Nothing to Fear (19 page)

So as not to wake Ma or Maureen I stumbled through the spare room and into the front room. Fuzzy-headed, I groped in the dark for the door, found the knob, and turned. Like a dam bursting, the door flew in at me, and a huge, dark figure lurched into the room.

"Huuhhh!" The air made a rushing sound as I
sucked it in. The man towered over me, his eyes rolling madly, his rancid breath coming out in great gasps. I stood there, frozen in fear, unable to run, unable to scream. He lunged a step closer.

"Aaaaghh!" At last a terrible scream burst from my lungs. A big hand closed over my mouth and nose. Another grabbed me and pinned me against the hulking body. I struggled to break free, but I was powerless in his grip.

Suddenly the room flooded with light and Mama stood in the spare room doorway, a carving knife in her hand. At the same instant a wave of Rileys surged through the front-room door. The man released me and stepped back.

"I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm," he blurted, lifting his hands in surrender.

Mama took a step forward. The knife trembled in her hand, but her face showed her determination to use it if need be.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," the man went on, his breathing loud and raspy. "Honest. I wouldn't hurt a fly. He just scared me so, screamin' like that."

"Who are you?" Mama demanded, holding the knife up over her swollen belly.

"Powers," said the man. "Hank Powers."

In the light he didn't seem so menacing. He was real tall, probably about six foot five, and homely—kind of like Abraham Lincoln, only with stringy yellow hair. He was skinny and flushed, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Powers?" Mrs. Riley repeated, cocking her head to one side and giving him the once over.

"That's right, ma'am," the man said. He licked his lips. They were swollen and cracked. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "You must know my brother, Bert. He lives in this building. I was on my way up to his apartment when I stopped to rest on the landin' out there a minute. I guess I was leanin' against the door when the boy here pulled it open."

Mama and Mrs. Riley exchanged glances. Now that he mentioned it, this guy did sort of look like the Mr. Powers who used to live on the fourth floor.

Mama lowered the knife.

"Bert Powers and his family moved out a couple of months ago," she said.

Her words hit the man hard. His eyes rolled back wildly again, and his big body swayed.

"M-moved out," he stammered. "Wh-what d'ya mean, moved out?"

"Evicted," said Mrs. Riley gently. "Couldn't pay the rent."

The man's shoulders sagged. His head fell forward and lolled from side to side, like he couldn't hold it up no more.

"Mister?" asked Mama. "You okay?"

The man didn't answer. He just stood there, his head lolling like it was about to fall off his neck.

Mrs. Riley went over and touched his shoulder. "Mister?"

At her touch the man staggered forward a step, then crashed down heavily on one knee. The knee
buckled and he fell over on his side and lay still. Mrs. Riley dropped to her knees beside him. She felt his head.

"Good Lord," she said, "he's burnin' up. Maggie, Kitty, help me get him up on the couch here. Danny, get dressed and run for Doc Davis."

I looked at her, then at Ma.

"Mama," I said, "we're not gonna keep him here?"

Mama hesitated, then she walked over, laid her knife on the table, and bent to look at the man.

"Do as Mrs. Riley says, Danny," she told me.

"But Ma, we don't even know him."

She looked at me. "He's sick and in need," she said. "We'll do what we can."

"But Mama..."

She touched a finger to her lips to silence me.

"Maybe somewhere," she said, "someone is doin' as much for yer pa."

Hank came around fast.

"Takes more than a touch of the flu to keep an Okie dirt farmer down," he said.

Doc said it was more like pneumonia, and near starved like Hank was, he was lucky to live through it. Pneumonia or not, though, inside of a week Hank was up and around and caring more for us than we were for him.

"What're you doing way out here?" I asked him this morning as we were washing the dishes. "Oklahoma's a long way from New York."

"Welp," said Hank. He always says "welp" instead of "well."

"Welp, I lost my farm, then I lost my wife, then I guess I lost my mind for a while. Then one morning I woke up facedown in the dirt and I said to myself, 'Hank, you can't sink any lower than this. Ain't no
where to go from here but up.' So I picked myself up, and I brushed myself off, and I wrote to my brother, Bert, and I said, 'I'm on my way to the big city, brother. Don't know when I'll get there, but I'm on my way.'"

"So, how'd you get here?"

"Walked."

"From Oklahoma?"

"Yep. Oh, I hitched a ride here and there, jumped a train or two, but mostly I walked."

"How long'd it take you?"

Hank poured a little more hot water from the kettle into the dishpan. "Let's see now," he mused. "What's this, March?"

"Beginning of April," I corrected him.

Hank handed me a wet bowl and counted on his fingers. "December, January, February, March... 'bout four months, I reckon."

I dried the bowl and shook my head. "My pa's been gone over five months now," I told him.

Hank nodded. "It ain't easy out there on the road," he said. "Things come up you ain't expectin'."

"What's it like?" I asked.

Hank put the oatmeal pot into the dishpan and started to scrub. He shook his head. "Hard times," he said, "same as here. You go through town after town, nothin' but boarded-up stores, For Rent signs, factories empty and still. Come through one stretch in Pennsylvania, weren't a single person in the whole town had a job. Not one. Lot of folks on the road, lot of folks—men, women, whole families. Country
folks headin' for the city. City folks headin' for the country. Everybody hopin' things'll be better somewheres else. Counted over one hundred men tryin' to jump the same freight train one night."

Hank scrubbed harder and harder as he talked, like he was trying to take his anger out on the pot. What he was saying didn't make me feel too hopeful about Pa. Maybe he noticed, because he suddenly changed his tune.

"Ain't all bad, though, I'll tell you. Folks is reachin' out to one another in ways I ain't never seen before. Saw a widow's farm go up for auction in Missouri. Her neighbors showed up by the hundreds with shovels and picks and axes, just darin' anyone to make a bid. One of 'em bought the farm for a dollar, and gave it back to the widow. Times like that, you get to feelin' we can lick this thing, if we hang together."

I nodded. It was a nice story, but I didn't see how it was gonna help Pa.

Hank dried his big hands on the dishrag and touched me gently on the shoulder. "There's a lot of good, carin' folks out there lendin' a hand, boy," he said. "Folks like your ma. Don't you give up hope now, you hear?"

I smiled. "I won't, Hank."

"Good. Now, why don't you go see if your ma is done with her oatmeal while this water's still warm."

Ma was sitting up in bed, just finishing her bowl.

"How is Mr. Powers this morning?" she asked.

"Seems fit as a fiddle to me."

Mama nodded, but the news didn't seem to make her happy.

"Something wrong, Mama?"

She lowered her voice.

"It's just that ... we can't afford to be keepin' him any longer, Danny. We've little enough food, and we've got to be sellin' the furniture. The rent's overdue."

I nodded, feeling unexpectedly sad. It had been nice, even for a short time, to have a man in the house again.

"I'll tell him," I said.

When I came back out into the kitchen, Hank had his coat on and was tying his few belongings up in a handkerchief.

"Where are you going?" I asked, wondering if he'd overheard.

"Welp," he said, "I guess it's about time this old sodbuster was moving on."

"Where'll you go, Hank?"

He shrugged. "Nowhere in particular."

I nodded. "Do you suppose you could do me a favor?" I asked.

"Name it, my friend."

"If you happen to run into a big old Irish guy, name of Dan Garvey, would you send him on home?" My voice trembled a little and I looked away, embarrassed.

Hank tousled my hair.

"I shore will, son. I shore will."

Late in the afternoon, as I was finishing up my homework, a loud knock—or I should say, more like a loud kick—came at the door. I jumped up and pulled it open to see a pile of bulging grocery sacks balanced on top of a pair of long legs.

"Who is it?" called Mama from the bedroom.

A big, horsey smile appeared around one of the sacks.

"It's Hank," I shouted, not quite believing what I was seeing.

"Welp, you gonna ask me in," said Hank, "or you gonna make me sit out here and eat this stuff all by myself?"

I pulled the door wide, and Hank maneuvered over and dumped his bundles on the kitchen table.

"What'd you do?" I asked. "Rob a bank?"

"Nah." He laughed. "The banks ain't got no money."

"Then how..."

"I'll get to that. I'll get to that. You just start puttin' this stuff away. I gotta go get your ma."

Fortunately it was still chilly enough outside to use the window box, because we didn't have any ice. I slid the kitchen window open and started loading the food out there. Hank carried the old rocker into the kitchen and got Mama all settled with pillows and blankets, her feet propped up on a kitchen chair. Then he whipped Maureen up off the floor and sat down with her on his lap. He ignored Ma and me and pretended like he was talking just to her.

"You know, Mo-reen," he told her.

That's how Hank says her name, Mo-reen.

"You know, Mo-reen, all my life I been hearin' about this feller or that feller that had some kind of good fortune come to him 'cause he was in the right place at the right time, and I been saying to myself, 'Hank Powers? How come you always in the
wrong
place, at the
wrong
time?'"

Maureen stared up at him so funny I almost had to laugh. Her little mouth was open and her brow all wrinkled up, looking for all the world like she was really pondering everything he said.

"Yup," Hank went on, "that's what I always said. Then what do you know? Here I am, just walkin' down the street today, and all of a sudden,
SLAM! BAM!
There I am, in the right place, at the right time."

"Hank," I said, nearly splitting with curiosity by now, "are you gonna get to the point or not?"

At that point Hank stood up, dropped Maureen in my lap, and started dancing around the room like he was putting on a show.

"I was walking down the street, see," he said, strutting across the room like a long-legged chicken, "just the other side of them tracks out front, when what do I see rising up out of the ground, right in the middle of New York City, but a horse!"

I had to laugh. He made it sound like such a miracle.

"We got lots of horses, Hank," I told him. "That's the stable over there. It runs under the whole block."

"Welp, I know that now," said Hank, "but I didn't know it then. All I know is here comes this horse up from under the ground, and she's runnin' for all she's worth, and behind her she's draggin' some poor feller what's got his foot tangled up in her traces. Welp, if there's one thing I know, it's how to handle a horse, so I grabbed ahold of her bridle as she went by and hung on, hoppin' along beside her and talkin' real easy. And I'm a-hoppin' and a-talkin' and a-hoppin' and a-talkin', until finally she starts slowing down some. I go right on a-hoppin' and a-talkin' a little while longer 'til she just stops and stands there wheezin' and a-blowin' just as nice as you please.

"Next thing I know, up from behind comes these four fellers all shoutin' and hollerin' to beat the band. They bent down and started checkin' over the poor guy that's been draggin' along behind all this while.

"'Welp,' says one, 'he's gonna live, but he sure ain't gonna work for a while.'

"
'Damn
,' says another. Oh, pardon me, Miz Garvey. 'Darn,' says another. 'Where're we gonna find another man that knows horses like old Jake here?'"

At that Hank stopped talking and just stood there, grinning at us.

"You?" I shouted. "You got the job?"

"None other," said Hank, clapping his hands together and taking a bow.

I jumped up and slapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Hank," I said. "That's great."

Mama smiled, but she didn't say anything.

"Something wrong, Miz Garvey?" Hank asked.

"Of course not," said Mama. "I'm very happy for you, Mr. Powers."

Hank looked at her skeptically. "You're thinkin' about that feller, Jake, aren't you?" he said.

Mama shrugged apologetically. "Aye," she said. "I guess I couldna' help it."

Hank sighed and nodded. "Seems like that's always the way, don't it? One feller's got to lose for another to win. Maybe I shouldn'ta took the job."

Mama shook her head and waved his words away. "Now don't ya be silly. The poor man probably owes his life to ya, and ya said yerself he's not fit to work. Besides, you've had yer time of losin', Mr. Powers. Ya deserve to win."

Hank smiled again. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I'm glad you feel that way, 'cause I got a bit of a business proposition for ya."

Mama bent her head to one side and gave him a questioning look. "Aye?"

"Now that I'm a workin' man," said Hank, "I'll be needin' a place to stay and, welp, that couch of yours is real comfy, and I just thought..."

Mama blushed and looked down at her hands. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Powers," she said quietly, "it just wouldn't be seemly, my husband away and all."

Hank pushed his hair back roughly and shifted from one foot to the other.

"I didn't mean nothin' improper, ma'am," he went on. "I just thought we could help each other out some is all."

Mama looked up again and he continued.