Face the Winter Naked (28 page)

"Well,
tough luck, Chris. You're giving up your freedom for a home."

Four
hours later, the two stood in a long line outside the two-story, yellow brick
building that housed the Pendergast employment business.

Daniel
shook some coins from his purse and handed them to Chris.

"What's
this for?"

"Remember
the little café we saw right before we got here? Next to the beer joint. Think
you can find it again?"

"Sure."

"Then
scoot on over and buy yourself a glass of milk and a scrambled egg. Bring me
back a sweet bun."

Chris
left, and Daniel turned back to his place in line. Such a long, long line to
the front door. Even if he got inside there was no guarantee they had work for
him.

Around
noon, most of the people were miserable and some dropped out of line. Daniel,
too, was almost at the end of his patience.

For
two cents, I'd say forget it and head on out to Independence.

By
three o'clock, the line was considerably shorter. And, finally, by dinnertime
Daniel stood at the entrance of the building. Men came back out, some jubilant,
others downcast. Chris had gone for more food. Now he was back with grilled
hotdogs on buns. Daniel ate standing in line, grateful the long wait was about
over. Chris sat on a nearby curb with the banjo and gunnysack as, at last,
Daniel stepped inside the building.

Chapter 22

An
hour passed. Mary awoke and LaDaisy nursed her, played with her, bathed her,
and put her down again. She'd finally cut a tooth and had a cherub smile. She
was more active, rolling over both ways, and could almost sit alone. So far,
she hadn't tried to climb out of the cradle, but it was only a matter of time.
One of these days, she might pull up and go over the side, as Bobby had done.
But she was still too small and delicate, and her mother worried.

LaDaisy
set the cradle swinging, returned to the front room, and sat in the rocker
darning Catherine's bloomers. The linoleum felt cool and refreshing to her bare
feet as she wove tiny, neat stitches back and forth, filling the rip with
thread. She hoped it would hold till she could buy flour sacks to make new
ones.
Oh, Catherine. Always busting the seams out of your britches
.

As
twilight fell, the wind picked up and branches scraped against the house. A
thump on the roof made her jump. Probably a squirrel. No longer able to see her
work, she rose and turned on a lamp. Wishing for a glass of iced tea from the
crock on the kitchen counter, she went out and turned on the overhead light.

All
at once, her skin prickled. Feeling a presence in the room as a draft of air
brushed her bare arm, she turned slowly.

"How—how
did you get in?"

Clay
moved out of the shadows.

"I
walked in, stupid bitch."

She
saw the hole in the screen door.

"You'd
better leave." She thought of the butcher knife—it was on the other side
of the room, and he blocked her path.

She
backed away, then turned and ran to the front room.

He
gave chase, then saw the gun standing in the corner.

"No
you don't!"

She
reached for the shotgun. He lunged and knocked her against the wall. The gun
landed on the floor and he kicked it across the room. She sobbed, struggling to
reach it. But he tackled her legs and pulled her feet out from under her. She
fell hard, almost knocking the wind out of her.

"No!"
She scooted away and huddled by the wall, catching her breath between sobs.
"Go away, Clay, please."
Think fast.
"Saul's coming back
any minute. He's ... he'll bring the sheriff."

"You're
bluffing." He snorted like a mad bull and laughed. "I'm not afraid of
the old bastard." He had her cornered. "You're going to pay for
breaking up my marriage. So help me, you'll wish you'd never been born."

"No."

He
came at her; she crouched against the wall, terrified.

"How
do you want it this time?" he taunted, finding amusement in her fear.
"Tied spread eagle on the bed? Bet whores like that."

"Please
leave. I—I won't tell anyone."

"You
mean you won't tell anyone
else
. Did you tell the old man, too?"

"No."

"I've
got plenty of time."

She
searched the room for the gun.
Where did it land?

He
reached for her. She jumped up and he blocked her escape.
The mandolin.
She
grabbed it from the shelf.

"Come
on," Clay said, "don't be a pain in the ass. You're going to pay for
what you did." He grabbed her dress, ripping it down the front as she
whirled away from him.

Struggling
to breathe, she raised the mandolin over her head with both hands and slammed
it down hard. When the teardrop bowl splintered, his head sounded like a gourd.

Clay
staggered and fell. He grabbed his head, trying to staunch the flow of blood
running between his fingers, over one eye and down his cheek.

His
blood should be black.
She looked at
Daniel's mandolin still in her hands, its hollow body cracked open.
What
have I done?

Clay
moaned and got to his knees. He jerked his head around, staring at something
beyond LaDaisy—the expression on his face changed from shock to terror. He
tried to stand, but before he could react, a shot rang out. He crashed
backward, caught by surprise and shot dead-on with a hole in the middle of his
forehead.

LaDaisy
screamed as Clay's blood ran on the linoleum. Then someone else screamed, she
couldn't tell who.

"I
didn't do it!" she cried. "I couldn't reach the gun!"

The
room swirled as she shrank away from the body, absently picking up pieces of
the broken mandolin.
Daniel will fix it.
The back of her eyeballs ached
and her tears swelled, about to explode like a balloon pricked with a pin. The
smell of gunpowder was overpowering. She was faintly aware of Mary crying.

Hearing
a moan, she turned slowly to see her sister crumpled on the floor in the
kitchen doorway, the shotgun nearby.

"Oh
my God!"

Ida
tried to rise, saw Clay's body and collapsed again.

Ignoring
her baby's cries, LaDaisy ran to her sister and dropped to her knees beside her
as she sobbed uncontrollably.

She
gathered Ida Mae in her arms. "Oh please, please stop, Ida. What are you
doing here? Let me hold you, please don't cry."

Ida
was inconsolable. Finally, LaDaisy patted her shoulder and rose.

"I'll
be right back."

She
picked up the still-smoking gun, ran to the bedroom and threw it in the closet.
She peeked at Mary—she'd fallen back to sleep—and returned to the front room,
avoiding Clay's body as she went back to Ida.

The
floor was wet. Ida's dress and shoes were soaked.

"Ida?"
LaDaisy slapped her sister's cheeks gently and shook her arm. Getting no
response, she jumped up and got a wet washrag and wiped Ida's face.

"Ida,
snap out of it, your water broke! You can't have your baby on this dirty
kitchen floor. Come on, please."

Ida
opened her eyes. Her face contorted with fear. She clutched her belly and
screamed.

LaDaisy
watched helplessly as Ida's stomach tightened under the cotton summer shift.
She counted the seconds. There was still time.

After
a minute, Ida Mae breathed normally again. But her eyes were glazed and she was
wringing wet with perspiration.

"LaDaisy!
Help me, I hurt."

LaDaisy
thought fast. "Let's get you up. Can you walk?"

"I—I
don't know." Ida Mae whined and tried to sit up, but fell back again.

"C'mon,"
LaDaisy urged. "You can't stay on the floor, for God's sake. Try again,
Ida. Get up—come in on my bed."

Ida
managed to sit up. She looked past her sister at Clay and her hands flew up to
her mouth.

"No,
no, no! I killed him! LaDaisy, I killed my husband."

"Maybe
he's not—come on, let me help you."

Ida
tried to get up again. "I have to go to him. Please let me go, LaDaisy.
He's my, my husband."

The
leash you gave him was too damn long, silly girl. How could you not know what
he was up to?

"Don't
worry about him now, Ida." Her voice was too sharp. "Come on, get
up."

She
helped Ida Mae up, walked her to the bedroom, removed her wet shoes, and
propped her up on the bed with pillows behind her back.

"Stay
there."

"I
couldn't go anywhere if my life depended on it."

"That's
for sure," LaDaisy said.

She
ran to the kitchen, grabbed a dishtowel and threw it over the puddle of
amniotic fluid. Returning to the bedroom with a glass of water, she held it to
Ida's lips.

"Take
a sip, just enough to wet your mouth in this heat. You don't want to throw up."
Not on Grandma Tomelin's quilt.

She
rummaged in the closet for old towels, a blanket, a rubber sheet. Anything. A
corrugated box? She ripped it open and flattened it out.

"What
are you doing?"

"I
have to put something under your butt."

"Not
cardboard, LaDaisy."

"Hush
up, I don't want my bedclothes wet. Lift your hips."

"Do
you think my baby's coming?"

"I
don't know. Maybe. The water broke, and that's a good sign."

"Oh
no."

"You
had one contraction since coming here. How many more?"

"I
don't know, I can't remember. A few. They hurt."

She
raised Ida's hips and slid the cardboard under them.

"I
don't want to be here, LaDaisy. I'm going to the hospital."

"Ha.
It's too late for that."

Ida
sobbed. "I want Clay and Mama."

LaDaisy
worked an old wool blanket on top of the cardboard under Ida's hips, padding it
for comfort. Then she pulled the messy bloomers off—modesty be damned—and
tossed them into her laundry basket.

"I
don't want you to see me like this."

"Like
I've never seen you naked before. Be quiet."

"What
am I going to do?" she wailed. "Where's the doctor? Where's my
husband?"

Your
husband? The asshole is dead.

"Stay
right there, Ida. Try to relax. I'll get some help." She paused, then
asked, "How did you get here? Tell me you didn't drive in this condition.
It's getting dark."

Ida
shook her head. "No. I walked."

"You—?"

"Yes.
I—I followed him." She bit her lower lip and pinched her eyes shut.
"I wanted to see for myself."

"You
wanted to see if I lied?"

"I
had to know." Huge tears spilled down Ida's face. She reached a shaking
hand up to wipe them away, but they kept coming.

"Well,
now you know." LaDaisy brushed her sister's hair off her damp forehead.
"Stop crying now, sis. You'll need all your strength to bring this baby
out. We'll discuss the other
matter
when you're feeling better."

"Is—is
he dead?"

"I
don't know."
I hope so. No, I can't wish Clay dead, no matter what he
did.
"Try not to think about it, Ida. Think of your baby. I'll get the
doctor and Mama."

Ida
nodded, but was soon engulfed in another contraction.

"Oh,
help me. Another one. LaDaisy, help me!"

"Pant,"
LaDaisy said. "That's what I did, Ida. They told me to pant like a dog.
I'm going for help. I'll be back soon."

Ida
grabbed her sister's arm. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me having my baby alone
with ... with a dead body in there."

"You'll
be all right till I get back. It's not like Clay's going to get up and come
after you. Now relax."

She
scooped Mary from the cradle, clutched her tightly to her chest and stepped
around Clay's still form on the way to the front door. She tried not to look,
but her peripheral vision picked up a blotch of red on the linoleum.

Chapter 23

"Where
are you from?"

"Independence."
Daniel stood respectfully with his cap in his hands. "I've been out of
work a long time and am near ready for the poorhouse."

The
gentleman looked up.

"Do
you have a trade? Anything you're good at? It'll help a lot if you do."

"I'm
a carpenter," Daniel said, "a cabinetmaker to be exact."

The
interviewer nodded and shifted some papers around on his desk.

"Then
you have experience."

Daniel
smiled. "That I do. I also witch for water, sharpen knives, dig wells, and
plow fields." He paused, waiting for the man to respond. "I'll be
much obliged if you can find me some work."

"Family?"

"Yes,
sir. A wife, three youngins."

"I
see."

"I
ain't asking for a handout," Daniel said politely, "just honest
labor. I'm willing to work at most anything."

The
agent handed him a form. "Maybe your luck's about to change. Sit at that
table over there and fill this out."

"Thank
you," Daniel said.

When
he took the form back, the man read through it and placed it on a pile of
papers at one corner of the desk.

"Very
good, Mr. Tomelin. You might've hit the jackpot by being a carpenter. Most men
who come through here are common laborers. Or maybe never worked a day in their
lives. You have a trade and that's a plus." He leaned back in his chair,
removed a cigar from his shirt pocket, looked at it a minute then put it back.
"Mr. Pendergast's company—Ready-Mixed Concrete—is going to be hiring
soon. Ever hear of it?"

"Yes,
sir, I have."

"Mr.
Pendergast will be constructing a new city hall and courthouse downtown. So if
you're able, you probably have a job. When could you start?"

"Whenever
you say."

"Do
you have a place to stay while we check your information and make a decision? I
know it's a ways out to Independence, and you don't want to make the trip on
foot every day."

"No,
sir, I sure don't." Daniel thought quickly. "I noticed a hotel next
door."

"The
Monroe Hotel. It belongs to Mr. Pendergast."

"Maybe
I can stay there a few nights if it don't cost too much. I'm nearly broke, and
I got a young boy with me."

The
man raised his brows. "Your kid?"

"Nope.
He's an orphan. I feel responsible for him."

The
man reached across the desk and gave Daniel his hand.

"A
hotel room costs seventy-five cents a night. I could probably get it reduced
since you might come to work."

"Thank
you. I appreciate it."

He
scribbled a note and handed it to Daniel.

"Give
this to the desk clerk, tell him Tom Pendergast sent you."

Daniel's
eyes widened. "You're Mr. Pendergast? I didn't realize—"

"No,
no. I'm not Tom. He authorized me to help folks on his behalf."

"Then
tell him how grateful I am. I'd better go now and see if they have a spare
room."

"Thanks
for stopping by, Mr. Tomelin. We'll be in touch."

"Yes,
sir. I'll be waiting." Daniel turned toward the door, then stopped and
said over his shoulder, "There's a line a mile long out there. I myself
waited all morning to get in here. Guess I'm one of the lucky ones. Can't help
feeling sorry for the guys that don't make it."

"Most
come in and go right back out," the agent said. "Some just won't
work. Period. Excuse me for being so blunt. It's like knocking down a row of
dominos. Don't get me wrong. We've found work for many men. They're all human,
and it's not Mr. Pendergast's nature to turn anyone down if he can help
it."

The
interview was officially over when the man removed his cigar again and
proceeded to light it.

Daniel
left the office in a state of euphoria. Ragged, destitute men—young and old—called
to him as he passed down the line:

"How'd
ya do in there, mister?'

"Any
work today?"

"How
about me? I used to be a bookkeeper. Think they'll find anything for me?"

"Luck
was on my side," Daniel told them, trying not to gloat. "Maybe it'll
be lucky for you, too. At least I hope so. Now if you'll excuse me, I have
something I got to do." He broke through the line to go find Chris.

Sometime
later, Daniel and Chris stretched out on the bed in a small room on the second
floor of the Monroe Hotel. The desk clerk had shown them right in after Daniel
presented the note from the employment agent.

"Mr.
Pendergast lets folks sleep here for thirty cents a night," the clerk had
said, "if they're going to work for him."

"That's
mighty generous of him."

"And
if you can do a little repair work around the hotel, so much the better."

"It
makes sense," Daniel said, after a minute of thought. "People don't
get something for nothing. I don't mind making up the difference for a place to
lay our heads."

Now
he spoke to Chris. "My poor old bones are happy to get a real bed again.
They almost forgot what it feels like after sleeping in barns and thickets. I
don't mind earning my keep to get a cut-rate."

"Yeah,"
Chris said. "It's a good deal." He stretched his arms out and nearly
knocked Daniel's glasses off. "There ain't no pee smells on this bed. Back
home, the mattress got peed on so much I almost puked sleeping on it."

Daniel
rolled his head to look at the boy. "That right?

"Yep.
With so many kids, the mattress never got dried out."

"It's
a darn shame, Chris. No wonder you left home." Daniel sat up and ran a
finger lengthwise down the bed. "See here? I'm cutting this bed in half.
That's your side over there and this here's mine."

"That's
silly."

"You
won't think it's silly if you get on my half. I kick like a mule if someone
wakes me up." He lay down again. "Tell you what. Now I feel like a
king, I'm going to find me some new banjo strings and fix that banjo right. If
I get this job, you won't have to pretend you're a monkey with a tin cup."
He waited for an answer. "Chris?"

Chris
was asleep. Daniel smiled, turned his back to the boy and closed his eyes.

Sometime
during the night, Daniel woke with a familiar buzzing noise in his head. The
nightmare. He was right on the edge of it and had woken up just in time to keep
from falling into the black trench. His breath came hard and fast as he lay
there trying not to fall asleep again. He thought of Chris, and what the boy
had told him earlier. What was it? Oh, yes. Just chase those bad thoughts out
of your nightmare and go back to sleep. How?

He
thought hard.
How do I do this? How do I wake up in the dream and still be
asleep?
Maybe just thinking about it for a while before going to sleep? Worth
a try, but he didn't think it would work. Just a lot of hooey.

The
rest of the night passed uneventfully.

By
mid-September, as the air turned crisp and frost lurked around the corner,
Daniel scraped old wallpaper and paint in the hotel, repaired woodwork, and
repainted walls. It was an easy way to help pay the rent. He was in his element
working with his tools again.

Between
those odd jobs, he worked at a construction site, digging foundations and
building forms for concrete. When the concrete set-up and the building rose
higher—the Tower of Babel, he told Chris—he worked inside laying sub-flooring,
nailing studs to soleplates, affixing laths to studs for plastering. As floor
after floor rose, so also did Daniel's spirits.

Evenings
found him piling coins in stacks on the desk in their room: quarters here,
nickels there, dimes and pennies in other piles. His small towers of coins rose
like the buildings he worked in.

Soon
I'll be walking through my own front door and holding my favorite girl in my
arms, and bouncing my kids on my knees.

Both
were finally getting their fill of food. Chris's color improved. A weekly soak
in the hotel bathtub turned him from a grubby street urchin to a human being.
With nights turning colder—some mornings frosted over—Daniel found himself and
Chris some used wool sweaters and a cap for Chris. Soon they'd both need winter
coats.

"How
about we go see a picture show?" he asked Chris one Sunday.

A
horror film,
The Mummy
, was currently playing at the Loews Midland, an
elaborate movie palace with tall mirrors and crystal chandeliers, a mezzanine
and side arches, plus an organ. Standing in the spacious lobby in their shabby
clothes, the two were humbled by the wonderland atmosphere. Movie patrons in
store-bought finery seemed to look down their noses at the pair before turning
away.

Chris
stared in awe at his surroundings. "Did I die and go to heaven?"

The
next day, Daniel paid a visit to an attorney's office to enquire how he'd go
about getting custody of the boy. The first step, according to a secretary,
would be to contact the child's parents.

The
woman pulled a yellow pad of paper from a drawer and took up a pencil.

"If
you'll give me their name and address, I'll send a letter."

"But—"
Daniel wasn't sure he remembered the address Glenn had given him.

"They
at least need to know the whereabouts of their son."

He
shrugged. "Chris said they don't want him anymore, so they shouldn't cause
any trouble."

She
looked up at him and smiled. "People often say things they don't mean when
under pressure, especially in the Depression. If their son left on his own,
they'll be worried, I'm sure."

"They
kicked him out," Daniel insisted.

She
nodded. "Children often say that, but it's not always true."

Daniel
was growing weary of this woman's comments. What did she know about Chris's
former home situation? She was only a secretary.

"I
believe what he told me, Miss. And I spoke to someone else who knows the
family. He didn't think very highly of them. Lots of kids ... both parents like
a dog too lazy to scratch its own fleas." She seemed about to laugh, then
caught herself and became professional again.

"I
see." She tapped the pencil on the table. "Can you support this
child, Mr.—?"

"Tomelin,"
Daniel replied. "And I've been supporting Chris for months now. I have
work, and I plan to take him to my house with me."

"Your
house—you have a wife? More children?"

"Yes
ma'am. I figure one more won't hurt, and he needs a home."

She
pushed her glasses back on her nose and jotted something on the pad.

"You
say his name is Chris?"

"That's
right. Christopher Davis. His family's in Springfield."

"That's
a long way off. How did he get to Kansas City?"

Damn,
if she ain't the nosiest woman I ever met.

She waited,
pencil poised over the paper.

"He
rode on a freight train with me, ma'am."

"You
made a child hop a train?"

"No,
I didn't
make
him. He got on by himself."

"And
you let him ride with you to Kansas City?"

"That's
what I said." He took a deep breath to keep from lashing out at this woman
who was only doing her job. He had better things to do than stand here all day
trying to get anything through her thick head. He peered intently at her
through his owl glasses. "What was I supposed to do? I couldn't kick him
out of the boxcar."

"Well
..."

"I'd
appreciate if you'd just tell me what I have to do to get custody."
I
don't have all day.

She
nodded. "Yes, of course. As I mentioned a few minutes ago, the first step
is to contact the parents."

"Good
luck with that. I got me a kid that needs a home, and I ain't letting him take
off again on his own if I can help it."

"Parents'
names, please."

"Davis."

"First
names?"

"I
don't have that information. But the people in Millie's Diner know where they
live. If you send a letter to them, I'm sure they'll get it to the right
people. Just say Daniel Tomelin and Chris asked you to do that." Daniel
waited while she thought it over, then added, "Maybe you can find out from
the police department. Either way, someone will know who they are."

Daniel
left a few minutes later with her promise to contact the proper authorities in
Springfield and have the situation investigated. And in the meantime, she
advised him not to leave town with the boy till he heard back from the
attorney's office. They'd send him a letter as soon as they heard anything.