The Longest Road (32 page)

“What happened to his mother?” Laurie probed reluctantly.

Edna sighed. “Rosemary was a sweet lady but she couldn't stand up to Dub. He just ran her right into the ground. She was sickly after Will was born and took lots of medicine. The day he was buried, she swallowed a lot of pills. She was dead when Dub found her.”

“What it comes to is he killed 'em both,” growled Clem. “You don't want to be his son, Larry. Anyone he gets close to, he smashes the life out of 'em. Look at Marilys—”

“Clem!” warned Edna.

Clem spat again. “Come on, boys. I'll take you home.”

To Laurie's vast relief, Redwine was gone the rest of that week. When Way came to walk them home from the Redwine House on Saturday night, he came early, shaved and all spiffed up in a new shirt. While the Field Brothers entertained, Marilys sat with him at a little side table. She always looked nice, but Way's admiring gaze brought a sheen to her. When it was time to leave, Way hesitated, twisting his new hat's brim.

“Thought I'd take the kiddos to the matinee tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe you'd come with us, ma'am?” You'd never know him for the tramp they'd met in the boxcar not quite three months ago. Laurie warmed with as much pride as if he had been her grandfather. He looked handsome and respectable and spoke courtly enough to flatter any woman.

“I'd love that.” Marilys didn't even ask what the movie was. Her eyes glowed like summer twilight. “I don't have a kitchen but Edna lets me cook when I want to. Let me make spaghetti and garlic bread to have for dinner at your place.”

Way grinned. “Didn't know Christmas came twice a year but I'm all for it.”

“I'll make a burnt-sugar cake, too,” planned Marilys. Her brow furrowed. “I haven't made one in so long it may be a failure.”

“No way it can be that,” Way assured her.

Next afternoon, Laurie and Buddy sat with Bill and Catharine Harris, whom they had invited, and blissfully munched Cracker Jacks through a Donald Duck cartoon and the last part of Gene Autry's serial,
Phantom Empire
. Laurie was glad it was the last part so Buddy wouldn't fuss to see every installment. They sipped Cokes during
Mutiny on the Bounty
with Clark Gable and Charles Laughten.

Afterwards, supper was delicious. Marilys asked Bill and Catharine to join them. As she whisked about the kitchen, Laurie watched her with adoration. It seemed so right and happy for Marilys to be with them that Laurie wasn't the least bit jealous of her taking charge.

As they lingered over the caramel cake and hot chocolate, Marilys's brightness faded. Glancing at her watch, she said, “I'll have to go as soon as we do the dishes.”

“Looks like you could have a night off now and then,” Way objected.

Her soft, full mouth curved down. “Dub never lets me forget that I'm paid enough to live on for just playing the piano three or four hours an evening.”

Way rubbed at the scar on his cheek as if dead nerves were coming back to life and he couldn't decide whether it pleasured more than it pained. His dark eyes compelled her to look at him. “You still got a right to a life of your own.”

She stiffened and started clearing the table. “You don't understand.”

“Dub don't own you! All you need to do is walk out of there.”

“People don't walk out on Dub.” Marilys shrugged. “Die, maybe, but they don't walk.”

“If he hurt you—”

She caught his hands. “Way, please! Stay out of it. Things could be a lot worse—they were when I met Dub. I owe him something for giving me this job.”

“Way, why don't you take Marilys home?” asked Laurie. She and Buddy didn't always call him Gramp in front of Marilys. “Buddy and I'll do the dishes and bring the restaurant pans back tomorrow.”

Marilys brushed a kiss on Laurie's forehead. “That's sweet of you. I'll see you after school tomorrow, then.” Way helped her into her coat, turned the collar up to cover her ears, and tucked his arm beneath hers as they went out.

After his obligatory grumbling about how many dishes there were, Buddy said almost under his breath, “Laurie! Wouldn't it be swell if Marilys lived with us? When she and Way are both around, it's—it's—” He broke off, reddening.

Laurie finished for him. “It's like we're a real family, honey. You don't need to feel bad for liking it. We'll never forget Mama and Daddy but they'd be glad we've got grown-up friends who care about us.”

When Way came back, he acted funny, smiling dreamily one minute and scowling the next as he packed his cardboard suitcase for the next week. “I can't pay any on the Chevy this week,” he said shamefacedly when Laurie brought him twenty-nine dollars to apply on the truck. “Two of Dub's old tires blew out and part of our deal is I replace any that can't be patched. But next week—”

“That Chevy's more than half ours right now,” Laurie reminded him. “Only ninety-one dollars to go!”

Way frowned. “Don't seem right for me to get the title to the truck when you kiddos have put in most of the cash.”

“If you'd rather, we'll pay you rent and groceries,” Laurie teased.

Way chuckled at that before he sobered. “Laurie—Buddy—you like Marilys real well, don't you?”

Buddy jumped up and grabbed Way's wrist. “You—you're going to get married?” he asked eagerly.

“Well—maybe.” Way grinned and pushed back his hair. “I asked her tonight.”

“What'd she say?” Laurie blurted.

“Didn't say yes—but she didn't flat out say no. Just had a bunch of fraidy-cat reasons why we shouldn't, but no real good ones.”

“She'll do it, then!” Laurie hugged Way and Buddy tangled in somehow though he generally wouldn't let anyone touch him. Laughing through tears, Laurie exulted, “When we leave Black Spring in
our
Chevy, we'll be an honest-to-goodness family!”

“We'd have to leave,” Way said, troubled and apologetic. “No way Marilys could stay in town if she walks out on Dub. Don't want to take you kids out of school, though.”

“It would be nice to finish this term but it'd be a lot nicer to have Marilys with us.”

“We'll see how it goes.” Way nodded.

Laurie was so happy that she got out the harmonica and launched into Jimmie Rodgers's “T for Texas.” It was late when they went to bed, early when they rose, and then Way was gone for another week.

As they waved him off this time, though, Laurie didn't have to fight tears. In three or four weeks, they'd own the truck, could go where they wanted when they wanted. Her throat tightened at the thought of leaving Catharine and Miss Larson and Edna and Clem, but it was going to be mighty good to see the absolute final last of W. S. Redwine. If only Marilys would—could—go with them! The only possible thing more wonderful than that—no use wishing that the dead could rise—would be to find Morrigan again.

Way didn't come in the Redwine House Friday night while the Field Brothers were entertaining, nor was he waiting in the hall when they came out of the restaurant. Redwine was. He looked grave, angry, and at the same time kind of satisfied.

Trouble. Laurie's insides froze. Her legs turned wooden and couldn't move her feet. “Wh—where's Gramp?”

“Skipped the country is all I know.”

“He—he wouldn't!”

“He did. And stole a bunch of expensive tools out of my hardware at Lubbock.”

Laurie's heart contracted. “You're a great big fat liar, Mr. Redwine!”

He smiled but there was no warmth in his yellow eyes. “Better not talk that way to your guardian, Laurie.”

While her brain clicked at the name, he chuckled. “Yes, I know now you're a girl. Smart of you to pass for a boy on the road. I had quite a talk with your real grandpa a few days ago. Told me how you'd run off, how your mom and pa are dead. He was plumb tickled that I was willing to take care of you kids. Want to see the paper he signed at the lawyer's that makes me your guardian till you're eighteen?”

“You gave Grandpa Field some money!” Laurie accused.

“Not much.”

“You the same as
bought
us!”

“It's for your own good. Inside of six months, you'll thank me.” Redwine reached into his inside vest pocket and brought out a rumpled envelope. “This is from Wayburn. He left it for you at the hardware he robbed.”

The seal was broken. “You read it,” Laurie accused.

“Sure I did. I'm your legal guardian. County judge just confirmed that this morning.”

Feeling trapped, desperate, and bewildered about Way, but wildly intent on breaking free, Laurie pulled out the page of folded tablet paper. She had never seen Way's handwriting but the neat script was a small version of that he used on signs where he didn't need big block letters.

Kiddos—

I got a snoutful of booze and like I told you, once I start, there's no stopping. I'm not fit to be around you. I know you don't like Dub much but he can give you a good home and education. With your music, you can earn more than I can. I'd just be a detriment to you. Don't think hard of me, Larry-Laurie and Bud. And don't worry your heads, neither—this old tramp knows all the roads. I love you like my own. That won't change. Bart Rogers at Cross Plains seems like an honest feller. If Clem or Marilys was to talk to him, I'll bet he'd give back at least your money that's paid on the truck and you're sure welcome to any of mine he offers to refund. Good luck, kiddos. Knowing you has sure been the best thing in my whole life.

So long, it's been good to know you
.…

“What does he say?” demanded Buddy, a quaver in his voice.

“He says he loves us.” She gave Buddy the note.

“I don't know all the words,” he said after a moment's scowling. “Does—does it mean he—he's gone away?”

Unable to speak, Laurie nodded. Buddy let out a wail like one of the rabbits he used to shoot and burrowed his face against her. “Won't we ever see Way again?”

Holding him, Laurie sort of rocked her brother and said, “Yes. Don't you worry, Buddy. We'll see him again.”

She looked up into Redwine's eyes. They were fiat and sheen-less as dried paint. “Come on,” he said. “We'll get your things.”

17

Redwine stood where the tumbleweed Christmas-tree had reigned and swept a quick glance around the shanty. “Clem'll come over tomorrow for the mattresses and heater and kitchen stuff,” he said. “Won't take long to rent the place.”

Stripped of its flour-sack tablecloth, the packing crate was only a box, not the center of many happy meals, just as this was a shack again, not a home. Laurie had known from the start that this couldn't be their always place, hadn't wanted it to be, even, but she felt nearly as sick and robbed as when Daddy sold the rocking chair and old oak table—as when she caught a last glimpse of the brave, battered little cherry tree as they pulled away from the house in Prairieville.
Oh, Way! Why did you leave us, too?

Maybe they'd been more trouble than he let on. Maybe he hadn't really wanted to be stuck with a couple of kids. But—did Marilys know? Had he just gone off and left all three of them? What made him start drinking again?

As if she might find an answer, Laurie ignored Redwine's impatient order to hurry and went back to the room Way had shared with Buddy. Everything he owned had gone with him in that old cardboard suitcase, except for the nice fedora she'd got him at Christmas. She took it off its nail and held it against her cheek. It smelled like the hair oil Way started wearing after he met Marilys.

How could he leave them, all of them? Laurie couldn't believe it. “No use taking that hat,” Redwine said.

Laurie held it, careful not to crush it, picked up her guitar, and followed Buddy out to the truck. Grandpa Field, an Oklahoma lawyer, and a Texas judge had handed them over to Redwine. Way had vanished somewhere out on the road. Didn't he know that even if he was drinking, they loved him and would try to help him stop?

As Redwine shepherded them up the stairs, Edna came out of the kitchen. “Boys, would you like some milk and cookies?”

Laurie's stomach was tied in a knot and for once even Buddy shook his head no to a treat. “Well, kids, if you need anything, our bedroom's right under yours,” Edna said, staring at Redwine through her steel-rimmed glasses. “Just pound on the floor and Clem or I'll be right up.”

That made Laurie feel a little less crushed and deserted, “Thanks, Edna.”

“And I'll make you buckwheat cakes for breakfast,” Edna promised. “With sliced bananas and a lot of maple syrup.”

“That—that'll be real nice.”

“Good night, boys. Don't you worry, everything's going to work out fine.”

How could it, with Way gone God knew where, boozing again, tramping? Besides, Laurie knew in her marrow it couldn't be fine to have Redwine for a guardian. Now that he knew she was a girl, she felt as if he had stripped away her clothes, as if he'd seen her naked. She couldn't say this to Edna, though.

“Thanks, Edna,” she said again, and moved on up the stairs.

Redwine unlocked the door of the apartment and switched on a lamp before he put bundles down on the sofa. “I'll lock the door so no drunk can come bustin' in,” he said.

Panic flooded Laurie. “Can't we lock it from the inside?”

“This is safer.”

“But locked up—with someone else having the key! It—it's like being in jail.”

“You've never been in one or you wouldn't say that,” Redwine snorted. “You don't have any sense, Laurie Field, or you'd appreciate what I'm doing for you and your brother.” He checked, spoke in a kinder tone. “I know it's a jolt to have Wayburn light out on you but it really is for the best. I know he was good to you as he knew how to be but he was just an old tramp—”