The Longest Road (21 page)

Way ignored his sarcasm. “Suits us right down to the ground.” He set down his bundle as if he owned the place. “Now if you'll get me a pencil and tablet or wrapping paper, I'll start on your sign.”

“Martha'll bring you some.” Redwine turned to Laurie. “You ever had an ice-cream soda or sundae, Larry?”

She never had, but she had watched longingly as rich kids sipped through straws from tall, frosted glasses or savored slow, ecstatic mouthfuls scooped with sensuous deliberation from silver sundae dishes. The banker's daughter often had three scoops of ice cream—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry—with butterscotch sauce on the vanilla, strawberry sauce on the chocolate, and hot fudge on the strawberry, each mound peaked with whipped cream, chopped nuts, and one of those bright red cherries.

“I don't like fancy things like that.”

Mr. Redwine laughed. “You can go to hell for lying, son. But if you like plain ice cream better, the shop down the street has about any flavor you can imagine. I never can decide which is best, peach or toffee or chocolate chip. Why don't you and Bud come give me your opinion?”

Buddy's eyes cast an anguished plea at Laurie. “Thank you, sir,” she said in the polite way Mama had taught her to use when declining something. “But we'd be too beholden.”

Buddy couldn't stifle a disappointed groan. “Aw, Lau-Larry!”

“It'd be a fair trade if you'd listen to my phonograph and learn some catchy tunes like ‘Beer Barrel Polka' or Cab Calloway's ‘Minnie the Moodier' and play for an hour or two in the café tonight. Be good for business.”

“I'll play the songs I know for nothing.”

The yellow eyes seemed to swell. “You're the hardheadedest kid I ever ran across.”

Her insides shriveled. What if she lost all of them this nice cabin? It even had a bathtub! She and Buddy had never been so dirty in all their lives and their hair was stringy and smelled like moldy hay. What if she lost them a ride halfway across Arizona?

Buddy's gaze implored her. He must think she was mean and crazy to refuse to do what W. S. Redwine asked but her deepest instincts made her more determined than ever not to let him take charge of her music.

“Why don't I play what I know, Mr. Redwine?”

She felt trapped and seared by the tawny heat of his stare. Exerting all her will, she managed not to let her eyes waver. Finally, he shrugged.

“Try it if you want but if my customers act bored or fed up, get yourself out of there—and don't panhandle them.”

Laurie flushed. “I never panhandled anybody, Mr. Redwine.”

Buddy said hopefully, “But if someone stuffs money in Larry's pocket—if they really want him to keep it—then that'll be okay, won't it, sir?”

Mr. Redwine seemed to lose interest. “No skin off my nose so long as there's no cup or hat salted with coins. But don't you hang around in the café, kid.” He turned to Way. “I'll be in Cabin One when you've got something on paper. Get there before nine. I'll have a visitor about then.”

He left the cabin. Somehow, the way he shut the door made Laurie run to see that it wasn't locked. Relieved, the full wonder of the bathroom struck her.

“Buddy, you take a bath and wash your hair while I get our supper out—that is, unless you want to clean up first, Way?”

He shook his head. “I'll be thinking about that sign. You don't cotton much to Redwine, do you, Larry-Laurie?”

She shivered, though the room was warm from the afternoon's sunlight. “He scares me.”

Way whirled. “He-he's not bothered you, has he? Tried to feel around on you?”

It took her a moment to understand. Blood heated her face. “He doesn't know I'm a girl, Way.”

“Sho'. He thinks you're an uncommon pretty boy. Remember that jocker on the train?”

Laurie blushed even deeper. Her speculation about what and how men and women did with each other was confused enough. Now Way was saying a man might—well, do
something
with a boy. She couldn't for the life of her imagine what.

Way sighed. “Listen, kiddos, the main thing you got to remember is that some guys would rather mess around with each other or a boy than with the most beautifulest woman in the world. Some are turned that way natural-like. Some, I guess, kind of learn it. Anyhow, don't let a man get too chummy.” He pushed at his crinkly hair. “I can generally tell when a man's like that. Didn't pick it up with Redwine.”

“Why wouldn't you learn those songs, Laurie?” Buddy grumbled. “We could've had a sundae or soda!”

Feeling silly, Laurie helplessly shook her head. “I just can't let him be the boss of my music. Maybe it's because Morrigan gave me the harmonica.”

“You get a gut feeling like that, there's a reason,” Way said. “He wants me to do his signs—and if he changes his mind, shoot, I saw some places here where I bet I could get a painting job. Hold your ground, Laurie.”

She took a deep breath and squeezed Way's hand. “Thanks, Way. I—I'm real glad you don't think I'm acting crazy.”

He chuckled. “Sho', you got the best sense I ever saw in a young'un—and plenty of old'uns, too. If you'd rather not go on to Holbrook with this bird, we can part company soon as I do his sign.”

Laurie would have been glad to see the last of W. S. Redwine, but it was something to have a sure ride that far and a roof over them at night. “He's taking us the way we want to go,” she said. “As long as he doesn't get mean, we might as well travel with him.”

There was a rap on the door. Without waiting, a long, lean blond girl several years older than Laurie stepped in with a sheet she tossed on the cot, several pencils, a small box of Crayolas, and a Big Chief tablet.

“What do you need Crayolas for?” she asked, staring at them as she popped her bubblegum. “Mr. Redwine sent me to the dime store to get them and it was time for them to close so I had to run. I got a stitch in my side and—”

“Wait a second, sis.” Way sat down at the small table. In a couple of minutes, he tore out the top sheet of the tablet and handed it to the girl. “Here's how you'd look if you got your mouth clear of that cud.”

It was a good likeness, only prettier than the lanky girl was. She stared at it and smiled. Then she was pretty. “Gosh, mister, you're an artist! Gosh, thanks! Gosh, wait'll Mom and Dad see this!” She blew a joyous bubble and bolted, hugging the sketch to her washboard bosom.

“You really are an artist, Way!” Laurie was impressed. “Why, I bet you could make a mint doing rich folks' pictures!”

“Most I ever got for a por-trait was a good chicken dinner and a five-dollar bill from an old lady who was so crazy about her Siamese cat that she wanted a picture to remember him by.”

“Can you do me?” asked Buddy.

“After you've scrubbed off a few layers of grit.”

Buddy dashed for the bathroom. The clothes he and Laurie were wearing were the cleanest they had. Laurie held her breath as she unrolled their grimy, odiferous things, put them by the bathroom door, and spread the quilts over a chair to air out. They were dirty—not a hint of Mama's lavender remained—but they couldn't be washed till there was a place to hang them out a day or two till they dried.

“Do you have some clothes to wash?” she asked Way.

Way's frizzy eyebrows writhed in horror. “Honey girl, I wouldn't let you touch my socks with a pair of pliers! I'll take care of my duds when I have a bath, but I better not do that till I get Redwine's sign figgered out.”

Laurie had to take a washcloth to Buddy's ears but he looked clean otherwise. He and Way attacked the chicken and cinnamon rolls while Laurie, after scrubbing away the ring Buddy had left, reveled in the first bath she'd ever had in a real bathroom with running hot and cold water. First she soaped and rinsed her hair and body of the worst filth before she let the tub fill up to her waist, washed her hair thoroughly, and scrubbed with a washrag till her flesh glowed pink except where the sun had browned it.

How good it felt to be clean! She could understand, almost, how people who had bathtubs in their homes and could stay clean got to where they looked down on folks who didn't have much of a way to wash. It was a real comedown to have to put on clothes that were soiled but at least she had the clean sweater. She didn't like or trust W. S. Redwine but she was mighty glad his cabins had bathrooms!

In the mirror, she saw her eyes widen at a sudden unwelcome thought. It would be harder to stand up to Mr. Redwine now that she'd, well—truly
wallowed
in a luxurious bath. She would, of course, she'd have to, but it was going to take more willpower. That must be how folks got led into doing what they didn't think was right, because they got used to comfort and nice things and didn't want to give them up, like the rich man trying to drag his possessions through the needle's eye. She'd have to be careful not to get so spoiled to her body's being clean that she let her heart get dirty.

After Laurie put their clothes to soak in her soapy second bath water, she had a drumstick and cinnamon roll. She washed the comb and stood on tiptoe in the bathroom to see herself in the mirror as she worked the tangles out of her hair.
Good gracious grief!
This was the first time she'd looked in a mirror since leaving Rosalie's, the first time she'd seen how raggedly she'd shorn off her hair. It was fluffed up from being washed but that didn't disguise the butchery.

How much did scissors cost? Way and Buddy needed haircuts, too. She hated to spend the money, but Way couldn't cut their hair very neatly with his butcher knife. She didn't want to use the money she'd earned in Tarry but maybe, in spite of what Mr. Redwine said about catchy tunes, some people in the café would like her songs well enough to give nickels and dimes—and enough of those added up!

She got Buddy to help her make up the cot, took her sweater, harmonica, and courage, and stepped out into the twilight. The mountains crouched outside of town like drowsing beasts and the wind, cool now, fanned the hair away from her face and neck.

Was she really here, way out on the desert, so far from home? Was Daddy really dead? She couldn't believe yet that Mama was. Everything that had happened since then seemed like a nightmare. Except for Rosalie. Except for Way. Especially, blessedly, except for Morrigan.

Through the big window, she saw a long counter with men in work clothes occupying every stool and booth in the smoke-filled room. A steady genial roar of talk and laughter was punctuated with occasional howls of glee. The only women were Martha and a hefty blond who had about her face something of the look of the skinny girl Way had sketched.

Laurie's knees actually quaked and her stomach felt all gone in spite of the good food she'd just had. How could she go in there and start playing? They couldn't even hear her! And they certainly seemed to be having a good time. More than likely, they weren't in any mood to hear songs like hers.

She almost beat a retreat but Morrigan got in her way.
Not even goin' to try?
he seemed to chide.
I gave you credit for more guts than that
.

She closed her eyes, summoned up the flash of his smile, the lilt of his voice, tightened her fingers on his harmonica, and stepped into the café.

Two hours later, she shifted one of two hot-fudge sundaes to her other hand and opened the door of Number 7. A pair of scissors was in her side pocket, another hot-fudge sundae was in her blissful stomach and the chink of coins in her bib pocket was muffled by several dollar bills.

“They didn't ask me to play those songs Mr. Redwine likes!” she exulted as she set the sundaes on the table. The drugstore lady had put them in round cardboard containers and stuck in little flat wood spoons. “Go on, eat the sundaes while the fudge is still hot! I had the lady put an extra nickel's worth on each one, just the way I had mine.” She sighed happily and perched on the bed. “A trucker from Tennessee taught me some old mountain songs—‘Sourwood Mountain' and ‘Old Dan Tucker'—and another man who was in the war in France hummed ‘Mademoiselle from Armentières' and Martha—she's the head waitress—has a real nice soprano and sang the songs she knew while I played. We had a real good time—just like a party!”

Buddy eyed her in wonderment. “I don't see how you can do it, Laurie. Go in where you don't know anybody and just start in to play. Weren't you scared? What if they hadn't listened?”

“That would have been pretty awful.” Even with that danger past, Laurie shuddered at the very notion. “And yes, I was so scared I almost didn't try. But I thought about Morrigan when I went in and, of course, once I saw everybody liked the music, it was—” She paused, considered, and said wonderingly, “It was the best time I've had in my life, except when Morrigan was with us.” That made her feel guilty about their parents and she added hastily, “Except for Christmas mornings, I mean.”

That
sounded like all she cared about was candy and presents but when she stopped to think about it, the truth was that there hadn't been a lot of laughter and gay good times around their house. Mama had been sick so much and there were so many things Christians shouldn't do and there was always worry about money.

But oh, even if they hadn't joked and laughed much, home was safe and full of love. Laurie ached unbearably when she thought of Mama. She thought that no matter how old she got, there would always be a wound that would never heal, that would bleed slowly and quietly till she died and could see her mother again. Daddy had been the last part of that protected life that was gone as surely as if Black Sunday really had brought the end of the world.

That must have been how Way felt when his wife and baby died. How Rosalie must have felt when her father died and her stepfather hurt her. How Daddy must have felt when Mama died. How Mary and Bob Halsell must have felt when they lost their home and store and future. All those tramps and hoboes on the trains, all those migrants in hundreds of camps like the one at Eden, all the people on the road in old trucks and flivvers—the worlds they'd grown up in had ended. If they were lucky, they might build another, but lots wouldn't be lucky. As lucky as she and Buddy were to have Way and the music and memory of John Morrigan.