by With Heart
Clara picked up Kathleen’s brush and flipped it over onto the bed. She pecked at the keys on the typewriter, pulled open the drawer in the table, and attempted to lift the lid on the trunk, but it was locked.
“What’d she lock the trunk for? She think you’re goin’ to steal somethin’?”
“You’ve no right to meddle with her things, Clara.”
Clara ignored the rebuke. “You never kept it like this when I was here. Who is she? It is a she. I’d not be lucky enough for it to be a good-looking he.”
“Her name is Miss Dolan, and she works for the newspaper.”
“Now ain’t that just a fine kettle of fish?” Clara brushed by her mother as she left the room.
Hazel closed the door and eased herself down onto a chair as if a sudden move might break her in two.
“What was I to do, Clara?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. Whine, whine. It’s all I ever get when I come back here.”
“Then why don’t you leave?” Johnny said quietly. “I’ll take you to the highway.”
“Oh, no, Johnny. Not before she sees Emily. It would break the child’s heart.”
“All you care about is that kid. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
“That’s not true. I—”
“—Mrs. Ramsey,” Johnny interrupted. He had to get out of there before he shook the stuffings out of Clara. “Miss Dolan will not be here for supper. She asked me to tell you.”
“You feed her, too,” Clara spun around and glared at her mother who got to her feet and faced her angry daughter.
“I do what I have to do,” she said firmly. “Miss Dolan pays for her meals if she eats here or not.”
“She must pay pretty good. I saw a car out back when we drove up.”
“It’s Miss Dolan’s car.”
“She must be rollin’ in dough.”
“She’s a nice lady, Clara. I won’t allow you to be nasty to her.”
“She took my room, for God’s sake!”
“How long are you going to stay?”
“Is this my home or not? Should I write and ask if you have room for me before I come home?”
“I’ve got to be goin’,” Johnny said. “But first I’d like a private word with Clara.” He took her arm and propelled her out onto the porch and let the door slam behind them.
“Let go of me. You ain’t got no right to be pushin’ me around.”
“I’ve always known, from the first time I saw you, that you are nothing but a worthless piece of shit. Until now I didn’t know just how rotten you are. You go off and leave your mother to raise your child when that little girl is your responsibility. She’s been workin’ like a dog to keep food in that child’s mouth. Then you have the guts to come back here and treat her like dirt.”
“To hell with you.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and tried to get back into the house, but his back was to the door. “You’re not the boss of me. At least my kid ain’t a half-breed. I didn’t go out and screw some dirty Indian like your mama did.”
“You’re pitiful, Clara. You’ve got a mother who loves you and a little girl who thinks you get up every morning and hang out the sun. What do you do, but go whoring around and come back to them when you’re broke. Has it ever occurred to you to come back here, get a job, and help your mother?”
“What kind of a job could I get around here? You think I’d go out to the tannery and work with the blanket-asses? Well, think again, Mr. Johnny Blanket-Ass Henry.”
Johnny held his temper even though he ached to slap her.
“It’s decent work. If not that, you could help your mother with the ironing.”
“You may be surprised to know that I’ve been singing in a nightclub down in Fort Worth.” Clara lifted her head and preened. “Ever’body thought I was really good. I just came home to get ready to go to Nashville and get on the Grand Ole Opry. When I’m a star, I’ll come back here and ever’body in this shitty one horse town’ll sit up and take notice of Miss Clara Ramsey.”
Johnny shook his head. “You’ve got about as much chance of making it to the Grand Ole Opry as you have reaching up and touching the moon.” He walked off the porch and headed for his truck. Like Isabel, she wasn’t going to listen to anything he said.
“If you’re so much, Johnny Henry,” Clara called, “how come you’re drivin’ that old rattletrap of a truck?”
Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the girl with her skinny arms wrapped around the porch post. He tried to muster up some sympathy for her, but it just wouldn’t jell. He thought of how his half sister, Henry Ann, had tried to reason with Isabel, and had offered her the opportunity to go to school and make something of herself. Isabel’s mind, like Clara’s, had been only on the pleasure of the moment.
Johnny started his truck and drove away wondering what was going to happen when Kathleen met Clara. One thing was sure. From now on, she’d better lock her valuables in her trunk when she left the house.
Chapter Seven
Johnny parked his truck behind the newspaper building and, with a bundle under his arm, went in through the back door. Paul was breaking down a page from last week’s paper and throwing the lead into a bucket to be melted and reused.
“I’m going to leave my truck back here tonight, Paul. I took my groceries back to the store and will pick them up in the morning. The store will be closed by the time I’m ready to go home.”
“You could’ve left them here.”
“I never thought about it. I’ve never had anything taken from the truck, but I don’t trust those two yahoos I took down to the sheriff.”
“They’re trouble all right.” Paul dropped a handful of lead in the bucket. “There’s a canvas cot over there in the corner if you want to sleep here. Pound on the door tonight, and I’ll let you in.”
“Thanks. Mind if I wash up here?”
“Go back to my room if you want. There’s soap and water back there. There’ll be no danger of your lady friend walking in on you while you wash that horse-hockey smell off.”
“Thanks, friend. By the way, don’t forget the two bits you owe me.”
Paul’s head swung slowly around. “That was for the picture show.”
“You crawfishin’ out of the bet?”
“The deal was to take her to a show.” Paul’s smile was smug. “Drag up enough courage to ask her out to a show, and the two bits is yours.”
“To hell with you,” Johnny snorted, and stomped off toward the partitioned room in the corner.
The room was nicely furnished with a neatly made bed, a bureau, and a long table on which sat a typewriter and two big radios with antenna wires running up along the ceiling and out the single window. Paul’s clothes hung on a rod that spanned one corner of the room.
Johnny stripped off his shirt, poured water from a pitcher into a granite washbowl, and washed. He soaped his face and stared at his image in the oval mirror above the washbasin. Thank goodness he had shaved before he came to town this morning, although he hadn’t expected to see Kathleen, much less take her out to supper. He borrowed Paul’s comb and tried to tame his hair.
He pulled the new shirt out of the sack, shook it out, and put it on. He now regretted buying a white shirt. Kathleen would know that it was new. But, what the hell? Johnny slammed his hat down on his head and left the room. He paused just outside the door when he heard Kathleen’s voice. She was showing Paul a two-page article she had written.
“Can we set the first four lines after the headline in ten point?”
“Sure. I’ll set it tonight. If it isn’t what you want, we can change it in the morning.”
Kathleen hung the sheets of paper on the hook beside the linotype machine, turned, and saw Johnny.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, almost in an accusing tone.
“I came in the back door.”
“I’ll be ready to go as soon as I wash the ink off my hands, that is if you haven’t changed your mind.”
&nbs
p; “I’m ready when you are.”
Unaware that Paul was watching him, Johnny watched Kathleen. For days her image had stayed in his mind. Her fiery curly hair and her pretty face were enough to draw a man’s eyes to her, but what riveted his attention to her now was her utter unawareness of just how striking she was. She accepted her good looks as being only a part of her, the other part being a woman completely at ease with herself and her abilities.
Johnny Henry, you don’t have the brains of a loco steer or you’d get the hell out of here.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Paul murmured after Kathleen went back to the front office.
“You’d better not let Adelaide hear you say that!”
“She knows it. Sometimes beauty is more of a hindrance than an asset. Addie thinks you’re just the man for Kathleen.”
“Well, thanks for arranging my life. I don’t agree. Now tend to your own business.”
“She is my business, cowboy. What concerns Addie concerns me. We’re afraid that she’ll be in deep trouble before she discovers how to get along in this town.”
“She’s already in trouble. Why do you think I’m sticking around? It was just luck that I found out that Webb and Krome bragged that she’d get what was coming to her before they left town. That could be tonight or tomorrow. I can take care of tonight.”
“She’s got a date with Leroy Grandon tomorrow night.”
“Grandon? From the men’s store? How do you know? She tell you?”
“Just because I’m back here doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on up front.”
“Shee . . . it. He’s old enough to be her daddy.” A chill held Johnny motionless for a long minute. “Webb or Krone’d chew him up and spit him out.”
“Not if they got orders from higher up. They’d not want one of the merchants, the head of the Chamber of Commerce, to know. It might raise a stink.”
“That’s true.” Johnny pushed himself away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Guess we’ll have to take one day at a time and see what happens.”
Johnny had not concerned himself with the politics in Rawlings . . . up to now. He came to town a couple of times a month, and that was that. As far as he knew, it was a pretty peaceful town. The doctor ruled it with an iron hand in a soft glove. His friendship with Paul had opened his eyes to that. Adelaide, Paul, Claude, and the Wilsons were his only friends in town. He added Mrs. Ramsey as an afterthought. Other folks in town knew who he was because of the rodeo.
“Better get along, cowboy. It’s six-thirty. Addie will shut the door and turn off the light soon.”
“Yeah, I guess I better.”
“A little advice, son. Don’t pick your nose at the table,” Paul murmured as Johnny passed him.
“You know what you can do with your advice, Daddy,” Johnny growled, and Paul laughed.
• • •
Kathleen had been surprised to see Johnny in the back room. He had bought a new shirt. His dark skin against the white made him look incredibly handsome. She was still puzzled by the invitation. It was logical to assume that he intended to leave town as soon as he loaded his groceries. What had changed his mind?
Adelaide was busy typing when Johnny came from the back room. She looked up and nodded.
“Ready?” he asked Kathleen.
“I guess so.” She got up from her desk. “See you in the morning, Adelaide.”
“Have a good time.”
Johnny opened the door, and Kathleen went out ahead of him. On the sidewalk, she paused, not knowing which way to go. He gripped her elbow and they started walking. It was almost dark. The time between sunset and nighttime was short this time of year.
“Let’s try the Frontier Cafe? Have you been there?”
“I haven’t been anywhere except to Claude’s. We could go there for a hamburger. It’s fast.”
“Are you trying to get this ordeal over with?”
“I was just trying to be helpful,” she said testily, thinking again of their encounter in the store. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get home with your groceries.”
“I left them at the store. I’ll get them in the morning.”
Johnny held tightly to her elbow as they stepped down off the curb and crossed the intersection. She had to admit that they walked well together, their steps matching. It was comforting to have him beside her. Her eyes darted back and forth; she half expected to see Webb and Krome lurking in the shadows.
They covered the three blocks to the café in almost complete silence. Its neon sign in the shape of a wagon wheel glowed in the twilight. Inside Johnny steered her to a high-backed booth, hung his hat on the hook on the end, and eased his long length onto the bench opposite her. Rather than look at him, Kathleen studied the box on the wall and read the selections available on the jukebox.
“See something you like?” Johnny placed a nickel on the table.
“Not really. It’s all cowboy music.”
“You’re in cowboy country.”
“Here’s one that’s quite appropriate—” she glanced at him to see him eyeing her intently—“Hoagy Carmichael’s ‘I Get Along Without You Very Well.’” She picked up the nickel, put it in the slot, and punched in her selection.
He ducked his head as if to avoid a blow. “Ouch! You’re still mad.”
“I’m not mad. It’s not that important,” she lied, unable to look at him.
“It is to me.”
A young waitress with a perky red apron and headband came to the booth with two glasses of water. She eyed Johnny with interest.
“We have hot beef with mashed potatoes or meat loaf with pork and beans.”
They both ordered the hot beef. Kathleen asked for iced tea, Johnny for coffee.
The waitress gave Johnny a slant-eyed smile, then flounced away. In the backwash of silence that followed, Kathleen listened to the music. Johnny watched her. The hot Oklahoma sun had brought out a few more freckles. The rapid pulse at the base of her throat told him that she was nervous. That surprised him. To look at her, you’d think that she was as cool as a cucumber.
“I’ve a few things to tell you,” he said softly.
Kathleen’s eyes met his. “You had to bring me here to tell me? You could have said whatever you have to say at the office. You needn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I should have said bother.”
“It’s not a bother either. You’d not understand if I tried to explain what happened at the store. I’ll just say at the moment I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Kathleen understood that that was the only apology she was going to get. She stared unblinkingly at him.
“I can take care of myself, you know. There’s no need for you to feel obligated to look out for me because your sister is married to my uncle.” She spoke quietly, but the very unexpectedness of her tone gave the words an abrupt, harsh quality.
“Get the chip off your shoulder, ma’am. You need friends if you’re going to stay in this town.” Points of light flared in Johnny’s dark eyes.
“Why, all of a sudden, are you interested in being my friend?”
“Let’s just say that I changed my mind.”
“Since I met Webb and Krome on the street? You didn’t have to ride to my rescue. I could have handled them.”
“Handle them my hind foot!” Air hissed from between his clenched teeth. “I want you to know that—”
He broke off speaking when the waitress came with their meal and placed a plate in front of each of them. The helping of mashed potatoes and the slab of beef on the white bread, both covered with steaming gravy, looked delicious. Kathleen stirred the small green lumps on the side of the plate with her fork.
“What’s this?” she asked when the girl had left their booth.
“Fried okra.”
“Never heard of it. Is it a vegetable?”
“Yeah. Grows on a bush like a green pepper. We grew a lot of it on the farm ov
er at Red Rock. It’s rolled in cornmeal and fried, or put in soup or cooked with tomatoes and onions. Try it.”
“Humm—” Kathleen chewed and swallowed. “It’s . . . ah . . . edible.”
Johnny laughed. “You either like it or you don’t. You don’t have anything against potatoes, do you?”
“No. My Norwegian grandparents practically lived on potatoes. Have you ever had potato dumplings? Even though they are a Swedish dish, my grandmother made them as well as potato pancakes, potato bread, soup, salad, fritters, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes. She even made her yeast out of potatoes.”
Johnny generously peppered his meal and Kathleen raised an eyebrow. He grinned at her.
“I don’t suppose you used a lot of black pepper up there either.”
“Not that much. This is good,” she said after she had taken a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I guess I didn’t realize that I was so hungry. Up North we call this a hot beef sandwich.”
“We call it that down here, too. Do you plan to go back to Iowa?”
“Nothing to go back to except a few acres of land. A neighbor rents it.”
“I’ve heard that it gets pretty cold up there.”
“It was thirty below for over a week in 1936. When it gets that cold, the ground freezes so hard and so deep that they have to use blasting powder to dig a grave. I was used to the cold and didn’t mind it so much.”
“I’ve not been any farther north than Kansas City. It was plenty cold there.”
They ate in silence. Diners came in and occupied the booths on each side of them. Nickels were poured into the jukebox. “I’m an Old Cowhand from the Rio Grande” was a frequent choice. Kathleen gave Johnny a knowing look and smiled.
“I’m in cowboy country,” she said.
Johnny found himself staring dumbly at the thick mass of curly red hair that brushed her shoulders. He had an almost irresistible impulse to reach out and bury his fingers in that glossy mane. He forced his gaze to wander away from her and out over the café. When she spoke, he turned to find her quizzically staring at him.
“You don’t come to town very often, do you?”