Two

The Skylark bunk house was less of a bunk house than it was a boarding room, a small rectangular building attached at one end to what must have been the cook's kitchen. The structure was a sturdy one, one that looked unlikely to have ever have given its residents any sort of excessive discomfort. The walls on the outside were a painted selection of deep brown wooden boards, completed with a matching shingle roof. The two longer sides each had six windows, and the others had three. On the front side of the building was the only door, a screen model with a distinctively blue dyed wooden underneath. Under each of the windows on the wall with the door rested small boxes filled with assorted varieties of flowers, adding cheer and personality to the otherwise mediocre edifice.

Inside, the walls were painted to mirror the exterior while the wooden floor was left to its original appearance as unpainted wood. There were four beds to each of two walls, with only one unmade and without sheets. Above each bed was a small lamp, and nailed next to each lamp was an equally small shelf. The seven occupied bunks all had their own personal possessions stored in their little shelves; pencils, newspapers, magazines, bars of soap, razors, medicines, combs, and even the occasional hardback. Beneath each bed was a slide out drawer, where the clothing of the worker was to be kept. In the back of the room was a desk covered with various pens, papers, and waxes, and above the desk hung a large gray clock. A worn looking wooden table was stationed at the center of the room, surrounded by crates used as chairs.

At eleven-thirty at night, the bunk house was usually filled by the men who stayed there. Some would be playing cards at the center table, some would be writing quick letters to far-off relations or sweethearts at the desk, and some would be reading their magazines or books while they sat comfortably on their beds. It was a rare occasion when one of the men would turn-in for the night before midnight struck the clock. Out of habit, all the men waited for one to go to sleep, or one to call it a day and tell everyone else to go to sleep. That's how nights ran in Skylark's Cobalt bunk house, given its name by boarders on account of its almost inapt blue door.

That particular night, an exciting game of euchre was being played out at the center table. Two men were locked in battle, and the ones not playing were making small bets on who they supposed would win. The building was relatively quiet, with sporadic bursts of whispers to be heard from around the room. The click of the door being unbolted startled everyone, and a few men jumped in surprise.

The door opened and the neat looking Stewart stepped in, followed by a tired George, struggling to keep his bindles from falling to the floor.

The men's eyes all drifted to the worn face of the stranger, whose own eyes were cast warily to the wood floor. The men then exchanged a few looks of curiosity amongst themselves, then turned back to face their boss as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry to be interrupting your game, but a new guy just come up from town." He gestured in George's direction. "This here's…"

"George Milton." George finished, raising his eyes to boldly greet those of his new partners.

"There. He's gonna be buckin' barley with your team, Kelly."

One of the men playing cards, the broad-shouldered one, nodded. He squinted his dark eyes appraisingly at George, almost as if he were trying to guess how much competition the new man would provide. He had curly, deep russet colored hair, combed back out of his eyes and towards the back of his head. He wore an open collared yellow shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and jeans. His body appeared very muscular; the bulge of his physique could be seen even hidden beneath his clothing. His jaw was powerful looking, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line.

"Buck barley before?" he asked finally.

George nodded. "Done it tons of times. My last job, actually."

Kelly shrugged, looking back to his hand of cards. Stewart turned to face George, his expression unreadable.

"'Night then." He stepped out of the bunk house, letting the door close behind him with a click, then brusquely walked on and away until the sound of his footsteps faded to into nothing.

The bunk house fell into silence for a moment, until George coughed. He eyed the bed in the corner, the one without sheets. "That mine?" he asked.

"Hell yeah." The other man playing cards, a lanky, tall looking guy, grinned. He had messy hair that tumbled into his eyes like it had never seen a comb before. His face was angular, and he had a large nose and adam's apple to match. His denim jacket's collar was pulled up around his neck. He had a friendly air about him that instantly made him a likeable person. "Right next to mine."

"Sleepin' next to Walt—new guy's doomed already, an' he jes' got here," someone cracked, and the bunk house roared. The uncomfortable silence that had fallen upon the place when the new edition to the house had entered seemed to have been broken, and George smiled gratefully.

"Oh, shut up. I ain't that bad." Walt said defensively.

"No, you jes' crazy like hell, that's all," another voice tried, and the men laughed some more.

Walt shook his head and faced George again. "Don't listen to them. They don't know left from right, so they ain't half as smart as they think they are."

"You good for workin'?" Kelly spoke up again suddenly.

"Yeah. I ain't nothin' to scream about, but I know what I'm doin'."

"Good, 'cause if I had a penny for every man I got on my team who couldn't work jack shit, I'd be one hell of a rich fella." He shook his head, smiling at his own joke. "Days ain't so lazy 'round here. You get up early, the Jap cooks feed you, you head out to the fields, lunch's at noon, head out to the fields again, come back at six, eat dinner, and there you have it. Rest of the day you have off, but by the time dinner's through you ain't got much to spend. There's the occasional break in there somewheres, and Sundays you get off. So don't be expectin' no time for relaxin' or nothin' like that."

"Don't sound too bad," said George. "Damn easy compared to some work I've had to do."

"I dunno, but if you make it 'til Sunday, we have some real fun." Kelly smirked, and George didn't bother to ask what that fun was. He decided to change the subject.

"I saw your flowers out there. Under the sill."

"Yeah? Nuts, ain't they?"

"Who planted 'em?"

"Gardner. Big nigger fella. You wouldn't know it by lookin' at him, but he's soft as a lamb. Says the flowers brighten up the place or somethin'. I don't know if the guy's all there."

"I think he's nice," Walt broke in, raising an eyebrow at Kelly.

"Yeah, well, you got somethin' good to say about everyone, don't you?"

Walt's eyes narrowed, but he spoke to George. "Like I said, some of us ain't half as smart as we think we are."

Kelly returned Walt's look, and George nodded, trying to be vague and not take any side by accident. He stepped towards the bare bed, looking it over as he neared. "This ain't an actual mattress, is it?"

"Believe it. Boss is rich as they come." The animosity between the two men had vanished with the change of tune, and Walt expressionlessly examined his cards. "Rich as my kings here."

"I'll be damned if you ain't bluffin'," Kelly muttered, then added to Walt's comment, "He's got enough money to retire now, if he wanted to. He don't though. Likes that feel of a little extra cash in his pocket."

"Wish I had a little extra cash to feel," George said, dropping his bindle onto the bed.

"Amen." Walt agreed, fingering his cards. Kelly looked across the table at him impatiently.

"How long does it take to make a move?" He asked, scowling.

"I don't know—as long as it takes to make your head blow up works for me," Walt shot back, then addressed George again. "Boss has a lot of workers to pay and a family to feed."

"Family? If you could call it that," Kelly scoffed, shaking his head.

George sat far back on his bed, reclining on the wall behind him. "He has a daughter, don't he?"

"Yeah. You ain't seen her yet, have you?" Kelly leaned back in his chair, using his cards as a fan as he waved air towards himself.

"Of course, Kelly, she's just walkin' around out there in the middle of the night," said Walt, his sarcasm evident.

"Wouldn't be surprised if she was."

"I haven't seen her." George pulled his bindle onto his lap and began undoing the leather straps. "What's she like?"

"Well, she looks nice, but trust me, she ain't." Kelly shook his head, as if the woman he was talking about was some sort of disappointment. "Right bitch if there ever was one."

"She ain't that bad. She just don't like Kelly, that's all." Walt smirked, turning his head to look over his shoulder at George. "Isn't nice, though. She's pretty nasty to everyone. Her tongue's so damn sharp it's like an axe. Never heard one woman say so many unwomanly things ever in my life. It's like someone stuck a needle up her ass and it's drivin' her to take it out on us. Only one she comes close to bein' decent to is her daddy. Everyone else just gets burned."

"I hate her already." George had finished unclasping the first strap, and was now moving onto the second.

"Shame, really." Kelly murmured, and Walt rolled his eyes.

One of the men across the room yawned, then rubbed his arms across his eyes in attempt to get the sleep out. A second yawn followed this one, and then a third, until it seemed that the whole room was yawning at once. It was nearing that time of the night when the bunk house would turn in, and soon not a man would be awake. Still, George was not ready to sleep.

"What happened to his wife?" He asked quickly, standing up to straighten his blanket across the mattress. No one answered at first, then Walt spoke up.

"I don't think any man here really knows. Accident, I think. Not natural at all. Whatever it was, the boss ain't talkin' about it and his daughter ain't neither. You seen that house out there?" George nodded, so Walt went on. "That's their old place where they lived before she died. Won't let no one go near it, Stewart. Says it's off-limits to us workers... But then, I don't see him lettin' his daughter go near it neither. It's like he's trying to bury it or something. Like it never happened."

George's body stiffened at the comment. After a few seconds, he nodded slowly, and then sat down onto his newly made bed. His face had turned a pale color, like paste, and he blinked his eyes hard a few times as though something was hurting them. The tired look he had worn when he entered the bunk house had doubled in his posture.

"Say, you alright there?" Walt studied George's face, cocking his head to one side as he did. "You don't look too good."

"No, I'm fine." George said, his voice taking on a strained tone of apathy. He stretched himself out on his blankets and dropped his head onto his pillow. He turned away from the rest of the room to face the wall. "Jes' tired, that's all."

Walt shrugged, and stood up slowly from his position on his crate. The other men in the room all shuffled towards their beds, and the ones already on their beds laid down to sleep. A few called out weary goodnights, but most fell immediately into the deep slumber of most hard-working men. Kelly shook his head smugly at Walt's back as the other man dropped onto his bed, as though his leaving the game first meant a win for himself, then reached up over the table and turned off the electric light, throwing the room into instant darkness.