Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (7 page)

Their first stop was a luncheonette where they sat at the counter. Jubilee whirled herself around on the stool three times; then Paul told her to stop. He looked down the menu prices, then ordered a glass of milk and biscuit for Jubilee and coffee for himself. He was on his second refill when the waitress, a woman with a badge indicating her name was Connie, asked, “Can I get y’all something else?”

“You got a telephone book?”

“Sure do, honey.” She waggled a finger toward the rear of the shop. “Right past the restroom.”

Jubilee’s eyes widened. “You got a special room for resting?”

Connie laughed then leaned across the counter and whispered, “It’s a toilet. We just call it a restroom for the sake of politeness.”

After warning Jubilee not to budge from the stool, Paul headed toward the back. The phone book, nearly three times the size of Charleston’s, had way more names than he was hoping for. He turned the pages to W. He knew two things: Anita was supposedly their aunt, and her last name might be Walker like his mama’s once was. None of Anita’s letters mentioned a husband, so Paul was hoping she was still a Walker. There was a full page of Walkers. Not one of them was an Anita.

As he made his way back to his seat Paul began rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, the way his daddy did when he was worrying.  Sitting at the counter he pulled the remainder of the money from his pocket and counted it again. Twelve dollars and eighty-seven cents.

When Connie poured a third refill, Paul pushed two dimes and a nickel across the counter and said, “Thank you, ma’am.” When she came back with another biscuit for Jubilee, he asked if she knew of any rooming houses in the area. “Not too expensive,” he added.

“I sure do,” Connie answered. “Missus Willoughby has a real nice place, and I think she only charges two dollars a night.”

“Two dollars just for sleeping!” Jubilee exclaimed.

Connie leaned closer. “’Course, if you was to mention you were short on cash, I think she’d be willing to let you stay in that upstairs room for a dollar.”

Connie then explained how they were to get to Missus Willoughby’s boarding house. “You can’t miss it,” she said. “It’s a big three-story house with a yellow sign out front.”

Fifteen minutes later Paul and Jubilee started walking north on Rosemont, and when they reached Main Street they turned right. “I think it’s less than a mile from here,” Paul said, but before they’d gone four blocks a sign in the grocery store window caught his eye.

“Help Wanted” it read. Underneath in smaller print was “Stock Boy—$30 a week.”

A few doors down, on the opposite side of the street, Paul spied a park bench. “Come on,” he said and took Jubilee by the hand as they crossed.

The Greyhound bus from Pittsburgh pulled in ten minutes after Paul and Jubilee left the station. They were nine blocks from the luncheonette when Hurt McAdams walked in. He looked down the long row of stools, and on the far end he saw the back of what he believed to be a uniformed policeman. “No sense asking for trouble,” he mumbled. He turned, walked out the door, and started toward what looked to be the center of town.  He strode with long deliberate movements, his eyes fixed straight ahead and his features locked in a look of determination.

In three hours he had to be back on that bus. He had to get back to the station, buy a ticket, and be sitting on the bus when it pulled out for Miami. Hurt glanced down at his wristwatch. Two hours and twenty minutes left. Forty minutes already gone. He had to hurry.

Hurt turned off Rosemont and walked along Washington Street. There were plenty of stores but none of them open. He reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the gun. He could feel the energy coming from it. It had power, and with it
he
had power. The butt of the gun could smash a window to smithereens. He considered the thought, then pushed it away. If the store had alarms they’d be all over him before he could get back to the bus. No good. He turned east, walked three blocks, and took a left onto Main Street.

Hurt glanced at his watch again. Two hours. He had to find something soon. He looked down the long street. At the far end he saw a Wonder Bread delivery truck pulling away from the front of what looked to be a small grocery store.

Perfect. No people. He’d grab what he came for and leave no witnesses. Before anyone knew what happened, he’d be back on the bus headed for Miami.

Hurt began walking toward the store.

Paul took the small bag he’d been carrying and sat it on the bench alongside Jubilee. “I want you to stay here. I’m probably gonna be gone a while, but don’t worry. I’ll be back soon as I can.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“Jubie,” he said with a laugh. “Men don’t bring their baby sister when they’re asking for a job.”

Giving him a look that argued the point, she griped, “I ain’t no baby!”

“I know you’re not. But right now I need you to be a really big girl—a really big girl who can stay here and keep an eye on our things.”

“You’re trying to trick me.”

“Not at all,” Paul said, holding up his right hand. “That grocery store’s willing to pay thirty dollars a week. If I get a good job like that, we won’t need to find Mama’s sister. We’ll have enough money to get ourselves a nice room to live in and good food to eat.”

Finally Jubilee agreed.

Before he turned and crossed the street, Paul shook a warning finger. “Now don’t leave this bench, no matter what. And don’t talk to strangers.”

“Everybody in this town’s a stranger,” Jubilee grumbled resentfully.

“In time they won’t be,” Paul answered and turned toward the street.