The Glorious Prodigal (24 page)

****

The fat man had been right about rides. Several vehicles passed Stuart, mostly trucks and a few cars. None of them
even slowed down. They all looked away, ignoring his glance. He did not ask for a ride. He simply stood there hoping someone would pick him up. But when none did, he shrugged and continued trudging along. He had dried his socks out at the store and managed to keep them dry, but still the cold penetrated his shoes.

The snow stopped for a while, and then about four o’clock it began coming down again in flakes as big as quarters. It was so thick that time and again he had to peer ahead and almost feel for the road.

He had no watch, but he knew that night was close, so he began looking for a barn or someplace to take refuge. Ten minutes later he saw a small house and heard a sound. As he moved closer he saw that it was a woman bundled up in an old coat trying to split wood. At once he left the road. The house sat back about fifty yards, and he saw a faint wisp of smoke coming out the chimney. The woman did not hear him, and he spoke so as not to alarm her. “Good evening, ma’am.” When the woman looked up with a startled expression, he stopped immediately and touched the bill of his cap. “That’s no work for a woman. Let me help you with it.”

“I can’t pay you.”

“Not necessary. You go on in and get warm.”

The woman’s face was almost hidden. She had a wool scarf tied around her face. She was middle-aged, and her features were pinched with cold. “I ain’t got much to eat, but I’ll give you what I got if you’ll split some wood for us.”

“Sure thing. Just take this inside with you.”

Handing the woman the canvas bag, Stuart picked up the ax and noted that the wood was white oak. He was glad of that, for it was the easiest wood to split. He turned one of the segments up that was about a foot and a half long, raised the ax, and hit it dead center. It fell apart in two matching chunks, each one’s surface as smooth as frozen rock. Quickly he quartered these and moved on. He was toughened up from work in prison, for he had preferred to do outdoor work, for
the most part. Now it was a pleasure to feel the ax in his hand, and as cold as it was, he enjoyed the exercise. It warmed him up, and soon the pile began to grow. He kept at it stubbornly, not knowing exactly why, until he had an enormous pile. He loaded his arms up, grasped the ax, and deposited it under the eaves of the house. Mounting the steps, he raised his hand to knock, but the door opened.

“Come in,” she said. “You must be frozen solid.”

“Fairly cold out.” The room he saw was a kitchen, living, and dining area all in one. Three children with thin faces that were all bundled up stood there watching him. He moved across the room and dumped the wood in the woodbox next to the stove. Opening the door, he threw in two large sticks and said, “I’ll fill the woodbox.”

“Oh, I can do that.”

“No trouble,” he said as he filled the woodbox to overflowing and then took the seat that she offered him.

“My name’s Allie Beal,” the woman said. She still wore a heavy sweater, for she was thin and her face was marked with the scars that poverty always leaves.

“I’m Stuart Winslow,” he said. “Fine young’uns you got there. What are your names, kids?”

The children seemed shy, but he kept talking to them as the woman stood at the stove cooking something. Soon he coaxed them to tell him their names. They were Harold, Martha, and Judy, and they were all under ten years old.

The woman turned to him, holding a spatula in her hand. “My husband got kilt in a sawmill accident last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Things been fairly hard since then, I guess.”

“I can’t complain.”

Stuart thought she might have room to complain, for the poverty that had gripped her and her children was painful to see. He saw that she was cooking up cold-water corn bread on the stove, and a thought came to him.

“Hey, I know! I’ve got somethin’ here that might go down
good.” He moved over to his sack and opened it up. He set the groceries out on the table and said, “Let’s fry up some of this ham, and we got some of this fresh bread and pickles.” He picked up a sack that contained the hard candy and winked at the kids. “Something in here for afterward.”

“We couldn’t eat your grub.”

“We’ll join together. You fix up that corn bread there, and we’ll put it all on the table and eat until we can’t move.”

The meal was soon prepared, and the woman sat down after it was on the table. “Would you care to ask the blessing?”

Stuart nodded. He prayed a quick prayer, mostly for blessings on the house, and then they all began to eat. Stuart tried not to notice how the children ate like starving wolves. The woman tried to conceal her hunger but could not. Finally, when all the food was eaten, he reached out and picked up the sack and turned it out on the table. “There’s dessert!” he said. “Does anybody here like candy?”

All three children looked with eyes so filled with longing that it hurt Stuart’s heart. “Help yourself,” he said. “It’s that hard kind.”

Each of the children looked at their mother, and when she nodded, they took one apiece.

Stuart took one himself and then nodded at Mrs. Beal. “Help yourself. I always had a sweet tooth.”

The bright fire had warmed the cabin now, and the wind howled outside. Stuart finally moved his chair over to the stove. “You kids eat all the candy your mom will let you have. That’s what it’s for.” He closed his eyes then and savored the heat of the stove. He did not know when he went to sleep, but he finally woke with a start. Looking up, he found Mrs. Beal sitting across from him watching him closely. “Must have dozed off,” he said.

She smiled, and it revealed some of the prettiness that must have been hers when she was a young woman. “You slept for two hours. You were worn out.”

“Well, I guess I’d better be getting on my way.”

“You can’t go out in that storm tonight. You stay here.”

Stuart hesitated. “Might not look right,” he said, “to the neighbors, I mean.”

“It don’t matter. I’ll get you some cover. You’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

She disappeared back into what apparently was the bedroom area and soon returned with two blankets and a feather pillow. “Reckon you can make out with this.”

“I sure can. I’ll keep the fire up so it’ll be warm in the morning.”

He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Sorry you lost your husband. Don’t you have people anywhere?”

“No. Just me and the kids.”

The answer was simple and poignant, and Stuart longed to do something for her but could think of nothing. He watched her face and said, “Well, it’s hard to face a Christmas without funds.”

Mrs. Beal’s hands twitched, and she dropped her head for a moment. “It is,” she said. “I don’t mind for myself, but I don’t have a blessed thing to give my young’uns.”

Stuart could not think of anything to say, and she eventually turned and left, closing the door behind her. He lay down on the floor and wrapped up in the blankets. It was not uncomfortable to him, and the heat from the stove warmed him thoroughly. He drifted off to sleep worrying about the woman and her kids, yet knowing there was little he could do about it.

****

The sound of a pan clattering on the stove awakened Stuart, and he came out of the blankets and sat up at once. Seeing Mrs. Beal at the stove, he got up and said, “I meant to be gone before this.”

“You’ve got to have breakfast. I’ve got a little coffee left.”

“Save it for yourself,” he said quickly.

“No. There’s enough.”

Stuart hated to eat the food and at that moment made a decision. He ate a small piece of the ham he had bought, a large portion of grits, and two buttered pieces of toast. When he had finished, he said, “Well, I’ve got to go.” He turned and picked up the case that still contained the violin. “God bless you, Mrs. Beal.” But she stopped him at once.

“You’re forgettin’ all your groceries.”

“Those are for you and the kids. Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes flew open, but he left before she could do more than say, “Why, thank you kindly!”

He had gone no more than twenty steps when suddenly he stopped. Something had come to him the night before, and he knew that the Lord was moving upon him. Pete Jennings had explained something about how God spoke to men, and he knew that this was one of those times. A rough grin crossed his face, and he turned around and retraced his steps. He knocked on the door, and when Mrs. Beal opened it, he reached into his pocket and got out the twenty-dollar bill the warden had given him. “Give the kids a good Christmas and buy something for yourself.”

Tears came to the woman’s eyes, and she reached out and took it with a trembling hand. “Look on it as a gift from Jesus, Allie.” He reached out, squeezed her hand, nodded, and then left.

****

Four days on the road in terrible weather had worn Stuart Winslow down. But now as he looked up and out over the landscape, he knew he was in his home country.

“Just ten more miles,” he said.

He had spent all his money, except for some small change, just managing to stay alive. He had slept mostly in barns and spent one night in a railroad station. Now, however, he picked up his pace. Memories began to flood his thoughts as he made his way along the curving mountain road. The Ozarks lifted behind him, and he was headed down into the
valley where he had lived all of his life. Almost every turn of the road held memories for him; some were painful, but he shoved those away at once.

Hearing a noise, he stepped over to the side of the road and did not look back. He had given up asking for rides and was surprised when a dilapidated pickup stopped. He hurried forward and came to the driver’s side.

“Get in, buddy. It’s too cold to be walking.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Stuart moved around the truck, opened the door, and sat down, careful to avoid the springs that were broken loose.

The driver said, “I’m Sam Pickens.”

A shock went through Stuart, for he knew Sam Pickens. Stuart wore his cap pulled down as much as possible over his face, and he had not shaved since he left prison, so he was sure that Pickens did not recognize him. He didn’t give his name but said, “Glad to know you, and I appreciate the ride.”

Pickens ground the gears and headed down the road. He talked constantly, ending every sentence with, “Y’know,” whether it was a question or not. Stuart chuckled inside. Sam was just as inquisitive, Stuart realized, as he had been years ago. He had always been the biggest gossip in the county.

Stuart rather enjoyed evading the man’s questions. Finally he looked up and said, “You can let me out right there.”

“Right there?”

“Yes, at the crossroads.”

Pickens ground the truck to a halt and said, “Ain’t nobody lives down that way except the Hayses and, of course, the Winslows.”

“That’s where I’m going.”

Pickens leaned forward and shock ran through him. “Stuart! It’s you, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sam.”

“Well, I’ll be dogged. You didn’t break out, did you?”

“Nope. Pardoned.”

“Well, I’m mighty glad to hear it.” Pickens watched as Stuart left, his eyes avid with curiosity.

“Thanks for the ride.” Stuart shut the door firmly, and Pickens started off with a force that rattled every bolt in the old pickup.

“Wait’ll the folks hear that! Stuart Winslow’s back.”

****

Leah dried the last dish and put it on the shelf. She could hear the phonograph turned up as high as possible, the only volume that the children seemed to like. They were playing records, and now she glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost six. Dark came early this time of year, and now as she started down the hall toward the parlor to join the children, she was startled to hear a knock at the door. For one instant she stood still. Visitors were rare at this time of the night, but she knew it could not be Annie, for she never knocked. It could be Merle, however. She moved forward and opened the door expecting to see Merle—and then stood as still as if frozen into stone.

“Hello, Leah.”

Leah could not think of a single word to say. She grasped the doorknob with such force that her fingers splayed and turned white. Stuart was wearing clothes she had never seen before, and they were all dusted with a white snow that still came down. There was no light on the porch, but she was able to see his familiar features by the light inside the house. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to say, “Come in.”

She stepped aside and noticed that he brushed the snow off before stepping in. When he was inside, she shut the door and turned to face him. Her lips were tight, and a riot of thoughts raced through her mind. He was watching her carefully, and she saw that he had changed little. When he removed his hat, she saw that his hair was as black as ever. His face was much thinner, but he did not look a day older than when he had left.

“You haven’t changed, Leah.”

Leah licked her lips and then said, “I heard you’d been pardoned.”

At that moment she was aware of a noise behind her, and she turned and saw Raimey and Merry. They had come out of the parlor and were standing there staring at the man beside her. Leah thought with a start,
Merry’s never seen him in her life!
And she knew she had to say something. Her eyes went to Raimey, and she saw that Raimey knew Stuart at once. She had told him that his father was getting out of prison, and he had said not one word in response. She could imagine what was going on in his mind, but could think of nothing to say. Then she heard Stuart say, “Hello, Raimey.”

Raimey nodded, and his lips formed an answer, but nothing came out.

“I’ll bet you’re Merry.”

“Yes. I’m Merry.”

“This . . . this is your daddy, Merry,” Leah managed to say.

Merry’s eyes flew open with astonishment, and she came forward to look up into Stuart’s face. “I thought you was in jail.”

“I was . . . but I’m out now.” Stuart suddenly knelt down so that he was on her level. “You’re a very pretty girl.”

Leah was watching him, and her heart seemed to close. She studied Merry’s face and saw the girl smile.