Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66] (22 page)

“No.”

“You're smokin.”

“Yeah.”

“Does Pastor Muse know?”

“No.”

“I'm disappointed in you, Wayne. Smoking is against God's—”

“I know. Don't preach. I tried to quit. I need a smoke once in a while to settle my nerves.”

“You could pray. God will calm your nerves.”

“I suppose you'll tell the brethren that I'm still smoking.”

“If they ask me, I will. God don't expect much of us, Wayne. He expects us to walk in his footsteps. Jesus, when he was here on earth, didn't smoke cigarettes, or go to picture shows and his women didn't rouge their faces or bob their hair.”

Virgil's long sad face reminded Wayne of a hound dog he'd once had.

“God won't let a worldly man through the pearly gates, Brother Ham.”

Wayne snorted. “They didn't have picture shows back then and
he
didn't have a woman as far as I know.”

Virgil clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a gesture of sadness. “God isn't pleased.”

“Stop sayin that!”

“All right, all right. It's between you and—” Virgil cut off his words when a rap sounded on the door. “Put that thing out unless you want it all over the church that you've backslid.”

He waited to open the door until after Wayne ground out the cigarette on the floor with the toe of his boot. It was Virgil's turn not to be pleased when he saw his wife, Hazel, standing in the drizzling rain with an old coat over her head.

“What'a you want?”

“Paul is awful sick, Virgil.”

“How'd ya know I was here?”

“They told me at the church. Paul is sick,” she said again. “I don't know what to do.”

“What's the matter with him?”

“He's burning up with a fever and his throat is raw.”

“God's punishin' him for sinnin' then lyin' about it.”

“He's only eight years old,” Hazel said with spirit. “He didn't understand what he did was wrong.”

“Are you sassin' me? Get on back home and put a wet cloth on his head. I've got business here.”

“I need salve for his back where you whipped him and something to bring his fever down.” Hazel seldom stood up to Virgil, and he was shocked to anger.

“I said, go home. I'll call a prayer meeting. If God wants to end his sufferin', he will.”

“Virgil, he needs the doctor!”

“You heard me. Go home.” He backed away and closed the door. “I don't know what's got into that woman.” He turned to face Wayne. “She's been gettin' out of line lately— sassin', talkin' ugly, bein' plumb contrary. I'm goin' to have to take the strop to her butt. It don't do to let the women folk get the bit in their mouth. Ain't no tellin' what they might do.”

“Maybe you ought to go home and see about your kid.”

“He'll be all right. Sister Blanchard said he thumbed his nose at her little Maudie. He lied about it. I whipped him good. He's just wantin' to be fussed over.”

“If you ask me, that's not much to be whipped for,” Wayne mumbled.

“I want to know what you're goin' to do 'bout Deke Bales attacking me. Look at my mouth. It's all puffed up.”

“That thing 'tween yore legs won't be standin up for a while.” Wayne had to turn away to keep Virgil from seeing the grin on his face. “He hit ya a good one there, too. Between Deke and Yates, your balls has had a rough time lately.”

Virgil remembered well the pain both Deke and Yates had delivered to his private parts. He'd not forget that…ever! His time would come. It always did.

“Ya got to do something 'bout that bum that's hangin' around Leona.”

“I'm thinkin he ain't no bum. Roy White said he came in and paid off Andy's bill at the store as cool as you please, then peeled off some bills and paid in advance.”

“Have ya checked him out? Ain't natural for a feller to be handin' out cash money unless he's a bank robber and it's easy come, easy go.”

“Dammit, Virgil. I've got my job to consider. McChesney told me to go soft unless I had somethin' on the fellow. Deke works for Fleming, which makes it hard for me to come down hard on him.”

Virgil shook his head and clicked his tongue again. “Swearing. You have backslid, haven't you?”

“Stop preachin or get out of here,” the deputy shouted. Then in a softer tone, “Do you want to file charges against Deke? If you do, it'll come out you're tryin' to take the girls from their pa.”

“No. I won't file charges, but I'm goin' to get those two little innocent girls out of that den of iniquity. God told me plain as day. 'Brother Dawson,' he said. 'Let not the sins of the parents corrupt the children.' It's my Christian duty to protect my dead sister's babes.”

Wayne looked long and hard at Virgil before he spoke.

“And pay back your other sister for runnin off and shamin you, huh?”

“God will punish Leona as he did Irene.”

“Stay clear of Deke. He's got Fleming behind him.”

“Are you 'fraid of that Indian?”

“Yeah, and you'd better be, too. He's on howdy terms with everyone from the governor on down.”

“God will take care of me.”

“I'm leery of that other son-of-a-bitch. He could be a fed they've planted here to catch the bootleggers. I want no trouble with the feds. One wrong move would mean my job.”

“He ain't no fed. You think the feds set that skunk on Andy to give Yates a reason for bein' here?”

“How do we know that a skunk bit Andy? We only have their word for it. He could've killed Andy and buried him someplace.”

“Never thought a that.”

“That's why I'm a lawman and you're not.” Wayne stood and hitched up his trousers. “One thing is sure, Yates ain't workin' out there for the money.”

“That's plain as the nose on yore face. He's got an itch for my slutty sister. Soon as it's scratched good and proper, he'll move on.”

“We got to get out of here. McChesney's been in Elk City all day. He's due back.”

Virgil opened the door. “It's still rainin'. I been prayin' for rain even though wet wood is hard to saw up. My potato patch needs it. Thank you, God.” He raised his eyes to the sky and stepped out into the rain. “Comin, Brother Ham? I'm goin' to the church to pray that God will show me a way to save those poor little girls from bein' ruin't.”

“I'll be along in a while.”

The deputy closed the door and lit another cigarette. Virgil Dawson was a man he could take only in small doses. He had heard rumors around that he was laying the lash too hard on his kids. It could be that he didn't want the doctor to see his sick kid 'cause he'd discover the marks he'd put on him.

It was after midnight when Virgil fired up his old truck with the buzz saw mounted on the back. He drove slowly to the square house on the edge of town where he was born, and where he had lived all of his life except for the few years after he married and before his parents passed on.

“Lord, help me. Show me the way,” he muttered to himself as he turned off the muddy road into the yard in front of the house. A bright light shone through the window at the back of the house. “Runnin up the electric bill. That woman's due a whippin'.” Virgil pounded his fist on the steering wheel, got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. “There goes the money for sawin' up old man Peterson's oak tree,” he grumbled.

Entering the house, he stomped down the short hall to the back. Standing in the doorway, Virgil surveyed the room crowded with two double beds. Hazel sat between them fanning Paul with a folded newspaper.

“What's the light doin' on? I told you not to turn on the electric.” His voice boomed in the quiet room. Paul awakened with a start as did the brother sleeping beside him. The two in the other bed, always alert for their father's footsteps, had roused when he came in the front door, but pretended sleep to keep from drawing his attention.

“Paul is bad sick. His fever is high and he's breathing hard.” Hazel's anxious eyes looked up at her husband, then back down at her son.

“All kids get a bellyache. We've not lost one yet.”

“It's not his belly. His throat is so sore he can hardly swallow a sip of water.”

“He'll be better come morning. Ya ain't leavin the light on all night cause he's got a tickle in his throat. Mind me and come to bed. I've a need for ya.”

“Go on to bed. I'm stayin' here.”

Shocked by his wife's defiance, Virgil reached for the light hanging from the ceiling and plunged the room into darkness. Hazel cringed, expecting him to knock her out of the chair.

“Are you denyin' me, Hazel?”

“My child is sick. I'm stayin' here.”

Then Virgil's hand came down heavy on his wife's shoulder. “Ya'll come to me, hear? God says a woman shall cleave to her husband and they shall be of one flesh.”

“Please turn on the light. I'll come to you as soon as he goes back to sleep.”

Virgil kicked the side of the bed where his eleven-yearold son lay. “Isaac, get the kerosene lamp.”

“Yes, Pa.” The boy sat up, crawled over his brother and scurried out of the room. A few minutes later he returned with the light and stood hesitantly in the doorway.

“Well, brin' it here.”

The boy carefully handed the lamp to his father and scrambled over his brother to curl up in the bed. Virgil held the lamp low so that he could look at the sick child.

“He don't look very sick.”

“He is sick. Please, won't you go get the doctor?”

“Hush your foolishness. We don't have money to pay a doctor to come out here in the middle of the night.”

“I have five dollars Joseph gave me when he came by here after workin at the CCC camp.”

“You have five dollars and didn't tell me?”

“Joseph said to put it back until I really needed it.”

“Where is it?”

“Don't take it, Virgil. Let me use it for the doctor.”

“Where is it?” he repeated. “Am I the head of this house or not?”

“Yes, you're the head of the house,” Hazel said tiredly. “It's under the flour tin.”

“I'll bring out Brother Muse in the morning. We'll pray and decide about callin' the doctor. Mind me now and come to bed, Hazel. I've had a hard day, I'll not wait long.” He set the lamp on the dresser and left the room.

Hazel's tired eyes followed him from the room. He wouldn't bring the doctor because he didn't want him to see the marks on Paul's back.
Oh, Lord, what could she do?

Joseph had left home two years ago when he turned sixteen. Peter turned sixteen and left home last year. He had promised Isaac that he'd come back for him when he reached thirteen. Then all she would have left would be the little boys. Thank the good Lord they had never had girls. She wondered if that was the reason Virgil was so obsessed with getting Irene's.

Hazel bowed her head and prayed.
Oh, Lord, please don't take little Paul. He's a good child. He didn't even know what it meant to thumb his nose at Maudie Blanchard. He had seen the other boys do it. Soften Virgil's heart so he will bring the doctor. He'll take the five dollars Joseph gave me, but I'll manage to pay the doctor somehow….

She dipped the rag in the pail of water beside the bed and placed it on Paul's forehead. “Mama, I …hurt—”

“I know you do, son. I'll get the doctor in the morning.” “Hazel,” Virgil bellowed. “Get in here.” “Try to sleep, honey. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Pastor Muse was knocking on the door before the sun was up.

“Deputy Ham said one of your kids was down sick,” he said to Virgil when he came to the door. “I was out this way and thought I'd stop by.”

“It's nothin' serious,” Virgil said, scratching his head. “Little sore throat. Little fever. Come on in, Brother Muse. Isaac is making coffee.”

“Just for a minute or two.”

“Hazel,” Virgil yelled. “Brother Muse is here.”

Hazel came from the back room. Her hair was tousled, her eyes were red from lack of sleep and crying.

“Brother Muse, Paul is bad sick. He's burning up with fever.”

“Have you had the doctor?”

Hazel's eyes went to Virgil when he said, “I don't see any need for that yet, Brother. We'll pray.”

“I've been prayin all night, Virgil,” Hazel said crossly and earned a frown from her husband. “The Lord says that he helps those who help themselves.”

“Watch yourself, Hazel. Don't make a show of yourself in front of Brother Muse.”

The pastor was shocked when he looked down on the child. His cheeks were bright red and he was gasping for breath. The other children had left their beds and were sitting around the kitchen table. He placed his hand on Paul's head, closed his eyes and said a prayer. When he finished he laid a comforting hand on Hazel's shoulder and left the room.

“I'll fetch the doctor,” he said to Virgil, who was lounging in the doorway.

“I'd be obliged, Brother Muse. I didn't want to leave the woman here alone to go get him.”

Eleven-year-old Isaac turned his head to look out the window and curled his lips.

By noon a red quarantine sign was tacked to the front of the Dawson house. It hadn't taken the doctor long to determine that Paul Dawson was down with diphtheria. There were five other cases of diphtheria in the area, and that many cases, he explained, constituted an epidemic. He injected Paul with an antitoxin and swabbed the throats of the other three boys.

“I'll send the swabs to the health office,” he explained to Hazel. “If the germ is found, I'll give them the antitoxin. Keep the other children out of the room, but they are not to leave the house. Do you understand? If they leave the house and mingle with other children you and your husband will be subject to arrest.”

Virgil was hasty to assure the doctor. “We'll do whatever you say, Doctor.”

“What happened to this child's back?” Doctor Langley knew the child had been whipped, and he wanted the ignorant lout standing in the doorway to know that he knew.

Hazel didn't answer. She left the telling to Virgil.

“Paul's a willful boy, Doc. The Lord says spare the rod and spoil the child. I'm doin my best to put him on the straight and narrow.”

“What did he do? Kill your favorite huntin' dog or swipe a plug of tobacco?” The doctor's voice was heavy with sarcasm, but Virgil didn't notice.

“I don't have huntin' dogs, Doc. And tobacco isn't allowed in the house.” Virgil scratched his head in puzzlement over the question.