The Longest Road (27 page)

Laurie gasped. She'd never heard a woman use that word. Edna didn't notice. “You'll want a dishpan.” She took a big one off a nail by the sink and set it on a stool. “Pile your things in there. How many in your family?”

“My kid brother and Gramp and me.”

Edna gave her a long look. “That all?”

Laurie's throat ached. “Yes'm.”
Don't let her ask questions
. “Can you spare this teakettle? And a couple of knives?”

“Help yourself.” Edna flourished with her ruffled flour-sack apron. “More you cart off, the more new things I can get. Fact is, I reckon I'll put everything I plain detest on this cabinet top. I'll give Susie—she's Clem's wife—her pick of what you can't use. Lord knows she earns twice what she gets paid for keepin' this big hotel clean with only them two scatterbrained girls of hers to help. Clem washes the windows and dumps the waste-baskets but anyone except Dub Redwine would hire more help when he's got every room rented most any night.”

“We don't have anyplace to keep more than what we really need.” Laurie tucked in a cast-iron skillet and deliberated over sizes of pots. She added one big enough for a mess of beans and found a lid that would fit it and a chipped enamel saucepan for cooking oatmeal and potatoes.

While she rummaged through the growing heap of bent, broken, or shoddy utensils, Edna took time from her orgy of gleeful discarding to wrap four plates, saucers, bowls, and cups in flour-sack dish towels and clean rags. “The fourth's in case you have company,” she said, and filled a jar with sugar. “Screw the lid on tight between meals so ants and flies can't get in. Better take these mixing bowls. This is the best eggbeater. Here's some glasses.…”

A horn sounded. “Drat that Clem! Always in a toot 'cept when there's something I need him to do! Late in the day to start cookin', child. You might as well take this leftover chicken and mashed potatoes, I can't feed 'em to the customers.”

“Hold your horses!” Edna yelled out the window as the horn blasted louder and longer. She cut off a good quarter of the cake and put it in an empty shoe box she got down from a shelf in the pantry. “You folks have a good supper, Larry. If you think of somethin' else that'd come in handy, just come by after school and we'll see what we can do.”

Putting the food in a crate that still held some apples, Edna lugged it outside and Laurie followed.

14

Clem, a staved-up cowboy whose red hair was fading to white, helped put the mattresses on the cot and bed and set the kerosene heater where it wouldn't get tripped over when someone opened the door of shove easily against the wall. “Be careful with this thing,” Clem warned. “These shanties burn like tinder 'cause that's what they are.” He eyed the interior with disgust. “Five bucks a week for shack! No wonder Dub's rich. If he don't have me hoppin' all day tomorrow, I'll bring over some chairs and a little cupboard that're just rottin' away in the hotel basement. Bring a tin bathtub, too.”

“Thank you kindly,” said Way, filling the coffeepot from the old bucket that had been setting on the cookstove and shaking in some Arbuckle's. “Got time for a cup?”

“There's plenty of cake,” added Laurie.

“Much obliged but Dub wants I should wash and wax his Caddy right away.” He limped to the door. “Pleased to meet you folks. Hope you do all right in Black Spring and find better diggin's before too long.” His dappled face, creased in a wide grin. “Wouldn't be real hard, would it?”

While Way heated up their supper, Laurie got Buddy to help make the beds. Clem's wife had sent two quilts and though they were faded, they brightened the narrow little rooms. The biggest dish towel was made from a hundred-pound flour sack splashed with giant sunflowers. Laurie smoothed it over the crate-table and put on the plates and forks.

It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful, to sit down at their own table again. She hadn't been saying grace out loud in the Truck-Inns, just bowing her head and making sure that Buddy did. Now she reached for Buddy's hand on one side and Way's on the other. “Father, we thank you for this food and for a place to live. Thank you for bringing us safe—and be with all the folks out on the road and flipping freights and in the camps. Amen.”

Neither Laurie nor Buddy had clean shirts or underwear and socks for school, so as soon as the dishes were done, Laurie carried the pan to the faucet behind the shack next door that served the six households that paid rent to Redwine. They were entitled to share two privies set back about a hundred feet from the road. Laurie needed to go but hoped she could wait till dark even though she was scared of the spiders and snakes that frequented such places.

Relieved to see Buddy scrambling after a football across the road with some other boys, Laurie filled the pan as full as she could carry it without splashing and started home—what a lovely word! The back door of the nearest shanty banged and a girl about her own age came running out. Her perm-frizzed brown hair made a scant frame for a round face with a snub nose and hazel eyes. “Want me to open your door?”

“Sure.”

“What's your name?”

Laurie had an impulse to confide in this seemingly friendly stranger but decided it was too risky. “Larry Field. What's yours?”

“Catharine Harris. We just got here yesterday from Wichita Falls.” She held the door till Laurie passed through, hesitated till Laurie said, “Come on in. I've got to wash out some clothes but the water has to heat first.”

“Don't your mother wash your things?”

Laurie bent lower than necessary to light the kerosene burner beneath the dishpan. The wicks were shielded by tall canlike flues that had little isinglass-paned doors to open for lighting. “Mother's dead.” She could say it now without sobbing, though her eyes stung. “So's Daddy. My brother and me live with Gramp.”

“Did I hear my name?” Way came in with a box that he set on the table. “Hi, sis,” he said to Catharine. “How about a Coke?”

“Thanks, mister. I'd split one with Larry.”

“Catharine's last name is Harris,” Laurie said. How lovely to be able to offer a visitor half a Coke! Laurie dismissed alarm over how much Way must have spent for groceries—there were bags of beans and potatoes, sugar and flour, but there was also Eagle Brand, peanut butter, grape preserves, tinned meats, and apples and bananas. After all, they didn't have to buy sheets and pillows and dishes, though she wanted to get their own things as soon as they could afford it.

She took two glasses from the top of the oven that rose to the right of the three burners on the stove. She had scrubbed off greasy dust so dishes could be stacked there till Clem brought the cabinet, bless him. “She just moved in next door yesterday. Catharine, my Gramp's name is Wayburn Kirkendall.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kirkendall.” Catharine bobbed her head. “My pop's already got on as a roustabout. You had any luck?”

“Oh, I won't be lookin' for an oil job right away. Doin' some sign paintin'.”

Catharine's anxious smile broadened to a laugh. “Gosh, Mr. Kirkendall, I'm glad you're not a driller or tool pusher! Pop's last driller was nice but his kids were real stuck up, wouldn't play with me and my little brother or even walk to school with us.”

“Buddy and I'll be glad to walk with you,” said Laurie, moving the dishpan to a box and unwrapping a big bar of Ivory.

“I got cheese and bread and cookies for your lunches tomorrow,” Way said. He went off to the bedroom as if to leave them private, though a word spoken in one corner of the house would reach to all the others. Catharine puckered the almost invisible down of her eyebrows.

“You don't care if the other boys call you a sissy?”

That was better than the things Dan Hart, the landlord's son, had whispered to her. “As long as we're friends, I don't give a rip about the rest of them,” Laurie said. Maybe, though, it wasn't fair to let Catharine think she was a boy. Rubbing away at Buddy's shirt, afraid to look at Catharine, Laurie blurted out the truth.

There was shocked silence. Laurie wrung out the shirts. “If you don't want to be friends—” she began.

“Oh, I do!” Laurie found herself embraced, soapy arms and all. Catharine's eyes shone like green jewels. “Why, this is lots better, Larry—I guess I better call you that so we won't get mixed up. The girls will be jealous because I have a good-looking boyfriend and you won't care if the boys think you're a sissy because you are!”

She hugged Laurie again as a voice from across the way called wearily, “Cathy! Get yourself home and tend to these dishes!”

“I'm so glad you moved in.” Catharine finished her Coke and made for the door. “Mom let Billy and me stay home today but says we have to start tomorrow. We'll come by for you about, eight-thirty. We can loan you paper and pencils till you get your own.” As she skipped out the back, she shouted, “Thanks for the Coke, Mr. Kirkendall.”

He was in the kitchen when Laurie came back with rinse water. “Looks like you've got a pal. Make it easier, won't it?”

“Lots easier. Isn't it funny, Way, what a difference one person can make?”

He was looking at her and yet he wasn't. His gaze reached far back, far away. “Honey, sometimes it only takes one person to turn the world into heaven or hell.” She thought of Morrigan and knew that was true.

Bill Harris had his sister's round face and snub nose but his hair was yellow. He and Buddy raced ahead of their sisters while other Sludge Town children eddied around them or dallied behind. There were a few jeers: “Look at the lovebirds!” “Hey, why don't you kiss each other?” and the inevitable: “Sissy boy!” but Laurie and Catharine laughed and chattered as if they couldn't hear anyone else until they neared the school. Catharine's feet began to drag.

“What grade are you in?” she asked. “I'm in seventh if this school's not too different from Wichita Falls.”

“I was in eighth.” As her friend's mouth trembled, Laurie added, “I really belong in seventh, though.”

“Goody! We might even get to sit next to each other. If the teacher seats according to the alphabet,
F
and
H
only have
G
between them.”

Laurie scarcely heard. What if the principal made a fuss over where she and Buddy had gone to school that fall? She had their cards from Prairieville—the Oklahoma teacher had given them back—but how was she going to explain September, October, and most of November? She didn't want to lie, and if she did, Gramp wouldn't sound like much of a guardian for keeping them out of school a third of the school year. She had managed to change “Laurie” to “Larry” on the card and hoped that wasn't
really
lying.

Billy and Buddy were waiting inside the big double doors and outside the door with a frosted pane lettered
PRINCIPAL
. It was still early. The other Sludge Town kids had spilled onto the playground so the broad hall was empty. Catharine hung back. “I—I think I better go to the rest room.”

Did you knock on a principal's door? Laurie didn't know. At Prairieville, the door had always been open. It couldn't be
wrong
to knock, she told herself. And it seemed that she was going to have to do it. She was lifting her knuckled hand when the door swung open.

“Good gracious, in trouble so early?” The erect lady was plump but corseted so her front and back looked solid as concrete. Her blue-gray hair was clipped short in back and waved deeply on the front and sides. Her black eyes swept over them quickly but Laurie believed she'd noted down everything about them. “You're new, aren't you, and come to get enrolled?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Laurie, and Catharine nodded.

“I'm Mrs. Parrish.” Her smile showed neat white teeth. “Two of you are Larry and Buddy Field?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Mr. Redwine called about you. Ordinarily, we require a parent to enter a child but he explained that you're orphans and he's taking an interest in you.”

“We live with our grandfather.” It didn't seem a lie. Way had certainly done more for them than Grandpa Field. “But he's working for Mr. Redwine.”

“So Mr. Redwine explained. You have your report cards?”

Laurie handed over the Kansas ones and held her breath. Mrs. Parrish scanned them. “Seventh for you,” she said to Laurie. “Third for Edwin.” Buddy winced at his real name. The principal lifted a steel-gray eyebrow. “Mr. Redwine explained that you've been out of school because of family difficulties. You'll need to do some makeup work and study hard to catch up, but I'll give you the chance to be in your proper classes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Parrish.”

The principal smiled and turned to Catharine, who mutely extended two grubby cards and a folded sheet of tablet paper. “Neither of your parents could come to enroll you?”

Catharine shook her head. “Pa's working, ma'am. And mama's got the baby. She said to tell you if you have to see her that she'll come after I get home from school. That way I'll tend the baby and—”

Mrs. Parrish raised her hand. “I suppose this signed note will do,” she said. “Step in the office while I see if we have textbooks for you. Since there was no cotton crop to speak of this year, most of the farm children are in school though they're usually out picking till Christmas. Oil-field families are always coming and going and we have a rule that no child gets a report card till they've turned in their books.”

So they wouldn't have to buy texts! That meant that after school while she and Buddy were buying their Big Chief tablets, pencils, crayons, and such, they could get enough clothing to stay decent without washing things out every day or two. Mrs. Parrish pulled books off shelves in a big long closet, placing them in four stacks. “Edwin, you and Billy will have to share a speller. Larry, you and Catharine will have to share geographies with other students till someone leaves. Come along. I'll take you to your teachers.”