Maude Brown's Baby (27 page)

Clarence shook his head and spent a few seconds with his fork, mashing
cornbread into his beans.

“Don’t seem right to me.”

Naomi had enough of being quiet. “Papa, don’t be so hard on Donny. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Clarence looked at his wife, but pointed toward Donald with his fork full of
cornbread and beans. Juice dripped on the table as he spoke.

“The boy jus’ told us he’s goin’ to be a part-time photographer, but to do that he’s got to spend all his free time looking for things to photograph. What kind of job is that?”

“Pa, it’s a great opportunity.”

“Yep, an opportunity to go broke.” Clarence grew quiet then, but only because his mouth was full. Naomi spoke next.

“Donny, are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Ma. And Mr. Hoffman said they’d give me assignments, too, so I don’t have to find all the stories myself. He wants to publish a national magazine. If some of my pictures are in it, people all over the country will see them!”

“And how many people have subscriptions to this magazine?” Clarence was back on his horse.

“Well, nobody yet, Pa, the first issue hasn’t come out.”

“Hah! There you go!”

“Pa, you don’t understand.” The fact was, Donald didn’t understand either. He only knew what he’d heard over lunch.

“Mr. Hoffman has
publicity people in New York. They’re advertising the new magazine, generating interest so people will look forward to the first issue. He says some folks will even buy them as keepsakes, just because it’s something new.”

“Then what?”

“Well, then people will see what a fine magazine it is. They’ll buy them from newsstands, and if they like what they see, maybe they’ll take out subscriptions.”

“And then what?”

“Merchants will see that the magazine is good, and that a lot of people are reading it, so companies will buy advertising.”

“And what then?” Clarence was relentless, but Donald finally saw his point.

“And then I get paid.”

Back in Donald's room, u
ncertainty overwhelmed him once more. Was the magazine offer good? His enthusiasm had been clear. Now he had doubts. The
Chronicle
position was a sure thing: fifty dollars a month to start. In a year, he could be making sixty-five. That kind of money is hard to turn down. But forget the job; would the Army want him instead? And how much help would Naomi and Clarence need when Cletus came home?

He found a match and lit the kerosene lamp on his desk. When he slid the glass globe back over the brass clips, the harsh light cast a shadow that went from the heels of his shoes, across the floor, up the far wall and half way across the ceiling of the shed.

“Think, dear boy, think!” Mrs. Carhart said in Donald’s head.

“W
hat if my pictures are not good enough?”

“Then you will try harder!”

“But the magazine is not a sure thing. Who knows when I’ll get paid? At the newspaper, I could have a paycheck in two weeks.”

“Nothing in life i
s a sure thing, Donald. You might be in France three months from now.”

“But
…”

“But what? W
ith this war, in three months, you could be dead.”

Donald played with Bosco in the yard, then finally went into the garage to talk to Clarence.

“You goin’ to pick up Elton or not?” Clarence said.

“Yeah,
Jake’s just late.”

“Seems normal for him.”

“Well, he gets things done.” Defending Jake was becoming automatic for Donald.

“Say, thanks for helpin’ me move them magazines yesterday.” Clarence pointed with a screwdriver to the crate on a shelf high above his workbench. “Your ma don’t suspect a thing.”

Bosco, sniffing a corner of the freshly-cleaned garage, suddenly perked his ears and ran into the yard. Donald followed, with Clarence limping behind.

Jake’s hand was poised over the klaxon, but he saw Donald and Clarence first and only waved. Both of the neighbor’s coon hounds stood with noses to their own picket fence, waiting, like Bosco, for the horn.

“Howdy, Clarence. Some World Series, eh?”

“Yep, sure was. I thought the Cubs had a chance this year.”

Jake laughed as he flipped open the passenger side for Donald. The little half-door squeaked out as far as the hinges allowed, then bounced halfway back before Donald caught it.

“Get in, Don, we’re late.”

Not “Sorry, I’m late,” Donald thought, but “We’re late,” as though Donald
shared the blame. He jerked his cap down tighter on his head and settled in for the ride downtown.

Clarence waved as he turned back to the garage, but changed his mind and went into the house to find Naomi.

Donald could tell that Jake was in a good mood. “You look pleased with yourself. Did you win more money on the game?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the reason. Foley told me Friday that he’ll keep my job for me until I get back from the war.”

“What!” Donald yelled over the engine noise and rattling car.

“Foley said he’d keep my job open …”

“Until you get back from the war?”

“I told you I was thinking about it. I still don’t like the idea of being a soldier, but with Elton going to Camp Logan in a few days and you registered for the draft, I suddenly felt like I was sitting on the bench for an important game.”

“I can't believe it. What happens now?”

“Well, I explained to the draft board on Frid
ay that my folks are better and don’t need my help so much. They thanked me and were glad to cancel my deferment. They changed my status to A-Prime.”

Donald laughed. “That sounds like a grade of fresh meat.”

Jake turned to look at Donald, serious this time.

“It is.”

The Interurban from Galveston pulled in at a quarter to six. A man and his wife were first off, followed by a nun and six acolytes with their bags. Two young women without luggage stepped down next, then stood waiting a few feet away.

“There he is,” Donald said. He reached up for Elton’s left arm while Jake took the right.

“Here, pal, let me help you down.”

Elton looked good, Donald thought. His jaw was barely swollen, although there was still a prominent bruise. He moved gingerly
down the steps, but then stood easily enough on his own.

“Jake, Don, t
hanks for picking me up.”

The two young women inched
closer, their faces framed by enormous yellow hats.

“How was your trip, El?”

“Fine, Jake, thanks to these nice ladies.” Elton gestured toward the pair. Jake himself would have been pleased to know either one.

“Don, Jake, meet Idis and Laura Beckham.” Both women nodded and smiled, but their attention remained on Elton.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Idis said, slipping her arm through Elton’s. Her sister took his other arm, concern on her face as well.

Jake and Donald stepped back. Jake’s mouth opened, but nothing
came out. Donald asked the question for him.

“Elton, are you coming with us?”

“Uh, no. The Beckam’s driver has a car outside. Laura and Idis said they’d be happy to drop me off on their way home. Sorry you made a trip for nothing.”

“Elton told us about his terrible automobile accident,” Laura said. “He’s lucky to be alive!”
                                         

Donald smiled toward Jake, who finally found his voice.

“Yes, Elton is certainly lucky.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jake said after Donald had cranked the engine and settled into the passenger’s seat. Donald shook his head and laughed, but Jake had more to say.

“Bruises and all, Elton looked more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him around women. Maybe all his trouble in Galveston was good for him.”

“I wouldn’t know, Jake. W
omen are your field.”

Jake backed up fr
om his angled parking spot directly into the path of a two-horse dray. The man on the wagon jerked at the reins. Jake waved “thanks” with his right hand as though the wagon had stopped to let him out. The man yelled and shook his fist, but Jake drove on.

“Me? What about you?” Jake said. “You and Clara got along fairly well.”

Donald knew that protesting would only invite more teasing.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was a surprise.”

Jake took a detour past his rent house on Travis Street. All three tenants were paid up, so there was no need to stop. One of them, a pretty woman about Jake's age, waved from the front porch.

“Jake, who’s going to watch your property if you go in the Army?”

“You suppose your folks would be interested?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“They’d keep some of the monthly rent. I’ll pay for any repairs to the house and advertising if they need new tenants. Naomi could handle the business side, and Clarence could take care of maintenance.”

“They’d like the extra income, especially with Cletus coming home.”

“Oh?” Jake slowed the car just slightly when the brick pavement ended and they continued on a rutted dirt road. “Cletus is coming home?”

“He’s badly injured. His outfit was attacked with n
erve gas. He’s nearly blind now and has trouble breathing.”

“Sorry to hear that. Your folks must feel terrible. Clarence looked sad when I picked you up. I thought it was because the Cubs lost. How’s Naomi?”

“She’s taking it hard. She must have cleaned Cletus’ room three times already. Now they’re thinking of buying a used car, so they can take Cletus around to places he needs to go.”

A mongrel dog raced into the street and ran alongside their car for a block, barking
through the dust the whole time before finally giving up the chase.

“How about you, Don? What do you think?”

“I’m worried. I’ll help my folks with Cletus as much as I can. I could be at Logan myself soon enough, but I suppose they’ll get by all right. One of the letters said Cletus was getting stronger every day and that some of his sight had come back, so maybe he’ll recover.”

Jake turned onto Dennis S
treet about three blocks from Donald’s house. He was driving slowly now, shoulders relaxed, hands together gripping the bottom of the steering wheel.

“You know, the three of us could be at Logan at the same time.” Jake looked at Donald and grinned.
“You think the Army can manage that?”

They rolled to a stop near the Stokes’ back gate. Bosco greeted them from behind the fence and waited patiently for Donald to pull his ears. Donald remained in the car.

“Jake, there’s something else.”

“About Cletus?”

“No.”

“Your folks?”

“No.”

“Clara?”

“About the
Chronicle
job.”

“Let me guess. You got a better offer and were afraid I’d be mad.”

“How did you know?”

“S
ixth sense. Besides, our jobs don’t matter any more. With you, me and Elton maybe going to war, we’ve got a lot more to worry about than the newspaper business.”

Naomi and Clarence dressed in their finest clothes. They took the trolley as far as the Ford dealership on Main Street and from there, visited several others. Now they both wished they knew something about motor cars.

“Yep, this here’s just what you need,” the man said, patting the fender of a 1915 five-passenger Ford. After looking at several used Chevrolets, Buicks and even a Packard, Naomi and Clarence were back to the Ford dealership. Every pitch was the same. Every dealer had exactly the car they needed. Their heads ached and their feet were sore, but the Stokes were determined to buy their first car.

“Tell me again,” Clarence said, “how come this one’s better than the ’14 model we seen on the other lot?” The salesman sighed and began explaining it once more.

“Lots of reasons,” he said. “Non-skid tires on the back, a magneto horn you can hear two blocks away, tapered springs front and rear, and look,” he stepped in front of the radiator, “this one still has brass trim. Most car companies don’t use brass any more. But the main thing is that the ‘15 model has electric headlights.”

The salesman lifted his hand from the top of the radiator and cupped the curved back of the headlamp as though he were cradling a newborn’s head. “Ain’t no comparing kerosene to electric lamps. With these, you can see where you’re going.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll be driving much at night,” Naomi said coolly.

Undaunted
, the salesman pressed on. “Well, ma’am, then how about these seats?” He opened the passenger door and gestured with his hand at the imitation leather. “You won’t find this quality in the ’14 model.”