End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) (2 page)

Chapter Two

The park was a small
square of dying grass a few blocks over from our street. There were a couple of
benches and several shade trees, which made for a great picnic location.
Usually we ran into one or two families there. This time the park was empty.
One of the benches was missing, the glass globe on one of the street lamps was
broken and the trees had been picked clean, including the usual scattering of
rotten fruit on the ground.

A general sense of unease
enveloped me upon seeing our beloved park so barren. Most of the surrounding
homes appeared to be deserted. Either abandoned or reclaimed by the banks. There
were some homes where the construction had come to a halt leaving behind
half-built structures; skeletal remains of what was once a booming industry.

Helen spread a quilt out
on the ground, careful to avoid any red ant hills. She laid out our simple
lunch fare and the children dove in. Helen kneeled with her dress tucked
underneath her knees and I sat down next to her. There was a light breeze that
made the heat more bearable.

I was on the second half
of my sandwich when Teddy declared he was still hungry. Helen handed him her
remaining half. I stared down at mine, feeling guilty. She lightly touched my
hand and I looked up at her. “It’s okay,” she mouthed. I vowed then and there
to make everything up to her. I would do my damndest to get on the Civilian
Conservation Corps.

After lunch Sara asked to
see if Lindsay could play. Helen and I regarded each other. She nodded for me
to proceed.

“Honey, I walked by
Lindsay’s house this morning and they were packing up their car.”

“They’re moving?” Her
eyes, the same hazel as Helen’s, squinted in confusion.

“Yes. So, I don’t think
this is a good time to go over there.”

“Not even to say
goodbye?”

“Your mother and I wanted
to talk to you both about what is happening around us.”

When the stock market
first crashed and the financial fallout followed, we had told them what was
happening in the country, even if parts weren’t comprehended by their young
minds. We knew they talked about it with their friends too, especially as
families started to move away. Helen and I hadn’t gone into too much detail
though because we didn’t want them to worry. We still wanted them to have a
childhood, but the time for honesty had come.

“Are we going to move
too, father?” Teddy asked.

“We might have to. I’m
going to go see about a job tomorrow.”

“I can get a job. I can
help!” he offered, sitting up straight to appear taller.

“You have job already.”

“I do?” His blue eyes lit
up with surprise.

“Yes, you’re a student, a
big brother and a son. That’s a lot of responsibility for an eight year old.” I
tousled his brown hair and said, “Now let’s play ball!”

I pitched to Teddy and he
took a swing every time. Every once in a while he’d make contact and I’d put on
a big show out of missing the catch, running with my arms pumping in an
exaggerated fashion to retrieve it, which caused him to bend over laughing. We
were getting ready to finish our game when Teddy whacked the ball, the crack
from the bat echoed off of the houses around us and I didn’t have to fake
missing the catch that time. I told Teddy to head back to the picnic area
before following the ball as it rolled lazily down the street where it was stopped
by a man. My eyes went from his scuffed and worn boots and took in the rags he
was clothed in. The vagrant picked up the ball and smiled. His smile didn’t
reach his eyes, which were a pale, watery blue against tanned, weather beaten
skin.

“Looking for this?”

“Yes, thank you.” I reached
out, but the man held onto the ball, his mouth twisted up in a smirk revealing tobacco
stained teeth.

“That’s a mighty nice
watch,” he said, eyeing up my wrist.

I understood his
intentions immediately. This was my grandfather’s watch, a wedding present from
my father. Helen and I had sworn that family heirlooms would be the very last
thing we’d sell. If this is what he was after, I was willing to bet I wanted it
more. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hid my wrist from his view.

“Thank you. Can I have
the ball please? My son and I are playing.”

“Trade ya, for the
watch.”

“Ha! No deal sir. You can
keep it.” I turned and started to walk away, but was suddenly yanked back. The
man had grabbed my shirt and pulled me against him. Wrapping an arm around my
torso and squeezing like a boa constrictor, he then pressed a knife to my
throat with his free hand. The metal blade was cool and the tip pinched, threatened
to break the surface of my skin.

“I’ve killed for less,”
he breathed in my ear. I’d taken my glasses off to play with Teddy, but in the
distance I could make out the blurry shape of Helen. She was starting to
approach.

“Okay, you can have it.”
I gave in, desperate to keep my family out of harm’s way. I extended my arm and
the man snatched the watch. Pressure from the blade lifted and he shoved me forward.

“Here, catch!” The man
bent down and picked the baseball up from where he had dropped it then he
tossed it at me. “I trade fair,” he said and spat tobacco juice onto the street
before walking away.

On unsteady legs, I ran
back to my family and urged them to get their stuff together.

“What happened?” Helen
asked. “Who were you talking to?”

“There are too many
strangers around. Let’s go.”

Sensing the urgency in my
tone, Helen shook the blanket and rolled it, not bothering to take the time to
fold it neatly. She grabbed Sara’s hand despite a whine of protest.

“Can we stop at
Lindsay’s? I want to say goodbye.” Sara peered up at me with sad eyes. I
surveyed the neighborhood, but didn’t see the transient anywhere.

     Licking my dry lips,
I nodded once. “Okay, but we have to be fast.”

The next block over was East
Vernon Street and we walked quickly, practically dragging the children behind
us. I panted from the exertion in the prickly heat. Sara broke free of Helen’s
grasp and ran ahead to Lindsay’s. We caught up to her a few seconds later where
we found her sitting on the front steps.

“They’re already gone,”
she said, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

The front door was ajar
and I peered inside. A few scraps of paper and some gray tufts of dust were all
that remained behind.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” I
said and sat down next to her.

Sobbing, she leaned against
me and I couldn’t find any words to comfort her, just held her close like I’d
done with Helen earlier that morning.

Chapter Three

The next morning I walked
a half mile to the light rail line. Thank God this existed as we hadn’t been
able to afford gas for our Model T in weeks. I left before the sun was up, so I
wouldn’t overheat, and also to be one of the first to sign up for the C.C.C. Others
had the same idea for there were at least twenty men already waiting for the
doors to open. John Keeley, one of my former clients, stood in line along with
several other people I recognized. Many who were considered upper middle class
like me were now desperate for labor of any kind. The experience was humbling.

“Lawrence,” Keeley said
with a dip of his head.

“John.” I nodded in
return. “I might take you up on the offer of that horse.”

“I’m sorry I can’t pay
you. I’ll bring the mare by this afternoon.”

“Excellent.” My stomach
knotted with worry when I realized this meant another mouth to feed and hoped
it was easy to find a buyer. John turned back to face the doors. I lifted my
jacket sleeve to check the time and then remembered I no longer had a watch;
only tan lines to remind me of what I once had. Dropping my arm to my side, I
waited.

There wasn’t any shade
outside of city hall and the sun baked us while we waited. I stared up at the
eagles carved in the stone on each side of the arched entrance. They acted like
guardians to the giant building and their frozen stares observing the weary
masses lining the steps below. One by one we filed inside through heavy art
deco style bronze doors. Cool air caressed my heated cheeks. I had forgotten
city hall had been upgraded with air conditioning. Now out of the sun, I didn’t
mind the slow progress. I was ushered into a room where a long table had been
set up. Three men in crisp business suits sat behind the table. As soon as one
man was free the next person in line stepped forward. Finally it was my turn.

“Name?” the man, who
wasn’t much older than me, barked.

“Lawrence Cranston,” I
said and pushed my glasses further up my nose.

“Date of birth?”

“April 13, 1899.”

The man set his pencil
down and looked across the table at me. “You’re too old.”

“Please, I’m able bodied.
There must be someone I can talk to. Can’t we work around this?’

“I’m sorry, but those are
the guidelines. Besides, you don’t seem the type that’s used to manual labor.
What’s your background, anyway?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Again, I’m sorry, but
you’re too old.” Just then a man leaning against the wall behind the row of
tables straightened up and walked over. Judging by his commanding presence and
well-fitted suit, I assumed he was a supervisor. He bent over and whispered
something into the ear of the man interviewing me.

“Just a minute,” my
interviewer said and stood up. He walked away with the other man where they
conferred in private.

I stayed seated and
tapped my fingers on the table top, not taking my eyes off of the two men. A
few minutes later the interviewer returned. He actually smiled when he took his
seat. I considered this a good sign.

“So you’re an accountant?”
he asked, picking up right where we left off.

“Yes sir. I earned my
degree at Boston College. I have my own business here, well, I did until
recently.”

“There’s a lot of that
going around,” he said while scratching the back of his neck with the pencil.
He reviewed the form in front of him then considered me again.

“I can’t get you on board
as a laborer…” The man began to shake his head and I knew I only had a few
seconds to sway his decision.

“Please, I’m a fast
learner and great with numbers. Reading the schematics of the blueprints and
the measurements will be easy.” I held my breath as the man jotted something
down on my form, prepared to get down on my knees and beg if that’s what it
took.

“But, we do need someone
with a finance background to oversee payroll and accounts for the job site.”
His smile was bigger this time. “Are you interested?”

At first I thought I had
misunderstood him and sat there with my eyes squinted in confusion. Fortunately
I gathered my wits about me in time to accept before the man could renege on
the offer.

“I am - thank you!”

“Sign here and be up in
Flagstaff two Mondays from now at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Here’s the location and work
detail.” He handed me a packet of papers after I signed the bottom of the form.
“Oh and good luck,” he said and shook my hand.

I wanted to rush right
home and tell Helen the good news, but I had one final piece of business to
attend to. Harold Garfield owed me for work and he had been avoiding me for
well over a year. The last time our paths crossed, he ignored me completely. I
learned he planned on attending the livestock auction to sell some of his herd.
I also knew he wouldn’t be expecting me to show up there. Now that I had a job,
getting to Flagstaff was my next concern. If Garfield paid off any of his debt,
we’d be able to afford gas for the Ford and some extra food.

A small crowd had
gathered, but the frenetic energy that usually accompanied the auction was
missing. The odor of manure and of animals kept in close quarters was a potent
and suffocating combination, which made my eyes water. Flies buzzed incessantly
around my head, the air thick with them and I kept my mouth closed to avoid
breathing any in. I spotted Harold’s red face under a wide brimmed, straw
colored Stetson. Beads of sweat dripped down from under the brim. With little
effort, I maneuvered through to Harold’s side. He was so absorbed in the
auction, he didn’t see me approach.

“Good morning, Harold.”

He jumped when he saw me,
causing his double chin to jiggle. “Cranston, this is the last place I’d expect
to find you.” The last word was drawn out with his drawl. Harold had grown up
in Texas and moved to Arizona in order to capitalize on the beef opportunity.
Up until the depression he had a successful slaughterhouse business and one of
the largest herds in the state. He may have lost a lot of things, but he never
lost his Texas accent. Judging by his sizeable girth, he didn’t lack food
either. He was one of the few to have actually gotten fatter during lean times.

“You’re a hard man to
track down,” I said.

“Gotta keep busy,
especially now. Tough times, Cranston, very tough times.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” I
responded. “Which is why I am here, you still owe me for services and I need
the funds.”

“Cranston, we’ve been
over this, remember? You were acting as my financial advisor and you advised me
to put my earnings in the bank. The banks were the first to go belly up and all
my money was lost; seems to me like you didn’t do your job.” Harold’s face
changed to a deeper scarlet, white spots dotted the hollows of his cheeks and
he emphasized his last point by jabbing a thick forefinger into my chest.

“What happened with the
banks couldn’t be predicted. How is that my fault? You know I lost all of my
money too!”

“We’re even then,” he
sneered and turned his attention back to the auction. Harold intimidated me and
he knew it, but I needed the money that he owed me.

“Harold, we had an
agreement and you’re not holding up your end,” I said to his back with a steady
voice.

“The agreement became
null and void the moment you lost my money!” He thundered and whipped around to
face me again. I took a step backwards and bumped into Buck Carrington, one of
Harold’s main competitors.

“Is Harold giving you a
problem Mr. Cranston?”

“Please, call me Lawrence,
and we’re just resolving some unfinished business.” I stood up straighter and
smoothed down my jacket.

“How much does Harold owe
you?”

“Excuse me, Mr.
Carrington,” I responded and shoved my glasses back up my nose into place, “but
it really isn’t any of your concern.”

“Sure is now, I’m thinking
about buying out Harold, you see, and need to know if he has any outstanding
debts that will come back and bite me in the ass.”

I choked on a laugh at
Buck’s candor. For a simply dressed and soft spoken man, he sure didn’t mince
words.

Harold had cooled down
considerably, but he shifted his glare from Buck to look at me with bitter
contempt in his bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, well in that case, he
owes me two hundred dollars. It’s for services rendered in 1928 and ’29.”

“Harold, you are a
stubborn son of a bitch!” Carrington said with a shake of his head. He pulled
out his wallet, a worn square of leather and counted out some bills. “Consider
him settled up.” He handed me two hundred dollars.

“I will Mr. Carrington,
thank you.” It had been a while since I handled that much money and I quickly
placed it in my wallet before too many eyes observed the transaction.

“Once you do business
with me, you call me Buck.” He held out his hand I shook it. It was rough with
callouses and his grip firm; a working man’s hand.

“Harold,” I said and he leered
at me. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but I am
sorry for the way everything turned out. Good luck to you.”

I turned and walked away,
past the pens spilling over with straw and manure, glad to be leaving for
fresher air.

There was a spring to my
step and the hot walk from the rail station didn’t drag by at the usual pace.
This time I had good news to bring home. It seemed our fortunes were changing
for the better.