"They told my uncle over on Horsetrough Ridge he's got to be off his land by next spring," Stewart said, "and he's farther on the North Carolina side than us standing right here."
"Running folks out so you can run the critters in," Ross said. "That's a hell of a thing."
Snipes, who'd listened attentively but without comment, put on his glasses and looked out over the valley.
"Looks like that land over in France once them in charge let us quit fighting. Got the same feeling about it too."
"What kind of feeling?" Henryson asked.
"Like there's been so much killed and destroyed it can't ever be alive again. Even for them that wasn't around when it happened, it'd lay heavy on them too. It'd be like trying to live in a graveyard."
Ross nodded. "I was just over there three months when it was winding down, but you're right. They's a feeling about a place where men died and the land died with them."
"I missed that one," Henryson said. "The war, I mean."
"Don't worry," Snipes said. "Another one's always coming down the pike. That's something all your historians and philosophers agree on. A feller over in Germany looks to be ready to set a match to Europe soon enough, and quick as they snuff him out there'll be another to take his place."
"It's ever the way of it," Ross said.
Stewart looked at McIntyre.
"What do you think, Preacher?"
The others turned to McIntyre, not expecting him to reply but to see if any acknowledgment he'd been addressed crossed the man's face. McIntyre raised his eyes and contemplated the wasteland strewn out before him where not a single live thing rose. The other men also looked out on what was in part their handiwork and grew silent. When McIntyre spoke his voice had no stridency, only a solemnity so profound and humble all grew attentive.
"I think this is what the end of the world will be like," McIntyre said, and none among them raised his voice to disagree.
Thirty-six
THE FOLLOWING EVENING PEMBERTON AND SERENA dressed for Pemberton's thirtieth birthday party. Most of the furniture was gone now, packed and hauled off to Jackson County. As Pemberton walked across the room to the chifforobe, his steps reverberated through every room in the house. A dozen workers remained in the camp-Galloway, some kitchen staff, the men taking up rails to reuse in Jackson County. The valley exuded an almost audible silence.
"Where's Galloway been these last few mornings?" Pemberton asked.
"Working, but you can't know why or where."
Serena went to the chifforobe, took out the green dress she'd worn to the Cecil's dinner party.
Pemberton smiled. "I thought we had no secrets."
"We don't," Serena said. "All will be revealed this very night."
"At the party?"
"Yes."
Serena slipped the dress over her head, let the silk slowly ripple and then smooth over skin free of any undergarment. With a quick brush of Serena's hands, the material succumbed to the curves of her body.
Pemberton moved in front of the mirror and knotted his tie. As he examined his handiwork, he saw Serena's reflection in the glass. She stood behind him, just to the left, watching. He straightened the knot and walked over to the bureau to get his cufflinks. Serena stayed where she was, looking at herself, now alone inside the mirror's oval. Her hair had grown out in the last year, touching her shoulders, but tonight it was braided in tight coils set upon her head, revealing a stark whiteness on the back of her neck. Pemberton checked the clock and saw with regret that it was almost time to meet their guests. Later, he thought, and moved to stand behind her. He laid his left hand on Serena's waist, lips brushing the whiteness of her neck.
"Just two weeks before you have one," Pemberton said, "your thirtieth birthday, I mean. I've always liked our birthdays being so near."
Pemberton moved closer so he'd see both their faces in the mirror. The green cloth felt cool to his touch.
"Would you have wished we shared a birthday as well?" Serena said.
Pemberton smiled, raised his hand and cupped her right breast. They could be a few minutes late. It was, after all, his party.
"Why wish for anything more," Pemberton said. "Being with each other is enough."
"Is it, Pemberton?"
The words were spoken in a cool skeptical manner that surprised him. For a moment Serena seemed about to say something more, but she didn't. She slipped from his grasp, left him standing alone in front of the mirror.
"It's time to go and meet our guests," she said.
Pemberton drained his glass of bourbon and poured another drink, drank it in a single swallow. He set the empty glass on the bedside table, and they walked out into the early autumn evening. Farther up the tracks, men pulled spikes with crowbars, groaning and grunting as they paired off and lifted the three-hundred-and-fifty-pound rails onto a flat car. Pemberton looked past the men to where only wooden crossties remained, some blackened by the fire, others not. They blended so well into the landscape as to be barely discernable. Pemberton remembered helping lay the rails across these same crossties, and he had a sudden sensation he was watching time reverse itself. The world blurred, and it seemed possible that the crossties would leap onto stumps and become trees again, the slash whirl upward to become branches. Even a dark blizzard of ash paling back in time to become green leaves, gray and brown twigs.
"What's wrong?" Serena said as he swayed slightly.
She gripped Pemberton's arm and time righted itself, again ran in its proper current.
"I guess I drank that last whiskey too fast."
The train came over the ridge. He and Serena moved closer to the track and met their guests as they stepped down from the coach car. Kisses and handshakes were exchanged, and hosts and guests walked into the office. Among them was Mrs. Lowenstein, who'd not been expected. Pemberton noted her pallor and thinness, how her eyes receded deep inside the sockets, accentuating the skull blossoming beneath her taut skin. Ten chairs had been placed around the table. The Salvatores and De Mans sat across from the Lowensteins and Calhouns, Serena and Pemberton at opposite ends.
"What an impressive table," Mrs. Salvatore said. "It looks to be a single piece of wood. Is that possible?"
"Yes, a single piece of chestnut," Pemberton answered, "cut less than a mile from here."
"I wouldn't have thought such a large tree existed," Mrs. Salvatore said.
"Pemberton Lumber Company will find even bigger trees in Brazil," Serena said.
"So you've shown us," Calhoun agreed, spreading his arms to show he meant all at the table. "And I must say in a very convincing fashion."