Face the Winter Naked (24 page)

"You
paid the rent?"

LaDaisy
nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I
don't understand."

LaDaisy
grabbed the box from the dresser and handed it to Ida.

"Open
it."

"It's
just the baby shoes ... what's this?" She removed the note.

"Read
it."

"Three
months back rent paid by consented prostitution."
Ida Mae grimaced. "This is Clay's writing. Where
did you get it? What does it mean?"

"It
means I paid the rent. That's the receipt he gave me, all dated and
everything."

Vera
came over and snatched the note from Ida's hands, read quickly and waved it in LaDaisy's
face.

"This
is a lie."

"No,
it isn't."

Vera
read it again. "Stop being ridiculous, LaDaisy. Why would a married man
incriminate himself by writing down the date of an affair?"

"Because
Clay's a stupid man, Mama. The way he wrote it—
consented prostitution
—he
didn't think I'd show it to anyone. I told you it wasn't an affair. He
raped
me! Don't either of you understand?"

"No!"
Ida Mae cried. "LaDaisy, tell me it isn't true. You paid the rent?"

"I'm
sorry."

Ida's
cheeks flushed and she burst into tears. She slammed the box down on the
dresser and ran from the house with Vera in pursuit screaming her head off.

"Ida!
Wait! Come back, she didn't mean it."

A
car door slammed; an engine started. Then quiet.

LaDaisy
sat on the side of the bed, rocking and weeping.

You
will understand. Someday.

Chapter
19

Daniel waited till the sun came through the trees, thinking Chris might
return. But when he didn't show up, he gathered his belongings and walked over
to the diner. Glenn wasn't there, but Millie remembered him with a smile.

"I
thought you left town. Coffee?" He nodded, and she placed the steaming cup
and a spoon in front of him and pushed the sugar bowl over. "Glenn said
you asked about Chris."

"Yep."
Daniel stirred sugar in his coffee and blew the steam away before taking a sip.

"He's
a popular boy round these parts," Millie said. "Gotta admire his
spunk for striking out on his own. It's a miracle he survived this long. Did
you see his folks? Not that you'll like what you see."

"Nope.
I went back to where I left him and he wasn't there."

"Is
that right? Wonder where he went."

"Hard
telling. He wanted to go north with me, so I'm surprised he took off."

Millie
lowered her chin to her neck and looked at him from the top of her eyes.

"Did
he steal anything?"

"Far
as I can tell, no." He looked over his shoulder, half expecting Chris to
walk through the door.

Millie
chatted while he drank coffee and ate a biscuit with gooseberry jam, wiping the
counter around and around in circles with a wet towel as she talked.

"He's
a sneaky kid."

"Chris
reminds me of myself at the same age," Daniel said. "Except I didn't
pick pockets."

Millie
hung around longer than Daniel thought necessary, cleaning the countertop over
and over. She smiled frequently, and winked when she said something she thought
was clever.

Daniel
knew flirting when he saw it, and he kept his mind on his business. The last
thing he needed was a woman making passes, when the only woman he loved waited
for him back home.

Or
was she? He had no reason to believe LaDaisy would take him back. If she
thought he was dead, what would stop her from finding another man?

He
dropped some coins on the counter, tipped his cap at Millie, and went outside.
The Square had become busier while he ate. Pedestrians went about their
business. A few autos—some fairly new, most of them old—drove by or parked in
front of shops and stores. It was still early, the sun barely peeping over
trees and rooftops. In another hour, the city would wake in earnest and spew
people into the streets.

Daniel
had been around enough to know those who still had jobs were grateful to earn a
living, though wages for a hard day's labor were meager.

But
the unemployed—the drifters—loitered around refuse barrels searching through
restaurant scraps, or slouched in doorways out of the sun. Some begged for
handouts. Others would just as soon pick your pockets. Many had given up
looking for work and just didn't care anymore.

There
were stores, restaurants, and factories in Springfield. And when the economy
improved, some of those vagrants—if they survived their current poverty or
didn't shoot themselves—would surely find work. This was a nice little town. If
he didn't already have a family in Independence, Daniel surmised he might enjoy
living here.

Farther
north, the winding Lake of the Ozarks cut through hills forested with ferns,
wildflowers, dogwood and other native trees of the plateau like a well-fed
copperhead. The numerous caves of the region had once drawn him like a magnet.
He'd traveled as far as the lake before going to war—in late October when the
fall colors were so brilliant they hurt, not only his eyes, but his soul. He'd
never gone all the way to Springfield, but had intended to go there someday.
He'd also heard of mysterious spook lights over by the Oklahoma state line, not
far from where he was now, and had a hankering to investigate them.

How
many businesses had been forced to close in this town due to the Depression?
Like other sections of the country he'd seen, many of the hill people were
hopelessly destitute.

He
considered Chris's family. Should he visit them or leave well enough alone?
Chris wasn't his responsibility. Still, he liked the boy, and part of the
reason was because he missed his own kids.

Once
again, Daniel shouldered the banjo and adjusted his tools. Picked up his
gunnysack and hiked through town, keeping watch for someone he could ask about
the boy. But people passed by without so much as a glance.

He
followed the railroad tracks to the Frisco passenger depot in the middle of
town—a light-colored building of Spanish-mission architecture with a row of
tall arches stretched along the front. Bordered on the east by Main Avenue and
on the west by Grant, the design of the building was esthetically pleasing to
the eye of a master whittler, and he marveled at its construction.

Railroad
tracks entering the city merged at the loading shed on west Mill, across the
street from the depot. Warehouses had sprung up near the rail yards: The
Lipscomb Grain and Seed Company, a Sash and Door company, feed, baked goods,
and produce warehouses, as well as farm implements, a lumber warehouse, and a
general store.

He
crossed the tracks to the Frisco freight house and car shops south of the
depot, at Jordan Creek, thinking there'd be work here someday.

Well,
there was nothing more he could do about the boy. He'd waited, and if he was
ever going to head north, he couldn't wait any longer. He returned to the depot
and passed under one of the arches, went inside and checked the arrival and
departure schedules—he wasn't counting on the luxury of a passenger train, but
just for the hell of it.

For
some odd reason, he'd thought Chris might come here—he sensed the boy was
nearby, though he hadn't caught a glimpse of him. Was he being shadowed by a
tramp-in-training? A boy learning the ropes from experienced drifters?

One
thing was clear: Chris knew this town better'n Daniel did. He'd know the
freight train schedules.

Daniel
had heard a freight roll through town before dawn and made a mental note which way
it was headed. Another one probably wasn't due for a few hours. At any rate, he
couldn't board at this station. To avoid being caught, he'd go to the outskirts
of town.

He
had time to freshen up.

Finding
the restroom empty, he set the banjo and gunnysack on the floor, removed his
cap and glasses and took his shaving mug from the bag. Using the mirror above
the sink, he lathered his face with suds from the cup while casting a critical
eye at his reflection.

How
hollow his cheeks had become. How dark the circles beneath his eyes. He
carefully scraped the stubble off his chin with his pocketknife, trimmed his
sideburns and whiskers. He ran a wet hand over his head—an engineer could use
it for a headlight.
Shine on, Mr. Shine.

Finishing,
he returned the shaving mug to the sack and examined his teeth in the mirror.
Pathetic. He picked them as clean as he could without a brush and rinsed his
mouth with cold water, wishing for a sprig of parsley to freshen his breath.

He
straightened his collar and adjusted his overalls' straps, rolled down his
shirt sleeves, smoothed them out, then re-rolled them past his elbows. A few
insect bites on his neck and arms itched the daylights out of him, but his
dwindling Cloverine salve helped temporarily.

Daniel
Tomelin was plumb weary of bumming around, and his thoughts increasingly turned
to home and family.

With
a sigh, he slapped his dusty cap against his knee, put it on and left the
restroom. On impulse, he approached the clerk behind the ticket counter,
lowered the gunnysack and banjo to the floor and waited for the man to finish
what he was doing. Finally, the clerk noticed him and looked up.

"Yes,
may I help you?"

Daniel
removed his cap and smiled pleasantly.

"Can
you tell me how the work situation is at this here train station? It occurred
to me I might find a job of some kind."

The
man shook his head. "Not here," he said. "Try the
switchyard." He thumbed over his shoulder. "Just look for the water
tower."

Daniel
put his cap back on. "Much obliged."

"Sorry
I can't help you more. I don't know if there's any work or not. I'm not sure
they're hiring right now."

"I
can ask," Daniel said. "Thank you and good day."

He
didn't go to the switchyard immediately—first things first. He needed to think,
and he needed to find Chris.

Outdoors
again, he sat on a bench in front of the building, still hoping Chris would
show up. It was beginning to look doubtful. Maybe he went home. He wondered
about the boy's parents. Had the mother been happy when he was born? Or had she
considered him just one of a brood of useless humans who'd someday leave home
and never come back? Daniel knew there were people like that. But then, there
were the opposite kind, too.

He
reminisced about the happiness he and LaDaisy had felt when each of their
children came along. How sad they were when Wayne went to Heaven. He thought
people should be happy about going to Heaven.

He
didn't know anyone who'd gone there and lived to tell about it. If anyone had,
it would've been Grandma Tomelin. But when she visited his mind, the only place
she talked about was her homeland. Wales was her heaven. His own heaven was
back in Independence, with his family.

He
closed his eyes and saw LaDaisy at the cook stove. Doing the laundry. Carrying
a big basket of clothes from the clothesline. Ironing with the old electric
iron that was their wedding present. Who'd mend the wires if they burned out?

His
wife worked hard for her family, but she never complained. In fact, the only
thing she ever really complained about was him wearing his cap to bed. He'd
never had the nerve to come to bed without washing his feet, but the cap was a
habit he couldn't seem to break. 'Course it always fell off in the middle of
the night.

He
startled now at the sound of a voice and opened his eyes to see a railroad
official standing before him.

"Move
along. No bums allowed in front of the building." He eyed Daniel's
belongings. "Where ya headed?"

"Kan'
City," Daniel said. "I'm waiting for a friend. When he comes, I'll
see if there's any work at the switchyard before moving on."

The
officer glanced at his watch.

"I
suggest you wait somewhere else."

"I
can sit in the waiting room if you want—that's what it's for, ain't it? But
then I won't see my friend when he comes. He won't think to look inside."

"Every
bum I meet tries that one on me, mister. You're all alike."

"Well,
I'm not a bum," Daniel said. "I'm a carpenter, an honest man whose
luck run out. I'm looking for work." He was also tired of explaining
himself.

"Yeah?
I heard that one before, too." The officer looked at his watch again, then
surveyed the surrounding area. "Not many passengers yet. I'll give you a
few more minutes."

"Yes,
sir. Thank you, sir."

"You
look honest, but don't push it." He glanced down at Daniel's things.
"What's in the sack?"

None
of your business.

"Dead
chickens."

"Come
again?"

"Dead
chickens," Daniel repeated, grinning. "That's what I tell nosey
people."

The
man guffawed. "Dead chickens! I've heard everything."

"Well,
you asked."
Don't push it, Daniel.

He
felt like an idiot. But he breathed a sigh of relief at not being arrested as
the officer walked away chuckling.

When
he was out of sight, Daniel picked up his supplies, scanned the area again for
Chris, and headed for the switchyards. A couple of workers stood by a siding
smoking and laughing as he approached them. One tossed his butt on the ground
and twisted it underfoot.

 "Howdy,"
the man said.

"I'm
looking for work," Daniel said.

"What
kind of work?"

"Anything.
Cleaning privies, polishing railroad tracks. Don't matter, just so I get
paid."

"A
smartass."

"Got
any experience on trains?" He eyed Daniel's tools. "Mechanic?"

"Burglar,"
said the other guy.

Daniel
gave him a dirty look, mindful of not lighting a fuse on a hot temper.
"Carpenter. Jack-of-all-trades."

"Bum."

"No,
I'm not a bum." Daniel restrained his temper. "No experience with
trains, but I can learn." He looked hopefully from one man to the other.

"I
don't think they're hiring yet," one said. "I'm lucky to have this
job myself."

"Can
I talk to the man who does the hiring?"

"He
ain't here."

"Oh,
well, I'll mosey on, then." He touched his brim. "Don't you boys work
too hard."

He
left the yard and walked back to town to find a restaurant, but not Millie's—he
didn't want to encourage her flirting. It was hard enough to discipline his
physical urges without some strange woman egging him on. He bought a baloney
sandwich at a café next to a gas station, and a hard roll to carry with him.
Counting out change to pay for his meal, he noticed his stash of coins was
dwindling. When had it happened? This was money he'd earned for LaDaisy. Money
for rent. He'd been spending it without thinking how he was going to replace
it. He drank a big glass of water that had a distinctive mineral taste, then
once again started walking. By now the sun was lower. The sky had become
overcast since morning, and whether it was his imagination or not, he felt a
definite chill in the air.