,” I said, and turned away. “Cherokee.”
The ax fell. “Thought all y’all supposed to be out west now. Or dead.”
I spoke over my shoulder, refusing to face him again. “Some are. My people survived the Removal. Hid out for the most part until they could make a deal—”
“You know I really don’t give a shit, right? Don’t need a history lesson,” Sol interrupted. “You’re a young fella. Why you not overseas? You get shot or something? Noticed the limp.”
Lee was right. I now wished Sol had never found his comfort level.
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, it’s because of the leg, but I wasn’t injured. Born this way.”
Sol looked at me as if I was lying, as if in a moment of pure teenage dumbassness, I had injured myself.
As odd as it may sound, I was grateful. Usually, I received pity. “Poor fella” comments and sad headshakes that included infuriating tongue clicking. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. In some ways, I wish it had been my fault. I wish I had been on some reckless adventure or attempted a grand feat of heroism. Pity just made me more protective of my mother because, in essence, if I were the object of pity, she must consequentially become the cause of my unjust fate. At least that was what the tongue clicking seemed to translate to in the dialect of the sanctimonious.
“Don’t worry. I can still pull my own weight,” I offered, immediately regretting it.
“Apparently Uncle Sam doesn’t agree,” Sol shot back, seemingly refocusing on his work. Odd how people were so concerned about me risking my life for a country that wouldn’t even let me vote.
“Load ’er up, boys!” Lee interrupted, motioning to the empty wheelbarrow. “Ought to be able to get it all out in three trips if we stack it right.”
Sol systematically laid the logs beside the first wheelbarrow. In an effort to further prove myself, I doubled my effort, causing the wheelbarrow to rock at times and Lee to shake his head. “I’ll get it,” I announced as the last log was placed. “I’ll take it where it needs to go.”
“Alright,” Lee said. “Take it on around to the rear entrance of the lobby. Only got one cart, so you’ll have to empty it a couple of times. Otherwise you’ll break the handles. Sol and me’s goin’ to grab a sandwich.”
I hadn’t realized that I was volunteering to shoulder the whole morning’s work, but that was Lee’s first lesson of the summer for me. Humility has its place.
They lumbered away in silence as I stood there balancing twice my body weight on a rapidly deflating wheel. A small group of soldiers, looking like human erector sets, marched by me. They were silent except for the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the earth beneath.
I couldn’t help but wonder why neither an upscale resort such as this nor the US Army couldn’t afford a couple more wheelbarrows. By the final load, I began to wonder why the hell the guards weren’t doing this work, saving taxpayers a nickel. Better yet, weren’t these “guests” technically prisoners camped out in resort rooms? Why not have them work for their room and board?
And then I reminded myself that all this was a good thing. Thank God, I at least had a paying job and was out from under Bud’s hand. I dumped the last load on the rock patio veranda outside the rear of the lobby and entered the building through the massive glass doors that stayed open most of the day and on into the early evening to help cool the halls. Guests were milling about, all paying no mind to me. They really seemed to pay each other little mind as well.
Immediately, I realized I had made my second mistake of the day.
“You again!” A voice bellowed from the corner. It was the same soldier who had met Essie and me at the door earlier that day. I kept my head down and walked as quickly as possible toward the front entrance. The guest room halls flanked both sides like a protective ribcage of the massive lobby, the heart of the inn. Its rhythmic echo matched the pounding of my own cardiac pulse.
“Hey, you! I’m talking to you,” he continued, his voice getting closer. I had no other choice but to stop.
“Yes, sir. On my way out.”
“Why are you coming through here?”
“Just delivered some wood out back and thought—”
“That’s your problem. You tried to think. Your kind haven’t had much practice with that.”
“Private, can I help you with something?” I blurted before I could stop myself. And, in fact, I wasn’t certain he was a private. I hoped Essie had been right in her estimation of his rank. Her identification had somehow emboldened me, as if I myself were some sort of officer. I’m not sure I could have reacted the same way if I had not been assured that his superiors weren’t within hollering distance.
He stopped walking immediately. His eyes cut to both sides, as if scanning the room to