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BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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She had even won over the owner of the theater, who had wanted her to list the coming movies in a news story so that he wouldn’t have to pay for an ad. By the time she left the theater he had agreed to take a two-inch ad each week, and she had promised to write a feature about a drawing for a ten-dollar bill he planned to have every Saturday night.
Her temper had dropped from a boil to a simmer and then petered out as she approached the shoe-repair shop and turned in.
“Howdy.” The cobbler looked up as she entered.
“Hello. I need new leather on my heels. I’ve worn them almost to the wood.” Kathleen removed first one high-heeled pump and then the other and handed them to him. She stood in her stockinged feet while he looked at them. “Can you do the job while I wait?”
“You bet. Have a seat. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.”
“I do a lot of walking. This is the second time I’ve had to have them fixed.”
“It’ll cost you thirty-five cents.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
Kathleen sat down on the bench next to the wall and put her hat and purse down beside her. There wasn’t a fan in the small shop, but the front and back doors were open, allowing a slight breeze to pass through. She looked up and caught the cobbler glancing at her. He had a head of thick white hair, rounded shoulders and a bent back.
“I’m Kathleen Dolan. I’ll be working with Miss Vernon at the
Gazette.
”
“Figured you was her. There ain’t many redheaded women ’round here.”
“This red hair has gotten me into trouble more than once. I sure can’t go around pretending to be someone else unless I put a sack over my head.”
“Women can’t even get hair like that outta a bottle. Seen some that tried. Some’ll try anythin’.”
“I don’t know why they would want it. It isn’t all that great to be different.”
“Young folks nowadays is wantin’ what they ain’t got and figurin’ on how they can get it without work. All they want to do is go to picture shows and honky-tonks and loll ’round on the grass in the shade.”
“They’re no different here than anywhere else. Hard times have brought out the best in some and the worst in others.”
“Workin’ hard ain’t never hurt nobody. Young folk don’t want to put in a day’s work. They want ever’thin’ give to ’em.”
“Most of them would work if they could find a job.”
“In a few more years they’ll be in charge of the country, then watch out. It’ll go to the dogs fast. There’ll be a saloon and a dance hall on ever’ corner and a whorehouse between. Ya won’t be able to tell the women from the men. Women is already wearin’ men’s pants, struttin’ ’round smokin’ cigarettes. Some even smokin’ cigars. Old folks’ll be kicked out into the street. It’s the end of times, just like it says in the Bible.”
If it wasn’t for men who used the whore, there wouldn’t be a need for whorehouses.
Kathleen kept her thoughts to herself, hoping that he would get the hint and stop the tirade. But it didn’t happen.
“Roosevelt’s atryin’ to give us all a number. Social Security, he calls it. Baa! It’s the mark of the beast like it says in the last days. Folks won’t have no names no more, just numbers. Mark my words, next they’ll be putting that number on our foreheads.”
“President Roosevelt only wants everyone to have a little income when they can no longer work.” Kathleen tried to put some reason into the conversation, but she could have just as well saved her breath. The man was so full of what he wanted to say that he didn’t hear a word she said, and continued his ranting as he worked.
“Women is like mares in heat these days. They get in the family way, go off, have a youngun and give it away like it was a sack a potatoes. I tell you, a old dog will fight to keep its young, but not some of these young fillies. They get hung up cause they’re out flippin’ up their skirts and showin’ themselves. Can’t blame a man for takin’ what’s offered.”
Of course not. Poor weak men! Big strong women force them to get in bed with them.
It wasn’t hard for Kathleen to realize that the cobbler disliked women. He blamed all the woes of the world on the females. She looked out the door and wished that he would finish putting the heels on her shoes so that she could leave. She dug into her purse for a quarter and a dime and held it in her hand so that the minute he finished she could get out of there.
“The Lord says that in the last days there would be fornicatin’ in the streets.”
“I never heard
that
before.” Kathleen was getting impatient.
“The good Lord didn’t say it in just them words, but ’twas what he meant.”
“Are you about finished? I’ve got lots to do this morning.”
“Ya ort to get ya some sensible shoes. I got a pair hardly wore a’tall I’ll sell ya for fifty cents. It’s what I got in ’em for puttin’ on half soles.” He indicated a pair of black tie oxfords.
“’Fraid they’re not my size.”
“Don’t matter. Ya can stick a little cotton in the toes. Forty cents, and it’s as low as I’ll go.”
Kathleen took one of her shoes from the counter, slipped it on, and waited for him to trim the leather around the heel of the other. As soon as he finished she put it on and placed her money on the counter.
“Thank you,” she called as she passed through the door, thinking that she’d not had a very good morning.
Out on the brick sidewalk she paused to put on her hat. At that moment she saw Johnny Henry’s old black truck pass with a small table resting on its top in the truck bed.
Kathleen waved, but there was no way he would have seen her unless he had been looking in the rearview mirror. She hurried down the street thinking that he would stop at the
Gazette,
but he passed it by and turned on the street where Mrs. Ramsey lived. He was delivering the table he had promised.
Adelaide was typing when Kathleen entered the office. She stood beneath the fan for a moment. Her dress was stuck to her back, and she could feel rivulets of perspiration running down the valley between her breasts. She fanned her face with the brim of her hat.
“You’re getting a sunburn.” Adelaide yanked a sheet of paper out of the typewriter.
“It’s more windburn. It blows more here than in Kansas, and it’s hotter. My freckles are having a coming-out party. I’m serving them a daily dose of buttermilk, but it doesn’t seem to help much.” Kathleen placed her hat on the counter and took papers from the folder she carried. “I got a couple of new ads. One from Ginny at CUT and Curl. She’s got a special on permanent waves, a dollar and a half, down from a dollar ninety-eight.”
“You don’t need one of those, that’s for sure.”
“No, but I had to promise to come back for a cut.” She lifted the thick curls off her neck. “I may have her shave my head.”
“That would be a sight.”
“I do get tired of being referred to as that
redheaded woman.
What do you know about Mitchell Thatcher, the deputy?”
“He’s a horse’s patoot.”
“That’s an insult to the horse.”
“Yeah, but he’s the deputy supported by Sheriff Carroll.”
Kathleen snorted. “You can put lipstick on a pig all day long, and he’s still a pig.”
“That bad?”
“We got into a little tiff, and he didn’t like my smart mouth. I asked him if he was going to tar and feather me, and he said that they had better uses for women down here. Was that a threat?”
Adelaide didn’t answer right away. Kathleen sat down at her desk and glanced over to see her partner staring off into space and tapping the rubber end of her pencil on the desk. Finally, when she spoke it was thoughtfully.
“Be careful of him, Kathleen.”
“Why? Why should I have to take his insinuations without talking back?”
“What was he insinuating?”
“Oh, that he ran things when the sheriff was gone and . . . that women who had smart mouths didn’t get along down here.”
And that you were sleeping with Paul, and now that I’m a partner you’ll share him.
“He isn’t a very nice man.”
Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Say it again.”
“I mean it, Kathleen. He and the sheriff may be involved in something here that isn’t very pleasant.”
Kathleen became very still. “Something that has to do with Louise Munday?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of something Paul said the day I arrived. He said Louise was afraid that you knew too much. Adelaide, what’s going on?”
“Maybe something. Maybe nothing.” Adelaide looked over her shoulder to be sure that they were alone. “Paul and I have wondered about the doctor’s office. He calls it a clinic. But if someone gets really sick, he sends them to Altus or Lawton. About all he does is deliver babies. A lot of women come to Doc Herman.”
“Is Louise the only nurse?”
“As far as I know. There are several other women who work there, and I’ve seen a couple of them in white uniforms, but without the cap. It just seems strange that someone from out of town would come here to have a baby.”
“How do you know they
come here?
”
“Before I was cut off from seeing the records at the courthouse, I found registered birth certificates from couples giving their addresses as Colorado, Texas, and even as far away as Missouri. When I asked questions, I got a rebuke from Dr. Herman. He said that he had been recommended by family and friends. He acted as if I were questioning his qualifications. Shortly after that, Louise began to spread it around that I was a heavy drinker and had hallucinations. The story is all over town. When you came, it gave some legitimacy to her story that I’m not capable of running the paper.”
“Good heavens! And I called her when you fell out of the chair.”
“I didn’t fall out of the chair, Kathleen. I was pushed, lost my balance, and fell.”
Kathleen looked at her, her eyes full of questions. Finally, she voiced one of them.
“By the Indian woman who came out of the office as I drove up?”
“Yes. Her name is Hannah. She is a pitiful creature, drunk most of the time. I’m afraid that she’s used by anyone who will buy her a bottle of rotgut whiskey. She’s been pregnant twice during the past few years. Any man who takes advantage of her is not a man but a rutting animal, in my estimation.”
“Who takes care of her children?”
“I never see them. They’re probably being cared for. The Cherokee are very protective of their children, even the half-breed children of a woman who has been cast out.”
“Why did she push you?”
“She wanted money. I’ve bought a few things for her at the grocery now and then. That day I asked her where her baby was because I could see that her breasts were leaking milk. She didn’t say anything, so I asked again where it was. When she didn’t answer, I asked her if she had
lost
it. She got mad and shoved me.”
“You didn’t want Louise to know Hannah had pushed you.”
“Hannah is a drunk. A pitiful drunk.” Adelaide rubbed the back of her neck.
“There’s a social service woman in Oklahoma City. I think her name is Mable Bassett. She would know what to do about her.”
“I’ve thought about calling her,” Adelaide said, and reached for the telephone when it rang. “
Gazette.
Oh, hello, Johnny. Yes, she’s here. Just a moment. For you, Kathleen.”
Kathleen moved her chair back so she could reach the phone. “Hello.”
“Miss Dolan, Johnny Henry. I took the table for your typewriter down to Mrs. Ramsey’s.”
“Thank you. I want to pay you—”
“Forget it. I wasn’t using it.”
“At least let me buy you a hamburger at Claude’s.”
“Yes, well, sometime. See you around. ’Bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Kathleen hung up the phone and turned back to face the window, feeling that she had been given the brush-off. She had been thinking that Johnny Henry was a man she would like to know. Evidently he didn’t feel the same about her. She had thought about him often since the day she came to Rawlings and now was embarrassed to recall those thoughts. She had even thought about asking him to drive with her over to Red Rock to see her uncle, Tom Dolan, and Henry Ann Dolan. Lordy, she was glad the opportunity hadn’t come up. She would have made a fool of herself.
“Got a date with Johnny?” Adelaide asked.
“Heavens, no! He called to say he had delivered a table he said he’d lend me.”
“Oh, shoot! I was hoping you two could get together. Paul and I like Johnny Henry.”
“Does he have a steady girl?” Kathleen hated herself for asking. She had given Adelaide a play-by-play description of what happened when she was hijacked.
“Not that I know of. He stays pretty much to himself. He goes away every so often for several weeks. When he does, he has someone look after his ranch. No one seems to know where he goes.”
BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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