Song of the Road (6 page)

“One of Lon Delano’s bigmouth flunkies,” Paco said loudly enough for the cowboy to hear. Then in a lower tone, “Hangs out with Lon. That son of a bitch is awfully interested in what you’re doin’. Now that Bobby’s gone, he figures that he’s next in line to get Ocie’s ranch.”

“If he lives that long.”

“Talk is, Bobby’s widow came back pregnant. I don’t think Lon knew that when he was in here. I’d think Ocie’d favor a grandchild over a nephew. The young lady’d be smart to watch herself.”

Jake had been thinking the same thing. Lon Delano was vicious in his greed to get the Circle C. He was sure Lon had had a hand in framing him for stealing steers. He hadn’t been able to prove it yet, but he would. Paco broke into his thoughts.

“Feller was in here today bitchin’ about Bobby’s widow. What he said wasn’t pretty.”

“Frank Pierce?”

“Yeah. Didn’t take him long to latch on to Dolly Finley after Scott passed on. Guess he didn’t expect her daughter to come waltzin’ in.”

“They come in here?”

“Not often. They drink whiskey, rotgut or bathtub. I don’t serve either.”

Jake stood abruptly, drained his glass and headed for the door. “See ya, Paco.”

“Buenas noches,”
Paco called as Jake went out the door.

Chapter 4

M
ARY
L
EE ALMOST JUMPED OUT OF HER SKIN
early the next morning when she went to the washhouse to light the hot water tank. She opened the door, and a tall boy sprang up from a pile of rags in the corner. He stood with his possessions clutched to him as if prepared for flight. She knew immediately he wasn’t a man, but still it took a moment before she was able to speak.

“Who’re you?”

“Eli Stacy.” His voice began low and ended in a high squeak.

He was shabbily dressed and barefoot. Long brown hair hung down over his ears, and a pair of boots dangled from a heavy cord around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Lee asked, her fear leaving as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Sleepin’.”

“Are you a hobo?”

“I guess so. I didn’t take nothin’,” he added quickly. He looked tired, gaunt, his eyes hollow.

Mary Lee knew very little about boys, but she knew that this one was hungry. Her heart went out to him.

“Do you live around here?”

He hesitated a minute, then said, “No.”

“I’m going to light the water tank. Then I’ll make breakfast. Would you like to join me?”

“If there’s work I can do for it. I ain’t no beggar.”

“Glory! There’s no shortage of work around here. I’ll be glad for your help. Come on in and wash up.”

With a look of disbelief on his face, the boy followed Mary Lee into the house. He dropped a cloth sack beside the door and, when she beckoned, followed her through her bedroom to the bathroom.

“You can wash in here.” She glanced at the cowboy boots still suspended around his neck. They were hand-stitched and polished. “Good-looking boots.”

“I didn’t steal ’em,” he said defensively. “I worked for ’em.” Mary Lee raised her brows. “I never doubted that for a minute.”

“Why not?”

“My daddy used to say, ‘come easy, go easy.’ The boots didn’t come easy, did they? It’s why you’re taking good care of them. I’ve got biscuits in the oven. I’ll go make the gravy.”

Mary Lee felt strangely lighthearted. Last night her spirits had been lower than a snake’s belly, she mused. But this morning, with the bright sunshine and the sweet, fresh air, she was rejuvenated. She didn’t know if her mother was in her room or not, but knew that if she was, she’d not be wanting breakfast this early.

Mary Lee set the table for two while the gravy was bubbling in the skillet. When Eli came back into the kitchen, he stood hesitantly in the doorway. He had washed and smoothed his long hair back with wet palms. Before coming into the room, he lifted the cord holding the boots up over his head and set them beside the bundle he’d left beside the door.

“Sit down.” Mary Lee placed a pan of biscuits on the table. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mary Lee poured the gravy from the skillet into a bowl, brought it to the table and sat down. Eli sat opposite her. His hands were in his lap, his eyes on the plate of biscuits. Mary Lee nudged it toward him.

“Help yourself. Butter is in the crock and there is plum jam.”

The boy took a single biscuit, split it and reached for the gravy bowl.

“You’d better have more than that. My daddy used to split three biscuits and cover them with gravy. He put a lot of black pepper on his gravy.” Mary Lee continued to talk while she buttered a biscuit, hoping to put the boy at ease. “We’re out of milk. I need to go to the store, but the coaster wagon Daddy used before he got the car is broken down.”

“I . . . can carry them for you.”

“Oh, would you? That would be a big help. How old are you, Eli?”

He looked down at his plate. “Sixteen.”

“Is that right?” He was as tall as Mary Lee, but she doubted that he was sixteen.

“Where’s your man?” he asked abruptly.

“I’m a widow. My husband died two months ago.” Mary Lee got up to pour coffee. “Where are your folks, Eli?” she asked when she returned to the table.

“Ain’t got none.”

“Really? Oh, my. Where have you been living?”

“At that . . . place. I ain’t going back there,” he added hastily. “To the orphans’ home?”

“I ain’t no throwaway kid. I’m going to get a job on a ranch. I ain’t needin’ nobody to mollycoddle me.”

“You’re a cowboy. Would a cowboy be willing to help me here while he’s looking for a job? Pay wouldn’t be much. You’d have a place to sleep and meals.”

“I ain’t washin’ no dishes. I done washed a boxcar-full back at that . . . place.”

“Was that your job at the orphanage?” When he didn’t answer, she continued: “You won’t have to wash dishes. Would you object to helping me clean the cabins? If we’re going to work together we’ve got to put our cards on the table.”

“Guess . . . not.”

After the boy had eaten six biscuits and almost the entire bowl of gravy, Mary Lee pushed the jar of plum jam across the table.

“Finish up the biscuits with this, Eli. My daddy made it.” “Where’s he at?”

“He died around Christmastime.”

“My mama died around Christmastime. Long . . . time ago.” “I’ll put the dishes in the pan to soak. Do you have shoes other than the boots? There are plenty of cockleburs out there in the grass.”

“Canvas ones, but the shoestring is broke.”

“We can fix that.” She went to her bedroom and brought back a pair of brown shoes. She had found her father’s clothes piled on the floor in the closet and was wearing one of his shirts over a skirt.

“These would be too big for you, but we can use the shoelaces.” She watched while he dug into the pillowcase he was using as a knapsack and brought out a pair of dirty white canvas shoes. “I’ll be washing this morning. If you have anything that needs to be washed —”

Eli straightened up. A puzzled, suspicious look came over his young face.

“What’re ya bein’ nice to me for?”

“You can catch more flies with sugar than vinegar. I want you to stay and help me. To tell you the truth, Eli, I need you every bit as much as you need me. I’m trying to run this place by myself. When my father was alive, it was a pretty place. He made a good living here. He’s gone now, and it’s getting more run-down every day. I can’t do all the work by myself.”

“Who’s the woman who came in last night?”

“Oh, she came in? I wasn’t sure. She’s my mother and she’ll be no help.”

“What’ll she say ’bout me bein’ here?”

“She’ll have plenty to say, but don’t pay any attention. I own this place. You and I are in the same boat, Eli. I don’t have anyone either, and the end of September I’m going to have a baby to take care of. I’ve got to make this place pay or the bank will take it, and my baby and I will be out on the street.”

He tried to tuck his ragged shirt down in his britches. “I got another shirt and pants, but I was savin’ ’em.”

“Can you wear them while we wash what you have on?”

“Guess so.”

“Go out and change. As soon as the folks in the cabins I rented last night are gone, I’ll gather up the sheets and towels and start the washer.”

The boy stepped off the porch, then turned and looked at the ground. “I’m thirteen. Do you still want me to stay?”

“Sure. And thank you for telling me.”

Mary Lee heard a car and hurried to the front of the house expecting to collect the key from one of her renters. It was Jake Ramero’s truck.

He watched her approach from around the side of the house. Most of the pregnant women he had been around had been pale and listless. Mary Lee was beautiful and energetic. She wore a loose shirt, and her auburn hair seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. He also noticed that she didn’t look so tired this morning and that she appeared to be pleased about something.

“Howdy.” He put a hand to the brim of his hat. “Morning. You leaving?”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I’m just going to work.”

“Oh, well. This isn’t my lucky day after all.”

“I’m willing to pay extra if you wash my sheets, towels and a few other things.”

“I’m surprised that you don’t expect that service for your big ten dollars a month you’ve paid to rent that dollar-and-a-half-a-day cabin.”

Jake tried not to grin at her sarcasm. “I did, at first. After a few weeks, when I wasn’t given clean sheets and towels, I had to buy some or sleep on a dirty bed. Do you want the business or not? If not, I can get them washed uptown for six bits.”

“I don’t do ironing.”

“That’s all right. I’ll do that myself.”

“You can iron?”

“You’d be surprised what a jailbird can do.”

“You sound like you’re proud of it.”

“I am kind of proud. I can iron shirts with the best of them.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, but he didn’t smile.

“A dollar is what it’ll cost for two sheets, two towels, pants, a shirt and . . . a few things.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.” He got out and lifted a bundle from the back of the truck. “Where do you want it?”

“I can take it.”

“I’ll take it to the washhouse.”

Mary Lee followed his long legs around the end of the house. Eli was coming out the door as they reached it.

“This is Mr. Ramero, Eli. He’ll be in number six . . . for a while. We’ll do his washing and, of course, he’ll pay extra for it.”

“Howdy.”

Jake nodded. “I’ll pick them up tonight,” he said to Mary Lee, and walked away.

She looked up to see Eli staring after him. “Do you know him?”

“He’s Jake Ramero, ain’t he?”

“Yes. Are you afraid of him?”

“Some folks think he got railroaded.”

“What do you mean?”

“He got framed for stealing steers from old Clawson. They say he’s a hard dog to keep under the porch, but he ain’t no thief.”

“Why would someone frame him?”

“Guess him and Clawson’s men don’t get along a’tall.” “Ocie Clawson?”

“Lon Delano. Fella said they’d had a couple of knockdown, drag-outs, but he didn’t know what it was about. Jake and his maw lived out there when he was little.”

“You’re just full of information. I was married to Bobby Clawson and he never told me that.”

“You was married to —?”

“Ocie Clawson’s son. He didn’t get along with Bobby either.”

“I stayed out there awhile . . . till the old man run me off.”

“Did you stay in the bunkhouse?”

“Yeah. But I cleaned it — swept out the mud and emptied spit cans. I wasn’t beggin’. I worked for my grub.”

“I’m sure you did. Emptied spit cans? Ugh!” Mary Lee liked the boy more and more. He had pride. “What did the men think of Mr. Ramero?”

“Most of ’em didn’t like him ’cause they was suckin’ up to Lon Delano and the old man. Two of them did. Said he got a raw deal, but couldn’t prove it. They didn’t talk much in front of the others.”

Mary Lee showed Eli what had to be done to clean up the months of weeds and trash that littered the motor court.

“As soon as the cabins are empty, we’ll strip the sheets and towels and start the wash. Meanwhile, I’m going to walk down to the filling station and use the phone. If one of the renters leaves while I’m gone, take the key, thank them and tell them we’d be glad for them to stop again. Can you do that?”

“Don’t take no brains to take a key and thank somebody.” It was a five-minute walk down the highway to the Phillips 66 station. Cars whizzed by her on the highway, some on their way to California, the land of promise. She waved back at the few who waved.