By 9, we were loaded up and heading down the runway on the way to Texas. Besides the kids, and along with Marnie and Alex, Lettie and my father were on the plane with us, along with General O'Connor, Colonel Houghton, and Captain Cross.
The Army officers were part of the deal. The Texas welfare folks had balked at letting us provide the transportation until General O'Connor had intervened and said he would personally accompany the children. That seemed to settle whatever concerns the Texas welfare agency had.
When the wonder of flying on an airplane had worn off, Tricia and Mike had decided to get into a fight. I had watched, feeling the anguish of losing something precious, and had tried not to cry. We adults had tried to maintain a brave face, but none of us had been able to stay that way. I even saw my father dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief as General O'Connor watched sympathetically.
It turned out they had been at school together and had spent most of the flight talking about the old days, including some interesting stories about Teddy Roosevelt and John J. "Black Jack" Pershing, under whom the general had served in Mexico. Lettie had hushed them when the general had started talking about the tragic deaths of Pershing's wife and children at the Presidio in '15. He had looked suitably abashed.
As the Fireman made an approach to land, I looked at Carter. He winked at me, took my hand in his, and said, "I was just thinking about last night at The Tonga Room."
I grinned. "That was something, wasn't it?" We hadn't closed the place down, but we'd had a lot of fun. And Peggy had met a couple of nice guys, from the looks of them.
He looked out the window. "It's so goddam flat."
I leaned over, mostly as an excuse to brush up against him, and said, "As a goddam pancake."
. . .
Once we were on the ground and had a set of stairs, Carter, Alex, and I left everyone else on the plane while we found the Hertz desk in the airport.
After we picked up the keys to the cars Marnie had reserved for us, we drove them over to the tarmac and loaded everyone up. The kids piled into a big Ford station wagon with Alex and Marnie. The Army officers drove in a blue Fairlane with Captain Cross at the wheel. Carter drove the green one, with Lettie and my father in the backseat. I sat up front, next to Carter, but not too close.
Alex had the map and the directions. We followed him in a caravan. Lubbock was impossibly flat. The main highway, U.S. Route 87, went right through the middle of town. There were a couple of high-rises in the downtown. Some of the roads we saw were still paved in brick, which I thought looked nice but was probably hell on a car's suspension.
After we passed the south end of town, my father said, "I've never seen anything like this."
Lettie added, "It's as flat as a pancake."
Carter said, "It's kinda like being on the ocean."
Lettie sighed. "I would imagine that sunrise and sunset are very nice, though."
For several miles, we passed field after field of cotton. The white bolls were visible in every direction. The more I looked out, the more I realized how improbable it was that any place could be so flat. Coming from a city built on hills and surrounded by water, the difference was stark.
After about thirty minutes, we slowed down and made a right on a narrow two-lane road. The highway marker sign had an outline of the state in a square box. It was something I'd never seen before. "Farm Road," I said. "I wonder what that means."
Carter said, "It's like an improved county road. But they're maintained by the state. Down near San Antonio, they're called Ranch Roads."
"Goodness, Carter," said Lettie. "How did you know that?"
Carter glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Something I learned when we were in Galveston last year."
After five minutes of bouncing along the road, the caravan began to slow. Alex made a right and we followed him down a long dirt driveway. At the end sat a house.
To my surprise, it was a newly-built modern ranch-style house. It was low to the ground, had wide, flat lines, and was surrounded by neatly-trimmed hedges and a big lawn of green grass. Big trees, creating a wind break, surrounded the backyard behind the house.
In the circular drive in front of the house, stood a '54 Buick Super and a Ford station wagon, similar to the one Alex was driving. I could also see a patrol car belonging to the Lynn County Sheriff. I wondered about that.
Once we were all parked, Lettie said, "Let's wait. Alex and Marnie need to do this on their own."
Carter leaned over the steering wheel and peered at the house. "I was expecting some tar paper shack with a slanted front porch."
My father chuckled in the back seat. "I guess you don't follow cotton futures, do you, Carter?"
"No, sir," replied Carter.
Right then, the general emerged from the blue Fairlane in front of us. He met Alex and walked with him to the front porch of the house. Marnie had decided to stay in the car, which made sense.
A woman opened the door. From a distance, she looked a little bit like Major Chapman. They definitely had the same color of hair. Hers was blonde just as her cousin's had been. She shook the General's hand and then shook Alex's. After a long moment, she impulsively hugged Alex. Even though I couldn't see his face, he seemed taken aback at first. But, as he patted her back, everyone in our car sighed in relief at the same time.
. . .
"These are the plans for the larger house," said Mr. Hollister. Carter, Alex, the general, my father, and I were in his study. The house was just as modern on the inside as on the outside. All of the furniture was the solid kind of Danish Modern that made sense for solid farming folk. Mr. Hollister was a couple of inches taller than Carter and was wearing a navy suit that was a few years out of date but looked handsome on him. As we'd sat over a cup of coffee in their den, I'd been impressed by how easily the Chapman kids took to him. Tricia had just crawled up into his lap without asking.
As we looked over the plans, which included three additional bedrooms, my father said, "Now, Mr. Hollister, you know that we would be honored to take care of all of this for you."
The man shook his head. "Thank you, Dr. Williams. But we're doin' just fine. I've been savin' up for something like this because Jeanine has been wantin' to have one more baby. And we'd both like to have room for my parents for when they wanna stay for a few days. They've retired down to the Rio Grande Valley. This was my daddy's farm and he likes to come up and check on me from time to time. And to see the kids, of course."
The general looked at the blueprints and pointed at the backyard. "You could put in a pool here."
Mr. Hollister nodded. "We was thinkin' about that. We pump all our water up from the aquifer and that thing'll last forever, according to the hydrologists up at Tech. It'd be easy enough to fill it and keep it filled, even if we have another drought."
The general looked up at Mr. Hollister and crossed his arms. "You seem to be a very reasonable man."
The farmer grinned down at the general. "I try to think I am."
"I hear you're head of the local school board."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I'm sure you've probably met a few of the local matrons at the Women's Club and from places like that."
Mr. Hollister scratched the back of his head. "Yes, sir. They're, well, let me just say that Jeannine is a member. I'll leave it at that."
The general nodded sagely. "Then you understand politics."
"Yes, sir." He frowned slightly.
"What I'm getting to, son, is that Dr. Williams's wife..."
"Miss Leticia," said the farmer, glancing at my father.
The general nodded. "Yes. Miss Leticia." He grinned slightly. "I've been a general in the Army for a few years. I won't try to pull the wool over your eyes, it's a political position. And, son, let me tell you." He paused dramatically. "I've never met anyone, in the Army or out, who is quite like Miss Leticia."
Mr. Hollister frowned more deeply. "That so?"
Carter said, "What the general is trying to tell you, Mr
. Hollister, is that you might as well say yes to Dr. Williams's offer. You don't want Lettie on your case. Believe me."
Alex grinned. "It's true."
The general added, "Believe him, son. Makes a Senate hearing look like a walk in the park."
We all nodded in agreement as Mr. Hollister looked around at us with a dubious expression on his face. After a moment, he shrugged his huge shoulders and said, "Well, who am I to say no to such a generous offer?"
My father patted the farmer on the arm. "Good man."
. . .
"Where's Lyle?" That was Mr. Hollister asking about the deputy sheriff. We were back in the den.
His wife, who was in the kitchen, replied, "He left. Maryanne's parents are comin' down from Lubbock and he decided it was OK to leave both Mrs. Smith and the kids with us. I told him we would run her home after dinner."
Mrs. Smith, a woman in her late 40s, was the welfare worker assigned to the Chapman case. She walked out of the kitchen with two big potatoes in her hands and a grin on her face. "I wasn't concerned, Ezzie. I've known you and Jeannine for years, so I knew it would be fine." Glancing over at me, she said, "I think the sheriff was a little concerned over the, well, the notoriety attached to this case, so he had Lyle drive me over to make sure nothing untoward happened." Looking right at me, she added, "No offense intended, Mr. Williams."
I smiled and nodded. "None taken, Mrs. Smith."
She smiled back and looked at Mr. Hollister. "So, when Jeannine said she wanted to make dinner for everyone, I told him to run along home. You know how Mrs. Vernon gets. She's so persnickety."
Mr. Hollister laughed. "She's a tough old bird."
Carter, true to his southern roots, called out, "Oh, Mrs. Hollister, we don't want to put you out."
From the kitchen, she replied, "Nonsense. I want all y'all to stay for dinner. We've got some cold ham for the adults and wienies for the kids. I have some pork-n-beans in the can I'm heatin' up. And Captain Cross is sharing her mother's secret go-to-church potato salad recipe. You simply can't miss that. It even has bacon in it."
Carter said, "Yes, ma'am. You're right about that. Sounds delicious."
Everyone laughed at that.
. . .
"I can have the charges billed to our home number." I was about to call the airport but realized it was probably a long distance call.
Mr. Hollister said, "If you're real worried about it, just drop a couple of bucks in there." He was pointing to a jar with a screw-on lid that had a slit cut in the top. There were a bunch of folded-up ones and lots of quarters and dimes inside. "That's how we pay our phone bill. We just put a little in every time we make a call. Works like a charm. Jeanine read about it in the paper."
"Sounds good. Can I dial direct?"
"Not yet. Just pick up the phone. If there's anyone on the party line, just tell 'em you have an emergency call. They'll listen in, just the same. Then tap the hook three times. Marge, she's the operator in New Home, she'll come on the line. Tell her you're calling from J12."
I picked up the receiver and listened. There was no one on the line so I tapped the hook three times. After a moment, a female voice with a thick twang said, "Howdy. What number, please?"
"I need to call the Municipal Airport in Lubbock. This is J12 calling."
"You don't sound like you're from around here, hon."
"No, ma'am. Just visiting."
"Are you the skinny one or the tall, blond one?"
I laughed. "The skinny one."
"Welcome to Texas, darlin'. Hold on and I'll connect you."
I smiled to myself. "Thanks."
"My pleasure." I could hear some pages turning. "Real shame about those Chapman kids. I met the major once, only he was a lieutenant then. Miserable as they come. But she was nice. And pretty. Real shame. Glad you were there to catch those kids and make sure they made it here to their new home. That's mighty Christian of you, no matter what anyone else might say. Besides, ain't nobody else's business. But some people always have to have somethin' to talk about. You have a nice day, you hear?"
Before I could say anything, the line started ringing. After five rings, a female voice said, "Lubbock Municipal Airport. May I help you?"
"I need to talk to one of the private pilots."
"Hold on, sir. I'll connect you to that desk. One moment."
I could hear a faint buzz for a few moments. A voice said, "He'p you?"
"I need to talk to Captain Ortega. He's a pilot on the Constellation that came in from San Francisco today."
"You Williams?" asked the voice. I couldn't tell if it was male or female.
"I am."
"Well, I just wanna tell you that I don't like your kind." The voice got louder and more strident. "You stay away from us and you get the hell out of town. You hear me? Now, hold on, dammit." The person slammed the phone on the counter.
In the background, I could hear the voice say, "Go tell that goddam spic who calls hisself a pilot that his faggot boss is on the line." There was a long pause. Then I could hear another voice say, "I tell you what. Some people say they should be put up in a hospital somewhere. Like in Big Spring. I say, cut 'em off. Just cut 'em off. Quick and easy. Snip, snip and you're done." Several voices laughed at that. There was another long pause. A voice said, "That one pilot, though. He tore up Jimmy Jackson. Were you here for that?" The first voice said, "I heared about it, but no, I didn't see—" The second voice said, "Shut up, here comes the spic."
I heard a door open and close. Then someone was walking across the linoleum floor. I heard a hand grab the receiver.
"Mr. Williams?" It was Captain Ortega. He was originally from Colombia and had a very smooth accent that I enjoyed listening to.
"Sounds like a rough crowd. You OK?"
"Yes, sir. Don't worry about us. Captain Reynolds already got into fist-fight with one of the other pilots."
"How's Reynolds?"
"He's fine." I could hear the captain grinning on the phone. "But I promised to pay the hospital bill for the other man. Broken nose and broken arm."
"You gave him Robert's name and address, right?"
"Yes, sir. I should say that I promised you to pay."
"That's fine. Hazards of the job."
Ortega laughed. "Yes. Hazards." He cleared his throat. "How can I help you?"
"Well, we were gonna stay another couple of hours, but—"
"This is fine. Don't worry. Reynolds and I, we can take care of ourselves."
"What about flying in the dark?"
"We have the new radar, so that is fine. You come when you're ready. If you think a couple of hours, then Reynolds and I will take Miss Shirley"—she was the stewardess—"for a steak dinner."
"That's fine. We'll see you soon."
"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Williams."
"Thank you, Captain."
. . .
Between the den and the kitchen was a pass-through bar. There were a couple of stools at the bar and I decided to sit there so I could watch Marnie and Mrs. Hollister, while the rest of the men sat in the den and talked.
The two seemed to have become fast friends. I didn't think it had anything to do with either trying to be nice to the other. They genuinely liked each other and, at one point, Mrs. Hollister had asked Marnie if she wanted to come back in the spring, after they'd finished planting. "I think we might be done with the extension by then and there'll be plenty of room for you and Alex."
Marnie had stopped, put her hand on her chest, and then reached over to hug the other woman. "I'm sure we'd love to."
"Good," said Mrs. Hollister, who sounded relieved.
After a few more minutes, Mrs. Hollister walked over to me. I smiled at her as she approached. In a very quiet voice, she asked, "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"What was Walt like at the end?"
I wasn't sure how to answer.
"They told me you saw him and Georgia a couple of days before..."
I nod
ded. "I did."
"Did he, you know..." She blushed slightly.
I waited.
"Was he unhappy?"
"Mrs. Hollister—"
"Jeannine."
I smiled and said, "And I'm Nick." I took a deep breath. "I wish I could tell you something good about your cousin."
Using a dish towel, she wiped at the corner of her eye. In a way that suddenly reminded me of him, she frowned and said, "That's not what I mean." She put the towel to her nose for a moment. "It would help me if I knew that he was desperately unhappy. Both Ezzie and I adored Georgia. She was too good for him."
I nodded. "That's what I saw."
She sighed out a breath of relief. "That helps me understand what happened."
"I wish I could have helped him."
"He was beyond help, I think. He was just miserable and wanted everyone else to be as miserable as he was."
I nodded. That was exactly what I saw.
. . .
It seemed that General O'Connor had an endless number of interesting war stories. As the gals in the kitchen were finishing up the monumental task of getting dinner on the table, Colonel Houghton walked over to where I was sitting. I assumed he'd heard many of the general's stories already. He took the stool next to me and watched what I was watching. Neither of us said anything for a long moment.
Finally, he said, "These kids are going to be just fine."
I nodded. "You're right. I just wish..."
The colonel sighed. "Me, too, Mr. Williams."
"It's Nick."
The colonel offered his hand. "Mark." We shook and watched in silence until dinner was ready.
Chapter 30
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Sunday, October 23, 1955
Half past 3 in the morning
Once we'd parked the Roadmaster in the garage, we traipsed up the stairs and into the kitchen. The house was quiet. Most of the staff weren't due back until Sunday night. Nora and Ida wouldn't be back until Monday.
As we walked through the kitchen in the dark, I stopped and pulled down a glass from the cabinet in order to get a drink of water. Carter followed suit. We both stood there for a moment and then put our glasses in the sink.
The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15) Page 25