Free Shivaree by J. D. Horn Page B

the day’s work.
    To the right, on the opposite end of the vista, Corinne spotted the barn. It had been left to weather, unpainted except for a spot where she could, when squinting, make out the words “Dunne’s Dairy.” The words themselves had faded with age and peeled in the bright sunlight that beat down on the barn, leaving them more of a memory than an extant marker.
    She opened the smaller of her two cases first. At the top of the case was the two-piece white silk dress she had purchased for the wedding that was to take place tomorrow evening immediately following a special prayer service in their honor at the Dunnes’ church. The dress was sleeveless, with a simple V-cut that gave character to the scoop neck. She had intended to wear it this way for the nuptials, but another nurse, who was from Atlanta, had warned her that the sleeveless cut might be considered too daring for Mississippi. The bolero jacket that had come with the shift was her insurance policy. She unfolded both pieces and hung them in the chifferobe. Returning to the case, she removed a velvet drawstring bag, the original contents of which had long since been forgotten. Now it served to hold her Walther PPK pistol with its well-fed magazine. She’d traveled cross-country without a man’s protection, an act that might itself be perceived as an invitation by a certain type of man. Corinne would never let herself be forced again, no matter what she had to do to protect herself. She pulled open one of the chifferobe drawers and pushed the gun to the back of it, using her neatly refolded underwear to camouflage the weapon.
    Corinne pushed the drawer, but it wouldn’t close completely. She tugged it out and flattened its contents, making sure that nothing was catching, and tried again. It still refused to close all the way. She realized something must have fallen behind the drawer, so she took it in both hands and carefully slid it off its runner. She knelt down on the floor and reached into the recess, feeling blindly until her fingers encountered a piece of card stock. She grasped the paper and retrieved it. It was a photograph, creased roughly down the center from its time behind the drawer. Corinne smoothed it open. Even marred as it was by the fold in the paper, the face that stared back at her was bewitching. A young woman with black hair and large obsidian eyes, but the palest of skin. Her Gallic, heart-shaped face held a small, straight nose and beckoning cupid lips. Corinne could have stared at this face forever, but she was repulsed by the sensations she felt rising up within herself. Her hand trembled, and the photo tumbled to the floor. She reached down to snatch it up. “Love, Ruby” had been signed in a careless script on the photo’s reverse. Corinne reflected that girls who looked like this didn’t need to worry about their penmanship.
    Elijah had never mentioned a girl named Ruby. In fact, he had been adamant that there was no one waiting for him stateside. The word “love” danced before Corinne’s eyes. What had the beauty been feeling when she scrawled it? Did the word signify a casual affection or a deeper emotion? Had it been intended for the Dunne family as a unit or Elijah alone? She decided to take the photograph to Ava and explain how she’d found it. How it had come to be damaged. But she couldn’t resist flipping it over, if only to study this Ruby’s features once more. Without reflecting on her actions, she returned the drawer to its runner and hid the photo beneath a stack of underwear, with the velvet bag. She closed the drawer.
    Outside, she recognized Elijah’s voice, even though she was unable to make out his words. She hurried to the window, zeroing in on its source. Two men had exited the barn, and they were taking turns pumping water so that each could wash his hands, arms, and face. Ablutions complete, the men looked up at the house and started toward it.
    Caught up in the sentiments conveyed by six