The Longest Road (30 page)

“Why don't you telephone that man in Cross Trails and see if he'd take this down on the truck? We should be able to pay it off in a couple of months, 'specially if Buddy's willing to pitch in.”

Way balked. “Let you kiddos same as buy a truck? I'd feel like I was takin' advantage of you.”

“You're paying for our house and food, Way. We'll ride in the truck, too.” When he still scowled, she let her eyes mist and her lip quiver. “Oh Way, let's do get the truck! There are things I'd like to get for housekeeping like pretty dishes and our own bedding, curtains, some pictures—things like that there's no use buying unless we can take them along when we move.”

“We-e-ell—if you're certain sure—”

She tucked the bills into his scarred hands and closed his fingers over them.

One thing haunted Laurie and tainted her joy at being able to buy nice presents. She couldn't get anything for her mother, not now, not ever. She couldn't give Daddy a hat like the one she was buying Way, or the red wool muffler and mittens she'd wrapped for Clem. For most things, there was hope. For this, there was none. Till now, she had mostly grieved simply her loss of her parents. Now she grieved all they had missed, what she would never be able to do for them, and thought she could not bear the finality. And then a boiler blew up right next to Sludge Town and with it the man who tended the fire to keep the steam engine running.

He left three children, one of them a boy in Buddy's class. The widow needed money to pay for the funeral of what was left of her husband and move the family back to her parents' farm in Arkansas. They could give their daughter and grandchildren a home but had no cash money. The boiler man's driller took up a collection and a coffee can for contributions sat next to the cash register in the Black Gold. When she heard about it, Laurie took her whole share of that weekend's earnings—it came to forty dollars because folks were extra generous at Christmas—waded through the mud to the café, and put the money in the can.
For you, Mama and Daddy
.

She felt they knew. She felt their love reaching her, warming her through the wall of death. Then she was able to throw herself wholeheartedly into Christmas.

Buddy's bicycle was too big to wrap but Laurie tied a big red bow on it and leaned it against the wall beside the decorated tumbleweed. A star Way had cut from the bottom of a five-pound molasses can adorned the top of the “tree” and gifts were heaped to its middle after Edna and Clem and Marilys arrived with their arms full of bright packages.

The box table and stove were filled with food so after Clem gave the blessing, everyone heaped their plates and held them on their laps, sitting on chairs or crates while they feasted, finishing with Edna's deep-dish apple pie, so redolent of spice and aromatic juices that it made your mouth water even when you could scarcely make room for it.

“Let's get the dishes out of the way,” said Marilys, rising. She wore a midnight blue velvet dress that made her eyes glow even deeper blue and a matching bow held her waving dark hair in a soft coil at the back of her neck. “I'll wash.”

“Not without you having an apron over that pretty dress,” Way objected. There weren't any aprons so he fetched one of his clean shirts and tied it around her waist while she held her arms out of the way and laughed at him as he awkwardly made a knot.

More flushed than the exertion warranted, he got the dish towel. “I'll dry.”

“I'll help,” said Clem.

Edna scraped plates and put them in the dishpan. Buddy took the scraps out where stray dogs and cats could get them. Laurie stored away food and then took newly dried dishes from the men and put them where they belonged.

A chill, high sun slanted through one of the house's two windows, gilding the festooned tumbleweed as they gathered around it. The Field Brothers had been playing Christmas songs for the last few weeks so they were in practice. Laurie started off on the harmonica with her favorite, “We Three Kings of Orient Are,” moved into “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” and “Joy to the World.” Marilys had a rich alto. Edna's soprano carried Buddy's sweet, high voice when it quavered, and Clem and Way had deep, pleasant tenors. It was pure delight to weave the harmonica's music in and out of theirs. When they had sung all the carols any of them knew, they pulled seats close to the bush and Buddy handed out the presents.

Edna's scarf and perfume; Marilys's. Clem's mittens and muffler, Way's hat, Buddy's red sweater—another round of gifts, and another. Still Laurie had nothing. Her smile began to feel tight and strange. She'd loved buying presents. It had been wonderful to ask to look at things and know she could pay for them. But all the same—

It couldn't be they thought her too old for presents. Edna had embroidered initials on handkerchiefs for all the grown-ups, Clem had hand-tooled a billfold for Way as well as for Buddy and made Marilys some moccasins. Marilys had a warm, fringed, green plaid shawl for Edna, and house slippers for the men.

Laurie didn't understand. One person might have forgotten but not all of them. Then, when the smile on her lips felt as if it would crack, or worse, dissolve in the tears she was fighting, Buddy picked up the big package next to the bicycle and brought it over to her.

“Here!” he said, brown eyes sparkling. “From all of us! But first, guess what it is!”

Stunned, Laurie moved the package. Star-patterned paper concealed a box about twice as tall as it was wide. It could have been almost anything. Helplessly, she shook her head, so glad they hadn't forgotten her that she didn't care what the present was.

“Come on, Lau—Larry!” Buddy urged. “If you could have anything in the world you wanted—well, almost anything—what would it be?”

Her parents. Morrigan to be where she could see and hear him. A home. A place to belong. Those wouldn't fit the box. But of things that would—Something she dreamed of having one day, sometime—

“It—it just can't be!” she almost pleaded. She was afraid to put the private wish into words, afraid of embarrassing her friends and herself.

“It's a guitar!” Buddy exploded. “Clem bought it in Amarillo. We all went in on it. Sufferin' cats! Open it!”

Trembling, Laurie obeyed, but Way had to help her pull out the box flaps. Light shimmered on mellow wood, the graceful curves and roundings of the instrument. The wood wasn't cold to Laurie's hands. It felt warm, responsive, almost alive.

“Ohhh—” Her sigh of wonder trailed off. “It's beautiful! I don't know how to thank all of you and I'll keep it forever! B-but I can't play it.”

“I'll teach you,” said Marilys. “The way you've picked up the piano, it won't take you long to feel just as easy with this as you do with your harmonica.”

Unable to believe the guitar was real, Laurie traced it reverently with her fingers. If only Morrigan could be here! If only he could teach her—She gave herself an inward shake. That was silly, ungrateful, to always be wanting more. She handed the guitar to Marilys.

“Please, will you play something?”

“Just one. Then we've got to get back to the hotel.”

Edna nodded. “I did all the cooking I could this morning but I need to be back in that kitchen
muy pronto
.” She and Clem had worked for years on a South Texas ranch and they flavored their talk with Spanish phrases that fascinated Laurie. She thought it a musical, lilting tongue and determined to get Clem to teach her some of the songs he sang a few lines of now and then.

Marilys plucked strings and tightened the ivory pegs till she was content with the sound. Then she played and sang a song Laurie had never heard before but immediately loved. The boy Jesus begged his reluctant mother to let him go play with the other children. They made fun of him for being only a poor carpenter's son. To win them over, he worked a miracle that frightened their mothers so that they demanded Mary call him home: “… and when she asked him why, said he, ‘Oh, I built them a bridge of the rays of the sun so they would play with me.'”

Eyes downcast and half-closed, Marilys looked so beautiful and the song was so sad and lovely that Laurie's heart contracted. They were clapping when a knock on the door made the wood vibrate.

Laurie was closest. She opened and quickly stepped back. W. S. Redwine stood there, filling the door. He held an unwrapped guitar. In the flicker of an instant, his gaze took in everything.

“Didn't know you played the guitar, Marilys.”

“You never asked.”

“It's your job to entertain patrons. They might enjoy a change.”

“This is Larry's guitar.”

“Then he won't need this one. You can use it.” He looked aggrievedly at Edna and Clem. “It's time the whole bunch of you were over at the hotel. We'll have a big crowd tonight.”

“Don't twist a knot in your tail, Dub,” Clem advised. “We were just fixin' to trail out of here
muy
pronto.”

“Make it snappy! Marilys, you ride back with me.”

The fresh, young color drained from her face. It seemed she might argue. Then something bright left her body, just as it had her face, and she gave the guitar to Laurie. Redwine already had Marilys's gray coat off the bed where it had been placed with the other wraps.

The way he helped her into it wasn't a courtesy. It was a claiming. Hand gripping the doorknob, he swung back toward Way. “You've finished the towns you can do from here. I'll lend you a truck so you can go to Lubbock tomorrow and get started over around there. You can stay at the Lubbock Truck-Inn, get your gas and meals, and I'll still pay you seven dollars a day.”

Seven dollars with no expenses coming out! Redwine must really be pleased with Way's signs. But for Way to stay in Lubbock—Way rubbed his chin. “I don't know, Dub. The kiddos are pretty young to stay alone.”

“You can come back every weekend.”

“Maybe I better look for a job in the oil patch.”

Thinking about the dead boiler man and the other awful accidents she'd heard about, Laurie touched his arm. “We'll be all right, Gramp. The Harrises are right next door.”

Way's smoky dark eyes searched her. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Oil workers get drunk and fight each other but they'd never bother kids.”

With a truck to pay out, it didn't make sense to turn down such good money. “All right,” Way said, but without enthusiasm.

“Clem'll have a truck ready for you in the morning.” Hand under Marilys's arm, Redwine looked at the rest of them. His mouth turned down. “Merry Christmas.”

It sounded like mockery. Was he hurt that he hadn't been invited? He had, for just a second when Laurie opened the door, looked like a kid realizing he'd been the only one left out of a party. That he'd brought the guitar for her made Laurie feel both guilty and resentful. It wasn't right to bring her such a present and not give anything to Way or Buddy—and she doubted if he had gifts for Clem and Edna. Marilys? Probably there was something for her but Laurie was sure it wouldn't be what Marilys wanted. They weren't married, yet Redwine acted as if he owned her.

After the door closed on Clem and Edna, Laurie and Way stared at each other. Finally, blushing, Way said, “Kiddos, I don't know exactly how to say this, but—You remember that jock on the train?”

They nodded. “Well—” Way cast his eyes toward the ceiling. “Men like him hanker after boys instead of women. You got to be careful if a man's too nice to you. Redwine hasn't acted like that kind—he's sure had women all along the road—but maybe he likes boys, too.”

Laurie tried to joke to hide her nervousness. “If he does, he'd sure be disappointed if he finds out I'm a girl.”

Way didn't smile. “He's got some special feeling for you, Laurie-Larry. Could be you're the son he never had. Could be it's ugly. But don't let him get either one of you alone.”

Buddy snorted. “He never even looks at me!”

“All the same,” insisted Way. He frowned, which made his eyebrows bristle even more. “You kiddos sure you don't mind staying alone? Miz Harris would most likely let you make up pallets over at her house.”

“The baby squalls all the time,” said Buddy.

“Catharine says she's cutting teeth,” Laurie defended. “But it'd be real crowded over there, Way. We'll be fine here, honest!”

His eyebrows wrinkled like a caterpillar on a hot pavement. At last, he sighed. “If that's what you want, kiddos. But if you get scared or there's any kind of problem, promise you'll get right over to Miz Harris, or tell Miss Marilys or Clem or Edna.”

Laurie went to him and kissed him on his scarred cheek. “Don't worry—we've got lots of friends! We've got to get that truck paid for, and then let's head down the road away from Mr. Redwine.”

“But you've got your piano lessons, honey, and you're both doin' good in school.”

“Well, maybe we can stay till school's out,” Laurie conceded. Almost more than she hated to give up piano lessons, she shrank from losing Marilys.

It struck her, with shock, that Way felt like that, too. He watched Marilys as if she were precious and really, though he looked so much older, he probably wasn't, not when you figured in those little lines around Marilys's eyes and mouth.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if—Laurie quelled the bright hope as it dawned. Redwine behaved as if he owned Marilys. Did he love her? Did she love him? Laurie couldn't guess but just as he never let loose of a car he'd used, she doubted if he'd allow a woman to leave if he'd ever had a hold on her. He had one on Marilys.

Maybe, for Way's sake, the sooner they left Black Spring, the better. Maybe in the next town, they could stay. But a piece of her heart would stay with Marilys, with Catharine, with Edna and Clem. A sense of loss crushed her heart with such physical force that Laurie couldn't breathe for a moment.